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capslocked · 3 months

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PARITY

male reader x sana & miyeon

21k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's really fucking uncanny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty," you say out loud.

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

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

"Lose it," you request, quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So then, what could it possibly be?”

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

Sana sits up a little in her chair.

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

You and Sana almost snort in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two tops.

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

Her eyelids flicker once.

Then close.

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

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

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

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

And then her lips tighten and she just-

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

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

She just-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-and when he has to pull out-"

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

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

"-maybe-"

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

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

The answer’s a two-part chorus. Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Miyeonie," Sana says.

"Sana," Miyeon returns, flat.

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

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

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

"You know the one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve noticed.”

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

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

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

Sana shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh, birds of a feather.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On your phone, there are some choice text messages:

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > jesus

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

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > PLEASE

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > fuck any quieter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come here."

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

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

It's really always about the two of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"N-need," Miyeon chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miyeon cries out.

“I'm going to cum-"

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

"I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now's no different, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not meaning to, or maybe too eager.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It goes without saying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Direct.

To the point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-yeah," she huffs, panting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is not much talking from then on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, it's just like this:

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

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

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

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

The smallest, lightest grind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gives you two so much to talk about."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So: "I need the both of you."

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

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

You just groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They're fucking-

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

- identical.

"Look, I didn't mean-"

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

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

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

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

"She isn't?" you ask.

Sana sighs. "Um. Not even close."

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

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

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

-gorgeous, lewd, completely fucking filthy.

"I got a lot, babe."

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

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

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

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

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

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kyra45 · 3 months

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Tips to spotting scams based around Palestine fundraisers

With the latest round of scams being based around Palestine fundraisers, this guide is meant to help you get the idea on what to look out for if you share posts about it often. This post is not to say all fundraising posts for it are scams! It should be understood that there are verified sources to donate to support Palestine and also legitimate methods to giving aid as well that can be found if you search around. It’s just unfortunate there are now accounts here that have chosen to rapidly take advantage of users who don’t know about their scamming.

Here are some basic information about these scams and the accounts themselves:

- The accounts pinned post is usually only a few hours old or a few days old. It starts off with “urgent help needed” and then bullet points of the story. This story is real, but it’s been edited and stolen off a real fundraiser as copying/pasting it into your preferred search engine should show where it’s from.

- They may have a linktree link that says it’s their GoFundMe link but it’s not and it goes directly to a PayPal account that has a name they’ve likely stolen off someone else. It may be one that’s been listed as a known fake name used across multiple accounts

- All the images used are likely from the same fundraiser they’re stealing images from. The story is usually edited to sound very vague because they removed most of its details.

- The ask they send you is usually the same thing as their post and may have a stray pair of quotation marks showing it’s from something they found and wasn’t typed by themselves.

- Often sends asks after you’ve shared a post about Palestine or more. This is a targeted ask and searching it should reveal if it’s been sent by other blogs who used the same pfp as the sender.

- They share a few Palestine posts but never anything else.

- Known to send hateful asks to you if you call them out too much. They’ll also block and hide comments that point out the scam.

- Will comment on mutual aid posts to spread their scam if asks don’t work easily.

I know this isn’t much of a guide, but I hope it helps.

#Palestine #psa #scam

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 4 months

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[18+] fem!reader

BUCKY BARNES is the type to assert his gentle dominance over you during sex:

just him above you, his weight anchored on his left hand beside your head, vibranium fingers spread wide into the crumbled sheets. his other, finding itself along your jaw, loosely holding it in his palm. tilting your face to meet his, making you look him in the eye as he glides into you, cock sinking into you in a leisure rhythm.

his strokes would be slack - unrushed, his full length consuming you in a way so intoxicating. in a way so fulfilling. the wind of his hips slow, keeping himself buried deep inside as he grinds up into you, gently knocking broken noises from you.

his thumb would hover over your bottom lip, the pad skimming over the plump of it, the act itself dominant, assertive. the rest of his fingers brushing down the sides of your throat, teasing at the sensitive spots of skin.

he'd keep his gaze locked down on you, soft blues watching your pretty, pliant ones - watching how they sparkle under his attention, twinkling with flecks of lust and bliss. as if they speak to him - tell him things he wants to hear. he'd rarely part his focus from your face, hating to miss those expressions you make - those ones filled with unadulterated desire; knitted brows, lidded eyes and parted lips.

but during those moments when he looks away, they'd be on some other part of you, on another part of your beautiful body - eyes taking in the lewd image of you underneath him. they'd dart over your chest, taking note of the soft bounce of your tits, his steady thrusts knocking them in gentle circles. hand moving from the loose hold of your throat to the swell of one of your breasts, large hand rolling over it - thumb teasing at the nipple.

he'd be mostly quiet when it comes to noises, wanting to hear your soft moans more than his own. broken lines of praises falling past his lips from the way you wrap yourself around him - muttered strings of 'oh, I know. I know,'s and, 'yeah, that's it,'s. his strained, hoarse voice juxtaposing his casual dominance.

did I copy this from something else I wrote and changed it around to suit bucky? I don’t know, you tell me

#thot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader

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cherryredstars · 5 months

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Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Perverted Reader, Mentions of Male Masturbation, Female Masturabtion, Pillow Humping, Sexual Fantasies/Dirty Thoughts

Summary: Is it a blessing or a curse that you and Miguel share a bedroom wall?

A/N: Here you go WHORES (affectionate <3)

Word Count: 1.4K (Not Edited)

Pt.1 Pt.2

You can hear him.

You’re not trying too, although you can’t say you’re typically upset about it. It’s just… the walls are paper thin and the layout of each apartment is basically copy and paste. Which means his bedroom is separated from yours by a singular wall, and- guessing by how clearly you can hear everything- both of your beds are pressed against that shared wall. You promise that you’re trying really, really hard to ignore it even though you did take off your sound canceling headphones. In your own defense, they were starting to irritate your ears from how long you were wearing them.

And it totally has no correlation with the fact that your next door neighbor is very clearly fucking his hand on the other side of your bedroom wall.

At first, you had thought it was an auditory hallucination. Something your mind was making up after being deaf to the world and doing nothing but processing notes and videos and textbook pages. But then you heard it again and again and again. A faint, consistent wet noise followed by low breaths. You furrowed your brows, face gravitating to the wall until your ear was pressed against the cold plaster. Your hands had gripped at the pillow in your lap, hands tightening around it when Miguel’s muffled moan floated into your ear.

You had scrambled back, readjusting your crossed sitting position so you could press your thighs together. It was embarrassing how a singular, muffled moan had you hot and bothered. But it isn’t a singular moan. No, it’s more. He just keeps going, hissing and grunting on the other side of the wall as the wet noises get faster. You don’t even realize that your ear is pressed back to the wall, brain too focused on your neighbor and the pulsing heat that is starting to burn between your thighs.

It’s too damn hot.

You have to strip yourself of your plaid pajama pants or else you’d die from the heat. Your panties are just so uncomfortable with your wet and sticky arousal that it only makes sense to get rid of them, too. This is okay, you chant in your head as you reposition your body, knees digging into the mattress as your forehead sinks into your pillow. Your ass is forced into the air, the pillow that was once on your lap now resting in between your legs. There isn’t anything wrong with this, you reassure yourself as your hands start to trail down your body.

You’re pressed right against the wall and from your new spot against it, you can more clearly hear Miguel’s sounds of pleasure. You shove your head deeper into the pillow, biting down to muffle the small whine that escapes you when your fingertips brush over your clit. You have to be quiet. Not only because you don’t want him to know what you’re doing, but also because you don’t want to snuff out his muffled noises and eliminate the risk of him stopping.

Your fingers flick at your bud, rubbing and pinching at it. You try to mimic the way Miguel had touched you in his kitchen. It doesn’t feel the same. Your fingers are too soft, too dainty. You try to press your hips into them, huffing against the pillow. It feels good, but it’s not enough. From the other side of the wall, Miguel hisses out a quiet curse and you close your eyes.

You can see it so clearly in your head. Miguel laying back in his bed, pants pulled down right under his balls. His shirt lifted up slightly so he can get a good view of himself, exposing his stomach. His large, rough hands fondling his balls as the other tugs up and down his length. You bet he’s big, in both length and girth. You had been too dazed when he walked you out of his apartment to pay attention to his obvious hard on, and you whine into your pillow at your stupid brain. But he has to be big. A man that large must have the equipment to match. His cock a demanding thickness that stretches you out, tip effortlessly parting your pussy lips as he pokes at your entrance. You moan at the thought, fingers sliding down from your clit and through the wetness coating you. You bite down hard on the pillow as your fingers penetrate.

Your walls are extremely warm, your two fingers pressing and scraping against them. You know two of your fingers would equal one of his, and you wonder how many of your fingers would equal his cock. Maybe four fingers? No, no that still feels too small despite knowing trying to shove four of your fingers into you would be uncomfortable. Maybe- oh god maybe- it would be closer to your entire fist. Your hips buck at the thought. He would absolutely destroy you. But you’d take it happily. Would beg him to rip you apart and ruin you. Your tight walls would hug him snuggly, and your body would shiver from each drag of his cock. You would be able to feel every vein and twitch of his raw cock. Your body would buzz as he spilled his seed into you, warming your stomach with it.

You wonder what he’s thinking about as he moans again.

You hope it’s you. You hope he thinks dirty, deranged things about you. Hope he’s replaying the moment in the kitchen over and over in his head just like you have. Your mind wanders back to the image of him jerking off, to his hand wrapped around himself. Is he thinking about you as he touches himself? Is his hand white knuckled as he desperately tries to make it as tight as he’d imagine your pussy to be? Is he trying to finish to the thought of spilling into you? Or is he thinking about something else? Maybe, instead, he’s thinking about how your mouth would feel around him. Instead of thinking about your tight cunt, he’s thinking about how your throat would contract with a gag as he forced you to take it all the way to the base. Imagining how thin your lips would stretch around his thickness and the warmth of your mouth. You’ve never sucked someone off before and you hope your inexperience wouldn’t turn him off.

Your dirty thoughts make you more horny and more frustrated. Your fingers aren’t doing it. They aren’t hitting that spot inside of you that stays untouched. A spot that you know Miguel would easily reach with his fingers or cock. Your hips drop as your fingers leave your entrance, both of your hands coming up to wrap around the pillow your face is shoved into. You groan when your sensitive clit rubs against the rough texture of your pillowcase, hips shifting and bucking until you find the right angle. Your clit drags against the pillow perfectly, a burning pleasure that you’ve only felt with Miguel starting to swell in your stomach. Your whines and whimpers are absorbed into the pillow as you start to move your hips faster, crying out from the delicious friction.

Miguel’s own moans and hissing is becoming constant too. Dragged sounds that feed into your own approaching release. Your eyes are squeezed shut, imagining Miguel bucking into his hand desperately. His back is arched, mouth dropped open as he gets closer and closer to his climax. Your own is right at its peak, and your hips are a frantic mess as they try to get you to the finish line. From the other side, Miguel lets out a guttural sound, long and dragged out. He must have finished. You whine out, your own release triggering. Your body stiffens as you finish, heaving as you pant.

You lift your face from the pillow, the spot you had bitten down on dark with saliva. Your cheeks flush as you remove the pillow from between your legs, dark streaks of arousal staining it. You throw it on the floor, promising yourself you’ll take care of it later as you roll onto your back. Your chest is still heaving, and your arm is slightly tired from fingering yourself. You throw one of your arms over your eyes, sighing out as you think back on what you just did. You’re in the middle of scolding yourself when one last noise on the other side of the wall makes you freeze up. You get up quickly, pressing up against the wall to hear clearly. You pray he does it again, just to reassure yourself that you’re not going crazy.

Because- and you swear with everything in you- Miguel O’Hara moaned out your name.

Part 4 Part 5

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quantumfeat72 · 2 years

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for the past few years i’ve had a personal rule that i do not sign anything i haven’t read - mostly because i genuinely think it’s a good idea, but also as a kind of social experiment - and i wanna share some observations

when i worked at an amusement park, i was one of like two or three people in a group of around twenty young adults who read the employment contract

i gave up on reading every TOS and privacy policy early on - now i only read them if it’s a website or company i’ll be giving personal information to (and even then i only skim them) - but i’ve never found anything super suspect in one

i also have an exception for when i’m made to feel like i’d be an asshole for stopping to read something. notable examples of this going into effect include the patient-intake paperwork at the ER when i went in a few months ago. (i really wish i’d just gone ahead and been the asshole in that situation, even though i have no reason to think there was anything bad in it)

i think the only time i was the only one to read something that the people who gave it to us actually wanted us to read was the waiver at a cat café, which included a lot of safety information about how to interact with the cats

one time i was approached by a guy with a petition who told me it was an anti-fracking petition (which was a real petition that was going around at the time), but the paper he handed me was a petition to instate a “citizenship requirement” for voting. i pointed this out to him and he tried to convince me that even though that’s what it said, it’s not really what my signature meant, and then named the university he graduated from as though it gave him some level of extra credibility??

i have more than once been given a HIPPA form at a doctor’s office where my signature certifies that i’ve been offered a copy of their privacy practices, when i had not, in fact, been offered a copy of their privacy practices. the last time this happened, the receptionist didn’t actually have a copy of their privacy practices, and had to get me to me sign it several days later once she got a copy from her manager

99% of people are very accommodating when you tell them “i want to read this before i sign it,” but it’s never what they’re expecting

on a related note, if someone thinks it’s important that you know what’s in something they’re giving you to sign, they won’t wait for you to read it - they’ll go through, point to each section, and tell you what it says. this is what happened when i signed my lease, and it’s actually a pretty common instance of using my asshole exception, because then i feel like i’m calling the person a liar if i stop to read it myself

the moral of the story is... like... we treat a signature like it’s the absolute most surefire way of saying “yes i understand this and agree to it,” but in practice there’s not even a pretense that a signature means you’ve READ whatever you’re signing. in fact, handing someone a piece of paper and saying “sign here” is one of the LEAST effective ways to make sure they understand and agree to something, and PEOPLE KNOW THIS, and we do it ANYWAY because what else are we gonna do? notarize it??

i don’t have a solution but like. that’s kinda fucked up, you know?

#mine #i didn't realize i had this many things to say about it until i had it all written out #but like #read your contracts guys #i know it sucks but its important #100 notes #500 notes #1000 notes #5000 notes

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strawberrystepmom · 8 months

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cw children, cw families. gojo and f!reader were idiots in love and they are now married and have a baby. my effortlessly good painter gojo hc won out over being normal in my brain today so yeah. reader is referred to as mom/mama/mother and princess, satoru makes a joke about readers breasts. wc 1.1k

Your morning has started far quieter than they usually do.

The day is overcast, no sunshine through your floor to ceiling bedroom windows, but you don’t mind. It feels good to embrace the cloudy days that have come with the changing of seasons, no harsh light to shock you awake. That job will be for your identical menaces in the coming months, the gummy smile of your morning person nine month old and her unabashedly obsessed father Satoru always eager to be your twin alarm clocks with their giggling and playful babbling at each other.

There’s nothing they love more than giving you the gift of four identical blue eyes blinking at you while you come to your senses every morning. You can almost admit aloud that you’ve become a morning person since becoming a parent, the delightful giggles of your daughter giving you the motivation to conquer anything and everything you can.

For today though, you wake gently, softly rolling from your side to flat on your back but something feels off. There are no hushed giggles, no silly songs being recited with children’s show host precision.

