tzumongg

[tzumongg]

reading smut but i forgot to read the anal fisting tag

#erm

[tzumongg]

its my bday :)

#pisces is in fact rhe best sign fight me

[tzumongg]

i cannot be the only one who dislikes g!p like the whole point of me liking women is bc they don’t have those parts 😭 ples guys make fics where they dont have 9 inch cocks pls 😔

#twice #pls #i just want a normal fic where the r doesn’t get slapped in the face w a dick

[tzumongg]

like last year’s vogue

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: and maybe you’re just tired of the limitations of wealth, the grandeur, the opulence. maybe you’re just tired of seeing the same people day in and day out. but without that, there’s only sana — sana who smirks at you like there's a joke you’re never in on, who shows up in spaces she doesn’t belong and makes you want her.

tags: rich kids!au ; smut ; bondage ; edging ; praising ; spanking ; strapping ; sana has her middle-class shit together ; kinda friends to lovers ; friends with benefits ; and anything else i’ve missed

author’s note: money, sex, power. inspired by the wolf of wall street, which if you haven’t watched yet, can be described in three words. money, sex, power. (and drugs, so maybe not three words.) not proofread!!

you are a pretentious bitch.

the only reason sana knows you at all is because you run in nayeon’s circle, where all twenty-somethings do: haughty, bored, and with more money than they’ve ever had original ideas. she’d met you months previously with your lips a dark red and your eyelids smoky, extending a hand as if dainty, delicate. as if you’d expected sana to bring it to her mouth and leave a kiss. like you’d known her own worth and took great pleasure in marking it up.

the two of you had clasped hands. “minatozaki sana?” you’d said mildly. “nayeon talks about you... frequently.”

sana had smiled, tight, and then eyed your leather pants and boots and white crop top underneath your fuzzy grey cardigan — no doubt worth thousands of dollars — and said, “nayeon talks about you when you’re relevant to her story.”

your eyes had narrowed; the corner of your mouth curled. something had passed between you both, then; something sana understood.

nobody talked back to you like that, because nobody ever talked back to rich kids.

and you, in all your pompous, disdainful, raven-haired and golden-eyed grandeur, loved it.

sana only manages invites to very specific events, but she’s never left out of a single one meant for her: kickbacks, birthday parties, my-parents-are-out-of-town ragers; everything that doesn’t require money itself to pass.

she’s not in your circle — she’s not wealthy, doesn’t have important parents, doesn’t come from splendor and opulence — but she’s cool. she’s effortlessly cool, the kind half the kids spend inordinate amounts of money attempting to replicate. she has her own apartment, and she isn’t in a bad neighborhood. she knows exactly who she is and what she’s doing with it, and it’s the kind of self-sufficient stability everyone else admires. it’s like she doesn’t need money, like it doesn’t impress her at all — and it’s insanely, outrageously appealing.

she also restores motorcycles for a living, an occupation that gives her incredibly defined muscles and the enviable air of honest, hard work; she also knows how to ride them, a detail you’re once again forced to reckon with when sana roars up to nayeon’s on a friday night, straddling the seat of a yellow-to-orange hued 1940 indian chief. glossy, beautiful, like it’s never been touched — she’s probably put months of work into it.

jay and mark meet her at the end of the driveway, already eager and awed like five-year old boys rather than adults; she slips her helmet off her head, hops off the bike, and humors every question they lob at her with an easy grin.

you watch it all from the back gate, staring down the driveway with a red solo cup of maker’s 46 in your hand. you and sana are familiar, but nothing more; she’s nayeon’s friend. that’s something set in stone. sana probably wouldn’t show up to something nayeon wasn’t at, though she’d definitely be invited.

on this occasion, nayeon’s parents have taken her younger sister seoyoon to paris as a high-school graduation gift, leaving her with an empty house and a perfect opportunity.

you’ve been there for an hour already, on the verge of giving up — sometimes nayeon’s parties grow dull, and that’s a point where you think of dragging jay off, fucking him to relieve the boredom. it doesn’t usually work, but it’s still better than sitting at a table half-drunk with a group of twenty-three-year-olds whose only substance is composed of the drugs they snort.

until sana, at least — because the first thing sana does upon walking up the driveway is meet your eyes, let her grin unfold. she slips her round sunglasses off her face, folds them into the collar of her shirt — oh, of course, you think, leaning against the gate with your arms loosely crossed. of course, she looks incredible.

she doesn’t even try. she’s wearing a black ac/dc back in black t-shirt, loosely tucked into her dusty-red cuffed pants, and black sneakers you vaguely place as old skool vans — jay, who came from newer money, owned a few pairs. he’s thought they were cool. but they look infinitely better on her, like she could’ve stepped out of an instagram feed for street fashion, resentfully casual at five-nine with her blonde hair tumbling down her back.

“(insert affectionate pet name),” she says.

“minatozaki,” you answer in return, your usual greeting. you’re not sure where it started, and even less sure why — but you can never quite get over the sense that you’re being teased.

“i’m glad you’re here,” sana says, which isn’t part of your usual greeting, and forces a momentary pause while you consider your angle.

“are you?” you ask eventually, but your indifference is never as effective on sana as it is on everyone else.

“yeah,” sana says, and she steps forward, plucking your cup straight from her hand and knocking back a swig; it’s so unexpected you don’t have a chance to stop it, and your instinct is more of bewilderment than it is of offense. sana wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist, and her smirk glitters. “i’ve been bored recently.”

she says bored like a threat, like a crime with a punishment. she doesn’t wait for a response, despite lingering for a moment before brushing by you into the yard with your bodies too close for the breath of a second and your eyes locking — your disinterest loses to your intrigue, and sana’s nothing but challenge, ominous enough for an edge.

it’s only after she’s steps ahead and jeongyeon’s calling her name that you catalog her boredom as the opportunity it is, as an offer. you’re not sure what exactly it entails, not sure you’re even interested; sure, sana’s attractive in every sense of the phrase, but she’s not worth it. that’s what you tell yourself as you retreat back into the yard, anyway.

so, it’s a coincidence that it’s sana you sit next to at the table where jeongyeon’s starting a game of king’s cup. and it just makes sense to pick sana as your partner when you draw an eight. and when there’s a waterfall, sana waits an extra ten seconds to stop drinking, knowing you’re right after her — but it doesn’t mean anything.

maybe you’ve been bored, too.

it’s a game with one motive: get everybody drunk.

sana draws a jack and makes a rule for no names, which fucks all of you over spectacularly — mark and jay just resort to slurring the word dude over and over to get attention, but as all of you are a group of people who don’t normally respond to being addressed as such, it only marginally works.

it ends when jihyo cracks the can — she’s forced to shotgun over the grass, everyone standing around her and cheering. nayeon, momo, and mina watch from the spa, all in various states of mild amusement.

except sana, who you catch slipping out the gate onto the long driveway and follow her.

“hey,” you say, and sana turns around in a brief surprise, joint hanging between her lips. she’s holding a lighter in her right hand, and a water bottle sits on the roof of nayeon’s aston martin.

she relaxes upon seeing you. “hey,” she says, continuing flicking the spark wheel. “you want a hit?”

“of that cheap shit?” you say. “i’ll pass.”

sana merely rolls her eyes, grinning. she exhales smoke as she speaks. “i buy from jay,” she says, and oh, of course she does — they smoke the same weed. “so, unless your problem is with my mouth” — she takes a step forward into your space, tilts her head down to emphasize your height difference — “i think you’re safe.”

there’s the challenge. “maybe it’s just you i have a problem with.”

but sana only laughs, and it’s clear she doesn’t buy it for a second — she takes another deep hit, stubs out the joint on a groove in the stone masonry of the house. you don’t live here, and so you don’t care. as long as the two of you are getting somewhere.

which you both seem to be, fast. “admit it,” sana says, bringing her arm to the wall over your head, drawing inwards. you only watch, masked and unreadable aside from the smirk playing about the corners of her mouth. “you think i’m hot.”

“i don’t think you have nearly enough money to be as confident as you are,” you say airily in response, bringing your cup to your mouth. but you’re losing, as much as you don’t want to admit it, as light and untethered as you keep your voice. you could slip out from underneath sana’s arm, walk back into the party, spend the rest of the night eating finger sandwiches and pretending to laugh at the boys’ bad jokes. you could, but you don’t, and you won’t.

sana’s smile burns sinister — something of a storm, both threatening and beautiful — and leans even closer, forcing you to lower your cup. she says, “you don’t care about money,” and your eyebrow twitches at an incline. “you have more money than you know what to do with. you think ninety percent of your exclusive, wealthy inner circle is full of shit.” she casually lifts her free hand as she speaks, runs her index finger along your jawline; you tilt your head on instinct, giving her access. “they do cocaine because they can afford it; you’d rather be reading some profound, philosophical musing on life— like the alchemist or siddhartha or journey to the east.” there’s that tiny hitch to every inhale, air leaking from her lungs. sana drifts almost closer to your ear, drops her voice even further, reckless and bold as she murmurs: “they wouldn’t know how to fuck you even if you wrote them an instruction manual.”

okay, so, it’s possible you’ve underestimated her. fire spreads up the brush of your veins, lights your cheeks. not embarrassed. hot.

“you’ve been bored,” you say slowly, and this is already the best proposition you’ve ever gotten.

“i’ve been bored,” sana agrees, your lips inches from each other and her smile slipping wide.

it isn’t something to talk about. sana kisses you, you allow it — her tongue sweeps hot and consuming in your mouth, her calloused fingers still soft against the inside curve of your neck — and then says, “two hours, y/l/n, and i’m taking you home.”

“you better not be all talk, minatozaki.”

“oh, i’m going to do a lot of talking, and you’re going to do exactly what i tell you to.”

she’s sobered by the time she sneaks out of the party with you hours later and you’re on your way, but you hadn’t committed quite like sana had. she only has one helmet, and she makes you wear it — safety first, she says dangerously, the double-entendre unmasked. you wrap your arms around sana’s waist, feeling the heat of her skin through her t-shirt, feel her muscles firm beneath your hands — and you think of ripping the helmet off, telling sana to fuck you on the bike, bending you over the seat. but sana revs the engine, kicks off the ground, and maybe you’ll save that request for a different day.

sana’s apartment is small by your standards, but then again, nearly everything is.

there are more pressing matters at hand. “safe word?” sana asks, breath hot against the inside of your ear; she skims her teeth over your earlobe, and purposefully, slowly exhales. your shiver is almost violent in its response, goosebumps erupting over your skin. kisses from your cheekbone to the corner of your mouth. kisses skin like it belongs to her.

“poverty.”

sana’s eyes flash in the darkness, amused at the response but deeming it unfitting for the course of the night; you know you’re in trouble before the two of you have even crossed that line. “feisty,” she comments, and her grip tightens just slightly. “what’s your real safe word, y/l/n?”

“target,” you say instead. the concept stands, but sana only smirks wider and allows it.

“i’m not into titles or roleplay,” sana says conversationally, twining strands of your hair through her fingers. “you can use my name, my last name, whatever — all that i care about,” she continues, and here’s the ground rules, “is that you’re good at doing what you’re told.”

it’s directly against your nature, but there’s a difference in the darkness. so, she says, “i think that’s something we can work on,” and mirrors sana’s smirk. good luck, you’re saying. give it a try.

you see the appreciation for your bite, even if you don’t get to feel it — sana tugs sharply on your hair, seems satisfied by the muted gasp, the way your chest heaves, tightens for a moment. “I’m not going to be rewarding you for your snark tonight,” she says, and with every word she locked herself away — or maybe she’s letting herself loose. “you’ll answer me only when i ask you to. you won’t touch me unless i say so, and even then, you can’t touch my hair. and you will not cum unless ordered to.” she senses the tensing of your body, the inherent argument and rebellion inside of you, and shifts her grip to your chin, catches it between her thumb and index. forces you to maintain eye contact. all you can comprehend from up-close is how gorgeous she is, her flawless skin, her full lips — “actually,” she finishes, “you’ll ask me permission to cum, and i’ll decide if i’ll allow it. understood?”

“yes,” you say, your voice a little too high and breathy for nonchalance.

“good.” sana gives you a kiss, the brush of lips, and she pulls on the fabric of your red shirt, tucked into your black high-waisted shorts. they’re tight, too — showing off the curve of your ass, barely covering the tops of your thighs — and lifts it overhead, careful of the long necklace of a cross around your neck. “think of this as a trial run.”

and then she tosses it on the floor like it’s nothing, examining you from top to bottom, lingering appreciatively on your breasts, your stomach, your legs. “take off your boots.”

there’s no way to do it gracefully — they’re kind of punk boots, silver spikes jutting out from the heel. sana keeps a hand on your waist, steadies you — and then smiles even broader when they’re off, distinctive and predatory. because now she’s really looking down.

“good,” she says again, and continues stripping you until you’re left only in her lingerie, trembling under sana’s gaze. sana’s taken your clothes, your height, your money — or your expression of it — left you bare. left you shivering. left you wet.

sana sweeps her hair over her shoulder, thumbs the trail of her collarbone, and she’s a strange mix of things both soft and cruel, of blades and beauty — she likes what she sees, but she also wants to ruin it.

that’s what you want, too. ruin.

“lie down,” sana says, nodding to the bed behind you. “and close your eyes.”

her bed’s comfortable; that’s the thought in the back of your mind with her eyelids shut, like an idle soothing of her nerves — but it’s replaced the minute sana crawls over you, whispers open — and now sana’s left in her own underwear, cleavage spilling out of her lace bra, her boy shorts hugging your ass — open — you think of opening a lot of things, her legs, her cunt, her ribcage—

sana’s far, far beyond stunning — she’s sexy, she’s filthy hot, abs defined and the do not cross lines of her biceps — hair up in a loose bun, eyelashes long and fine, lips pink and hungry — she captures your mouth, kisses like there’s a war she’s won and you’re standing in the aftermath — and then she falls to your jaw, your neck, your chest, maneuvers around the necklace. she takes time with her torture, unhooks your bra and slides it off your arms, rolls a nipple between her fingers before taking it in her mouth and sucking, lightly catching it between her teeth — you’re an inch away from writhing, your heart pulsing in the hollow of your throat, your breath turning into little flightless gasps—

sana loves this, you recognize immediately — she runs her hands all over your skin, like she can’t believe how tiny you are in comparison to the size of her own hands — she switches to your other breast, flicks the nipple with her tongue and takes it in — sana hadn’t told you not to moan and you allow yourself the sound, the hum breaking the silence — sana pauses for a split second, grins, continues to your sternum, your stomach—

she palms your hips, fingertips trailing the line of your underwear. brings your head down, dips between your thighs — exhales through the lace, inhales your cunt, smirks at the smell of sex, the proof that if one of you had ever been all talk, it’d been you—

presses a kiss directly over your clit, and immediately upon reflex, you shoot a hand to sana’s hair.

sana sees it coming, lifts her head, catches your wrist in her hand firmly — it almost hurts, but in the good way, the pressure of breaking boundaries — and now she’s a searing red, her lips in a hard line.

