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y3sterdaysproblem · 6 days ago

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smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter nine - final

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 3.7k

Chris had never bought a girl flowers before, so he was anything but confident when he walked into the local flower shop not far from his home, finally building up the courage to ask the girl he had fallen head over heels with on a date. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he hung on every word she said, wanting to make her feel valued and heard when she spoke. He couldn’t imagine finding any girl prettier than her, it was impossible in his head.

When he finally picked out a bouquet, he paid happily with his allowance money that he’d saved for a couple of months now, wanting it to be the most beautiful bouquet she’s ever received. It made him giddy, knowing he was finally going to get an answer as to if she felt the same.

He kept the flowers hidden in his locker for the day, waiting until the end of the day to finally tell his dream girl how he felt. His nerves almost got the best of him, but he told himself it was now or never. He had to make his move.

But he couldn’t find her. Anywhere. He had looked in every room she could possibly be in, he had looked out front, he had even asked a girl to check the bathroom for him to see if she was hiding out with some friends. But it was to no avail.

Finally, as a last ditch effort, he decided to check the fields, see if she was hanging around waiting for football practice to start. She was so social and knew at least one person in every sport, so she loved to show support any time she could. He loved how supportive she was of her friends and their interests, even if she didn’t care for it herself, she was always around to let her friends know she had their back. She was so kind.

He was about to give up, for real this time, maybe just bring the flowers to her house later in the day, when he saw movement under the bleachers, and without thinking anything of it he peeked under, feeling like his heart audibly shattered in his ears when his eyes landed on you locking lips with some asshole jock that could never treat you right.

He couldn’t believe it. He was too late. He had missed his chance with you, and now he was just a fool standing around with a bouquet of flowers for nobody.

He quickly turned and started walking away, knowing he needed to get home as quickly as possible. His heart was broken, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

When he finally arrived home after walking by himself, he looked for the only woman he knew would never break his heart, finding his mom in the kitchen starting to cook dinner. He walked up to her and handed her the flowers, smiling sadly up at her.

She grinned wide, not seeing how sad her son was in the moment, eyes locked on the beautiful arrangement of flowers in front of her. “Wow!” She exclaimed. “What’s this for, baby?”

Chris handed them off to her before wrapping his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. “You deserve it, mama.”

He has never and will never let his mom know how much that hug meant to him, and the tear that slipped out and landed on her shirt will always be his secret.

If having to love you in silence was suffering enough, loving you loudly and losing you was a million times worse.

Some moments he thought it might be easier to just run away from his life and start over, but nothing would rid him of the thought of you.

When he found himself at the flower shop, he couldn’t help but feel like the fifteen year old version of himself, pining over a girl he’d never get to call his own, desperately trying to win her over with a few words and a bouquet of flowers.

But he wasn’t going to let you slip so easily this time. This time he was willing to put up the fight.

Days had passed of Chris trying to contact you any way he could. Texts, calls, FaceTimes all ringing through your phone at almost every hour of the day, all going completely ignored by you, not having the energy to text him back, not wanting to open that wound just yet.

You knew you’d have to talk to him eventually, you couldn’t ignore him forever.

Matt had texted as well, trying to make sure you were okay, wanting to see if you needed anything, but you didn’t want to talk to him either. He had remained neutral through everything, but he was still too close to Chris for comfort right now.

You had spent the last few days cooped up in your apartment, either sleeping on your couch or your bed, not having the energy to do anything, barely even eating. You weren’t even hungry and couldn’t be bothered to make food that you wouldn’t even want to eat anyway, so you just rotted away with your thoughts, asking yourself over and over how you were so stupid to believe someone like Chris.

So many questions flowed through your head over those days. Why would he tell you he didn’t want to talk to her anymore? Why would he confess to you just to keep seeing other people? Why would he damn near tell you he loves you just to ruin everything?

Part of you hated Nick for ruining everything but another part of you was grateful to him for pulling the cover from your eyes, literally. If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be with Chris, sneaking around his brothers while the whole time he was sneaking around you.

You knew it was awful for you to do, but the first night when you got home, you found this Maya girl on instagram, scrolling through endless photos of a girl who you thought was so much prettier than you you almost couldn’t be mad at Chris for not being able to let her go. Of course he’d choose her, she was perfect. They still followed each other, too. Even after all of this, after you had found out, he still followed her. Maybe you were looking into this too deeply, but in your brokenhearted mind it all made sense.

Your phone rang again from where it was next to you on the couch, Chris’s name and a selfie you guys had taken together lighting up the screen. Every time you saw that picture your heart tightened in your chest. You both looked so happy, smiling wide like there was no place you’d rather be. You had no idea how things went so bad so quickly. Part of you wishes you could’ve lived in ignorance forever, never to find out the truth about Chris’s antics. You would’ve been so much happier.

“Stop tickling me, I want to take a picture!” You squeal at Chris, body curling away from him as his fingertips attacked your sides, something he couldn’t stop doing now that he knew you were ticklish, wanting to hear your loud giggles for the rest of his life.

“No pictures!” He opposes, but stops tickling you, pulling your body close to his where he stood.

You guys were out on what you guess you could call a date, exploring parts of the city you hadn’t seen before, popping into small gift shops occasionally, grabbing ice cream and little snacks you had come across throughout the day. You both had just left dinner and were just walking around now, you taking photos of whatever caught your eye, but now you wanted a photo of the two of you for your contact photo and just for the memory as well. You didn’t have many photos together yet, but you loved looking through the few that you had when you were alone, most of them either goofy photos of Chris or photos of him with the biggest smile in the world, lighting up your face every time you saw them.

“Please! Just one, I swear.” You beg him. He had his arms wrapped you from behind and his chin on your shoulder where he groaned loudly, which you giggled at, knowing he was about to agree.

“One,” he tells you and you squeal, bringing your phone up in front of you guys.

“Smile!” You tell him and he obliges, both of you smiling as wide as you can, him with his eyes clenched shut. You couldn’t help it, you snapped a few, continuing to take pictures when he turned his head into your neck and peppered kisses there before he turned back to the camera and flipped it off with a deadpan look on his face, making you laugh loudly as you put your phone away.

The memory fades from your mind as the call goes to voicemail, the fourth one today.

You couldn’t help but miss Chris, miss the way he made you feel. You didn’t understand how things turned bad so quickly when they were so good, good to the point where you thought for sure you had locked him down.

You groan to yourself, rubbing your eyes harshly, noticing the tears flowing intermittently from them. “Fuck,” you huff, annoyed at yourself.

You throw your lap blanket off of you and stand up from the couch, walking to your bathroom to wash your face, wanting to rid yourself of the days and days of tears, deciding it’s time to get over yourself and get back to life, not wanting to sit around and wallow over this boy who clearly didn’t care about you in the first place.

You’re just stepping into the bathroom when your doorbell rings, startling you. You whip your head around to the sound, heart racing. There was only one person that could be. He hadn’t tried coming to your home yet, only trying to contact you via phone, so you were unsure how you would get out of this. There was no way you could pretend you weren’t home, your car was right outside.

You wipe your face with your hands and walk to the door, standing directly in front of it. “Go away,” you say sternly, crossing your arms.

“Please let me in,” Chris pleads from the other side of the door.

“No,” you reply. “Go home.”

You hear Chris sigh loudly, then a small crinkle. “I’m already here, just let me explain, please. It’s not what you think.”

You debate it for a moment, wondering if you need the closure, but knowing you’re not ready yet. “Chris, leave. I don’t want to see you. Go bother your other fucking girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. That’s the first time you’ve even slightly referred to yourself as his girlfriend, and the circumstances of it almost made you laugh.

Chris is silent for a few beats, thinking of what to say next before he speaks again. “Let me in and let me explain and if by the end of it you never want to talk to me again I’ll respect that and leave you alone. I just can’t handle you thinking I would hurt you like that when I never would. Please.”

You consider it. If he’s serious and he would leave you alone, it might be worth it. Plus, you would get an explanation as to why he thought you’d never find out, why he thought you were the perfect person to hurt so badly.

You remain silent as you unlock the door, peeling it open slowly to reveal a disheveled Chris staring back at you. His hair was in his face, his face unshaven since you left, eyes red and puffy. Your eyes trail down to where he’s holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, wondering how on earth he knew what they were.

He holds them out to you and you just look back up at him, turning around and heading back in, going back to your couch and flopping down, waiting for him to reach you.

You hear the door shut and shoes being taken off before you see him again where he’s walking through your living room, placing the flowers down gently on the coffee table before he sits next to you, taking a deep breath.

“Is there anything you want to know specifically?” He asks you, to which you scoff out a laugh at, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, I’d love to know why you played the fuck out of me while the whole time you were fucking somebody else behind my back. I’d love to know how you even had the fucking time when I was sleeping over almost every night, and the days I wasn’t there, you were here.” You snap at him, voice quivering as you speak. You couldn’t help it, you were sad and confused and the confrontation only made it worse. “You made me look like a fucking idiot not only to myself but in front of your brothers, too, and that is so fucking mean, Chris. I should’ve known it wasn’t all an act, you really are a fucking dick to me. There’s no way you could’ve treated me like that for the last however many years and it not be real.”

Chris sucks in a breath at the insult, your words feeling like a dagger to his heart. “It’s not true,” he croaks out. “Nick was wrong, he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “You got caught, Chris, and now you’re trying to pick up the pieces. It’s over.”

Chris felt lightheaded, that sentence echoing loudly in his head. It’s over. It couldn’t be over, you guys still have so much more life to live together.

“No,” he starts, scooting closer. “No, no, you said you’d hear me out so hear me out. You’ve got this all wrong, Nick was wrong. I wasn’t seeing anybody but you, I wasn’t sleeping with anybody but you, you’re it for me, you’re my dream girl, please believe me.” Chris was full on pleading now, his own eyes welling with tears as he spoke. “I cannot lose you, you don’t understand how deep this runs for me. I’ll let you go through my phone, my texts, my instagram, fucking anything just to prove to you.”

You have to tear your eyes away from the begging boy beside you, afraid you’ll give in too easily if you stare him in the face. “Say whatever you want to say and then get out of my house.” You tell him, voice monotone.

Chris releases a shaky breath, knowing this is the only chance he’ll get. “Okay. I guess I’ll just tell you what I think you should know. I would never hurt you like that, I would never risk losing you for something so stupid like a date or sex. I’ve been thinking about you being mine for so long that even I wouldn’t be so dumb, I swear to you. The date Nick was talking about was a business meeting for my brand, he just assumed because he saw I was out to dinner and didn’t know where I was. I told you about that dinner, I literally left your place to go there. I already talked to him about it and he feels really bad for making you think that I was on a date. And the girl? Maya? I haven’t talked to her since before the wedding, she hasn’t even texted me, and I‘ll show you my phone, we haven’t talked. But I kept leaving and not coming back for hours or coming home with hickeys and they kept noticing so I had to tell them I was somewhere and I just said I was seeing her because you still wanted this to be between us.” Chris finally pauses and looks at you with a soft expression, hoping you would believe him. You didn’t speak though, staying still where you sat with your hands in your lap. “I could never live with myself if I lost you in such a stupid way.”

Your lip quivered and you dropped your eyes down to your hands, not wanting to cry again for the umpteenth time, especially in front of Chris, but the wave that hit you made it inevitable, a small, choked sob leaving your lips. “Why wouldn’t you say anything right then?” You ask him brokenly.

Chris scoots closer and places a hand on your thigh, other hand reaching for your cheek to pull your face up to his. “I was stunned in the moment, it all happened so fast. I didn’t even process anything until I had Nick damn near in a chokehold and Matt was trying to calm me down. He told me to give you space and that you needed time away so neither of us said something we don’t mean.”

You turn to face Chris, tears flowing freely from your eyes now as he spoke, emotions taking over. “I was so sad, Chris. I still am. I’ve been sitting here wallowing in my feelings for fucking days just thinking about how badly this hurt and how hard I fell for you.”