Your bed is empty and quiet and you feel…sad. Perhaps in the past you would’ve found this to be a luxury - no freakishly long limbs of your husband starfished across the bed to keep you pinned to it, no baby to tug at the earrings you forgot to take out last night, but instead it just feels like a less welcome start to the day.

Lingering in bed doesn’t feel good so you roll again, dropping your legs over the edge and sliding your feet into your waiting slippers. Scuffing across the floor, you yawn and stop in your tracks hearing voices from inside Satoru’s closet.

Well, a voice and some baby giggles, anyway.

“Can you say mama?”

Leaning against the door frame of the walk in, you stifle a laugh listening to your husband babble at his little girl who babbles back excitedly. Peeking around the corner, you see him standing in front of the portrait of you that he painted on your 24th birthday, little babe held to his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“That’s her, that’s right. Your perfect mom.”

He sighs and your heart squeezes watching the two of them sway side to side, your baby who is growing into an independent toddler every day reaching out as if she recognizes your face. You’re sure she does, actually; the painting is an impeccable likeness and it still frustrates you 6 years later that he managed to become so good at a craft you’ve spent your life working on in less than a month.

Someday you’ll tell her the entire story, your version of it anyway. For now you’re content to let her father tell his side considering it was one of the most grand and romantic gestures he had performed at the time in an effort to show you how serious he was about your relationship.

“Listen, little girl,” he starts, unknowing that he has captured both of your attention. “I know I’m going to have to tell you this again eventually but do not ever bring a man or woman or anyone else into this house that loves you less than I love your mother.”

She coos at the sound of his voice and he chuckles down at her, kissing the downy white hair atop her head.

“I mean it. If they won’t stay up for four nights straight to get a start on painting your nose from memory, leave ‘em behind.”

With this, you giggle and the attention of both of your menaces is captured. Your daughter squeals from over Satoru’s shoulder, holding one little hand out and making a grabbing motion and he copies her excited babbling with his own.

“My little tricksters snuck out of bed this morning!”

Grinning, you cradle your little girl against your chest and kiss her temple, inhaling the clean smell of her shampoo and skin. She’s been bathed and everything.

“You’re the best.”

You feel the need to remind Satoru at this moment and he grins, bending to give you a good morning kiss.

“Duh.”

Giggling, you let your wiggly daughter settle herself and the three of you stand in front of the painting. You recognize the younger woman permanently captured in it, the soft lovesick look in her eyes, and it amuses you to know he took extra time to capture you exactly like that. Hopelessly in love.

He could capture you using the same medium and you’d look identical to how you did back then - utterly stricken.

“Did you really stay up practicing for four nights?”

“Princess, I stayed up practicing for four weeks.”

You snort, looking up at him from the corner of your eye.

“There’s no need to embellish now, you’ve already won me over.”

He shrugs, pulling the two of you close to his chest. He leans over his little family, cheek resting against the top of your head.

“But what if I never want to stop winning you?”

You reach up and brush his hair off of his forehead affectionately. Every touch you give him is full of love and every glance carries tenderness.

There will come a time when your daughter will be old enough to gawk at the love the two of you have for one another. Maybe she’ll stick her tongue out and roll her eyes just as you remember her father doing more than once or perhaps she’ll simply smile and hide her face in the collar of her shirt, dreaming of a love like what’s in front of her someday.

“I mean, I could paint you again. You are coming up on the big three oh and I have to say that a few things have grown since back then if you know what I mean.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and drops his voice suggestively low. You flick him on the forehead and laugh about it, your daughter joining in on your giggles as a nine month old is apt to do.

The thing you hope she’ll understand the most is that sometimes love isn’t just big paintings and grand gestures and sweet looks. It’s being grounded enough to give each other a hard time when things are good and a good time when things are hard.

You are fortunate enough to have the best of everything with her father.

“Let’s go make breakfast, Monet.”

You turn on your heel and your husband follows closely behind, small steps to match your own. He looks over his shoulder one final time to look at the painting of you on his closet wall and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Whatever you say, my muse.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoken #kendall writes #the way I have the actual story of the painting itself written too my word #cw children #cw families

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4unnyr0se · 6 days

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❥ cherry soda | osamu dazai

warnings: semi-public sex, office sex, unprotected sex, fem! reader, dazai is a smug brat, roughness, cunnilingus, making out, dirty talk, friends to lovers, pet names, dazai is a little bit of a pervert, innocent(?) reader, possessive(?) dazai, mentions of other ADA members, asphyxiation if you squint

word count -> 3.4k

MDNI | 18+ content

The sound of rustling papers and feet running in every which way filled the bullpen of the Armed Detective Agency, making quiet the most luxurious thing there was in that small Yokohama office. Kunikida screaming at Ranpo to do his work, Yosano was no doubt cutting open something (or someone), and the rest of them were out on a mission to collect intel on a potential bank robbery.

There was no one else free in the agency except you and a certain suicidal maniac, Osamu Dazai. You two got along fine, probably even better than just fine. Amazingly was the right word. Even though Dazai was probably one of the most annoying people on Earth, the two of you had formed a certain kinship that rivaled the one he previously had in the Port Mafia. Dazai was the first to tell you of his past, making you swear to secrecy. And you did so in a heartbeat of course, how could you not? Those pleading brown eyes were simply just too gorgeous to refuse a request like that.

Dazai knew of the effect he had on you, and he was so fucking smug about it. Copying papers? He would pout his lips at you and cup his cheeks with his bandaged hands, asking you if you would be a darling girl and copy his paperwork while you were still standing up. After all, the copier was just so far away, and it was so much work getting up off his ass.

Or that other time when you gave him your lunch because he forgot to bring his own, which made Kunikida give him a look so sharp it could kill. Kunikida tried to talk you out of it but no, your heart was set on making sure your best friend was happy. And Dazai was ecstatic, the meal being sweetened only by Kunikida’s furiously red face.

Dazai smiled at you from across the bullpen, frowning when you didn’t catch his friendly glances. Out of the two of you, you just had to be the responsible one. Making sure that due dates were met, cleaning up if anyone made a spill, blah blah blah. It was adorable but infuriating, the way you so carefully looked after the needs of others. So painfully fucking adorable that Dazai couldn’t help but feel himself get hard when you bent over to pick something up that Atsushi dropped, always patting him on his head gingerly. The way you were ever so clumsy with your drinks, spilling them onto your tight little pencil skirts about half of the time. Dazai would hear your sickly sweet voice curse under your breath as you squeezed your legs together to avoid getting the sticky soda on the hardwood below; you were always so careful about respecting the office. It was practically torture for Dazai, like some divine punishment for his misdeeds. How he longed to be the one making those noises roll off your pretty tongue, to relish in your cute sounds that should be caused by him and him alone, not your silly but stupid mistakes.

“Hey, Dazai, are you there?” Dazai blinked and snapped out of his thoughts, not having noticed that he was still glaring at you whilst he was lost in his perverted thoughts. “You’ve been staring at me for a while and you looked pretty mad, is everything okay?” You asked, ruffling his curly brown hair atop his head.

Dazai relaxed and smiled softly at you, resting his face on his left hand. His right hand reached up to caress your soft face, his bandaged thumb running over your cheekbone. “I’m quite alright, don’t worry about it. Just a little lost in thought is all.” He assured you, crossing one leg over the other to hide his growing erection. “You’re done with your paperwork for now, right?”

“Yeah, it took a while. Why, did you need something?” You ask, taking his cold hand off of your cheek.

“Because everyone else went out for lunch while you were filling out forms, and I wasn’t invited because Kunikida’s mad at me for coming in late.” Dazai stuck his tongue out at the last part, crossing his arms childishly. “He definitely has something up his ass, that’s for sure.”

You giggled and covered your mouth, getting a tiny bit of red lipstick on your palm. “Honestly I can’t blame him, you do have a nasty habit of coming in late. But he’s always had a temper, so don’t think much of it.” You patted him on the shoulder, smiling at him gently. You felt your stomach rumble, winching at the strange noise your body made. “Oh, I guess I’m hungry. I better go see what snacks Ranpo has on his desk. Do you think he’ll notice.?”

“He’s Ranpo. He notices everything.”

“Whatever, I’ll just buy him some more later.” You shrugged and walked over to Ranpo’s desk, opening up one of the many snack-filled drawers to take out a bag of potato chips. The bag opened with a loud crinkle, the chips rubbing against each other as your hand shuffled around in the plastic bag. You snacked on the crunchy treat, admiring how salty it was on your tongue. “Hm, I thought Ranpo was more of a sweets kind of person. Good thing they don’t put me out on many detective missions.” You laughed, walking over to Dazai and shaking the bag in front of his face. “You want?”

Dazai shook his head and leaned back even further into his chair, his arm resting on the back of his head. “You know what I would like, though?” He purred, a smirk covering his handsome face. “A cherry soda from the break room fridge, those things are damn good.”

You nodded, turning on your heels to get him his desired beverage. Dazai admired how your ass looked as you walked away, how the short little skirt you wore hugged your curves perfectly. You had to be wearing those short skirts to get a rise out of him, there wasn’t another explanation. Dazai loved the days where you wore pencil skirts and hated whenever you were more modest, subtly hinting how we liked short skirts more than long skirts. Was it a scumbag move on his part? Absolutely. But did he feel guilty about it? Not one bit. He liked what he liked and there wasn’t any shame in that, at least according to Dazai.

You returned from the breakroom holding two cans of the delicious cherry soda, the intricate artwork on the can being covered by your soft and cold hands. You placed a can down on Dazai’s desk, being careful to use a coaster as to not ruin the wood beneath. Opening the can with your thumb, the cold metal touched your lips as the carbonated drink ran down your throat, hitting your taste buds in just the right way that you couldn’t help but sigh at the immaculate taste.

“I haven’t had this in forever, I think I forgot that we had it. It was in the very back of the fridge by that expired cheese that Atsushi forgot to throw out.” You chuckled, sitting down on the edge of Dazai’s desk. He smirked to himself and opened his own can, nodding in approval as the cherry liquid touched his tongue.

“As if I’d ever forget about something as delicious as this, darling.” Dazai purred, sitting up in his chair to stare into your eyes. He noticed the way your cheeks took on just the faintest tint of red as he spoke to you, a shade so faint that it would be invisible to the untrained eye.

You took another sip of the soda, neglecting to notice how the fizzling red liquid dripped off of your chin and onto your white blouse, creating a little pink stain on the delicate fabric. Your lipstick was long ruined, red lip marks adorning the brim of the soda can. Instead, your lips shone with the remnants of the soda. Dazai wondered if the soda’s romantic flavor stuck on your lips, on your tongue. If once the soda ran out, would be still be able to taste it on your adorable mouth?

“Cutie, you got a little something on your shirt.” Dazai pointed to the stain on your left breast, poking it softly. “Right there.” He smirked once more, raising an eyebrow. “Did you seriously not notice? How adorable.”

You blushed and set down the cherry soda on the desk beneath you, looking down at your ruined shirt. “Oh, I guess I did. Maybe I should go home and change while the others are out.”

Dazai shook his head and stood up, grabbing onto your hands with his own. Despite the fact that you were perched on his desk, the detective loomed tall over your form. He rubbed the backs of your hands with his thumb, tutting at you softly.

“No, no, I won’t have that. You got soda all over your chin, darling.” He spoke, leaning down so hot breath could be felt against your blushing face. “Why don’t you let me get you nice and cleaned up before the others return, yeah? You already do so much for me.” His hands released yours, instead being placed on your waist. “Make a choice cutie, they’ll be back soon.”

Your pupils widened as you felt Dazai’s breath on your face, the sensation of his hands on your wasit only causing the blush on your face to turn into a fiery inferno of pink. “O-okay, you can do it.” You whispered softly, your lips mere centimeters from his own. You had always found Dazai attractive, and now he was painfully close to snapping the tension between the two of you in half.

“Good girl,” Dazai slammed his lips onto your, wasting no time prying open your mouth with his tongue to explore your wet cavern. Your teeth clashes together in a desperate and molten kiss, your hands finding the ends of his chestnut hair. “So good for me.”

Dazai’s hands tugged onto your waist, pulling you against his torso. He lifted up your legs and wrapped them around his own waist, his large and calloused hands supporting your thighs underneath. He groaned into the kiss, feeling your core throb against his clothed and painfully hard cock. “Fuck, God you’re so fucking hot.” He mumbled against your lips, pulling away from the kiss to fill his lungs with air. A string of saliva connected your lips, making you look like the prettiest whore Dazai had ever seen.

“Been wanting to do that for so long baby,” He moaned, squeezing the plush and supple skin of your thighs. You had neglected to wear your usual black stockings that day, which only drove Dazai when more wild. With your legs wrapped around him, he walked over to Fukuzawa’s office and set you down onto his bosses desk, shoving important papers and other such items off. He kicked the door closed with his foot and then practically pounced on you, his lips meeting yours once more in a wanton display of desire.

“Let’s get this dirty shirt off of you, yeah? Wanna see those gorgeous tits you’re always flaunting in my fucking face.” Dazai muttered against your ear, biting on the shell. His skilled hands undid the buttons of your blouse with ease, tossing it in some random corner that he didn’t care for. He took a second to admire your bra, it was black and lacy, just how he liked his lingerie. “Shit, did you wear this just for me darling?” He smirked, unclipping it from behind with little struggle.

“M-maybe I did, who knows?” You moaned, gasping as the cold air of Fukuzawa’s office made your nipples nice and hard. Dazai groaned at the sight and shoved you down onto the desk, your legs dangling off of the furniture in a beautiful display. His right hand pinched and squeezed your delicate nipple, rolling it in between his thumb and index finger while his mouth became occupied with sucking on your left breast, rolling the brusing skin on his tongue. His teeth were merciless and unforgiving, making absolutely sure to leave bruises once he was done with you.

Wanton moans and whimpers left your mouth as Dazai ravishes your chest, the pool of arousal in your stomach only growing with every pinch and bite and squeeze of your sensitive chest. “D-Dazai!” You cried out, forcibly removing Dazai’s mouth from your breast. “Too much, way too much.”

“Aw, cmon. You’re no fun.” Dazai pouted, his attention shifting to your shaking legs. “Oh, do you just want attention elsewhere darling?” His slender fingers slid down your breasts and under your skirt, teasing the lining of your stockings. He could feel your wetness through the black tights, sighing in pleasue at the sensation of your arousal at his fingertips. “Fuck, you’re so wet. All for me, right? Don’t worry sweetheart, let me take care of you.”

Dazai slid off your skirt and stockings, tossing it into a different corner. He wanted so desperately to rip those clothes off, but he decided to be diligent about making sure that you had something to wear once the others got back. Fuck, Dazai wanted to show off what he did to you so badly.

“Matching panties baby? Dirty girl, so dirty. And all for me too.” Dazai shoved your soaked panties to the side, taking in how wet and needy you were for him. “God, you’re soaked. You look so damn good, I gotta have a taste. Wonder if you taste as good down here as you do up there, princess.” Dazai lifted up your thighs and rested them on his shoulders, diving in to lap and suck at your sobbing folds. His nose brushed against your throbbing clit, causing your hand to grab onto his chestnut curls tightly. “Fuck! Dazai, fuck!” You whimpered, squeezing his head between your shaking thighs.