“what did i say?” she asks slowly, shifts up onto her knees again, still grasping your wrist. “answer me.”

“don’t touch your hair,” you breathe out, feeling wetness seeping through your underwear.

sana’s eyes glitter. “and what did you do?”

“touch your hair.” it’s almost a whimper.

she straightens fully, releases your arm, goes for your hips instead, tugs your body down to the middle of the bed. “get on your knees,” she commands, backing away. you do as you’re told, almost wince at the sound of sana’s feet hitting the floor. not out of fear. out of anticipation.

you watch the imprints of your own weight against the mattress, how your palms sink, fingers spread; the cross dangles from your neck, but the only judgment you value is coming from the girl behind you, now settling close to your ass with something denim clutched in her hand. sana tugs your underwear halfway down her thighs, humming at the slickness of the material — your clit throbs, swollen — you’re sure you’re glistening in the dim light, from sana’s perspective, cunt hot and aching—

“this is why i hate rich kids,” sana says cooly, slipping her belt from her jeans and looping it in half, leather warm in her hand. she drags the edge of it from the top of your spine and down, over every bump and ridge, cataloging the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. it comes to rest on the curve of your ass, a warning, a threat, an absolvement. “you’re never taught any fucking manners.”

you don’t speak, don’t break the rules with the punishment so threateningly present — sana hums behind you, pleased by your silence, and brings the belt down across your ass in a firm stroke, creates a crack of the air—

somehow, the shock of it is still more than you expect; you gasp, muscles tensing automatically, feel the wetness gush sudden between your legs — you hadn’t considered this as something you’d be into, but the stinging after, the total lack of control—

sana smacks your ass again, her other palm flat against your lower back, curving around your side and steadying you. and again. and again. and again. your body shakes with the force of it, the pain spreading like needles — you have the sheets tightly wound in your hands now, face burning with your blood, tears pricking the corners of your eyes — you’re not sure how long you can stand it, your skin must be a bright red, your elbows on the verge of giving out, and then—

sana stalls, leather just resting on the stinging flesh of your ass. “does it hurt?” she asks, running a flat hand over the marks that are undoubtedly there.

“yes,” you whisper, only able to discern your shaking in the stillness.

a pause — that in itself is a threat. “and do you like it?”

no, you want to say, but you open your mouth, and you suddenly can’t lie. it burns — your skin’s raw and on fire — it’s fucking humiliating, not listening to instructions and being punished for it — but sana’s hand dips between your legs, and her fingers come away so wet there’s no point to it anyway—

“yes,” you say, tensing against the inevitable final strike at the admission, and you’re not disappointed.

you gasp like you’re drowning afterward — your thighs shaking, arch of your spine sinking with every breath, collapsing in on herself. the belt is tossed somewhere on the floor, and then sana’s running a soothing hand over your ass, lowering you down to the bed, carefully helping you turn back over — but even in the display, you know it’s just a necessity of your roles and not an indication that you’re atoned. no, no — sana slips her own underwear off, bra already gone, and pushes you flat against the mattress — and that’s a different kind of pain, one not entirely pleasant, your position uncomfortable with your sensitive skin, but then—

sana crawls up your body and doesn’t stop, slots her knees on either side of your head, one hand gripping the headboard — and suddenly her cunt is right there, bare and glistening an inch from your mouth. sana scratches her fingertips against your scalp, cups the back of your head, curling into your hair and says, “lick.”

well, so, you’ve never really slept with a girl. and clearly, that’s been the problem this entire time.

but it’s a secret that probably won’t serve you too well under current circumstances, and so you pause, meet sana’s eyes and hope it’s enough to convey the need for an exception to be made.

you get one better — sana takes that single look at you, eyebrows raising slightly, and says, “you’ve never gone down on a girl before, huh?”

“no,” you say, voice hoarse and husky. “but i get the general idea.”

sana actually cracks a smile at that — genuine, outside of the intensity of the moment. “alternate between a flat tongue and sucking my clit,” she says. “i like to grind.”

“fuck,” you breathe out, and that’s almost pushing it, settling back to the mood. she’s so hot — she loosens her hold just slightly on your head, thigh muscles flexing under her own weight, and you start with a broad stroke up her slit; she’s sweet to the taste but there’s a tang to it, addicting and sharp, and you lift your head higher, wrap her lips around sana’s clit and suck, flick it with your tongue — sana tugs on your hair, and you flatten your tongue again, let sana grind into your mouth, feel her cum smearing across your chin, your jaw—

“fuck,” sana murmurs above you, staring directly down as she fucks your mouth. “you can touch me.”

you hadn’t realized you’d been white-knuckling the sheets, but the minute you’re given permission your hands fly to sana’s thighs, nails digging in and holding her there, giving your lips better leverage — you can’t get enough of the taste, the heady scent, want sana to cum in your mouth, want to swallow every drop—

“fuck,” sana murmurs again, throwing her head back, body trembling. “y/n—”

her stomach muscles tighten, jaw falling open, fist tightening in your hair — she releases her breath in a series of choked moans, and you only pull her closer, tongue lapping at her cunt and refusing to release — sana indulges you a few seconds longer, like she admires the tenacity, the desire, and then pulls away, leaves your jaw a mess, lips glistening.

and then she grins, lifts a finger under your chin and tilts it. “not bad,” she says. “for your first time.”

so let me have a second, you almost say, go as far as having your mouth open — but then you shift, and your ass reminds you exactly why you shouldn’t. you shut it. sana grins even further, eyes narrowing slightly. proud.

“my turn,” she says, and nudges your knees apart, finds the sheet soaked underneath you and your thighs slick. she keeps her gaze darkly amused, smile careless. you can almost feel yourself being compared, being contemplated, being judged — and sana says, “spread your cunt for me.”

maybe sana’s testing your limits, how many orders you’ll take and how long you’ll take them — if you get worse with time or better, if you crack under the pressure — but you’re too far past self-image and reflection to care. you dip your fingers down, don’t even think of touching your own clit or fucking yourself — you do exactly what sana asks and wait, regardless of how exposed you feel, how open and vulnerable and nervous.

“good,” sana says, and settles onto her stomach, arms slipping underneath your thighs. “hands under your pillow. if you touch without permission, i swear i’ll tie your wrists behind your back and edge you for the next two hours.”

you nearly sob from the idea alone — you’ve been so wet for so long, clit throbbing, cunt aching — wrapping your fists tight around the pillowcase, ribs taut through your skin, chest heaving — and sana finally lowers her mouth to your cunt.

it’s the most instantaneous relief you’ve ever felt — you arch, try to press yourself closer, hiss at the pressure on your raw skin — but sana’s tongue is there to circle her clit, to flick it, to stroke broadly, lightly suck your clit into her mouth and scrape it with her teeth. you’ve been eaten out before, but never by somebody who really knew what they were doing, and it’s an entirely different kind of euphoria.

you barely last, but you’re miraculously supposed to — “can i cum?” you exhale, and sana only laughs against your cunt.

“yes,” she says, “but i’m not going to stop.”

you shatter, that’s the equivalency, that’s the intensity of it — and sana doesn’t stop, just pushes her tongue deeper, just sucks harder, just swallows what she can taste. it’s close to too much, straddling that line — she’s holding your thighs down after twenty minutes to stop you from closing them, forcing you to multiple orgasms you don’t think you’ll be able to have, so strong you’re still nearly sobbing from the pleasure of it — and sana finally acquiesces, slows her tongue, loosens her grip. sits up, sees you writhing on the sheets, panting and frustrated, and decides you’ve had enough.

“does it hurt?” sana asks gently, the tone instantly recognizable of one signaling an end rather than a continuation. you take a moment until you nod, bottom lip tight between your teeth. sana wraps a hand around your hip bone, presses flush to your back, your ass against her hips — and you hiss, the burn amplified against sana’s warm skin. but you don’t fight it. you’ve learned your lessons.

sana drops her lips to your ear, whispers, “shh,” and dips a hand casually between your legs, nudging your thighs open; you’re somewhat resistant until you realize sana’s intention, and then your knee slowly crooks up, spreading you open.

you’re still unbelievably wet, and your entire body trembles as sana’s fingers drift over your clit, light in their pressure, careful not to overstimulate. your chest flutters unevenly with every breath and the line of your spine sinks deeper and deeper into the curve of sana’s body, almost cradled by the time sana slips two fingers into your cunt.

you keep one hand tight around the pillowcase, the other in a fist and closed over your chest. you remember sana’s no-touching rule now, want to spare yourself any further punishment; it fills sana with a vicious type of satisfaction. one night. she almost laughs — you’d been so ready to obey from the moment you’d been dragged back to sana’s apartment, there’s no way you haven’t spent copious amounts of time being disappointed by boys with no imagination.

you’re cumming all over her hand, even without actually crossing that edge yet; your bottom lip is red and swollen, cheeks flushed. you’re still somewhat on your side, head resting on sana’s upper left arm, quiet sounds starting to build in your throat — sana curls her hand, grasps your chin somewhat roughly, fingers pressing to your lips.

“suck,” she says cooly, and you nearly choke on your moan, wrapping your mouth around sana’s fingers, tongue hot and wet. she’s still fucking you with her other hand, lazy and dismissive.

and then she pulls out, cum stringing from your cunt to her fingers, and finds your clit again, rubbing small circles until she catalogs your sensitive spots — you like long, quick strokes, from sana’s fingers to her palm, leaving you room to grind. it’s dirty, messy, and exactly what sana expects from you.

“sana,” you try to say around sana’s fingers. “can— can i—”

they’re muffled and almost impossible to distinguish, but sana understands regardless, smiles. “good girl,” she says. “cum for me.”

when you cum, it’s almost violent in its silence — your whole body tightens, rolling low in your stomach, and sana slips three fingers straight back into your cunt to feel it, the way you clench and throb and tremble — you whine around the fingers in your mouth, and sana relents there, drags them from your jaw to cup your breast, thumbing a nipple. but your breath stays trapped in your lungs for what seems like an impossibly long time, releasing in short, imperfect patterns.

it takes you awhile to come down — you drift further into bonelessness against sana’s body, and then you seem to enjoy being held — not quite comforted but appreciated. it’s so fitting of your personality that it only reads as endearing, rather than superficial and pretentious.

“feel better?” sana murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. it’s time for her to play her parts, the soft ones — it isn’t all about the aggression, the orders. you did a good job, and you’re allowed to be taken care of for it.

“mmm.” you can’t seem to manage words in response, too content and full. you’re falling asleep, but you can’t quite give in without an invitation — it’s obvious from the way you fight against it, keep lightly adjusting your hands, licking your lips.

“if you want to,” sana starts slowly, rubbing a palm gently across your side — the red lines from sana’s short nails still stand out against your skin from when she’d raked them down to hold your thighs — “you can stay here tonight.”

you open one eye, eyebrow sinking over it as you turn your head slightly. “here?” you ask, and it doesn’t come out with the tone sana expects it to — it isn’t here? this shithole? — it’s here as in your bed, here as in with you.

“yeah,” sana says. “here.”

you adjust slightly, more onto your back without the discomfort, now meeting sana’s gaze with both eyes. the look you’re wearing remains unreadable, exploratory. there’s something internal, a war, a warning.

and then you say, “can i borrow a t-shirt? and shorts?”

“depends,” sana says, ignoring her heartbeat. she’s lucky you’re here at all, but she won’t admit that until much, much later. “Are you going to complain about it if I spent less than a hundred dollars on it?”

you harrumph, rolling your eyes. “no. but i’d prefer pure cotton, otherwise i might break out in hives.”

your gazes lock once the rotation ends. sana stares, hard. you stare back harder.

“you’re joking, right?” sana finally asks, breaking the stalemate. she’s not sure what she’ll do if you say no — either die laughing or shove your underwear in your mouth, teach you another lesson.

but your lips quirk, and sana’s chest constricts a little less. “yes,” you say, amused. “believe it or not, i do have a sense of humor.”

“oh, i believe that,” sana says and shifts off the bed. “the entire evening before we got here was a joke.” she opens her middle drawer where she keeps her sleep shirts, tosses one randomly onto the bed behind her.

“ha-ha.”

even your sarcastic laughter is endearing — sana’s got to shake herself from that road before it leads somewhere dangerous. she pulls a black tank overhead, tugs her hair loose, and turns to find you gazing strangely at the shirt.

“what?” sana asks, frowning at you. everything about the scene in front of her is unexplored territory, no automatic intuition. “it’s clean.”

“it’s... cool,” you say slowly, as though you’re confused by your own opinion. you slip your arms through the sleeves, poke your head through the collar and straighten it out, looking down. “i like it.”

it’s just a white t-shirt with a print of a skull on it, flowers blooming from its sockets. but it’s probably wildly different from anything you ever wear, and that’s definitely the only reason sana says it. “you can keep it, if you want.”

“i couldn’t,” you say primly, but the devil blinks out of your eyes. “you own so little as it is.”

sana throws her head back and laughs, delighted by your bite. “you’re lucky the moment’s over,” she says, grinning, “or you’d be back on your knees.”

sana puts on friends in the background before the two of you sleep, gives you lotion and a cold-water bottle which you wrap your mouth around greedily — sana follows the arch of your throat, the movement of every swallow, thinks about wrapping her fingers around it — and you smirk as you lower the bottle, intuitive enough to connect those dots.

“maybe next time,” you say pointedly, and you don’t even stumble over your own admission. from once to a future in so short a period of time — sana wants to say some snarky, cocky remark: “one good bare-minimum fuck and you’re mine” or “guess money couldn’t buy you a vibrator that gives you orders”.

next time. that’s a fantasy sana lets wrap her up for a little too long to count as a casual silence.

“your ego is suffocating,” you say after a moment, your gaze fixated on the television, sinking into the pillows.

“coming from you, princess, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

you shoot sana a dirty look at the pet name, but it doesn’t stop you from falling asleep with your back pressed into sana’s chest, and it certainly doesn’t stop you from waking up with your head in the crook of sana’s neck.

and it definitely doesn’t stop her from keeping sana’s shirt.

you make it exactly thirty-four hours before you succumb to the new number in your phone.

“so, you want this to be a regular thing, huh?” sana asks, frustratingly casual as she leans against the booth of the bar, feet kicked out underneath the table and crossed at the ankles.

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” she allows her stare to drop openly, trailing across the skin revealed by the low collar of your dress. it’s a very passively interesting observation, designed for power. like she’s allowed to look at you however she wants, whenever she wants to. “you invited me out for drinks. i’m not stupid.”

“fine,” you concede, because you’re not about to look like a fool for pride. that’s nayeon’s thing. “you were right. what you said to me at the party, before you even took me home. they don’t know.”

“but i do.” it isn’t a question.

your lip curls. “obviously.”

sana considers you, head tilted at an angle. “was any part of the other night too much for you?”