Chris’s thumb brushes over your cheek, listening to your words intently. “I know, baby, I know and I’m so sorry. I really am. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“Why would you even think of bringing her up? Why did she even come to your mind when they asked you where you were? You could’ve just said you were with a girl but the fact that you told them you were with her is like… a punch to the face.” You tell him sadly, wiping your tears frustratedly. “Is she still on your mind?”

Chris immediately shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “No, absolutely not. She’s just.. sorry, she’s the last person I slept with and they knew about her so it was the easiest thing so they didn’t ask questions. She’s definitely not on my mind.”

You think over his words, still feeling apprehensive about it all, but wanting nothing more than to believe him. “I just don’t understand why you let me leave under the impression that you were seeing somebody else, Chris. It just makes me think you took these days to think of a good enough lie before coming here.”

Chris sighs, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I told you, I just panicked. I swear on everything, I swear on my brothers, baby, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You finally allow yourself to take in Chris’s disheveled appearance, realizing he looked just as bad as you did. He looked miserable.

“It’s gonna take a lot for me to fully trust you again but… I want to believe you so bad. So I do.” You tell him quietly. You’ve never seen such relief on Chris’s face before this moment, the way his eyes lit up and the corners of his lips curled, a breath of relief falling from his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, reaching both hands out towards you in the hopes you’d close the gap between you both. “I’ll earn your trust back, I promise.”

You sniffle and nod, scooting closer so that you could swing your legs over his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. The room is quiet for a few moments, Chris gently rubbing your thigh with one hand while he held you close with the other, before you clear your throat gently. “How’d you know my favorite flowers?” You ask timidly.

Chris looks down at you, sucking in a deep breath. He knew this was the moment where he told you how he really felt and how deep it actually ran.

“You and Matt had a conversation a couple years ago and you guys were talking about flowers and you said these were your favorite, so I remembered in the hopes of getting to buy you them some day,” Chris starts out. “I don’t know if you remember when we went on that date and you yelled at me saying I didn’t know anything about you?”

You nod against his shoulder, prompting him to continue.

“I always made plans on your birthday because I thought you wouldn’t want me around. I always made sure I was busy, just so I didn’t have to deal with the disappointment of not being invited somewhere. I’ve always known when it is.” He sighs nervously, swallowing before continuing. “There’s a canvas in my room and it’s just all different shades of the same color; I’ve had it for about a year. I painted it after you posted this one photo to your instagram, the one where you have no makeup on and you’re facing the sun. I thought your eyes looked so pretty in that picture and I couldn’t tell you, so I painted them instead. Baby, I have been painfully in love with you for years and I’m not about to lose you over some stupid shit my brother said.”

You were blown away by his words, not even being able to comprehend someone being so head over heels for you that they’d do these things for you and suffer in silence, all because he thought your feelings towards him were nothing but negative. How would you possibly be able to stay away from him ever again, knowing what you know now?

You didn’t think you wanted to.

Chris slid you off his lap and sat you facing forward on the couch, moving to get on his knees in front of you, hands grabbing your own and holding them close to his chest. “I love you,” he tells you, not a shadow of a doubt in his voice. “I want to do this. For real.”

You stared down at the man in front of you, broken at the thought of losing you, but fulfilled at the thought of calling you his. It seemed like a no brainer.

“I guess I could suffer through being your girlfriend a little bit longer,” you tease, a smile lighting up your face.

Chris grinned with you, pushing himself up until your faces were aligned, lips molding together like you were made for each other.

Turns out your love wasn’t all smoke and mirrors.

a/n: (‘:

my babies are finally together

i’m so happy this is over!

thanks so much for all the love <3

feel free to send requests based on these characters or requests for new fics I love u guys so much always

- avery

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #matt x reader #matt x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris x you #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris x reader #chris smut #christopher sturniolo #smoke and mirrors

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that-student-that-has-homework · 9 months ago

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Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01

Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal. Thank you so much for blessing us with him

Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList

Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife

To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award

They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.

Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.

I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father

I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids

Thing is, that’s both your faults.

Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?

(Your husband is hot okay?)

In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.

I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.

His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.

He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.

He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible

Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.

While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.

For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.

But they had to build it themselves.

It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.

Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.

It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)

Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help

(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)

Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.

They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once

Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night

He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills

You had to help out here, no lie.

He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again

He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes

especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies

He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.

Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.

You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.

He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles

Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)

"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"

"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"

"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"

If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are

Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.

At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.

His arm is on your waist most of the time.

They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.

He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.

You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!

So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.

It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.

Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.

Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.

He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle

Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.

When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.

Oh no, hugs galore.

Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though

When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp

Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.

I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection

Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)

It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter

His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.

"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"

"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"

Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA

The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result

Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something

Ace is his kids’ hero.

His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.

His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating

You're relieved

Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving

Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better

When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”

Ace loves you so much he swears

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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ohmygraves · 10 months ago

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the first time you and ghost became roommates, he didn't have a lot of things.

he had his essentials, packed in a duffel bag and like, two moving boxes and that's it. he didn't even have his own furniture or pots and pans, so the two of you didn't cook for the first few weeks living together. he seems perfectly content with just living with the furniture that came with the apartment, an old beat up sofa and dirty stained dining table, together with a few chairs and old mattresses in each bedroom. you made it a goal to get rid of the smelly bed as soon as possible, working your arse off to afford new beds for the sake of your back.

ghost, or well, simon, don't feel the need to own too many things. he thinks it's a nuisance, since well it'll be tiring to pack so many things when he needs to move again for some reason or another. even when he stayed in the barracks, his room was always the most bare out of everyone.

you were the opposite, of course. you liked having lots of personal items and memorabilia, or just trinkets that you like in general. your shared flat is full of your items, posters hung up on the wall, framed pictures, potted plants, consoles and books, whatever you have. it felt like the place was only occupied by you, and with how often simon was away on deployments and missions, it might as well be.

you both split duties when he's around. you cook, he does dishes. you take out the trash, he cleans the bathroom. you tidy things up and he'd mop/vacuum it. he insisted that you cook since he's not much of a cook himself (which, explains why he doesn't have a single kitchen utensils in his stuff) and that you're better at cooking than him. he'd gladly deal with all the dirty jobs for you, wouldn't be the worst thing he did anyway.

you and simon get groceries separately (his "groceries" consisting of some type of booze and maybe toiletries, perhaps some snacks if he's feeling fancy), but very rarely you go together with him to tesco or something. you always have to remind him to note whatever things needed to be replaced at your shared flat, so that you don't have to go multiple times just to get a bottle of dish soap or toilet paper.

you two bicker like an old married couple sometimes, because he's a smart ass and would tease you, and you'd get mad at him for eating your things or using your soap/shampoo.

sometimes you wondered if rooming with simon was a bad idea, but he had always made sure to keep your job easy for you except for a few minor inconveniences he did on purpose just so you'd scold him. he helped move furniture and do the heavy jobs for you, and not to mention he leaves you alone, never nosy or get too friendly with you. although at the same time, he expected you to do the same for him.

if he tells you when he's coming back after missions, you'd get him a treat when he gets home, some beer already chilling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks on the counter, together with his favorite takeout dinner (of course, you'd ask for the money back. you're not made of money if you're rooming with someone). some snarky note like "shower first before you sleep, stinky" or "it's 30 pounds for everything, you're welcome".

simon didn't think much of it, but he definitely took you for granted. you're a nice roommate, you two get along, and you're a great cook. you made sure to feed him whenever possible (because you're convinced he'd actually forget to eat when he's alone, considering his groceries as mentioned before), and not to mention you made his masks and balaclava smell nice and clean when you do laundry.

you'd patiently help him sew, teach him how to mend his clothes when he has the time (which is still a funny sight seeing how small the needles looked between his thick massive fingers). he always gets frustrated, telling you that you did a much better job than his lousy stitches that wouldn't even hold up after one wear. you'd sew all tears and holes on his masks and clothes, patch the holes up when you could.

in return, he'd bring some of your favorite snacks home. he always said something along the lines that it was on sale, or that it's buy one get one free, but you noted that he always brought home your favorite things after you mended his clothes, or helped him in some way. you didn't mind, you liked the snacks and it's nice that he shows his gratitude in this way.

you try to ignore the thumping of your heart every time he hands you things while saying "reckon you'd like this."

#he's so simple #its so cute #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanon #simon ghost riley #cod headcanon #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #roommate au

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logansdoll · 4 months ago

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Heyyy it would be awesome if you wrote a third part for “37” where Charles gives Logan’s memories back and we go through flashbacks of some of his best memories, his wedding, the day his kids were born…something like that, it would be very heartwarming 🥰🥰🥰 or even maybe coming back from the past and seeing his kids again

sunflower

part three of "37"

CW: fluffy fluff, all the feels, suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Days Future Past, very bittersweet, your daughter's a lil menace, your son's a lil cutie pie, angst if you squint, i never know how to end these things, etc.

"Logan, the mind is a fickle thing," Charles sighed, resting his hands on his desk with a solemn look. "I can't possibly guarantee that this will work, much less in one session—" "I don't care how long it takes."

Logan's face drew tight with the statement, his patience visibly wearing thin.

He'd been listening to the same bullshit for twenty minutes...

"I don't care if I need a hundred different fuckin' sessions. I'm gettin' these memories back," he spelled out, leaning forward in his seat and roughly tapping his finger on the desk. "It doesn't make any damn sense. This body's been in this timeline for fifty-fuckin'-years and it doesn't remember shit."

"Because it is your consciousness that is the problem, Logan," Charles groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is what I've been trying to tell you."

Logan piped down for a moment, brows knitting together as he leaned back in his seat, taking an annoyed drag of his cigar.

"Your psyche is from a completely different timeline, and now resides in a completely different body. It's like asking to recall the memories of a random person walking down the street," the professor explained, again.

Sadly, he hung his head, greatly sorry for the misfortune of his friend.

"I wish there was something I could do, Logan. Truly. But I'm afraid it just can't be done."

But Logan didn't buy it.

Huffing a small plume of smoke out his nose, he glanced out the window, catching sight of you teaching a class on the lawn.

Using your powers, you grew a large sunflower out from the ground, the younger kids marveling at the sight as you began pointing out its anatomy, most of them enamored by the huge petals—which were bigger than their little six year-old frames.

And in a small pause in time, your eyes flitted up to meet his through the window, that heart-stopping smile finding its way onto your lips as you gave him a tiny wave.

It warmed him, experiencing your light for the first time in years without the threat of annihilation on the horizon.

Domesticity like this is something he'd craved all his life, and now that he had it in his grasp, he wasn't going to settle for anything less.

A stilling chill descended on his chest at the thought of your smile, and the countless others he'd missed.

Your tears of joy when he proposed.

Your frazzled excitement with the wedding planning.

Your radiance as you walked down the aisle.

He missed it all.

And he'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to try and get it back.

"Charles..." Logan started, stamping out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. "My whole life is standin' out there under that tree... and I can't remember a goddamn thing about her after 1973."

His tone turned cold, eyes sharp as he stared the professor down.

"I don't care if you have to rip my head in half... I'm gettin' those memories back."

The old man let out a sigh, accepting that going on like this would bring no other outcome.

He'd have to give the man what he wanted... consequences be damned.

'Let's hope he survives...'

"This will be violent," Charles stated off-rip, wheeling himself out from behind his desk. "I am essentially hammering your mind like a dam, making cracks in its defenses until it eventually gives way."

Logan nodded, watching as the man settled in front of him, raising his two fingers to his temple.

"Now... try not to move."

Logan shut his eyes, and in an instant, it felt as if his head was struck by a speeding train.

He let out a growl of pain as images began to flash behind his eyes, the next one always coming quicker than the last.

"Hon, which color do you think would go best with my complexion? Eggshell or Porcelain?" you asked, eagerly holding up two different swatches against your skin.

"You look beautiful in anything, baby," he stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Either one is fine."

