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#Shadow: Yeah? Do it then. Prove it.

hadesknockedupintheunderworld · 20 days

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Okay I just need to say that I knew I'd like this Tailstube as soon as I saw the thumbnail (after all, I am a Sonadails enjoyer, and Tails is literally in the middle of them in the thumbnail)

But I think probably something that stood out the most to me when I watched it was just

The hints that Shadow and Tails have a relationship outside of Sonic??

The first thing that tipped me off to this was that not only did Tails convince Shadow to join in on his show, he also convinced him to stick around to its natural end?? You know, Shadow. The guy you can't force to do anything and frequently will just dip if he's bored or doesn't want to be there. But even while Sonic was annoying him and he made it clear he wanted the "interview" over with, he still never made a move to chaos control out of there because of any of this.

And the second thing that tipped me off was this:

When Shadow is both confused and annoyed at Sonic, he chooses to complain to Tails about Sonic. And so Tails steps in to try to "explain" what Sonic meant by what he said (i.e he told Shadow something much nicer in the interest of getting them to be on better terms). The fact that he looks to Tails to complain to about Tails' own best friend and possibly even to explain that which he does not understand in a social context tells me just how highly he regards Tails. And since both Shadow and Sonic are being childish here, it's amusing to see Tails regarded as something closer to a trusted figure with more power here.

From an objective analysis standpoint, of course this means they have their own friendship. And this is a prospect I enjoy (The idea that Tails and Shadow are good friends)! It actually means a lot to me that Tails could form a frienship or bond with Shadow outside of the context of Sonic (in terms of who initiates it and for what reason it's initiated).

But, my friends, from a biased standpoint, I'm shipping trash. And to me this Tailstube was a fun show for Sonadails fans. Honestly, Tails staging this episode to get Sonic and Shadow to talk and "bury the hatchet", as well as how he acts during the show, read a lot to me personally like a guy trying to get his two boyfriends (who happen to be rivals) to get on better terms, if not just tolerate each other. I quite like the idea of Tails dating both of these idiots and just trying to get them to play nice when they're all together (although frankly I think the ideal scenario for Tails in my biased reading is that Sonic and Shadow get together as well).

This is also not to mention the dynamics showcased here! Sonic and Tails as best friends, with Sonic assuming that he and Tails were gonna talk shit about Shadow behind his back, and Tails trying to get him to play nicer. Shadow and Tails as friends, with Tails trying to convince him why he and Sonic are in the perfect position to become friends and helping him out socially, and with Shadow choosing to do something he doesn't want to because of Tails, as well as looking to Tails to complain to when Sonic is annoying him or when he doesn't understand something. And then there's Sonic and Shadow. In short, their relationship in this episode reminded me a lot of the dynamic I plotted out for that Sonadow post I wrote up where the two just beat the crap out of each other. In slightly longer terms, I find interesting how Mr. Flynn maintained Sonic and Shadow's dynamic during SA2 (with Sonic bothering Shadow and trying to fight him, while Shadow is just annoyed that Sonic won't leave him alone) while also showing the audience that they are rivals. And in longer terms...Sonic was clearly seeking a fight during this episode. And the facial expression, the mocking, his tone of voice, it doesn’t really matter whether or not he actually dislikes Shadow and believes they could never be friends. He's trying to annoy Shadow and goad him into a fight because he wants to fight Shadow so badly it makes him look stupid. And we can tell by how he expresses his confusion to Tails that Shadow is just not getting this. To him Sonic is just being annoying and confusing. Sonic is targeting him specifically, and Shadow shoots back with his own words. And so it's also pointed that Shadow reciprocates/actually decides to fight Sonic when Sonic specifically challenges him. He doesn't respond to Sonic trying to goad him on, but when Sonic challenges him specifically he's much more interested in opposing him.

Anyways guys I love Shadow and Tails having a soft on the side relationship while Sonic flirts by convincing Shadow to fight him somehow😂💖

#sonic the hedgehog #tailstube #sonadails #sonshadails #sonadow #sontails #shadails #shadow the hedgehog #tails the fox #miles tails prower #i just be ramblin #man there are so many things about this episode #Another personal favorite interaction was when #Tails: Come on could you try to just say one nice thing about each other? One compliment? Please?#Sonic‚ mockingly: Anything you can do I can do better #Shadow: Yeah? Do it then. Prove it.#Sonic: Ah crap he called my bluff #Sonic: I uh...I love the way you...chaos control?#Tails: Okay. You do one now Shadow #Shadow: I uh... I also love the way you chaos control. ...It's impressive that you could do it with a fake emerald #Tails: See? You can compliment each other! Sorta #Sonic is on the aro/ace spectrum to me but to me his most compelling relationships are always little buddy effect related and knuckles #effect related #Which just means that he tends to hold relationships like his and Tails highly (and has taken more than one little buddy)‚ but is also #attracted to people who have tried to kill him. What can I say? He loves the softness and domesticity of having a smaller loyal partner as #he loves the danger and exhilaration of fighting/racing a strong opponent #Sonic and Shadow fighting (and especially Sonic trying to get Shadow to fight him on purpose) is just baseline what the two need #for 'toxic yaoi' so if someone can't even handle how hostile they were during the tailstube then...#Anyways‚ how we feelin Sonshadails fans?

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reflections-of-mobius · 3 months

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@emeraldtied asked:

"You're not meant to look like that." // for murk or whomever you'd like~

[Blood, blood, and some more blood! | Accepting!]

"H-huh?" Murk's head slowly turned towards the blue hedgehog- his eyes slowly dilating. He'd been caught in the middle of a mugging- a few mobians trying their luck at taking the rings of 'a weaker mobian'...he'd let them rough up his false body,- a split-second penance that he willingly served out- but now, when he'd thought they were gone...

"---don't come any closer...!" He was still in the shadows of the alleyway. He still had a few seconds- so long as the hero didn't move--- he'd thought it was safe. He'd thought it was safe- his wounds were recovering in the darkness, inky black smoke flowing from each injury- falling like a fog-bank to the ground, where it rolled. "I know I shouldn't look like this, but- I'll be fine."

He'd already learned by now that the hero seemed to have had no encounter with one of Murk's alternates before- but that didn't stop the terror that laced his heart.

Just leave-- that was all he wanted. He moved to pull himself further into the darkness, feeling his disguise falter. Let me deal with this on my own-- go be a hero somewhere else--- words he felt catching in his throat.

"--Leave. Please." His voice had tapered into a nearly broken whisper.

#i’ve got nothing else to prove | asks #emeraldtied #Sticks and stones won’t break my bones/But your name might crack me | Mephiles “Murk” the Dark #tag TBA | Arrow.#blood tw #injury tw #//can you call it 'blood' when it's literally shadows #//anyway #//don't feel obligated to reply but enjoy if you do #//I offer one severely wounded (and terrified) pseudo-hedgie #//I find it funny yet sad that he'll willingly defend/attack animals but you involve sentience into the mix #//and M.rk just goes '....yeah I deserve this'#//ah the early days of the arc when he's hyper-overcorrecting #I can feel my blood it’s rushing | closed starter

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capslocked · 2 months

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PARITY

male reader x sana & miyeon

21k words

Within some reasonable tolerance, the two are carbon copies. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Doppelganger, twin, deadringer - they always tell you, they don’t see it.

But when they stand together it always comes across like two shadows stitched into one silhouette; the slope of their noses, their mouths; the way their hair cascades down past their shoulders.

You’ve learned to recognize the twitch at the corner of their lips before a laugh - how they speak in the same inflection and pitch and tempo, the same cadence coloring all their syllables. Even in their figures there is something uncannily familiar: that petite stature, that grace; they both have perfect posture, an ingrained elegance, like something handed down generation to generation. And of course - the height. The hair. The eyes. The same-damned-smirk.

Here's a hypothetical: if Sana's DNA, then Miyeon's RNA. They're both two separate ways of reading the same thing, and they both have it in them to transcribe the same hot load of proteins over all their pretty faces.

"Oh, that's like a sex joke," Miyeon says to Sana, frowning slightly, "right?"

"I don't know." Sana hums. "Protein... like sperm?"

You sigh, rub your thumb at your temple. This is why, normally, you wouldn't take ditzy to bed, but there's all this history between you and Sana that proves otherwise. The dirty truth is: you’ve been taking ditzy to bed for years. And Miyeon’s right there. She’s all bright eyes, blonde hair, tiny little waist, the perfect height to get two fingers in her cunt and the rest of her in your lap without you even needing to shift your arm into something more uncomfortable. God forbid.

She pulls back the curtain of silk-glossed-hair spilling over her cheek and tucks it neatly behind her ear. Okay, fine. So maybe you really do have a type.

"Yeah," Miyeon decides. "I think that's a good pun. Cute."

She glances sideways at Sana; something flashes between them, imperceptible. They've been doing this sorta thing for a long time - long before they ended up in their current living arrangement. This machine of synchronized, unvoiced communication.

"Cute," echoes Sana, delighted, and she lets her eyes flick back to yours. "Baby, are you, like, gonna give us lots of protein?"

"First of all, we’re fast approaching the point of diminishing returns on the whole protein spermaestria," you muse, wryly. Sana beams. "And again, the point I’m trying to make, Sana: you two are identical."

"Not in spirit," says Miyeon, automatically. "Or intellect. Or appearance, either."

"You can't just claim that," says Sana, matter of fact. "He means physically. I have bigger tits and a better ass.”

There's no argument from your end. And not only because the cab driver hits a speed bump or a pothole or perhaps a small child way too quickly that sends you all lurching together into the seatbelts.

Miyeon finds a good hold in the handle over the door - it saves her - and you wind up steadying Sana. For a split second, it's both their shoulders leaning on yours: Sana, then Miyeon, then Sana. Back and forth. Back and forth. The three of you still end up sprawled halfway out of the seats and onto each other in the cramped cab, tangled all together.

"Please, explain it then," implores Sana, hushed slightly. "Go ahead, I'm sure Miyeon's dying to hear it."

"Look, it's not a perfect one to one mapping," you say, running your hand through your hair and putting on your patient professor-in-front-of-the-class face. "For example: Miyeon's cuter-"

"Thank you," chirps Miyeon, sweetly sardonic, before you can even append anything else to the statement. Sana’s already there with a noise of mild protest.

"I mean, I'm a full inch and a half taller than you."

"So?"

"That’s an unfair advantage. You've gotta be the dumbest person I know."

"Funny," chides Miyeon, swiveling her gaze onto Sana. "You could barely talk when we were fucking your brains out on your birthday. He's dating you, not me, remember? If anything, you're the one sporting an unfair advantage."

"Okay, well," Sana counters, reasonably, "when you can barely get a sentence out from choking on my boyfriend's cock, who the hell is supposed to call it?"

You ignore that. Miyeon is having more difficulty; her face has flushed cherry red and her hand's white-knuckle-gripping the side of the cab's passenger door.

"For what it’s worth," you cut in, placidly, "I don’t think there’s any clear answer."

"Nonsense," they both reply, simultaneously and satisfied - like wind up toys. And that's the way the conversation tends to go when you get them alone like this. Identical, you pause to think again after spilling out from the back of the car and onto the curb outside the girls’ apartment.

All the things they say are word-for-word - they walk the same, eat the same, smile the same, tilt their heads the same. In those moments where you don't speak, it feels like watching some two-headed monster, an entity constructed from equal parts of both. And it isn't just the physicality at play. They've got that eerie ability to read each other, speak for each other. It's strange: their habits, the way their eyebrows arch, the set of their shoulders. It all syncs right up, matches seamlessly.

It's really fucking uncanny.

"Um." Sana twists one slim wrist back and forth until the key turns in the lock. "So, is it, like, wrong of me that I kinda just wanna skip the dinner part of this and watch my roommate get wrecked in the middle of our living room?"

"Depends," you answer, before you can let yourself dwell too much.

“Just a complete and utter carpet dive,” Sana says, shouldering the door open and flipping on the lights. “It’d serve her right. She’s being annoying.”

Miyeon scoffs, sticks out a bare, pale leg - it ends in a nail polished fire engine red, the strap of a stiletto sandal - and blocks your way inside. "Hey," she protests, lightly. You are not the only object in the equation - you are merely an item to be held against them; it's not about you, not in its most abstract shape. Miyeon and Sana are competing - vaguely for your affection, but more so just for affection in general. It's an ego thing, if nothing else.

"I'm an angel. I'm precious."

"Get your pretty feet out of his face," warns Sana.

"Ugh," says Miyeon. And then, "so short-tempered when you're not getting away with everything."

"Whatever, princess." Sana gestures, airy and flippant. "In any case: fuck off, or go get fucked."

This has become some kind of weird custom, admittedly. Miyeon does exactly as her best friend requests. She floats down the hallway and toward her room.

"Can't get good service around here anymore anyway," is what she tosses over her shoulder. Her fingers run up the door frame to her room and hang there, briefly, before she glances sideways back. You and Sana, now giving her your deservedly undivided attention. There is no split focus, no point of overlap. Her hair falls loose past her shoulders; her shirt clings a little to the muscles of her arms, her ribs. The point of contact between her skirt and her upper thighs. Those impossibly big eyes. She's gorgeous. You rarely ever let yourself forget that. There's something devastating about the set of her face, about how her body is absolutely fucking perfect, all curving lines and smooth planes - tits that fit right in your palm, the dip of her stomach, the pretty shape of her ass - she’s tiny, and in a way, that means you can do anything to her and manage to get away with it. She’ll let you. She’ll ask you to do it all again.

"You two are more than welcome to follow along, if you feel so inclined,” Miyeon adds before she opens the door to her room, steps through, and lets it shut behind her.

"Yeah." Sana runs her tongue over her top lip, staring you straight in the eye. Her smile is slightly predatory, all sharp teeth. "If you’re so inclined."

(For anyone wondering about things like premise or backstory, here’s a useful memory:

Sana has a new roommate. They've been living together for two, three months. She's still not over the fact you didn’t ask her to move in, and you're still not ready for it. Your answer hasn’t changed. You like your apartment the way it is; the two of you need space; it's what the kids call cohabital parity and no, the ring's not in your wallet and it's not even bought yet; stop nagging me. It'll happen when it happens.

Anyway,

It's one of those plainly beautiful evenings in early July or August - a weekend probably: the living room is bathed in the sort of low, radiant sunset that can go on forever, all of summer stretched out, leisure and sunshine. Sana had talked her way into getting you to take her somewhere highbrow and a little out of your budget. She can talk her way into just about anything; that's her brand, her bad habit, her good fortune.

"We're not going to be able to get our tickets," you're explaining into the loud blare of a hair dryer. And to paraphrase, "what the fuck is the point of making reservations if we’re going to be so reprehensively late?"

Sana's juggling the curling iron while fumbling with an eyelash curler and applying mascara and rearranging earrings all at the same time, and you think about reminding her, again, that it doesn't matter what she looks like if you never actually, you know, leave - but then the hair dryer switches off.

“Hey.” Sana ignores the concern and swivels to ask which earrings match which necklace - two pairs are laid across the countertop; they look exactly the same; you love her, desperately, but for the record, you've never been any good at telling jewelry apart. Neither the knowledge-set nor the motivation; she looks fucking gorgeous in everything regardless-

The front door clicks then, and Miyeon bursts through with the force of an entire hurricane - and promptly stops, dead. You forget what the hell she said, but the story was: she'd just gotten back from the worst date in her life. She's in tears, sobbing. It's a mess. She's a mess. You can't leave.

She falls right into Sana's arms. Then Sana throws a pointed, triumphant grin your way, and says to Miyeon - and you remember this, word for word, verbatim - "Aw, baby. Don't worry. Let us take care of you. We'll make you forget all about him, okay?"

This is the long and short of it: Miyeon arrives, in tears. You never make it to dinner and a show. And the night ends more or less how it started - with Miyeon still pretty much crying, but only because you two won't stop. With your fingers, your mouths. Sana knows what her tongue's doing; Miyeon is loud - and responsive. She's gorgeous too. She's so into it. She needs someone who is genuinely in love with her, who isn't going to try and push her around. You slip your cock into her and that's pretty much it, a different kind of curtain call; Miyeon gets Sana's thumb rolling at her clit and, yeah - she's fucking gone. She cums on your cock like she’s dying, like you’re killing her. It's as simple as that.

Now, there are several instances of which this is the case, in chronological order:

a.) The first time, in Sana's bed.

b.) The second time is in the back of Miyeon's hatchback. Tight fit for three people. It's a do-not-recommend.

c.) The third time, when they want to try blindfolding Miyeon while she rides your cock in the living room. The girl can't see shit, you break some IKEA furniture you can’t pronounce the name of, and the condom comes off during the whole process. There’s this unsettling, world-rocking possibility in which you get Miyeon fucking legitimately pregnant via oopsie-daisy. So, you and Sana wind up spooned up with Miyeon between you two and discuss the eventuality, should it arise - what you will all do in the future, the consequences, what Miyeon and Sana will say to Miyeon's and Sana's families - what the fuck you'll tell the rest of your friends, let alone the press - and then, deciding together: hey, well maybe this is actually a really bad idea.

d.) The fourth, fifth, sixth and every time after that where you realize that you're just gonna roll it all back and pretend like this is completely normal. Two's company, three's kind of a fever dream - but this is the platonic ideal of groupthink. It works. It just does; you know how to fit the pieces together now. How to read her body language: the one-two-one rhythm, Sana and Miyeon and then Miyeon-and-Sana; where their hands are, where they're moving; Miyeon's choked little sobs and the breathless gasps when your cock is deep inside her; all the unintelligible murmurs passing between the two of them that you can't understand - but none of them ever really matter. The important thing is that she's put her two front teeth in your left collarbone while you fuck into her slow and deliberate, in a way she can really feel. You cover Sana's mouth with your palm, your fingers pressed against the pulsing heat in her pussy, and you make them both cum over and over until they’re eyes are screwed shut and they’re counting stars.

That's about it. That's all the things.)

"I call it being spoiled for choice," Sana says, pausing only momentarily to decide in the mirror of Miyeon's makeup vanity whether or not to take off the bracelet on her wrist.

The glint that strikes off the metal is gold in the bedroom lights, all warm yellow and sparkling silver. Sana narrows her fingers, pulls it off, on - like you've caught her trying on clothes, the latest fashion in a store front window. A stylistic consideration. It matches the rings on her third and fourth fingers. She decides that it suits her.

"Lo and behold," Sana continues, "we have a real situation on our hands. In your hands. Whatever, you get my drift."

"Your cock," adds Miyeon, smiling like sunshine. She’s tracing you over your pants with her thumb, and she’s got her doe-eyed grin on, the one that promises something sugar-sweet, kneeling between your thighs at the edge of her bed - the slightest dishevel of her hair, kiss-swollen lips. God, what a picture. Her pupils flare when her fingers reach the top button of your pants. "And what's worse? I'm going to die if I can't have at least, you know. A couple minutes alone with it."

"You'd figure out a way to die either way," Sana muses. She leans backwards in Miyeon's desk chair, tugging idly at the hem of her skirt.

They're not usually dressed alike, and that's the weirdest part - Sana's never had Miyeon's particular taste for the tiny gauche dresses and white converse shoes and glossy nails, not unless it’s some matching outfit that she's being bullied into. Today's no different: the soft fabric of Miyeon's slip of dress barely stretches down to the line of her thigh. The hem starts just below the boundary of innocuous and everything else. She’d been hiking it up all evening. And the straps lay so thin across her shoulders that one little tug in the wrong spot would probably send it skidding all the way down to the floor.

That's the main thing on your mind when you get one in between your fingers.

Miyeon simply shoulders the other, rolling it down to hang loose, leaving the dress hanging off the gentle slope of her chest.

"Pretty," you say out loud.

"I know," she says, holding the grin.

She can make the world smile, it's infectious - and your gaze follows the path: from the blonde-shiny hair spilling over a collarbone, to the peeking line of her bra, to the flutter of the bottom of her dress at her hip. You catch the subtle lace trim, the little patterns embroidered into the waist, and decide her body's a gift - and wrapping it is something divine, something meant to be ripped right to shreds. If no one else is willing to volunteer, then it'll fall on you. Sure, sure, sure. You can be thanked later.

"Lose it," you request, quietly.

"Mr. Impatient," is what Sana sniffs out, scoffing. She's lounged back on the other side of Miyeon's makeup counter. Her heel taps away at empty air, bouncing off the end of her foot, that hot little fucking rhythm she's had going since her partner in crime got in your lap and kissed you right down into oblivion. "You want to get her naked and get inside of her, huh?"

"Is that not why you dragged me here?" you counter.

"Oh, don't put this on me." Her expression slides right into the mischievous smirk you're familiar with. Miyeon’s often sporting the same one.

"He wants to bend you over, princess," she tells Miyeon, and you hear the wistful sigh through her parted lips come out like permission. "Not that I can say I'd blame him. When's the last time you've taken cock again?"

"With him last week." She throws the response to Sana. They look, more than anyone, to be in sync in their one-upmanship.

"Hmm," says Sana, and she’s looking right at you. "Check how tight that dress fits over her hips, don't you just want to tear it right off of her?"

"He's not doing that," says Miyeon, but there's the lilting tease in her voice that signals precisely the opposite. She wants it: wants it like sugar and soda, salt water taffy; wants to be stripped like skin, bared to the bone. Her knees spread, just a little. "Not yet, anyway. Right now," she adds, hand fluttering towards the inside of her thigh, supplying touches right over the lace, "I want to suck his cock."

"Such a slut," Sana teases, tilting her head.

"You'll get yours," Miyeon insists, before pulling your cock out of your boxers with a small smile, curling her fingers around it, leaning forward. "God, this thing." She has the head under the palm of her other hand, and a wet-tipped promise on her lower lip.

You thread your hand into the hair aside Miyeon's temple, gentle and what will seem in a moment: paradoxically-tender.

"Imagine what it'll do to your mascara when I fuck your mouth."

Miyeon licks her lips. You reckon she’s completely aware how it comes across - the wicked fantasy she is.

"I'm imagining what it'll do to you when she chokes," Sana retorts.

“When he fills up my throat,” Miyeon says, hungry.

Sana sighs, sounding utterly wistful, and she fixes the same unrepentant look on you. "Poor Miyeon is just starved for cum tonight. Aww," she remarks, sweetly, "The poor thing. Do me a favor won't you? Fuck my pretty little friend in the face."

"Well," is all you get out before you look up at Sana. "Yours too, honey."

"Hardly, the same," Miyeon cuts in primly, glancing sideways at Sana. There is some snobbishness implied; there are ways Sana and Miyeon have always found to subtly measure themselves against one another, to best each other - all of these ridiculous acts and anecdotes. Like their voices aren’t replicas of one another - and in constant disagreement over whoever is currently claiming to be the original.

Miyeon prissily tilts her jaw up. "Your ego might actually be the worst part about you, Sana. That and your tits."

"Guess he just loves all the worst parts," Sana quips, rolling her eyes, "and every time you call it into question I fall in love with him a little more."

She's got one foot up now on the seat of the chair and she's running her fingers, delicate and teasing, around the press of her panties. It's not a voyeuristic thing, she's told you, it's less about watching Miyeon get fucked than it is about knowing exactly what it looks like when she herself gets spread out beneath you. She watches you and Miyeon, she watches her best friend and you, and she touches herself and it's perfect. There's a few seconds, long and warm, before she lifts her fingers away, then sucks them into her mouth with a grin. Just the slightest taste.

"But seriously," she says to Miyeon. "If you're gonna do something - then do it. Don't be a tease. We both know the answer, anyway."

Miyeon swallows. You hear her. You watch her lips wrap around the head of your cock and pop off, wet and shining, and her head rests in the curve of your palm.

"I’m working on it," Miyeon allows, lowly - she pumps her fist again around you, careful with the motion; this little twisting tug. "Fuck, it's not even the fact that it's fucking huge, or. Like, it’s not because I’m dying to get stuffed by this, or because I’m sitting here thinking: oh my fuck, I’m gonna feel so full with this thing inside me."

You have her hand under her chin, thumb stroking gently against her cheek. Her eyes return to yours when you put a little more pressure in your grip. She’s fantastically pretty, and the gleam of lust and want in her irises has you probably too eager to play along.

“So then, what could it possibly be?”

"It's-" Her cheeks darken pink beneath her blush, stumbling through a mouthful of ums and uhs as her eyes make tiny departures back to your waist until she finally gives up and just stares again.

Sana sits up a little in her chair.

"Look, this is the prettiest cock I've ever seen.”

You and Sana almost snort in unison.

“I’m serious.” Miyeon rubs a semi-circle over the head with her thumb, glancing up at you beneath her mascara, and then to the base, back up. It jerks, almost like reflex, in her grasp; she huffs in delight. "It’s, like, perfect in every way. And, god, everytime- I’d just about do anything to feel it inside me."

“You’d beg?” Sana asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’m about to get down on my knees and grovel, honey.”

"Should've just said," Sana laughs - Miyeon chews her lip, half-exasperated, and drops a kiss to the tip that makes Sana's expression simper - "you’re halfway there. Want him to cum in that sweet mouth?"

"Want him to tell me what he's going to do," says Miyeon, frilly. "Every last detail."

Lips stretching open, fingers splaying, curling around the weight - she dips her head to rest her cheek on your thigh and kisses the underside of your shaft. She’s practically like liquid. Flowing and easy and gorgeous, always gorgeous, too far gone to form a full thought. That much is obvious. And why shouldn't it be - your hand's already snagged up, your thumb's already wiping the hair out of her eyes. She turns to let it sit against the edge of her cheekbone. "You really need an incentive? Want you to fill me up so I can-"

"Swallow," you supply, simply. “Swallow everything.”

"Yeah," Miyeon presses into the curve of your cock. She doesn't wink, not really; she doesn’t need to. "I like you. You always know exactly what to say."