“no.” that’s a simple one to answer, and it’s make-or-break; you’re aware sana had gone easy on you. you shrug a shoulder. “i didn’t come close to my safe word, if that’s what you’re asking.”

oh, that’s the wrong thing to reveal — or very right, depending on how she’s looking at it; sana’s eyebrows are high, even though her surprise appears mild. something about the admission gets her mind racing, a mental highway on a road trip. everything spread out open and wide before her.

“are you seeing anyone else?” sana presses on, like a checklist she’s going through. “you fuck around with jay occasionally, right?”

“sometimes,” you say. “but he’s…” you stop, frowning. sana laughs at the expression alone.

“i get it,” she says, smirk nearly knocking itself out in egotism. “he’s no me.”

“arrogance doesn’t look good on you.”

“sweetheart,” sana says, reaches out and skims a finger across your wrist, “i think we both know that’s not true.”

there’s a party. there’s a lot of parties.

only now the two of you end in sana’s bed, your wrists tied behind your back and your tongue lapping desperately at sana’s cunt — you on your knees, sana pumping into you with a decently-sized-strap-on and hitting every perfect angle the boys can’t manage with their real dicks — sana, forcing you to bed until your throat is raw, holding you at an edge for over an hour — sana, using scissoring as a punishment, your cunt and inside thigh as something to grind and cum on, something to fuck and leave the next day. and it’s incredible.

you’re still punished fairly often — you can never seem to keep your sharp tongue tucked away, dropping remarks about how she’s fucking below your class, how letting sana touch you at all is an act of charity — and sana’s sinister smile stretches every time, fingers curling around your neck, flipping you onto your stomach, fisting your hair and tugging your head back as she sinks a dildo into you.

you’ve never felt so good in your life, never been so satisfied. you stay the night, and sometimes the two of you argue playfully and laugh until the sun starts to rise, even without sex. jay approaches you a few times with propositions and you pull out an endless arsenal of excuses — you use “i’m on my period” two weeks in a row, twelve days apart, and jay just whistles and nods seriously, like he understands.

you meet sana’s eyes across the yard, any yard. smile with a corner of your mouth. those are nights when sana lets things slip — lets you get away with a smart remark, a touch, an orgasm. those are the nights you look in the mirror and finally see someone you like.

nayeon interrupts you at the pool; you’re stretched out in a lawn chair in your bikini, sunglasses on and phone on silent. it’s one of the few activities where you can get away with stagnancy; it’s not that you’re lying down because the rest of your body’s too deliciously sore to do anything else, it’s that you’re tanning.

“y/n,” nayeon greets politely, dropping her purse near the chair next to you. “where did you disappear to last night?”

you think about keeping it a secret, but secrets only count as ammunition to the wealthy. moneys nothing — you’ve got tons of it. secrets can be used against you. so, you say, blithe and candid, “i’ve been fucking sana.”

you expect stunned silence, an open mouth, a wide-eyed disbelief. you expect sputtering and outrage. you expect a storm, expect it to get up and thunder straight out of the garden. what you don’t expect is nayeon to sigh like you’ve just told her something predictable and disappointing.

“of course, you have,” nayeon says, pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes shut, as if the revelation had struck her with an instant headache. “i knew inviting sana a few weeks ago had been a bad idea. you’re exactly her type, and she said she’d been bored recently...”

“her type?” you repeat, surprised to find yourself jealous of the prospect of more, others. you’ve never been fucked like that — sana obviously knew what she was doing, but still, you like believing in a singularity between the two of you. like believing sana’s never enjoyed anyone else the way she indulges in you, in your fingers, in your mouth, in your cunt.

“beautiful, arrogant, dismissive, disinterested,” nayeon ticks off on her fingers, and then smiles brutally. “acts like nothing touches her but loves to beg to be touched.”

so, you have two options: the first, of course, is to listen to your impulses, to follow exactly what’s expected of you — curl a lip distastefully, turn up your nose, tell nayeon to get the hell out of your yard and go fuck her not-boyfriend in the missionary position for the third time this week. but you’ve realized you don’t want to do what’s expected of you unless you’re getting rewarded for it.

you roll your head back to center, too content for fake-spiteful arguments. “and how many orgasms have you faked this month, nayeon?”

“there’s no need to be so crass,” nayeon responds, falling for the bait. sometimes you’re not sure why the two of you tell each other anything at all, but then remember both of you are probably best friends or something. “it’s not as if i’m wrong.”

“no, just boring,” you say, propping up a knee. you’re playing your part perfectly, allowing your grin to develop that edge, shift to a smirk. “i think being her type is working out well for me so far.”

“for now,” nayeon says, narrowing her eyes to the hickey poking out of your bikini top. “but you’re selfish. we both know you don’t know how to share, y/n — and you aren’t going to own her, no matter how badly you’ll end up wanting to.”

that’s a hit, dead center, and it stings like one. finally, nayeon breaks through, finds your hot temper and irritation underneath the surface. “what’s that supposed to mean?” you snap, and your throat hardens uncomfortably at the reminder of sana’s t-shirt, carefully folded in a hidden corner of her dresser.

“i’ve known sana for years,” nayeon says, and now it’s about the shift of power — of knowing. “you think you’re the first person i’ve seen her ruin? she’s the best sex everyone who sleeps with her ever has. and none of them liked giving her up, either.”

“it’s just sex, nayeon, not some soulmate-affirming act that you clearly imagine it to be,” you respond, sitting up. suddenly the heat’s getting to you, your skin too warm and sticky. “she’s fucking me, and sometimes,” you emphasize deliberately for the lead-in, “i just want to fucking cum.”

you get up to leave, but you can’t be done, not when you haven’t ruined nayeon’s morning, not when you haven’t said anything that won’t take an expensive brunch to recover from. plus, you’ve left yourself the perfect doorway into the combination of intimate knowledge and brutality, and you’ll never waste that regardless of what it ruins.

“by the way,” you say, slipping your glasses up your forehead for the dramatic effect of direct eye contact, “the reason you don’t cum when mark fucks you is because you’re a lesbian. don’t take your sexual frustration out on me just because i know what i like, even if that is being tied up and choked.”

you almost consider feeling bad as you walk away, but your hips ache deliciously with every step and your skin burns, and you entirely forget to feel anything else.

the first time it happens, it’s an accident.

you’re shopping online. it’s not unusual in itself. but you start noticing clothes you wouldn’t have noticed before, start thinking about how good they’d look on someone else. someone who spends most nights fucking you absolutely senseless, and maybe deserves a thank-you once in a while.

it’s a black leather bomber jacket from golden goose with a fur collar and a brown-lined pocket on the left side, giving it casual, asymmetrical appeal — and then you’re thinking about sana, thinking about her motorcycle, thinking about how hot she’d be wearing it. and then it’s in your cart, and you’re checking out, and you don’t even blink at the total of twenty-five hundred dollars. you even pay for expedited shipping.

your parents are hosting an event, and because you’re bored of getting what you want when you want it, you invite sana.

no underwear, sana texts. understood?

yes.

you follow through — hope sana doesn’t force you to drip down yourself all night, hops you get the smallest semblance of relief — but the minute sana arrives, you throw that wish straight out the window. kick it out of the neighborhood. fling it straight into space.

sana’s dress isn’t designer, but it might as well be from how incredible she looks in it.

she’s left her long hair wild and loose, but the kind of wild that jumps from models and fashion campaigns — natural, a pseudo-effortlessness. her eyeliner’s dark, gold eyeshadow fading into a smokey eye, and her lips are a stunning burgundy that matches the color of her dress, which is a deep v-neck, short-sleeved maxi dress, though the dress itself stops at mid-thigh and only continues past in a sheer lace with a leaf-like pattern, slit up the side. there’s a thin gold lining around the waist, almost like a belt, and her heels are a beige with gold straps, putting her close to six feet.

the longer lace of the dress billows behind her as she walks. several people are staring. you’re the only one of them that matters. or, at least, you’d better be.

“(insert affectionate pet name),” sana greets, smirk destructively wicked. “thanks for the invite. shall we shake hands? you can test the firmness of my grip.”

you laugh unexpectedly; you’re very familiar with the strength of sana’s grip already, pinning your wrists to the mattress. “no, thanks,” you say, and you need to touch sana right now or you’ll die. “a hug is customary.”

“oh, is it.”

“yes.”

“well then,” sana says, and wraps her arms around you, lips just above your ear. she fingers the material of your gold dress — apparently, you’re having a similar effect on her. “you look beautiful, baby. there’s a reason i’ve always called you (insert affectionate pet name).”

it’s the first time she uses a pet name that isn’t princess or a sarcastic sweetheart — it’s uttered too affectionately, cradled in her mouth. and now you know why, knows why you’d always felt teased, out of the loop, on the wrong side of the joke — because sana had been calling you beautiful all along.

your heart thunders around your chest, the storm stronger in your body than in the sky.

“come with me,” you say, and take sana’s hand.

sana only stares at it. and stares, and stares, and stares.

“i can return it if you don’t like it,” you finally say, voice more uncertain than you’re used to. it’s hard to read sana; it always is. she’s just sitting on the corner of your bed, the leather jacket held delicately in your hands.

sana’s gaze darts to you, flicks back, can’t decide where to land. “you bought this for me?”

“yes,” you say dryly. “i’ve heard that its customary for people to sometimes give gifts to other people, as a token of appreciation.”

that’s a smart remark that gets sana to shut her mouth, fall into her defaults. she levels you with a look. “y/n,” she says flatly. “how much did you spend on this?”

“like nothing.”

at that, sana sighs heavily, still stroking her hands over the leather. “so, at least a few grand.”

“almost nothing. like i said.”

there’s an eyeroll torn between exasperation and affection, and you don’t think sana even knows which emotion won. “you can’t buy yourself out of paying for shit like that later, so watch it.”

“that’s hardly fair,” you whine, aiming for endearing over irritating. “we haven’t started officially. this doesn’t count. i’m giving you a gift.”

sana doesn’t hide her smile, but she doesn’t seem like she’s openly displaying it, either. “come here,” she says, extending a hand, and you take it. “are you wearing underwear?”

“no,” you say.

“good.” she doesn’t take advantage of that yet; only tugs you close and kisses you. “thank you.”

it feels right.

she eats you out in the bathroom during a dinner toast — you’d been so wet all night you’d been afraid of ruining your dress, left a damp spot on the fabric, but after this it’s a likely possibility — and leaves lipstick kisses peppered over the insides of her thighs. she makes you beg her to cum, even though the chance of someone overhearing is high, and you can’t stop yourself even if you want to, sana’s name falling breathily from your mouth in between “please”, “fuck”, and “god”.

“slut,” sana murmurs darkly after, kissing you until you taste yourself on sana’s tongue.

later on, your parents tell you they think sana’s a wonderful girl with her head on straight, and it’s nice of you to have friends of different backgrounds.

you’re absolutely right, you agree. i needed to expand my horizons.

you start to buy sana stuff. clothes, shoes, parts for her motorcycles. “it made me think of you”, you’ll say, and sana doesn’t protest, just regards you with a fond sort of disapproval, like she knows exactly what the truth of it is even if you don’t know yourself.

you and nayeon finally get around to your expensive apology brunch, a full two months after your original disagreement. the two of you had seen each other several times since then, but it’s never officially resolved until brunch.

“still seeing her?” nayeon asks, far more casual now that time has passed.

“she’s interesting,” is all you say, fronting the same mild disinterest you’re so accustomed to wearing. you run your fingers through your bangs, still staring at your menu like it’s the most compelling thing in the room.

“she fucks you half to death,” nayeon replies flatly, not even bothering for eye contact; such a bold-faced understatement is hardly worthy of it. “you can barely sit, y/n.”

the corner of your mouth twitches. “and what would you know about that?”

nayeon’s lips curl into a half-smirk, amused by the ease of the admission. at least she’s a girl who picks her battles. “admittedly, not a lot,” she allows. “but i am observant.”

christ, you think; rich people are all so fucking dramatic. maybe sana’s right about them. “and what have you observed?”

“well,” nayeon says, “you like her,” and somehow that isn’t at all what you expect her to say.

you drop your menu against the table, blinking. “excuse me?”

nayeon only tuts under her breath, too smart to be fooled by indignant denial. “please, y/n. it’s obvious. you’re either with her or you’re thinking about her, and that’s it.”

she’s proud of herself, you realize. proud she’s pinned something down that definitely isn’t there, proud she’s exposed you for settling low. it has that edge, the comment, not like a casual crush but a trap, a downfall. as if she’s saying, “of course that’s your type.”

you want to slap her for it.

“as i just said,” you state calmly, saving face, “she’s interesting. she isn’t like us. you’re her friend, and i know you admire her for that exact reason.”

“i do,” nayeon agrees, setting her menu down candidly. “but i don’t think about having sex with her, and i definitely don’t spend thousands of dollars buying her clothes, or parts for her motorcycles, or whatever else her heart desires.”

well, fuck.

nayeon and sana are friends. that’d been the original context of everything.

“look,” nayeon says, sensing your obvious panic. “i’m sorry for what i said. i think you’re good for her.” she pauses, presses her lips together. “actually, i think you’re good for each other.”

it’s a strange change of heart. “why?”

“she’s... calmer,” nayeon says slowly, clearly figuring out her words as she speaks them. “stable, i suppose. i always used to feel as if — as if she were searching for something and never finding it. she was so restless. some days, i swore she was on the verge of asking me to buy her a plane ticket to anywhere that wasn’t here and run away.”

“and now?” you ask, just to have the proof yourself.

“now,” nayeon says, “i think she’d rather be with you.”

(“by the way,” nayeon tells you as the two of you are walking to your cars, “you were right. i’m definitely a lesbian.”

“what made you realize?”

“well, i came when momo fucked me.”

“that’ll do it.”)

it’s a theory to test. a hypothesis.

you spend the day with sana in her workshop, asking her questions about her builds, her modifications, how each part fits into the whole. sana dutifully answers every single one, even lets her help where it’s applicable, tightening bolts and passing tools.

you meet mina there, too — mina’s younger sister — who only takes a single glance at you and says unprompted, “oh, y/n!”

“yes?” you respond, in obvious confusion.

“sana talks about you,” mina provides context. “she talks about you constantly.”

“i will crack this wrench on your skull,” sana says cheerfully. “permanent brain damage.”

“i’m just saying—”

“get out.”

she shakes her head after, tosses you a sly look, and the lack of embarrassment is startling, as if she thinks it’s mutual between them. your heart rattles in your chest, something under lock and key.

you’d loved it. you’d loved hearing proof of the possibility of being more, just as you’d loved hearing it from nayeon a couple days previously.

it isn’t quite terrifying, but it’s enough for a bad decision.

it’s another friday night, and another boring event.

you don’t invite sana. there’s a reason for that.

your proposal is anything but subtle; you eye jay up and down, his disheveled blond hair and obvious muscle, and decide he’ll do. you’ll prove your points. you take a sip of your champagne and say, “we should have sex.”

he blinks, lips curling surreptitiously. “uh,” he says, “what?”