Dazai hummed into your folds, his tongue desperately lapping at them like he was the thirstiest man on Earth, like he hadn’t eaten in days. The way his tongue expertly moved from licking stripes on your labia to sucking relentlessly on your clit made you see stars, the coil in your stomach growing so tight that it could burst at any moment.

“Dazai, oh fuck, I’m close!” You robbed, your orgasm boudn to approach at any moment. Just as you were about to feel complete euphoria, Dazai stopped eating you out like a starved man. He pulled himself out of your thighs and offered you a teasing smirk, his plush lips coated in your desperate slick.

“Hey, what the fuck! I was so close!” You whined, the momentum of your orgasm fading away.

Dazai shook his head and wiped his mouth off with the back of his bandaged hand, removing his belt as well as his slacks and boxers. His shirt and trenchcoat were already long gone, just the bolo tie hung around his neck. His cock sprung to life, slapping itself onto his lean yet toned abdomen. “Nuh-uh pretty girl, you only get to cum if it’s on my cock, understand?” He took your mouth in his once more, forcing you to taste your arousal that lingered on his teasing tongue.

He pushed you down onto the desk gently, lifting your legs so they were spread over his lean shoulders. His cock playfully slapped at your entrance, teasingly slipping in between the soaked folds.

“Stop fucking teasing me!” You begged, your hands squeezing onto your breasts. Dazai delighted in the show, adoring how you were so desperate for him and only him. “Tch, I don’t think you’re in any positon to make demands here, darling.” Dazai smiled down on you, kissing you forehead chastly. “But I’ll make an exception for once since you look so fucking sexy right now.”

Dazai’s hand pumped his cock a few times, alinging it with your entrance. He slid himself in without a problem, gasping as how tight and wet you were. “S-shit baby, how are you this tight? You don’t let anyone else fuck you, hm? Good fucking girl.”

His hips snapped against yours in a frenzy, his thick cock hitting every place it needed to make you see stars once more. It slammed against your spongy cervix over and over again, showing you absolutely no mercy. Your pussy clenched around him as your wanton screams and cries of pleasure filled the office, the desk below you being drenched in sweat. The sound of skin clapping against skin echoed against the walls as his balls repeatedly slapped against your ass, both of your orgasms drawing close.

“God, you’re squeezing me too damn tight darling, looks like you want me to cum quickly yeah?” Dazai growled, leaning down to desperately kiss your already swollen lips. “Is that what you want, hm? Want me to cum so you can get back to your precious work?” He spoke in a mocking tone, his quick thrusts during into powerful slams inside of you to punctuate his sentences.

“N-no Dazai, that’s not-holy fuck! Right there, right there, right there!” You sobbed as the tip of his cock finally reached your G-spot, your orgasm bound to approach at any seocnd. “Fuck me, please! I’m so fucking close, fuck!”

“So adorably filthy for me darling.” Dazai chuckled darkly, his hand flying down to put pressure on your pretty little neck. “Fucking cum for me baby, cum around my cock while I fuck you like I own you.”

His lewd words were all that you needed to let go around him, the coil in your stomach snapping in half as your orgasm hit you like a runaway train. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as you felt euphoria for what seemed like the very first time in forever.

Dazai felt his orgam approach, shifting your legs so only one of them rested on his shoulders. The other leg was being propped up his his hand, giving him a deeper and far better angle. “Shit, gonna fucking cum! Fuck baby, gonna cum inside. Ngh, fuck, fuck!” He groaned, hot and sticky ropes of his release coating the walls of your pussy. You sighed at the warm feeling in your core, looking up to admire Dazai’s gorgeous face that was covered in a post-orgasmic glow.

“Shit…sorry for not using a condom.” Dazai chuckled, pulling his cock out of you. You whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, sitting up straight and cracking your back. “You’re just too damn irresitable, princess.” He bent down to pick his clothes up off the office floor, throwing your clothes onto your lap as well. His soft lips met the top of your head, treating you so gently, as if you were made of the finest glass in all of Japan.

“Such a gentleman,” you spoke, smirking at Dazai as you put on the rest of your clothes. “Thanks for not ripping these off of me, I hate buying new clothes. They alwasy try to upsell you at the shops.”

“You do realize it’s their job to sell you crap you don’t need, right?”

“Just because your dick was in me a couple minutes ago doesn’t give you the right to sass me, mister.” You rose an eyebrow, standing up. Your legs wobbled a little in your high heels which made Dazai laugh to himself, giving you his bicep for support. “Please, allow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at him, walking out of Fukuzawa’s office. You breathed a sigh of relief as the bullpen remained completely empty. “Oh thank god, for some reason I thought that they had all gotten back and could hear us fucking.”

Dazai sighed in annoyance at the thought of that, placing a hand on his hip as he walked you to your desk. “I think Kunikida would actually murder us if he knew we fucked on Fukuzawa’s desk. Let’s keep that a secret, alright?” He smirked, kissing you on the forehead once more as you took a seat in your desk chair.

“Alright.”

Just as you finished speaking those words, the door to the bullpen slammed open the rest of the ADA came through, some carrying their leftovers from lunch. As they all got situated, Atsushi sat down next to Dazai with an innocent look on his face. “So, what did you do for lunch? Sorry you couldn’t come, Kunikida is still pissed.” He awkawrdly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dazai smirked and looked over at you briefly, admiring how happy you looked when chatting with Yosano.

“Not much, just had a cherry soda.”

#dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai smut #dazai x reader #bsd smut #dazai x reader smut #anime smut #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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arkhammaid · 9 months

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THIGH RIDING.

fandom. honkai star rail

pairing. argenti, blade, dan heng, gepard, jing yuan, seele x gn!reader

content warnings. nsfw, MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, thigh riding, not edited/proofread

word count .0.7k

notes. for my favorite whores and our obession with thighs <3 edit: welt does not have a part in this fic!! i copy pasted this whole text above with infos abt the fic from another one and forgot to delete his name, very sorry :(

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ argenti.

to argenti, beauty was elegance, close to perfection. this is what he aspired to be, a knight touched and blessed by the gods themselves— just not in warfare. but seeing you like this, the first time, messy and whiny on his lap, your skin flushed and eyes shiny with tears refusing to roll down your cheeks— it’s truly mind blowing. he’s enchanted, the way you move your hips, grind yourself hard on his thigh and hearing the whimpers that escape your lips. you’re a mess but you’re still oh so beautiful.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ blade.

he knows how much you enjoy riding his thighs. he knows it and he will use it against you, finding amusement in your eyes focusing on the garter belts he likes to put on, when you really should focus on something else. he will tease you for hours, not coming near you and making sure you don’t get any wrong ideas. when he finally thinks the torture is enough and you deserve some mercy, he will haul you towards the bedroom and place you on his thigh. and even then, when you’re slowly but surely loosing your mind, he doesn’t help you. instead he leans back and watches you with half lidded eyes, how you whine and pant on his lap.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ dan heng.

dan heng simply enjoys thigh riding because you find pleasure in it. he was first confused, why you wanted to ride his thighs, when he had a dick you could ride so much better, but then were clinging onto him, calling out his name while you chased your orgasm. and he could only hold your hips, utterly enchanted by every noise and movement you did, watching how you came undone on his thigh. and you? you love sitting on his lap, a thigh between your legs and grinding on his muscles, chasing your peak with frantic moving hips, all while he murmured low praise in your ears, eager to see you shake in his arms.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ gepard.

gepard is always the more flushed between the both of you when you ride him, be it his dick or his thighs. but there is something different when you make a mess of yourself and drag him with you, his uniform soiled and wrinkled, just because you’ve been riding his thighs until you were shaking in his arms. it overwhelms him every time, your moans and high pitched whines filling his ears and fogging his mind, your whimpers making him lightheaded— even when it’s you, who always comes undone on his lap, it’s him that ends up as a complete mess.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ jing yuan.

jing yuan thinks it’s amusing, the way you’re so fixated on his thighs. be it in his uniform or out of duty clothes, you always try to find a way to admire them. and your enthusiasm, when he asks you if you want to ride his thigh, only confirms it to him. you ride them as if it’s his dick, hips frantic while you grip his shoulders, head thrown back while moans escape out of your mouth oh so shamelessly. it’s amusing to him, to see how fast and hard you can cum by simply riding his thighs— sometimes even harder when you’re in the office and you’re ruining his pristine uniform. and he loves to share his amusement with you, teasing words making you shudder while you plead for him to stop and do so much more— oh how he loves it when you come undone.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ seele.

seele knows about the enjoyment thigh riding can bring, but she can’t lie, she prefers you to be the one doing the riding. the feeling of your legs around hers, your arousal wetting her muscles and helping you to glide over her skin smoothly— all these sensations, paired with your oh so pretty moans and whines, it’s truly heaven for her. to see you so messy is akin to seeing you free, free with your desires and passions, for her eyes only. and to see you above her, gasping for air while your whole body shudders, is one of many fantasies she can witness as much as she wants.

ARKHAM MAID 2023

#argenti x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #seele x reader #argenti smut #blade smut #dan heng smut #gepard smut #jing yuan smut #seele smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations #after dark <3

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 2 months

Note

Just gonna leave this here🥵❤️‍🔥

Home

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: MDNI (SMUT 18+), oral, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), a little bit of fluff at the end, I think that’s it but lmk if I missed something

Length: 1.1k

Summary: Bucky comes home from a mission wanting to make you feel good.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, I hope that I do it justice! This is also a good time to say that my requests are open! I don’t just write smut, you can request something fluffy!

MDNI! 18+ ONLY! I cannot control what you consume so you have been warned!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You miss your boyfriend more than anything else in the world. You know how demanding his job is and how much it means to him, but this time you are feeling selfish. You want to come home to Bucky watching baseball on the TV, or fixing something in your apartment, or Bucky playing with a pet you adopted together. You want normalcy. You want Bucky.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear as you look down at the bowl of ice cream in your lap. It’s almost completely melted but you didn’t care. You put the bowl on the coffee table and stare at your phone. You left it on the table so you would stop checking it but it was no use. You picked it up and opened it, hoping to see some type of message from him.

No new messages

You rub your face with your hands. It’s only a matter of time before he comes home. It’s only been 2 weeks. You think to yourself.

Deciding that it’s time to call it a night, you get up from the couch and pick up the apartment. You want to make sure that the apartment doesn’t look like a mess if Bucky comes home when you’re asleep or when you’re away. The last thing you do is turn off the TV that is playing some shitty reality show you put on as background noise.

You take one last look around the apartment when you hear a key go into the lock. Your heart starts to beat faster, nervous that it’s Bucky finally coming home or god forbid some maniac trying to rob you. The door slowly opens and you see him.

His normally cropped hair is a bit longer, curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears. His normally clean-shaven face has grown out to a stubble. Most importantly, he still looked like Bucky.

Bucky drops his duffle bag on the floor and smiles when he sees you. You run to him and jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. Bucky stumbles back a bit but gains his composure quickly. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the side of your head as you breathe in his scent.

“Hey, Doll,” Bucky says as he closes the door behind him, making sure that the locks are in place.

“You’re never allowed to leave again!” You say as you lean back.

You wrap your arms behind his neck and pull your foreheads together. Bucky stares deep into your eyes and can see how lonely you’ve been the past 2 weeks.

“I’m sorry baby doll, I wish I didn’t have to leave so often,” Bucky says.

“It’s ok, Bucky.” You say and close your eyes.

Having him home makes you feel safer. It makes you feel like everything is the way it’s supposed to be. You lean in and kiss him.

“Please, Bucky.” You whisper against his lips.

Bucky understands what you mean and guides you to the couch. He gently places you down, pushing you back to get between your legs. Bucky leaves a small kiss on your lips before going down your neck. He helps you pull your shirt off, revealing your bare breasts.

“You’re so perfect doll,” Bucky whispers against your neck.

You pull him back up to your face so you can kiss his lips again. Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth and you let out a small moan. You tug at his shirt and he understands what you’re asking him. He pulls his shirt off in one fluid motion before kissing down your torso.

“Bucky, I need you.” You whimper out.

“Patience, doll. You already have all of me.”

Bucky gets to the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down, throwing them behind you. You lay beneath him in only your underwear. Bucky kisses your stomach and looks up at you as he brings his hands to your underwear. He slowly pulls them down, kissing down your leg as they slip off of you.

“Bucky…” You moan, lifting your hips so that he can go to the one place you want him to.

“You have to use your words Doll,” Bucky looks up at you as he kisses up your leg.

“I need you…” You moan out. “I need your mouth on me…”

Bucky happily obliges. He licks your slick folds, humming at the taste. Bucky sucks on your clit, making you moan out in pleasure. Bucky may be over 100 years old, but this man knows how to fuck his girl right.

Bucky pushes a finger into you and you grab his hair. You both moan at the new sensations. You continue to pull as Bucky thrusts his finger into you, adding one when you start to buck your hips.

“That’s it baby doll, ride my fingers.”

“Bucky, I’m about to come!” You moan out loudly, not caring if your neighbors hear.

Bucky continues to fuck you with his fingers, kissing and biting the inside of your thighs. With two more thrusts, he has you coming all over his fingers. Bucky brings his fingers to his face before licking them, humming at the taste.

“You taste so good doll, you’re even better than dessert.” Bucky compliments you before pulling you onto his lap.

You feel his thick cock through his jeans and moan at the feeling. You start to move your hips, wanting to ease your throbbing core.

“You’re going to ride me doll,” Bucky instructs you as he pulls his jeans and boxers down enough for his cock to come out.

You nod your head as he helps you guide his cock into you. As you sink down you both moan. You place your forehead on his, both of you closing your eyes.

“Baby doll, I need you to move.” Bucky grits out.

You nod your head and start to move on top of him. You start off slow, not wanting the moment to end. Soon enough you’re moving fast with Bucky thrusting up into you.

“Bucky, I’m going to come again!” You moan out.

“I’m almost there Doll,” Bucky thrusts his hips harder.

You both move faster, trying to find your orgasms at the same time. With a few more thrusts, you both find your release.

“That’s it Doll, milk my cock.” You moan at Bucky’s words.

You both sit for a minute to catch your breaths. Bucky rubs your arms while you play with his hair.

“You need a haircut,” You mumble out.

Bucky chuckles and kisses you. “You don’t my hair?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just like your short hair better. And while you’re at it, maybe trim the beard.” Bucky laughs at your comment.

“I’m glad that I’m home,” Bucky says before giving you one more kiss.

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

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onlyjaeyun · 3 months

Text

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 – 𝟑𝟎

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘: 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤥ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤥ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔

⤥ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖.𝟐𝐤

⤥ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐯𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭; 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡), 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

⤥ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤.

“No, I don’t like it so stop pointing it out, snowflake!”

Sunghoon’s young voice echoes in your skull as your eyes remain focused on the little mole on the right side of his nose bridge, a detail to his prince-like features you’ve always noticed yet never acknowledged.

As you watch your archenemy have a good night with his closest friends and cousin, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander all the way back in memory lane to a conversation you’ve never forgotten.

“But it’s so cute, Hoonie”, you had told him, never once looking away from his eyes, the ones you used to find so much comfort in, especially during one of the most difficult times in your life, “don’t you know what the legend about moles marking the spots where your past lover kissed you the most?”

“Hm, they were obsessed with my face then”, he huffed and rolled his eyes, completing the knot on his skates before getting up on his feet and shooting you one of his big, cheeky smiles; the one where a tiny dimply makes an appearance.