"As sweet as that is... it doesn't help," you huffed, playfully attempting to scold him.

"Fine then. Eggshell," he answered, quickly.

You raised a brow, an amused smile playing at your lips as you leaned in closer, "Are you just saying that to get me to shut up?"

He let out a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours, "Never."

Yes...

"Can't wait 'til this damn reception is over," he growled in your ear, lips dragging down your neck as you both hid in a nearby hallway. "First time I've been alone with you since I do."

"Logan..." you gasped, tucking your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle yourself as he tightly grasped your hips. "Someone'll hear..."

"Then I guess you better keep quiet," he smirked against your skin, giving your collarbone a soft nip.

It's all coming back...

"Logan..." you started, nervously, hands held firmly behind your back. "I have something to tell you... and I'm open to talk about it if you're upset..."

His brows furrowed as he turned away from his dresser, looking toward you with an air of concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his protective instinct spiking at the sight of your fearful expression. "What happened?"

Unable to say it, you slowly held up your hand, revealing a positive pregnancy test.

His eyes widened like saucers, throat drying at the tiny piece of plastic.

"You're... pregnant?"

You nodded, silently, his reaction not soothing your anxiety one bit.

But, as if on cue, he moved toward you, striding across the room and pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm gonna be a father..." he muttered into your hair, the phrase not one he thought he'd ever hear. "I'm gonna be a father..."

Wait...

"Logan!" you cried, tears welling in your eyes as you glanced up at him, scared. "I can't...mmmph fuck!... I can't do it! Hurts too much!"

"C'mon, baby, keep pushin'. You're doin' so good," he cooed, swiping stray strands of hair out your face as the nurse on the other side of the bed helped cheer you on. "Just a little bit more. You're right there."

With a grunt, you squeezed his hand tight, letting out a growl of pain as you gave another push.

Pop!

Logan's eyes shot wide, the man nearly biting through his tongue as he glanced down at his hand.

You dislocated his finger.

Though it seemed to be worth it as that final push was what did it.

"It's a girl!" the doctor smiled, carefully holding up the newborn.

Looking upon her small, chubbed face, Logan felt a sense of protectiveness sink into his chest—one that he only felt when things came to you.

In that moment, and every moment after that, he knew he would lay his life down for her, no question.

And she wasn't even a minute old yet.

I have—

"James! Get back here!" a little girl squealed with laughter, bursting into the office after a little boy, who looked terrified.

Logan snapped out his head with a gasp, shooting up from his seat and unsheathing his claws out of muscle memory.

'James...'

Quickly, Logan retracted his claws as the boy ducked behind his leg, gripping tightly onto his jeans as the girl stormed over.

She looked just like you, save for a few small details, and had a small snaggle-tooth poking out on her right side, only adding to her adorableness.

Not to mention the bone claws she had protruding from her knuckles.

"No fair! You can't hide behind Dad every time you're scared!" she furrowed her brows, upset.

"Mommy told you about your claws, Laura..." James mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he shyly peeked out from behind his human shield.

'Laura...'

The boy was Logan's mirror image, looking almost exactly like he did at that age..

Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree...

Charles could sense the pieces clicking in Logan's mind, and figured lending a hand would be best after what he'd been through.

"Logan, these are your—" "Laura Marie Howlett!" your voice cut in, the little girl flinching at the sound.

Quickly, she retracted her claws, whipping around with a guilty smile, which was met by your less-than-approving glare.

"What have I told you about chasing your brother inside? And what have I told you about using your claws to do it?" you scolded, walking into the office. "You two are interrupting your father and Professor Xavier."

Logan let out a soft sigh, taking the moment to finally look over his family.

Like a slow moving stream, things were coming back to him, the feeling like a fog clearing from the recesses of his mind.

Every birthday.

Every boo-boo.

Every first.

Slowly but surely, they were all returning.

Without warning, Logan dropped to his knees, pulling the two kids into a tight hug, fiercely fighting off the emotion swelling in his chest.

"Daddy?" James squeaked, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Laura asked, confused.

He nodded, silently, the sight making your heart both burst and ache.

After all this time, your husband was truly whole.

Fifty years of suffering and agony had finally come to an end.

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate @nickf1 @pinkisokay @mercurysjoy

#james howlett #james howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #x men x reader #wolverine

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago

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Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

#steddie #my fic #wayne pov #wayne munson #eddie munson #honestly this didnt go the way i thought it would #so there will be a third and final part. Wayne's gonna make it right because he's a good uncle. A good dad.#SPOILER: steve doesnt even show up in this part so im not tagging him

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byuntrash101 · 1 year ago

Text

sharing is caring?

hongjoong x f!reader x mingi smut | mdni 5.2k of course hongjoong cares about his friends but when mingi gets too close to his girl it’s time to remind him sharing is not always caring. nsfw tags under the cut

dom possessive bf!joong, sub simp!mingi, exhibitionism, voyeurism, joong has a point to prove, fingering (f), oral (f), squirting, multiple orgasms (f), a dash of spit kink, unprotected sex (don't), nipple play, praising (f), hair pulling (m), slight degradation (mingi is called desperate and a dog), masturbation (m), dry humping, some mxm but not really (just trust me), leg humping, slight edging, cumming untouched, cum play, cum eating

a/n: idk what happened. i was horny okay? (what's new ?lol) and im not even sorry for the absolute filth that follows.

ateez masterlist | navigation

Hongjoong, Mingi and yourself have been in the studio for hours now, it was well past into the night but neither of you were complaining. You were way too focussed on producing this song to even feel the effect of fatigue tensing the muscles of your neck and laying heavy on your eyes.

You were all too focussed. Well, you were definitely the one that was the most focused right now. Because as you bent over the mixing board to point out on the screen the section that seemed to require more work, you accidentally found yourself crowding Mingi’s personal space. Of course, you made nothing of it. Mingi was your friend, you’ve been physically close to him dozens of times, it didn’t mean anything in particular. But Mingi has had different feelings about you for a while. Maybe even ever since you started dating Hongjoong and right now the only thing he could see was that the loose fitted tank top you were wearing hung slightly around your chest which resulted in your breasts being on display, in close proximity and right at his eye level.

Subconsciously his eyes were attracted to the exposed skin and he had to bite his bottom lip to repress a small gasp of surprise. He innocently pulled back on the beanie that was falling low on his forehead and his eyes just to be able to look a little better. He didn’t even need to turn his head, only look slightly to the side and he could see everything: the black lace bra you were wearing, the crease between your breasts. He could smell your delicate perfume. Hell, you were so close he could even feel your body warmth radiating on his face. Or maybe the warmth he felt was actually from his own boiling blood rushing to his face… and to his groin.

Hongjoong that was slightly leaning on his office chair saw the whole scene unfold as he peered at the both of you through his large silver framed glasses. Inexplicable anger started to seep into his blood when he saw his friend eyeing you in that way. Hongjoong knew you were beautiful, there was no possible way not to look at you. But he still didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Don’t you think so?” you added when neither of the men you were directly addressing responded.

Mingi only shifted uncomfortably when you stood back straight, oddly averting your eyes and Hongjoong only nodded absentmindedly. You figured they were just too tired to continue and as you were opening your mouth to suggest you should go to sleep and continue later, Hongjoong spoke up.

“Why don’t you go in the recording booth to sample some of the voice lines and we can all decide which one sounds better?” He suggested and you lit up.

“Great idea” you said, grabbing the music sheets and disappearing behind the door of the soundproof recording booth to reappear through the small window. You slipped on the headset, adjusted the mic stand and spread out the music sheets while Mingi and Hongjoong looked at you silently. You gave two thumbs up when you were ready.

“Okay great” Your boyfriend’s voice resonated in the headset. “Let’s start with the first one” you nodded and soon after heard the music cue.

Both of the men in the small space right next door were strangely quiet. Mingi couldn’t stop shifting on his chair as he tried to find a position that would conceal his hard on. Trying to concentrate on your voice coming through the speakers and not the way you smelled or the slutty lingerie your were wearing under such unsuspecting clothes or your beautiful and perfect fucking tits shoved right into his face, both his hands laying over them and palming them as he buried his face between. Fuck he was getting harder.

“What do you think?” Hongjoong asked him as you were still singing through the speakers.

Right there Mingi realized he hadn’t been paying any attention to what was going on around him. His mind was poisoned by the images he was so vividly picturing: you slipping off the flimsy tank top and taking his hands to lay over the bra, asking him to play with your tits, begging him to take off the lace that was keeping you from feeling his hands on your nude skin. Or you spread out onto the mixing table with Mingi’s face buried between your thighs, getting to finally taste you and hear you as he made you feel good, feeling your pussy throb under his tongue smearing your wetness all over his face. That was what Mingi was paying attention to, not the song. Definitely not the song.

But he needed to find something to say before he looked suspicious so he went another route. A route that wasn’t directly about the song but still close enough to pass.

“I think she’s a good addition to the team. Look at how far we’ve come with this song already? Of course we still have to run it by Eden but I mean it’s pretty much done.”

“No” Hongjoong started, already his tone was a lot less neutral, tipping towards the cold end of the spectrum. And Mingi bit his lip thinking his friend was going to ask him to be more specific about the voice samples he wasn’t listening to but how wrong he was...

“I mean physically what do you think?” Hongjoong’s tone was now as glacial as could be as he did his best to dissimulate the burning rage that was hiding behind the biting cold tone.

The words didn’t make any sense in Mingi’s mind. So he turned to his friend trying to find on his face a hint that could help him make the sentence he just heard make sense. But he only found Hongjoong looking right at him, dead serious, an unfamiliar darkness about his aura.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded and utterly confused.

“You wanna fuck my girlfriend?"

This time around Mingi heard correctly, that he was sure of. But he was still just as confused about the whole ordeal. “What the fuck are you on ab-”

“I saw you practically drooling all over her tits earlier” Hongjoong interrupted him, piercing eyes peering at his friend over his rectangular glasses. Now Mingi was shifting in his seat again.

Fuck… he saw that.

Mingi started to stammer to whip up a reasonable excuse but his pressured mind couldn’t come up with anything worthwhile. Of course! Because there was no reasonable excuse. Truth was he gave in to his primal instinct and couldn’t look away.

But very fortunately for him that’s when you emerged from the recording booth.

“So what are we thinking? Clearly my delivery wasn’t the best for the second option but cut me some slack and just imagine Jongho, okay?” you said, your exhaustion seeping through your words in the form of exasperation, completely oblivious of the heavy air that was stretching between the two friends.

Mingi jumped on the occasion to escape the humid tension that was raising the hairs on his nape.

“I need to make a call” he abruptly said as he stood up and hurriedly left the studio. You sighed slowly coming to term with the idea that sadly, you won’t be able to finish the song tonight.

“What’s his deal?”

***

Mingi didn’t need long. He just needed a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts, that's all. He thought as he rushed to the bathroom and locked the door right behind him, even though you three were the only ones left here.

“What the fuck were you thinking” he whispered to his reflexion pointing an accusing finger at the mirror above the sink. "Of course he noticed!" He slipped his white beanie off and settled it on the edge of the sink. He splashed his face a couple times with water in an attempt to clear his mind. But even the cold water wasn't enough to soothe the aching hard on that was currently pressing tight onto the cold ceramic of the bathroom sink.

Mingi looked at himself for a second, pondering.

"Fuck it!" He concluded before shoving his hand down his loose-fitting sweats and pulling his rock hard cock out.

"I just need to cum real quick" he said to himself in an almost apologetic tone. Almost bargaining with himself.

He spat in his open palm and dragged the warm liquid to his cockhead with a lowly sigh of relief that made his Adam's apple vibrate in his throat.

"God- fuck-" he breathed out. Mingi didn't even need to focus on anything in particular to get himself there. He just closed his eyes and images of you came running forth.