Her hair brushes a feather-light caress up the skin of your thigh, mouth a vision of sin and pretty red lipstick. "Open," you command, quietly, and she follows your orders exactly - mouth dropping, head tilting, eyes drifting closed - her lips glisten with saliva and you could shove your cock into that mouth, easy. Just push in and wreck the inside of her - spit on her chin, feel her throat clench up as she gags and struggles around your cock. God, if that isn't a thought that can do a number on the base of your spine.

"Easy," Sana supplies, like she can read your mind. That wouldn’t really surprise you. “Leave some of her make-up for me.”

There's the quick hiss of an inhale, Miyeon's mouth stretching open. Her jaw going slack. You feel the long, wet suck of skin and spit, and her eyelids flutter as she settles in. She slides her tongue and adjusts, makes soft, raspy, throaty noises while her lips slide down the first few inches of your cock. It’s funny - Sana had made the same sound earlier in the day - and it's really not like it's an awful comparison. They both let on gorgeous little noises when they're sucking cock and it makes sense because it's the same cock. Same skin. Same person.

You're not, however, about to do something so pedestrian as compare notes. Not on them. Not in the fucking slightest.

And Sana, god - Sana doesn't just watch. She knows better. She's not even the one taking your cock in her mouth but there's the insistent presence of her: a fingertip diving down past the crotch of her skirt, a quiet moan, her wrist jolting in a repetition of short, sharp strokes, the kind she likes to use on herself: precise. Deliberate.

"Miyeon," you whisper. "God, just - it's your fucking mouth, you-"

The hand on her face strokes the side of her head - a push-pull. A chance to break off - she doesn't - so she ends up with a rougher grip tangling through her hair and you guiding her head further down the length of your shaft.

Miyeon loves the pressure on her throat. You know that. And, yeah, she fucking hates choking on it but somehow in her mind, they're different. Opposites. Because with the way she's going, a little cough will burst free in a few seconds time. That’s your signal, you’ve learned, that she'll let you slide yourself to the hilt. Just keep the wet tip lodged there until she starts gasping around it. It'd only take a minute.

Two tops.

And well, that's the compromise: your patience for a throat fuck is infinite. She's staring up at you with upturned brows and that pretty-please pout on her slick-wet lips. She's making her best effort but, christ. Fuck.

Her eyelids flicker once.

Then close.

"There," you breathe down to her, your knuckles finding her cheek, smoothing over the sharp curve of bone there. Your cock is slotted right in her hot little mouth and you're starting to feel like maybe you really did hang the moon and stars in the sky after all. Her lips press around you. Sink, up, down. "Such a good girl, sucking my cock, looking up at me- god, all dolled up, it's not even fair, Miyeon."

Miyeon can be many things, and presently among them: a filthy, obedient angel.

She pulls up. "I try," Miyeon breathes right at the tip. Her tongue darts out. She swirls, and swirls, until it’s back under the tip of your cock again, soft.

You're too predictable, or you're too forthcoming, or here’s the thing about a woman's intuition; Miyeon wants to tell you something more, she wants to let you know how fucking unbelievably hard you are in her hands right now; she wants to laugh at you for getting caught up and dumb but she's not letting your cock slide free. This suckle of her lips, right at the crest where you're most sensitive and leaking precum right into her mouth - this press and pull is as close to conversation as she can get. So what. You love it. She loves it: the reward is in the ricochet. You look at her and her cheeks hollow and the flash of her pink tongue gets wet and warm under your head, the slit of her mouth stretching to take every ‘totally fucking perfect’ inch of your cock.

And then her lips tighten and she just-

"Christ, Miyeon-" You whimper it right down to her, your voice lost in the shiver of her throat, all tight and wet around your cock. It's like your vocal cords have been stolen right along with the air in your lungs and everything feels floaty, warped and red and blanketing you with Miyeon's hard-worked rhythm:

The scissoring flick of her tongue as she strokes the base with a firm fist. The other hand resting on your hip, feeling your hips jerk. She wants this, the part where you let go and stop thinking. The part where she opens her throat, lets her saliva flood to pool against her palm, and wet the tip of your cockhead before letting it slide right back in her throat. Your shaft flexing into her heat, the sound of those gags.

She just-

She just goes on like that, sucking your cock while the flat of her palm skates a little tighter. Up, up, down - up-

"Miyeon," Sana says, now on her feet and shadowing in closer, leaning. And that's it. Sana knows too. She kneels down next to her, gets a finger under her chin, and delivers in a uniquely cold tone: "hands behind your back, sweetheart. I want him to cum in your gorgeous little mouth."

You nearly choke, ironically. You're already grabbing so much of her hair: all those smooth silky strands threaded through your fingers.

You thrust and pull. She gags. She fucking chokes.

Spit collects, rolls down the corners of her mouth and gathers on her chin. You can see the mascara threaten to run tracks along her pretty cheeks, the way the makeup smudges so dangerously close to her bottom lid. "Yeah?" you say, so softly, but you can't - can't seem to look anywhere else, or take anything back - so, what, her jaw's just gonna go on being that perfect little shape, and she's gonna be a brat for it. Okay. That works. She looks good choking. You can see the slick glint of her pink mouth stretching taut on your cock, your cock jerking and bobbing on the pad of her tongue; it's not real - no, this is completely real. The ball of your foot slips along the floor.

It's instinct. You can't help yourself; a groan spills out of you, half-sighed

Sana's whispering right in her ear; not that you can make anything out of it over the noises from her mouth, her fist all wet, pumping. The tick-tock bob of her hair. Sana's hand is on the back of her head and then - pushing the last inch down, and down, her nose buries right into your skin.

“Mnnph.” Miyeon, gurgling: your cock pressed all the way down the line.

"Fuck," you spit, holding her jaw in place. "Fuck, Miyeon-"

She looks up at you, her eyebrows cinched, the graceful lines in her picture-perfect-face pulling around you - blissed out. She stutters in place while you dump a hot load of cum into her mouth.

And she adds a cough as you pump everything directly onto her fucking tongue. It’s more than she anticipated, judging by the leak. How your cum rolls down from the corner of her mouth.

Sana drops a kiss onto her temple as she takes you in and out of her mouth again, until she presses her lips firm and hollows her cheeks. Miyeon's fingers caress your balls like there's some part of you that isn't giving her fucking everything already.

"Come on, princess," says Sana, kissing her way along Miyeon's neck, the tops of her shoulders. There is not an angle to Miyeon's elegant features that she could take that could possibly be anything short of priceless. "Show him how you swallow."

The image is obscene, for one thing. The utter filth in that satiated hum; there’s another.

It's your white-hot cum dribbling past her swollen, fucked mouth. Miyeon swallows like the good girl she is - takes a breath, stares, and then finishes, a gulp, an extra breath, her whole face now a shade more flushed. Sana kisses her on the cheek and suddenly it's perfect: they're both staring right at you. Your throat has to unclench, reboot and the air in the room just tastes so good and your chest is heaving; you just- fuck, you can't breathe-

"Shit," you exhale. It comes out like a small explosion. "Uh-"

The side of Sana's mouth slants and then Miyeon grins: it's her cheek, dimple; that crescent moon thing and oh, this is the point. Sana slides a hand over the gentle curve of her stomach, then sets her open mouth over Miyeon's still-lips, slipping in close and - kissing. Their mouths melt together like it's the most practiced thing, tongues a second later, and Sana is stroking your cock in her fingers; the expectations clear in every little coaxing flick of her slim wrist.

"Do you have any idea," Sana sighs against her lips. The two of them, blinking up at you, like good little things - sweet enough. "How fucking wet you both have me?"

And Miyeon, shameless as she is disastrously pretty, reads right between the lines. "Where do you want it?" Her mouth tilts up to the side. A wicked smile. "He can cum all over us, no? And I have this skirt with an awfully short, pretty lace. We don't even have to take our clothes off, really, I can just-"

Sana gets an eyeful - Miyeon - before cutting her off, silencing with the wet press of her mouth, and suddenly their kiss goes frantic and quick. They're rolling apart: hands tearing up their clothes. Off. Off. Off.

Your cock stirs. It throbs. Fuck. Sana’s barely intelligible in the space between their tongues. "I could lay flat,” she’s saying, “with my legs open, and-"

"-with him on top of you, pressing inside you - so he could hold me down, and then pull all the way back out, to leave a thick load on your clit-"

"-and when he has to pull out-"

"-probably cum all over you too, the best view-"

"-or all over the rest of me, while I touch myself-"

"-maybe-"

"-and you just have to imagine how good that'll feel, while my thighs shake and we ride it out, you and I-"

Their faces - both flushed and dampened with the strain, both breathtaking. Their eyes are hooded, lashes a-flutter. They'd made their own decision, didn't even bother with yours. A mutual vote of two-to-one: you're going to fuck them in turns. You’re going to fuck them together. You're going to edge yourself in one cunt and fill the other. They're both going to take it, and wear it, and then use each other to make you cum again. Good. Okay, any questions - and they want it rough?

The answer’s a two-part chorus. Yes.

Not even an hour later, Miyeon is playing, of all fucking things, Candy Crush, legs draped lazily across Sana's lap, both of them kicked back on the couch, dressed again like the best girls you've ever seen. "The amount of money they make on this app-" Miyeon complains, waving a lazy hand. A long strand of blonde brushes against the corner of her mouth before she swipes it away again with an irritated sigh. She's just sitting there, knees folded, blithely bitching about a game of match three on her phone. "And they send these fucking blocks just to mess with me," - another swipe. Her hair sticks against the fresh gloss coating her lips. "It's literally just a waste of human-fucking-potential."

"It's a game for children," you offer.

"Then why is it marketed at adults, hm?" She's absolutely serious. "Sana plays it too."

"Mhmm," Sana agrees, not really agreeing at all. Her eyes are closed; you're sitting next to her, and she's taken up your leg as a makeshift pillow, lying down with her arm resting on her forehead, so casually disinterested in anything other than the quiet thrumming of your presence by her side.

It's insane that they're like this: like they're not constantly checking their phones for texts, like you don't all have lives. You're almost - dare you think - having a semi-regular conversation. Now If for a moment you could ignore how they both look like the human embodiment of sin-

"Miyeonie," Sana says.

"Sana," Miyeon returns, flat.

There's not even a movie playing on the living room TV - just the netflix menu; it's volume is at a sort of white noise. A subtle buzz clicks on in the air conditioner.

"You know how you're supposed to go out with that guy next weekend."

"You mean the date you set me up with." Miyeon pauses, tongue caught between her teeth. "Where I have to put on a pretty little dress. And smile. And laugh at all his jokes."

"You know the one."

Miyeon jumps on Sana's train of thought. "You want me to send you some pictures when it's over."

Sana turns it over in her head a few times. “Maybe,” she says, finally.

A genuine exchange perhaps. No fighting, no bullshit, no riptide of pure unbridled sexual frustration.

"Or," Sana adds, simply, "you skip the part where you sabotage the small talk and come back to our apartment." She blinks. "End up getting us both."

“You’re suggesting I’ve been ruining dates on purpose?” Miyeon, incredulous, runs her fingers through the hair at the top of her head, gentle, almost like an admission of guilt. "You're out of your mind. Why would I do that?"

The fragile peace never does last long. Sana looks at you again. Holds onto the eye roll. "Why, indeed."

"I don't follow," Miyeon says; something, a tic, a tell, causes the muscle in her brow to stutter.

"She's suggesting that you'd rather be in bed between us than on a date with some guy whose face we've only seen once," you cut in. Sana looks over. "It's come up a few times."

"Okay, so what?" Miyeon takes a breath. Her mouth a rictus twist. "You're trying to get me to admit it out loud? That I like to get fucked by my gorgeous bestfriend and her pinterest-board-of-a-boyfriend more than I'd like going to a mediocre concert downtown with some dipshit who just wants to see if I'll stick out this 'goddess' routine for a month or two and then bounce for someone else. Wow. Sherlock and Watson, coming through for the killshot. Take me straight to jail."

"We never got around to those cuffs," is what you make mention of. It's not particularly helpful.

"Don't pretend," Sana says instead, "you don’t like to play both sides. Or that the trad-wife fantasy of yours is somehow subtle."

“There's nothing shameful about knowing exactly who you are, or wanting something," Miyeon insists. She tilts her head towards the two of you. A different angle. Her words come out sharp and hot: "some of us have the decency to let our friends know exactly what they want."

“Okay.” You laugh out loud, half out of nervous habit. "Well obviously there’s some sort of rhythm here - I’m just not dumb enough to think I can put a finger on the pulse."

"Then this is, what, some sort of elaborate plot for my heart?" Miyeon's chuckling to herself, but in the space of a blink her voice is more tender. Her arms folding in close. "Is that the plan, finally catching me-"

"Next week." Sana sits up. "There's a trip coming up, something kind of international." She picks at the hem of her sweater, and looks at you.

“What the hell, exactly” - you card your hand through Sana’s hair - “does ‘kind of’ international entail?”

"Ms. Prada has a modeling campaign to attend," Miyeon intones. "She also needs someone to take care of the jetlag, is what I assume this is about."

Sana waves her hand in the air. "I'm saying we book you an extra ticket. Rent a room at a nice hotel. No work. No phones. Just us three, and the best sex you've ever had."

“I wasn’t even aware I was going to that,” you say - almost as an aside.

“You weren’t.” Sana leans more of herself into you. "You are now."

"Is this how you're going to woo me? The grand design?" Miyeon's hands are fiddling in her lap. Sana’s pressing in. Closer. "All the sex and leisure I could ever ask for?"

“It sounds ridiculous when you say out loud,” Sana answers, curling into her. “But, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Miyeon laughs like it’s a lost cause. Genuine, throaty - like music.

“Simplicity doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Miyeon.” Sana kisses her, slow. Quietly, "you could even pack a swimsuit," and there's this beat, the rise and fall of Miyeon's breathing that might lead anywhere: "though I doubt we touch the beach at all."

“You’re pulling on all my heartstrings, Sana.”

And there you are - etching your names onto the calendar. Reservations and bookings and promises of everything and anything and exactly where you all want to be.

It's Miyeon that finally admits, "you know part of me can’t resist the idea."

"Then, this weekend." Sana's fingertips trace circles on your hip, the tensing pull of muscle. You're aching and exhausted and content: drifting in the tide, a catch of the day, some soft, dreamy wave of consciousness, nothing specific, just the moment passing through all three of you.

But you do get it. There's this obvious snag in your heartbeat, too.

Because Sana is grinning; her fingertips, tapping. Your stomach's fluttering too. A little ghostly clutch of hope in your chest and it's such an embarrassing notion. You're getting swept away - pulled under - and it's Miyeon, splaying out beside Sana, her hand reaching out to you with her palm turned up. It's a promise, and the force of her can - and has - moved mountains.

"I pick the hotel," Miyeon's voice is deeply firm and sure. She’s got a fistful of Sana’s pajamas. "You two can sort out the lingerie."

Sana's mouth curves a perfect grin. She's kissing her again: wet. Heavy. It's not a no, if she was ever expecting one.

So that's your reality: what used to be two dalliances - separate but not distinct - now share one headspace, and there's enough rapport just in the group chat alone. You've all been messaging back-and-forth for weeks; Miyeon playing the game where she's the steady one in your life, the knot you're going to tie down when you can finally afford it (and in every way she can imagine). You find it entertaining. Sana seems mildly amused. And Miyeon will call you on the phone, sometimes. A chat-off. About nothing and everything. What you should bring on the trip. Where she's going to eat dinner before you meet her at the airport. Et cetera. Et cetera.

// Miyeon 1:21 AM > hey. I'm all finished packing. how's the bedroom looking?

// 1:26 AM > absolutely wrecked. no survivors

// Sana 1:27 AM > It’s fine. We stripped the sheets, got the box from the closet. Have the video you wanted as well. Call the laundry service in the morning and get the floor washed too. You know. So, nothing comes out of the security deposit.

// Miyeon 1:29 AM > a threesome that destroyed an apartment? say it isn't so

// Sana 1:34 AM > didn't hear you complain during.

// 1:38 AM > strict instructions, right?

And then sometimes, during those conversations, Miyeon will send an aside just for you:

// Miyeon 1:40 AM > strict? please. do whatever. I'm like so good at following instructions

That's Miyeon. The paradox of being submissive - you never, ever treat her gently. She never really wants you to. Sana's mid-reach over your chest to turn off the lights when she glances down at Miyeon's text, then promptly scoffs. The two of them don't always have the most conventional dialogue.

"She's one hundred percent serious by the way." Sana rolls on her side, away, but the nightlight beside the bed just manages to illuminate the slope of her ass - curved in the silk nightie she'd thrown on before bed. You want to crawl between the fabric.

"I never really doubted that. She's got a very specific... demeanor.”

“You’ve noticed.”

“Um,” you say. Sana’s turned over her shoulder to blink at you. “Kind of a dark streak. Like something in her is craving-"

"To be broken to pieces? Oh, it's fucking bliss for her when she's vulnerable and the tension cracks."

“I was going to phrase it a little more indirectly than that, but yes, I suppose that’s the gist of it.”

Sana shrugs.

"The girl lives to be chased is what it is.

It's just Sana and her perfect legs and smooth, creamy thighs right there, ready for you to touch, ready for you to fall apart over. They brush your calf, your thigh - so you are kind of distracted.

“And she feels most wanted when she's choking, getting used, right at the point she can't decide if another inch is gonna kill her or drive her up the wall. No air in her lungs, nothing under her own control." Sana flops, presses against your side, one leg tossed on top, arms curled around your neck. "Pretty obvious, all things considered."

"Sounds a bit familiar, no?" you tease, and reach back to draw her against the front of your body.

She curves, twists into your embrace. Her hair is half up, half down - wide eyed like a fantasy made manifest. You're always gonna give in, even when Sana doesn't deserve it.

"You get me. It’s the best. Please, go nuts with the idea."

“Huh, birds of a feather.”

“Sure, whatever,” Sana brushes a kiss against your cheek, presses back into your hips to feel your hard length strain between your boxers and her ass, softening only because, god, she's a real human fucking treasure, "so maybe Miyeon and I have a certain… similar temperment to us, maybe that's true."

"Yeah," you breathe. Your arms wrap around her, the heat in her core now evident from the outside. "That's what I've been saying."

Sana doesn't respond to that, not directly; her palms drag, smooth, over your fingers. "Fuck me to sleep," she suggests instead. "We've got an early flight."

And so you do. You'd pulled your cock from your shorts the second she pressed her ass into your waist and claimed her place as your other half, the little spoon. There's a few beats, a few breaths, where you'd rocked against her clumsily, lining yourself up, and she'd braced the two of you:

She'd arched her back, got an arm over her head to tangle a hand into your hair and keep you right where you were - your lips against her neck. Until it's just this soft-rhythm, all easy thrusts; one arm underneath her, the other around her hip, finding and spreading and - easily - gliding into her cunt.

Sana sighs a lovely sound right next to your ear: your name, some hushed curse. Her hand is wrenched back into whatever group of muscles she can find. And you listen to the gorgeous little tritone of oh shit, oh god, oh fuck when you make her cum. The displays of indulgent affection in her throat, then the ruddy mess of you working her to a wreck of pleasured exhaustion until she collapses into a hot-faced, sleepy daze. All cozy between the sheets, the duvet - you’d fucked her from the outside in; made her relieved and relaxed, all loose and calm. Sana curls into you with her moans still staining the cool side of her pillow and the snugness of her cunt wrapped around your cock.

You drift off just like that, snug inside her. Sana is, as always, impossibly warm.

On your phone, there are some choice text messages:

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > jesus

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > can you guys like please

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > PLEASE

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > fuck any quieter

Okay, so it's not perfect. But you're about ninety-percent sure Miyeon had used every fiber of her willpower not to float across the hall and take her spot between the both of you. And it's probably for the best. You feel pretty rough when the alarm starts blaring as it is.

The room Miyeon picks out isn’t exactly small, nor was she minding the purse strings. There's a wide expanse of living area, a massive bed in the back; the ensuite and bath beyond that has a walk-in shower large enough for all three of you and room left over. On the walls is gentrification-colored paint, a gray laminate flooring to match; there is not one speck of dust. It feels every bit the palace it is on the outside - the gables and mansard roofs and the Juliette balconies - gothic, or neoclassical. Something vaguely European, with all its rich furnishings and pristine fixtures to boot.

Sana and Miyeon step into the space with all the familiarity of royalty.

"Warm in here," says Sana, appraising; her black chiffon, nearly translucent, fans about her hips with each tiny sway. In her white pumps, she's already a perfect tease and she hasn't even touched herself yet. "Smells good, though."

Miyeon's heels echo behind her like gunshots against the floor, and it's really not ever fair the way a skirt wears her. "The listing said something about a hospitality kit, and essential oils - there should be a basket of things. Do you want me to start the water?"

"Let's settle in a little first," Sana suggests, and without any fanfare, the first thing she does is draw the gauzy curtain closed.

There's an itinerary; it's an ongoing event. Technically it all started in the airport terminal when Sana slung her arm around Miyeon's waist and her hand went straight down to her ass. She just gave it a little squeeze. In the moment, nothing terribly remarkable, but then again, Miyeon didn't tell her not to. They walked through security like that and picked out drinks together from a terminal cafe before doing a circuit, fingers linked. The way Sana looks at her now - Miyeon sees - is how she's always looked at her. That is maybe, the whole point.

"Come here."

Sana's tone is smooth as silk, her mouth an inviting pucker, gloss-dewy and delicious. The bow is even tied at the back: Sana's collar is fitted snug. It sits tight at the base of her neck with the silvery cord loose across her shoulder, knotted down near the apex of her spine. It's simple, classic. All soft fabric and no frill, with an absence that invites eyes and wandering fingertips: she hasn't worn a bra. No strap lines. Her body has the sweetest outline and the warmest curves and god, the skin she's not showing is as good as what she is.

"So," you say out loud. It hits you: there's no cameras, no urgency. No obligations. "We came all the way here just so Sana could have sex, huh."

It's really always about the two of them.

"Good sex," Sana corrects. The table next to her catches the flat of her palm as she settles herself against the surface, one leg crossing in front. The slit in her dress rises in the movement: enough of a hint at the soft thigh underneath. You see her do this every once in a while and her body doesn't lie; this is an implicit act of seduction. But when she looks back up, her smile goes shy and her voice follows suit: "I promised our princess that we'd spoil her a little."

You say, "she's right there," at the same time Sana adds- "which is kind of impossible when she's still wearing her clothes."

Miyeon makes a big, showy production of crossing her arms in a huff. You could do anything; flip a switch; knock her flat against the wall, and Sana would hold her down with a hand at her throat and a kiss her like fire and gasoline on her tongue and no one would have a single word to say to complain.

You could have. Would have. But Miyeon finds her fingertips on the ridge of her clavicle, the barest swipe. She pulls at the top button of her shirt and the seam unlatches: a single reveal, a gradual, fluid movement in the dip and fall of a one inch gap. Just enough skin to make you and Sana swallow.

"Oh?" Miyeon grins. She stares at you with that coy smirk, biting her lip; an invitation for a kiss. For a fuck. You cross the gap, with every intention of making good on it; only, Sana slips in behind her - stops her midway in undoing the next button - and places a hand on the nape of Miyeon's neck, cool.

"She really can be a brat, can't she."

"Only because she gets rewarded for it," you admit, and as soon as Sana touches her, Miyeon is looking up with that same face she gives you when she gets on her knees, ready to be just your little pet, your desperate, whimpering thing.

Sana leans into her ear: "maybe because she knows she can't stop thinking about you bending her over, every chance she gets. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?"

They've always been like this, you think. Growing up with money and cars and ski vacations in the Alps: that sort of thing. It's been a long, slow, build-up and this was always the payoff. It is, without a doubt, just the slightest taste of luxury. Sana pushes, and Miyeon turns up to her mouth with a slow, dangerous whisper. "Isn't it kinder to say it as it is, instead of dancing around it for weeks-"

"For months," corrects Sana, and then sliding into a far more generous tone, "mouths, fingers- or his cock?"

"Maybe," Miyeon lifts her chin like she's readying to kiss, "all three."

Her voice drips - purses her lips, and you're there again: at that fateful exchange. Everything about Miyeon has the power to sink its claws deep. Those heels on her dainty little feet, the stockings climbing along her thighs. Everything.

"Miyeon." That comes out harsher than you'd have thought.

"What can I say? I'm not a patient person." She's got that wild, starry-eyed look to her. You could tame her. You could dominate her - your throat is so dry. The room has the faint scent of citrus, like lemon rind and verbena - a kind of lightheadedness settling over you all. "So, why don't you..." She's blushing, holding her arm up as she skims a finger down this slow path along your torso, finally hooking it into the top of your pants. And now, it's very, very clear she isn't wearing a bra either. "Make things a bit easier."

There's an entire lexicon of everything you'd like to do, so it's best, maybe, that you settle for: "Sana, be a doll."

"Anything," she says; she doesn't hesitate. You like the easy give.

And it's kind of amazing. All three of you together and, sure, the way her fingertips tighten, sliding under the curve of Miyeon's chin and then pulling the linen shirt down from the backs of her shoulders - this is a choice you can all agree on. One that pulls on the elastic band hugging the cut of Miyeon's waist, makes the material drag and ride up the front of her legs. Her belly. Sana has the gift of being able to kiss so perfectly on the back of someone's neck that you could easily forget she can get a little mean, too.

"What is it, baby." Sana asks; a challenge, not a question. "Come on, love. You know it's true. Why don't you let me show him how sweetly you moan with just a pair of fingers in your cunt."

"Please do."

"You're practically wet just saying it. You want it that much." Her voice goes thin, then deep again: a stark contrast. "Show him the mess you've made."

Miyeon's hand is in all the way in your pants; you feel hot. Like the room's air conditioning should've kicked on a lifetime ago - you're trying not to think too much on the way her slender fingers start to wrap themselves around the shape of your cock and your mouth falls open, because she can just - fuck - do that-

They turn to each other like mirror images over the slope of Miyeon’s shoulder, exchanging some secretive wordlessness in the privacy of their smiles and soft, muted laughter. Miyeon's on the toes of those pretty pumps to lean in, closer, further, and Sana lets her.