“Why would you say it like that? Stop belittling yourself like that”, you pouted back at him and looked at him with big eyes, your skates still not completely tied up, which – just as usual – resulted in Sunghoon getting down on his knees to finish it for you. Something the two of you have always done for some reason, but never in a million years would you have changed it for anything else.

It used to be in those moments right before and after practice which made you feel the closest to your skate partner of six years, the one guy in your life who had always been there for you and your brother, the one who had never, ever disappointed you.

“You know I don’t like my face much because of how much I look like my father”, Sunghoon had casually explained to you before looking up at you with longing, innocent eyes, “you wouldn’t know what that feels like after all.”

For some reason, this particular part of said conversation had never quite left your memories, your heart feeling at ease as you remember how you had tilted your head to the back in confusion, not quite understanding what he was referring to.

“You know in some cultures they say you look like the parent who loves you the most”, he had started to explain, not struggling to read your facial expressions at all, even back then, “you’re a carbon copy of your mother, in every way possible. However, in some other cultures it’s said that if your mother is so in love with your father, it’ll turn you into his twin so I guess we’re yet again on the same line but different ends.”

Sunghoon had always had a way with words, no matter his age and you still remember just how much you had loved listening to everything he had to say. He’d never been one to talk much, but the things he said had always carried meaning.

“But I’m not really sure if I actually read this or heard some random ladies talk about this once so, I’m not a reliable source at all.”

As your brain replays that last statement, you can’t help but smile to yourself and it’s only when Sunghoon suddenly turns his head to meet your gaze that you’re pulled back into reality by brutal force.

You’re quick to avert your eyes, not ready to accept whatever the fuck has been going on with you and to your luck Sunghoon doesn’t seem to care enough (as usual) to acknowledge your staring.

No matter how many times he cums inside of you, your precious archenemy probably won’t ever treat you like an actual part of society before and after your shared orgasms and when in the beginning you actually preferred it that way, you’ve now found yourself doubting and questioning his behavior.

It’s not like Sunghoon’s actually nice to you when the two of you get intimate but besides the first time, he’s never once has he made you feel unwanted or disgusting. In any other situation his behavior and the way he treats and touches you would have provoked and irritated you, but whenever the burning tension between the two of you becomes too much and you have no choice but to give in over and over again, your body longs for those exact things and you actually don’t hate it as much as you used to.

Back when you had first started sleeping with Sunghoon, you’d try your best to just not think about it anymore until the next booty call but now you actually caught yourself going out of your way to get physical with him.

It’s not something that just dawned on you but rather a realization which hit you since you’ve been spending quite a bit of time in close proximity with him for the past three days.

Every time the boys want to head out after your daily activities, you find yourself hoping that Sunghoon decides to stay back in the airbnb too, just because you don’t actually want to rush things with him anymore when it comes to sex. You’ve come to the point where he makes you feel so good, you actually want it to go on for as long as possible.

You still can’t believe that you’re actually admitting this to yourself but after all this time you’ve grown exhausted, tired and mentally drained, which is probably why it doesn’t really matter to you anyway.

To Park Sunghoon you’re nothing but a quick, easy and convenient fuck. That’s it. And it’s good this way. That’s why there’s no point in worrying about why the fuck would your brain start coming up with things and thoughts which don’t even make sense, right?

“She’s ignoring us again”, Jaeyun chuckles and nudges your side with his elbow before he throws his arm over your shoulders and pulls you closer to his body, quickly reminding you of your current situation.

Your eyes almost instinctively shift to Sunghoon’s face, only for instant regret to hit your system when you notice the look of disgust and annoyance gracing his features.

“Sorry, boys”, you sigh and pat Jaeyun’s chest, “this week’s been so exhausting, I think the lack of sleep is finally getting to me.”

“So, you’re not gonna join our night time adventure either?” Sunoo shoots you a pout of disappointment and with a soft sigh you imitate his facial expression and shake your head.

“I really need to get some sleep for our day trip to Koto tomorrow”, you respond and look at each of the boys individually but intentionally skip a certain someone, “we’ve been up and on the road for twelve hours straight, fourth day in a row and as much as I want to, I know my body’s not gonna cooperate much longer if I don’t rest.”

The thought of a warm shower, a few cigarettes on your airbnb’s balcony, a nice glass of wine and absolute silence remains the only thing on your mind despite the slight pengs of guilt hitting your chest for not joining your boys yet again.

“It’s okay, mother”, Jungwon quickly responds and puts on his coat with a big, dimply smile, “you probably didn’t hear it but I’ve always been against forcing old people out of their comfort zone.”

With a soft scoff you roll your eyes and thank Riki as he hands you your jacket, all of the boys taking the last sips of their soft beverages before saying your goodbyes and leaving the sweet little restaurant you had decided to have dinner at.

You quietly listen to the boys and their plans, Jaeyun quickly offering you a cigarette as he lights his own and with a tight lipped smile you thank him, way too tense and absentminded for your own liking but too exhausted to question it.

“Alright, I’ve ordered you two an uber too”, Riki says casually and runs one of his ring clad hands through his bleached hair, his statement leaving you nothing but confused.

“Huh? I’m the only one going back to the airbnb”, you say and furrow your brows with your eyes focused on your younger brother’s face.

“No, Hoon’s also not tagging along”, Jaeyun replies casually and blows the smoke out of his nose as he looks at you just as confused.

“What the fuck? Why?”

“That’s none of your fucking business”, Sunghoon almost instinctively spits back at you, his thick brows pushed together as he stares at you with annoyance gleaming in his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up”, you hiss and roll your eyes, too exhausted to even bother with his weird attitude. It’s not like you haven’t noticed his change in behavior and attitude these past few days but with everything that’s been going on in your own brain you simply can’t find the energy to read more into it than absolutely necessary.

“Please, don’t chop each other’s head off on your way to the rooms”, Jaeyun chuckles but as soon as his gaze flickers between the two of you, you realise just how much seriousness there actually is behind his words.

Without saying anything else, you say your farewells to the boys as the cars you had ordered come to a stand in front of you and just as expected (and hoped for), SUnghoon gets comfortable on the passenger seat while you slide into the back and pray the taxi driver isn’t as chatty as the other ones.

To your luck, Sunghoon uses hsi limited Japanese to give the man your address and the rest of the drive passes by quietly, almost peacefully. There’s never been a place like Tokyo to you; not a single spot on this earth has ever managed to make you feel at such ease and comfort the way your mother’s birthplace has.

You’re so caught up watching the streets of your favorite place, you don’t even notice the way Sunghoon has been watching you from his peripheral vision the past ten minutes, something he can’t help but beat himself up for because why the fuck does the urge to look at you just doesn’t seem to disappear?

Never in a million years would he admit this to you but there’s definitely a reason why he’s been making sure to always push you into a position where he can look at your face. He’s not quite sure why or where the sudden urge has come from but for some reason he just can’t keep his eyes off of you.

Sunghoon still hates your guts.

He really does.

But the more he gets to touch and kiss you, the deeper this weird hunger and lust seem to run and at this point he has absolutely no idea what the fuck he’s actually thinking. Or feeling.

You still annoy and irritate the living hell out of every pore in his body, yet these past few days he’s found himself upset and even disappointed about the fact he can’t spend more time with you after fucking your brains out. He doesn’t necessarily want to hold you, nor does he really want to cuddle or be close to you but there’s definitely been a few times where he caught himself wishing the boys weren’t on their way back so he could just spend a few more minutes just watching you.

Maybe it’s the way you seem so relaxed and at ease after he’s pushed you over the edge over and over again, or maybe it’s because the sight of you in nothing but his shirt and a cigarette dangling from your pouty, bit swollen lips in combination with your messed up hair and the fresh memory of your sweet noises echoing in his head, which make things so much more difficult for him but at the end of the day the reason doesn’t matter.

Sunghoon hates you.

You’re the only person who’s disappointed and betrayed him in such a cruel, such a raw way and every time he finds himself caught up in thoughts about you, he can’t help but remind himself of all the nights he spent on the ice rink, crying, sobbing and silently praying you’d just come back and make your shared dreams become reality, only for his heart and soul to break all over again when he remembered your betrayal.

With his hands balled into fists and a soft huff, Sunghoon angrily averts his gaze from you and as his eyes start to scan the area you had just entered, a wave of relief hits him.

“That’s the one, Sir”, he casually says and almost immediately bites his tongue when he realizes the falling of his mask.

Nobody on this earth knows how all those years ago, Sunghoon had decided to learn Japanese, simply because he wanted to feel even closer to two of the most important people in his life, only for your betrayal to take away the joy and excitement of it.

But despite his broken heart, he knew he had to finish what he had started, initially for you, not because he necessarily needed it but because he didn’t want you to take this away from him too.

Never once has he mentioned his fluency in his best friend’s mother tongue to anybody, not even his other close friends and at times he definitely forgot about it only for his chest to tighten whenever he listened to your little conversations with your brother, the both of you so much more relaxed and outspoken in your mother tongue than the one you both had grown up with.

When at first Sunghoon had intended to talk to Riki about it, he never really knew how to explain the actual reasoning behind his decision to study and become fluent in Japanese, so after a few years, he just decided to keep it to himself for as long as possible.

There’s no point in letting you know when you don't even care anyway.

Fortunately you seem way too immersed in your thoughts to pay any attention to his slip up and by the time Hoon gets out of the uber, you’ve already lit yet another cigarette.

“What are you waiting for?” You suddenly ask when you notice his lack of motion.

“Just finish that god damn cig and get your ass inside”, Sunghoon sighs, “I promised not to leave you alone so stop making this even more difficult for me than it already is.”

“What a gentleman you are”, you roll your eyes in response to his annoying comment, the little fire in the depth of your chest burning up just enough to irritate you, “I’m not in the mood to fuck, just piss off already.” For a quick moment you catch yourself in a lie and you hate how your hormonal self almost instantly regrets your little come back.

Because no matter how hard you try to deny it, your body craves Sunghoon’s touch which has now resulted in a libido you have never experienced before. So, no, you actually are very much in the mood but for some reason you can’t help but feel stressed and anxious just thinking about all the feelings, doubts and thoughts which come hand in hand with the pleasure he’s providing you with.

“Can you not be so fucking difficult for once? I’m not waiting for you to come inside to fuck, I promised Riki to keep an eye on you, that’s it.”

While your first instinct is to shoot something back at him, a tiny, almost inaudible yet strong voice in the back of your head somehow manages to stop you from giving into the urges and with an annoyed sigh you kill your half-smoked cigarette and through it into the next trashcan before wordlessly heading towards the entrance of the apartment building.

You both continue walking up the stairs without saying another word and you hate how much the lack of verbal communication bothers you. If it wasn’t for your best friend pointing it out, you would have never noticed just how little you and Sunghoon actually talk to each other and ever since your conversation about it, you haven’t stopped thinking about it.

“What the fuck?”

The suddenness of his exclamation as well as the unusual volume of his voice are quick to pull you out of the mess in your head and with your brows furrowed in confusion you follow Sunghoon’s cold gaze.

For a moment, you don’t actually know what or who you’re looking at.

Maybe it’s one of you body’s defense mechanisms or maybe it’s the fog clouding your brain but in no universe should it take this long for someone to recognize their younger brother – and father.

“Is this a fucking joke?” The switch in language comes almost naturally and the longer your eyes roam the figures of the two men in front of you, the quicker the blood starts pumping through your veins.

It’s one thing to see your younger half-brother again, his impact and affect on your life in no way harmful or very much life altering. But the sight of your father, the first of many men to not only disappoint and break you but also the first of many to make you feel unloveable, disgusting and unworthy of everything good in this life easily leaves you speechless.

You can feel Sunghoon’s gaze boring into your side, his attention remaining on you as if he was trying to read your body language but miserably failing to do so when all the trauma responses hit you at full force.

“Just listen to us for a few minutes”, Kenta says and looks at you with genuinely pleading eyes but for the first time in your life you feel actual resentment towards the brother you had tried so hard to protect and keep safe. You’ve always reminded yourself of his age, of his lacking experience in life, his brain still developing but as your eyes anxiously roam his features, all those excuses seem to disappear when you realize just how much he’s grown.

He’s now three years older than Riki when he had decided to ask his parents to sign off their parental rights to you, his older sister, because he knew exactly what type of people they were.

“Please, Y/N”, he suddenly pleas and takes a step forward, only for you to back off and Sunghoon quickly comes to stand between you and your brother.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Kenta”, he says nonchalantly, not giving a single fuck about the current chaos in his own head at the sight of your father, a man he’s never, ever associated anything good or positive with. Sunghoon hasn’t seen your father in over a decade, despite the close bond your dads used to share back in the day and as he remembers all the times he had punished you for a minor mistake or a failed move, his blood suddenly starts boiling.

“This isn’t about you, Sunghoon”, your father suddenly says and the sound of his voice sends chills down your back, the urge to burst into tears and yell at him for failing you suddenly overwhelming.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here? You’ve never called, never texted me back. The only times you actually contacted me were because you wanted something from me”, you don’t find the energy and guts to push Sunghoon away and actually face them again, so without giving it much more thought you opt to stay very much hidden behind your archenemy’s impressive height.

“Please, hear us out, Y/N”, Kenta pleads yet again, skillfully ignoring your accusations, “Yuki needs your support. We can’t do this without you.”

At first, your brain struggles to process his words but as soon as you manage to read in between the lines, you feel every last bit of oxygen leaving your lungs and a thin veil of tears blurring your vision.

“What?”

“Kenta, take your failure of a father and fuck off”, Sunghoon is quick to spit back at your brother, anger and wrath lingering in his voice as he threatens your brother.

“What the fuck does that even mean, Kenta? What do you mean Yuki needs my support? For what?”

You know the answer to your question but deep down you know you need to hear it from him or your father to finally close this chapter for good. All these years you’ve believed in ideas and wishful thoughts of your other siblings finding their way back to you, but not anymore. The few bits of information Riki had shared with you were enough to block Kenta’s number but now that you’ve actually got the chance to hear him say all those things, just casually crushing your soul and taking away the tiniest drops of hope you had left, you definitely weren’t gonna let it slip away.

“Y/N, sweetheart”, your father begins calmly, his voice a lot less vengeful and harsh than you’ve remembered; his choice to not only address you by your actual name, something he had refused to since the day of your eighth birthday, but also to use the nickname he had only used for his second wife send jolts of anger through your veins and before Sunghoon can even react, you’ve made your way around him to get into your own father’s face.

“Don’t you fucking dare play innocent now”, you spit and bite back the tiny sob threatening to escape your throat when you notice the lack of emotion in the eyes of the only parent you had left.

“Alright, seems like the nice way still doesn’t work with you”, he suddenly sighs and straightens his back, the faux softness in his features quickly vanishing as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks down at you the way he’s always done during every conversation the two of you ever had.

“Yuki wants to attend the same boarding school as Kenta and as her older sister it’s your duty to step up financially when we can’t.”

You’ve never expected anything from your father, not a single thing ever since the day your mother passed away. It’s not like he actually ever cared about you anyway, so it’s never made sense for you to put any effort into whatever the fuck kind of bond you two had or didn’t have.

But for some reason you did expect him to have just the tiniest bit of dignity and pride, maybe a little bit of ego or self worth, just enough not to be desperate and shameless enough to ask the daughter he had abandoned, disowned and shamed for money.

“My duty? Are you mentally challenged?”