He saw himself ripping your tank top and bra off in one movement freeing your beautiful tits and groping them right in front of his friend. He saw you sinking to your knees pulling his sweatpants down and taking him into your mouth. Your lips perfectly stretching around his large cock.

He spat in his hand again picturing the wetness and tightness of your throat instead of his balled fist. Loud and lewd noises erupted from the act, squelching wet sounds coupled with heavy sighs and strangled moans he struggled to keep behind his teeth.

"F-fuckkk" he whined a little more high pitched than anticipated. He picked up the pace, pressing his thumb on his tip to squeeze the precum out as he felt himself twitch.

If Hongjoong only knew how right he was. Mingi did want to fuck his girlfriend. He wanted to fuck you so bad. How he would have loved to stuff you full of his cock right then and there. Bending you over the armchair and snaking his big hand into your hair making you look up at your boyfriend while he just watched helplessly as Mingi claimed you, pounding into you mercilessly, splitting you open on his cock, your pretty face contorted into blissful agony because of him. For him. Only him.

He let your name roll off his hot tongue a hundred times in muffled and secret pants and moans until the pleasure was unbearable, uncontainable and spilled over the edge of Mingi’s sinful mind. And he was spraying his warm cum all over his fist and the bathroom sink in a last broken complaint of your name, his other hand tightly gripping the edge of the sink as if his large and ample thighs were going to give out.

He looked at his mess in the sink and took a couple of deep breaths. That should be enough to get his mind out of the gutter… Right?

***

“What’s his deal?” you said nodding to the door. Your boyfriend only shrugged nonchalantly while you settled the music sheets on the mixing board, shoulders flat and defeated.

“You look tired baby” Hongjoong added with a warm smile ignoring your question about Mingi. He didn't want to talk about him right now. “Cm’here” he said patting his lap invitingly. You accepted the offer and settled yourself comfortably in Hongjoong’s lap, letting your back rest against his chest. He took advantage of the position to sneak in kisses to the base of your nape and nuzzling his nose in your neck. And before you knew it his hands had snaked around your waist and lightly stroked your inner thighs. The light touches lifted goosebumps on your bare skin, thanks to the skirt you chose to wear today.

Soon enough you had completely fallen into your boyfriend’s embrace. You were so relaxed now that you forgot about everything else and you didn’t even realize how his legs came over yours to spread them nice and wide. But you did feel when his sneaky hands slipped under your skirt and stroked the thin fabric of your black lace underwear. You jolted but Hongjoong’s legs around yours kept you in position.

“Joongie” you started to whine when he applied more pressure to your sensitive area.

“Shhh” he soothed you with more kisses. “Let me help you unwind” he said softly in your ear.

“But what if Mingi comes back?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer that, only smirking against your nape and sliding your underwear to the side. That’s enough of an answer for you, and even more so when Hongjoong dipped his finger to your entrance while his other hand sneaked under your loose tank top and under your bra to cup your breast. You could only let a moan slither through your teeth when Hongjoong gathered your wetness in slow circles over your opening to drag it back to your clit.

“I barely even touched you and you’re already this wet?” Hongjoong noticed as you complained with another little whine. “My naughty girl~”he sang. “I bet that’s exactly what you were waiting for, huh? My hands all over your pretty little pussy.”

He started to draw circles on the erect nub inevitably making your little cunt create a big mess under your skirt. As he picked up the pace he started to pull a little harder at your nipple making you moan just a little louder than you anticipated, making you clap your hand over your traitorous mouth.

“Be careful baby. We want to be able to hear when Mingi comes back” you felt heat rush to your neck at the idea of getting caught in this position. That’s when Hongjoong pushed his index and middle finger past your entrance. You moaned again against your fingers, eyebrows digging a crease in your forehead as you tried to remain as silent as possible. Maybe you could muffle your voice but the same thing couldn’t be said about the squelching noises your boyfriend was dragging out of your sopping wet cunt. Long strings of arousal linking his fingers and your heat every time he pulled out to play with your painfully sensitive clit.

Your high was nearing and as the pleasure rose you slowly forgot about your whereabouts so when you heard footsteps coming your way from the hall you stiffened in your boyfriend’s lap. Instinctively trying to close your legs. But Hongjoong’s strong thighs kept you exactly like you were.

“J-Joongie…hmph…M-Min-gi” you struggled to say as Hongjoong kept on teasing your clit and nipple.

Your eyes darted over to the door when you heard the recognizable clatter of the handle, your heartbeat started to raise and you struggled to close your legs.

“Stay put baby.” Hongjoong breathed against the shell of your ear. Which made you stop. “I want you stay exactly like this”

You can’t describe the overwhelming shame that took over you when you saw the door being pushed open and you were met with Mingi.

It only took mere milliseconds for Mingi’s eyes to dart from your flushed face and half lidded eyes to the suspicious movements under your skirt and to Hongjoong’s smug little smile.

Mingi’s cheeks instantly became scarlet red as he turned his head around to look away. But even if he couldn't see anymore he could still hear the sound of your cunt being stretched open by Hongjoong’s fingers as well as your soft muffled moans. And even though he just jacked off in the bathroom he still felt his pants becoming tighter once again.

“You can look” Hongjoong started. “I’ll allow it. So you can see she only belongs to me”

Mingi barely wrapped his mind around the words but nonetheless he slowly looked in your direction again. Instantly he felt blood rush to his lower half again, reaching full hardness in a matter of seconds but how could he not? When you sounded and looked so divine and adorable at the same time. Even behind your hands clamped over half your face, muffling your sounds and wet eyes looking back at him occasionally fluttering close and open when he guessed Hongjoong was expertly teasing you. How could he not when he saw your skirt being lifted up and being let down at such a rapid pace accompanied with those wet and lewd sounds that were erupting from between your legs. The sinful acts only concealed by the damn piece of fabric.

It took Mingi everything he had to not just whip his cock out right then and there and stroke himself again. Instead his stupidly hard cock laid uselessly in his pants leaking precum in his underwear.

“I bet you want to see what’s going on under there, huh?” Hongjoong taunted, as Mingi stared obtusely between your thighs, with his mouth agape and his cock poking through his sweatpants.

Mingi already came this far and maybe lust was clouding his judgment and desire was getting the best of him but he nodded slowly peeling his eyes off the cursed skirt to look at his friend’s devious little smirk playing on his lips.

“I’ll let you if you get on your knees and-”

In a split second Mingi found himself kneeling in front of the both of you, interrupting Hongjoong.

“You’re really that much of a simp for my girlfriend? Have some dignity, bro” Your boyfriend spat. But Mingi barely registered the insult he was entranced by the way your skirt was lifting and falling. He'll have time to mourn his lost dignity tomorrow. Tonight he did not intend on letting his chance slip away.

“Come closer” Hongjoong commanded and Mingi crawled to you until his face was way too close for comfort. At this close distance Mingi heard the sounds of your wet cunt being abused as clear as day as loud as bells. He even wished he could record them to play them forever but if he wants to relive this moment he will only be able to count on his memory, maybe that was why he was so attentive. He wanted to remember every detail. He took a deep breath inhaling your scent that was now floating to his nose. You smelled divine, the right amount of sweet and sinful. The perfect cocktail. Strong but oh so feminine. A fragrance that went straight to his head to burn his last two functioning brain cells.

“Now promise after tonight you won’t ever look at my girl ever again” Mingi didn’t need to hear it twice. He immediately followed with the request.

“I promise I won’t look at y/n ever again” Mingi hurriedly said, almost choking on his saliva. Truth be told, in this instant he would have agreed to virtually anything, he would have eaten the off white beanie right then and there if he was asked to. He’ll think about the consequences tomorrow.

“Okay baby, lift up your skirt” Hongjoong said his tone changing radically, as stern as he was when addressing Mingi he was now soft and gentle with you.

“But Joongie” you whined right before a moan beat to the punch another complaint as your boyfriend slipped his fingers out of your heat to circle your clit once more.

“Come on baby, be a good girl and do as you’re told” he said before shoving his fingers back in earning another muffled moan. “Show your pretty little pussy to our guest.”

Slowly but surely your hands left your face to wrap your fingers around the hem of your skirt at both your sides. Mingi couldn't believe his eyes as he looked up at your flushed face looking right back into his eyes as you carefully lifted up your skirt. His eyes darted straight down to your core. His hard cock immediately jumped inside his sweatpants, his eyes grew twice as big and his mouth started to water. There was nothing that was more beautiful in the world he thought as he slipped the beanie off his head, setting it carelessly on the ground beside him.

The way your perfect little cunt accepted Hongjoong’s fingers, clamping around them every time he pulled them out to circle your clit a couple of times before pushing them back in again, your little cunt emjoying the attention and twitching under Mingi’s scrutinizing gaze.

You felt the thrill of being watched as you looked at Mingi, eyeing you like a famished man. His hair disheveled and his cheeks pink. It made your core tingle with a brand new source of arousal and you wiggled your toes in lustful shame.

“Fuck” Mingi said under his breath making you moan a little louder as you watched him being entranced by you.

The thrill rocketed you to your high and you started to squirm and clench around Hongjoong’s fingers. He knew exactly what it meant.

“P-please Joongie. Can I-” you panted as your fists tensed up around the hem of the skirt but never letting your hold falter making sure Mingi saw every part of you. Normally Hongjoong liked to tease you but this time he wanted to reward you for being such a good and obedient girl. And moreover he wanted to give his friend a good show of how only he could make you feel this good.

“Look carefully” he whispered, addressing his friend kneeling between your legs, eyes perfectly leveled with your pussy. “Cum baby” he said, his hot lips pressed to your ear. And you immediately let go. Letting your walls grip Hongjoong’s fingers urging them to reach further as you twitched uncontrollably, your cum flowing out of you in quick spurts. Soaking the carpeted floor. Mingi’s jaw dropped to the ground as he watched the precious nectar being wasted on the carpet. His throat suddenly feeling as dry and the saharan desert, licking his chapped lips instinctively at the fleeting and forbidden thought of connecting his lips to your core to have a taste of you.

Hongjoong accompanied you gently as you rode off your high, your back arched into his chest. Hongjoong pulled his fingers until only his first knuckle was still inside and spread his fingers apart, stretching you open beautifully for Mingi to look at how your walls fluttered around nothing, your orgasm prolonging as your chest rose and fell rapidly, your moans slowly dying off.

“Look at how pretty she is just for me” Hongjoong added, spreading his fingers even wider, as you whined again but still holding the hem of the skirt up with purpose. This way Mingi could even see your cervix pulsing, he could almost hear it demanding cum. Demanding to be fucked full of cum and knocked up right then and there, holding Mingi as witness.

“Fuck” was the only thing Mingi could enunciate truth be told his brain was completely fried and he didn't have the wits to come up with anything more clever.

You couldn’t help but squirm again as Mingi leaned in to have a better view at your most private parts, his nose was now only a couple of inches away from your cunt and he couldn't help but to take a big whiff of you. Your essence absolutely bewitched him… he just couldn't help but to wonder how you tasted.

“You did so good baby” Hongjoong soothed immediately as he slipped his fingers out bringing them to his mouth. Mingi followed his friend's tongue wrap around his digits and lap up the precious liquid coating them as he instinctively swiped his tongue on his bottom lip, his hard and leaking cock slowly forming a pool of precum in his sweatpants.

“How do you think she tastes?” Hongjoong taunted his friend again.

“Fucking delicious” Mingi sighed his dick twiching at the thought of your wetness coating his tongue.

“Trust me whatever you're imagining. It’s better. ” Hongjoong said, holding his saliva and cum coated fingers to your lips which you welcome into your mouth. “How do you taste baby?” he asked, smirking at his friends looking with the most desperate of eyes at how you licked off his fingers clean.

“So good Joongie” you replied before he popped his fingers out of your mouth with a lewd sound.

Mingi watched as he swallowed thickly just as you did so, echoing the sound with his own mouth as if this way he would get a taste.