Which is exactly how it happens: Miyeon kissing you. And she really kisses you, sweet, delicate - and somehow all-consuming. It sets off this chain reaction, a wildfire of unbridled desire: that thread in Sana that can be almost violent, and one that Miyeon always manages to bring to the surface of her skin. Because now Miyeon's gripped and pinned, and Sana, bless her, pulls the fabric of her own dress up over her head until she's naked alongside her. Working towards a common goal. Here's two hands. Here's two more. They're helping you out of your shirt. It's pretty easy from there. You're all unraveling together, just falling apart - Sana and you, working in tandem to unclasp the pearl snap buttons trailing up and down the sides of Miyeon's sinfully short skirt, peeling back the cotton. Miyeon holds the swell of your cock tight in one hand, pumping, while Sana rakes her nails over Miyeon's breasts; both girls taking off the final scraps until every article of clothing is tossed to the floor.

And Miyeon here is simply unbelievable. Your hands are all over her. Her razor-fine waist, her thighs. Her lips. Those soft tits, and that cute mole above her nipple. Because even her imperfections deserve the same lavish attention.

You kiss her, and kiss her, and you can't help thinking how filthy it feels. This wet mouth and tongue, everything you could want in the slide of her mouth - just, messy-perfect and a bit sloppy; how her whimpers leak out in soft, a tight inhale. You cup the side of her jaw as your hips grind into her and a low, uneven sound escapes you. Sana's small fingers wrap her ribs to grip a breast, knead the supple curve and supply her thumb to the indent. It's really, so soft, and warm, and then wet: your precum dribbling over her knuckles, rolling down. Miyeon has her head tilted to let her jaw lean into your palm - she smiles, and laughs like it's nothing - like you're not there, towering over her lithe little frame. Like the head of your cock isn't brushing into her bottom rib under all the twists and jerks of her wrist.

"Your cock is so hard," Miyeon threads into a sigh, in that throaty, almost melodic voice. And then she laughs because she knows exactly what it’ll fucking do to her. "And fucking heavy. I thought I was going to get a real good look earlier in the airport," she confesses.

"Let me guess." Sana presses a kiss to her temple from behind; a lull in the scene. You fuck yourself gently into the curl of her fist. "You've been thinking about it this whole time. About getting him inside you. With that naughty little mind of yours running at a million miles an hour. God, that must've been such a tease, getting stuck with just the thought while we sat through lunch, and the flight-"

"Don’t forget right now-" Miyeon presses in. Her breath is hot against your neck. "While we're talking."

"Princess," Sana says into her ear, and it makes her tip her head - until she’s revealing the pale skin of her neck. God, yeah; maybe she really is nobility. "I'd be hard-pressed to leave you wanting. Your body's all wound up for us."

"She's fucking soaked," you confirm, like you aren't pointing out the most obvious thing in the room.

Miyeon bites her lip; you're gripping your shaft, urging her wrist to go faster. "This is the part where you turn me inside-out, no?" Miyeon is a walking fucking cliche and she knows it, smiling all slyly with her teeth. She says it so damn casually: "so why isn’t my pussy getting any attention, really. I wonder, I wonder-"

"Trust me, neither of us are interested in teasing," Sana assures her. "We're going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. And then we'll fuck you some more."

You push down hard on her collarbone, and in that same instant Sana drops her free hand below and runs the flats of her fingertips along the plane of Miyeon’s tummy - until Miyeon tilts her hips - everything else still, almost lazy. Her feet leave the floor and then come back down again. The momentum of the fall ends up being enough to jostle the three of you towards the nearest wall where Sana's back is kissing the cold drywall. And you're already there - pressed into both: Miyeon's palms flat against your chest as you haul her thighs around your waist.

Hoisted, lifted, cradled between you and your girlfriend - who by the way is inching two fingertips under the top of a lacy-banded thong, slipping beneath the white trim, to finally (oh, god) pull her hand away and slip it into Miyeon's parted mouth. "Look at you." A hum in her chest. "The most beautiful, perfect-"

(You push your cock into her, and hand to god, you swear Miyeon's voice breaks like a bottle over pavement.)

"And all for us- your slutty little pussy is already so wet- Miyeonie, we've barely even started.”

Just think. The code word system you've been employing for months - "We were actually thinking... if you're not doing anything else... what's the harm in the two of us getting more familiar with you." - has proved exceptionally reliable in getting Miyeon out of her clothes and into your lap, but here's where it all vanishes into thin air. Sana's mouth is hovering over Miyeon's shoulder; her body, caught between the two of you. And she's trading in on the implied permission to tell you more directly:

"She needs to cum all over that cock, babe. Fuck her pussy until she’s creaming, won't you."

"Right." You groan in tacit approval, hands holding firm onto the firm swell of her hips - that round little ass, the dimples you can feel the dip of, just under your thumbs. She's already thrown her arms up around the back of your neck when your cock slips inside her, to tug you in; this wordless begging: need, need, need.

It's not even a totally new sensation. Nor is it even the first you've ever been inside her, but god - Miyeon takes one deep breath, and on the second inhale, you sink another thick inch of your cock into her slippery slit: she's completely, gloriously bare, just this slick heat that only opens more and more and more. You draw back, thrust in, and there's this sopping sound, all wet press, into the soft muscle - you don't even remember pulling her panties to the side. But they're bunched into the crease of her thigh and that's rather convenient.

Her breath hitches as she slots down onto your shaft, again - in rhythm - like a total dream. "Fuck, that's so tight," she grates, her voice rough and gutted; something like, 'I cannot believe you feel this good.'

-and they groan in unison when you pick up speed. All of it. Together.

Because it's not just Miyeon's perfect cunt wrapping you up tight, squeezing and pulsing, even better on the backstroke - but it's the way Sana is catching your lips in the space over Miyeon’s shoulder. That you three can play each other with the promise that every last moan or gasp or the single, resounding thrill of pleasure will find a perfect partner: one for your mouth and one for Sana's fingers at Miyeon's collar bone, a tickle along her hip, pressing an insistent fingertip around and around in small circles, dipping into the give.

Her body's shaking so much through every push and pull. Fuck. She's so small - and you're the one filling her. Fucking her. Breaking her. Pressing two girls into the wall like you've earned the right. You're splitting Miyeon apart so that Sana can fill the spaces you leave empty and vice versa: and she's so, so desperate, the little noises she's making, "Please," like it hurts. "Fuck," like it's the best feeling. "Keep going, please, fuck- don't stop."

"See, baby? It feels better when you just give up, doesn't it?" Sana's got her fingers down further between Miyeon's thighs; you can see her swipe upwards. Hear the wet sound. She says, "there," into her ear. "Nice and slow, while he fucks that cunt, and I rub you like this, we want to keep making you feel good. So take what you need, hm. I don't hear you-"

"Oh my god," Miyeon moans. And she means it - feels herself dripping all over you. "I need it. I need it, I-"

"Come on, darling," Sana chuckles, soft and low in her ear.

"N-need," Miyeon chokes.

And what kind of idiot wouldn't take their palm off her breast, or undig their fingers from the round of her ass for even a second. It's having her in the palm of your hand. With one foot dangling against your thigh and the other tangled up above you, the stretch in Miyeon's body is entirely for the convenience of letting you fuck her to pieces.

"There it is," Sana is murmuring into your mouth again, and that’s a reward of its own, her wet, full kiss at the junction between Miyeon’s neck and shoulder as her thumb digs deeper into the curve of the girl’s thigh. You listen to Miyeon moan your own name, uttered like it was written by god and meant to form on her lips as it tumbles down through the ragged mess of pants and gasps.

“Fuck, baby-” You press harder. “Your pussy feels incredible- how you suck me right up like you're the good girl you love to pretend you are- like a perfect toy," you breathe, "-all nice and hot. Licking, swallowing around my cock, getting dicked out for my enjoyment-"

"Yeah, yes," she pants out, the total capitulation. "It feels so fucking good."

You feel the mindless, blissful roll. A rhythm in the give of her thighs as you slide home again and again. There's a clink from the bracelets on her wrists; her hair falling into her eyes; there's the sheer ecstasy written all over her pretty face when Sana reaches one hand to start drawing slow circles on her clit.

"You're just fucking me so god-damn-good." She’s breathless; you’re taking everything from her. The poise, the finesse, the dignity.

"Of course we are," Sana supplies, and it's fitting. You're both holding her up. You'll be the ones tearing her down.

Miyeon's arms tighten around the back of your head, arching, squeezing, and there's that feeling that always accompanies Miyeon: like she's completely melting you to her core and turning your brains into fucking mush. Everything from her tight little pussy to her breathtakingly pretty eyes to the way her spine flexes to meet the pitch of her voice - it's fucking ridiculous, that she's even real in the first place - let alone that your cock is buried so deep in her cunt you think you can hear her sob. Or that all five-foot-two of her is making these tiny desperate noises as you use the width of her hips to bounce her harder onto your cock.

Sana's long fingers slip and press - they're not touching anything except the swell of her pussy, just this ghostly brush of a light, almost chaste graze. It's enough: a touch like that, and fuck, another-

Miyeon cries out.

“I'm going to cum-"

"Say it again," Sana's whispering, "tell us what you need," and in a sort of coup-de-grace-style-of-climax, she bites at the skin over the top of Miyeon's jaw and slips a fingertip right onto her aching clit. Presses down. "You're such a fucking slut, Miyeon, such a gorgeous cocksleeve-"

"I-"

She's actually whimpering, the poor thing. Eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; everything is trembling, tense with release. You’re fucking her into a puddle of a person, and she’s holding her lip between her teeth like it might do a goddamn thing. It makes sense; the tightness, and wet and heat is what she knows.

"Go on," Sana answers her, and it's like her words slice the voice in Miyeon’s throat to shreds, "cum all over his cock. So. Fucking. Good, baby," a hard push through every syllable as her teeth snag into the shell of her ear. She rides the boundary of degradation and downright debasement because she knows that’s how Miyeon will absolutely cum for her. For you, for both of you. "Do what you're fucking made for, and just take it, pretty, lovely, you can’t live a second without having his fat cock and my fingers in you, can you? You look like a filthy little angel like this, I swear."

You’re both on the same page, telling her over and over - shh, shh, you take that cock so well, feel that cock fuck you apart, baby, and all you have to do is cum - only, you’re paying homage to the title: you call her princess. Sana takes the opposite approach. Tells her, "you want everyone to know, don't you, what a goddamn fucking slut you are. You filthy, dirty little thing-"

It works. They both work, and so does everything else.

Your blood has gone totally hot. Like molten lava. Boiling over and about to spill.

The last thing Miyeon says: "Oh god - I'll be good, I'll do anything, I'll be your slut - Sana - anything-"

And it's one of the best lines to ever leave her mouth.

"-for this beautiful cock and these fucking perfect fingers, shit - fuck! Right there, right there, right-fucking-there-"

You fuck deeper, harder. The orgasm ripping through her muscles lets you leave marks and bruises you’ll be coming back to all weekend. Miyeon's face falls against the crook of your neck, mouth pressed there - you can feel every gasping inhale, the open-mouthed warmth of her body. It's you that whispers a shudder, half-voweled - "Miyeon," and she’s already there, so ready - it's kind of crazy how everything about this girl works so intricately and precise, like her very design was to take you to the hilt and melt all over your cock, because Miyeon's response comes as a mind-blanking:

"You can," a muffled whine in her throat. "Do it. Cum inside me. I want to-"

Sana’s eyes flare like she can feel that cable snapping, too. How your mind is all white noise. The torque of blood rushing through your head. You're thrusting deep into her well-fucked cunt with all the strength you can muster, your hips stuttering in the follow-through. When you catch the smile in her lips - the curl in her lips like she knows you’re about to spill everything, like the perfect siren’s call- you hear Sana over her shoulder: "fuck her. Use her. I think she wants to feel it in her fucking stomach - you know, the whole reason we’re here-"

You cum inside her - there’s no question - filling her tight hole up. Shit. You actually cum all over her too.

In fact, you manage to drag yourself all the way out from Miyeon, the wet quivers and hot aftershocks, all so Sana can get a good visual of how you’re fucking ruining her: the loose rope of white that streaks up her tummy, splaying out beneath her breasts. The absolute debauchery; it’s even more pornographic when your fist pumps another splatter of cum right onto the swollen lips of her pussy. Miyeon moaning on impact.

Sana supplies her own soft gasp, scraping the air past her teeth, tension hanging in the silence - and then you bury the rest of your load back inside her cunt.

And here's a feeling that's going to stick with you for a while. Beyond the fireworks in your pulse - the shake-ripple that leaves you with nothing, no muscles, no brain matter - you slide your cock through her cunt again, and again - just to feel how your cum pushes back out. And she's watching, she’s letting you watch: how messy she's become. Her tits. Her sweat-dewed thighs. How every second seems to bring its own unique ache.

Really, you’re left only with a near mental blank. “God, Miyeon-”

You have just the barest capacity to consider the way Miyeon's trembling frame clings hard - pulling her ass cheeks down flush against your hips - your thick cock completely seated, stuffing her fucking cunt as she goes weak and submissive. You hold her there, suspended as your orgasm softens inside her and Sana hums along your lips, the soft coos spilling into Miyeon's ear: "what a messy, nasty girl. Princess needs to be full and leaking everywhere, doesn't she. How many creampies do you think you're going to ask for?” Sana laughs. “How many will ever be enough? I hope he gave you something worth begging for."

It's not really surprising how a feeling can hook its teeth into you when you're cumming like that. Subjugating the deepest reach of her sopping cunt to fulfill your own filthy fantasy.

And look: Miyeon is soaked - soaked and wrecked and pliant. You kiss her and kiss her, and Sana kisses you, kisses her too, all of it muddled up - and your mouths are a mess. Your hands go into her hair, onto her ass; there's cum down her thighs and all over the floor. The smell of you three: her slicked arousal and your sweat and Sana's expensive perfume.

Here, come come - Sana is a flurry of activity; she's helping Miyeon out of her second heel after you'd fucked the first one off her foot without bothering to get the strap unhooked. There's her careful proclamation of, "thank god the walls aren't paper," as you practically carry Miyeon to the edge of the sofa, this dreamy vision of messy hair and a royally-befit-blush. In the whole world, not once has Miyeon looked like anything less than nobility.

And now's no different, really.

You sink down onto the plush, tufted fabric - a chair whose shape might confuse you if Sana hadn’t told you earlier it was explicitly built for fucking, or whatever it is you're doing. She's smiling at you, settling her face right onto your shoulder and peering up.

"Sana," she says wistfully, but looks right at you. "My legs are still a noodly-mess. Could you turn on the jets in the tub?"

"And leave the two of you unsupervised?" She jokes. "Never."

Miyeon sticks out her lip. Pouts, almost: "it'd just be a second."

"She's only asking for a minute," you add in.

Sana rolls her eyes. "And since you've suddenly turned into two hopeless idiots, it can't be trusted. If I'm drawing a bath," a flick of the gaze, "the least you can do is join me. A chance to recover if nothing else."

Miyeon, being Miyeon, has already dropped her face down to your lap, curling up with your cock at her lips. When she gets her first, tantalizing, almost chaste little swipe at the tip, she smiles all impressed with herself. With those big brown eyes, her fingertips skating delicately along your stomach, and her dark lashes beating slow - all of Miyeon, right now, is on purpose, calculated. Precise.

Her voice is even worse: "she wants her own go first, don't you think?"

Sana watches where your fingers thread into the ends of Miyeon's silky hair, just the gentlest twist and tug. How you have her mouth ready and open, waiting; how Miyeon glances over for approval.

"Well," Sana turns a cheek, "he's already so worked up." Her dark eyes look towards you - a mock frown. "I don't know if we can convince him otherwise."

Miyeon's throat clicks - she's not choking yet, but left to her own devices, she will be. Her expression melts into an almost-gasp as your cock fills the empty space in her mouth. There's that plush little gag as she opens, lips wet. You rock your hips, and then you get to watch her nose kiss the trail leading up the smooth plane of your belly.

"I could go for a soak," you admit, with Miyeon drooling on your cock.

Because Sana's doing that thing where she turns around, has the smug look over her shoulder. Makes a slow, teasing movement that leads your eyes from her pretty face all the way down the cut of her back, until finally she's pushing the soft waves of her hair into one hand so that her ass is perfectly presented-

And jesus, sure: the sloping hips, the inviting lines - the sharp points and soft edges, where she is and isn't; her cupped fingers come up to her own chest, just to show off the heft of her tits, hanging heavy. Everything is sensually posed. You're only a little bit mesmerized. Her figure has always had the cut of a pinup model. Curves like a siren. Her waist to hip ratio is - oh-fucking-kay, maybe you could do it right now - bend her in half - get her fucking sobbing until you kiss her quiet and cum so deep in her cunt it's all she can think about for days-

You realize then you're pulling too hard on Miyeon’s hair.

Not meaning to, or maybe too eager.

Hey, you have a pretty girl sucking life back into your cock and one more giving you bedroom eyes from across the room all ready to sit on it; you never said you weren't trying your best.

"Careful, honey. I'm getting impatient." Sana's hand traces the wallpaper trim in the hall, a sweeping path; a vague reminder as she disappears down and around the corner. You hear the squeak of the faucet and then the sound of her light footsteps. And then it's just an echoey and unapologetic, "one day I might not let you have all the fun," followed by, "my goodness-"

Sana, appraising her reflection in all likelihood. All bright smiles

You turn back to find a second set of eyes staring back, full of hunger, as a wet, messy heat wraps around the base of your shaft and follows to the top with the flutter of her tongue - and then all the way to the back of that tempting throat. Miyeon's moving at the tempo you'd put her at. You appreciate that. But you lift her jaw and hold the side of her face so she's looking straight at you - and as soon as you pop yourself out from between her lips, you say, "you'll let me taste Sana, too, won't you, baby?"

(Miyeon's never been good at saying no - to anything. That doesn't change here in the slightest.)

The way you laugh is easy and sweet. You kiss the space over her temple. "We've always been in this together, Miyeon," a soft tease. "Go ask her nicely, and I bet she lets you clean me up," before adding, "maybe, after you lick all the cum out of my girlfriend's tight ass."

And Miyeon simply grins. The promise of that sloppy fucking mess. She's ruined herself time and time again over far less.

"Oh," she says, "you know how good I look with cum dripping down my chin.”

It's kind of impressive how shameless she can be. So fucking blase - what are friends for, anyway.

“Shall we?"

You scoop Miyeon right up into your arms and, upon standing, swing her little body around in front of you. And she knows that's the sort of thing she shouldn't enjoy: being manhandled, told what to do, having someone lift the choice off her shoulders like that - but that doesn't stop her from tangling herself up around your neck and tilting her hips back into you in that playful-fake, overly innocent-cute mien - where she says in this tiny whisper, "are we, you think?"

Your mouth lands on her ear, nips the softness there, "behave yourself, sweetheart."

And then a low, breathless laugh escapes her: "when's the last time that was even an option."

(For the record, the answer is never, and you're probably actually so fucked - it's kind of hilarious to look back at it, and think, because how could any two people who have spent as many weeks (months) as you, putting all the right pieces into the right places, get all the stars align at once? The idea that the three of you are hooking up and nobody's getting hurt, murdered or hung out to dry is statistically improbable; and the likelihood that anyone in this presidential suite will survive the weekend without breaking at least four limbs in various places is rapidly dropping with each passing hour. You've been taking the old adage and clutching it against your chest -

It can't be a sin, if it makes you happy.)

Past the door, the first thing you notice is that Sana's hair is all pinned up. Always pretty like that.

However it doesn't change the picture a whole lot. A few inches more bare skin isn't exactly a big difference when there's the whole, naked, porcelain expanse that spans the soft length of her shoulders, along her hips and waist, and runs to her feet. It's still kind of incredible. The hourglass shaped silhouette. All the natural curves finding relief in the right places. Model-esque, that sort of thing. And, yes: her tits, the absolute heaven-sent frame of her ass and those amazing legs.

It goes without saying.

She's there with her back arched, an arm perched on the granite of the counter. So relaxed. An elegance only afforded to the very lucky or the very rich. She lets her head fall back, the fine curve of her chin canting above a neck that you would've been biting kisses into just moments ago if she hadn't put herself in full profile to take your breath away.

"Show off," Miyeon mumbles, and then whispers to you, "sorry. My body can't do that, like-" she indicates - with a weird wobbly hand gesture, about the height of Sana's pelvis. "Whatever that is."

Sana tilts her head forward and meets the glance you give her reflection.

"Hmm," is her eloquent contribution to the airy room, woven into the pitter-patter of bathwater, lapping at the surface. "Now why am I left to wonder why there's no one making good on my requests, huh."

You cross the space; get close. And Miyeon stays curled up against you, doesn't let you slip away as you walk over, doesn't let go. She kisses the front of your shoulder, hums softly.

"My bad," You say. It's very believable. You sound a bit winded; kind of a wreck, but your sincerity shines through in that sort of 'I'll fuck it better' kind of way.

"Excuses, excuses." A dismissive shrug. "The water's perfect. But if you insist," and the sultry drop of Sana's eyelashes is deliberate, an invitation. Her breath is caught as your mouth finds the space between her neck and shoulder blade - the place where she's gone all pink, "I'd hardly pass up the chance for you both to eat my pussy first."

And look: it's not a lie, per se, but the natural instinct for Miyeon-logic is just to provide the justification, "the faster we get you a cumming, squirming, desperate mess-" her hand slips to cup the junction of her jaw and the crook of her throat. "-the sooner it'll be 'til he fucks me senseless again."

"We have a long way to go to get even, sweetie," argues Sana. "Last time, you were both pretty self-absorbed."

"We'd never ignore you on purpose," you whisper into the crook of her neck, and Sana turns to let you follow that deep, velvety mouth as the kiss flows across her lips. "You're absolutely necessary."

"Only by accident, then. That's a little bit worse," snarks Sana. The reprimand dies down into something soft as Miyeon lets her tongue trail flat over a nipple. She shudders.

"If I keep going, maybe you can forgive us?" You watch her eyelids flutter open, a haze of ecstasy passing behind her eyes. You keep an arm at her hip, wrap around and press flat until her whole flat tummy is pinned against your cock.

"Mmm," Sana hums. It's that sultry note she likes to let trail from the very end of her throat. "Ask me again after you get me off. But slowly: I want to savor every detail."

Miyeon traces kisses across Sana's rib until your girlfriend presses two wet fingers to her mouth. Easy.

"Then you should probably do something about her," you say, and - as if in agreement - Sana twists her hand into the cascades of her Miyeon's hair. You lean into her shoulder. She sighs; exhales, deeply, while her back is shimmying further backwards into the countertop.

"And you should help her make it up to me," Sana chimes, her voice clear and melodic, every inflection playing right at home in her vocal cords. "Two mouths are better than one, and I have so many other places you should be kissing."

Sana has a verifiable gravitas, for one, and when she's not hiding in plain sight behind the bubbly-bright act she likes to put on, it's nearly impossible not to fall in line behind her. This isn't to say you couldn't win her over either; it's a pretty small crowd here. But you choose one direction and watch her skin pink up and turn to red; you grab a wrist and it goes cold and white. Every last part of her is so damn expressive. The point is that she doesn't need you to make a fool out of yourself to know you're into her - or vice versa.

(Or. You're such a goddamn sucker, as Miyeon likes to remind you with a scoff, a little eye-roll, and then her hands on your belt. At least, before everything else: the knowing smirk, the dangerous suggestion).

You let your fingers find the backs of Sana's thighs as she spreads her knees apart, and there, you're reminded of the one thing. That of all the ways these two girls are identical, you've never found a comparison that really works. Not by any useful measure.

Miyeon has all the softer features: a bit dainty, the doe eyes and the lone dimple, like a doll with an aw-so-cute factor, whereas Sana is all sharp, clean angles; the sculpted muscle in her calves and thighs, the firmness and muscle underneath - which, yeah, definitely not the worst trade off. Don't get it confused, both girls crave your approval; both prefer when things get rough and sloppy. Describing either as anything but the most submissive holy-shit-take-me-now-I-need-you type, when put under the slightest pressure is laughable.

Not when Miyeon lets you use her like a toy. Or when Sana tells you exactly what you need to do to fuck a baby into her (hypothetically speaking; she gets a little silly and dumb around the edges whenever she's about to cum and her brain starts tripping over her tongue). Neither will hesitate when given the option of having your hand on the side of their throat, pinning their wrists to the headboard or the shower wall, fucking them until they go liquid and collapse in your arms, shivering, whimpering and begging, their pussies pulsing around your cock. In fact, there's really no hard or fast rule at all. But here, you recognize, is a great point of difference -

"Baby," you murmur into the inside of Sana's thigh. You leave a mark with your lips that you’ll come back to. "So. Fucking. Gorgeous-" right as Miyeon starts pressing her mouth against her cunt. "Aren't you, baby? The most beautiful girl. And all of this is just mine?"

Listen - the praise kink your girl has is actually pretty textbook: Sana wants to be called sweet, she wants to be complimented, rewarded, and all that good stuff; she wants you to talk to her the way everyone who sees a flash of her skin or a sway of her hips wants to - the best parts of adulation, arousal, love, without any of the side-eye of it being totally obscured in a crowded venue.

Direct.

To the point.

She wants to hear each and every you're sexy, you look hot, your ass drives me crazy. She wants it on the gruff in your voice, how it gets a little rough at the edges. Tell me you're mine. You make me so hard. This is just the very essence of who Sana is, and you have learned that you need to give as well as take: feed her a tiny ego boosting here and there, and she will completely throw herself at you in return.

Miyeon watches you run your tongue over her cunt like she’s taking notes, and it’s clear you’re more than prepared to give it all up to her. There's always been this veneration, this reverence for every inch of her, a pull towards her - her eyes, her mouth, her wrists, her long beautiful legs, the place where the skin of her thighs meets - you've always had this insane fascination with Sana, this need to know what she'd taste like or sound like. At any given moment.

"Oh," Sana pushes Miyeon closer, moaning. "Yours. So yours, baby."