“Watch your fucking language when you talk to him, he’s still your father”, Kenta suddenly intervenes and as soon as your head shoots into his direction, you notice the shift in his facial expression. All of a sudden you can’t actually unsee the resemblance to your father, something you’ve always preferred to ignore for your own sake.

“He’s nothing to me, you fucking bitch”, you hiss and not once avert your gaze away from his, knowing he’s gonna use the difference in height to his own advantage when he has no idea of the people you’ve gotten in fights with over the years. To his defense, he doesn’t actually know anything about you in the first place.

“it’s the middle of the night, just stop wasting our time and give us the fucking money, you worthless cunt.”

Your father’s heartless words hit you like a punch right in the guts; the feeling something you haven’t felt in a while and probably something online he’s ever been able to make you go through. His choice of words and tone isn’t something new or surprising to you because even after five years of barely any contact with each other, your father has never bothered to hide his resentment for you as an individual. Every person you’re close with has heard your own father talk to you like this at least once and no matter how much time passes, the waves of humiliation and shame just don’t seem to become any less overwhelming.

“I don’t owe you shit, you old fuck”, you defend yourself once you’ve finally found your voice, hating the little shake in your breathing, “you took everything I’ve ever loved, ever card about. Fuck you, fuck your ugly ass wife and fuck your kids.”

“Watch your fucking mou-”, this time Kenta doesn’t get to step even closer to you, nor does he get to finish his threat as Sunghoon comes back into your peripheral vision and before you can physically react, you watch your former cie skating partner reach for your younger brother’s collar and swiftly push him up against the wall.

“I don’t give a fuck about your age, back the fuck off or I’ll rearrange both sets of teeth in that big mouth of yours, got it?”

“What exactly did we take from you, huh? Come on, name me one actual example and I’ll leave”, your father scoffs and rolls his eyes, reminding you of all the times he had manipulated and gaslit you into thinking and genuinely believing every insult and criticism he had thrown into your face.

“What the fuck? Are you fucking serious?”

“Ah, yeah typical Nishimura Y/N behavior”, he suddenly chuckles and looks at you with mockery gleaming in his exhausted gaze, a sight so surreal and sad it actually has your blood boiling, “screaming, swearing, pointing your fingers at others when it’s usually your own fault – you really haven’t changed, have you? Still the silly little girl who expects the world to revolve around her when she couldn’t even sacrifice anything for her own blood.”

“What?”

Your father tilts his head to the side as soon as he notices the tears blurring your vision, knowing very well what his words have done to you and where one would expect him to finally back off, the pain and agony in your facial features only make him want to take things as far as possible. He’s always pushed you past your breaking point, not because he wanted you to grow, but because he actually enjoys seeing you in such pain. He’s always referred to it as his own way of torture since he’s never been powerful enough to use his hands on you.

“What do you mean ‘what’? First you claim that we’ve taken something away from you and now you’re surprised when I point out your lack of sacrifices for the family?”

“I – My childhood, my youth, my dreams – I sacrificed everything I’ve ever had to please you”, your voice is quite and steady, more confused than angry as you struggle to understand what the fuck is actually going on, “I was never enough. Nothing I’ve ever done or achieved was enough to please you and that bitchass wife of yours.”

“Don’t talk about her like that”, your father suddenly spits and reminds you of his biggest trigger, “she’s never done anything but love you like her own but all you did was badmouth her because you’re an ungrateful, spoiled little bitch who’s bound to fail in life.”

“What the fuck – are you even talking about?” This time you refuse to keep your cool as you raise the volume of your voice and actually push him away, too disgusted by his words to bear with the close proximity any longer.

It’s then that Sunghoon finally lets go of your younger brother to come in between you and your father, knowing he won’t hesitate to do what’s necessary. He knows you can handle this by yourself but at the end of the day he would never, ever let that fucker or anyone lay a hand on you.

“Your step-mother alway tried her best but you never–”, “Shut the fuck up. That fucking bitch took away my biggest dream and all you did was give her the approval she needed to ruin my life”, you don’t care about the time and the current location you’re in, too exhausted and emotionally drained to hold back any of it any longer, “go ahead and keep praising that ugly bitch because that’s the only thing you’re good for anyway. Trying to please one tyrant because the one in your childhood never loved you enough to give a fuck about his fucking loser son.”

You’ve only ever met your paternal grandfather a couple of times in your life but from all the things your maternal aunt had told you, he’s never really been a big fan or supporter of his own son, finally explaining your father’s lack of basic human decency.

“You fucking bitch”, and as those words leave his lips, you actually watch the way your father lifts his arm, only for his hand never reaching its goal.

Yet again, Sunghoon happens to be way faster than your brain can actually follow as the next thing your eyes witness is the sight of your archenemy casually holding onto your father’s wrist before twisting his arm into the other direction and eliciting a painful scream from the old man’s throat.

“Not on my fucking watch, you loser”, Sunghoon presses through gritted teeth and twists your father’s arm a little further, “you’re never, ever going to come close to her again, di you hear me? Now take that scumbag of a son and fuck off or I’m gonna finish what your daddy started.”

“You little–”, “You don’t want to see what happens if I have to repeat myself, you fucking cunt. Now fuck. Off.”

The following few minutes pass by in a blur as you watch Kenta and your father really doing as they’re told and as soon as you step into the somehow comforting space of your airbnb, you feel a wave of exhaustion roll over you.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything, yet refuses to leave you alone.

But why? Why does he care so much about you and why does he genuinely want to run after two two fuckers and beat the living shit out of them for hurting you like this?

He hates you.

But the sight of your tear filled eyes send him into a literal panic mode.

He can’t fucking stand you, your personality, you as an individual, everything you say and stand for.

Yet he quietly follows you into one of the bedrooms knowing he’s gonna argue with you if you dare to send him away.

“Just fuck off”, you spit, as if you could read his thoughts and usually your words would rub him the wrong way, but after all these years, Sunghoon is just too familiar with your coping mechanisms, so without giving it another thought, he shakes his head, yet not responding verbally.

“Sunghoon, just get the fuck to your room and leave me alone. I really can’t deal with your shit right now”, you sigh and rub your temples, throwing your jacket off like it’s the reason for the heavy feeling on your chest.

“Take it out on me.”

What the fuck is he saying?

“What?”

“Stop bottling your anger and frustration up like a fucking child”, he hisses and runs a hand through his dark hair, his eyes focusing yours as he watches hsi words finally make their way through your thick skull, “punch me, scream at me, curse me the fuck out but stop pushing it all away like it never happened. You’re ruining yourself for people who are worth shit.”

“Sunghoon, I–”, but to your surprise, his words actually trigger something deep inside of you and before you can actually realise it, tears have started streaming down your cheeks, ruining the make up you had spent so much time on.

“Fucking finally”, he grunts and reaches for your wrist, only to pull you into his chest and wrap his arms around your body, not expecting you to instantly melt into hsi touch as your cries and sobs start growing heavier, louder and more desperate.

You bury your face in the fabric of his hoodie and for the first time in your life, you don’t worry about anyone else but yourself.

Sunghoon remains silent as you allow yourself to wail and cry in his arms like a little girl, the one you had refused to let out as the mere thought of someone seeing you like this makes you nauseous but for some reason, you don’t seem to care that it’s him, of all people.

Maybe it’s because you know he actually doesn’t give a fuck, not about you or anything and anyone else. Or maybe it’s because of how tired and exhausted you are, but the more your father’s words ring in your ears, the heavier your cries become.

As you lose yourself in the pain and agony of your fate, SUnghoon can’t help but think of all the times you had cried in his arms when the two of you were just little kids trying to find a home in the arms of someone you had always trusted. The more memories and mental images of your ten year old self rush through his head, the stronger his hold on your body becomes and with a soft sigh, Sunghoon finally allows himself to lift his hand and gently caress the back of your head, your back and even your cheeks.

You have absolutely no idea just how long the two of you stay like this but by the time your cries finally die down, you feel lightheaded and sleepy.

There’s so much you want to say, question and ask, so much to discuss and talk about, so many things left unsaid yet the second you lift your head to look up at him, the only thing you can think about is the comfort and peace of mind his touch comes with.

Neither one of you dares to speak a word as the tension in the empty bedroom grows thicker and thicker, leaving you gasping for air and from the inconsistent movements of his chest, you can tell that Sunghoon’s probably going through the same mental dilemma as you.

“I need you”, you suddenly whisper against his lips, his nose nudging yours as he waits for you to ask for it the way he always does, “please, Sunghoon. I don’t wanna think anymore.”

As soon as you say those words, he’s a goner.

No matter how much he tries to deny it, at the end of the day he simply can’t hide the fact that all it takes is for you to ask for him, his body, his touch. No matter how much he hates it, he knows his body belongs to you and at this point he’s more than willing to look past whatever the fuck has happened between the two of you if it meant he gets another taste of you, the most forbidden of fruits.

The next thing you know is the feeling of his plump lips capturing yours in a needy kiss, a soft whimper bubbling up your throat the second his tongue grazes yours and without giving it much more thought, you push everything else into the farest corner of your brain and make sure he becomes the only thing on your mind,

Sunghoon’s kisses are hungry, they’re sloppy and needy; something you’ve grown obsessed with ever since the first one you two had shared all those weeks ago.

With every motion of his lips, the feeling of his hot breath fanning against your warm skin and his saliva slowly coating the entirety of your tongue you feel yourself ascending into the highest parts of your lust.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to grow impatient, the only thing on his mind being your pleasure and the urge to give you exactly what you need.

With his big, ring clad hands roaming your body, kneading the soft flesh of your waist and your thighs, Sunghoon quickly gets rid of your little black skirt, but also not wasting much time with the rest of your clothes. By the time he’s guided you to the king sized bed on the other side of the room, you’ve lost every piece of fabric separating your soft skin from his needy touch and you don’t even care about the fact that Sunghoon has yet to take off any of his own clothes.

“Lay back, spread those legs for me”, he grunts after letting go of your bottom lip, his own swollen and red, the sight so sinful you feel lightheaded by the time the fog clouding your brain finally clears up.

Usually you’d protest and tease him, too proud to give him what he’s asked of you right away but as you look up at him with glossy eyes, you notice the hunger in his gaze and all you can do is obey his request without hesitation.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, snowflake”, Sunghoon grunts and gently places his hands on your knees right before pulling your legs apart, revealing your drenched cunt to his hungry eyes, “she’s all mine, after all. Isn’t that right?”

His words leave you speechless, something you have yet to grow used to when it comes to Park Sunghoon and yet you don’t actually question him and silently nod in response to his hypothetical question.

For the first time since the two of you had started being intimate with each other, you’re actually feeling much more than just this deep burning wrath and hatred, so much more than hunger and lust. It’s deeper, darker and so, so much scarier.

“Eyes on me”, Hoon suddenly hisses and pinches the soft flesh of your inner thigh to get your attention back on him, mostly because he knows he’s gonna lose you to those dark thoughts and doubts if he doesn’t.

“Just cum when you need to”, he whispers against the wet flesh of your pussy, his tongue lapping up the few drops leaking out of your sensitive hole almost casually, “I’m not gonna stop until you’re crying again. But this time it’s gonna be because of how good I’m making you feel, got it?”

Yet again, all you can do is nod but this time it’s not enough. Sunghoon needs to hear you.

“Use your words or I’m not gonna let you cum at all”, he groans and lifts his head up to look at you, “don’t disappoint me now, snowflake.”

“Yes, Sunghoon”, you quickly reply, your head back to its cloudy state as the anticipation for what’s to come overwhelms your senses, “please, just make me feel good.”

And Park Sunghoon has never needed to be told twice when it came to a request of this kind.

The following minutes are filled with loud slurping, a mixture of your high pitched moans and Sunghoon’s muffled grunts, as he makes sure to lap up every single drop of your sweet juices, genuinely afraid to waste any of it and losing himself in the taste of your perfect pussy. Every now and then you catch a glimpse of your archenemy between your legs, his face flushed, tinted in the sweetest shades of shade, the skin of his chin and his cheeks, even the tip of his nose glisten from your juices and his eyes filled with so much lust and hunger, you actually can’t remember seeing him as fucked out as in this particular moment.

With every single swift motion of his tongue against your sensitive clit, you feel yourself falling deeper into the haze of your pleasure and as he manages to push you over the edge not once, not twice but three times in a row, you have to use every bit of your remaining strength to push his head away from your pussy; the sensitivity and overstimulation too much for your exhausted body to handle.

“E-Enough”, you sob softly, your hand firmly holding onto the thick strands of his hair as Sunghoon casually litters your inner thighs in open mouthed kisses, sucking the skin into his mouth every now and then to leave his marks to make sure they remind you of him the following days.

What the fuck is he thinking?

“Think you can do one more for me? Wanna fuck you to sleep so you’re properly rested for our day trip tomorrow”, Sunghoon teases you with a shit eating grin on his face as he comes to stand on his sore feet, calmly taking off his hoodie as well as his jeans, knowing how much it actually annoys you whenever he takes too much time with it.

“Fuck off”, you huff and pull your swollen bottom lip between your teeth, impatiently waiting for him to finally reveal his hard cock to your hungry eyes.

“Should I?”, he suddenly mumbles and pushes his boxer briefs down his thighs, his big cock slapping against his toned stomach and instantly leaving a tiny stain on his spale skin.

Without even replying to his sneaky comment, you sit yourself up and wrap your fingers around the length of his hard cock, looking up at him with glossy, needy eyes and tear stained cheeks, a sight so sinful and breathtaking, Sunghoon can’t physically stop himself from taking your face into one of his hands as he calmly thrusts his cock into your fist.

His eyes roll into the back of his head the second your tongue darts out to lick over his angry tip but after tongue fucking you for almost an hour straight, he simply has no patience left.

“Head back , stick your tongue out and keep your eyes on me”, he grunts and pushes his hand into your hand to help you follow his instructions, only for his cock to give away just how much he likes just how quick you are to follow his demands as it twitches in your grip and actually makes you smile cheekily.

Sunghoon tugs at the roots of your hair and takes a whole moment to admire how good you look all fucked out and ready for him and him only.

What the fuck is going on? He hates you. Hate.

This time he won’t let those confusing thoughts get the best of him as he puckers his lips and lets a thick drop of his spit fall onto the back of your tongue and carefully watches the way you swallow it without hesitation.

Within just a few minutes he makes his way on top of you, getting comfortable between your legs and casually rubbing his rock hard cock against your needy, yet overly sensitive slit.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, did you hear me? I want you to look at me when I fuck and fill that little pussy up”, Sunghoon breathes against your lips and lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, his eyes rolling into the back of his head when your little hole starts clenching in response to his touch.

“Just fuck me already”, you hiss when the impatience finally catches up on you, “the boys will be back soon and I really want you to cum inside of me.”

Why the fuck would you say something like that? And why the fuck don’t you regret it as much as you're supposed to?

“Will you look at that?” Sunghoon chuckles and pushes his tip a little deeper inside of your tight cunt, grunting and groaning as soon as your hot walls embrace him again, “got so used to being filled to the brim with my cum, can’t go to sleep without it anymore, hm?”

“F-Fuck off–oh, my God”, your voice breaks into a high pitched moan as soon as Sunghoon thrusts a few more inches of his impressive length inside of you and if it wasn’t for the weird urge to keep your unspoken promise of maintaining eye contact, you would have lost you remind already.

“There we go, just a little bit more.” Did he just praise you? No, encourage you? No teasing? No bickering? Actual encouragement?