“Baby you’re so hot I got so fucking hard for you” Hongjoong whispered in your neck and pressed a couple of wet kisses to the shell of your ear and jerked his hips into you poking his cock on your ass.

You didn’t need anything more to busy your hand and freeing Hongjoong’s cock from the uncomfortable restrains.

“Sit on my cock baby” he urged, with all of that teasing he also got pretty worked up.

When your boyfriend’s cock rubbed on your folds you jolted your hips in anticipation. Before aligning him with you and slowly sinking your hips on his. Mingi held his breath at how your pussy perfectly fitted around him, perfectly expanded to have him whole inside you until you bottomed out with a whiny and breathy moan.

“Good girl” he said, wrapping both his hands under your thighs and thrusting up into you. The first couple of strokes were slow, mainly to warm you up to him but also to let Mingi have a good look at his cock splitting you open.

“Joongie~~” you cried as you let Hongjoong take control. “Fuck it feels so good” you let your head rolls back onto his shoulder

“Yeah? You like that?” he said as he sped up.

“Fuck yeah I love it. I love your cock” you declared.

Mingi couldn't believe his eyes or his ears as a matter of fact. To hear you say such sinful things, hearing you make these unholy noises. Getting to see your cunt clench around his friend's dick. There was not a trace of doubt in Mingi’s mind. You were made just for his cock. Perfectly molded just for him.

“Who’s cock do you love baby?” Hongjoong asked through gritted teeth, maintaining the deadly pace between pants and groans.

“Yours!! Your cock!! Kim Hongjoong’s cock!!!!” you replied hurriedly, almost instinctively. Your mind is only filled with thoughts of your boyfriend.

“Hear that?” Hongjoong asked, almost laughing as if his friend's misery entertained him. Mingi didn’t even need to look at him; he could hear the shit eating grin from a mile away. He was annoyed at that but he was even more annoyed at the way he couldn’t look away, he couldn’t help himself.

“Fuckkk” Mingi moaned when your shin accidentally brushed over his clothed crotch. He felt pityfull for it but he couldn't help it. He wrapped both his hands around your calf and started to hump your leg. The last strand of sanity out the window as he mindlessly humped your leg like a dog.

“You’re that desperate huh? That’s fucking laughable. you're really like a dog” Hongjoong laughed again. “Pathetic.” But Mingi didn’t even hear. He was too focussed on looking at your cunt swallowing Hongjoong’s dick and spit it back out covered in your glistening juices, said juices pooling on Hongjoong’s pants and staining them.

Fucked you looked so fucking delicious, and your leg felt so good on his miserably hard cock he couldn’t stop the high pitched moans from leaving his lips and being set free in the small studio, joining yours and Hongjoong’s in a sinful trio. Undoubtedly the most beautiful and harmonious song ever produced within these four soundproof walls.

“Are you close baby?” Hongjoong asked between pants, his hips never faltering, fucking up into you and rearranging your guts.

“Yessss” you cried. “so– so c-close”

“You need a little help to get there?”

Mingi’s ears perked up.

“Yes” you replied, shyly, getting an idea of what that implied.

“Mingi?” Hongjoong asked and instantly Mingi wrapped his mouth around your clit. You threw your head back, your moans morphing into literal screams of bliss. Mingi had been so starved of your taste ever since you started dating Hongjoong. He found himself wondering how you tasted like and he was not about to keep that an eternal mystery. He closed his lips around your nub sucking at it like a starved man. Twirling his tongue on the bud, even dipping deep down at your entrance, he didn’t mind one bit if he felt his tongue dragged along the cock of his friend as Hongjoong rammed into your tight cunt, all he wanted was to taste your juices that pooled the sides to drag them up to your clit.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” you announced, your hand instinctively finding Mingi’s locks of hair and pulling at it. Making him groan against your folds, his hips snapping against your legs as he grunted louder and louder by the second.

“Cum, baby. Let him taste how much you love me” Hongjoong groaned as he felt you grip tighter around him, your hungry cunt urging him to deliver his warm load. Demanding to be filled to the brim.

“Fuck baby I’m cumming. Gonna fuck you full of my cum” Hongjoong warned.

“Y-yes please fill me up!! pleasepleaseplease” you started to mumble, your words all jumbled up in a desperate and lust induced plea.

“Fucking take it” Hongjoong said giving a particularly sharp thrust into you, his tip going up to kiss your cervix and delivering his huge and warm load right into your womb as you also let go of the burning coil in your guts, your walls spasmming around Hongjoong’s cock and your clit throbbing under Mingi’s tongue. Once more your cum gushed out of you like a waterfall and soaking Mingi’s face. Hongjoong’s relentless thrusts pulling the white cum out until it perfectly mixed with yours, the bitter taste of his friend’s load coating his tongue and making Mingi dizzy on your and Hongjoong’s love

“Fuckkk” Mingi groaned as his hips became less precise, creaming himself with his cum, the warm seed spreading into his boxer and seeping through the sweatpants to form a visible dark gray stain. His dick uncontrollably twitching inside his pants as he moaned face flushed against your folds, his tongue continuously lapping up your cunt and around Hongjoong’s cock until both the men came to a stop.

When Hongjoong pulled out, Mingi let go of your leg to plunge his face between your thighs, lapping up the cum dripping out of your fluttering and shapeless little hole and swallowing it in big gulps. Dragging his tongue to your over sensitive clit, not caring for your overstimulated body until you pulled him by the hair off your exhausted puffy cunt.

“Stop~~” you whined breathlessly which snapped Mingi out of his trance as he looked up at you with fucked out eyes, lips swollen and his face made shiny with both your releases.

“There!” Hongjoong said. “You got what you wanted. Now don't go and forget your promise.”

Mingi groaned… he almost did forget about that. This opportunity might never happen again but he will always have the memory of this night in the studio and your taste on his tongue he thought, licking his lips.

“Fine”

IF U WANNA HELP ME PLEASE REBLOG WITHOUT USING THE COMMUNITY LABELS 🖤

taglist: @doom-fics @seonghwasslytherin @marirose25 @tinyznnie @minnies-duo @woohwababes @notevenheretbh1 @yourbeomiebear @lucidliving1205 @yourfatherlucifer @meljoongiee

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luvgavii · 2 months ago

Text

color me jealous - (pg8)

summary: jealous pedri featuring rúben mf dias ;) (model!reader)

dedicated to all the pedri girls <3

You were smiling at your phone while you sipped on the expensive champagne, replaying your Instagram story over and over again, the imagine you posted of the flowers your boyfriend sent to your dressing room before your modelling show never failing to spread a smile to your face. But of course, your happy moment had to be interrupted.

Turning on your heels, a strong scent of perfume met your nose as two arms wrapped tightly around you, the elder woman air kissing your cheeks.

“you were absolutely beautiful up there, y/n!” The lady, one of whom dresses you wore tonight spoke in an elegant voice yet thick accent you could only recognise as french.

“thank you! the dress was beautiful,” you smiled brightly, the woman giving your hands a squeeze, whispering another few rounds of praises before disappearing somewhere in the gallery to mingle with the rest of the stuck up, posh people. You knew you had to join them, but your thoughts were filled with one person only.

You looked around, your eyes scanning every table, every single corner of the big gallery for Pedri, yet you could not spot him anywhere.

A frown crept to your face, a thousand thoughts filling your mind.

��did he leave early?’

‘why would he leave before coming up to you, kissing you and telling you he’s proud of you?’

‘maybe he had a football emergency?’

‘football emergency this late?’

“I saw Pedri outside taking a phone call a few minutes ago,” the familiar voice of Rúben Dias came from behind you, making your eyes widen as you whipped your head around, meeting Rúben’s warm smile and eyes.

“Rú? What are you doing here?” You asked, a chuckle escaping your lips as you went in to hug the tall man.

Rúben laughed, wrapping his arms around you before speaking, “As if I’d miss out on seeing you on that runway,” his smile could almost reach his ears as he looked down at you.

While any other girl would absolutely melt under Rúben’s eyes, you always made sure to keep a respectful distance, first because you had Pedri who was your person in every possible way and second because you didn’t want to fuel into Rúben’s flirting too much. You were loving the attention, though.

“thank you! I appreciate it,” you smiled, you were happy to see him, the last time you two had hung out was a long time ago when you were modelling in England, but the Man City player always seemed to have some interest in you, even before you started going out with Pedri a few months ago.

You and Rúben have always been friendly, sure, he was always playful flirting with you, but whatever attraction you had felt for the portuguese has quickly disappeared when you met Pedri. As soon as Rúben had posted a picture of the two of you at the gala, arms wrapped around your shoulders as your hand rested on his chest, the fans and media went wild.

It didn’t take long for the fans to figure out where the location of the after party of your modelling agency took place, and while Pedri was on the phone with his manager, he couldn’t help the frown on his face when the fans a few feet away were chanting Rúben Dias’ name.

You met Pedri almost six months ago when your best friend insisted on going to a Barcelona game, and while you didn’t know much about football at the time, your interest was quickly growing when you saw the man who wore number 8. With the help of a friend of a friend, who happened to be married to one of the players, you stuck around long enough to meet them after the game and you and Pedri became inseparable ever since.

He was confused as to why in the world there were people holding Man City jerseys, chanting the name of another football player, until he checked Instagram and saw the photo that was now on every gossip page. People were speculating, asking if you and him had broken up so short after hard launching your relationship and Pedri hated that more than he liked to admit. He hated being in the spotlight with things like these but he hated even more the way Rúben fucking Dias held his arm around you.

Back inside, you were laughing at whatever Rúben had said, your head falling back and your nose scrunching in that adorable way Pedri always said he adores.

Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, your mind repeated over and over again.

Your eyes met across the room, his brown eyes softening when your gazes locked. His eyes hid some kind of harshness in them, and you could immediately tell that there was something bothering him, and that something happened to start with an ‘R’ and end with an ‘úben’.

While it was morally wrong to fuel Pedri’s jealousy, you couldn’t help yourself and keeping your boyfriend on his toes wouldn’t hurt.

Your palm pressed against Rúben’s bicep as you leaned up to whisper something in his ear, Pedri’s eye twitching while he watched from afar, wondering what the hell you could’ve said that got Rúben smiling so brightly. He clenched the glass of whiskey harder in his hands until his knuckles turned white and for a second Pedri considered calling Gavi to help him commit murder, knowing his best friend would definitely help dig away the body.

“you’re really trying to tick Pedri off, huh?” Rúben laughed, making you chuckle and making Pedri picture his murder in graphic detail.

“he’s really sweet, I like it when he gets a bit rough and jealous sometimes,” you laughed, shaking your head at Rúben, your eyes meeting the familiar chocolate brown orbs.

“what, like, throw you to the wall rough?” Rúben raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help the smile that spread to his lips.

“no, not like that,” you laughed knowing you were not about to discuss your sex life with Rúben, at the after party of your show.

“mi amor?” you heard the soft, familiar voice calling out for you, both you and Rúben turning to see Pedri.

He looked almost sad, and you couldn’t help the pain in your chest when you saw that disappointed glimmer in your boyfriend’s eyes which was probably because you barely got to see him after the show. The quicky in your dressing room before hitting the runway was good tho.

“can I talk to you for a second?” Pedri dragged his voice, his eyes falling from Rúben to you, not caring how rude the other football player might consider him, “alone.”

You nodded and bid Rúben goodbye, thanking him for coming. Pedri was still a golden retriever, so even if he was slightly pissed off because you paid so much attention to Rúben, he still shook his hand.

“looking forward to that friendly,” Rúben said with a slight tease in his voice, making Pedri clench his jaw, he barely recognized himself, he was never this jealous.

“I’m looking forward to rearranging your jaw—“ Pedri muttered under his breath as you and him walked away, his words caused you to laugh and hit his shoulder.

“can you not? he was nice to you,” you chuckled, stopping in a secluded spot in the gallery.