The moment you both have your tongues working at her - tasting, the sweetness of her dripping down onto both of your faces, making you lick your lips and kiss each other so Sana gets to watch - Miyeon hums approvingly. Lets out this very performative, "isn't she just the best?"

And it isn’t that you can't find the right word - divine, wonderful, heaven, incredible, without any flaw - there just isn't much room to read into the fact that you and Miyeon are both sunk to your knees on the bathmat, kneeling in worship, in adoration - sucking on Sana's clit. The imagery sells itself.

"We'd never forget the important things," Miyeon continues, dreamily.

She's trading with you the folds of Sana's dripping pussy and the outline of her lips for her thigh. You pick up where she leaves off, and that earns you Sana's hand raking through the back of your hair, pressing you so close you can hear her heartbeat in her pulse; her blood burning through the very spot.

“That's how you make me feel, baby: so fucking good. Amazing." You taste it. You chase it. There is nothing like her cum filling your mouth. "Pretty. Mine. All mine."

“Yeah, okay - sure - that feels really fucking good.”

Sana's orgasms always start slow; a slight adjustment of her hips, the rub of one calf against the other, she's never been the quiet type but there's not quite the screaming or yelling just yet. Her jaw is set.

"You're, uh-," she adds, failing at anything else.

Miyeon tries for it. That edge of danger; not in pain or frustration, but, "there you go, sweetie: you sound so fucking pretty when you're worked up. Just tell us - the words, we need the words to make it good, baby."

"Fine," says Sana, tilting her head down, breathing deeply, and she makes a sound that's neither a whimper nor a laugh, but a crossroads of both. "Right there, oh my god, you are so fucking dangerous, holy shit. Oh, please. Please. You two- just, please, don't you dare- just a little bit - mmm. Why do you have to be so good at that?"

"Right?" Miyeon laughs out loud - like you're the one missing a vital point, like it's your fault your face is buried in her folds. “I used to think guys just didn’t like doing it. And then, well-"

And you drag your tongue flat and up over her pussy, right through that whole slicked up slit, your fingers still pumping in and out, and then you flick it just hard enough to-

"-yeah," she huffs, panting.

Miyeon presses her thumb into the mess of Sana's cunt, and it causes Sana's whole body to shudder apart - you lift your face to breathe, or to promise, "we can go for hours if you want, taking turns making you cum," before pressing into her again, and Sana's only got so much patience and stamina when you're two steps ahead of the curve, because her legs are practically going to wobble off her body.

"Poor, pretty baby," Miyeon murmurs against her, and she's talking like she’s taken all the control now. Operating in that cycle of push and pull.

And to her point: Sana is whining, gasping - every bit as hot and bothered and needy. She's whispering please and not giving up her requests.

"Fuck. Okay, sorry-” she apologizes. For some reason.

Your nose keeps getting bumped, her cunt is grinding down into your chin. That is fine. If it keeps on like this, your whole face will be soaking wet.

"I'm going to just- going to go ahead and cum, I think- so fucking. Yeah, keep on going just like, shit, please: my pussy is fucking throbbing."

This is the easy part, if you've read the rest right. If the hours and the minutes, and all the passing days: you know which direction the pieces are about to fall.

Sana arches her spine, rolls her hips into your face, and when you swirl your tongue all over the wet heat at her core, the sound she makes is music: low, throaty and delicate. Your mouth is attached to her clit still when you look up over the hand you have steadying each tremble in her diaphragm. And possibly as a sort of vengeful maneuver, Miyeon is shoving two fingers under your jaw and far enough into Sana's pussy that each curl of a knuckle is all that’s left to find Sana cumming right onto your mouth, your chin.

She wants to scream, to cry out, but her mouth joins her face, in that frozen expression of anguish, of an absolute that perfect pleasure.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Miyeon consoles, standing up, leaning in - close, really, impossibly close; she presses their foreheads together, murmuring against Sana's ear, whispering what-do-you-need, there you go. Baby, that was perfect. They each know the song and dance. They can shamelessly recite each other's lines. Miyeon slides an arm to the small of Sana's back, one across her shoulders, and Sana leans against her with this gorgeous look of a perfect, mind-numbing orgasm on her face, her eyes bright, her lashes fluttering - a sheen of sweat across her forehead; your stomach falls and bottoms out; you can't not be fucking attracted to these two. Miyeon smooths down her hair, reassuring her. Her hand reaches lower, wraps around her, pulls.

The bath is well filled at this point, water near overflowing, and Sana is equally fucking soaked. This storm of wet and hot beneath your lips. You clean her off with the broad stroke of your tongue and don't spill a drop, because the noise she's making - it sounds like rapture, ecstasy. She's half-delirious, panting, with her hands gripping the sides of your head.

"Where," she gasps, trying her damnedest. You have the best girls in the world, you really fucking do. Miyeon rubs the heel of her palm against the soaked, red hood of her cunt. Sana lets out a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan; the arch of her hips chasing Miyeon's touch; "you, are you two - god damn, if I hadn't already-"

"Shhh. My poor girl. You're not thinking about his cock just yet," and those are Miyeon's slender fingers coaxing your jaw free from Sana's cunt, prying her free from you so she can sit alone at her throne. "They always keep lube in these kind of places," Miyeon reaches into a drawer, fumbling about. It takes a moment for it to register that she's actually talking to you. "It usually looks like some body oil, you know the nice massage kind, in these tiny bottles. Help me look, will you?"

It does not take long - hotel management understands what these rooms are for. The scandal and the romance and everything in between. Because Miyeon finds what she’s looking for in the next drawer down: a sample-sized container of massage oil, something slippery and organic. It smells vaguely of lavender.

"Look at me," Miyeon tells you, and Sana is absolutely listening along too. It's all very seamless: Sana and then Miyeon. All the synchronized parts. Their signals have some sort of feedback even if you're not always actively aware of the things they pass back and forth.

Miyeon guides Sana onto her shaky legs, turns her toward you - So you swallow, hard, and run your thumbs into the crease of her ass - you're kneeling, still, still totally naked and wet all around the jaw. "Eat her ass, and I'll keep her cumming until she can't feel anything else."

You shift your weight and run a kiss along the tender skin at the back of Sana’s thigh. The contact has her bracing a hand on the counter for support.

“And then-” Miyeon says, with a gleam in her eyes like she knows what the fuck she wants. She slides back down to the floor until Sana is pinned between a rock and a hard place. Her two favorite people in the world: namely, your hands gripping Sana's hips, and Miyeon's tongue all over the aching little clit you'd just had your mouth wrapped around moments ago.

"And then?" you provide, hovering a kiss onto the beautiful round of Sana's ass. Her fucking cheek. You have to slap it. Just a little. And when you watch it ripple back and forth with your handprint there, a spot of pink already blooming, well, she has to be giving you a sultry look that demands to know when it is exactly that you are going to stick your cock inside of her, and it is absolutely just impossible to look anywhere else.

"And then," Miyeon supplies, "we're going get that beautiful cock in her ass so you can fuck her brains to mush."

"Thanks I guess, for the explicit permission," you scoff, and here you drop your lips, trail them into the crack of Sana's ass, up and down, teasing the taut stretch of her hole with the tip of your tongue.

"Someone has to take responsibility for-," she pulls on Sana's leg and stretches it forward, repositions her ever so slightly. She sucks Sana's clit into her mouth with an exaggerated sort of satisfaction.

You wait for Miyeon to continue, and then realize with the unshakeable notion: she isn't going to, because it's too damn much trouble. There is no reason to pull apart the premise and not the girl straddled between your faces. The only option is to follow her lead, and to worship Sana. To trace every crevice of her, lick between her ass and the sensitive, clenching heat of her pussy.

"Can we, like, take a timeout-" Sana's mouth is slurring into the skin of her forearm. Her upper thighs are quaking, quivering as you sink your teeth in. Her head's gone all heavy as a slutty little moan rings out and straight down her lungs.

And maybe the realization is setting in. You and Miyeon are going to fuck her until you all can't think - until you're nothing but primal urges, nothing but bodies with beating, pounding hearts; and every thought in Sana's head will be to the two of you; to Miyeon, whose hand finds the front of Sana's stomach and guides her pelvis into rolling forward and grinding into her mouth, to you, with your tongue lathering and lapping at her asshole, and running your hands around her hips until her whole body's shaking, "oh fuck, my god-"

(The writing is on the wall. You and Miyeon are going to fuck her until none of you know where you end, where the other begins.)

Sana tries again, and the question ends in a deep, rumbling, "don't you want, Miyeon, wouldn't you rather just really, fucking love, having his thick cock stretch you apart," - she swallows - and when she glances behind her back and finds you watching her, there is just pure, unadulterated arousal burning through her eyelashes, over the flare of her ass.

You catch the fucking bow of her lower lip wobbling as she adds, a little more pointed and a lot more determined, "when you're, fuck, begging and screaming for his load? To be his cumdump, his little bitch," it's like she's got her heart set, and her mouth can't stop moving fast enough, and "to do whatever he wants just because it makes you look and feel so damn hot?"

You can hear Miyeon's mouth smacking with the way it works, the way she is swallowing, gasping. You can hear the sound she makes when her mouth goes loose, and says, agreeing, "you're going to love it Sana, every god-damn-inch, you always do" and Sana is falling apart again into your grip, moaning, and then "it's so much better. All the stretch, that tightness. But she needs your fingers first.

You can hear Sana gasping too, dripping a mess into the place where her pussy and ass meet. Miyeon licks a wide strip from her core all the way up and kisses it. Lick. Kiss, lick - her hands pulling Sana closer by the hip - kiss, kiss, lick - pulling her mouth around your girl's clit. So close to the place in Sana's bubbly cheeks, where your mouth supplies long sucks and soft kisses - so close you can practically taste the scented flavor in Miyeon's lip gloss.

"I can't- shit. Hold on, guys," Sana whispers. It's her nails scraping against the granite. "You need to-" and then the loud, dull thwap of her knee knocking into the cabinet.

She's cumming again - this time, loud and guttural, but another really beautiful sound - her cunt pulsing hard into nothing while the air hangs in limbo, Miyeon's tongue circling her clit, your palms around Sana's beautiful, round ass. You're half convinced they'd be fine with being locked away in some tower. Forget the world and its obligations. Or, rather: let the world stop spinning; leave only this.

There is not much talking from then on.

Mostly whining, whimpers and pleas to: not stop, yes, there, yes, please, fuck, and Miyeon wraps her fingers around you - almost the same thing she did when you were pumping your cum into her quivering cunt earlier, asking, please, may I-?

Sana bends herself over the counter, like something instinctual. The perfect bend and arch in her spine, the bow of her knees and the press of her thighs. Inviting, pleading. You can feel the tingle, the stiff tension in the muscles, when you reach out and lift her ass; it gives so easily to your touch. Your palm, her cheeks. There's a beautiful flush as the pink starts to run, fade, and reappear along her back, and - fuck, okay, seriously-

Miyeon's there, kneeling next to you: stroking her fingers up your length. She’s kissing you too. It’s hard to think.

But the sound of the cap coming off the bottle comes like an alarm clock, pulling you out of a dream.

Miyeon sits on her heels, smiling into the press of your lips as the bottle she procured tips out. Clear, viscous and smooth into her palm. When it becomes a lot of dripping; she swirls it against your cock - her knuckles wrapped around you, running and twisting into every curve, sliding her whole grip with long, calculated strokes.

"I don't think she's in any condition to keep a tally," Miyeon announces, "so, why don't you decide?"

"Meaning?" you're panting; your brain keeps working to formulate complete thoughts.

"Meaning," she slips her tongue against yours, slides her teeth and draws into your lower lip, "you should totally pound her gorgeously tight little ass" - another kiss, mostly on your lower lip; almost a bite - "and then you should dump that massive load of yours" - a shudder rolls through her shoulder and leaves a whisper in her wake - "right inside mine."

There are about eight thousand words in the English language but what you say is, "fuck."

Because she's right: Sana is blathering the moment you stand up and let your hands reach around, grab hold of her full, rounded hips. She’s not in any state to protest or complain about matters of equality or correspondence. Her lips and tongue are barely even fit to say anything but yes-yes-please-anything, oh god.

Which, okay, whatever: of course, whatever the fuck she needs - whatever they need - you pull at her hips until it's there, your cock sandwiched between those full, warm ass-cheeks, the perfect amount of pressure to get you so fucking hot, and Sana's not shy about rolling her hips to keep you pressed to the surface, rocking into your balls until her cunt's making slick, wet, hungry noises and she's just one endless, groaning moan.

"Love feeling your cock," Sana mutters; and there is a, "please, fuck me, baby- please?" thrown in for good measure.

"Please do, you're like - you're like ridiculously gifted," Miyeon adds, always the right touch of caustic.

"-please."

Sana's eloquence is short lived, because the second you give her ass a squeeze and Miyeon presses her thumb against Sana's cunt, her voice catches on her throat.

She sounds perfectly winded, completely out of breath, a tiny, sexed-up growl running through the notes as she speaks to her reflection in the mirror. Miyeon laughs. She can hardly get her own shit together when you lean up and grab a breast in hand, or start leaving slow-but-steady bite marks along the back of her shoulder blades; like it's all-too funny when you pin Sana to the counter until she starts to beg in that please, please, please tone: when every syllable and gasp is hitched and short.

"She doesn't want gentle," Miyeon tuts, finding her place next to Sana, holding her chin in her hands and catching the expression on her face. She presses a thumb into Sana's mouth for no reason other than: they're so soft. Wet. Pink and full, parted around her fingertip. "Isn't that right, baby?"

Your gaze follows their hips, swaying. And from this angle: identical. The hair, the jawline, the arch of the throat and shoulders, the elegant twist and fold of their limbs, the eyes, the blush, the smile, and the legs. They don't have to look exactly the same: their presence is near identical - Miyeon's the cuter one, sure. It's been established, but fuck, the look on Sana's face as you spread her asshole with just a finger is fucking dangerous. You're going to lose your mind. Both the flat tummies and the beautiful breasts and their matching hard nipples - and the fucking two best asses the world has ever seen. A line up over the counter: Miyeon and Sana, side by side; their reflections looking at you in tandem, wearing these same expressions. The eyes begging, asking and insisting, the pouting lower-lip and the glassy sheen of their eyelashes.

You tell them: "how am I supposed to" - you run the thick-glistening head of your cock along the pucker of Sana’s tight ass, grind your hips into the friction - "focus when you two look at me like that?”

"Um, just give up," says Miyeon, grinning; and then, when your jaw snaps closed and there's the obvious shift of your hips as your length strains through your body's need and pulls you closer to that incredible, tight, dark hole: "god, there you go. That is so fucking hot."

So, it's just like this:

They watch each other. The mirror is right there; every want, every motion.

And then, yeah, a low and throaty, "is that it?" - Sana nods into Miyeon's hand and smiles, with just the slightest hint of something that could resemble a blush - "why we always come back to him? Because, really-"

"Mmm." Sana hums agreement, dazed and drunk in her words, the slow breath of air you push out of her chest as your cock starts to sink in; the deeper the intrusion, the lower your names become - just murmurs and sighs and sounds: "god, yes, god-"

Her pussy starts to drip onto the tiles, her slick collecting at Miyeon's knees as Sana takes you all the way: and you hold, once you're all the way in; once that gorgeous little puckered rim has stretched around your entire width; there's just the smell of the room; lavender and rose and citrus - Sana's endless arousal - and you hold, and hold on tight - and your muscles shiver as Sana draws the first rocking motion of her hips.

The smallest, lightest grind.

"Jesus fucking christ," you curse, because the heat around your cock is excruciatingly tight. A slow-burning, tingling-aching pleasure as the flesh inside Sana's ass moves up and down the length, drawing out inch by inch of skin - until your entire cock is nearly pulled out.

You're the one that drives all the way back in.

Sana gasps. She runs her hand through her hair. She tries her damndest to remember what words are, clearly coming up empty.

"Baby." Miyeon is kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips, and coos praises in her ear. She sinks her fingers into the curve of Sana's immaculate ass, pulling on the soft cheek, showing-

You are speechless. It's just: that next stroke. And another. Your cock slipping in and out with each pass, so easy once Sana sighs, licks her lips and leans into your rhythm, there, all at once and then faster. And she looks in the mirror, because of course; of course she watches Miyeon run her hand all over her front, the perfect tits and a pretty stomach - your thrusting keeps up until every thrust has her hips rolling forward and snapping back, chasing her own momentum; chasing that thick, hard, stretch of cock and that beautiful pleasure-pain as the force and pace rocks her, pounds her so her entire body has to curl against Miyeon's chest for support, so that she's going a little weak in the knees.

"How is he?" Miyeon's tone gets wicked in these situations, a lot less innocent. She gets excited, giddy. "Pretty, handsome, stupidly attractive," her voice picks up a playful lilt, and she gets you grinning - it's only the start. "And he's all yours. But how's the cock, huh? He's gaping your ass so pretty. Your hole is so fucking open around him. It looks incredible, doesn't it?"

Sana reaches for the side of her ass, presses her fingertips to her skin: pulls and splits a fingernail into the tender flesh where her ass and thigh meet - right above her cunt. You snap your hips into hers and watch your cock disappear. Every motion gives, slurps and sucks until you're hilted inside her.

"Feels, mmmm - fuck." Her chest is fluttering, every part of her so fucking flushed, her blood running beneath the surface so every single inch of her skin is saturated with her own need, her want.

"Feels so good," you growl, your vision gone dark around the edges. Miyeon's there, vaguely, smirking into Sana's jaw, licking at the sweat, scraping her teeth along the skin to bite down, pull- "she's so fucking tight. Gripping the hell out of my cock. Like, it feels unbelievable, you know."

"Babe," she cries, though you give her no respite - you use that little sliver of slack and pull out far enough that she'll know it when your cock is hammering into her ass, a little more aggressive, and you start with quick, hard pumps that echo throughout the room - not for your pleasure or hers: just to hear it, listen, you're driving up so far into that perfect, gorgeous ass that it sends her tits rocking and rolling with every bounce of her chest; her moans, her babbling incoherence, are, again - it's like a drug - and Miyeon's smiling. And also, getting herself off.

"So pretty," Miyeon says into her temple, "with his cock fucking open your ass." And she has her fingers swirling, swirling, in little patterns around her cunt, grazing over a wet clit, like the way you're pounding Sana's ass and dismantling her whole consciousness is absolutely the most arousing thing ever, like Miyeon could stay and watch forever, like Sana's the most beautiful person in the world, and Miyeon would be right here with her every second - whispering praise in her ears - "god, babe, if I could, I would never pull his cock out. You take him so well, don't you? You're just made for it. He could stretch you out over and over and we could, you know - be fucked silly - no thinking - for, like, forever. All day long."

Sana's fingers claw, gripping at the bowl of the sink, while Miyeon has her hand glued to her clit, playing herself.

Miyeon doesn't wait - but she asks anyway - and of course: she's leaning up, in, nuzzling Sana and saying: "yes?"

"So," is all Sana gets out before gasping, because the sight, it's too much to not let yourself feel a little power drunk, and there is a sudden thrust that practically turns the poor girl's voice into a croak. "Yes. Fuck - fuck-"

You don't really have any clue where this is coming from but: "Miyeon, here, take this cock. Come get what's yours you fucking cocktease," and, whatever - who needs thoughts? Your girlfriend's already bent over the bathroom counter, your fingers holding the smooth curves of her ass apart, her beautiful body opened all up and pink.

Miyeon ruffles her hair as she finds the perfect angle, knees knocked up against the drawers, and she's got more oil spread onto her own puckered rim.

You know your girls: Sana is desperate for your cock, Miyeon lives to be used.

"I love how fucking cock-drunk she gets," Miyeon laughs, and then - the moment you've shifted from one gorgeous hole to the other - her mouth slackens, her eyelashes flutter: "shit. Holy - didn't really realize- oh wow."

"Kinda distracting?" you tease, knowing full well you're just going to lose your own words; watching a gorgeous ass swallow your cock; being told to keep giving and take, just as much: the warmth in your own core, your cunt, clenching hard - an aching pulse - the excitement coursing through your veins and this, this whole sensation of being connected: your bodies, all-encompassing and present, three whole units, joining at the hips, being forced back together-

"-you feel fucking, so tight. That's how the fucking joke goes, right?" Miyeon manages: to talk, still, even with a cock in her ass and your teeth and tongue painting pretty marks up the ridges of her spine.

Sana is catching her breath, brushing her fingers through her hair staring wistfully.

"Gives you two so much to talk about."

"Now don't even start- I really like it, alright."

Sana gives her ass the worst slap but your balls hit her cunt on the following thrust. Miyeon's so fucking tight you can barely breath. And her laughter tinkers off into a very pretty string of obscene moans from the way your cock spears into her, all at once: the flat, wet, throbbing sounds of a tight ass taking a thick cock without stopping, stretching and sliding with an increasing ease the longer it goes on for, until you're snapping your hips so far forward they're slapping Miyeon's ass and gripping, squeezing the round shape of her waist; until the movements are just you, the heavy weight of your balls against the hot wet skin between her legs.

And god damn it, she's got to start with:

"Forgot how much you stretch me, Jesus - baby, it is a really gorgeous cock you've got," - and that is when it hits, and her hands fist up, trying to grab at something, anything: "oh my god."

"You are such a whore," Sana laughs, but not unkind, because Miyeon can only grin in response, with your cock pounding out into the red-hot, clenched walls of her asshole. And then: a nice, hearty sigh.

You find yourself asking, almost by impulse, "isn't she, uh, tight. God."

And, fuck: you were thinking how insane it is you two ever managed without the third party. How now, not fucking Sana and Miyeon's glorious, matching asses side-by-side would drive you fucking crazy, and maybe that's why it's really the best news. How when your cock slips out of one ass, and slowly nuzzles into the other - how when you all three watch the pretty faces in the mirror twist and turn into a look of such pure fucking bliss - you just sort of-

"Oh."

That's Sana: with Miyeon pressed chest-first over the marble counter, Miyeon's cheek and nose flush against her face, their arms twisted, bodies crossed at the wrist and wrist - their skin shiny-red with exertion. They're the closest possible position: mirror images of the other, and - with the slightest push -

And it's pretty. It's fucking, you know.

"Perfect," you groan. "This is it. Look at you, the both of you - god - it's like. It's not normal to be as beautiful as the two of you are. Right. So, you know-"

"Hey," Sana is a little faster on the uptake when you're fucking Miyeon and her ass within an inch of dying, "your face. You look like you're close, are you close baby?"

The blood's starting to sing in your ears. Miyeon's forehead keeps bouncing into Sana's - their sweat, mixing, her skin peppered and blotchy pink from where she's gotten a little bit lost in her own head, her hips moving of their own accord, her body tensing, relaxing. You can read all of her movements, recognize her signals: the way she moans louder than usual, the way her cunt trembles against you, the way her ass squeezes, holds, lets go-

You pull out. Just to keep yourself from blowing, just to pull on your balls, to look and watch the perfect view. And Sana reaches back - a warm hand wrapped around you.

You feel her palm wrap around your cock, coaxing another serving of oil - like she knows just how rough it's going to be to start again.

"Just," she pants, leaning into Miyeon so you have to rut around to find your way back, "until the end."

There's something so pleasantly mind-numbing about the moment when you ease your cock into the sweet-soft ring of muscles again and she's just stretching and pulsing and grabbing all around you. The way you keep going: she's holding herself, giving her asshole a squeeze, a stretch - her lips kiss a sound onto the side of Miyeon's shoulder and she nods, gasps, breathes out heavy and pained, like the rest: a total fucking rush.

You watch Miyeon lean further, a beautiful shift of balance between the two. Her hands clamp around the sides of Sana's thighs for support, and the longer you pound into her, the deeper your cock sinks, the closer the pressure becomes as their heads turn in, looking to the same place, their foreheads knocking, and-

"Knees," you growl. You're holding your cock in your first - demanding: "Get on your fucking knees."

Sana smiles first. Then Miyeon. And when the lipstick smears against their cheeks, you don't have it in you anymore to think clearly. The line between your imagination and your fantasy is so blurred: you want their mouths moaning into eachother. You want Miyeon to clean the taste from Sana's lips. You want those cunts grinding, their clits making contact, and for one of them - fuck-

So: "I need the both of you."

And it's your name falling off of Sana's tongue when the tops of her shins hit the tile floor - she's kneeling, she's pulling Miyeon by her waist until the three of you have converged into this beautiful, glistening, open-mouthed trio. Sana kisses Miyeon hard while you cum all over the image: the contrast of their soft, wet, hot tongues against one another while your harsh grip pumps along your slick, throbbing length. It feels like a knot unraveling, a tension snapping loose, your cum landing on their cheekbones, their temples, between their lips - It's a long, slow roll through the valley of your abs - Miyeon licking into Sana's panting mouth and swiping through the streak of white you just pumped out into her fucking hair; the messy collision of lips, swallows, tongues; the faint, slow sounds, the slickness-

"Look," she breathes. You can hear the way their words hitch when their fingers hook eachother, guiding through the mess across their skin, dipping through the sticky cum, circling the plush pout of their bottom lips; and it's Sana that grabs Miyeon by the wrist, bringing her hand forward; sucking, running her mouth in a lazy path all across the width, "that's all, fuck, I need to. Wanna taste all of it."

You just groan.

Miyeon is slumped into the lacework of Sana's limbs, swapping the tastes between her tongue and the space of their breath; while her own thumb caresses the raw, stretched opening of her ass. Sana whispers things, incoherencies, into Miyeon's hair: kisses at her temple, strokes the muscles of Miyeon's back. Feeling how they shiver, they heave, they fall - exhausted and flushed in the heat of one-another's embrace. She licks the words across Miyeon's cheek and follows with her nose trailing Miyeon's jaw, and your cum's smearing a streak onto Miyeon's bottom lip, before their tongues have tangled themselves into another messy, well-fucked kind of collision.

"Good girls," you mumble, kissing Miyeon's knuckles, and helping Sana to her feet.