“do you want to, or not?”

“i mean, yeah,” he says, and opens and closes his mouth without words, fumbling over himself. “i just— i wasn’t expecting you to ask. it’s been a while—”

“whatever.” you down the rest of your glass, set it on the tray of a passing server. you nod your head to the house behind you. “let’s go.”

“now?”

“now,” you say, wondering why it’s so hard for him to comprehend, or if he’s always been this stupid.

he has enough sense to follow you into the house, up the stairs, shut the door behind them — you run your hands through his hair with purpose, curl your fingers and tug; if it were sana, you’d already be spun around and bent over, underwear bunched around your knees. but he doesn’t seem to notice or care, letting you take whatever control you want, passive and pliant beneath your hands. you kiss him, and all you think about is how his mouth is too rough, how his tongue moves sloppily in your mouth. you hadn’t realized how messy boys were, how little finesse mattered to them.

you strip your own shirt overhead, and his follows — you go to the button of his jeans, work the zipper down, feel him hard through his boxers; he’s trying to do the same thing to you, but he’s clearly not sure how to match your pace, or why it’s being set in the first place. it’s not difficult for him to get hard. all you had to do was take your shirt off.

he kicks off his jeans, getting into the desperation of it even if he doesn’t know where it’s coming from - slips his boxers down, rolls a condom on - you tug your own underwear down your legs. he kneels in front of you, rough fingers rubbing your cunt — you get impatient, gesture him over you, to get it over with—

“i’m trying,” he says, bewildered by your demeanor, “but, y/n— you aren’t wet enough. i— i can’t.”

you touch yourself. he’s right. it’s like you’re the opposite of horny — like you’re mummified or something. that’s how dry you are. for a moment he just waits — he’d never force himself inside of you like this, you hate lube, and either way—

“forget it.” you shove him off of her, sit up, grab your underwear off the floor and get dressed with an increasing urgency, a frustration. “whatever. i’m leaving.”

“leaving?” he repeats, blinking owlishly. “y/n, you like, live here.”

“i don’t care.”

he pauses, examining you. he’s not the most sensitive of guys, but he isn’t really an asshole, either. he knows something’s off. “are you okay?”

unfortunately, you’re not really in the mood to reward basic decency from a man. “get off my bed,” is all you say in response, and he scrambles up as the door shuts behind you.

sana answers on the third ring. “hey, babe.”

it’s not like it’s an unusual greeting, but with the week you’ve had — nayeon’s comment, mina’s slip, your failed encounter with jay — your heart is beating against your skull, and it’s the first thing you’ve felt in days. “hey. can you pick me up?”

there’s a background clatter — something heavy and metallic; she’s probably working on one of her own projects, you realize with a pang of guilt, but sana beats you to the punch before you can take it back. “yeah,” she says, more alert. “are you okay?”

“i just want to see you.” it’s the best you can do.

a subtle pause of contemplation. “okay,” sana says, softening so noticeably that you almost cry. “i’ll meet you at the end of the block.”

sana passes the fancy, flashy cars parked outside of her house; she pulls to stop between an audi and a tesla, where you’re standing with your arms crossed over your body, waiting. she plants her feet solidly against the pavement, lifts her helmet off, and her muted concern is instantly visible; she eyes you up and down, as if checking you for signs of injury. it’s real emotion, genuine care, and it’s almost too much.

she’s wearing the leather jacket you had bought her, that’s the first thing you comprehend. despite her many protests, despite her many complaints — she’s settled snugly into it like a first skin, molded perfectly to every curve. your mouth feels thick and heavy with paint, your head full of roses.

“what the hell happened to you?” sana asks bluntly, but you only grab the second helmet and slip onto the bike behind her without giving her an answer. it’s infinitely easier than straddling jay has ever been, and you’re eased just by the closeness, the smell of the leather and jasmine of sana’s hair.

“i don’t want to be here,” is all you say in response, wrapping your arms around sana’s waist.

“okay,” sana says, and it’s enough.

sana gets you inside the apartment, tosses her keys on the entryway table, and leads you to where she’s most comfortable. the bed’s there, unmade and inviting, but you recognize the sheets as fresh. you think that says something. that she knows.

“what d’you want, baby?” sana murmurs, captures your mouth in a kiss. she curls her fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your cheek and behind your ear, meets your stare too directly and openly when she pulls away. not a challenge, but a question. “because i can fuck you, if that’s what you’re here for. i can punish you like you’ve done something bad. did you do something bad, y/n?”

“no,” you say, but you’re shuddering, drawing closer. you think of jay, think of his mouth on yours, think of the harsh angles of his muscles and how wrong he felt on top of you. your body rolls hot, every inch aflame. you can’t lie to sana. “i don’t know. yes.”

but that’s the thing about sana — “no”, “maybe”, “yes” isn’t an answer, only a guidance, and she seems to know what you want better than you know it yourself.

“what’d you do, baby?” she asks softly, slips her hand down the front of your jeans, lightly touches you over your underwear, and your breath hitches.

“i tried to— tried to fuck jay,” you whisper, and — not unprecedented in its entirety, just this scenario — wrap your arms around sana’s neck, rest your foreheads together. “but i— he— it just... didn’t work. it— i couldn’t.”

sana’s touch slows, becomes a feather-brush against the fabric over your clit. she has her eyes open, brow slightly furrowed, and then she leans in, catches your lips with her own — kisses you, tender and concerned. she’s not you, doesn’t have a possessive streak, doesn’t run at the first spark of jealousy.

“you couldn’t?” she repeats, removes her hand, cups your jaw instead.

“i don’t want him,” you confess honestly, shocked to find yourself trembling in sana’s arms. “it’s like— like i don’t want anyone anymore. anyone but you. and i— i knew this was just sex, i know you’re not— not mine, but i—”

sana brings a finger to your lips, silences you gently; you can’t tell if it’s a game or if it’s you both, can’t tell if it’s lust or if it’s love, but then sana drops her arm, murmurs, “i can be yours.” her eyes dart to your mouth and back. “but that makes you mine, too.”

her tongue slides briefly over her bottom lip, nerves of admission. your heart lifts out of fog, find your blood. you whisper, “okay.”

sana starts to unbutton your white blouse, every movement careful and precise. it’s not that it’s slower than you’re used to, but it’s softer; she slips her hands underneath the fabric, drags it over your shoulders and off. your black jeans follow the same arc, boots kicked off, and sana slides her fingers down the front of your underwear.

“sorry,” you unstick your voice from your throat, still deep in your own head and simultaneously so far out of it. “i might not be— i want it, even if I’m not—”

half of sana’s mouth slips up at a corner, understanding the collision of your thoughts. “baby,” she whispers against your lips, “you’re dripping.”

and as if to prove her point, the fingers ghosting over her clit dip lower, slip straight into you, and fuck, sana isn’t wrong, isn’t exaggerating — you’re so wet you can hear sana fucking her, slow and passive and deliberate, a gentleness present that you’ve never felt previously. and then sana removes her hand, sucks her own fingers into her mouth, eyelashes fluttering — her lips are pink and shiny when she removes them; you watch her cheeks hollow, want to die on the sharp curve of her cheekbones — pushes you lightly back against the mattress, tugs your underwear off, shifts down between your legs, spreads your thighs apart.

she wipes her fingers against her bedspread, and then she pulls at the hair tie around her wrist, loops her hair into a loose bun before settling on her stomach. you’re already trembling — it’s like the first time all over again, like you’re waiting on your knees for sana to bring a belt to your ass, only you’re bare on your back with sana’s mouth hovering over your cunt and a soft, meticulous tongue.

sana looks up at you, meets your eyes, too tender to pretend to be anything else. “you can touch my hair,” she murmurs, and you almost cum from that allowance alone.

she licks the length of your cunt, tongue pressing briefly inside of you before she parts her lips over your clit, almost like she’s kissing it. sana’s never eaten you out like this before — there’s no power dynamic at play, no edging, no game — she wants you to feel good, wants you to cum into her mouth and all over her bed.

she builds into it attentively, sucks on your clit and scrapes it gently with her teeth, and then settles back into long, broad strokes. her arms are situated around your thighs, holding her open, accessible, and you can’t stop watching her — she keeps her eyelids shut, reveling in the taste, like she’d swallow all of you if she could. it’s so erotic, so sensual in its simplicity, that after you release a tiny moan in your throat, your hands finally — finally — find the top of her head, curling into her hair.

sana only smiles, murmurs hot against your cunt, “good girl.”

i want to touch you, you say after breaking every rule. but tonight’s different, and even sana can tell. please, you say, and sana allows it.

you end up grinding against sana’s thigh, three fingers buried inside of her, sana canting her hips with every stroke, chasing the pressure of your palm against her clit. sana clenches down on your fingers so hard it almost hurts until you finally slide them out, soaking and circling sana’s clit instead, your own cum smearing up sana’s thigh.

sana moans your name as she cums, and in your daze you only experience the sound as an alarm, a trigger — you hit the edge, pressing yourself even harder into sana’s thigh, your own orgasm hitting suddenly. and then pause, just as sana does.

“did you just cum?” sana asks delicately, but she leaves room for a hint of warning in case you’re in the mood for that particular game.

you are. you are. you are. “yes,” you whisper, face still content in the crook of sana’s neck. “punish me.”

there’s no calling what it’ll be — it changes based on sana’s whims, the situation, what the two of you have done leading up to the offense. tonight, you’re on your knees with you face pressed flat into the sheets, hands bound behind your back and resting against your lower spine, and sana’s pounding into her with a strap-on — it’s one the two of you had bought for the aesthetic, less access to sana herself but comfortable, similarly cut to boy shorts, silky and hot — your hair’s wrapped in sana’s hand, your head jerking with every thrust — she purposely avoids your g-spot until she hears your moans shifting from breathy to agitated, the pleasure too good without being enough, and then she spreads your knees even further, angles your hips—

“cum,” sana orders, fingertips digging sharply into your hips.

blood pounds in your ears, in your neck, in your clit — you cum so powerfully she almost forces sana out a little, but sana doesn’t let up, keeps her pace and fucks you just as hard through your orgasm. doesn’t stop. doesn’t stop through the second, or the third, and your cunt is so raw you can’t believe you’ll ever cum again.

you do, but you don’t remember it.

you wake up hours later, groggily blinking your eyes open, and shift a fraction of an inch before realizing the dildo’s still inside of you, and sana’s asleep, buried in you to the hilt.

you cum almost immediately at the realization alone, clit throbbing, chest expanding and fracturing — you gasp; sana’s fingers tighten around your wrist, smile spreading against the back of your neck — and she pumps her hips slowly as you convulse.

“yeah,” she says after, finally slipping out, and the emptiness leaves you panting and ruined. “that’s what i was waiting for.”

you can’t really move in the morning; sana holds you up in the shower as she massages shampoo into your hair, legs trembling under her weight.

“i think we’ll take it easy for a few days,” sana says, clearly delighted with her work.

“fuck you.”

“we can talk about that as an alternative.”

you wind up curled on sana’s couch afterward, mug of tea in your hand with the tv open to netflix. sana’s shuffling around in the kitchen, more inclined to coffee. you hear the drip, drip into the pot, and then sana appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

so, you ask her, “can i stay here for the weekend?”

sana observes you for a moment; there’s no risk of her saying no, but there’s something else. “sure,” she says, and the other shoe drops. “if you tell me what you’re really doing here.”

it’s an out, it’s a plea, it’s a bargain — it’s not strange of her to ask. you’ve got an entire mansion to share with only two other people, and instead of losing yourself in its rooms, lounging by its pool, you’re hiding out in sana’s tiny apartment.

i love you, that’s what you should say in response. i love you, that’s what sana had meant when she asked. it’s not quite the time.

instead, you look away — focus on the coffee ring staining the wooden table, something familiar and worn and signaling presence, life. it’d drive your mother crazy. you say, “i’m just so fucking bored of it all.” it isn’t the whole truth, but it isn’t a lie, either. “i don’t want to sit there quietly and be polite and listen to people who think they’re important try to convince other people of their importance. i don’t want to drink red wine and talk about wall street and act like i’m above it all. i’m not. i’m not.” you say the last note with a wavering finality, daring to meet sana’s eyes.

you find her sympathetic, softer. sana says gently, “are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

the sting of tears comes as a surprise; it’s not a reaction you predict from yourself at the question. but it’s always something deeper. you say, “i wasn’t the nicest to you.”

“we were having fun,” sana shrugs off, unaffected. “i wasn’t the nicest to you, either.”

“yeah, but i liked it.”

“so, did i.” she gets a smile out of you at that. “look — being a pretentious, wealthy asshole is kind of in your blood, y/n. i don’t think we’re ever going to work the literary snobbish side out of you, or how you frown every time you see pleather.” you grimace at the word itself, entirely proving sana’s point, and sana fights back a laugh. “but i know what else is there, too. i know everything beyond that. i know that you secretly love extra-salty mcdonald’s french fries, and you wear my ten-dollar t-shirt to sleep almost every night you’re home. i know your favorite movies are actually titanic and notting hill, and you only say it’s casablanca to get people off your back. and i know you want to do more with your life, and it frustrates you that you’ve been so confined to your lifestyle that you don’t know what more is.”

it’s all completely accurate, and it’s the revelation of the details sana’s kept about you — stored away and filed, labeled as fragile, important — that finally bursts the words into a river. “i love you,” you confess, like you’ll pour and not stop. you’ve never known the feeling, how it consumes and creates and crucifies.

“i know that, too,” sana replies, rolling her eyes harmlessly, and you’re surprised to find you smiling. “spending money is your love language, baby. you haven’t been very subtle about it.”

you’re always blindsided by people who know her feelings before she does. “what?”

“y/n,” sana says patiently, “you’ve spent about ten thousand dollars on me in the past month alone. and i know it wasn’t a thank-you for the many orgasms. it’s because you were thinking about me.”

you reach for one of sana’s couch pillows, bring it to your chest, and bury your face in it without a word, absolutely mortified. sana’s laughter echoes out, and you raise it again, halfway between a glare and a bargain. “what the fuck is a love language?”

“how you express your affection or whatever,” sana says, setting her mug on the coffee table and squeezing in next to you. too close. “there’s like, five i think. and yours is definitely gift-giving.”

“fuck.” it’s not really an argument, and sana seems entertained by the crumbling of walls, one arm resting over the back of the couch as she turns to face you. you ask, “so, what’s yours?”

“isn’t it obvious?”

“maybe if i knew what the others were,” you point out. “now who’s pretentious?”

sana’s eyes flash, slip to the hint of red. she smiles with her teeth and says, “acts of service and physical touch are mine. they go pretty hand-in-hand, don’t you think?”

you think of all the time sana’s spent learning every inch of your skin, not like worship but like sacrament — leaving fingerprint-bruises that ache deliciously to the touch, dusting your mouth like birthing constellations, rising oceans — touching you after with hands softer than the brown of her eyes, tracing your veins, charting course — your spine blends into a canyon — there’s been a journey here, there’s been an atonement — sana leans in, covers your mouth with her own, kisses you too tenderly for your mind to keep up with.

it all falls away, goes blissfully blank. maybe that’d been the sign all along.