“by flirting with you all night? damn, we have different definitions for ‘nice’,” Pedri huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

Jealousy, rage and so much love and affection was in them. No matter how much you annoyed him, Pedri never seemed to be able to lash out at you and that was the greenest flag you could think of.

“you did that on purpose didn’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when you smiled cheekily, your arms wrapping around his waist and your chin resting on his chest, “you’re so annoying,” Pedri mumbled when he realised all that overly friendly stuff with Rúben was an act.

“you love meee,” you chuckled, laughing at Pedri’s narrowed eyes, knowing he was either plotting your murder or thinking of how to get you back.

His lips curled into a grin, his nose rubbing against yours as he spoke against your lips, “too much, mi estrella.”

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bloop-bl00p · 4 months ago

Text

So there’s Voodoo but no Lwas?

Before everyone decides to jump me just know that I’m black, I grew up in a very Catholic environment and my grandparents implemented African traditions to worship God. Throughout the years of my dear old childhood, I also witnessed cults and beliefs outside of Christianity and know briefly of a few African Deities, spirits, syren, and many more.

So I can talk about voodoo, I still tried to do as much research as possible, and if someone sees any mistakes in what I say I apologize, be polite when pointing it out to me and I’ll modify it.

So here’s the first thing I want to address…

White people can do voodoo… what? You don’t believe me, here…

It’s been done since the 19th in New Orleans and whoever can worship is a much more nuanced issue.

You see in voodoo, there are these things called Houses (Humfo). It’s a temple where a community of people worship diverse Lwa and are led by a priest or priestess.

It’s a closed religion which means that you have to ask before entering one House. Some may refuse you because you have European ancestry, and I won’t lie Voodoo is mainly dominated by people with African origins due to its roots. You still could eventually find a house that’ll accept you but you can’t randomly start on your own without going through the process of initiation. Don’t mess with African spirits or spirits in general, voodoo is a group activity for a reason.

Now that all of this is cleared I want us all to come to one conclusion. Voodoo is only and ONLY for the people who will respect it. This applies to all religions.

And to writers.

Write about what you know and if you don’t know something research it! Don’t stop at Wikipedia, go on other sites, see documentaries or videos, and get books from the nearest library. Maybe you know someone who is more experienced in the subject you’re trying to write about?! I know it can be a long boring and annoying process, but sweetheart who told you writing respectfully about a preexistent thing was easy? If you’re unable to sit and open Google for research then don’t write about it!

Now that we all agree on something, do these scream respectful representation to you?

[“I care about representation!” Sure Viv, we believe you.]

Okay, voodoo dolls aren’t used for harm. That’s a myth from Pop Culture and Hollywood and it’s one of those examples of African religion being deemed as malevolent by popular media. Thank you Vivziepop for contributing to the stereotype, a big thanks. 🙂

Seriously, the usual voodoo dolls we see in media are usually tourist traps sold in New Orleans but aren't used by actual practitioners. But, there’s a thing called fetish or bocio, usually, those are figurines made of wood and hung on the tree in front of cemeteries to maintain a spiritual communication between the deceased and the living.

From a personal experience, when I was like 10 or 11 my parents saw safou (African fruit) growing near a restaurant, and the owner said to not get too close as fetishes were hung to avoid people from stealing the fruits. So it also has a protection function.

But I’m not here to talk about my childhood, see I mentioned something called Lwa, let’s see what those are.

Voodoo is a monotheistic religion, it teaches that Bondye [Bon Dieu in French literally Good God] is the supreme creator of this universe mirroring him to the Christian God. But he has no evil counterparts so no Satan or Lucifer.

Bondye is disinterested in humanity and innacesbile to us, but he still keeps tabs through the Lwas giving a polytheistic aspect of the religion. People pray to them and give specific offerings depending on which Lwas they want to please.

They also can communicate with us through dreams and possessions. All Lwas have multiple domains of expertise and if you want something specific you’ll have to call a specific Lwa.

Each Lwa has a symbol related to them they are called Veve. It helps them manifest in the physical world, offerings, sacrifices, foods, and drinks are placed upon them.

“Where are you going with all of these informations?”

Here are the symbols that appear every time Alastor gets spooky or threatens someone.

These symbols alone don't mean anything but they are drawings that can appear in multiple veve. Veves are usually much more detailed and they used complete ones with little simplification in the Pilot, since it’s still canon I’m counting it…

My little theory is that if they decided to simply it is because the animators were already suffering so they lifted up the pain by sparing a lot of details. I mean they used the complete symbols for trading cards.

With all of these it is natural for me to come to the conclusion that to get his powers Alastor calls on the Lwas that grant these extremely powerful ✨tentacles✨, weird red gremlins voodoo dolls thingies, deals-making abilities, and probably other things we haven’t seen yet.

Which means that Bondye exists—

“Th3r'$ n0 God in HH. 🤓☝️”

Sure I can work with that, the Lwas exist and are independent, I guess Viv still has creative liberties.

Since Alastor depends on them that means that he chooses specific spirits to gain the specific power that he has, so I decided to search for a few symbols that have a resemblance to the one of Alastor and we’re gonna test Viv's ability to make something consistent.

A rant about Alastor’s power:

Obliviously they are not all of the symbols in correlation with the one in Hazbin Hotel. I just took these to showcase something fascinating with Viv’s writing style.

1. Marassa-Dossou-Dossa:

They are androgynous twins. They represent the power and purity of children, families, and procreation alongside benediction, love, justice, and innocence. They are children, usually, you can offer them candies, drinks, or banana leaves. They are summoned at the beginning of each ceremony after Legba to signify their importance in the religion.

The Marassa are extremely powerful despite being represented as kids. They usually help people who have issues with getting a child or other important aspects like the death of a newborn. While they are mostly nice and all, they are responsible for bad luck and bring sickness when not correctly served or forgotten.

2. Damballa:

He is one of the Loa who helped Bondnye when making the cosmos and, you can imagine, a very important figure.

Damballa is represented by a giant snake and is often associated with St Patrick's. He is the keeper of knowledge, wisdom, and healing magic representing the symbol of life, peace, purity, and goodness. His partner is Ayida-Weddo who forms rainbows, together they use the same Veve.

They are extremely strict with rules regarding their ceremonies. Everyone needs to be dressed in freshly cleaned clothing, women need to wear a white headscarf made of silk. Alcohol, nicotine, and else are forbidden when calling upon him.

Damballa doesn't have legs, so during the possession, the possessed will fall and wiggle on the ground like a snake and sometimes hiss.

3. Le Baron Samedi:

He’s the spirit of the dead, resurrection, and the giver of life, it’s him you need to call if you wanna get in touch with your ancestors. He avenges the souls of the dead (witches, those who were wronged, etc, …)

Le Baron Samedi will heal your wounds if you’re willing to pay back, while it’s not his only ability the rest may be considered sinister since he’s a master of black magic and curses. If someone sends you a hex that brings death so long as Le Baron doesn't let you, you won’t die. Oh and you see the Christian Cross, it’s also his symbol.

Le Baron can manifest himself in our physical realm through specific rituals I won’t bother to describe how he presents himself just search his name on Google and look at the image. Despite being married to Maman Brigitte, he is still known for cheating. He’s also openly lewd quick to swear and likes to mess with people with a big ego.

Usually, his followers can be seen wearing black and purple as he favors these colors but it’s not obligatory.

4. Ayizan:

She’s a sweet grandma and protector of commerce. You can see her with a white dress and deep pockets buying groceries in local markets, and she gives candies to children and people who are respectful.

She’s associated with the rites of initiation in the religion, which is a ritual or ceremony to signify when someone passes from one group to another it implies a change of status in the society. (ex: passage of child to adult)

She’s a typical priestess and knows of the many wisdom and mysteries regarding initiation and the natural world. She’s one of the greatest healers of the pantheon and while she doesn't heal physical wounds, she heals psychically offering health.

5. Papa Legba:

He’s the spirit of crossroads, both metaphorical and literally. It’s symbolizes choices and opportunities. He’s also the intermediate between men and the spirit world people said he’s always in front of Houses. Papa Legba is invoked at the beginning of ceremonies to open the way for communication with other sprites and deities. While he’s mostly benevolent, he can be stern and enforce spiritual rules.

Some may also depict him as a fertility God, a tricker, or a protector of children. In Haiti, he facilitates communication, speech, and understanding. Children like him and he’s often asked to babysit.

He’s associated with Saint Peter since this figure also has keys that grant access to an afterlife.

Debrief:

With all of this informations, we can all agree that none of these spirits works with Alastor as there’s mainly associated with what we could consider a positive aspect of spirituality. Alastor isn't really an example of purity, goodness, and else. Plus his powers have no links to any of the–

“But there’s Le Baron Samedi, he does Black Magic.”

That’s true and he’s actually the only Lwa from my list who could potentially work with Al but there are a few issues. Le Baron Samedi messes with people with a big ego, even if Al decided to work with him it would be quite complicated. Add to that Alastor's respect for women, I don’t think he’ll like to work with someone who cheats on his wife.

But let’s actually think of the potential here, making him a tangible entity Alastor could speak to, would have led to interesting character dynamics with Le Baron mocking Alastor and making him rethink his decision every time he tries and acts selfishly. Le Baron Samedi could have been the one slapping Mister Deer Boy to reality.

Personally, I think it would have been cool to add hints of the partnership by making Alastor’s suit black or giving him purple accessories but Viv's palette of colors is unfortunately very limited to the same shade of red.

“You only listen to 5 deities that appear to be popular, maybe somewhere there’s actually a Lwa that is working with Alastor and you simply didn't choose to show it to us.”

There’s actually one spirit I can think of. Bakoulou Baka, I did not find pictures of his veve unfortunately.

What I can say about him is that he grants powers and wealth. But since he’s associated with dark energy, those things are finite and you’re royally fucked if you don’t repay him in time. He is so evil that people are scared of calling upon him.

Baka in general is a term used to refer to spirits willing to deal with very powerful sorcerers. They pretty much will do anything only if the price is right, they are malevolent spirits who’ll turn on you if you don't do your part of the deal.

Alastor was mentioned to be stuck in a deal, it would be a great twist if the one who got him in this situation was an Evil Lwa he underestimated and failed to repay when he was alive. But we know Vivziepop that won’t be the case.

“You’re too harsh on her those will be obliviously mentioned in season 2.”

Think back to all of the things I said in this post, the different terms like House, initiation, Lwa even the word Voodoo itself, are they even mentioned ONCE in the show? Did Vivziepop make an effort in the FOUR YEARS of production to include them? Did she make the slightest bit of effort to make sure that the new audience knows that Alastor practices voodoo?!! Even by watching the pilot you can’t tell it’s mentioned once fastly by Charlie AS A JOKE.

“IT’$ h@rD t0 Do that.”

Yeah, writing is hard you have to deal with it. And be for real, there’s a scene where Vaggie enters Alastor’s room and sees him eating a deer, rather than see him in the middle of breakfast that could have gone like that:

“What the hell are you going?

– Just a few offerings to keep the Lwas happy.”

Smart people would have been like “What What the hell is a Lwa?” They would have searched it on Google, and Bam people know Al does voodoo.

“But th3 szeN3 w@s to sh0w h3 was a canibal.”

We’re talking of the same guy whose bestie is the cannibal queen, when Rosie proposed fingers to Charlie he could have accepted it. Good now the audience knows he’s a cannibal too, yay!

Religion is an important aspect of characters as it explains most of their behavior. That’s the type of thing you introduce in the first seasons then expand on the second.

And we’re talking of the same show where Husk looked at the screen and told us each of the main character archetypes. I’m surprised Alastor hasn't been called Voodoo Man or something.

I thought of those rewritten scenes in the span of two minutes and you’re telling me Viv couldn't in four years?!

“But HH is b@seD 0n B|blic@l t3xt. Voodoo |s DifeREnt. 🤓☝️”

Are you aware Voodoo is essentially a very big salad of multiple beliefs mixed together rights? You know that one of them is Christianity right?! Some Lwas are associated with Saint, so nothing prevented Viv from making a new class in Heaven called Lwa whose job is to assist the Saints in their task.