Your legs are a lot less shaky than either the two of theirs, but it's okay, you pick Miyeon up and set her on the sink; and then turn on the tap for the both of them, since they'd need a wash and some salve.

"Now, what?" says Sana. She's smiling; a washcloth at the ready; some dribble of soap from the bottle.

Miyeon gives her a smirk from over her shoulder, turning away just enough to flip her hair; the ends brush across her jaw. It's a cute little quirk of the eyebrow; the upward twinge to the corner of the lip; it's a motion that knows every muscle, every detail.

"Depends," says Miyeon, sharpening up her tone just the littlest bit, "the bath looks like a tight fit for all three of us but," and there it is - the mischievous glint; the curve in her hips, her mouth, and, of course - you notice the way her eyes drop to the stiffness of your cock. The way her voice purrs, all light, but a lot more intent: "Did you see the shower? It's absolutely gigantic."

"I saw the detachable head," Sana throws out. A teasing little comment, one you remember - that sends a pretty deep shudder down your stomach and thighs. Your cock twitches, hard and - okay, good thing Miyeon booked the room for a week and then some. The view is pretty great: watching your cock get rock-solid in under five seconds. Watching them kiss the same knowing look, sharing the private joke. Watching their hips swing, watching them slide the glass door: Miyeon in front and Sana from behind.

It's in unison that they both turn over their shoulder and ask, "won't you help us test it out?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right there." You shake your head, "so thirsty," even though, you know you're equally to blame.

It's that tiny whisper of "don't look at me like you don't have cum in weird places either, hm?" that Sana gives you, while Miyeon is washing her hair, rubbing and sliding along the locks. "I'll help you with the spots that are hard to reach, come here."

It's that little, meaningful, mischievous curl in Miyeon's lip when the water's pouring, and your breath falls across her skin. The way her hands reach out for you, even when Sana takes her chin and plants a firm, messy kiss across her mouth. It's the same gesture Miyeon's making, using Sana's forearm for support. How she runs the palm of her other hand along the back of Sana's thighs, slipping and pressing forward to guide, nudge. She pulls Sana onto her toes, aligning their bodies. It's in the little laughs they share, the wet smacks of lips, the soft little hums they make when tongues slip over, into the open.

It's here too, that you first ever get them confused, just a momentary slip up of "Sana, could you grab the towel-" or some equivalent, when you glance away at the perfect wrong moment and you're left just a little puzzled, still mostly entranced by the sight of the steam on the glass and their fingertips drawing patterns into it as they lean in for another kiss, or a moan-

"Oh," Miyeon says, delighted, "I'm supposed to be her, right?"

They're fucking-

Sana is less enthused. "Stop. I do not. Am not."

- identical.

"Look, I didn't mean-"

Miyeon laughs to cut you off and skips the argument. She winks, and somehow that makes it worse.

It's there too, the look of regret when your fingertips curl into the skin of her breast, your thumbs a tease against the rigid nubs of her nipples and the texture of her pretty stomach. They don't realize how much you really love their matching expressions. So, they don't mind the mixup, and besides: you just follow Sana's guiding hands and let your lips ghost-kiss, so gently across Miyeon's thigh. It's impossible to imagine a version that isn't one and the other, the two of them, here, with you: sharing kisses, offering the gentlest, slowest exploration, teasing and tugging a gasp of a response.

"Hey," Miyeon muses, "does that mean you'll keep your cock warm in me once we go to bed and feed me a steady stream of ice cubes between all the sessions, mm?"

Sana raises her head in faux offense and drops back into the comfort of Miyeon's thighs. "Jeez-us christ," Sana huffs; "one day with him and she thinks she's me. Have mercy."

"She isn't?" you ask.

Sana sighs. "Um. Not even close."

Miyeon beams at the both of you. She even runs her fingers through Sana's hair, doting - affectionate. "She'll come around to the idea eventually, don't worry. Until then I'm more than happy to take on the role. It can't be that hard, yeah? Just to be all - naughty-sexy-sweet-oh, look, a surprise, i’m actually ready to get fucked six ways to sunday-"

-you get an eyeful of whatever they are doing, this time just, fucking-

Sana only says, "it'll have to take an exceptional amount of patience on both your parts."

-gorgeous, lewd, completely fucking filthy.

"I got a lot, babe."

The second Sana opens her mouth, it's followed with: "pfffht."

It's just, who wouldn't give them whatever they want? Whatever they ask? There's a list out there: no doubt the both of them, gagging. Throat-deep. In their little skirts. Panties. Naked and straddled, just, across their hands. One, maybe. Or both all the same, or still a different preference. One behind the other and taking turns. Something - and this is important, here:

"Look," they say, eyes wide up at you and blinking - on the same fucking beat no less, "you can trust us, okay?"

(Gentleman and distinguished scholars: the list, by the way, only ever gets longer.)

#sana smut #miyeon smut #twice smut #gidle smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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freedomfireflies · 7 months

Text

A-Mazing*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you and Harry find yourselves lost in a corn maze together.

Word Count: 7.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, size kink, Daddy kink, enemies dynamic, Harry being a little bitch 🫶

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Harry smirks as he turns to you, hands sliding into his hoodie pocket. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m serious, I’m not getting stuck with you,” you argue, glancing toward the rest of the group that’s already heading inside the corn maze. “Seriously, please. Anybody else. I will take literally anybody else.”

“Well, you don’t get anybody else,” Harry snorts, much too smug for your liking. “You were late.”

“Yeah, and I was late because I was fixing your mistake,” you remind him. “It took me three hours to recode that sequence. And I’m still not finished—"

“Right, because it wasn’t a fucking mistake, Princess. The way I designed it was going to help it run three times more efficiently than the way Prescott suggested. And you just fucking undid it—"

“You weren’t asked to make it more efficient. You were told to do it the way the client wanted—”

“Well, the way the client wanted it was slow and stupid—”

“And you would be the authority on slow and stupid.”

Harry’s eyes narrow while his lips press into a thin line, looking quite incensed. “Very mature. Are we going in or what?”

“Fine,” you agree through a heavy exhale, shoving past him to head toward the entrance.

You have no idea why you even agreed to come in the first place. Sure, the idea of getting a few coworkers together for some fall fun was sweet, but truth be told, you don’t really care about any of these people outside of the office. You don’t care to see them, or get to know them, or hang out with them.

And the one person you do know happens to also be the one person you can’t stand.

Corn mazes are fun. Even pairing up to do them together is kind of exciting.

But with him? You’d rather get lost.

“All right, here’s your map,” the kind, older woman at the table says, handing you a piece of paper. “Answer the questions at each fork and follow the path according to your answer.”

You nod your understanding and offer a quick thank you before slipping past the tent and toward the beginning of the maze. The setting sun casts shadows across the field as you both make your way through the stocks.

You feel a sense of adventure as you make your way to the first checkpoint. Taking in the lingering scent of kettle corn somewhere off in the distance, and the excited chatter of the other people inside the maze. It’s exhilarating, and you feel a sense of purpose as you stride forward. Spurred on by a need to win – to do better than him.

And you hear Harry subtly huff from somewhere behind you, clearly annoyed with the way you’ve left him behind. “Real fucking mature,” he scoffs, and you can practically hear his eyes roll. “We’re supposed to be a team, Tinkerbell. You know, work together.”

“Well, I don’t want to be on a team with you,” you retort. “And we’ve never worked well together. As is evident by your complete lack of common sense and understanding of the system we’re trying to design.”

“Oh, this shit again—"

“Yes, this shit again. You’re costing us time and money by trying to prove you’re so much better than everyone else—”

“Well, I can’t exactly help it if I am, now, can I?”

You feel your expression fall as you spin on your heel to face him. “You’re fucking annoying, is what you are. It’s not my job to clean up after you. Okay, I’m not your mother, I’m not your babysitter. I am your equal. And it’s about fucking time you start treating me like it.”

Even in the dark, murky space, you can see a certain glimmer in his eye. One that challenges the frown on his face.

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for a response. “Careful what you wish for, Princess.”

With that, he shoves past you and forges ahead into the maze. Leaving you to stare at his back with a glower.

You’re both silent as you approach the first fork, offering nothing more than looks of indignation and huffs of apathy as you raise your map and scan the question.

“What does WWW stand for in a website browser?” you read aloud before snorting. “World Wide Web. C.”

An easy question. You both know the answer, and there's no way he can argue with you.

So, instead, he says nothing. Merely glancing over the paper almost skeptically before heading toward the third row.

Pocketing the trivia questions, you chase after him. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? The silent treatment?”

Harry’s back stays to you as he slips between the stocks. “I’m not giving you the fucking silent treatment; I’m not twelve.”

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Because you’re a fucking brat.”

The vicious way he sneers the word sends a certain reaction down your spine, but you brush it away just as quickly as it appeared. “I thought I was your teammate.”

“You said it yourself, we’re not a team,” he retorts. “You’re not my babysitter, and you’re not my mother. Unless what you were really trying to say is that you want me to call you Mommy.”

You feel yourself hesitate, confused, and slightly startled by the suggestion. “Ew. Why would I want that?”

You see his shoulder lift and fall in a shrug. “I don’t know. You’ve always been a kinky little thing. Maybe it gets you off.”

“Oh, fuck you, I don’t have a mommy kink. Especially not with you.”

“Fine, a daddy kink then. Don’t think I forgot how eager you were to say it last time—”

“That was for you,” you hiss, once again glaring at his hooded back. “Okay, I was trying to see if you liked it, and you did—”

“Of course I did. It’s hot.”

“Sure, yeah. But I’m the kinky one?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I’m just saying, if you want me to call you mommy…all you have to do is ask.”

You come to the second fork, forcing the conversation to a halt as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine.”

You unfold the map and search for the next question. “What is cynophobia?”

“Easy. Fear of cats.”

“That’s ailurophobia, you dipshit. Cynophobia is a fear of dogs.”

“Dipshit. Classy. No, that’s real nice, Tink. Very romantic.”

“Well, it’s true. Look it up.”

“Can’t,” he says calmly. Confidently. “There’s no service in here.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know?”

“Cause I’ve done this before. Many times.”

Your eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“…why?”

There’s a brief pause before he says, “She used to love it here.”

Your heart instantly drops into your toes, grimace untwisting as you glance toward the ground. “Oh.”

Another shrug. “Point is, I can’t look it up. So…pick whichever. I don’t care.”

Swallowing thickly, you gesture toward the second exit. “B. The answer is dogs. My brother used to have it when he was younger.”

And for the first time all evening, it’s Harry’s turn to look surprised as he nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you learn that from my file?” you tease, and you notice his lips twitch up into a smirk.

“Not exactly.”

“Yeah, well…I don’t really talk about him. He doesn’t live here, he lives back home. After my dad left, he stuck around to take care of our mom.”

You see a flash of sympathy streak across his expression, but you’re brushing him off before he can comment.

“Anyway, it’s B,” you repeat, walking toward the middle row. “If you don’t believe me, then go your own way.”

For a moment, Harry hesitates, almost as though considering it. Then, he sighs, and begrudgingly follows your lead.

This time around, you’re both quiet. Listening to the sounds of everyone else further on in the maze laughing, or talking, or squealing with excitement.

A few scattered lamps help guide you through the dark labyrinth. You can see the wind move through the corn stocks. The way they rustle as they sway with the breeze, adding an element of eeriness to the already spooky scene.

Furthermore, the night air is beginning to grow cold. The fall chill nipping at your skin and reminding you once more that it’s no longer summer as you shiver and pull your jacket further around your body.

“Should have brought a real coat,” Harry comments, almost haughtily, and it makes your eyes roll. “It’s October, Princess. Can’t wear booty shorts and flip flops anymore.”

Despite the fact that you’re wearing neither of those, you still feel the need to scoff, “Well, of course it’s not cold to you. You’re already dead inside.”

“Ooo, ouch. You got me. Sick burn, Tink. Real sick.”

His flippant response makes your skin crawl. “You are so fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“And you’re a fucking brat, do you know that?”

“I’m not a brat, I’m just right.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Yeah, it is whatever I say, actually. I’m the one with the fucking map.”

To prove your point, you wave the paper in the air before stopping beside the next checkpoint.

“What are the names of the four women on the show, The Golden Girls?” you read, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Uh…I know Rose is one of them.”

“And Betty White,” Harry adds.

“No, her character. Not her,” you huff. “And I’m pretty sure Betty played Rose, so that’s only one.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” he scoffs before glancing over the multiple-choice answers. “Then it’s probably A or C. Those are the only ones with Rose in them.”

“Well, we have to pick one. Okay, we can’t do both—”

“Yes, I fucking know that, Tinkerbell. I’m just narrowing it down—”

“Well, maybe be less condescending about it.”

“Fine,” he nearly snaps, angrily stabbing at the map with his finger. “A. Dorothy, Rose, Blanch, and Samantha.”

“No, that doesn’t sound right. I don’t think they had a Samantha. It was…it was something else. Either Sophia or Sarah.”

“Well, you have to pick one. You can’t have both,” he repeats mockingly, and you begin to glare. “Besides, statistically, it’s more likely they switch up the letters with each guess. We’ve already done B and C. Next should be A.”

“Really? That’s your reasoning?”

“That’s my reasoning. Take it or leave it.”

And you don’t like it. You don’t feel convinced by it. But you decide – just this once – to put your faith in his incessant need to be right. To trust him and his judgment.

You nod once. A curt gesture of good will as he sighs gratefully and takes off toward the first row.

An eerie feeling follows you as you trail behind. Perhaps an ominous warning to turn around. That something is about to go wrong.

At first, you shake it away. Equating it with your distaste for the man before you.

But soon…you see the real reason why.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you groan when you’re both forced to a stop by a dead end. “See? What did I tell you?”

“Fuck off, you didn’t tell me shit, Princess. It’s a dead end, not death,” he huffs. “We’ll turn around and try again.”

“Can we? We passed like two other rows and now I can’t remember which way we came.”

“Well, that’s not my fault.”

“Oh, bite me, Harold.”

“Just tell me where.”

You feel your heart race beneath your chest. Spurred on by adrenaline, slight fear, and the brisk cold air. “Can you please stop being so infuriating?”

“Can you please stop being such a bitch?” he replies cooly before his eyes flick down toward your shivering frame. “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, I know,” you grit through clenched, chattering teeth. “It’s cold. And don’t you dare make another joke about flip flops. I don’t have the energy to slap you.”

That arrogant smirk returns. “Cute. Told you, you should have brought a coat.”

“Well, I didn’t,” you hiss. “So can we please just get the fuck out of here before I freeze to death?”

Harry’s eyes roll, but you notice his grin grow as he sighs and lifts a hand toward the collar of his hoodie.

In one fluid motion, he’s slipping the sweatshirt up his torso and over his head to hand to you. Dangling the dark fabric between your bodies as you stare at it incredulously.

“Take it,” he grumbles, waving the material in your direction. “And don’t fucking say I’m never nice to you.”

Stunned, you blink quickly. “What…are you doing?”

“Just put it on,” he huffs, gesturing toward you again. “Cause, if you die out here, I’m not dragging your body back.”

Your eyelids narrow into small slits while you cautiously reach for the hoodie. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Once you’ve taken it, he uses his knuckle to shove his glasses back into position. “Like you said, I can’t get cold. I’m dead inside.”

You smile at this before pulling the cozy jacket over your head. It smells…good. It smells like him. Radiating heat and the faint scent of his cologne.

Truth be told, it feels like a warm hug. Something you can’t imagine Harry ever giving you on his own. And a part of you feels…relieved. Relaxed and almost…enamored. Perhaps even grateful.

“Thanks,” you murmur, snuggling against the fabric before slipping your hands into the pocket. “You didn’t…have to. I know being nice isn’t your thing.”

He snorts, turning now toward the tall lookout platform just beside the dead end. “Whatever. Maybe we should go up and see if we can see the exit.”

“Okay.”

With that, he turns toward the stairs and begins the trek up. You rush after him, trying hard to see the steps without much light, and thankfully making it to the top in one piece as you begin to look around.

It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning, the design lit up by the soft glow of the moon. An almost romantic touch, although you shake the thought away. You can see a few groups spread out throughout the rest of the maze, but most of them are already making their way out. Having figured out the riddles much quicker than the two have seemed to.

You pout. “Nuts.”

“Yeah,” he agrees in a low grumble. “Okay, we’ll…we’ll turn around. Maybe you were right. Maybe it was C. We can try that next.”

It’s strange to hear him admit you could have been correct, and you can’t help but smirk as you nod. “Okay.”

You follow Harry down the other side, focusing your attention on your footing as you take each step one at a time.

But once you’re toward the bottom, your tennis shoe suddenly catches on a rogue nail, and you begin to stumble. Body falling forward before you can even reach for the railing.

Instantly, Harry – who’s already made it back to the ground – reaches out for your arms, slipping his hands beneath your elbows to help steady you and catch you just in the nick of time. Sparing you from a rather embarrassing fall.

You gasp as you’re flung forward, allowing yourself to settle in his embrace for support while you work on your balance and place your feet back where they need to be.

And once you’re sure you’re sturdy, you take a deep breath, and straighten up.

“Shit,” you whisper, lashes fluttering from the rush of adrenaline, and the feel of his touch. “I hate these shoes.”

You expect a snarky quip, but instead, you see his expression twist from behind his glasses as he glances over your face. Hands still glued to your arms. “Are you all right?”

A bit stunned by the soft and rather gentle tone of voice, you nod once. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m…sorry. I should have been looking.”

He seems confused by your apology but chooses to ignore it, instead watching you closely as if monitoring your reaction. “If you wanted me to hold you, Tinkerbell, you could have just said so.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, cheeks growing warm as you push yourself out of his arms. “Fuck off.”

“Fuck off? Or fuck me?”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Maybe I’m not being funny,” he argues. “Maybe I mean it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

You snort. “Harry, come on. This would be the last place to fuck.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why. What’s wrong with it? It’s dark. Secluded. There’s the element of getting caught, which I know you like.”

“Harry,” you repeat, almost doubtfully. “We…there’s no place to even do it. It’s way too exposed, and cold, and dangerous. We’d be better off just fucking in my car.”

“If we can even find our way back to your car,” he retorts teasingly. “Besides, I thought you liked danger.”

You gaze at him with suspicion, feeling that odd racing return to your chest. “You’re not being serious, are you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t at first, but…it’s not a bad idea.”

“Please. You can’t be that horny that you have to fuck me every time we see each other.”

“Okay, well, I’m not and I don’t,” he scoffs. “It’s just…different.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Another shrug, but this time, he’s stepping closer. Those soft, green eyes dancing down your body as if drinking you in. Indulging in the sight of you. “I don’t know,” he repeats, a bit quieter. Thicker. “There’s just…something about you, in my clothes. It’s…it’s good. You look good.”

The look in his eye is primal. Breeding a new sense of desire deep within the pit of your stomach. You shift under his lustful gaze, fingers curling into your fist from inside the pocket.

“Thanks, I guess,” you manage to say, noticing the way he continues to move closer. “It is comfy.”

“Good,” he mumbles, still studying your stance before dragging his attention back up to your face. “And you’re warm?”

“Getting there.”

A short nod. “You know…there are other ways of heating you up.”

The sneaky remarks are back, and even though you can feel your legs squeezing together from the suggestive tone of voice, you grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He finally reaches you, fingers outstretching for the front of his hoodie. Moving up your chest almost innocently before slipping around the back of your neck. “Want me to keep you warm, Tink?”

And you want to tease him a little longer, make him wait. Suffer.

But he’s too good. He’s always been too good at catching you off guard and luring you into submission. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you, the way he pulls you closer with the palm of his hand. You can practically taste him. Can smell him everywhere. Feel him in places he’s not even touching you.

And you need it. You need him, you want him. Right now, more than anything.

“Yes,” you exhale, almost shakily. “Yes, please—”

He surges forward, lips connecting with yours almost violently. Stealing the rest of your plea before you can make it.

You can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but whimper as he sucks on your tongue and presses his fingers harder against your head. Trapping you against his mouth until you feel dizzy.

And he’s so warm. A stark contrast to the brisk, autumn air. And he’s soft in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Inviting. As though he’s been waiting his whole life to lay his mouth to yours.

“Har—” you gasp when he pulls back to nip at your bottom lip. “Har, please—”

You sound deranged. Wounded, almost, and so goddamn pitiful. You’re tugging on his shirt, trying to yank him impossibly closer. Tilting to the left for a deeper angle and raising up onto your toes in order to taste him fully.

“Easy,” he whispers, and it’s so very strained. Like he’s using what little strength he still has to speak to you. “Easy, Princess. S’okay, I’ve got you.”

It’s possessive the way he talks to you. Commanding you to listen. Insisting that your pleasure is his. That your wellbeing is in his hands.

He’s not a caring man by nature. At least not to you. But in moments like this, his dominance takes control. Turning him into a desperate man eager to care for you. To protect you and keep you safe.

Perhaps it’s a more caveman mindset. The idea that he needs to look after you. That you’re his to keep and care for.

But right now…you adore it. Feel safe in the idea of submitting to him.

“Please,” you try again, breathless and desperate as you cling to his strong frame and beg him for something only he can give you. “Harry, please…hurts.”

There’s a teasing glimmer in his eye, brightened by the reflection of his glasses. “Yeah? Is it achy, Tink?”

You nod quickly, grabbing onto his other hand to slide it down your stomach. Right toward where you need him most.

And he lets himself be moved, watching with intrigue at the way his fingers are dragged toward your thighs. Smirking rather sadistically while pressing his palm against your pussy with fervor.

You whine at the subtle friction, already attempting to grind down against the heel of his hand as he meets your pace with soft strokes of his own.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching your hips before returning his attention to your face. “Feels good, baby, yeah? Like to use me, don’t you?”

Another quick nod, and you sigh contently when he presses his lips to your cheek. Placing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“Har,” you try again, nuzzling closer. “Har, they’re…they’re gonna see. Can’t…can’t do it here—”

“Yes we can,” he replies calmly. And the soft, secure tone of voice instantly turns your insides to jelly. “Promise I won’t let them see, okay? Gonna keep you to myself.”

He removes his hand from your pussy to place it on your hip. Guiding you back until you feel your body connect with something hard. You glance around just long enough to find that it’s the wooden frame of the lookout. And he keeps you trapped there as he hides you both beneath the structure, tucking you away from any prying eyes that might pass.

“There,” he says, grinning to himself at the eager look on your face. “Now Daddy can see just how wet you really are, hm?”

You can tell he’s using the nickname sparingly. Tentative of your reaction as he waits to see how you might feel about it.

And truthfully, you hadn’t anticipated liking it as much as you do. Especially in this moment, when he’s giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s like music to your ears, orgasmic just to listen to.

You swallow thickly and nudge your nose against his cheek. “Yes, Daddy.”

He tenses beneath your touch, cursing against the shell of your ear before he whispers, “Show me.”

He returns his hand to yours, allowing your fingers to interlock as you shakily guide him toward your jeans.

After a bit of maneuvering, you get the zipper down, and help slip his hand inside your underwear. Straight down to your cunt as his fingers glide through your folds until he can find what he’s looking for.

“Oh, Tink,” he coos almost sympathetically. Stroking your pussy as you move to grip his wrist excitedly. “S’all wet, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wooden board for stability. “Hurts.”

“I bet,” he tsks, sliding his middle finger toward your hole. Circling it once before glancing over your expression. “Need something to fill you up, hm? Get you warm again?”

You hum your agreement, tugging his touch further into you as he chuckles and steps closer. “Please…”

“What, baby? What do you need?”

You whimper again and roll your hips against his fingers. Needing the friction of his thumb against your clit which he refuses to give you.

“What do you want, hm?” he mumbles, dipping down to ghost his lips across yours. “Just ask…and Daddy will give you anything you want.”

And in this moment, you know he means it.

“Want you…to fuck me,” you exhale, reaching now for the curls lying against the back of his neck. “Please, Har. Need you to fuck me. Make it better. Make it go away.”

“Is that right?” He slips a finger inside, and you feel your insides twist as you gasp and squirm against the pleasurable touch. “Need something bigger, yeah?”

“Yes…yeah. Please. Please, Daddy.”

He smiles again before slipping his hand from inside your jeans to help tug them down your legs. Yanking almost furiously until they’re settled near your ankles. Allowing him just enough room to slip between.

And once your cunt is on display for him, he stares at it with a certain mesmerized admiration. Allowing himself to enjoy you before he reaches for his own belt and tugs it free.

Once he’s managed to pull his cock out, he reaches again for your hips. Squeezing them once before turning you around.

His arm slips around your middle to keep you secure and you grin lazily as you rest yourself against his chest.

“Gonna hold you, just like this,” he whispers against your cheek, and you feel the tip of his cock trailing against the curve of your ass. “Keep you warm.”

The hand against your ribcage is gentle. Keeping you steady as he attempts to hold you close.

“Deep breath, Tink, okay?” he instructs next, nudging the crown against your dripping hole. Warning you of his next step. “Know it’s a lot, but you always take me so well, don’t you? Gonna take me again?”

You grab onto his arm, nails scraping down his skin as you whine, “Yes. Yes, I’ll take you. Just need it, Har, please—"

“Okay, all right,” he shushes, nudging his cheek against your temple. “Need you to relax, okay? Are you relaxed, baby?”

And you think you are. Mentally, anyway. You’ve never felt so comfortable in someone’s arms. Under their influence and control. Even despite the cold air nipping at your thighs and the outside threat of getting caught, you feel at ease. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as the sounds of people somewhere else in the maze float toward you. Reminding you of where you are. What could happen.

“Tink,” he warns, sliding his cock through your folds in wait. “I need you to relax for me, okay? I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“No?” you manage to retort, and you catch his smile out of your peripheral. “Thought you liked to hurt me.”

“I do,” he agrees, lips following the shell of your ear. “But not like this. Don’t wanna split you in half.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you breathe, reaching back for his neck. “Maybe I need it, Daddy.”

He chuckles almost darkly before pressing his mouth against your heated skin. “I’ll remember that.”