“i love you,” sana murmurs over her lips, eyelids still shut, and bumps your foreheads together. “even if you are a pretentious bitch whose ringtone is river flows in you.”

“i love you,” you say in response, smiling, your palm cupping her cheek, “even if you are an arrogant asshole who thinks arrested development is the greatest sitcom of all time.”

“you just hate it because they’re basically you.”

“shut up.”

in the end, you’ve got enough money to run you both away, as long as the two of you are together.

“anywhere you want,” you say, tangled up with her in bed.

“you know,” sana says with a smile, brushing her thumb across your bottom lip, “i’m actually happy right where i am.”

[tzumongg]

forcing myself to be a stem girlie even though im very obviously an art kid just to prove a point to my parents (i haven’t slept in 26 hours)

#women in stem

[tzumongg]

tysm i rly appreciate it :3

“taking me so well sweetheart” nayeon cooed, her face buried in momo’s cunt. momo sobbed quietly, tiny hands gripping nayeon’s hair. nayeon’s tongue found its way back to the younger girls overstimulated clit, slowly circling her tongue around it, making momo whimper cutely. nayeon’s tongue then found its way to momo’s entrance, slowly licking up the mess momo left behind. “mommy.. ‘s too much…” the girl sniffled softly, making nayeon coo sweetly at her. “shh don’t worry babydoll, just let mommy clean you up” she said, voice sickeningly sweet. and of course, like the good girl she is, momo complied.

(she got lots of kisses and cuddles after this don’t worry :3)

[tzumongg]

“taking me so well sweetheart” nayeon cooed, her face buried in momo’s cunt. momo sobbed quietly, tiny hands gripping nayeon’s hair. nayeon’s tongue found its way back to the younger girls overstimulated clit, slowly circling her tongue around it, making momo whimper cutely. nayeon’s tongue then found its way to momo’s entrance, slowly licking up the mess momo left behind. “mommy.. ‘s too much…” the girl sniffled softly, making nayeon coo sweetly at her. “shh don’t worry babydoll, just let mommy clean you up” she said, voice sickeningly sweet. and of course, like the good girl she is, momo complied.

(she got lots of kisses and cuddles after this don’t worry :3)

#random #dont hate im not shakespeare #dont know what compelled me to write this but enjoy ig #nayeon #momo #im nayeon #hirai momo #twice #twice smut #namo

[tzumongg]

dreamer girl

hirai momo x fem!reader ; smut ; wc: 5.4k

synopsis: momo has a sex dream which has her rethinking her roles in bed, it even makes her realize she’s into a lot of things she thought she would never be intrigued with.

warnings: smut with no plot i just wanted her crying (^‿^) ; kink discovery!!! ; almost somnophilia?? ; reader being called “miss” and “ma’am” ; mommy kink ; overstimulation kinda ; bondage ; ummmmm did i miss anything ; momo is a bottom!!! ; whipped momo ; kinda filthy idk i got carried away ; cursing lolll

a/n: the first half of this was written right before i fell asleep i apologize, but it gets better (i think)

momo was always known to be the more dominant girlfriend, not that it was explicitly said or anything—she just had that rep.

to be fair, it was true. her hand would be on your waist when you were out together, ensuring that everyone knew you were hers. she’d drive you everywhere and you were content being her passenger princess, enjoying the occasional squeeze and caress of your thigh every now and then. typical pillow princeess, spoiled, and bottom girlfriend treatment—you loved it.

it was safe to say that momo wore the pants in the relationship, but she was a sucker for you behind closed doors. you’d pamper her endlessly and to your amusement; she’s incredibly easy to fluster.

now, what’s also behind closed doors is what happens in bed (and on the couch, the kitchen counter—pretty much any space in your house where you can be held against—basically anywhere, but bedroom can be used as an umbrella term in this case.) momo can be pretty versatile when it comes to sex; she can be the sweetest soul ever, whispering sweet nothings and endless praises while her fingers pound into you ruthlessly. there are also moments where she’ll be holding you by the throat and making you scream, teasing you endlessly and degrading the hell out of you while stripping your orgasm away, she loves the control she has over you in bed and she knows you like it. momo loves it.

most of the time—if not all the time—momo is in charge when in bed and sure, maybe you’ll finger her or eat her out here and there, but it’s usually her taking the lead, always pleasing you.

momo is content that you easily submit to her and you’re fine with letting her ruin you; after all, no one else can do it like her. momo’s pretty content with this dynamic, she’s never had to think twice about it.

not until recently.

momo does not know how she had gotten here, there’s no memory that had led up to this moment.

you’re sitting on the couch with the tank top that momo adores on you and it shows a bit of your stomach, your collarbones, and your toned arms; your girlfriend is all worked up just from the sight of you like this.

momo is on the ground—on her knees—and your gaze is lowered down on her. your eyes hold a strange allure, something lustful, and hungry; momo feels small in the position she’s in, she’s never seen you like this, but fuck does it make her all nervous seeing you in this new light. she ignores the discomfort building up on her knees as she kneels before you.

“you look so pathetic like this.” you say, voice low and dangerously sweet, opposing your words. momo whimpers unintentionally and you laugh at her. “i haven’t even touched you yet, don’t tell me you’re all riled up from this?”

“i— no,”

you grab her face so her cheeks are squeezed between your thumb and the rest of your fingers, her lips squish a bit and she lets out a small, nasally whine.

your jaw tightens and you correct her, “no miss.”

momo is not used to this side of you—not used to you being so stern—but holy shit she’s entranced. her body tenses up and she gulps lightly.

“s-sorry miss…”

you loosen your grip. “that’s more like it.”

momo’s breath quivers when you rub her bottom lip with your thumb, pushing it down slightly while looking at her with a lidded, lust-filled stare.

“i wanna have my way with you, you’ll let me do that, yeah?”

“yes miss, whatever you’d like.” momo responds almost immediately; it comes out rushed and breathless. you giggle at this adorable, needy version of momo.

“what a good girl…” you coo, “let’s go to the bedroom, yeah? rather i’d make a mess out of you there than here.” you say, and momo nods eagerly.

when the two of you make it to the bedroom, you quickly order her to take off the shirt she has on. your girlfriend is quick to follow your commands, and when you tell her to lie down on the bed she does as told.

you walk up towards her then situate yourself so you’re straddling her, your core just barely making contact with hers. leaning over, you press a kiss to her forehead and back away, bringing your hand up to her face to cup her chin.

“you look so adorable, baby.” you mumble, sliding your hand down her neck slowly. momo’s tummy hitches when you trace down to her collarbone and she moans softly. just before you trail down to the prominent line that separates the muscles at her core—

momo wakes up, a sharp breath slipping past her lips.

she blinks once, twice, then shifts in the bed. her eyes are squinty when she opens them despite the room being pretty dim.

there’s a weight on her shoulder and she turns to see you sleeping peacefully, feeling the soft breaths you let out on her neck and the way your chest heaves up and down against her. you shift closer to her in your slumber, lazily draping your arm across her torso and snuggling her like a teddy bear.

your girlfriend smiles softly and kisses you on the forehead groggily before closing her eyes again, she almost forgets about the thrilling dream before she falls asleep.

almost.

momo spends a minute or two replaying the scene in her head. she hates to admit it, but the thought of her submitting to you turns her on more than she’d figure it would and makes her ponder for a while before she actually falls asleep. she thinks about the way you looked at her, how you called her a “good girl,” and the tone of your voice. after a couple of minutes of her furrowing her brows, shifting her hips around, and trying to shake off the thought of you being all commanding; momo is finally drowsy enough to fall asleep again.

a week after momo has this enticing dream, you’re sat on the couch with her head on your lap. your fingers twirl her hair around subtly, every other minute they dig deeper and massage her scalp gently.

your pointer brushes along the curve of her jaw, then runs down her neck and onto her jawline. you rest your hand there, rubbing her soft skin lightly before going back to massaging her scalp. with this action, momo shifts in her place a bit, and a slow, pleased breath leaves her lips.

you giggle quietly. “damn, must be comfy huh?” you mumble, continuing to massage her head how she likes it.

momo shifts again, and this time you catch her thighs rub from the corner of your eye. your brows furrow just barely when momo sighs, mumbling something you can’t seem to catch. you take your hands out of her scalp and watch her squirm more, her lips part as her brows crease. she continues to rub her thighs together, even biting her lip in her sleep. you tilt your head, looking at her with curiosity, and then everything clicks:

she’s having a sex dream.

a small laugh leaves your lips and you rest your hand against her cheek while her features etch into a familiar expression of bliss while her breaths get shakier. you watch with interest, curious and honestly pretty very turned on by the way she’s squirming; it’s different than her usual riled-up self, a little more needy, almost—compliant?

“y/n— i, i mean— miss, sorry miss…” she says under her breath, but loud enough for you to hear. your brows raise and you look at her with surprise.

miss?

there’s a blatant moan that leaves her mouth and her bottom lip trembles a bit. “p-please, please miss, i’ll be a good girl for you… please…”

“holy shit,” you mutter, watching your girlfriend rut her hips up and lean her head back slightly. “oh my god?”

something about this momo makes your own hips move up involuntarily and your top teeth trap your bottom lip as they subtly bite down. your hand finds itself inching down to momo’s thigh, and your thumb rubs small circles against the skin below where her shorts end; momo groans at the contact.

your middle finger finds its way in between momo’s legs and lightly grazes against the cloth covering her heat—it’s damp, no, it’s soaked.

“fuck,” you sigh, “bet you feel good in that dream, yeah?”

“y/n, please…”

before you can touch her where she needs it—before you can touch her properly as she sleeps, not just a feathered touch—momo jerks and sits up, groaning then rubbing her eyes. she turns so that she’s sitting like you; legs dangling off the couch and back facing the cushion behind her. she sits up properly while she recovers from her quick nap; and her tremendously appealing dream.

her cheeks grow even warmer when she sees the hand that is still in between her legs. “w-what, what are you doing?” she stutters, flustered from the dream and how wet she is.

you chuckle and decide to tease her just a bit, “were you having a sex dream about me?”

momo pauses, eyes widening. she chokes out a response, “i um, well, yeah… was i—”

“you called me miss, what’s with that?” you ask, watching her whole body tense up and eyes dart away from yours.

momo shakes her head then rubs her eyes, shifting away from your spot on the couch. you’re not going to take that as a response.

you lean closer and place a chaste peck to her jawline, then mutter in her ear, “c’mon, you seemed like you were enjoying your dream, it was cute.”

“y/n i—” she starts, shivering when your lips graze her earlobe and your breath hits it suddenly. “it’s just a dream i mean, i just—”

“too scared to admit something babe?” you laugh, “it’s okay if you want to bottom, not judging ever. actually, i’d be more than happy to switch roles y’know. i wanna make you feel like that, can i?””

your hand snakes around her waist and slides under her shirt, the feel of your skin on hers makes her breath tremble. momo whines when your lips tease her jaw again.

“it’s stupid, y/n, really.” momo tries, “it was just a silly dream.” she argues. your girlfriend inches away from your touch and starts to stand, you catch her by the wrist and grip it firmly.

“not so fast momoring.” you say sternly, looking at her with a quirked brow. you stand up swiftly and push her down onto the couch, standing in front of her now and looking down, eager for an answer. “you’re going to tell me what you were dreaming about.”

momo looks up at you and something about how helpless she looks turns you on more than you’d like to admit.

“words momo, use your words and tell me. you can do it, yeah?”

her hips subconsciously shift when you say that, and she continues to avoid your gaze, frantically looking around the room, the floor, and anything but you. her unusually timid self makes you laugh at the sight of her—sleepy and bashful, also pretty turned on from the way her thighs rub against one another—and then you use your hand to tilt her head up so she faces you.

“words, or i can stop what i’m doing, you want me to stop?”

“no, please no.” momo responds almost immediately and unintentionally—she said without thinking—almost as if she were out of breath. you laugh in response, tucking her hair behind her ear. “it’s just… embarrassing…” she adds.

“just tell me about it and we can make your dream a reality, yeah? seemed pretty good from the way you were moaning my name, baby.” you tease, “now, speak up.”

momo hesitates for a moment, looking at you and folding from the sultry voice you talk to her with, low and alluring. she darts her eyes away quickly and then returns to the burning eye contact. she gulps lightly, then starts to speak with a trembling voice,

“i um, you… i,” she clenches her jaw before starting again, surprised at how she’s obeying to you so easily. “first i was on my knees—for you—in the bedroom.” she looks down quickly, jaw tensing when she cringes at her words. her mind is a mess and her heart beats at an abnormal pace, but she’s way too turned on to turn back now.

you snicker, “were you now?”

“yeah.” she admits. your hand slides to her neck and your fingers play with her hair subtly, she continues, “and… you told me to call you miss and ma’am—which i did do—and, fuck this is really embarrassing y/n, it’s all stupid, really—”

 “ah ah, keep going.” you say in amusement, breaking the eye contact so you can look at how her lip’s part and jaw tighten.

“you took care of me,” momo finally says, “really well.”

“yeah? want me to take care of you like in your dream?” you ask, and she nods eagerly.

you smile proudly at how brave it was to admit this to you, and you’re glad because holy shit did it sound intriguing and as her girlfriend, you have to make her dreams come true.

you bite your lip while tilting your head slightly, then simply say— no, you order: “bedroom, come.” and momo follows you when you start to walk towards the shared room, feelings of excitement flowing throughout her body. there’s no way her sex dream is about to come true.

the door closes behind you and you turn to see your girlfriend standing there nervously, looking at you eagerly with a lust-filled, yet anxious stare.

you take a step forward and her breath quivers, you smile at the sight. “down on the bed, sit.” you order, momo listens competently and does as she’s told. “good girl.”

now with that remark momo feels her tummy do a flip and her pussy throb, the way you say it with that low, seductive voice kills her. it makes her knees weak. you walk up and trace your finger up her neck, and with the way her muscles contract subtly when she tenses up, you can tell she’s already sensitive and on edge. it’s ironic seeing she’s the one who usually has you like this.

“now tell me more about your dream, give me the full details.”

“i told you, you made me feel good… y/n please, it’s embarrassing—” momo is cut off when you harshly hold her face up, her cheeks being squished by your fingers when you do so. a low whine escapes her lips and she grips the sheets, looking at you with puppy eyes that make almost make you laugh.

“god you’re pathetic, so shy it’s almost annoying. now, miss or ma’am from now on, since you’re being so incompetent.” you scoff. “when i tell you to do something you do it. got it?”

momo nods quickly.