“S-So big”, you whisper the second he bottoms out and you actually feel his tip graze the entrance to your womb, “more, Sunghoon. Stop fucking with me.”

“Don’t brat out on me now, snowflake”, he chuckles, not necessarily bc of how amusing you are but mostly because he’s desperately trying to hide how good you’re making him feel, “I’m gonna cum inside of this pussy tonight, I don’t give a fuck if the boys hear or see us or not.”

“Stop fucking playing and fuck me like you mean it already”, you hiss, this time genuine annoyance wavering in your tone and from the way you’ve been clenching around his cock for the past few minutes, Hoon can tell just how close you are. To his luck.

Without wasting anymore time, Sunghoon slowly pulls his cock out of your tight cunt only to thrust himself all the way back inside of you with one swift motion of his hips. It doesn’t take much time for him to find the perfect rhythm, his thrusts deep and hard, yet still fast and coordinated enough to hit the right spots and turn you into a nonsense babbling mess. Every time the tip of his cock hits the sweetest of spots deep inside of you, you feel yourself getting closer, your noises growing higher and louder, yet still not loud enough to overpower Sunghoon’s deep grunts and guttural moans.

The closer he gets, the deeper he loses himself in the sweet feeling of your cunt, the more he buries his face in your neck and as you tug on the strands of his freshly dyed dark hair, Sunghoon can’t help the little whines from escaping his sore throat.

“C-Close”, you finally whisper and push his big hand holding onto your tit down in between your legs hoping he just does what you silently requested instead of making you ask for it.

“Me too”, Hoonie grunts and pulls away from your neck, his cheeks even redder than, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead and his pretty lips parted as not a single breath he lets out is anything but a shaky moan.

“Look at me”, the demand comes out of nowhere but as soon as your eyes flatter open to find his, Sunghoon starts picking up the pace of his thrusts all while his fingers apply just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive clit.

And just when you’re about to stumble over the edge, Sunghoon quickly pushes his lips against yours and finally gives you the last thing you needed for the coil in your lower tummy to snap.

With a loud, dragged out whimper, your nails digging into his back and your vision blacking out, you loser yourself in the overwhelming waves of your orgasm, falling even deeper and harder when Sunghoon quickly follows you into sweet relief as he paints the insides of your tight cunt in several shades of white.

Just as usual, neither one of you can actually say anything as the sound of your heavy breathing remains the only thing to fill the emptiness of your bedroom.

However, this time Sunghoon refuses to just pull out and step away.

For some reason, the urge to take proper care of you becomes overwhelming, so with a soft sigh, he pulls away and starts caressing your heated skin.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really know what would be appropriate, so after soothing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, Sunghoon slowly pulls his now soft cock out and quickly reaches for his boxer briefs. Usually this is the moment where he hurries ot the bathroom to get you a towel, but this time he actually bends down to grab his hoodie from the floor before he holds his hand out for you to grab, only to help you put on right, and then heading out of the room to grab a towel.

Your brain is too foggy, too chaotic to read much into it and by the time he finishes cleaning up the mess between your legs, Sunghoon casually lays on the other side of your bed and quickly pulls you into his arms.

Never in your life have you expected to find yourself in bed with Park Sunghoon’s steady heartbeat pounding underneath your ear. Yet for the first time in your life, you actually feel at total ease. Nothing matters and nothing will matter, not as long as you’re both like this.

And as Sunghoon attentively watches the way your lids grow heavier right before you drift off to sleep, he catches himself playing with a few strands of your hair and it’s then that he realizes that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to his feelings than pure hatred.

Maybe he doesn’t actually hate you as much as he’s always thought.

But when his boys notify him about their arrival in a few minutes, Sunghoon has no choice but to pull away to save you both from a situation neither one is ready for and before he can overthink it, he places a soft kiss on your forehead and leaves after tucking you into bed properly.

Fuck. This actually just happened.

And he’s not even upset about it.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: HELLO MY BABIES!!!!! i missed you guys and CH so, so much!!!!! i’m so excited about this it’s lit 3:30am but i missed writing sm i just knew i had to finish this tonight! thank you guys so, so much for your patience and support, your understanding and sweetness. i love and appreciate you all so, so so much! i hope you enjoyed this chap and can’t wait to go back to regular updates!!!🥺🩷)

TAGLIST: @soonigiri @en-happiness @lhsvibez @dammit-jjk @heerinnie @primroselover @jungwon-xo @szkstay @lostwonderwall @hoonieluv @certifiedmoa @doodlelibrary @ikeuizm @kpoprhia @sleeping-demons @jongszn @imtoanonymousforyou @lalalovejay @ineedsomezzz @xrr-s4sha @ariadores @viagumi @electrobutterfly @mimikittysblog @blurryriki @heelcvr @wonkifangirl @joonzseoulmate @kwiwin @hoondiors @seuomo @zerasari @love-you-twice @aloverga @marz-mars @velvtcherie @niniissus @abrazosolorcereza @ddazed-lhs @acphengene @skz-streamer @kshoshi @tya0 @yizhoutv @jebetwo @myheelody @seokgyuu @blockbusterhee @luvkpopp @heeslut4life

#enhypen social media au #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #enhypen smau #enhypen sm au #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon x female reader #park sunghoon smau #park sunghoon social media au #enhypen park sunghoon #park sunghoon angst #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut

598 notes · View notes

python333 · 9 months

Note

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—”

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of.

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you.

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece.

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?”

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder.

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up.

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.”

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder.

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.”

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up.

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.”

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about.

It was their stupid accents you hated.

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy?

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up.

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.”

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?”

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?”

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.”

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return.

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.”

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.”

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers.

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open.

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price.

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap.

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk.

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?”

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well.

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.”

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?”

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.”

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.”

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.”

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact.

“Mhm,” Ghost hums.

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.”

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle.

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].”

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?”

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.”

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—”

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.”

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic.

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought.

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you.

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.”

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.”

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.”

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.”

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort.

“Muppet?”

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.”

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.”

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?”

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—”

“Ghost, don’t start—”

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

1K notes · View notes

wwilsonbarness · 9 months

Text

I messed up.. (part 2)

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

summary: Bucky tries to apologise for the things he said... do you accept?

warnings: angstttt, some fluff, anxiety?, idkk i think that's all :)

word count: 2535

a/n: I'm so sorry it took so long for part 2. I hated what I first wrote and my week ended up super busy. I'm so scared to post this lmao I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :)

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

part one

masterlist

Sam insisted you took it easy for the rest of the night, he brought you dinner in bed, checked on you every hour, and brought you everything you could need. You appreciated it but at the same time you just wanted to lay in bed alone and cry. For the first few hours it was out of sadness, seeing Bucky that angry with you made your chest ache, the thought of disappointing him was something you couldn’t handle, but as the hours passed the sadness slowly turned into anger. The more you replayed his words in your mind the angrier you got, how could he imply you didn’t care about your baby?

Ever since you were a little girl yourself you had wanted to be a mom, it was your dream and Bucky knew that.You had both spent countless nights talking for hours on end about how excited you were to have a baby together, you thought he was excited too but were you and your baby just a burden to him? A problem he had to sort out? Did he even want this?

Hours had passed and you were starting to drift to sleep when you heard voices outside your bedroom door. Part of you wanted to stay in bed and ignore whoever it was but when you heard Bucky’s voice you jump out of bed.

“I just want to check if she's okay.” You hear Bucky’s voice through the door, slightly louder than he normally speaks, a clear sign he was getting frustrated. You hear a second voice but you can’t figure out who it is until you move closer, it was Sam.

“You… chance..screwed up..” It’s muffled but you can guess what he said. You keep walking closer to the door and go to open it as you hear a third voice.

“Barnes, you need to leave her be, you’ve done enough tonight.” That was definitely Tony, he was the only one to call Bucky by his last name.

You weren’t ready to face Bucky yet but you didn’t want to have to listen to them arguing any longer so you opened the door, to be faced with Bucky standing right in front of you, Tony to the side of him and Sam a few doors down outside his room.

“Can you guys argue somewhere else please?” Bucky’s head flys round at the sound of your voice. He instantly looks you up and down, focusing on your bump for a few seconds longer than anywhere else, which reminds you of how he had looked at you earlier. You bring your hand up to your stomach without realising.

“Doll, are you okay?” You could see the concern in his eyes this time but you couldn’t get past the anger you were feeling.

“I’m fine, Bucky. I just want to sleep so can you three go somewhere else if you’re gonna shout at each other.” Bucky’s face started to lighten up in relief for a second but tensed up again as you continued.

“I’m sorry, can we please talk?” He starts to walk closer to you but you flinch and move backwards into your room. You weren’t scared of him but you couldn’t handle this tonight. Bucky’s face drops as he watches you move away from him. “Doll I just want to-”

“I don’t have the energy tonight Bucky, please can you just leave me alone.” You look at each other for a few seconds before you plead again, “Please.” Bucky slightly nods his head but you don’t wait for any other type of response before you close your door.

You lean your head against the door as it shuts, taking a deep breath in as an attempt to keep yourself calm. You hear Bucky and Tony throw a couple more sentences at each other, resulting in Tony asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to lock your door to anyone but him and Sam. You didn’t want to shut Bucky out but the things he said to you really hurt your feelings and if you were to talk to him about it now you would end up saying things you regret. You just wanted and needed time to yourself to calm down. You climb back into bed and go to sleep to try and forget about the whole situation, it takes a few hours but sleep finally washes over you.

You could only sleep for a few hours before your morning sickness hit. Without Bucky there to help you like every other morning it was a lot harder to deal with. After sitting beside the toilet for a few minutes you manage to run yourself a bath and relax for a bit. You wanted to put off talking with Bucky as long as you could, you knew he’d already be awake as he was every day, probably in the kitchen making breakfast.

You hear a knock at your door as you're in the bath which brings you out of your thoughts about Bucky, but when you reach the door all that’s there is a tray with waffles, fruit and orange juice on it. You pick it up and place it on your desk to find a note, recognising Bucky’s handwriting straight away you pick it up.

I’m sorry for everything I said and did. I want to make it up to you when you are ready to talk. I know you’ve probably been unwell this morning so I hope this makes you feel better. I put some gummy bears on the waffles since I know you’ve been craving sweet things. I love you and baby so much - Buck x

You feel your eyes tear up as you read each word, and even though you’re mad at him all you want in this moment is for Bucky to hold you. You quickly get dressed and start to walk towards the kitchen, hoping he’s still there. To your luck he was still hovering around the cooker cleaning up his mess from cooking breakfast.

“Buck?” His head whips around at lightning speed to the sound of your voice. He takes one step towards you before stopping himself, remembering how you reacted last night. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you more.

“Doll, are you okay?”

“Mhmm, can we talk?” Bucky lets out a huge breath he wasn’t aware he was holding as you speak, he wants nothing more than to talk to you.

“Of course doll, wanna sit over here?” He points his hand towards the couch in the corner of the room. You nod your head and walk over. When you both sit down it’s quiet for a few minutes, both of you equally scared to break the silence until Bucky speaks.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks, tone soft as if he’s scared of what the answer might be.

“No, Bucky I’d never be scared of you.” His shoulders start to relax in relief but not for long as you continue. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you.”

“I am so so sorry y/n, I promise you I didn’t mean anything I said, I was just scared which I know isn’t an excuse but it’s the truth. My worst fear is losing you, and now with the baby on the way I’m even more scared of losing you both. When I heard Sam telling Tony and Nat that you were seen with a bump it was.. It was like my brain just took over, I kept imagining you being hurt and I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened. I can’t lose you, either of you. If you let me, I promise I will try my best to make things back the way they were.”

Bucky’s speech took you off guard, you were expecting and hoping to speak first so you could get everything out while you felt able to, you had to try so hard to hold back your tears. You could tell he was sorry and honestly part of you just wanted to say it’s okay, tell him you forgave him, that everything was fine but the other part of you was still focused on his horrible words yesterday, and you knew things would never be okay again unless you told him how he made you feel. “I just need to get this off my chest Bucky, I know you’re sorry but I still need to say this. He nods his head to show he understands you.

You take a deep breath and prepare yourself to speak. “First off, I just want to make it completely clear, that” you bring your hand to your stomach and cup the small bump you have, “I love and care so much for this baby, more than anything or anyone else in the world. So when you said that to me, said that I.. That I didn’t care, it really really hurt me. I know I went against what we agreed, I know I scared you, but that didn’t give you a right to talk to me the way you did.”

“I kno-” Bucky tries to respond but you don’t let him. Your voice is beginning to shake and there are tears starting to fall from your eyes. Bucky’s heart was breaking at seeing you so upset.. all because of him.

“No, please let me finish. I.. I know you care about me and our baby, I know you do but you went way too far. You were so worried about other people hurting me you didn’t realise that you were the one doing it.”

You can hear Bucky swallow deeply as he listens, his eyes growing wetter with every word, it was hard for him to hear but he knew everything you were saying was true. He had done the one thing he swore he never would, he hurt you and he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself for it. “You promised me that you would never hurt me, and I believed you.” Your voice cracks with your last words, and the tears finally escape. “You made me feel like we were burdening you, like we were just a problem to you, something you had to deal with.”

Bucky desperately wants to reach out and comfort you but he stops himself. He keeps his eyes locked with yours and you nod your head a little, a silent way of telling him that it was his turn to talk. He nods back and readies himself, he had a lot he wanted to say but now he’d heard how much he had hurt you, it was like his brain had forgotten everything.

“You have to know that you both are the most important people in my life, you could never be a burden to me, ever. I'm so sorry I made it feel that way. Y/N I know I hurt you, I want.. I need you to know that when I made that promise I meant it, I’ve never intended to hurt you, and for the rest of my life, as long as you’ll have me I promise, with every single part of me that I will care and love for you and our baby.” You are starting to choke up at what he is saying but try so hard not to let it show.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I’ll always be scared of something happening to you both and nothing’s gonna ever change that, but I know now that I need to find other ways of working through that. I’ll do anything it takes for you to forgive me. I want to be there for you and our baby forever.” He looks down to your bump, his gaze softens, a slight smile grows, and with a quiet, soft voice he continues.

“I can’t wait to see you be a mom, you’re gonna be the best there is. I really mean it, our baby is so lucky to have you as a parent.” When he looks up he tries to understand how you’re feeling but your face is pretty much blank, you were in shock. You’d only been in two relationships before Bucky but not once had either of them apologised for something they did, now Bucky was practically begging you to forgive him, you didn’t know how to take it. You just knew you couldn’t lose him.

“Buck.. As much as I hate how you spoke to me, I don’t want to let this argument get between us, I want things to change. I know you are scared and I understand that.. I’m scared too, but we can get through it together. We are strong enough to not let this break us apart, okay?”

Bucky lets out a huge breath he didn’t even realise he was holding in. “Doll, I want nothing more than for us to be okay.”

You stand up and put your hand out towards him, “Come on, I got you something.” He hesitantly grabs your hand, and follows you to your room. Just as you reach the door he stops, and drops his hand out of yours. “Bucky.. It’s okay you can come in.”

“Are you sure?” He asks hesitantly.

“I’m positive.” He smiles slightly at your answer then follows you in.

“I got youu…” You trail your words out as you dig for his gift. “This.” You pass him the teddy, expecting to smile but instead he frowns, rubbing his thumb over each word as he reads it.

“You don’t like it?” you ask him, taking a seat next to him.