With that, he drops his hand down to your cunt, circling his fingers around your clit until he feels your body unwind. Allowing him just enough room to begin pushing his cock in.

“There you go,” he sighs, both of you groaning when you feel how easily he slips in. “So fucking good. Take me so well, don’t you? Always do, I know. Relax, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The burn is almost overwhelming. Demanding your focus and attention as you feel him stretch you open, forcing your walls to accommodate his size.

“Hey,” you hear him murmur, his palm coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb sweeping across your parted lips. “Are you breathing? Gotta breathe, Tink, come on. You know better—”

“I know,” you gasp, sucking in a greedy gasp for air before you suck in his finger. “I know, Daddy, m’sorry.”

He hums his approval before allowing himself to sit inside your warm mouth. “It’s okay, know it feels good, hm?”

“Mhm,” you agree around the large digit, allowing your tongue to settle him on your tastebuds. “More.”

“More?” he repeats, using his other hand to squeeze your hip. “Want more, greedy girl?”

“Please…”

“Please," he echoes thoughtfully. "Greedy Girl has manners, how precious.”

There’s a slight air of condescension and teasing to his response, and you feel yourself flutter around his length.

His grin grows. “You like that, baby?”

You manage one more weak nod as you press yourself against his body, squirming in his hold while his cock pushes in to the hilt.

“There,” he exhales, groaning some before falling still. Allowing your body to adjust to his size. “You okay?”

“Yes…yes, m’okay. Please move, please…please, Daddy—”

“Okay, all right,” he agrees coarsely, readjusting his stance before returning his arm to your stomach. Just beneath your chest. “Need you to be good, okay? Just listen to Daddy’s voice and do what I say.”

“I will. I will, I promise.”

“Good.” He begins to pull back. Dragging his cock through your quivering hole as you moan his name.

But such a loud noise isn’t quite what he had in mind, his other palm reaching up to smack across your mouth to silence you.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, pausing the rhythm of his hips until he’s sure you’ll obey. “None of that. M’keeping you for myself, remember? Can’t let them know.”

You make an incoherent noise against his hand before writhing back against his cock. Needing more friction and movement that he refuses to give you.

“Unless that’s what you want, Greedy Girl,” he whispers into your neck. “Want them to see what I do to you. The way I make you fall apart…the way you beg for my cock. Even when you hate me.”

The idea sends a shiver down your spine as you groan his name and claw at his wrist.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs between sharp thrusts. “S’it why you keep this pretty pussy so nice and tight for me? Cause you want them to know that it’s only me? That everything…everything…you do is because of me?”

Your eyes roll back, either from annoyance or pleasure. But it’s blissful, this feeling. This hard fuck, this angry connection.

And yet, this infuriating man is oddly tender with you. Holding you close and helping you find your release, despite the way he goads you.

“Do you, Tink?” he asks again. “Do you want Lucas to see? Want them all to fucking see what you do to me?”

His nails are scraping down your ribcage, pulling you taut against his chest as he drives his cock as deep as it’ll go. Hips meeting your ass as he releases your mouth to hold onto you again, keeping you still.

“Tell me,” he says between deep breaths. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you only cum for me—”

“Har—”

“My greedy little whore. My dirty fucking princess.” His tone is angry. Dissolving into something feral as he begins to pound into you with a harder force. Nearly knocking the wind from your lungs. “Not his. Mine. Always mine—”

“Yours,” you repeat between soft whines. “Yours, Harry, you know that—”

“Yeah?” He holds you tighter, allowing you no room to squirm as he nears his release. His pace becomes faster and sloppier the closer he gets. Allowing your warmth to soak him, draw him in. Using you as nothing more than a toy. A means to his end. “Then prove it.”

Even without much extra stimulation, you can feel yourself getting closer to the brink. Harry has always had this innate ability to get you there without much more than a few pumps of his cock. Perhaps it’s his size or his technique. The way he knows exactly where to thrust in order to hit the right spot and make you see stars.

And maybe there’s a part of you – albeit small – that enjoys the idea of being good for him. Of coming on his cock (or his tongue or his fingers) just so he can watch. So he can feel what he does to you.

Maybe…you just want to be good for him. At least in moments like this. To know that you’ve earned his approval, his praise. That such a brilliant man has devoted his time and attention and body just to you.

That you’re worthy of his time.

Worthy of him.

It’s almost degrading to think about and yet…it makes you clench. Pussy clamping down on his beautifully thick cock until he groans and nuzzles his nose against your neck.

“Shit,” he hisses, rhythm stuttering as a shot of pleasure rolls through him. “Tink, if you’re gonna do that, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good,” you answer instantaneously. “Want you to. Need you to, Daddy, please—”

“No,” he huffs, and he stills for only a moment as if attempting to refrain from falling apart. “No, need you to cum first. Daddy needs to feel you cum first, okay? Come on, baby, gotta give it to me—”

You mewl helplessly, drowning out the rest of his instruction. You’re close, and you know it won’t be much longer until it overwhelms you.

And there’s some part of you that feels…disappointed. Saddened by the idea of things going back to how they normally are. That he’ll take himself from you – take his cock from you – and return to the maddening man you can hardly tolerate.

Maybe subconsciously, you try to hold off. Keep your orgasm at bay so you can keep him just a little longer. So you can appreciate the caring man behind you and the way he’s so desperate to put you first.

He’s quite wonderful when he’s not being an ass.

“Tink,” he grunts, hand moving up toward your jaw. You feel his palm press to your throat, and you swallow thickly against his skin. “Baby, I want you to cum. Wanna feel you. What do you need? Hm? Wanna play with your pretty button for me?”

You nod pitifully and allow your own fingers to move down toward your cunt. It’s wet and achy and swollen so much it almost hurts to touch. But you release a strained breath, nevertheless, appreciating the sting of overstimulation as you writhe in his hold.

You can feel your body beginning to overheat the closer you get. Helping warm you up from the October chill still biting at your skin. And the sounds of your friends aren’t far behind. Perhaps looking for you, waiting for you both to exit the maze and continue on with your evening.

But you don’t give a damn about anybody else right now. Just him.

Something you never thought you’d say.

“Getting closer, yeah?” he hums against your ear, fingers tightening around your neck. “I know. Fucking shaking, baby, you’re okay. I got you. Just let it happen, let go.”

There’s something about his voice. About the feel of his glasses against your temple. About the way he makes you feel safe and secure. The way he effortlessly brings you to the edge and promises to catch you when you fall.

You know he hates you. And yet you also know that despite this loathing you share, you’re still his priority. That he’ll put your pleasure first, no matter what. That he wants to be good.

“Har,” you whimper through a high-pitched whine. “Shit, please—”

“You close? Gonna give it to me? Make Daddy happy?”

The reminder of the nickname makes you moan, a bit softer than before, but still rather lewd. And Harry tsks from behind you, once again sliding his palm up to your mouth.

“Dirty fucking princess,” he grits before he’s suddenly slamming himself into you. “Can’t ever do what she’s told, hm? Just loves to disobey me. Wants to get caught. Wants to be my greedy little girl—”

My greedy little girl.

That’s what does it for you. His possession, his mark, his claim. Reducing you to nothing more than this thing he uses for his pleasure. An object to be had.

In any other moment, you’d chastise him for it.

Right now, it’s everything you need to hear.

You cum on his cock without much choice. Pleasure unfurling like the petals of a flower in spring. For a moment, the overpowering sensation is all you can comprehend. Just ecstasy, a weightless euphoria. Lifting you up and dropping you back down.

He curses when he feels it, offering you quick murmurs of praise before he’s grabbing onto your hips with both hands and yanking you back. Using this leverage to drive his cock in in sharp thrusts before he’s following. Releasing himself into you with a groan as you gasp and grab onto one of the beams for support.

Thirty seconds pass of heavy breathing and lingering whimpers before you both fall quiet, chests heaving and legs still shaking.

He doesn’t pull out for at least a moment or two, merely holding onto your waist as he works to gather himself together.

“Shit,” he finally whispers, and you feel the subtle stroking of his thumb against your tender skin. Right over the bruises you’re sure to find tomorrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly, nodding once. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah? Good. You needed it.”

You feel your lips pull back into a smile. “Oh, did I?”

“You really did.”

“Right. Even though you’re the one that fucks me every time you see me.”

You hear him scoff as he finally – and slowly – pulls out. Allowing your muscles to unwind as you release a deep breath. “I’m doing you a favor,” is his reply. And it’s laced with a condescension and haughtiness that you know all too well.

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

“Yes.” He tucks himself back into his briefs before crouching down to reach for your jeans. Pulling them back up your legs with a strange amount of care, despite his snarky attitude. “I do a lot of favors for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You turn around while he steps back and readjusts his glasses. “Was getting us lost one of those favors?”

A strange, almost sadistic kind of grin begins to stretch across his face. “Maybe.”

You hesitate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs once before backing out of the lookout as you rezip your jeans. “It means…maybe I knew this was the wrong way.”

“…I’m sorry?”

His hands shove into his pockets while his sly smile seems to mirror his satisfaction. “I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to do some…exploring.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you nearly gasp, striding after him so you can swat your hand across his chest. “Are you fucking serious? You got us lost on purpose?”

“We were never lost, Tinkerbell. I knew exactly where we were."

"Yeah? And where are we?"

"Taking a detour."

“I cannot believe you,” you murmur, staring at him rather incredulously. “God, you are so fucking horny, it’s insane.”

“Oh, relax,” he snorts. “I didn’t take you back here to fuck you. I just thought you’d wanna see the top of the maze.”

“And you couldn’t have just asked?”

“Would you have agreed?”

You consider this. “…all right, maybe not. But you’re still a fucking ass.”

“Yeah,” he agrees coyly. “I know.”

You keep your stern glare, but your grin is playful. “Whatever. Does this mean you know the way out?”

“I do,” he says. “There’s a shortcut. Cassie and I used to cheat and use it all the time.”

The revelation of her name makes your breath catch. You hadn’t expected him to reveal something so personal, and there’s a part of you that isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

You can tell he hasn’t realized his slip, because he’s still smiling at you like he’s waiting for you to get the joke. To laugh with him.

But there’s something else in his eye – something beautiful and reminiscent. Excited. Like the mere mention of her name has calmed him. Reminded him of a better time. A happier place.

Reminded him of someone who isn’t you.

“I see,” you manage, choking the words out as you glance toward the dirt beneath your sneakers. Avoiding his eye. “Well…great. Get me the hell out of here, please.”

He studies you for a moment. You can feel his eyes boring into your profile, as though attempting to work out just what changed in your demeanor.

Then, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and says, “Yeah. This way.”

With that, he maneuvers back through the large stocks of corn and leads you through the intricate labyrinth. Weaving his way along the path and bypassing each checkpoint with ease, almost as if he’s done this a hundred times.

You imagine he has.

You reach the exit in only a few minutes, and relief washes over you as you catch sight of your car in the distance. Your means of escape and your excuse to leave him behind.

“Thank God,” you mumble as you both slip out from the corn and back into the light. “That was…excruciating.”

“Oh, was it?” he teases. “Really? All of it?”

“Yes, all of it,” you snort, but you feel rather amused as you glance over his expression. “Let’s never get stuck in a corn maze together again, agreed?”

“Agreed,” he replies, but there’s a certain playful glimmer in his eye. “We can just fuck the old-fashioned way. In your car.”

“Gee, great.”

You both fall silent as your quippy remarks die down. Looking at each other like you’re waiting for someone to break the spell. To return you both to your anger and your rivalry. To poke fun at the few moments of intimacy and understanding you shared and release you from this strange yearning.

You decide to be the first, clearing your throat as quietly as you can while reaching for the collar of the hoodie to slip it off. “Uh, well…thanks again. For letting me borrow this.”

He blinks, momentarily puzzled – or perhaps…disappointed? – as he watches you pull it from your body. “Yeah. No problem. Just bring a fucking coat next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, remember?” you retort, tossing it over.

He catches it with one hand, and smiles. “Right. And thank God for that.”

“Exactly.”

Another lull, the two of you continuing to stand in the dimly lit parking lot as you wait for him to say goodbye.

And suddenly, you realize…you don’t want to go. You don’t want to say goodbye. That you feel…safer when he’s around. More relaxed and at ease. Even when you’re griping with him or resisting the urge to put his head through a wall, he’s still…comforting. A forceful and reassuring presence that you otherwise feel lost without.

Because you remember who he was before…Cassie. You remember his kindness and his ability to make you laugh.

And you know that he’s still that person. He’s still trying to take care of the people he feels closest to, even when he doesn’t mean to. Even when he doesn’t realize.

You know why he pushed you away. You know why he’s created such a vast, unyielding distance. And you can’t exactly blame him.

But the version of him that automatically thinks to care for you…that’s the version you’re drawn to. That’s the version you don’t want to say goodbye to.

“What?” he asks, grinning again as his head cocks. Seeming to notice the shift in your expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hesitate, lashes fluttering as you work out a response. Wondering just how much you can share…and how much of it is real. “Nothing, I…this was just…”

He waits, brow raised.

Your lips clamp. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about all the fucking work I have to do when I go in tomorrow, thanks to you.”

And you can see he’s unconvinced, eyes flicking between yours as if looking for the real answer. But he waits a beat before his smile fades and he asks, “Why did you really come tonight?”

A bit caught off-guard by the question, you blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could have partnered with anyone else. If you really wanted,” he explains, slowly stepping closer. Forcing a hitch in your throat. “Could have left me behind. Gone ahead. But you didn’t. Why?”

And there it is. That hint – that almost undetectable trace – of vulnerability behind the usual arrogance. He’s giving you the chance, offering you an opportunity for truth.

And maybe you want to take it. Maybe you want to confess and unburden yourself of this weight that’s settled on your shoulders.

The truth teases the tip of your tongue, laden with consequences.

But just before you can offer him the real answer, there’s a distant laugh from one of the groups back in the maze. Interrupting the moment and stealing what little courage you had left.

Your lashes flutter quickly as if shaking yourself from a daze, and you step back. Forcing distance between your bodies in an attempt to find clarity.

Harry watches you go, expression hard and etched with frustration, while you swallow thickly and spin on your heel.

He doesn’t call after you as you race to your car. Doesn’t insist on an answer or try to make you stay.

He merely stands there beneath the warm hue of the streetlamp, allowing you to run away, and disappear into your car before fleeing the scene.

Leaving him behind.

Previous Part:

~ Always*

~ 404 Masterlist

~ Freaky Fun Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus @kirstiea05 @lovrave @princessprongs @nuggetdean @scndsofsummer @theofficialprongs

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clockwayswrites · 7 months

Text

Totally didn't write Tim being confused.

WC:1174 Masterpost

“So are you going to want in on it?” Jason asked without looking over at Tim. If his brother wanted to follow after him on his mundane patrol, let him.

“You’d be okay with that?” Tim asked, unable (or not trying to) keep the surprise out of his voice.

Jason just shrugged, sure to exaggerate the motion to show through his armor. Tim had done him a favor with this research, Jason figured he earned a spot on the bust. Besides, Jason was… trying. He couldn’t make up for what he’d done to Tim, but he could try to be better now.

“Yes, sure,” Tim said in response to the shrug. “Just let me know when and I’ll make sure the others know to cover my route that night. Or nights, if you need help planning?”

Gut reaction was to growl at the offer of help planning, but Jason forced the sound back down into a noncommittal noise. He was better now. He didn’t need to do everything himself. His goons, and god he still didn’t like that name but whatever, proved that. Crime Alley was better because of them. “Maybe. Lemme look over your data first. I’ll let you know.”

“Right, sure, of course,” Tim said with an aborted flutter of his hand. “Just let me know.”

Fuck, Jason really should say yes, let Tim help. “Yeah, I will. Just need to go over what you’ve got, get my head around it, you know?”

Tim nodded. Some of his hair slipped out of the hair tie that he had it pulled back into. Jason thought it was good for the kid to be growing his hair out, getting out of that perfect corporate box he put himself into too much, but he didn’t know how to say that in a way that wouldn’t offend Tim or make him feel judged, so Jason kept quiet.

In the quiet it was very easy to hear a too familiar voice growl, “I said back off! I’m not interested!”

Jason sighed, the noise threatening through the modulation of the helmet, and turned to run over the roof tops towards the voice. He could feel rather than hear Tim change directions with him, ever the loyal shadow.

Tim perched on the edge of the roof that Jason was leaning over.

“Come on, my money’s good,” huffed some dude. He must have gotten out of his car to confront the sex worker who had turned him down. Which beyond being rude, no still meant no even if the person was a sex worker, it was clear the worker was done for the night. They were carrying two handfuls of plastic bags and Tim could smell the food from the roof.

“I said no, dude,” they said. “Go find someone working a corner if you need it that bad.”

“Yeah, they don’t have what you have,” the guy said. Then he did the stupidest thing he could have done and reached out while the sex worker pulled away.

Jason was already over the ledge of the roof before Tim had twitched. He landed with a purposeful crunch on the battered asphalt and had his gun drawn and pointed as the guy spun around.

“You new to the Alley?” Jason growled.

The guy (who looked two seconds away from pissing his pants) shook his head.

“Then you should know the rules,” Jason said. He stepped forward and pressed his gun against the guy’s temple.

Tim’s gaze flicked between Jason and the sex worker, who was looking on… fondly? Something else was going on here.

“I see you fucking with people like this again and you’ll lose something important, got it?”

“Got it,” the guy squeaked.

“Get out of here.”

The guy scrambled back to his car and took off with a squeal of tires. Tim jumped down silently while Jason holstered his gun and turned to the sex worker.

“Hood!” They said with a bright smile.

“Danny,” Jason growled. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“Delivering some dinner to Nickie and the girls,” Danny said, holding up the plastic bags in his hands.

Jason’s fingers twitched like he wanted to run a hand over his helmet (or strangle the other). “Dressed like that?”

The worker, Danny, pouted and looked down at his outfit. There was a large sliver of stomach exposed between the bright green crop top with a pattern of cartoon ghosts, tiny black shorts with magenta details, and knee high black boots. Tim sort of thought the look worked for him in an eye searing way.

“Oh come on, I’m going to see Nickie. You know I have to dress right or she’ll drag me off to another makeover. I can’t take any more makeovers, Hood. And… don’t you think I look good?”

“Of course you look good,” Jason said.

Tim’s head whipped over to stare. He had to purposeful close his mouth before he caught flies.

Danny’s pout grew. “Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is people are going to think you’re a hooker.”

Wasn’t he?

Danny rested a hand on his hip and raised a brow at Jason. “You say that like being a hooker is a bad thing. Do I need to tell the girls you said that?”

“You know what I mean!” Jason argued. “You just had a pushy John try to pick you up!”

“And I was handling him!”

Jason growled again and took a threatening step forward. Instead of being cowed by it, Danny stepped up into Jason’s space, basically pressing himself along Jason’s looming form. And then Danny stood up on his tip toes and pressed a kiss to Jason’s helmet, right where his mouth would be.

Tim could hear the dial up tone in his own mind.

What.

It only got louder when Jason sighed and just slumped, the fight going out of him.

“Danny…”

“I’m fine, Hood. Look, I’ll take the food to Nickie and stay with the girls until you can walk me home. Or your little shadow can.”

When Jason’s head jerked up to looked at Tim, he couldn’t help the instinct to raise his hands innocently.

Jason just grumbled and let his helmet drop onto Danny’s slim shoulder, which started shaking with laughter.

“Shut up,” Jason said.

“You forgot he was there, didn’t you?” Danny asked. He transferred all the food to one side so that he could run a hand over the helmet and down to Jason’s neck.

Jason letting someone touch him so casually, especially as Red Hood wasn’t helping Tim’s brain reboot.

“Red, get your ass over here,” Jason said.

Tim figured it was best to listen with whatever the fuck was going on here. He slipped out of the shadows while Danny turned around, tucked himself back into Jason’s arms, and smiled at Tim.

“Red, Danny. Danny, Red Robin, one of the Bats.”

“Hi,” Danny chirped cheerfully and held out his empty hand.

“Hello,” Tim said, shaking it mostly on instinct. What the fuck was going on here?

---

AN: Oh look! Another Bat finally meets Danny! Tim is so, so confused. I'm not feeling well at all, so I went back to the tried and true fic that I'm not writing. It's been a while since I haven't written it, hasn't it?

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost here.

#dp x dc #dead on main #the fic that i'm not writing

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salsasvault · 23 days

Note

okay i know for a fact you have drafts your hiding something for us pretty please 🙏🏼

okay fine was debating posting this but

Babysitting

“Shh shh, okay, okay honey I got you.” You sway side to side rocking an almost 5-month-old in your arms. Trying to soothe her proved to be a harder task than you anticipated.

Your sister recently had a baby, and with the recovery and almost no alone time with her husband she all but begged for you to babysit.

You were somewhat reluctant, but with Simon on leave, and a soft spot for your niece, you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take care of her for a couple nights.

So here you were, at four in the morning, a lightly fussing baby in your arms as you heat a bottle in the kitchen. The city surrounding you provides just enough light to illuminate your apartment.

The gentle hum of the microwave proved to help both of you.

Busy with your task you didn’t hear the sound of the door clicking open, or the footsteps that followed.

All Simon saw upon entering was the sight of you with a tiny baby in your arms.

His heart stopped in his chest, he’d only been gone 3 months, sure longer than normal but not long enough to produce-this.

Flabbergasted he did the math, retried it, and thought of every possibility but it all came to a grinding halt at the sound of your voice cooing to an almost smaller version of you.

You looked so perfect, rocking her just right, grabbing the bottle, testing the warmth, so incredibly attentive to her needs.

With you busy it seemed the baby had noticed him.

Wide eyes, the same color as yours looking back at him. Her fussing stopped for a second, entirely enamored with the strange man standing almost in the shadows.

The lack of babbling or crying caught your attention, turning your head toward whatever had encapsulated her-

“Simon! You didn’t tell me you’d be home early.”

Setting the bottle down, baby still in your arms, you made your way over, half hugging him.

It took him a second before he was wrapping his alarms around you and the 5-month-old.

“Didn’t know myself-who…who’s this lovie?” Thumb going to touch her cheek, you turn, looking at him, realization coming to you.

“My sister Si, remember she had a baby a few months ago, this is her.” Your voice slightly goes up in pitch toward the end, directed toward the baby.

“Gave me a scare.” The baby grappled onto his finger.

“I bet.” You snort in laughter.

“Strong grip on this one.” He laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, you're a strong girl aren’t you.” You redirect your attention, and Simon can’t help but stare.

“Yeah, you are.” You kiss her face and look back toward him. “You like Uncle Simon don’t you, yeah you do look at that smile.”

His heart warmed, he hadn’t been referred to as uncle in a long time. He couldn’t help but think, think about what this would be like.

He’d never given it much thought, always assumed he’d be a shit father, but the way you were so in your element.

He’d give everything to see you happy, and your niece already resembled so much of you, what would your baby look like? A baby made from the two of you.

His mouth opened before his rational could catch up.

“You want one o’ these?” He almost facepalms right there.

“One of these?” You immediately burst into laughter.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.” You look back down at the baby in your arms and smile wide.

“I-“ You pause, “I think so.” It sounds unsure, and as you hold her in your arms you can’t help but warm to the idea more.

“You know what, I think I want one of these.” You beam up at him.

“Then let’s go make one of these ‘eh.”

“Simon! Not in front of the baby!” You jokingly cover her ears, both of you retreating toward the kitchen.

“Wha’ s’not like she knows what I mean.” You smack him, just for good measure, and your niece laughs in response.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #fluff #simon riley fluff #selias drables #selias asks

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espinosaurusrexex · 2 months

Text

Remember Me

WinterSoldier!BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: After a fight against the most notorious Hydra agent of all, Steve and you discover that your assumed diseased friend Bucky is still alive. Old wounds resurface as you are confronted with the grappling reality that you have lived vastly different lives for the past 70 years. Will he remember your shared history? And most importantly: does he still feel the same?

word count: 3.1k

a/n: Just a short piece that I managed to finish. I know it's not a lot, but I hope you enjoy anyway 💕

warnings: a bunch of fluff and angst, mentions of war, mentions of sexism, swearing, Bucky is really broken in this one, happy ending (:

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Proceed with caution, unidentified shooter on bridge. I repeat: unidentified shooter. It is not clear what the motive is. Take cover and shoot on sight.”

“Dispatch, this is Captain America - we’ll take it from here.”

“With all due respect, Cap, I will keep my men on site to keep your cover.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Least I can do for you, sir.”

“Stop chatting it up with the police and do your job, Rogers.”

“Alright, alright.”

You chuckled and turned to Tony. “How long are we out?”

“Three minutes, 46 seconds.”

“You gonna survive that long, Stevie?”

“That guy’s got a good aim on him, gotta give him that.”

Muffled noises pushed through your earpiece before you stepped into the back of the Quinjet to gear up.

“Can’t let him do anything. It’s one guy they’re fighting... one.”

“Yeah, one Hydra-trained assassin who’s apparently immortal and got more deaths on his record than Romanoff.”

You huffed as the meeting recollected in your mind. The Winter Soldier had been the newest pain in the Avenger’s asses ever since you discovered that Hydra was still operating in the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“They’re just making a show out of everything, huh?”

You strapped your gloves over your wrists and watched as Tony chuckled in the pilot seat. You and him had become good friends over the past few years. Ever since you and Steve had been discovered in the frozen airship of what you had thought to be your last mission about 70 years ago, you and Captain America had woken up in a vastly different world. One through which Howard’s son, Tony, gladly guided you.

Both you and Steve were overwhelmed by the amount of changes the world had endured while you had soundly served your time as human popsicles, though Captain America seemed to struggle a little more with 21st-century technology and norms.

It was fine, Steve had always been a little old-fashioned, even back in the day. You for one were delighted to learn about all the opportunities the world had to offer for women and other people who couldn’t have dreamed of any in the 40s. Because while Steve was celebrated for being the face of hope for the American people, you were still dodging snide comments doubting your place in the Army. And while you tried not to let anyone see the toll it took on you, it was the reason for enough nights you spent with Peggy sharing stories over a bottle of wine.