“and now i’m telling you— no, this is an order: tell me about your dream, momo.” you say sternly, and momo gulps, looking at the desire and lust in your eyes.

she’s not used to this side of you, not used to this bossy type of y/n and it’s making her wetter than she had anticipated. momo hesitates and tries to maintain eye contact with you, but it’s hard.

“sorry miss,” she says in the cutest voice ever, so desperate, so obedient. you could get used to this.

for the most part, you’re being so stern with her because it’s really fucking hot seeing her like this, seeing her fold under you so easily when you’re the one who’s usually in this position. you also need to know more about her dream because one: how will you know what she really wants from you, how you can please her to the best of your ability. two: you want to know more of what’s going on in that dirty little brain of hers., what fantasies you’ve been unaware of.

momo cannot believe she’s submitting so easily to you, and there’s no escape from this confrontation of her little sex dream. so, she does what she has to, what you ordered her to do—all because she’s a good girl, your good girl.

“my wrists,” she begins, struggling to recollect the memories from her dream due to how flustered she is. momo can feel her cheeks literally burning, and the way your eyes drill into hers does not help her state right now. “they were tied with the black tie i wear to work and i was naked, you were touching me, ruining me.” momo locks her eyes with yours and her brows give in, relaxing as she fully gives herself to you with that helpless, needy expression. “i was being good and you said i was a good girl too, yours. you left me a mess, left me crying.” and after saying all of this, after recollecting the memories from her very enticing dream, she musters up the courage to ask, “can you take care of me like that? please?”

her pride and whatever embarrassment she had from earlier is out the window at this point; now the only thing she wants is you to ruin her, she doesn’t care how flustered she’ll be after this, the only thing taking over her is the hungry desire for your care and touch. just like that damn dream of hers.

you smile, satisfied with this more detailed answered. “of course baby, as long as you’re good for me.” you assure, cupping her cheek and letting her ease herself into your palm. “you can do that, yeah?”

“yes ma’am.”

“good.”

you take your hand off her cheek and she whines lowly, earning a small chuckle of amusement from you. turning around and taking a few steps, you reach for where momo hangs her work tie on the hook drilled into the door, then grab the fabric hung on it. you wrap it around so that it’s resting around your neck untied. momo watches you attentively, focusing on the way your hips sway subtly, eyes the way your fingers play with the fabric as you walk back to her.

“clothes off.”

“yes, ma’am,” momo responds, quickly taking off her t-shirt and shorts. you bite your lip when you see her nipple just barely poking at the thin bra she has on, leaving a small—yet noticeable—small bulge in the fabric that covers her breasts. your eyes run down her body, pleased to see the damp fabric that’s darkened by her arousal, which paints a smirk on your face.

“you’re so pretty baby, i’m gonna ruin you, ‘kay?

“yes, please, do whatever ma’am.” she says, hands gripping the sheets to contain her eagerness. “i’m all yours.”

“i’m glad you know your place.” you mutter before placing your hand on the center of her upper chest, just under her collarbones. you ease her into lying down onto the bed—making her shift over a bit so her shoulder blades press against the headboard—and straddle her. “my good girl.”

to be completely honest, you’re not one hundred percent sure where you’re going with this, and really, you’re using what momo does to you against her, she’s better at this dominance thing than you are. your first instinct is to close the distance and kiss her, locking your plump lips against her soft ones. your girlfriend whines into the kiss, hands desperately clawing at the exposed skin that isn’t hidden by the crop top you have on. she lets you take over and lead the kiss, following your lips when you decide to linger and then pull back half an inch or two. she’s desperate for your touch and whining each time you tease her, it’s amusing.

you start to suck at the skin on her neck, earning a choked-out groan from momo and a string of curses when your hands start to add stimulus by rubbing circles down on her inner thigh. you pull away from her skin and gaze at the artwork you’ve left on her neck. momo looks at you with the neediest look you’ve ever seen; it’s incredibly tempting and makes you want more.

“so cute.” you mumble. momo sighs, resting her head against the headboard before you press another kiss to her jaw. your hands slither to around her back and your fingers unclasp the navy bra she has on, it falls down around her, leaving the top of her body uncovered. “i’m gonna ruin you.” you say, almost as if it were a promise; a very dirty promise.

you kiss her deeply again, letting her chest squish into yours as you do so and she’s so sensitive that the small amount of contact makes her groan weakly.

“mommy, please… need you, please” her voice breaks slightly, so desperate for attention her sensitive tits that push against you. what she calls you catches you off guard, and it even takes momo by surprise, it just left her mouth on accident. she pauses in place after processing what had slipped past her lips, quickly backing down from embarrassment and her voice shakes when she catches herself, “i-i didn’t mean to say th—"

“shh, shh baby,” you assure, growing needy yourself from what slipped from her lips. “miss” and “ma’am” were already hot enough coming from momo, but “mommy?” holy shit that made your head spin, and it’s the last thing you would’ve thought you were into—but now you’re sure you’re into it after hearing her say it like that. undoubtedly, it’s undeniable that you’re into all of this.

“be patient baby, mommy knows what she’s doing, ‘kay? i’ve got you.”

momo lets herself relax again knowing that you don’t mind her slip-up—one that made your pussy pulse severely—and she lets you make your previous marks darker, you make sure it’ll take at least a week for them to fade away.

you’re pretty new to all of this, new to being in control, the new title you’re being given, this momo; everything is all so thrilling and you fucking love it.

finally, you decide to give momo what she wants, she’s been so obedient and patient, you might as well be generous.

“sit up for me princess, hands behind your back.” and momo does exactly what she’s told just like the good girl she is.

you pull the tie off of your neck and hold it with both hands, bringing it over momo’s head and behind her so you can wrap the tie around her wrists, restraining her hands with a secure knot when you finish tying. now momo’s completely under your control, and her hands are all tied up, meaning you can do whatever. it makes her cunt pulse so badly and she desperately needs you to ease that.

you start by pecking her lower neck sensually, then you start planting kisses down to her breast and eventually latching your mouth onto it. momo moans immediately—and very loudly—as soon as your lips make contact with her sensitive area. your tongue abuses her nipple, swirling around it while you suck and stimulate her; momo might cum just from this, and she’s baffled at how sensitive she is for you.

she shivers when your hand slides up her torso, twitching when your fingers graze along her abs. she continues to moan, it’s more of a whimper at this point from how fucking delicate she is, and she can’t do anything about the overwhelming sensation due to her hands being unable to grip at your skin or hair.

you pay attention to the other tit, giving it the same treatment as you did with the other: sucking on it, swirling your tongue around, leaving marks, and making her breath stutter. momo’s back arches as you leave a trail of kisses down her abs, whining strangled “mommy’s” and begging you to fuck her good.

she’s lightheaded when you press your fingers against her panties, and when you slip them off she whimpers pathetically; it’s adorable.

momo sighs desperately, pretty much begging every time she says something coherent. “a-ah, p-please mommy i’ve been good…”

without warning your lips clasp onto her pussy, and momo’s wrists strain against the tie wrapped tightly around them. she twitches when you eat her out, your nose pressing to her clit every now and then while your tongue fucks her into oblivion. momo tries to hold back her orgasm, i mean, you’ve only toyed with her tits so far and you’ve been eating her out for the past (what momo thinks, though her mind is really fucked right now) thirty seconds, and her breath is already erratic.

“m-miss, fuck, m-mommy p-please i-im—"

her attempt to hold back her climax fails when you suck on her clit and she feels herself shudder as she cums into your mouth. her thighs close around you and words twist at her throat; she practically sobs as you lap up all her arousal. you look up and catch the way her tummy quivers when she breathes, the way her head rests against the headboard while she collects herself.

when she looks down, she looks at your eyes peering back into her own, lust filled and lidded.

“you sound so pretty all riled up baby.”

a smirk finds its way to your lips and you trail back up her body with kisses, making your way back to your chest. before you indulge into her sensitive tits again, you decide to be a tease and brush your fingers over, they spring back into place from how hard they are and you smile. you flick them and momo lets out a choked-out moan. then, you make her scream by suddenly pinching the hardened bud between your fingers, you like this helpless momo. she’s unable to do anything about your teasing and touching. you place hand in between her thighs and two fingers run up and down her folds, teasing her entrance while you kiss her lips hungrily.

she struggles to kiss you back properly, distracted by the sensation down at her core. when you pull away she whimpers, then moans when you stick two fingers in. her head leans into you and she groans into your skin breathlessly, “m-mommy, agh keep going… so good miss, fuck,”

“mommy making you feel good?” you ask, and she nods against you, making you smile. “my pretty girl, so good for me just as she should be.”

you plunge into her harshly, fingers making contact with the sweet spots of her walls that make her bite into your shoulder. at this point, her wrists are going to have crimson marks from how much they’ve been pushing and struggling against the fabric that restrains her.

her breath grows heavier and tears start to form from how overwhelmed and sensitive she is, the word “please” is repeated at least ten times as you fuck her relentlessly. she’s quick to cum again after you thrust into her with your fingers again—this time pretty harshly, the top of your palm abusing her clit as you do so—which makes her back arch dangerously and tears roll down her cheeks, her flushed, hot cheeks.

holy shit. you think, looking at her state. her face is rosy, her pussy is already starting to swell, and tears form in her eyes again; she looks so goddamn pretty like this. you want her sobbing.

without warning, you shove two fingers back in and momo yelps, her body jerking from the sudden pleasure.

“w-wait, m-mommy— ‘s too much—”

“shh shh baby, i know you can take it. you’re a good girl right? gonna take it for mommy?”

momo closes her eyes tightly and catches her breath. she nods, then responds with a strained voice, “anything f-for you,”

“good girl.” you say, and you decide to push her limits a bit, adding a third finger to her battered, swelling pussy.

this is what has tears flowing down and despite the sobs, momo doesn’t want it to stop; she’d cry even more if you were to take your fingers out, if you were to stop abusing her core with those fingers of yours. her mind is so foggy, everything starts to get dizzy and you simply watch your girlfriend squirm and lose herself from your touch.

“so much, ah— m-mommy ‘m gonna cum, c-can i cum? please? please let me…” she begs.

“of course you can sweetheart, mommy is going to take care of you, always.” you assure, kissing her cheek and tasting the slight saltiness from her tears. “cum for mommy, yeah? you’ve been good.”

your fingers move in and out of her cunt with a sharp rhythm and curl at the spot that earns the loudest lewd noises. her breath hitches again and a knot forms in her stomach. she groans, cries, and whines—all at once, somehow—and you feel her walls tighten around all three fingers.

momo cums and a loud cry—practically a scream, one that might have your neighbors asking what’s going on—escapes her, the loudest of the night probably. her hips jerk up, she twitches, and tears fall onto her collarbone and chest. she falls limp against the headboard when you take your fingers out and her breath is still heavy, but she recollects herself.

with your thumb, you wipe away a few of her tears and kiss her incredibly swollen and red lips softly. she whines quietly into you as you do all of this, you caress her neck and help her relax after her overwhelming climax.

you pull away and admire your girlfriend: flushed cheeks, puffy lips, pink nose, and dampened cheeks from the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing down.

you undo the knot of the tie tightened around her wrists and throw it somewhere to the right. momo brings her—now free—hand up to her face and wipes her tears away, sniffling lightly. you smile at how adorable she looks; she’s all ruined and littered with deep red marks all over her neck, body, and inner thighs.

“c’mere.” you mumble, settling yourself beside her. you put out your arms and momo weakly leans into you against your chest, you pull the (now slightly dampened at the bottom) blanket over yourselves.

“was i good?” momo asks genuinely. you smile and kiss her forehead, then push her hair out of her face.

“more than good, you did great.” you assure. momo moves her head so that it’s situated in the crook of your neck, and she kisses it softly; a small giggle leaves your lips. “did you always have dreams like this?” you ask.

“once,” momo mumbles, “i woke up in the middle of the night from it last week, but that’s it. only that dream and… earlier…”

“would you have told me about these dreams if i didn’t catch you sleep-moaning?” you say teasing her with the last part of your response.

momo thinks to herself for a brief moment, then says, “i don’t know, it’s embarrassing.”

“no, not at all.” you say, “i didn’t know you had a mommy kink—i didn’t know i had one.”

“me neither… it just, slipped out.” she says, “ugh, this is so embarrassing, stop.”

you laugh and kiss her head. “well, i liked it a lot. you clearly liked it too.”

“uggghh.” momo groans.

“c’mon, am i wrong?”

momo pauses for a bit.

“no.” she responds.

you decide to leave momo alone and give her a little breather after fucking her to tears and teasing her about her newfound kink. you massage her scalp and feel her fully relax into you, her eyes close and she kisses you one more time.

“momoring, before you sleep.” you mumble, she hums. “can we do this again?”

she responds quickly, “please.”

you giggle and smile again, pressing her naked body closer to you and closing your own eyes. momo is glad that her dreams came true, and she hopes there are more dreams like these that can be fulfilled in the future.

[tzumongg]

nayeon acting all cocky and telling everyone how she dicks jihyo down every day but when they get home she’s face down ass up on the mattress begging hyo to slow down because this is her third orgasm and she’s getting all fuzzy in the head but jihyos determined and just coos at her pathetic cries and tells her to take her cock like the good little girl she is for her mommy

#nayeon #jihyo #twice #nahyo #random blurb bc i felt like it

[tzumongg]

hi fellow pisces 👋🏻

hi there :))

[tzumongg]

your writing is already so good, im invested in whatever you put out next!!

thank you so much this means a lot to me :)

[tzumongg]

but you can’t touch me (if you love me)

misamo & fem!reader // filth so minors dni

“you know better than to move sweet girl, now stay still”

when you agree to your girlfriends to a bet, you knew better than to push it to the limits. you knew that your girlfriends are the competitive kind, the one that can leave you wondering what dormant devil lies underneath them

you still however lost the bet, and that’s why when one of them enters the room, you wonder if this is where they will start getting their reward.

“good morning my princess!” sana smiles, her energy always unmatched in the morning “i brought you some coffee down the block to start this friday morning”

“thank you sweetheart” you don’t argue when she sits on your lap, and starts kissing you, giggling in between the kisses “don’t you have to go to a photo shoot soon?”

“i do” sana’s hands grab the back of your neck to connect her into a more messy kiss “but my turn is still later this afternoon. i want to have fun with you first”

you work from home, staying cozy in your own makeshift office room, giving her a surge of confidence of what she wants to do. she moves her hands to unbutton your blouse before running them on your chest and tummy, lightly scratching her way down and going back up to do it again and again.