When Charlie and Vaggie presented themselves in front of the gates, Saint Peter could have been the one holding the keys and Papa Legba would have been the one reading the book to know who was entering or not.

With the bare minimum in terms of research (1 week), I managed to think of quick easy but effective ways to implement voodoo in the Hellaverse in the span of 2 poor minutes. So why can’t Vivziepop do this when she had FOUR YEARS?!!

Or maybe it’s just that… she doesn't care.

She doesn't care

You need to have a very VERY blatant lack of care for the source material to present voodoo the way Vivziepop did it. Every time the veve appears around Alastor it’s to communicate one thing danger and threat, it’s a harmful stereotype that needs to end people pointed it out she refused to listen.

And it’s because of this lack of respect that bullshit like these happen in her fandom.

Alongside this, you can count the many comics of Alastor using voodoo dolls to hurt/control someone. I’m not blaming any of these fans, I’m blaming Vivienne Medrano for feeding such harmful ideas about the community and not making it clear enough that those symbols are part of a rich culture that people hold dear to their hearts and NOT A FUCKING AESTHETIC

You want an actual example of respect for foreign beliefs?

In the movie Exhuma, the main characters are a shaman and a geomancer, obliviously those who worked on the movie took creative liberties regarding shamanism in Koran culture BUT they actually called a Shaman. There’s a scene where one of the main characters is supposed to do rituals, the actors learn an actual choreography and do it as accurately as possible the shaman was there to supervise everything from beginning to ends.

All I’m asking is for Vivziepop to open Google and do a deep dive. It’s like a school presentation, you sacrifice at least 2 or 3 hours of your days to research your subject, and she had 4 years to do that a little bit of everyday.

Noo it’s too complicated apparently and come on look at these beautiful veve! It’s edgy if I draw them with red on a dark background they look EeViiiIil.

I said it I said it again, if you’re not willing to research as much information about a preexisting subject.

Don’t write about it.

If you don’t have a little bit amount of respect for a religion and care about representing them properly.

Don’t write about it.

Don’t be like Vivziepop.

#anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #hazbin hotel critique

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papaya-twinks · 4 months ago

Text

just an assistant - l.n

Warnings: Angst, swearing, sexism, degradation (I’m in a silly mood), sex (not between y/n and lando)

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - y’all are fucking feral Jesus 😍😍😍😍

Where to start, where to start?

Lando had a lavish house, but along with that, it was big, and had a lot of expensive furniture. “Y/N, don’t just stand there,” Lando rolled his eyes, sitting onto the sofa as he watched you look round nervously, your teeth nipping at your lower lip as you stood awkwardly in the centre of the living room.

“Y/N, it’s a damn list,” Lando grumbled, flicking the piece of paper in your hand, “they work downstairs. Start with my room,”. His room. You’d be going to his room, a place that was usually kept for privacy, and he’d asked you to go there.

Youd be lying if you said you didn’t find Lando attractive. Of course you did. He was heavenly, with his chocolate brown mass of curls, his emerald green eyes which sometimes changed to icy blue or deep brown, his slightly pouty pink lips and his rosy cheeks. But to you - he was just a celebrity crush.

Because to you, even though you knew Lando up close and personal, the chances of Lando falling for you were below even possible. But that was in your eyes. His bedroom was lavish, messy, but expensive and good anyways, his bed messy but tucked away with some signs of neatness.

You’d start on the bed. You tried to push the thoughts out your kind as you moved the hoodies and shirts off his bed, feeling oddly warm at holding Lando’s clothing. This was where he slept. Where’d he lay, and sleep, and who knows? He could sleep shirtless for all you knew, maybe even naked, and-

No!!

You couldn’t be having these thoughts about your boss. You weren’t like that. You tidied up the bed, fluffing the pillow (where he’d put his pretty curls), before collecting all the clothes, some dirty hoodies, which you placed in a wash basket to take downstairs. You’d always wondered how Lando managed to afford a new outfit for every race and just how much money he had for clothing.

So why miss out on the opportunity to take a little peek? Just to see a bit of it. And great. A walk in closet. You stepped inside, eyes wide at the masses of clothes, some thrown away, some untouched shirts and ironed items hung up neatly, ranges of shoes across little bars, from polished, clean black dress shoes, to dirty trainers which had originally been white at one point.

Surprisingly.

“Very productive, Y/N,” a voice said behind you, making you jump, turning round to see Lando standing behind you, your eyes wide as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest. “Seriously, I’m gonna need to think of some sort of punishment if you keep slacking off,”. Your eyes widened at his words, immediately shaking your head.

“No, I’m sorry, I just got distracted, and-,” you were cut off by Lando, his voice firm and stern. “You keep doing it, Y/N,” he said coldly, his eyes travelling up and down your body. “And seriously? Another minidress?” you watched as he rolled his eyes, scoffing at your outfit as you pushed your legs together, moving them together in embarrassment.

“Just…try and dress like an assistant and not some…stripper, god,” he muttered under your breath, the words not going unnoticed as you flushed. You thought you’d looked pretty. Not to look like…what Lando had said. The words hurt, use, but you brushed it off. Sometimes, Lando was a dick.

“And make fucking dinner whilst you’re at it,”. Suddenly, the wage he was paying you didn’t seem to be enough, and you’d have much rather had your shorter hours with McLaren. “Okay,” you mumbled, eyes on the floor as you walked out of the walk-in closet, eyes on the room round you, before moving to carry on cleaning.

Dinner would be made afterwards.

What you certainly did not expect to see, in your drawer, was the pack of condoms, or the lace panties on top of them. Right. Of course Lando had some girl over, you couldn’t blame him. And you certainly had no right to feel possessive, in any way. The rest of the night went by quietly, your mouth kept shut as you served Lando the dinner you made, eating your own an hour later after you finished cleaning up.

You heard the front door slam, some time during the night, around 10pm, when you were lying in bed. You didn’t make anything of it, Lando had probably gone to a party. Your eyes flickered open at shuffling around outside, a small ‘thump’, against your door making you jump. Maybe Lando had been drunk and walked into it.

A frustrated scowl crossed your face at the sound of a feminine giggle and Lando’s mumble of ‘shush, princess’. He just had to make out with his new little toy against your door, huh? Perfect. The sound of skin against skin echoed from the room opposite yours, the woman not even trying till quieten her lewd moans.

Surely he’s not that big, you thought, he can’t possibly be that good at sex to make her make those sounds. You tried to cover your ears, Lando’s groans spurring something inside of you, as you pushed it down inside of you, your hand on your ears, when suddenly, a single word made your eyes widen.

Well, not a word, a name. Your name. Y/N. That was your name. “Y/N, fuck,” Lando growled, an indignant shriek leaving the girls lips followed by a groan and a muffled snort. “Who the fuck is Y/N?” the girl shrieked, her voice annoyingly high. “Wait, please-,” Lando started, his voice muffled through the walls as you listened.

“You don’t even know my name!” the girl snapped. She was right. Lando didn’t know her name. He just needed someone to get off with, and she happened to be a little pretty. Lando groaned as the file stormed out, making no effort to stay quiet.

All Lando could do was hope the slam of the door hadn’t awoken you - let alone the moans, and you hadn’t heard your name on his lips as went to the bathroom to…deal with what had happened.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando x reader #f1 #lando norris smut #just an assistant

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capslocked · 1 year ago

Text

PART & PARCEL

male reader x sana && tzuyu

18k words

“Is it too late?” Sana asks, and here’s how it always starts with her.

Nevermind that it’s not a question in search of an answer. A normal person could, should, text you. Hey, what’s up? or something equally inconspicuous before turning up the dial, are you busy? can I, like, come over?

Instead, she’s at your doorstep again, twirling a bundle of honey-blonde between her fingertips as if she doesn't know what all that does to people. Some people say, incorrectly, that these are the hours of the night shared with ghosts. And to that you say: No, these hours belong to Sana, clearly, and apparently nobody fucking else.

Now in a way, you do get it. It’d be easier to turn back over in your bed and ignore the elegant simplicity of a text message, or one step beyond that, do the unthinkable and finally tell her no, but when she’s standing there - there with that face, like a thousand different excuses or a million little reasons why she needs something from you, right now - and all she has to do is push her lips together, eyebrows going high -

It is a bit like magic, after all, this feeling when she comes around.

Everything that happened before - her visits, the first one and then the next - no matter how impossible, gets washed away, and suddenly all you have is her. Her voice, her hair, and a sneaking suspicion that the time apart really isn’t such a bad thing, because you don't always have a guess as to what comes next.

Of course, you were always going to let her in.

“I saw the lights were on,” she adds, starting to shrug off her coat like she knows you will.

“I mean, I’m here,” you say, non-committal.

“Yeah. I can see that.”

The door's half open and the only substantial hesitation you have is when you peer over her shoulder. There’s another girl, propping herself up against the doorframe, with a pretty head of glossy, sable hair falling gracefully down her shoulders, and she looks at least a few years younger than Sana. You smile cautiously at her before giving Sana another, much longer glance. In response, you receive a wink that's as subtle as a brick through a glass window (which only raises more questions). You ask the one that seems most important.

What else would Sana, of all people, possibly want to bring you if not some plaything or another. You've seen it all: girls who liked her money, girls who liked her body, girls who just flat-out liked girls, whatever. The dynamic always seemed to be, as long as everyone is having a good time, nothing to get hung up about - because at the end of the night, everyone comes around to Sana again.

And she comes around to you.

Why question it.

“This is a little… irregular,” you say with a nod of your chin, as you step back from the door. "Who's the plus one?"

Sana motions the girl in with a sweep of her hand and throws you another disarmingly flirtatious smile - the same one that'd first left you utterly hooked by this strange person, who had, when you first met, walked into your life for five minutes, then fucked your lights out the way she wanted. She goes further with this, of course, teasing a warm smile and slanting an eyebrow.

"I figured I'd bring you a gift," she coos, in this sultry, dusky sing-song of a voice that really needs no followup whatsoever, other than maybe take my clothes off right now, as she makes a show of how she's pushing her shoulders back, like there's an audience to be impressed with the curve of her bust. "Since we were celebrating."

"Uh-huh. What's the occasion?"

"Whatever the hell you'd like," Sana chirps.

With that, she takes you by the collar. And even though the girl she brought is in the middle of, like, peering around curiously in your foyer, Sana leans up on the balls of her feet and kisses you hard. It's a real kiss - no preamble - which is sort of funny, given you would have been more than okay with some. So, naturally, you're caught entirely off-guard. It takes a full ten, fifteen seconds of feeling her hot little mouth pressed insistently up against yours, your mind gone blank with the suddenness of the moment. Your body taking it for granted.

Meanwhile, the other girl blinks - long, dark lashes batting the curve of her cheekbones slowly until Sana has moved to stand in front of her with the full, earnest intention to cup her jaw, tilt her head down a smidge, and kiss her too (very thoroughly, also, in her own way).

Sana lets the girl go with a sharp draw of air and a peck. Then she looks at you, just this side of playful. The way her teeth flash over her bottom lip suggests how she's enjoying, to her bones, this state of affairs: a dalliance with control, with desire, where she can flaunt it.

She tells you to relax, unwind, which you suppose is code for taking another of Sana's friends and bending her over every horizontal surface in your flat and fucking someone the way you've wanted for the last however-long it's been since Sana dropped back into your life. You've done as much. Some rotating cast of characters: Mina, Chaeyoung, Nayeon, the raven haired girl with the perfect tits; some names and faces starting to run together the more Sana pops up at your place with a girl under one arm, usually looking half bored and half shy - or at least putting up some pretense that might justify Sana telling them to strip down while she's already eyeing you with this look like she's wondering which article of clothing you'll be ripping off her first.