“I do,” He forces a smile out, “I’m just worried I won’t be a good dad. I’m just scared doll.” He looks up to you again and sees your eyes still glossy, and he feels he has to defend his words. “I am excited, please know I am. I just don’t wanna mess up again.” He reaches out to touch your stomach and you see him hesitating so you put your hand on top of his and gently push it onto your stomach.

“It’s gonna be okay Buck, I trust you.” You lay your head on his shoulder and cuddle into him, “We’re gonna be okay.”

“I love you both so much.”

“And we love you too.” Just as you finish speaking your stomach rumbles, which startles Bucky.

“Oh my god. Was that the baby??”

You had to hold in your laughter as you replied to him, it was way too early for the baby to kick. “No Bucky, I’m just hungry.” He follows your gaze to the tray with the breakfast he made you.

“Dolll… you didn’t eat?” You shake your head and Bucky stands up and brings it to bed.”Wanna share?”

“Of course.” He picks up a gummy bear but before he can put it in his mouth you grab it.

“Hey!” He looks at you confused.

“Sorry,” you say between your giggles, “you aren't getting any of the gummy bears, baby wants all of them.”

“Oh yeah? Baby wants all of them? Sureee.” You were both laughing now, as you tried to get all the gummy bears before him.

tags: (tagging everyone who was interested, sorry if I miss anyone!)

@missvelvetsstuff @learisa @pattiemac1 @satanstittyss @opheliabarnes @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @kandis-mom @lokislady82 @k4t13l0u1s3 @jbbarnesgirl @nikkivillar @sarahjoestewy-blog @aboobie @queerqueenlynn @shabanggg @topguncultleader @wintrsoldrluvr @invalid-croissant @ada728 @that-girl-named-alex @spoopiloops @mayusenpai666 @paarthurnax59 @cl7ire @hereforfun22-blog @almosttoopizza @trixiekaulitz @aweleyirene @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @mavrellover91 @yeselmolovesyou

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

Text

Blood on Love’s altar.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: Tom Riddle did not know he could grieve. But now? He’d give up everything to not feel it.

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Suicide, Self Mutilation (brief)

A/N: 🙂

Song: Dove - Antihoney

Antent - hope to see you again

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

The very first words you spoke to Tom.

First year, 2 weeks into school. It was a Thursday afternoon, to be precise. It was during a transfiguration lesson. Tom had managed to nab a copy of Markov’s ‘A Guide to the Dark Arts’. It was a forbidden book, but one that had greatly intrigued him. He held it under the table, reading.

You nudged him and when he sent you a scowl you did not look away, rather speaking those very words.

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

He just about manages to snap the book shut and shove it into his bag when Dumbledore walks past, the eclectic man giving the pair of you a once over before moving to the next desk.

The second time he spoke to you was in the library a few days later.

“Still sticking your nose in the restricted section?” You pry, sliding up behind him as he startles. He turns to face you, a look of annoyance on his face as he speaks.

"And what business is it of yours?" he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

“You’ve already quite the reputation. Lurking in the restricted section should taint that, no?” You hum.

Infuriating. Nosy. Intransigent.

-•-

“Morning Riddle.” You quip as you walk into potions, taking a seat next to him.

Second year, 3rd day back.

He looks at you but says no more, internally cursing you.

You work on a strengthening solution and accidentally drop a jar of bat spleens onto Tom’s bag.

He debates getting back at you for it, but he doesn’t.

Clumsy. Persistent. Agitating.

-•-

Third year, same scene, same setting.

"Still poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" you tease, sidling up to him with a mischievous grin.

Tom's annoyance flares, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes, a begrudging amusement perhaps. "You never learn, do you?" he mutters, though there's less bite in his tone this time.

You laugh, the sound echoing through the potions classroom. "Where's the fun in following the rules?" you reply, settling into the seat beside him.

Tom's lips twitch into an almost imperceptible smile before he turns his attention back to the brewing cauldron. Your laugh isn’t awful, he supposes.

-•-

Fourth Year, Charms. The sun was particularly nice that day. It casts a lovely glow on your face.

Professor Trinfort announced a partner project, pairing students for a collaborative spellcasting assignment. As fate would have it, you found yourself paired with Tom Riddle.

You exchange a glance, nudging him lightly. "Looks like it's you and me," you say with a faint smile.

Tom nods, his expression less guarded than before. "Seems that way," he replies, his tone less curt than usual.

As the two of you work together, you notice a subtle shift in Tom's demeanour. He's more open to your suggestions and more willing to listen to your ideas. There’s a newfound ease between you, and you don’t say anything for fear of disturbing it. Tom has left one of his books on his desk again. Professor Trinfort was walking past and you quickly grabbed the book, hiding it underneath your bag. Tom notices and looks at you with an unreadable expression for a second.

Nosy. Irritating. Perhaps not too bad, though.

-•-

5th year. You’re not there. Your absence is noticeable in the first week. It’s suffocating in the second.

Tom finds himself searching for you in the corridors, and he cannot help but feel as though something is missing. He values the quiet he now has during lessons, but it’s not as rewarding as he thought it would be. There’s a nagging feeling in him that he can’t quite shake.

He learns very quickly that you’d been attacked on the first day of term and had been in the hospital wing for quite a while. He visits you whilst you’re sleeping. He stares at your weakened form, not moving. It’s odd, seeing you in such a state.

You wake the next morning to news of the perpetrators being withdrawn from school after they all woke up missing fingers. You somehow know who it is.

Tom does not visit you till you are asleep. When he does, he places your book by your bedside. He doesn’t let himself stay for too long, berating his foolishness as he leaves.

-•-

6th Year. Tensions are running high after the death of Myrtle Warren. You’re all to face your boggarts, and Tom notices how apprehensive you are. You chew at your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down relentlessly.

He places his hand over your thigh, focusing ahead as you turn to look at him.

“It’s agitating.” He mutters, and he can tell how ridiculous it sounds. You suppress a smile and turn back to the front.

He can tell you’re a bit shaken up from the lesson, so he offers to study with you in the library during the evening. He meets you after dinner, spotting you in the far corner.

You’re wearing a black corduroy skirt—a white vest with lace trimmings and a baggy green cardigan. You’ve pinned your hair back with your wand, the end of your quill pressed to your lips as you work. You’re rather beautiful, he notices. He takes a seat next to you, ignoring the smile you beam as you work together.

Hours have passed and he hasn’t noticed, enjoying your company. He feels a weight on his shoulder and turns, realising you’ve fallen asleep. He huffs in annoyance but he does not move, a hand coming up to remove your glasses from your face as he carefully sets them down on the table. You wake up in your bed, your books neatly placed on your desk. You must have come back at some point, you think to yourself.

-•-

“Hey,” You hum, plopping down next to Tom on the frosty glass near the black lake.

“Morning.” He responds, not looking up from his book as he acknowledges you. You reach into your satchel, producing a small thermos flask. You transfigure a pebble into a cup and pour a glass of steaming cinnamon tea for Tom.

As you hand him the cup of cinnamon tea, Tom finally looks up from his book, a faint hint of surprise crossing his features at the unexpected gesture. He accepts the tea with a nod of thanks, taking a sip before setting it down beside him.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, a hint of warmth in his tone that catches you off guard.

You smile in response, a gentle warmth spreading through you at the sight of his rare display of gratitude. "You're welcome," you reply, “Cinnamon tea is my favourite comfort drink.” You add, and Tom finds himself storing that piece of information in the ever-growing folder in his brain labelled ‘you.’

-•-

7th Year. Tom is elected Head Boy. You’re a bit upset you didn’t get Head Girl, but you suppose you weren’t that extraordinary. Tom feels otherwise.

You still got awarded prefect and found yourself paired on patrols with Tom.

“Seems like the universe is set on keeping us together. You finally warming up to me Tom?” You tease, grinning lopsidedly as you both roam down the dark, empty hallways. He meets your gaze with a small smile of his own, a rare display of warmth that sends a flutter of excitement through you. "Perhaps," he replies cryptically, though the glint in his eyes betrays a hint of fondness that you can't help but return.

You continue to walk in silence for a bit more till you (stupidly) have an idea. Upon digging around in your pocket you find a Gorpin’s exploding powered parcels, a tiny thing about the size of an acorn that exploded colourful powder when thrown. With a small grin, you call Tom’s name, tossing the parcel at him. He turns around and meets your gaze for a second before he’s enveloped in a cloud of pastel blue.

You laugh at the sight, clutching your stomach as a string of giggles escape your lips. As the cloud slowly clears, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, a sudden fear that perhaps you've overstepped some invisible boundary. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrow of worry as you open your mouth to apologize.

But before you can utter a word, something unexpected happens. Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile, and he’s chasing after you.

“Tom!” You laugh, the sweet sound echoing through the halls as you begin running away from him.

His laughter joins yours, his footsteps getting closer and closer as you turn a corner. Your lungs burn, laughter bubbling from within you when you’re suddenly swept upwards, two strong arms wrapping around your midsection.

“Got you. Gonna make you pay for this.” Tom says, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face as he practically hauls you over his shoulder.

“Wait, Tom!” You protest, a yelp escaping your lips as he begins running with you in his arms.

Your protests are ignored as you enter the prefect's bathroom, and the second his intentions are clear you laugh, whilst pleading. He shifts his hold on you so you're being carried almost bridal style, and he raises a brow as he looks down at you.

“Wait, Tom. It doesn’t have to be like this.” You plead, trying to free yourself from his gasp. A smile tugs at his lips as he hums, seeming to retreat for a second. But he then holds you tighter, and in two swift steps jumps straight into the baths (which was more like a pool), sending you both into the water. A small shriek escapes your lips, and as you resurface from the water, laughing and sputtering, you shoot Tom a mock-complaining look. "Tom, you're incorrigible," you exclaim, your laughter bubbling up between your words.

Tom chuckles, the sound resonating in the spacious bathroom as he treads water beside you. For a moment, his gaze lingers on you, admiring you.

"You're quite something, you know that?" he says softly, the words carrying a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You all but melt into the kiss, a hand coming up to cup his face, resting in his drenched black curls as you sigh into his mouth.

“Tom…” You murmur.

He’s never heard a more beautiful sound.

It’s nearing a month till your final exams and you haven’t seen Tom for a few days. You venture up to his dorm, knocking on his door.

“Tom?” You call out softly, leaning against the door. “It’s me.”

There’s silence for a second, and then the door unlocks.

As the door creaks open, you find Tom sitting on his bed, looking pale and dishevelled. He coughs weakly, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of surprise before he quickly looks away.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "I heard you've been under the weather. Thought I'd come to check on you."

Tom nods, his expression unreadable as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, just a bit under the weather," he mutters, his voice hoarse.

You frown, concern creasing your brow as you move closer to him. "You should be resting," you say gently, reaching out to feel his forehead for signs of fever.

Tom flinches slightly at your touch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he meets your gaze with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I know," he admits quietly, "but I hate feeling like this. It's... frustrating."

You nod in understanding, your heart aching at the sight of him looking so uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I brought you some cinnamon tea," you say, pulling a thermos flask and a few biscuits from your bag. "Thought it might help."

Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile at your thoughtful gesture, a hint of gratitude shining through his usual stoicism. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice softer than usual.

You smile back, and Tom shuffles over to give you some space. You take a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you pour him a cup of tea. You blow on the tea to cool it slightly, taking an experimental sip to ensure it’s not too hot. When you're satisfied with the temperature, you hand the cup over to Tom. He twists it around to make sure his lips touch the same part of the cup yours did. It faintly tastes of cherry lip balm.

You don’t notice the gesture.

You lean back against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of you as you stare up at his ceiling.

“You should go. You’ll get sick.” Tom murmurs, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic apprehension that has you smiling.

“It’s fine.” You smile. You shuffle down slightly and very carefully place your head on Tom’s chest.

He tenses for a second but relaxes soon after. His hand hesitates for a moment before tentatively coming to rest on your shoulder, his touch light and cautious as if unsure of whether he's allowed to show such vulnerability.

"You don't have to stay," he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but you can hear the underlying plea in his words.

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you nestle closer to him. "I want to," you reply simply, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, banishing the chill of the room.

“You shouldn’t.” He repeats, and his words are undoubtedly laced with an underlying meaning that should warn you.

But if you realise that, he certainly can’t tell. You simply close your eyes and speak.

“I’ve never been the best at listening, have I?”

-•-

Exams are over, and graduation day arrives. Tom feels a conflicting mix of emotions swirling within him, and he hates the fact he’s grappling with things he shouldn’t be worried about. On one hand, there's a sense of relief that he won't have to worry about dragging you into the complexities of his life any longer. The thought of you being free from the burdens and dangers that often accompany his endeavours brings him a measure of solace.

Yet, at the same time, there's a pang of sadness that ebbs away at him when realizes that this may be the last time he'll see you. The prospect of saying goodbye, of parting ways, suddenly becomes unthinkable, and he feels a little sick.

As he scans the crowd of graduates, his gaze eventually lands on you, a soft smile gracing your lips as you chat animatedly with your friends. For a fleeting moment, he considers approaching you and saying goodbye properly, but the fear of attachment holds him back.

Instead, he watches from a distance, silently wishing you well. As the ceremony draws to a close and the graduates begin to disperse, he turns to leave, only praying you’ll never have to see him again.

But just as he's about to turn away, you catch his eye, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you make your way over to him. "Hey, Tom," you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Tom's heart skips a beat at the sight of you, his resolve wavering in the face of your unwavering presence. "Hey," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile up at him, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Trying to run away? You know, you won't get rid of me that easily," you tease lightly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand.

Tom's lips twitch into a small smile, a flicker of hope betraying his rationale at your words. "I certainly hope not," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

You lean up on your tip toes, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. You pull back and a small laugh escapes your lips, rubbing the faint lipstick mark it left.

Nosy. Irritating. Beautiful.

Tom doesn’t see you for a year after that.

A hesitant knock at the door of your dingy little flat nearing 1:00 am has you alert, and slightly on edge. You reach for your wand, carefully treading towards the door so as to not alert a potential intruder of your presence. You peer through the peephole, and you feel as though your world stops when you see Tom outside.

Hastily undoing the wards and spells that enchant your flat, you unlock the door and Tom all but collapses into your arms.

He reeks of dark magic, and you know. You’ve always known, really. What other mind could be so sadistically brilliant, who else would be able to crumble the Romanian Ministry of magic in a mere week?

You pull Tom into your flat, closing the door behind him as you guide him to the nearest chair. He looks drained, his usually sharp features drawn and weary. Blood stains his clothes, tension evident on his face.

You set to work immediately, inspecting the various wounds all over his body as you frantically recite healing spells, rummaging through a small leather trunk filled with an assortment of vials.

Tom observes you through half lidded eyes that threaten to permanently shut.

He always knew you’d become a healer. He had known since that day you came into his dorm and took care of him when he was ill. He had known since that day you had found an injured crow lying by the side of the greenhouse and nursed it back to full health in a mere hour.

You preserved lives, he took them.

“Up.” You murmur, pulling the hem of his shirt. He obliges, pulling his lead-like arms up as you unbutton his shirt and pull it off. You frown at the scars that mar Tom's chest and he wants to laugh.

Don’t stress over me, sweetheart. It’d be better off for you if I were dead.

He no longer flinches at your touch as you trail your hands down his chest, murmuring spells that alleviate the ache. You're exhausted by the time you're done, slinging Tom’s arm over your shoulder as you help him walk over to your bed.