“so cute” sana is a meanie when it comes to teasing you, always managing to turn any of you into a stuttering mess “so fucking cute. gosh i love messing you up”

“sweetie” you’re head is spinning, but it’s still work hours and you’re pretty sure she might be late to work “sweetheart i have a meeting in 10”

“fine i’ll let you go” sana gives you another kiss and fixes your blouse, her hands tracing your fading marks on your neck and collarbone “but i expect good pictures later”

even if sana left to go to work, her teasing comes in form of texts that render your brain into mush in between those zoom meetings.

i miss you princess

i miss making you messy n all worked up for me :((

sweetheart you would be good girl and wait for us right?

you can only sigh and continue to work, as you weren’t allowed to touch yourself or do anything that will help you unless one of them is there

it was after your lunch break that you finally got what you needed

momo is one of the more, generous ones when it comes to bed. just let her hands roam everywhere on your body as she fucks you then it’s all good

“hi baby” you kiss her when she’s behind you, letting you tend to your work on your computer screen “how was work”

“missed you” she pouts, tugging you to your shared bedroom and unto the bed “do you have do some work?”

before you can even reply, she’s already kissing you, pinning you down and effectively trapping you there

“baby i still have to finish something” you try to complain but it falls on deaf ears as momo turns the kisses into a messy make out session

“don’t care” she mumbles while kissing you, her hands already disregarding both of your clothes “got to have you now”

you let her have you, in all ways that makes her happy and makes you feel good. her mouth everywhere on your body as you grip the sheets to keep yourself grounded. her hands playing with your clit, sending you shivering and moaning at the pleasure. her strap, her fucking goddamn strap, is ready and on her. so fucking ready to fuck you deep

“baby” you call out, thighs shaking as she plunges her fingers into you, preparing for what is about to come next “baby come on please”

“please what?” momo circles her tougne around your clit before sucking it, making you scream out in pleasure

“fuck! please just fuck me with your strap mommy!” you give in, already throwing out the rest of your dignity out the window

“that’s what i wanted to hear” momo pulls out her fingers before lining up the strap unto your pussy. she lets you grind unto it before slowly pushing it in

“you look so pretty like this” momo moans as she sinks down, the strap effectively stretching you out “you look so good being stretched out for me”

“mommy” you moan out, letting her hands play with your breasts as you bottom out on her strap “fuck mommy you feel so good”

“yeah?” momo grunts, starting out slowly to help you adjust with the feeling “feel so full don’t you pretty girl? so full of my cock”

that immediately goes straight to your brain as she starts to move a bit faster, her hips starting to gain a sense of rhythm that makes you melt against the sheets

“hngg–ugh–fuck!” you feel your hands twitch against you, seemingly wishing to grab onto momo. she notices it before you can even move

“nuh-uh baby” momo taunts, grabbing both of your hands and pinning it above you head “no touching remember?”

right, the whole reason why you lost the bet is because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself

“please” you beg as you begin to feel your thighs shake, your back arch, your “please mommy let me cum”

momo grins and starts to move at her fastest and hardest, slipping one of her hands to rub on your clit that sends you screaming

you let go loudly, sure that whoever your neighbors are, they can hear you and will probably file a complaint tomorrow. it takes you a full minute to even regain your focus on momo, who’s diligent to help you clean up and do some aftercare

“good job baby you did so good” momo coos and helps you come down from your high, rubbing her hands on your sides to help you calm down “so proud of you baby for taking me so well”

“thank you” you gasp, the amount of energy taken from you already showing its signs as your eyes start to close “cuddle with me at least?”

“always baby” momo wraps your arms around you, whispering soft nothings as you drift off into sleep

though it doesn’t take long for you to wake up again, when mina’s having the time of her life eating you out

“hmmph–m-mina” you call out, her eyes drinking you up as she sucks on your clit “hngg-oh g-gods why are you so–hng-fuck!–so good at that”

“hello my love” mina sing songs, inserting two fingers to replace her mouth “i think i’ll take my reward right now so be a good slut and take what i’ll give you”

mina is a lot of things and maybe that’s why she loves to make you feel a lot of things. first making you orgasm on her fingers, then on her thigh, then on her face and then now she’s pounding you down on the bed with her own strap.

so yeah she likes making you feel a lot of things, that’s why whenever you are with her, overstimulation is bound to happen.

“not enough” mina moans as she brings you up to your knees, and continues to fuck you, her arms helping you stay upright “i need you wailing and squealing for me”

“hngg-uggghhh-fuck!” your mind is nothing but a mess now, her dirty whispers and moans absolutely not helping you at all with this case

“that’s it” mina smirks as you continue you only let out moans and whimpers “that’s what i love to fucking hear”

mina’s thrusts sends you throwing your head back against her, the loud slapping echoing across the room that makes sana and momo drooling by the door

wait

sana and momo drooling by the door?

“fuck look at her” momo can’t take her eyes off the both of you, hypnotized by the way you beg mina to go harder with only broken moans “she’s taking mina so well”

“that’s not mina anymore” sana makes eye contact with mina, who smirks and makes a show of the new fresh marks she put on you “that’s sharon taking over”

“looks like we’ve got an audience” mina’s voice is nothing but mean and seductive that makes you almost weak on the knees “won’t you let them mark you up? hmm? will you be a good slut and let them play with you?”

you can’t even give a response before the other two join in the fun, their once shocked behavior replaced with a hunger of a predator that wants to play with their prey

momo is quick to latch unto your tits, her hands already all over your chest and tummy. sana prefers to messily kiss you, perfectly invading your senses and rendering you weak

“you look so good” sana praises you, even as the combined spit of both of you cover most of your jaw at this point “such a pretty obedient slut for us”

“fuck i can feel you shaking baby” mina pants, her thrusts not stopping even if her abs are burning “we need you to cum ok? just cum for us. make a fucking mess”

you don’t fully register it, but you were sure to give them what they want and more.

“good job sweetheart, you did such a good job” sana is quick to praise you, proud and a little bit shocked that you just squirted “let’s run you a bath hmm?”

“we’ll order some take out” momo kisses you softly, helping you melt in their arms “you did so good for us baby”

“our love deserves to be pampered tonight” mina sighs into your neck, kissing the fresh marks she added “so amazing for us”

[tzumongg]

3mix as professors who their students argue every year about if they are dating and if they are, which two would be dating, but in reality they are a throuple. It’s entertaining for them to watch their students fight about them though, but sometimes one of them may get insecure when the students clearly favour the other two as an otp. That leads to a pampering session where they are reminded the other two still love them just as much.

as much as they tried to hide their relationship, from time to time they’d give their students a few clues that could enhance their imagination.

they’ve been together for longer than any of their students could imagine, and with that, they have created habits that served as proof that they were indeed in a relationship. like the way nayeon would fix jeongyeon’s bangs and intertwine her hand with jihyo’s while they’re walking, way too close for someone who was only their friend.

nayeon was certainly the biggest threat to their secret coming out, but the other two weren’t completely innocent either. they worked in different buildings, but jeongyeon couldn’t resist the urge to spoil the both of them. during lunch time, sometimes she’d sneak out to give them sweets or merely steal a kiss where nobody could see them.

jihyo, however, was the most secretive out of the three, and that’s why some of their students came to the conclusion that she was but a friend of the real couple, nayeon and jeongyeon.

not all of them thought nayeon and jeongyeon were together — some of them rooted for miss park and miss yoo, others rooted for miss im and miss park. but the most popular couple was, surely, nayeon and jeongyeon.

even then, they had a good time making their students confused about their relationship. they weren’t trying to keep it a secret forever, but there was no need for their private life to be exposed.

that’s why the three of them would immediately change the subject whenever a student tried to get useful information about their relationship, never giving it away, even if they were bribed with candy and compliments.

but it was obvious enough, really. if their students were clever enough, they’d see the truth.

“wait, i think i forgot my phone in the office,” jihyo sighs, searching for the object inside her purse, finding nothing but her wallet and papers. “i’ll be right back.”

“not again.” nayeon groans. “if you take long to get it back we’re going home without you.”

“it’s her day to drive though.” jeongyeon points out, from the backseat.

“it’ll take less than five minutes, i promise!” jihyo presses a kiss on nayeon’s cheek that makes the grumpiness go away, doing the same with jeongyeon, despite struggling to reach her.

she grabs the car keys before leaving, knowing they wouldn’t leave without her, but it was better to be sure that they wouldn’t than fully trust them.

jihyo manages to walk fast enough to the office to get her phone, doing it in under three minutes, for nayeon and jeongyeon’s sake. she places it safely inside her purse, at the bottom where she wouldn’t lose it easily and gets ready to run again.

she only stops when she hears familiar voices at the end of the hallway, noticing that they’re talking about her, nayeon and jeongyeon again.

“they’re all dating.” ryujin concludes, decisive and tired of the discussion that started months ago.

“miss park wouldn’t do something like that.” lia denies, shaking her head.

jihyo raises her brows, mashing her lips to keep a laugh from coming out.

oh, but miss park would and she does.

“then why do they always go home together? miss yoo treats the both of them the same. and the three of them have matching rings. wedding rings!” yuna defends her theory, siding with ryujin.

“well, miss park probably lives near them. that’s why they go home in the same car!” yeji protests, certain that her and lia’s conclusion was the only correct answer to the rumors going around about their professors. “besides, how are you so sure those are matching rings?”

“i’m not sure… but they look the same.” yuna takes a seat on the bench, next to yeji. “you haven’t seen the way miss yoo treats miss park, that’s why you don’t believe me. you would if…”

as yuna tries to argue that her favorite professor wasn’t a third wheel and that she was actually in a relationship with nayeon and jeongyeon, jihyo decides it’s her time to take a leave.

she had heard enough and her lovers might be ready to jump at her neck for taking twice the time she said she'd take to be back, depriving them from getting home early.

“good evening, girls.” jihyo laughs softly, passing right by them, hearing stuttered ‘good evening miss park’s as she walks back to the car.

“did i miss anything?” chaeryeong shows up only a few seconds after jihyo leaves, snapping her fingers to get her friends' attention, but none of them can find the words to answer her question, afraid they might have been caught talking about their professors’ love lives.

jihyo has never felt left out when it came to her relationship with nayeon and jeongyeon, but after the rumors that they were dating started, jealousy became less rare of a feeling. it was no good, she knew it, there was nothing for her to be jealous about, not when both nayeon and jeongyeon loved her with their entire hearts.

and yet jihyo feels as insecure as she was back when they met, long years before they reached their current stability — old enough to understand their feelings, with solid jobs, a great house and rings on their fingers that meant that they belonged to each other.

“you’re weird.” jeongyeon reaches jihyo from behind, after they have all showered and eaten dinner.

as a penalty for making them wait, nayeon and jeongyeon decided that it was jihyo’s day to do the dishes again.

“thank you, that’s very sweet of you, jeong.” jihyo replies grumpily, rinsing the last plate that was in the sink.

“no, like, you’re weird weird.” jeongyeon says and jihyo pulls away from her grip, drying her hands on a towel. “what’s up, baby? are you upset we made you drive and do the dishes?”

“no. it’s nothing, jeongie.” jihyo sighs deeply — extra dramatic, because she knew that would make jeongyeon worry and keep asking if she’s alright. jihyo knew all the tactics required to get some pampering. on that particular day, she truly needed it.

“come here, im nayeon!” jeongyeon shouts to nayeon, who was busy feeding their pets.

“is it important?” nayeon asks, loud enough for them to hear it, making sure no one would steal the other’s food.

bbuyo, jihyo’s selfish cat had made progress and he wasn’t trying to eat bomb’s food anymore, but nayeon would still watch them to be sure bomb would get his dinner properly. the dogs were real angels compared to the cats.

“jihyo is sad and it’s your fault!” jeongyeon shouts back and nayeon goes running to the kitchen.

“what? what did i do?!” nayeon asks worriedly, approaching them with a slight pout. “is it because i made you do the dishes?”

“it’s not about the dishes.” jihyo looks at nayeon. “and it isn’t her fault.” she tells jeongyeon and sighs, trying to walk always from them but she was easily cornered by nayeon and jeongyeon. “can we take this somewhere else?”

nayeon and jeongyeon look at each other and agree to let jihyo walk freely. they follow jihyo back to their room, but not without questioning her about what was going on.

“then what is it?” nayeon pushes, walking annoyingly close, almost making jihyo stumble on her feet. “oh, c’mon, you’re making me nervous! i don’t think i did anything bad! it’s probably jeongyeon’s fault anyway.”

“it’s no one’s fault.” jihyo stops on her tracks, pouting. “just need some love, that’s all!”

“something definitely happened.” jeongyeon raises her brows. “tell us, baby. what’s going on?”

jihyo finds her spot on the bed, which was in the middle. nayeon and jeongyeon follow her, sitting on her sides. “you will laugh at me!”

“we won’t, baby.” jeongyeon replies, and although her answer isn’t fully sincere, the reassurance convinces jihyo to spit it out.

jihyo blurts it out hurriedly, face flushed as she tells them about what she heard when she went to grab her phone earlier, ashamed to admit she was jealous due to something as frivolous as what her students think about them.

nayeon and jeongyeon aren’t quick enough to understand every word jihyo lets out during the seconds that she vents her feelings, but soon enough they realize the problem in question. jihyo was upset because people thought the both of them were dating, excluding her from their relationship…

“when it’s clear enough i’m dating you too!” jihyo breathes out, burying her face on the pillow to hide away from nayeon and jeongyeon’s amused faces.

“it’s not their fault, hyo. they probably think like that because jeong and i are less... strict about it,” nayeon quickly comforts her, rubbing jihyo’s back with her hand.

“i’m not strict!” jihyo whines, taking her face away from the pillow and sitting on the bed, with her back against the headboard.

“well…” jeongyeon starts, but the words she wanted to say never come out, unable to contradict jihyo when she looked like a sad puppy who needed pets. “how can we make this better?”

jihyo feels like she had just hit the jackpot with the way the both of them look at her. they were clearly willing to do anything she asked, both of them ready to risk it all for jihyo if needed — it wasn’t anything jihyo wasn’t already used to, loving to be spoiled by them.

“cuddles.” jihyo replies, sighing loudly, as if she was hurt. “and kisses. lots of kisses. and bbuyo sleeps with us today.”

nayeon and jeongyeon weren’t happy to have bbuyo sleeping with them that night, mostly because the cat would kick them randomly during the night if they allowed him to sleep in, as if he was telling them not to get too close to his rightful owner.

but they promptly offer jihyo their arms and lips before having to take him in, giving the younger of the three all the warmth jihyo sought for, leaving her breathless with how tight they squeezed her between them.

“w-wait, i changed my mind, bbuyo c-can’t sleep here,” jihyo breaks the kiss with jeongyeon, whimpering as nayeon’s nails scratch her bare tummy.

“i thought so,” nayeon taunts, laughing softly next to her ear. “we need to make it up for you, hyo.”

“mhm, give you a proof that we love you,” jeongyeon adds, kissing down jihyo’s jaw. “would you like that?”

though that wasn’t the kind of pampering jihyo thought she’d receive, she was more than happy with what she got.

“please, unnies!”

[tzumongg]

the designated fuck mutt 😵‍💫

i need to take a cold shower after all of that. thank you eden and elephant anon

-🪐

You’re welcome! And you know what? I actually had another thought. I hope you like this…

cw: abo with mommy!hyo and sub fuck pup!reader

↳ cruel

Idol: Twice x F!Reader (mentioned), Jihyo x F!Reader (centered)

Type: Fic

It’s been a few weeks since you relocated to your new home. 