You both decided the important men in your life should never find out. Though, of course, your not-so-secret didn’t stay hidden from Bucky for long. Which was one of the reasons you had jumped on that plane with Steve. Even when Bucky was already dead. Even when Steve was still oblivious. You constantly needed to prove yourself. But this one time, it had actually changed something – well, time had.

You shook your head free of that thought and walked towards the cargo hatch. Tony had landed the Quinjet – it was go time.

“Ready?”

“That guy won’t know what happened to him when we’re done with him.”

“Let’s rock his world, then,” Tony winked before his helmet closed and he flew out of the jet. You were close behind him, running the short distance from the ramp to the bridge from which you swung yourself off with a grappling hook.

“What’s the status?”

“I’ve been shot.”

“I’ve got it, Bearcat check on Steve. He looks ridiculously helpless.”

“Roger that,” you sprinted towards the two fighting men on the street, as the Winter soldier threw Steve to the ground, his shield nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, my turn.” You stepped in front of him, analyzing his movements, and dodging punches, trying to get some in yourself.

“Oh come on, that’s not fair.” You huffed when he took a knife out of your leg holster and almost acrobatically threw it over your head just to graze your cheek with the blade.

He had knocked off your guns at this point, leaving you with choking wire and some smaller daggers in your jacket. When he turned the right angle, you jumped his shoulders and locked your thighs around his neck, kicking the knife out of his hand and watching as he ripped your choking wire in half. Damn.

“Now, that’s not nice.” You threw the torn metal to the side as The winter soldier struggled to get you off him. A look to Steve told you he had a new plan, and with a short nod, you signaled your understanding to him.

“But if you wanna be like that...” Steve threw you his shield and in a swift motion you managed to drag it over the soldier's head. He pushed his metal arm forward just in time, though your hit had already knocked the mask off his face.

When the shield came down, you heard Steve’s footsteps halt next to you, the world going quiet.

Your stomach churned when you watched blue eyes twitch between the dark smudges. Familiar and oh-so strange at the same time.

“Bucky?” Steve stammered, and at the sound of his name, goosebumps rippled over your skin.

The Winter Soldier’s look darkened before he reached for a gun. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

From then on, the day seemed like a blur. You remembered Sam knocking Bucky down and the lot of you flying back to the compound on standby. Steve was functioning a lot better than you were, considering the man you thought to be dead for over 70 years was currently handcuffed to a handrail on your jet.

James “Bucky” fucking Barnes. Captain America’s best friend, founding member of the howling commandos, infamous war hero apparently turned assassin, and the man who stole your heart somewhere along the way.

You dared a glance at the chained-up, unconscious brunette in the corner as Steve sat down next to you, a calming hand squeezing your shoulder.

“Can I get you anything?”

You ignored him. “How are you not freaking out?” You whispered through glassy eyes instead.

Steve’s expression softened when he pulled you into his chest, his other hand pressing your head further into him. His heart was hammering beneath his ribcage, his fingers cold to the touch.

“I am. Just trying to be a captain.” His voice was strained when he mumbled into your hair.

You just nodded in understanding, finding comfort in the fact you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

❁ ❁ ❁

You watched him through the glass of the interrogation room with your arms crossed before your chest. Buck was sitting at the table, his head hung low, his dark hair falling in wet stands into his face. He didn’t move a muscle. For half an eternity, he stared at the table his wrists were chained to, almost statue-like. But when he finally looked up, you could see the confusion and nervousness in his ocean-blue eyes.

They had given him time to recover, to shower, and feel like a human again. They forced him into normal clothes and offered him a bed to sleep. But it wasn’t enough. The man you were looking at was terrified and lost - exhausted and overwhelmed.

Bucky visibly tensed when the door opened and Steve stepped into his sight. They spent the next hour reconstructing his past. Steve told him how he had ended up in the 21st century and by the end of their conversations, the tension was a lot less static.

“She’s alive,” Bucky stated and tore his eyes away from Steve to look at the one-way glass.

“She’s a tough one. Survived the crash without super soldier serum and came out of the ice just as unharmed as I did.”

“What are the odds?” Bucky chuckled bitterly. “What are the fucking odds we all end up together again?”

Steve only gifted his friend a sympathetic smile along with a squeeze to his shoulder. “Take it as a chance.”

“Feels like a punishment.”

They were locking eyes and even though you were watching the interaction from the outside, you could feel the atmosphere turn somber. The men were staring at each other in silence for a while, though you knew there was an entire discussion happening in their eyes.

“Does she... does she want to see me?” Bucky’s voice was hesitant and broken. And you couldn’t help but somehow imagine a different question nestled in his words.

You almost had to stop yourself from touching the glass with your hands, wanting to tell him that you were already seeing him - really seeing him.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Steve stood and with a last smile to Bucky, he exited the room.

This was it. The door was open. The love of your life sitting only a few feet from it. Though it seemed like he was trapped inside another’s body.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Steve murmured as he stood in the doorway looking at you by the window. And you just nodded, trying to suppress your pulse rushing in your ears.

“Thanks.” It was only a whisper. You weren’t used to your voice being this small. And Steve didn’t seem so either. He was looking at you with sad eyes, fists clenched by his sides. There was nothing he could do to make you feel better. Not this time. And he seemed to know so. With one last tight smile, he sent a short nod your way and then left.

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky didn’t look at you when you finally built up the courage to step inside his room. He was much bigger than you remembered. Thick muscles adorned his arms and shoulders. Shaggy, longer hair fell from his head and over his scrunched brows. His left arm was entirely of metal, a red star reminding him who had taken claim to him several decades ago.

If you hadn’t known, the man before you had almost no resemblance to the soldier you loved in 1941. He had been lean and full of life. He was broken now. And you were terrified someone had taken the very thing from him that would keep him from becoming himself again.

Without a word you approached Bucky, cupped his hands with yours, and undid the restraints that tied him to the table. And this was the first time he looked at you. Really looked at you. Bucky’s piercing blue stare was full of awe and sorrow, a deep pain etched beneath the grey flecks within the vibrant color.

You sat down beside him.

“Hey.” Your voice was shaky, dragging a long silence in its wake that only made your heart beat faster.

“Hello,” Bucky finally whispered, breaking the spell. His voice was a raw timbre, like a long-forgotten melody. And so much more tangible now that you weren’t listening to it through a speaker.

But that was it. Neither of you spoke afterward.

There was so much that could have been said, so much that could have been exchanged, known, explored about the other. And yet it didn’t feel like any of the words known to you were enough to break the static tension in the room. You were just looking at Bucky, scanning every part of his body like it was a flash card for the most important test of your life.

So, here you were: With the opportunity of a lifetime right at your fingertips and the confidence of a kicked puppy settled deep in your wounded soul. The person you had known for the longest looked so timid as if he were looking at a stranger. Not that he had ever been shy about strangers back in the day. But this was different. This was strange and beautiful, and scary, and exciting. No book in the world held the answers as to what to do in this situation.

And the solution was so easy: you just had to say something. So why didn’t your damn mouth open?

The speaker above your heads crackled and then Tony’s voice rang through the room. And for the first time in what felt like hours, a tiny bit of the weight on your shoulders lifted with it. “Bearcat, If you don’t open your mouth and put the guy out of his misery in 5 seconds, I’ll personally mediate this incredibly static confrontation.”

You rolled your eyes and then glared at the mirror, knowing full well Tony was watching you despite your asking him to leave. You mouthed a ‘shut it’ towards the glass and then turned in shock when a familiar voice rose from the silence.”

“Bearcat?”

You stared at Bucky with soft eyes. There was an innocence in the way he slowly guided this conversation - almost like he’d always had. It was an easy question, a nice entry to the heavier stuff that was bound to be discussed.

And just as you began to explain, it dawned on you how much you had missed about each other. How differently your life could have been if it weren’t for the cruel turn of fate.

“When Steve and I were discovered, S.H.I.E.L.D. was our home for a long time. They tried to put us in apartments, even set us up with chaperones to guide us through the new century.” Bucky looked intrigued, even leaning forth as he listened intently. You wondered if he ever realized how much time had passed when he was the winter soldier... if anyone ever cared to tell him. “But it wasn’t until I met Natasha that I felt like I had arrived. She showed me so many things and trained with me until I became an agent here. Howard’s son came up with the nickname. He reminds me of him.” You smiled and shook your head “He’s a pain in my ass but a genius that can be genuinely helpful even though I don’t want to admit it at times. I haven’t grasped the explanation fully, but apparently, my fast learning and efficiency when it came to fighting reminded him of one of those small powerful fighter jets that were finished just after the war.” You chuckled at the memory before your eyes found Becky’s again only to see pain all over his face.

A silent tear rolled down his cheek and hit the floor before you could see it stain his skin. “I'm so sorry.” His voice was shaking, his body trying to make itself smaller but failing miserably with all the muscle surrounding it. He took up the room and your heart right along with it.

“Hey you have nothing to apologize for, you hear me.” You cradled his face and his hands instantly covered yours, only for his metal one to retract just as fast again. He was sorrowful and it made your heart ache.

“You’ve been navigating through so much alone and this is yet another thing you had to do without me.” He confessed through his tears and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t changed within - always caring for everyone around him and never putting himself first.

“I’m fine. Was then and am now.” You ensured him. “If you want to worry about someone, take Steve. He’s a lot more overwhelmed than I am.” Bucky chuckled through his tears, a deep seriousness settling in his eyes. “If anything, I’m sorry we didn’t save you sooner.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.” And there it was: a glimpse of the loving, caring, charming man you’d known so many years ago. A small smile snuck onto your face at the revelation and a spark of hope shot through your body.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” you confessed, "We never had the time to actually be just us. To live all the dreams we shared back then.”

Bucky's eyes were full of sorrow before he closed them and pressed his forehead to yours. “I wish I could say I missed you,” he whispered and slung his arm around you, “But I didn’t remember.”

“And that’s not your fault, you hear me.” Your hand stroked over his damp hair, pulling it back and making Bucky look at you again. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever doubt yourself. What happened to you is horrible. And I vow to kill every single person responsible for keeping us apart for this long. But not once will anyone ever consider this your fault.”

Bucky averted his eyes and turned his head but you were quick to catch his face with your hand. “Promise me you won’t beat yourself up. Please. That’s all I ask of you. Let Steve and me handle the rest and focus on becoming comfortable in your skin again. I can’t wait to meet the man you can become.”

“You don’t want to know me, doll. Not anymore. Even if it wasn’t my fault, it changed me. I’m not the man you-“ he stopped talking as you watched regret flash over his features. “I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t care what I deserve, Bucky. I want you. I always have and that won’t change because some bullies tried to brainwash you. The very fact that we are here talking like this shows how much stronger you are than them. How the good in you never wavered.”

“But I can’t even trust myself. How can I expect you to do so of me?”

You cradled his head harsher as you felt your own tears roll down your cheek. “All I need is for you to try and trust me. We’ll figure this out... like we always do.”

Bucky’s flesh hand had fallen to your thigh, a soft thumb stroking over your leg and he watched the movement in awe. You didn’t know how long it had been since he had last felt comfort but you were determined to make up for all the lost time. With the wild beating of your heart, you took his metal hand and laved your fingers with his, watching as Bucky’s eyes glued to your smaller hand in his. There was no fear of what could happen, no aversion towards the alien element attached to his body. And then, finally, he encased your hand with his silver fingers.

Your other hand still stroked his cheek and you waited until he caught your gaze again. And once he did, you did not hesitate to slowly push your lips to his.

Just a short, sweet kiss. One that held more words than you could ever say. And then you waited. What for? Maybe a rejection, the shake of his head, or the sheer confidence with which he used to kiss you decades back.

Bucky’s breaths were shaky, his hands still touching you and sending softly timid comfort through your body. He held your gaze for a second... and then, he finally kissed you back.

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itsoutrageouss · 2 years

Note

Can you do an Eddie x reader angst where reader is a cheerleader that has a MASSIVE crush on Eddie. She asked him out but because she’s a cheerleader he thinks it a joke and mocks her etc

a/n: hey sweetheartss- thank you so fkn much for all the love on my last Eddie post. This is sorta similar but a different scenario- hope you enjoy <3

warnings: kinda mean!eddie in the beginning obv, reader feeling humiliated, super mega fluffy cute ending!!!!

Nice fucking try - e. m.

—☕️

He was never at any of the games- which fair enough, why would he be?

Yet you couldn’t help the disappointment when you scanned the crowd for a specific mop of curls with no luck. You had practiced the fuck out of this routine and yet no one would probably be looking at you- they’d all look at chrissy instead.

It was like this often. You’d search for Eddie, and when you finally caught him, you’d sit and watch his sporadic movements and tales, admiring him from afar. He had sent a couple of sweet smiles your way; that was your only lifeline to him and you being a possibility. You were a cheerleader after all, and you knew how the basket team treated people like Eddie. You knew he probably thought the same of you but you were aching to prove him otherwise.

You had to do something about the way your heart was on fire for him, a bird beating itself to death in a cage, a moth around a lamppost- you couldn’t keep letting it burn until there was only ashes left.

You knew he had his usual hellfire club meeting today, and suddenly the routine you were doing was the least of your concerns- you even stepped on someone’s toes in the process but it didn’t matter. You were going for it. You were gonna give him the sweetest smile and the most sincere smile and ask Eddie Munson on a date, no matter what any of your friends thought. No matter to what depths your social status would go. You would risk it for him, you were head over heels after all.

After changing quickly while ignoring the annoyed look from your friends ‘cause of your routine slip up, you hurried to the hellfire club room.

Rocking back and forth in your converse, you leaned against a locker while fiddling with the strap of your gym bag. No sooner did the door fling open and several members left the room, mainly ignoring you or giving you a suspicious side-eye, except Mike who waved to you, since you knew Nancy. She was one of the few people who you trusted with your feelings about Eddie. When all had left, you stepped inside to see Eddie packing up from the campaign.

You didn’t say anything, heart suddenly in your throat and palms sweaty. The fabric of his white t-shirt was stretching over his back and he reached over the table, not yet noticing your presence.

“Eddie?” You asked softly, but he still jumped at your voice, a few dices clattering to the ground. The room was ominously lit, casting amber shadows over his pretty face.

“Uh, yes?” He asked slightly confused- suspicion already bleeding from his tone. He picked the dice off of the floor and continued to pack everything away while you stood.

“I uhm- well I don’t know if you know my name-“

“- y/n, yeah. I know.” He grumbled, not seeming particularly interested in what you had to say. You tried not to let it defeat the courage that had etched into your skin, dripping on your tongue.

“Was it a good… campaign?” You asked with a weary voice. You had secretly picked up a little starter guide to the dice game Eddie seemed so passionate about, to try and understand him better.

He scoffed. What kind of fucking foolery was the jocks up to now?

He didn’t even bother replying, knowing that wasn’t the reason you were here, was probably a fucking trick question already. You cheerleaders were like little heathens.

When he didn’t reply you felt your face flush in embarrassment- had you said something wrong?

“Okay well uh- I was wondering if,” you stuttered, fumbled over all your words as you kept fidgeting with your bag. The bird in the cage surely almost done for. The moth was growing tired.

“- if you’d like to do something with me sometime? Like hangout? On- on a date or something like that?” You asked. Your voice was breathy and the words came out a lot faster and unsure than you would’ve liked.

Finally he diverted his attention to you, his figure turning torturously slow, a finger raised in the air in front of him. “You’re asking me out?” He asked incredulously. He didn’t believe they would try such an old trick on him.

“Nice fucking tryyyy Princess,” he said loudly, voice dragging out the words- in case any of your friends were on the other side of the door laughing their asses off.

“What, you’d take me out to a nice dinner, laugh at my jokes and let me take you home to my scrappy little trailer? Is that what you want?” He laughed humourlessly, tongue rolling around his cheek while he stalked towards you.

“I- I mean that sounds fine to me?” You tried, voice more unsteady than ever. You couldn’t tell what was happening but the bird and the moth were lying helplessly in your heart and hot tears tickled the corners of your eyes.

“That sounds fine to you? I’m not falling for this shit, little witch. Run back to your friends, will ya?” He didn’t even spare you another glance as he finished cleaning the table and flung his leather jacket on.

You stood motionless, throat bobbing in an effort not to cry. He hadn’t just rejected you, he had completely misjudged you with no after thought- discarded you because of prejudices. You stormed out of the room with a horrible mix of rage and shame washing over you.

—☕️

“Something sick happened when all you little sheep left hellfire yesterday,” Eddie began as he placed his lunch tray drown dramatically. He glared over to the jocks table, surprised to instead find you sitting alone, sulking.

“What’s up?” Dustin asked curiously, biting into his apple.

“Little miss y/l/n tried to ask me out yesterday. Tried to humiliate me- but this mighty fucking game master didn’t fall for it,” he said almost proudly, digging into his lunch.

“Woah she asked you out? Was that why she was outside hellfire?” Mike said, voice borderline serious in a way that caught both Dustin and Eddies attention.

“Yes, so? Was expecting me to waltz right into that little trap,” he scoffed.

“Y/n asked you out? Dude she likes you! Seriously- I heard Nance and her talking about it a couple weeks ago in the car. She’s like over the moon for you, man.” Mike gestured around wildly to punctuate his words and their meaning.

Eddie stopped eating instantly, whatever was in his hand clattering to the tray as he looked over to your hunched figure again- head down, not eating, not talking.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- please tell me you’re joking kid.” He tried desperately, looking between Mike and Dustin who didn’t waver at all. “Nope. No joke. Can’t stop talking about you I swear.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands.

A pretty, nice cheerleader had asked him out- had a fucking crush on him and he mocked her like that? Scared her away? The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks as he dragged his palms over his face and through his hair, reliving the whole experience yesterday; how nervous you had been, how you asked him about this campaign.

Before his mind could prepare him more, he jumped from his seat and ran through the cafeteria, nearly stumbling and drawing all eyes to him as usual.

You looked up, throat twisting into knots as you saw Eddie sit, literally, on his knees on the floor next to the bench where you sat in your solitude.

“Y/n-“ he said, almost out of breath. His eyes were so big and soft, so pleading and glossy, it touched your heart despite the way he broke it yesterday.

“Y/n I’m so sorry. I thought you were messing with me yesterday. Thought it was some kind of joke from your friends or- I didn’t- I didn’t know you meant it but Mike-“ he breathed again, pausing. Everyone was looking at the two of you, your eyes wide at his hasty, guilty confessions.

“Hey, hey-“ you said, placing a hand on his shoulder “-lets uh- go somewhere else, hm?” You tried, standing from the bench. He swallowed loudly before looking around.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he breathed. When he looked at you then, he swore there was a gleam of something in your eyes.

It was hope.

You took his warm hand and dragged him out into the hall, ignoring the mocking from where your former friends sat. Where you used to be.

Eddie stuck his tongue out devilishly as you passed them before disappearing into the silent hall with you.

“Hi,” you said then, a soft smile splaying on your lips. It made Eddie’s insides flutter, knowing you were being genuine.

“Hey,” he replied with a huff, a broad grin adorning his features now too.

“I’m sorry-“ he began again but you cut him off quickly; his dramatic cafeteria gesture was enough of an apology to you, and you couldn’t even blame him for thinking like that with you being a part of the cheer squad.

“It’s okay, Eddie. I know I don’t seem like the type, but I promise you I- I think I really like you,” you confessed nervously, eyes darting around the tile floor “and I’m not friends with those dickheads anymore. Swear.”

The bird was beating around the cage, wilder and wilder and the moth dances excitedly around the bright burning lamppost.

“So the offers still- its still on?” He asked hopefully. You couldn’t possibly resist those puppy dog eyes he flashed you, the way his hands fidgeted with the rings adorning his slender fingers.

You nodded eagerly, not daring to believe any of this was really happening. “I’m not much for dinners, though” you added. He laughed. A warm sound you could see yourself getting very used to.

“Me neither. We’ll figure something out, hm?” He asked rhetorically, head tilting to the side to peer down at your hopeful face. Your expression made the guilt from yesterday wash away from his conscience, albeit slowly. God you were gorgeous, and he had half a mind to believe he was dreaming in this moment.

“It’s a date, then.” You stated. Before he could reply, you raised to your tiptoes and kissed his cheek gently.

A furious red blush crept up on his cheek and neck, his lips parted in surprise.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s uh- it’s a date,” he smiled, flustered as he squeezed your hand.

So damn gorgeous, he thought.

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littleluvsie · 1 month

Text

in moments | spencer reid x reader

a/n: little thing i wrote today maybe intended for longer series, not super edited (sorry hehe). trying to get back into the habit of writing with this new side blog. send me any requests if you'd like <3

wc: 1.9k

warnings: fem reader, use of she/her pronouns (reader), shy!reader, early seasons shy spencer, just pure fluff (for now)

There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in anyone’s mind that the BAU changed when you and Spencer seemingly arrived at their doorstep out of nowhere – both of you young and bright-eyed, but an undeniable force together, a wealth of intelligence. But sometimes – especially in moments like this – the team wondered how either of you managed to function in society up until now. Everyone is watching curiously, trying and failing to hide their amused smiles behind their coffee cups.

You’re nervous. They see it in the way you fiddle with the hem of your sweater behind your back, the way you squeak out your words like you’re afraid of them. If anxiety were personified, it’d look incredibly reminiscent of you. Spencer isn’t any better. From the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, every inch of exposed skin is visibly tinted with a cherry-red hue, and his eyes continue to fixate on everything, everywhere except your face.

“How are they even getting anything done right now? They look like they’re both about to throw up,” Emily mutters.

Morgan nods, “My money is on both of them having nervous breakdowns in the next ten minutes.”

Penelope tries her very best to swallow her laugh, but her efforts prove to be futile as a giggle manages to escape from her lips anyway. She quickly coughs and covers her mouth with her fingertips in an attempt to stifle it, but to no avail. Both you and Spencer hear it and glance over with adorably similar facial expressions, brows tightly knitted together and a hint of a pout gracing your lips.

When you’re only met with silence, you tilt your head questioningly.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing! How is it going over there? Did you guys find anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Spencer thinks that the Unsub’s location can be narrowed down to these specific neighborhoods given the pattern of…” As you turn to look at Spencer, you realize you’ve made the greatest mistake in your life. It’s as if every possible nerve ending you have in your body surges with electrical current, and you swear you can feel your heart pumping from the middle of your throat. His eyes meet yours, and he’s closer to you than you remember. Was he here the whole time? You have the sudden urge to crawl under the desk and stay there for as long as you can get away with it.

Do his lips always look like this? Has his hair grown out since yesterday? Is he furrowing his brows?

You realize that you haven’t spoken in what must be at least thirty seconds. Spencer would know how long. You feel even worse.

“Given the patterns in where the victims were found.” you finish quietly.

Spencer swivels his chair to face the team and continues with his explanation, but you can barely hear him as all of your thoughts focus on the fact that his leg is now pressed up against yours. You’ve come to the natural conclusion that your brain is no longer functional anymore, your career is over. Maybe if you beg on your knees, Hotch will let you take a sick day?

“Alright, let’s send smaller teams out and cover all possible locations, see what we can find,” Hotch announces from behind you. As he begins assigning pairs, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Now, you’ll have at least a few hours before you have to face Spencer again, and hopefully, by that point, all of the residual awkwardness of your stumble will be completely obliterated from everyone’s memory.

“And (Y/N) and Reid, you’ll take the last of the locations. Let’s debrief here once we’re done.”

As you stare at Hotch in disbelief, you swear there’s a very, very faint hint of a smile on his face.

You’re going to kill him.

~*~*~

Spencer reads through the case file for the millionth time since getting in the car with you. There’s really no point to it; you and everyone else knows he has an eidetic memory, he only had to read it once. If you asked, he’d lie and tell you he does it to pass the time or to just fill the silence with the sound of pages turning. But he thinks he really does it so that he doesn’t have to hear himself stumble over his words trying to talk to you.

It’s torture, being around you. You’re pretty and smart and nice and so wonderful, and if he thinks about it for too long, it hurts his head. Spencer wants to be around you all of the time and simultaneously none of the time – it’s an unsolvable equation, and he hates it. It’s torturous.

Even so, he knows his best days are always spent with you.

Most of your shared time is inevitably spent dissecting the neverending influx of cases received by the BAU. But every once in a while, there are times scattered between the chaos. Sometimes it’s the early mornings before anyone else has arrived, and the both of you drink your coffees together in comfortable silence. Sometimes it’s the late nights spent sitting at your desks across from each other with hot takeout and tired eyes. In these moments, both of you can talk about the books you’ve been reading recently, the best classical music composers, or your favorite episodes of Doctor Who, without any hesitation or uncertainty. Perhaps the delirium of sleep deprivation gives you courage, or maybe it’s just that both of you feel safer in the quiet, when the world feels a lot less overwhelming and all of your focus can be devoted to one another. Regardless, it’s what Spencer looks forward to the most, above all else.

So, he tries.

He clears his throat, “D-Did you know that Carlo Lorenzini, the guy that wrote Pinocchio, was said to be obsessed with the human nose?”

“Really? Huh… I wonder what the origin of the obsession was, y’know where it came from.”

And for just an instant, the anxiety has subsided, quickly replaced by a much stronger, fluttering from the depths of his stomach.

“Not sure, but sources say that he frequently wrote about noses in his earlier stories, so whatever the cause was must’ve been prior to the 1880s, when Pinocchio was published.”

You hum in acknowledgement, “Have you heard about the Pinocchio Paradox before?”

“The one created by Peter Eldridge-Smith’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I think her name was Veronique. What do you think of the possible solutions?”

While he thinks of an answer to your question, he also thinks about how seamlessly you manage to fit into the fragments of his mind. He’s never felt more seen than when you glance over at him, when you think he can’t see you. You’re perfect in a way that feels whole and complete to him, as if there’s nothing else he could ever want or need. He thinks about all of this, and much, much more.

~*~*~

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Spencer asks. He begins to rise from his seat, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll come with you though, I think I need a break anyway.”