He settles onto the bed with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the mattress as if it's the first time he's allowed himself to truly relax in ages. You gently place your blanket atop of him, your brow furrowed as you take a seat at the edge of your bed.

You brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally overtakes him. You watch over him for a while longer, lingering by his bedside as he slips into a fitful sleep.

You can't help but wonder how things came to this. How the boy you once knew, the one who had captured your heart with his sharp wit and brilliant mind, had become so lost.

You slide into your bed beside him and turn over, your back facing his. You let your eyes shut and find yourself falling asleep.

You wake up in the morning, and you know before you even turn around. Your bed was empty, barely a trace of warmth left. You had to be sure you didn’t dream last night's events, padding into the kitchen as you yawn.

A singular cup of warm cinnamon tea is there. You smile softly as you take the cup.

You didn’t see him for another two years after that. The news got worse and worse. Attacks were often and many. People were scared to leave the house.

Just when you've almost given up hope of ever seeing him again, there's a knock at your door in the dead of night. You're startled awake, heart pounding as you stumble out of bed and rush to answer it.

As you swing the door open, you're met with the sight of Tom standing there, looking worse for wear. His clothes are torn, his face bruised and bloodied, and it feels like a scene all too familiar.

Without a word, you reach out and slap him across the face, the sound echoing in the silence of the night.

Tom's startled reaction is almost comical, his hand flying up to his cheek as he recoils from the force of the blow. He stares at you in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as he tries to process what just happened.

You glare at him, your fists clenched at your sides as you let out a string of curses, venting all the frustration and anger that has been building up inside you for years.

"You can't just waltz in and out of my life whenever you please," you spit out, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just show up here, covered in blood and bruises, and expect me to drop everything and help you."

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a sharp gesture, your eyes blazing with determination.

"But you know what the worst part is?" you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper. "The worst part is that no matter how angry I am, no matter how much I want to hate you, I can't. Because despite everything, I still fucking care about you! I sit there, and I read the news, and every day I pray it’s not your death I’m seeing. Do you know how fucked up that is?"

For a moment, there's silence between you, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that takes your breath away.

You melt into the kiss, your anger melting away as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Despite everything, you know that you can't stay away.

For better or for worse, you're his weakness, and he's yours.

He pulls back and you have to resist the urge to dissolve into tears, bottom lip wavering as he pulls you into his chest.

“Don’t you dare leave. Don’t you dare fucking leave.” You tremble into his chest, and his heart pangs at your plea as he speaks.

“I won’t.”

He stuck to his word. He hated you for it. But he hated himself more. Because every second he stayed, was only binding you more and more to your demise. He was killing you, he knew it would happen, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

You erode his being, taking away everything that he was sure he was certain of. There were many times he would contemplate simply killing you, ridding himself of this foolish weakness that was causing him so much turmoil. A single look at you and Tom knew that there would be little to no meaning for immortality if you weren’t to be there beside him.

Tom would disappear for days on end, and you’d hear about an attack shortly after. He’d always come back. You turned a blind eye to his actions, ignoring the furious accusations of corpses that lay there in your name.

Truthfully, you could stop him. You knew that you could turn him in, and he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you. But you didn’t, and so by association every person he killed had their blood on your hands too.

You had been called by Tom at the crack of dawn one morning. His voice echoed through your head, waking you from your slumber.

Clifford close. House 17.

You apparate without second thought, your eyes widening as you take in the scene.

Tom is standing there, covered in blood that you’re sure is not his. You turn around and spot another person, a frail old man who can barely look up.

The frail old man's plea is cut short as a burst of green light erupts from Tom's wand, ending his life in an instant. You watch in horror as the life drains from the man's eyes, a sickening realization settling in the pit of your stomach.

Tom turns to you, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Without a word, he turns his wand to you, muttering something that knocks you straight out.

He knows that making you a Horcrux is a drastic and irreversible decision, one that will bind your soul to his for eternity. But at the same time, he can't bear the thought of losing you.

The idea of immortality without you by his side is unbearable, and he knows that making you a Horcrux is the only way to ensure that you'll always be together. It's a selfish decision, born out of desperation and fear of losing the one person who has come to mean everything to him.

A sense of self-loathing creeps in. He knows that making you a Horcrux will condemn you to a life of despair, but he can't shake the feeling that he has no other choice.

When you awaken, you find yourself back in your apartment, the events of the previous moments feeling like a distant nightmare. Tom is sitting beside you, his expression unreadable as he watches you stir.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You blink in confusion, trying to make sense of what just happened. You recall the sight of the old man dying before you and slap a hand over your mouth, stumbling out of bed as you rush towards the bathroom. You collapse over the toilet bowl, retching. Your eyes sting, and you don’t hear Tom coming in until you feel a comforting hand on your back, one holding your hair up.

“Get the fuck off me.” You snap, pushing him away with a weak shove as you cough.

Tom steps back, his brows furrowing in concern. "What happened?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You whirl around to face him, your anger boiling over as you shout, "You killed a man in front of me!"

He takes a step towards you, his voice cool and collected. "You must have been imagining things," he asserts, his tone firm and unwavering. "We were home all night yesterday."

Your hands tremble with anger and disbelief as you glare at him, tears blurring your vision. "You're lying!" you sob, your voice cracking with emotion. "You're making me seem crazy!"

Tom's gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "I assure you, I am not," he retorts, his voice tinged with impatience. "If you don't believe me, use Legilimency on me. Check for yourself."

You close your eyes, muttering legilimens under your breath. You probe into his mind, and he doesn’t keep his guard up.

In Tom's mind, you see a vividly detailed memory of him being home all night. He sits with you by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, engrossed in a book. You drink with him, a drunken giggle escaping your lips as you kiss him.

As you pull away from his mind, a sense of dread washes over you. The memory he showed you is so convincing, so detailed, that you find yourself doubting your own recollection of events.

You come back to this reality, blinking as you suck in deep breaths.

Tom's expression softens slightly, a hint of sympathy in his eyes as he reaches out to gently touch your shoulder. "It's alright," he murmurs reassuringly. "You had quite a bit to drink last night. You're probably just tired."

You nod, though you can’t rid yourself of the nagging feeling within you. Slowly sitting up, you follow Tom back to your bedroom. You lay back down in bed with him, convincing yourself it was a nightmare.

The second you close your eyes, the man calls out to you.

It’s very real.

In the following months, the cycle of Tom's disappearances and reappearances continues, each time leaving you more drained than before. You watch helplessly as he delves deeper into darkness, his actions becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

You're alone in your apartment when it happens, a sudden surge of overwhelming emotions washing over you. You double over in pain, clutching your head as a vision flashes before your eyes.

In the vision, you see Tom, his face contorted in rage as he inflicts unspeakable torture upon an innocent victim. The scene is so vivid, so horrifying, that you can barely believe what you're seeing.

Gasping for breath, you stumble back, your heart racing as you try to make sense of the vision. You feel sick, your mind reeling as you stumble back into one of the chairs.

Tom returns in the evening, and you cannot bear looking at him.

You wash the blood off his hands. He could have used a cleaning spell, but he prefers for you to do it instead. To face the reality of what you’ve chosen. To wash the blood off his hands knowing it could have been yours.

You do not ask him about the vision, because you want to delude yourself into the comfortable reality that it was merely a nightmare of sorts.

‘Those only occur during sleep’ a voice points out in your head. You choose to ignore it.

Egged on by confusion and fear, you begin reading. Researching. A mirror image of Tom, hiding dark books from his sight as you read.

You bring it up one day.

You stand in the kitchen, brewing some tea as you speak.

“Is it possible to make a Horcrux out of a human?”

Tom's eyes widen in alarm, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a calm facade. "Why would you ask such a thing?" he replies, his voice steady despite the unease that lingers in the air.

You don't miss the subtle shift in his demeanour, the way his gaze flits away from yours for just a moment before returning.

You shrug nonchalantly, feigning innocence as you pour the tea into a pair of mugs. "Just curious," you say casually, though your heart pounds in your chest.

Tom watches you closely, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his tea. "It's not something that should concern you," he says finally, his tone firm.

"But is it possible?" you press, your voice tinged with determination.

Tom's jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he meets your eyes. "Yes," he admits reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's a dark and dangerous magic, not something to be trifled with."

You nod slowly, your mind whirling with possibilities. "I see," you murmur, though you're already formulating a plan in your head.

You reach for one of the barely touched knives nestled in the drawer you had open and without second thought stab it straight through your hand.

Tom immediately drops the cup he holds, rushing over to you.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief as he stares down at the gruesome sight.

You grit your teeth, a pained sob escaping your lips as you yank the knife back out, and Tom’s heart is pounding at the sight of your blood dripping onto his hands.

“[Name], please. Stop-“ He pleads, stammering as he tries to staunch the bleeding.

You watch in disbelief as your skin begins to heal itself together, an almost grotesque sight. It seals together, and in no less than a minute it’s completely healed, not a scar in sight.

Your stomach fills with dread, eyes widened in betrayal as you look up at Tom. His gaze meets yours, guilt riddled in his eyes as you snatch your hand away.

"Fuck," you shout, your voice filled with a mix of pain and fury. Tears stream down your face as you struggle to process the revelation. "You... you made me a fucking Horcrux?!"

Tom's face pales, his own emotions mirroring the turmoil within you. He takes a step forward,

"I... I didn't mean for this to happen," he stammers, his voice laced with desperation. "I never wanted to hurt you."

But your rage consumes you, and you lash out at him, your voice filled with venom. "You ruined me, you fucking monster!" you scream, your words echoing through the room. "How could you do this to me? How could you use me like this?"

Tears mix with your words as you continue to berate him, your emotions spiralling out of control. You feel a searing pain deep within your chest, reaching out to shove him.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would work out! You’ll be immortal! Can’t you see it’s-“ He starts, and you snap.

"Sorry won't fix this!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "You've destroyed me, Tom. I can never be whole again."

He doesn’t know what to say, remaining silent as he tries to reach out to you.

“Get out!” You scream, reaching for your glass as you throw it in Tom’s direction. It smashes against the wall behind him, but he can’t look away from you.

He ruined you. He really did.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream, your voice filled with venom. You grab whatever is within reach and hurl it in his direction. Books, vases, anything that can cause damage. Each object crashes against the walls, shattering into countless pieces.

Tom has never felt like crying before, but this might be the first time he does. He turns and leaves, for he can’t bear to face what he’s done to you.

He was weak, after all.

You sink to the ground, your body racking with sobs as you hide your face in your hands.

What a cruel thing it was. Even if you wanted to, you could never permanently rid yourself of Tom.

You claw at your chest, as though you can just pull the fragment of Tom’s soul that was bound with yours.

You feel trapped, imprisoned within your own body. Your heart aches with a profound sadness, knowing that you were both beyond redemption. If only you hadn’t warned him that day if only you weren’t selected as a prefect, if only you didn’t try to save him.

Tom hasn’t heard from you for weeks. He doesn’t dare intrude either, no. He had already done enough damage.

The date is permanently engraved in his mind.

August the 17th. 7:03 pm.

He feels a searing pain in his chest. His hand comes up to clutch his heart as a pained groan escapes his lips. He can’t see for a second, his vision blurred.

Every breath is a struggle as he clutches his chest, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

The realization hits him like a tidal wave.

A Horcrux must have been destroyed. He only had two to date.

One was the ring engraved with his family sybil, which he wore on his hand.

The other?

Fear grips him, a fear he has never known before.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

He all but stumbles upwards, his mind focusing on one image as he apparates without a second thought. He appears at the door of your flat and doesn’t entertain the idea of knocking, bursting through the door with such force it splinters.

“[Name]?” He calls out, his voice a desperate plea as he searches through the eerily quiet apartment.

His heart pounds in his chest, his breaths shallow and rapid as he calls out your name, his voice laced with desperation and urgency.

"[Name]?" he repeats, the sound of his voice echoing through the silent space. There is a sense of foreboding, a heaviness in the air as he navigates the chaos, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow.

His footsteps are quick and purposeful as he moves from room to room, his senses heightened, attuned to any flicker of your presence.

Finally, his gaze lands on a small table, and there, amidst the disarray, he sees a letter addressed to him. His heart skips a beat as he snatches it up, but within the depths of his mind, he knows what the contents of the letter will read.

Tom.

You by no doubt will know by now. I must preface by saying that I hate you. I will never ever forgive you for what you’ve done to me.

I remember with frightening clarity the day we had both first met. You were quite rude, but you backed down slightly when I had covered for you. It was then that I knew you must have not had very good people around you in your upbringing, for you were very reserved.

Despite all that, despite the fact that it was a very clear warning not to get entangled with you, I still did.

Year after year, I persisted. I could tell when you got annoyed, yet I did not give up. I was determined to know who Tom Riddle was.

I knew I loved you the day you had stayed with me after that boggart lesson. It’s rather silly, it was quite possibly the bare minimum someone could have done. But coming from you? Merlin, it was essentially the same as being gifted the moon.

I was not oblivious to what you were doing. Even from a young age, I knew of your plans, of your intentions. I suppose in a sense you’re not to blame, for I chose to love you willingly.

I only wish you had trusted me. You may have loved me, but you never trusted me. If you did, you’d have known my soul was already yours. I was bound to you indefinitely, there was no chance I wouldn’t have loved you.

I wanted love, you wanted devotion. They aren’t the same, my love. Devotion would have been me following you to the ends of the earth if you asked without question. Love would have been me not wanting to, but knowing I’d travel further to save you should you need it.

I would have given the world for you, Tom. I just wish you had let me do it on my own accord.

I love you. I always will. I always have. If there is a heaven though, I hope we never meet again.

Do not be afraid to be human. You, out of despair, and fear, and greed, drove everyone away from you. You cannot mourn a loss that you perpetuated. We are all human, flawed and imperfect. You are too. You may try to avoid it, you can split your soul and continue killing, but you’re only deflecting the truth.

I hope in my death you will meet your own. Mortality is a beautiful thing, Tom.

Do not postpone it. Existence has no better gift.

- [Name.]

-•-

It’s rather cruel how he can recall the entirety of your life in mere minutes. It doesn’t feel right, for the only time Tom truly lived was when he was with you. A lifetime, an eternity.

A mere recollection as he stands at your grave.

The rain is harsh, unforgiving. It seeps into his skin though he’s grateful, for some feeling was better than none.

He thought he would be immune to grief. It wasn’t that bad of a thing.

He can’t recall a day he hasn’t thought about you.

He threw himself further into the dark arts. He became more prominent, more ruthless. Many thought he was simply becoming more powerful.

Tom only hoped that in his efforts someone would find a way to end him. He threw himself into the most haphazard situations with the hope that a spell would misfire, that he would make an enemy of someone who would be able to kill him.

His eyes flicker up to the tree that grows above your grave. It was perhaps the first and only time he had cultivated a living thing.

Cinnamomum verum.

His fingers trace the inscription on the stone. Your laughs are buried deep within the recesses of his mind. They echo everytime he steps foot into your apartment.

It had been 6 years since you were found dead. He hasn’t touched a single thing. He sees life in your unmade bed, in the plants that he has an elf tend to. He keeps your necklace on him at all time, rolling the small pendant between his fingers when he finds himself thinking of you.

He forgoes tending to his own wounds. If it killed him then so be it.

There is not a day that goes by when he doesn’t read your letter.

Losing you was beyond losing a piece of his soul.

It was losing everything.

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