You think you’re adapting well. 

You were already fond of the girls before, but you’ve gotten to know them more as individuals now that you’re not only fucking every time you see each other - which you do (see), often - so that’s made getting used to your new life as an owned pet much easier to bare. 

Rather than keep you locked up in a room to be used strictly for sex, which is what your life primarily was before, the girls have been kind enough to allow you to roam freely like a wealthy pet - sometimes you even feel like a human. 

Well, mostly… 

You’re a part of the staff crew now, which is pretty cool. At least that was the requirement for allowing you to free roam. It’s nothing more than a ruse really, an excuse to be able to follow the girls to schedules and travel with them everywhere. It’s a discreet way of being available to them at all times, should they suddenly need you, while allowing you to experience the same things they do. No one outside the nine women and their managers knows your true purpose; not the general public, paparazzi, and certainly not their passionate fans. To outsiders, you’re nothing but a loving staff member who cares about the girls’ well-being and looks out for them the way they deserve. 

They’re not that far from the mark. 

However, the women you work for don’t let you forget your place. 

Anytime you get a little too comfortable, someone comes by to remind you of your true place as a fuck mutt. A light palm against the front of your pants as they walk past you, a light graze of their ass against your bulge when they squeeze between you, even a tight hug when they’re “tired” and need a pick me up cuddle - an excuse to press their breasts against your chest and lean up to whisper the disgusting things you should be doing instead into your ear. 

Things never escalate past that sexual teasing when you’re at work. They’re too “professional” for that, unfortunately. But that doesn’t stop them from making sure your cock is rock hard at all times, aching and dripping with the need for release. 

Today is one of those days. 

The day started early and work was scheduled to be eighteen hours long. You’re not even halfway through the day and you already feel like you’re going to be sick if you don’t come soon. The girls can be so mean with their teasing sometimes. Your knot has been swollen for hours and your leaking slit has soaked your boxers with precum. You were explicitly prohibited from touching yourself without someone present. At this point, you don’t know whether you want to sit in a corner and cry your eyes out from the discomfort or come. 

Most likely both. 

Your dampened mood hasn’t gone unnoticed. Neither has your scent. Somewhere in the back of your mind you register that the director has yelled cut, but you remain unmoving until a touch against your arm breaks you out of your haze. 

“Hey, pup.” It’s Jihyo and she’s gently ushering you toward a secluded area with a palm gently pressed against your back.. “Are you okay? You seem upset.” 

The earnest concern on her face is the last straw for the bubbling cauldron of emotions. It surprises her as much as you, but she takes you into her arms immediately as you erratically explain yourself through sobs. 

“It just hurts so much, mommy.” 

Jihyo leads you to a sofa tucked away into a corner and brings you into her chest, laying your body across her lap. “Hey, baby. You’re okay. Breathe… Look, look. Here.” She doesn’t wait for a response before she pulls down her neckline and brings your lips to a hardened nipple. “There you go, sweetie. This will help you relax. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” 

Jihyo wipes the wetness from your cheeks with a gentle thumb and brushes a kiss to the crown of your head. Her fingers sift through your hair, pushing it away from your feverish forehead before coming to rest on your abdomen. She rubs small circles there as you nurse, taking in the slower rise and fall of your chest and your evening breaths. 

“That’s my good girl,” she whispers, smiling. Her hand trails lower and her eyes widen. “Oh… my sweet puppy. Your knot… Those girls really are mean, aren’t they? They left you like this all day? My poor thing. You were such a good girl today. So well behaved… But don’t you worry. Mommy’s here. I’ll help you feel better.” 

Jihyo’s hand is warm and squeezes lightly as it wraps around your shaft. The contact with the softness makes you whimper. It’s a delicious pain that nearly makes you instantly come into her fist. It’s the warmth you’ve been craving for hours, but you don’t want to let go so fast. You want to savour it, feel your member pulsing as she tightens her grip the way Jihyo loves to watch you squirm.

“Don’t resist, Y/n.” Jihyo chides. “This knot you’ve got here won’t go away any time soon. Trust me. Come for me at least once, then we can go home and I can take care of you properly, okay?”

You nod. 

Jihyo squeezes your member, arching a brow. 

“Use your words, puppy.” 

“Y-Yes, mommy.” 

“And?” 

“Thank you, mommy.” 

It doesn’t take you much more encouragement to let go. With the milk flowing into your mouth and the hand milking your cock, you come, pathetically spilling ropes of hot seed over your belly and thighs with a whimper. 

Jihyo is right. The relief is brief and fades away instantly, but unbeknownst to you, Jihyo has arranged an apology gift for you at home for all the trouble her girls put you through. It doesn’t sit well with her that the others could be so cruel to her precious fuck puppy, but perhaps by the time they’re done, everything you went through might’ve even been worth it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ twice

[tzumongg]

can you handle it?

subby!sana x mommy!nayeon

warnings: overstimulation , crying, mommy kink, oral, fingering, sana’s a sensitive baby :(, nayeon’s a little mean, but they love each other, dom/sub dynamics (sn is just a good girl for ny my heart hurts)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sana and nayeon had been resting in their shared room. nayeon was on her phone probably looking at cat videos and sana was cuddled up next to her, staring at the ceiling, her eyebrows furrowed and a slight pout on her lips. she was deep in thought, thinking about ways to get her girlfriend’s attention. she then sat up and straddled the older girls lap. nayeon didn’t pay much mind to the action, used to her girlfriends clinginess. that is, until her phone had gotten snatched out of her hands. she looked up at sana with a confused expression, wondering why sana was looking at her so expectantly.

“can i know why you stole my phone?” she chuckled, her girlfriend’s pout only making her more puzzled. “how come you always talk about being so rough with your past girlfriend’s but with me you’re so vanilla?” she questioned, her tone a little sullen.

albeit she was surprised at the sudden inquiry, nayeon found it cute, how forward sana was being with her.

“well depends on the situation really, but it was mostly because they would act out but you always listen to me so there’s no need for that,” she explained calmly while her thumb circled sana’s hip bone.

she didn’t miss the way the younger girls cheeks turned a little pinker at the action. how can someone look so adorable while complaining?

for a second sana stopped to ponder before answering, “but it’s like… you talked about how you always did something new with them and.. i don’t know i guess it just sounds more fun than the vanilla stuff you always do with me..” she muttered, talking mostly to her hands, afraid she might turn into a tomato if she looked the older girl in her eyes while saying that. nayeon then grabbed sana’s chin, making the doe eyed girl look at her. “honey, i do the ‘vanilla stuff’ with you because you’re always such a good girl for me and why would i punish you when i can reward you for listening to me so well?” she crooned, the younger girl’s cheeks and ears now definitely a couple shades pinker.

“…look, if you really want to, we can try something if you really wanna see what it’s like,”

sana’s expression lit up, nodding hopefully.

“alright then, you can always use your safeword,” she reminded before flipping sana over so she was the one on top.

nayeon leaned in, capturing the younger girl’s lips in a searing kiss. sana thinks that’s one of her favourite things about nayeon, how she always managed to leave her breathless after a kiss, no matter how simple or sweet it was. they stayed like that for a bit, enjoying the feeling of their tongues dancing in a dizzying rythm. nayeon then pulled away which caused sana to whine and follow her lips before she herself pulled back.

“patience, love,” the older girl teased. “but i wanna keep on kissing you,” sana huffed, pouting her lips. nayeon then raised an eyebrow “don’t get all mouthy on me now, i think you’re forgetting you’re not getting anything if you keep up the act,” she reminds her, and in response she got a ‘hmph’ and a turned cheek.

choosing to ignore the sudden act of brattiness, she leaned back on her heels before trailing her hands to sana’s thighs.

“alright i’m gonna start are you sure you want this?”

“just start already, you act like i can’t handle you, i’ll be fine,” sana told her in a matter-of-a-factly tone, she thought about rolling her eyes at the end of her sentence but she chose not to in fear she would actually piss nayeon off.

all she got in response was a quirked eyebrow and a slight grin from the older girl.

nayeon began placing feather like kisses on the girls neck, basking in the quiet gasps and moans. whilst she made her way down sana’s neck, she also grabbed the hem of her sleep shirt, silently asking for permission. once she got a nod from the younger girl she peeled it off to reveal the porcelain skin beneath. she sucked a couple hickeys into her collarbone, not missing the way sana would try to subtly squeeze her thighs together whenever she kissed over her sweet spot. nayeon’s lips made their way down sana’s pale skin, sucking a dusky nipple into to her mouth, tweaking the other with her fingers. sana whimpered at the feeling, her hands threading through nayeon’s soft hair. nayeon switched between sucking and nibbling on the younger girl’s sensitive nipples and kissing her hotly, loving how riled up she got.

sana’s mumbled pleas didn’t go unnoticed though, and nayeon had made her way down the girls abdomen, leaving a few faint marks there before making her way down to the hem of the sana’s panties. pulling back for a second to relish in the image of sana’s soaked panties she chuckled quietly and then placed a chaste kiss over the wet spot on the girls panties, smiling at the way sana moaned quietly. “may i?” she questioned as her fingers found themselves tugging at the waistband of sana’s underwear. “yes..” the girl uttered shyly. “yes what?” nayeon smiled, knowing how flustered the girl got when she had to call her that name. nayeon was now looking up at the girl expectantly, smiling when the girl flushed a bright red hue as she was about to say something. “..yes, mommy,” she whispered, not daring to look nayeon in the eyes.

“that’s better,” she hummed.

nayeon hurriedly slid sana’s panties off, acknowledging how they stuck to sana’s slit from the stickiness between her legs. once they were off, she spread sana’s thighs, savouring in the image of the girls soaked cunt. nayeon placed a few kisses on her inner thighs and leaving faint bite marks there. she knew sana was getting impatient while she was slowly kissing around her swollen clit, loving the cute whines and the way she’d try to subtly buck her hips to get some more friction. nayeon herself was also getting a but impatient so after a few more gentle kisses to sana’s clit, she dove in eager to make her girlfriend melt on her tongue.

sana’s first orgasm came easily to her, thighs wrapping around the older girls neck as she chanted her name like a mantra. sana was already feeling a little tired, nayeon always knew how to make her putty with her tongue on her pussy.

she thought that was it, a little surprised she didn’t get edged or something like that but she wasn’t complaining when it feels so good to cum on nayeon’s tongue. but then she felt nayeon kissing her sensitive clit again. so this wasn’t the end, okay, she could handle one more, she guessed hesitantly.

nayeon held her thighs open as she slid her tongue inside sana’s pussy, moaning openly at the taste. her thumb made its way to sana’s stiff clit, rubbing rhythmically as she fucked sana with her tongue.

sana had always been a sensitive girl, only being able to take so much before her eyes got teary and her mind got fuzzy. she could take it though, she wanted to prove to nayeon she could take whatever she gives her. and with one last rub on her little clit, she was gushing all over nayeon’s tongue, wetting her lips and chin.

nayeon didn’t stop there, no, her arms gripped sana’s thighs and her tongue continued lapping up the brunette’s pussy. “w-wait, i-“ she was cut off by the feeling of nayeon’s tongue snaking its way back into sana’s sopping hole, her thumb gently starting to rub her twitching clit again, making her cry out at the sensation.

“mommy, c-can’t!” sana mewled, overwhelmed at the sensation of nayeon’s finger and tongue on her overly sensitive pussy. she was shaking, trying to close her legs but nayeon had an iron grip on her thighs, not letting her go anywhere. “‘s too much mommy please..” sana cried out, nayeon felt wet to her thighs when she looked up to see the teary eyed girl beg for mercy. seeing this nayeon was now determined even more to see how much she can make her girlfriend cry from the pleasure.

sana was thrashing in nayeon’s hold, the overstimulation making her sob, she didn’t know how much more she could take, mindlessly babbling nayeon’s name. nayeon then came up and enveloped sana’s clit into her mouth, moaning around the sensitive nub, the vibrations making sana shriek out a cry, finally coming for a the third time tonight. she was sobbing now, weakly trying to pry her way out of nayeon’s grip.

she felt dizzy, calling out for her girlfriend and nayeon thankfully pulled away. she thought that was the end, finally relaxing a little, that is until she felt nayeon’s finger sliding up and down her slit, the tip of her finger teasing sana’s weeping hole. sana tensed up, fresh tears adorning her cheeks she was beginning to feel delirious, but nevertheless nayeon kept her movements up, sliding a finger in with no resistance.

“i c-can’t mommy, stop! please!” she sobbed.

“what’s wrong baby, i thought you said you could handle me?” nayeon cooed, seeing how the girl struggled to come up with words. she slid in another finger into the girls soaked cunt, curling them up, hitting the spot that made sana’s mind fuzzy. the poor girl’s entire body shook, crying out for her mommy. “be a good girl for me and give me one more,” she whispered while thrusting at a slow pace, knowing the girl was far too gone and sensitive for anything harder.

“c… c-can’t ,” she said in between her cries, entirely too deep in a headspace to form proper words. nayeon just hummed, before tenderly sucking sana’s overstimulated clit into her mouth.

sana laid there, letting nayeon take her, her mewls and sobs loud enough to concern neighbours, but she didn’t care.

it was all too overwhelming, the only thing keeping her grounded was nayeon softly rubbing sana’s right thigh with her thumb. she felt the knot in her stomach tighten, she was reaching her limit but it was too late to pull away, she was already coming and she let out her loudest moan yet. nayeon felt sana’s entire body tense, the mix of pain and pleasure paralysing her body.

nayeon pulled away, knowing sana reached the end of her rope. she kissed her way back up to sana before enveloping her shaking body, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances that she was right there. sana just laid there for a bit, sobbing quietly into nayeon’s neck as she calmed down.

after awhile nayeon pulled away from the hug, asking sana if she needed anything and all she got for an answer was a whine and her weakly reaching up and making grabby hands. she smiled and gladly accepted the hug.

they stayed like that for awhile, sana sleeping peacefully in her embrace. later she would wake up to take out and water on the night stand but before any of that, nayeon took her to the bathroom and gave her a gentle bath.

sana thought maybe it wasn’t so bad being a brat if she got this type treatment afterwards.

a/n: hi :3 this is my first post so pls be nice, i’m rly new to writing so there’s probably spelling mistakes and it might seem kinda rushed but like i said i’m still a beginner, feel free to send asks and talk to me :) also this was purely self indulgence bc i never see anyone write rly subby sana my bbg :((

#twice #twice smut #twice imagines #sana #nayeon #sanayeon #kpop smut #sana x nayeon #minatozaki sana #im nayeon

[tzumongg]

introduction~

♡- I’m Evelyn but you can call me Evie :3

♡- Twice ult

♡- 23 ( pisces )

♡- I’m still rly new to writing and stuff so be nice pls :)

♡- Ask me anything I’m an open book~

#me