It’s late, everyone else has gone home. All of the fluorescent, overhead lights in the bullpen are off, both of you opting to turn on a few of the surrounding desk lamps instead.

You don’t particularly like the dark, especially when it’s this late into the night. The walk to the kitchen feels a lot longer this way, your path being guided only by the residual light coming from the streetlights outside.

There’s a sudden crash to your left, and you yelp, jumping towards Spencer.

“Sorry! Sorry, that was me. I accidentally kicked a box of files I guess someone left on the floor, it knocked into one of the desks.”

“No worries! It’s okay. I’m just,” you sigh, “I’m just a little bit afraid of the dark.”

As your adrenaline levels steadily return to baseline, you’re suddenly hyper aware of how your entire body is quite literally pressed up against Spencer’s side, your hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. But just as you start to loosen your death grip, you feel Spencer’s fingers searching for you in the dim moonlight.

Every thought you’ve ever had, every bit of information you’ve ever learned escapes you in a single breath as he intertwines your fingers with his.

His voice is just barely above a whisper, “I’m a little bit afraid of the dark too.”

Both of you walk the rest of the way to the kitchen in complete silence and at an incredibly slow pace, as if even the sound of your soles against the linoleum floors would ruin this moment. You almost want to keep the abrasive lights of the kitchen off as you finally walk through the doorway with Spencer in tow; you know that the very second you flip the switch, you’ll have to let go of his hand. It’s not realistic for him to keep holding your hand, you chastise yourself. How would he even make his coffee if you’re holding his hand hostage?

You turn the light on. The alternative would be standing in the dark and you couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for doing so quickly enough.

A beat passes, your eyes adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You look down, and to your surprise, Spencer’s still holding onto your hand. Worse, he’s rubbing slow circles into the back of your hand with his thumb. I will never recover from this, you think.

“D-Do you still want coffee?”

“No, not really,” you respond. With how your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest, you really don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to consume any more caffeine.

“Me neither,” he trails off. His eyes are glued to the floor as if he’s afraid to meet your gaze, as if it’ll make you realize with sudden clarity that it’s his hand you’re holding and you’ll pull away.

“As you become drowsier, adenosine accumulates in the neuronal synapse and binds to the respective receptors located in the synapse of specific central nervous systems neurons causing further drowsiness,” you ramble.

“And caffeine is an adenosine receptor antagonist.”

“Exactly, and knockout mice studies reveal that it’s specifically the adenosine A2A receptor which is a member of the G-protein coupled receptor family.”

“Interesting. Even though you only have one PhD, having it in biology seems to be proving pretty useful,” he smiles.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s gotten me this far, wait what do you mean only one?”

“Dr. (Y/L/N), you realize I have three, right?”

“Dr. Reid, please shut up.”

You make him feel safe.

“Okay, sorry,” he giggles, “Can you please tell me more about caffeine?”

And because he asked so nicely, because he smiles at you the way he does, you tell him more. It’s nearly the middle of the night, but you’d still stay up and you would tell him everything you know, as long as he continued looking at you with his soft, brown eyes.

You both talk about everything and anything either of you think of, all while holding each other in the palm of your hands.

The next morning, he sits even closer to you. Luckily, it’s slowly getting easier to talk to him without losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, but it’s still hard sometimes. You still get nervous when he looks at you. You can still feel the butterflies flapping against the walls of your stomach, especially when he holds your hand underneath the desk.

Both of you think you’re being subtle, but everyone notices. They pretend they don’t.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #bau team

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luveline · 10 months

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I would love to see shy/easily embarrassed!reader x steve where he makes a dirty joke in front of their friends and r is just super flustered, blushing very obviously and smacking his arm (silent way of telling him to stop embarrassing her!)

thank you for your request lovely!! fem!reader

Robin drops a can of soda in your lap and winces when it misses your leg and hits the asphalt. "Shit. Don't open that for a while."

"Thank you," you say.

"Don't say thanks, she made your life harder," Steve chides, his arm over your shoulder. He gives you a loving shake. "You gonna say thanks when it explodes, too?"

He loves giving you and Robin a hard time for fun, but it's never serious. You send him a fake glare and take the cold soda can into your hand, tentative, worried it might explode.

"She says thanks all the time because she's nice," Jonathan says, peeling open a bag of hard pretzels.

Steve perks up like a bloodhound, his love for pretzels almost outranking his 'stir every pot' prerogative. "She's super nice," he agrees, "aren't you, sweetheart?"

"I feel like I'm being targeted unfairly," you murmur, pretending your cheeks aren't aflame to the best of your ability.

If he notices your flustered heat, you can blame the summer sun that's only just dropped down behind the treeline, throwing the road outside of the convenience store into shadow. It's a blessed reprieve from sweating, and all you need now is an ice cold drink.

You offer it to Steve. "Will you do it, please? I'm scared if I touch it anymore it'll explode."

"I know how it feels," Steve says.

Jonathan laughs in disgust, and Nancy laughs at his quick wit (and maybe also disgust). You slap Steve's arm where it rests over your shoulder, his hand shy of your chest suddenly in an unacceptable position, what with his implication. He laughs and pulls his hand to your shoulder to stop you from hitting him, kissing your temple.

"Sorry! I totally meant my heart," he says, giving you a little pat.

"Yeah, sure," Robin says. "I thought you were a feminist?"

"I love women," Steve says, giving you another kiss before leaping onto his feet and taking a couple of steps away, "that's why I'm going to open my babe's soda, even though it's one hundred percent a bomb."

You can't meet Robin's eyes when she smiles at you as if to say, He deserves this.

Steve digs his fingertip under the tab and pulls. Like everyone expected, fizz and foam explodes, hitting his chest and his neck before spattering down his fingers and dripping onto the ground. He blinks dazedly.

Your friends clap. You join in after a moment, in love with him even when he makes jokes that have you wishing the ground would swallow you whole, trying not to stare at the shining bead of soda as it slides down over his Adam's apple.

He sits down heavily beside you on the curb and hands you your soda, dried off with the end of his shirt. "Was that too far?" he asks, quieter, genuinely concerned.

You laugh softly, placing the soda by your shoes. "No, it was funny. Funnier if it wasn't, you know, in front of all our friends."

Steve drops his arm on top of yours to clasp your hand.

"My comedian," you mutter.

"Ah, so you are mad."

You drop your head against his shoulder, your furnace of a cheek flat to the stitching on his sleeve. You're not mad, and you prove it with a gentle thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

"You know, exploding isn't the only thing me and that soda have in common–"

"Steve, no," you say, closing your eyes.

Your friends chuckle. Steve rests his head atop yours. "I'll tell you after," he promises.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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thegnomelord · 4 months

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another thought about ghost courting - he bumbles his way through and it somehow actually works, you start finding his attempts cute until eventually you’re lying in bed thinking about him and you have a moment of realisation of “god dammit i like him”

Okay, okay okay, now i'm invested in this lol SFW but slightly suggestive.

You should be asleep. You've been trying to fall asleep for god knows how long, the blinking green numbers of your alarm clock mocking you with every change— minute after minute, hour after hour, tick tick ticking by until you're ready to tear the sheets with your claws.

Something buzzes at the back of your skull like a swarm of wasps, yet you're unable to understand what it is as you glare uselessly at the ceiling as if it'll reveal all the answers. Then your eyes flicker to the nightstand, the small bone charm sitting on it. It's a piece of bleached white bone carved into rough shape by unskilled hands, the edges sharp, and you're not quite able to tell what it's supposed to be but Simon made it for you.

He made it for you.

And you could the flush beneath his mask when he'd handed it to you, trying to remain stoic despite the nervousness gnawing on his nerves. God he'd looked so adorable, staring at you with confusion and surprise when you'd purred at the sight of his gift, his eyes analyzing every little movement you made as the whisps of shadow coming off his arms fizzled like pop rocks.

God you'd just wanted to devour him there and then, to coax that mask off him so you could see his face; you didn't doubt a second he'd turn red like a lobster, eyes blown wide and the most needy sound escaping his bitten lips as he writhed underneath you as you two—

Shit.

You liked him.

That ancient element in your bones woke up with a start when your brain registered you had a potential mate, all exhaustion leaving your body as you got up and out of your room, head held in the air and mouth open to track his scent like a bloodhound, able to taste him on your tongue as you found your way to the roof.

He turned when he heard the door open, mask lifted up to his nose so he could smoke in peace. His eyes widened when he saw your glowing eyes peering back at him, like small lights that lured prey into anglerfish jaws.

"Somethin' the matter?" He asked, brows furrowed as you sniffed the air.

Your nose wrinkled as nicotine muddled the sharpness of his scent, and before you knew it you were stomping right up to him, your clawed hands wrapping around his waist as you burrowed your face into his neck.

"What the fock are you doing?" Simon growled, a shiver racing down his spine when you nuzzled his skin, the light scrape of your fangs causing a lick of adrenaline to spark in his system. But he didn't push you away, you were one of the few people he ever let touch him longer than a second.

"Simon," You voice warbled, the silence behind your letters filled with inhuman sounds. You breathed in deep, purring at his scent, of gunpowder and blackwood and something distinctly Simon filled your nose. "Mate." You purred louder, feeling it vibrate against his chest.

Ghost nearly choked at your words, the cigarette dropping to the floor as his mind stuttered like an old computer. "Wha- . . .what?"

"Mate." You repeated, and Christ did that word sound good on your tongue, your tongue coming out to lick a stripe up his neck, grinning when he wrapped his own arms around you like you were a raft in the storm. "My mate."

Simon could feel his heart beat faster, thumping in his ears like a nervous rabbit as you nuzzled further into his neck, spreading your scent on him. "Yeah?" He asked carefully, "Yours am I?"

You grumbled and lifted your head to nuzzle your cheek against his — the best you could do as a kiss when you had a mouth full of sharp teeth. "Yes," You grunted, holding the back of his neck, feeling him progressively go slack against you. "And I'm more than happy to prove it."

The hungry look in your eyes made him shiver with anticipation.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #top gn reader #dom gn reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod modern warfare

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esouliie · 4 months

Text

– TEARS ON THE GRAND PIANO

– pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader (MINI SERIES)

– synopsis: moving on from the only person you’ve ever loved is proving to be hard… so hard that hiring an escort seems to be the only way forward.

– warnings: poor dialogue lmao but my excuse is that it was written a while ago, offensive language, word count: 3K

– Prologue | Chapter 1

13TH NOVEMBER 2022

You were pretty sure your face was melting off with the way your cheeks burned against your hands. Your jaw ached tremendously from clenching, each muscle protesting against the pressure of the emotions welling up inside you.

The room felt like a pressure cooker, and the silence was the ever-tightening lid that threatened to explode at any moment.

The weight of awaiting unspoken words hung in the air, creating a palpable discomfort that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. Seconds stretched into minutes, each passing moment intensifying the unease.

Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this standoff… of sorts.

Joining the Avengers four years ago wasn't anything you would’ve expected for yourself. Raised as a normal teenage girl in a quiet suburban household, with a normal life planned ahead of you, you never imagined that your destiny would lead you to the extraordinary world of superheroes.

Tony Stark, the genius behind the Iron Man suit, approached you with an offer that would change your life forever. He explained that the world needed new heroes, and your unique abilities were the missing piece they had been searching for. After some hesitation and contemplation, you decided to accept the invitation to join the team.

And here you are - now a grown woman - sitting across from the same Tony Stark. His jaw was slack, eyes wide to an almost inhuman degree. For a man who had faced gods, aliens, and powerful foes, the revelation seemed to have caught even the Iron Man off guard.

To put it shortly, he was stunned. Such an uncharacteristic reaction from the philanthropist.

“What did you just say?” He finally managed to answer.

This was supposed to be easy; simple enough to not stress you even more, but you should've known that nothing comes easy with this man.

“I think you heard me, Tony.”

“Yeah, but I never thought I’d hear that… come out of your mouth.” He slaps his hand against the chair excitedly. He was both amused and bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.

“I mean, everyone thought you were a virgin, with the lack of relationships over the years, but I guess not, huh?”

His laughter irritated you no doubt.

Despite being twenty-three years old, your teammates, in their misguided assumptions, were certain you were a virgin. It was a label that stuck, fuelled by your shyness about your personal life. No one ever dared to inquire about your relationship status, but subtle concerns were shared between them, creating an unspoken curiosity.

In reality, your heart harboured a secret love for someone you couldn't have – a person who existed in the realms of impossibility. It was a love that had silently grown over the years, nurtured in the shadows of silent words and unfulfilled desires.

“So, you want me to set you up with an escort?” He asks, humour still evident in his voice.

You nod, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation washing over you. Your eyes briefly met his before retreating to your fidgeting hands, the room still echoing with his laughter.

“That’s fine. But first, I need you to answer some questions.” Tony continues, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

Confusion creeps across your face as you tilt your head, thrown off course by his unexpected shift in seriousness.

“First of all, why?” He inquires, leaning back in his chair and studying your reaction.

You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much you should reveal. "It's complicated. There was someone… but the feelings weren’t mutual, and it’s time to move on. I thought this might be a way to help me do that."

Tony raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Feelings, huh? Well, I'm all ears. Spill the beans. Who's the lucky guy?"

You sigh again, knowing that this part might complicate things. “It’s not something … I just don’t think-,” You don’t want to tell him, it feels all too frightening, “I can’t say.”

He hums lowly, observing your obviously nervous state.

“Okay. What’s your preference?”

Your confusion grows.

He sighs, “Male or female?”

He asks so simply whereas you’re caught off guard.

Your ears burn in embarrassment as the implication dawns on you. You knew this would have to be spoken about at some point, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

“Uh, I t-think, female.”

Tony can't help but wear a sly grin. “So not a virgin and not into dudes. No wonder you shot Sam down.”

The mention of Sam makes you cringe, recalling your first encounter with the man who couldn’t take a hint that you were definitely not interested.

You attempt to regain your composure before warning Tony to be serious, but he interrupts your process, seemingly already moved on from your revelation.

“Anyways, what else?”

Again, you’re stumbling over how to answer but he saves you this time, deciding to lighten up on the teasing.

“I’m talking physically. What would you want her to look like? Tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead?” His hands move drastically as if sculpting an imaginary figure in the air.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was serious. "Does it matter?"

“Well, yeah, escorts are usually pricey, especially the ones I use to hire so… you might as well fuck someone you’re actually attracted to.”

He was right. It would cost a fortune for a high-end escort. Given your public image and the constant scrutiny you faced, you realise that anyone you brought into your private space would need to be discreet and accustomed to the world of celebrities. There would be NDAs to sign, and security measures to consider, and the whole process seemed more complex than you had initially thought.

“Assuming you want an escort for that?”

His words interrupt your thinking. He had a knack for understanding things without needing them explicitly stated. It was both a blessing and a curse. The fact that he guessed your intention to hire an escort without you saying it out loud was both impressive and mildly embarrassing.

Your blush deepens.

“I’d prefer her to be taller than me, brunette, green eyes.”

His grin slips slightly, realisation sinking in. Your preference seemed to match the appearance of a certain witch.

“Simple enough.”

“And also, old- actually, she can be my age, but I’d prefer an older woman.” You add, unknowingly unravelling another layer of mystery to your request.

Tony hums.

“Preferably not American, maybe like European, or…”

It couldn’t get any better for the man. The quick panic in your eyes, let alone the twitch in your lip, helped finalise his theory.

But ever the optimistic, there’s no way he’d caught that slip.

There are a lot of tall, brunette Europeans in America.

Surely.

He rests his head in his hand, feigning false nonchalance, “Sounds familiar.”

Oh.

Wanda Maximoff arrived in America with a heavy heart and a troubled past. The scars of Sokovia and the loss of her brother, Pietro, weighed on her soul, but she was determined to forge a new life. She was haunted by the memories of experimentation and the pain that had been inflicted upon her throughout her life. The scars, both physical and emotional, served as a constant reminder of the darkness she had endured. Yet, as she stepped onto American soil, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Hope for a new life.

Almost every day, she participated in training sessions to harness and control her formidable powers. Vision, an android and fellow Avenger, became her mentor and confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly to channel her abilities, turning the chaos into controlled strength.

Her dark eyeliner that used to coat her waterline thinned with each passing day. Her green eyes, now a striking contrast against her porcelain skin, began to reflect not only her pain but also the resilience that lay within. Her long, brunette locks remained a constant, gracefully cascading down her back.

The Sokovian Accords had torn her away from your life, but Steve Rogers, the man with an unyielding sense of justice, had set her free. She had been detained, left to rot in chains and a power-disabling device. But now, she lived in the shadows, on the run from those who sought to control her immense power.

The next time you saw her was on the battlefield in Wakanda. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the Wakandan landscape, and you found yourself standing amidst the chaos of the battlefield. The air was charged with tension, tangible electricity that mirrored the clash between the forces before you. Amid the chaos, you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, moving with purpose and grace.

Wanda. The woman you once knew as a fiery teenager, full of anger and confusion, had transformed into someone entirely new. Her crimson hair, cut to a length that framed her face, caught the fading sunlight as she weaved through the battlefield.

The old Wanda you knew was gone and yet she was still as beautiful. Still the same Wanda you were in love with.

Even so, she was your best friend.

The age difference never seemed to matter; you clicked in a way that transcended space and time. To you, her friendship was everything. And yet, as life unfolded, so did the unexpected twist of emotions that left you utterly devoted to her.

But your love was unrequited. She fell for Vision. The robot born from the mind stone, the same stone that granted Wanda her powers. They clicked instantly.

Unrequited love can be a heavy burden, and you carried it silently, painfully. From a distance, you observed the deep connection between Wanda and Vision strum stronger. Your heart ached, knowing that you never stood a chance against the android who had become the love of her life.

Her space and time.

And then came Westview. It hit you like a tidal wave of sorrow. Wanda, now known as The Scarlet Witch, had created an alternate reality in an attempt to find solace, to build a life where she could have everything she ever wanted. It was a bittersweet revelation - she had her family, but it was a fragile illusion. Life had decided to take everything good from this woman and that included her husband and twin boys.

Learning about their fates left you shattered. It had been a while since you cried over Wanda. You felt so much for the witch. To you, she deserved the universe but for all the time you knew her, she had only experienced pain.

It was a heartbreaking paradox - the one who could rewrite reality couldn't escape her own suffering.

Tony moves closer to you, breaking you out of your trance.

“You could always look for her.” His hand hovers over yours, unsure.

“No, I couldn’t,” You whisper gently, afraid your voice will betray you, “I don’t want to.”

He doesn’t say anything as he moves back to his original position, battling with himself whether to accept your defeat or encourage you to fight for love.

“Okay. I'll look into it.” He answers shortly.

“Thank you, Tony.”

You really do appreciate his help. He has always been there for you, a fun yet steady presence in your life. He had guided you through tough times in your career and offered a shoulder to cry on when needed. In many ways, he was more than just a friend – he was like an older brother.

“It won’t take long for me to find your woman. So make sure you’re ready for the best night of your life.” He concludes by flicking his tongue grossly between his pointer and middle finger.

But he’ll always be a pig.

15TH DECEMBER 2022

A few weeks later, you found yourself in the penthouse suite of one of Tony’s infamous drunk hotel purchases- The Ritz. He had managed to find an escort that fit your preferences within the same night, but due to conflicting schedules and multiple anxiety attacks, you pushed the date back as much as you could.

Tony helped you understand all the unspoken rules of high-end escort services. For high-risk clients, such as yourself, it’s imperative that a fake name is given.

Monica Dunn.

Tony said you didn’t look like a Monica but you didn’t care. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t an escort’s job to care what name their clients use.

Afterwards, NDAs are usually signed, despite the use of a false identity, just in case the escort discovered who the clients were, and sold the information to the press.

This has happened before. You giggle, remembering the scandalous article about Tony and his rendezvous with an escort that gladly divulged a particular fetish of his.

Five minutes before the agreed meeting time, the front desk rings, informing you that your guest had checked in and was on her way up.

You pace around the front door, nursing on the almost empty glass of wine. Soft music playing through the TV just outside the large conversation pit, a sunken enclave surrounded by plush, velvety sofas and cushions in hues of deep royal blue and silver. The pit was nestled in the centre of the room, creating a cosy and intimate atmosphere.

Perfect for tonight.

The suite’s architecture was utterly beautiful. The walls were adorned with gilded frames housing masterpieces of renowned artists, and the floors were covered in an expanse of soft, ivory carpet that allowed you to sink your feet into its embrace. A grand chandelier, dripping with crystal prisms, hung majestically above the conversation pit, casting a warm and gentle glow over the entire space.

Residing in front of the large glass windows, a grand piano stood proudly, its polished surface reflecting the glimmering chandelier above. Your eyes were drawn to it, a majestic instrument that seemed to beckon you with its silent invitation. Unable to resist its allure, you gracefully make your way towards it. The rich scent of aged wood and varnish envelopes you. Fingers delicately glide over the smooth keys, feeling the cool touch beneath.

You sit upon the plush bench, posture adjusting with the grace of a seasoned pianist. You begin to play, letting your fingers dance effortlessly across the keys. The room fills with an enchanting melody, each note resonating through the space. Lost in the music, you start to hum along, your voice blending seamlessly with the piano's tune.

The same tune you wrote for Wanda all those years ago. It's been a while since you’ve played this song. You’re not even sure why you’re playing it now.

The keys dip. A sombre note rings true. The music swirls into a reflection of your emotions, a silent expression of the feelings you had kept hidden for so long and how they remained unbound.

“That’s beautiful.” A voice broke through the harmony, pulling you out of your musical reverie.

Startled, you turn to find her standing there, in all her glory.

And time ceases to exist.

She stands tall. The red hair that once defined her is now a rich, deep brown, still its usual thickness and tied into a high ponytail that exudes a casual confidence. Bangs frame her sculpted face as a gloss stains her lips. She looks different. You can't help but marvel at the maturity that now graces her features. There's a certain grace to the lines that weren't there before, a subtle testimony to the experiences that have shaped her.

The room becomes a backdrop to the flood of memories rushing through your mind. The air is thick with festering emotions as you look up at her, trying to process the unexpected reunion. It's been years since you last saw her, and the wounds of her departure still linger.

You don’t say anything but she does. She steps closer, eyes flickering over your stilled hands on the instrument.

She laughs, and familiarity strikes as she recalls the tune you were playing. "Is that the song you were writing that night?"

The question hangs in the air, summoning memories of the last time you shared your dreams and melodies, the things that mean most to you. She was your muse and you had bared your soul to her in your music. And now you’re trapped between the resonating notes of the piano and the echoes of your past.

For a moment, you struggle to maintain composure. Indifference projected as a firm shield, a sort of defence against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"It's just a tune." You reply nonchalantly, trying to downplay the significance of the moment.

With that, her gaze intensifies, a shadow of uncertainty rushes across her features.

You can't help but feel a sense of curiosity mixed with a tinge of unease.

All this time that has passed and now she decides to come find you.

You don’t understand why she’s here.

She goes to speak but you interrupt her. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

She’s lost for words, not even fully sure herself.

“I came to see you.”

Wanda sees the strain on your face. She didn’t have to read your mind to know you were in turmoil. Without much thought, she gently cradles your face in her hands, thumbs tracing delicately over your lips, and you lean into the touch, momentarily forgetting everything that’s occurred over the last few years.

This doesn’t last long. The warmth of her touch turns cold, and you stand up abruptly, the piano bench skirting backwards loudly. Anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Don’t touch me.”

You don’t expect it to hurt as you see the pain your words cause her.

“Seriously, Wanda. Why are you here?” You continue, voice thick with led.

Wanda sighs, unwilling to lie to you anymore. “Tony sent me.”

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff #cr:@florietas

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meltedheartz · 2 months

Text

yan!paul atreides is such a freak :(

you’re one of the emperor’s kids, introduced as his daughter despite insisting you’re a boy. you’re so pretty in his eyes :((

he loves you sm, presses kisses on your face, hands in yours, all gentle and adoring :(((

but you know for a fact there’s an underlying, deep obsession that he has with you under all that tenderness.

paul follows you like a lost puppy — constantly lingering around like he’s your second shadow

is he apologetic? not at all! he needs to make sure you’re safe at all times!! even when he’s out and about, too busy to watch you himself

‘course, the aloof idiot gives you all sorts of gifts. he buys you flowers, clothes, food, and anything you’re even remotely interested in, despite you not needing all of it :(

how else are you gonna end up dependent on him and solely him! he has to prove he can properly take care of you, duh.

not to mention how whenever he’s near you, he’s callin’ you dumb things. his pretty boy, his star, his fucking everything.

it should be unsettling — but you’ve been around him long enough to be used to it! it’s all good!!

paul also loves to visit you. a lot. stays for a few days, talks with you, does any and everything he can possibly do with you.

nd when the weirdo seeks to become the emperor? shit, best believe you’re the best candidate for that.

he does everything in his power to make it happen. and fuck, does he make it a reality, forces fate, changes his and your path when he’s wed to you :(

paul’s starin’ at you like you’re the only person in the room, clinging to you like he wants to never let go.

and paul really, really doesn’t wanna let go of you. not ever.

so when he ends up alone with you? no one else around, everyone gone home or elsewhere?

he immediately falls to his knees and takes off all your attire, pressing kisses on your tummy, all the down to your cunt.

the entire time, he’s drooling all over you, lickin’ and sucking while praising you.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

“all mine now, yeah? yeahhh, that’s it.”

“you gotta loosen up if you want me to put a baby in you, y’know. can you do that for me?”

he makes you cum all over his fingers, knuckle deep inside of your cunny with hearts in his eyes.

it’s the way he talks to you — praising you all nice nd sweetly despite the filthy words he’s saying :(

when he’s done, paul licks his fingers and stands up. he came in his pants twice just from tasting you, how many times is he gonna cum when he’s inside?

the thought has you shuddering.

#heartz.png #heartz.png files #AHAAAA #i wanted this out of my system #paul has a heavy breeding kink #i hate him #he’s such a weirdo #paul atreides x male reader #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul atreides is a freak #paul atreides x black reader #paul atreides smut

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