"Does she have a name?" you ask, with a nod vaguely in her direction. Of course it's a loaded question. What's her name doesn't matter. You don't know most of their names.

But when you do a double-take, remembering to steal a good look, you're not sure you've ever seen anyone pull off that perfect little white dress quite the way she does - the kind that goes right up the back, tucked under the neck, sleeves coming to a neat point across her fingers. Sana may or may not have a thing for pretty girls in cute dresses, but this is, without question, the most obvious bribe you've ever witnessed in your life.

Sana's still smirking - so much for being considerate, you think for a second, until you’ve got a dainty hand stretched into yours like you’re brushing up with royalty. And well, maybe you’re getting a better look now that she isn’t bathed in the calm, assured wickedness that two A.M. might only ever know - the dark curling like wind around her fingers and down the lines of her spine, cajoling.

She is gorgeous.

And she says -

“Chou Tzuyu,” in this charming little voice that’s even more mesmerizing than you anticipated, this taut thread winding itself up between the two of you. She says her name with a gentle sigh, a light in her eyes that you know, intimately, not to trust, but you get the sense that she'd rather you make an exception for her - or at least for the night. “Everyone calls me Tzuyu.”

You feel a squeeze at your fingers, an anxious reminder from Sana's thumb, as if she feels the reverie in which you've lapsed. It draws you back, just slightly so.

"Tzuyu," you say, taking mental note of the faint smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth when you do. "How much do you know?"

She twists in Sana's direction, and oh, look how eager and innocent and coquettish Tzuyu's making herself in front of her, smiling. What do I say, the gesture is asking. You can see her effort to hold back a giggle or two as she bites her lip, trying, as all the pretty girls who come through these doors often try, to come up with something cute and modest and small that'll allow you and Sana to picture exactly the right thing. You can tell when a person is not used to having an audience.

"I know Sana..." Tzuyu's voice trails as she gives Sana a furtive glance. "She talks about you a lot. And I figured, you know."

"What? That we were good friends?"

"Sure," Tzuyu laughs to herself lightly again. "Whatever makes it easier."

Sana has her fingers threaded beneath Tzuyu’s chin, studying her like she’s an artifact that belongs behind glass. Expensive. One of a kind. And oh-so-excessively fragile.

The way Sana touches her, she may be trying to prove the point, guiding her body's angles and edges towards whatever form she sees fit, with just fingertips and the slightest tug, showing you exactly how malleable the girl can be. The look on Tzuyu's face is hardly discomfited when her dress slides past the dips of her shoulders or the slope of her waist, when the fabric gets crumpled in Sana's hand like the most expensive balled-up tissues in the universe. You can't decide what animal comes to mind: perhaps a deer, some cute, unknowingly doomed elk.

"No underwear," you note, watching.

Sana draws herself a little closer to Tzuyu with an appreciative gaze, lips gently landing at her shoulders, neck.

"Why bother?" Tzuyu muses. "What were we going to use them for?"

A pull here, a tug there, and the dress puddles around Tzuyu's feet, silk shimmering like the inky dark of a starless sky. And just shy of a pedestal and perhaps a fucking moonbeam, she's the spitting image of perfection: porcelain skin stretching out over a masterwork of curves and bone and muscle. A sculpture, a study in the form that so frequently leaves people just absolutely dumbstruck and thirsty in their wake.

Sana trails her hand around the width of her hip - drawing your eye along the skin of her leg, up and around the perfectly curved thigh - stopping to splay her fingers just so at the base of her spine, as if in demonstration of ownership. Like this: mine.

"Don't get it confused," Sana tells you. "The whole naive innocence thing is a total fucking misdirection."

"Tzuyu," you say again, this time noticing the way it feels in your mouth, syllables sweet and sticking to its roof like honey - maybe something more of an excuse to move forward and touch her yourself, palm her face, brush your thumb over her bottom lip. A taste, something subtle but intense, spreads to the back of your throat, the moment her teeth graze gently over its pad. "Is that true?"

"Are you asking me what kind of girl I am?"

"I didn't put it exactly like that."

"Just answer, sweetheart," Sana says, brow quirked in a faux-display of nonchalance, fingers still pressed, spreading gently at her neck. She's enjoying this a little too much. Though, you're enjoying this too. It doesn't have to be an either-or kind of scenario.

"It's better if you say it," she adds after a second of consideration, and even though it's obvious by now she's only prodding and that this is a foregone conclusion, Tzuyu puts an emphatic twitch in her lips - red, wet, a vision in crimson - like the thought is deeply troubling and will likely require lots and lots of thorough explanation later.

"Fine, okay, in that case," Tzuyu starts with a weary sigh, and then with a blink-and-you've-missed-it flash of a smirk, there's no way anyone's buying any of this, "I’ll say: I'm whatever kind of girl you want me to be."

Sana was right, and she didn’t even need to go so far as to say it. It’s clear - you want her.

But it's half as easy to pinpoint where it all starts: there's the way Tzuyu melts, sinking just that much further when you guide your hands around the curve of her ribs, fingers following the flow of her soft edges, the slopes and valleys of her breasts, and she parts her lips even before yours touch the seam of her mouth, her breath warm, heavy, the kind of anticipation that sends jolts down her neck, her spine, the body electric - a real live wire.

Or, it's because of the way she likes it - like, really likes it. There's something exceptional in a girl who will wrap her legs around your waist and suck your tongue and whimper just by a feather's touch around her hips or between her thighs, where it's damp and hot and holy shit, this is unreal in a very tactile, visceral way. There's no mistaking the noise for anything but genuine pleasure when Tzuyu's trying, unsuccessfully, to bite down the whine sneaking up her throat and into your mouth - where you're kissing her, still - the kind that presses heavy at the bottom of your stomach.

Or, there's Sana yet, pulling her clothes off, and instead of leaving a trail in her wake, folds each piece neatly until she's bared down to this fine little number of lace and cream-colored silk that'd make your head spin if you weren't, y'know, pretty busy, mouth occupied by Tzuyu's pliant moans, both of your tongues colliding.

"God," Tzuyu groans out quietly as you pin her to the wall, and again after another string of kisses, sucking your lip.

There are fleeting moments that slip through like sunlight that have you thinking: Right, this was a good idea, nothing other than a sweet girl like this all messed up and squirming with the shallow dig of your nails. But only close to perfect.

Sana will explain it.

"Mm. Not god." Sana is grinning when she leans up for the same kiss, but she takes her time with it: mouth slotted tight against Tzuyu's as her long fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of Tzuyu's neck, working her grip up slowly so that the strain gets more noticeable until the girl is a gasp on a choke of breath. The curve of her back is drawn out by that same hand and her ribs pressed, pert and rosy, into the cool air.

"Sir, and please," Sana then instructs, voice just harsh enough for Tzuyu to understand.

You might imagine she's also drawing in with her nails, teeth, a full-body drag up her exposed front, like some kind of prize, marking and tasting and fucking every inch. There's a whimper, desperate sound of, yes, right, fuck, please, and sir slipping like a sigh off the edge of Tzuyu's tongue.

"Or better yet," Sana adds, with another searing press into the junction of her collarbone, "say daddy, please," then follows through on the plea with another slow-pull.

You try not to roll your eyes. It's Sana's kink, not yours. It's a whole thing. And with Sana, like most things, you find it best when you simply play along.

More than that, you indulge her. You both do.

"Okay, daddy." Tzuyu's teeth catch the corner of her mouth in a self-amused bite. Twisting and twisting the swell of her lip further until it snaps forward. "I want you to tell me something," she says, which, for the way this typically goes, is a little more self-assured and pressing than the usual fare. Even Mina, who was perhaps less than enthusiastic about the - uh - title in question, came around eventually when she had Sana's fingers, your cock, all sunk so deep inside her she forgot what any fucking words were anyway.

So maybe Sana does know what she's doing with this one. Maybe you oughta thank her.

Tzuyu just lifts her chin, says, "this isn't what I expected when I showed up here."

"Obviously, it's not," Sana says.

"What I mean is, this is all good fun, of course," Tzuyu explains. A charming indignance that slips past, like the fingers down her belly. She swallows hard, muscles clenching as your palm runs slow over a hip, squeezing. "Though I guessed when we left Sana's, I would've been bouncing on his cock five minutes ago."

Sana's lithe little frame ends up closer - nearly naked in lace and wholly difficult to miss. She's a half head shorter than the girl in front of you, but with a tilt of her chin and a beckon of her hand, it's a powerful look about the lines of her face: eyes slightly hooded, mouth curved and devastating. It's as if, at every hour of the night, the simplest glance will have the fabric of someone's clothing coming undone, regardless.

Tzuyu is just slowly trading looks between the two of you. So curious. "So what then, do I have to do," her words curl like smoke up her throat, "to get fucked by both of you, hm? In, like, the next five or ten more minutes, preferably."

"He's not going to fuck your brains out simply because you ask." Which by the way, is the first real lie Sana tells tonight.

Tzuyu is unimpressed, or maybe she's a stoic. "Clearly," she deadpans.

Whatever the expression is that is fluttering those gorgeous lashes, eyebrows pulled down, adds a faint mark of distrust across her brow. The prettiest scoffs you've ever heard. "Isn't the point to get me spread out on your sheets so you can use me like a little fucktoy?"

A sigh from Sana: heavy, calculated. She does not reply in any obvious way to that, no flimsy assurances that it would be whatever the hell Tzuyu likes (though you think maybe Sana might want to take this whole fucking opportunity, all this thinly veiled begging for it, for the first taste of what will probably be the main thing that'll hold her over the edge of an orgasm or two).

So, instinctually, Tzuyu pushes it, just enough - she tilts her head, and the motion is followed by a wide sashay of her hips as she gently presses a fingertip to your chest, encouraging a step back to better your balance, like the pull between you has a little more gravity.

"Don't go quiet on me." Another sultry note pulls from her mouth when she guides you another foot - or however many, until the foyer opens up into your living room. The chair, the sofa, a table, you watch her eyes wander like she's mapping the territory. And then finally she drops her hands from your shoulders, reaching instead for Sana, taking her waist in her palms.

Holding her. Kissing her.

There's a delicateness about both of them, clearly, and not only how Tzuyu angles their lips, as if she doesn't fully intend for the two to merge but instead taste the line, test the edges, or something; but Sana doesn't fight this. In fact, when Sana's being drawn gently, but confidently into a deeper, harder press, a very eager give, her eyes slip closed. There's a war, and Sana - though she'd be the last to admit it - is losing.

Tzuyu, at the end of a particularly sharp draw of air, simply turns to you, eyes peeking over the tousle of copper hair atop Sana’s head, and asks: "How does daddy want to play with his toys?"

It clicks in your head immediately: she's a natural, could be an actress, maybe a pro - you have no idea where Sana found her - even if that doesn't exactly match with the diction; daddy, and sir, and the baby-girl pout. There are the things she does to Sana, this slipstream of control passed back and forth and back and forth again - a fevered tugging, the give of one or the other. An entirely different dance. Beautiful, fluid, intense.

Eventually, it lands in your lap. Literally and metaphorically. Tzuyu looks up from where she's kneeling between your legs and with a little pinch of your hips, tells you with that intoxicately sweet, melodic voice of hers, that you seem like the sort who wants someone who just takes initiative.

And she's right.

"May I?" she asks, breathlessly, fingers at the zip.

"Of course,” Sana answers for you, settling into her side like you both belong to her. Like she’s about to enjoy this just as much as you are.

What does the room sound like, the darkness giving away? Everything. The hum of the appliances, the purr of the heat, something in the walls is settling into its final position for the night as the floorboards sigh. Breathing. Listening.

What you don't hear:

Chou Tzuyu moving - whether she shifts onto her knees, or adjusts how her slender fingers fall from the waist of your pants, doesn't matter - no crunch, no shuffle. She doesn't swipe away the hair from her eyes or drag the pad of a thumb over her swollen, bottom lip. All she does is pull, just a bit, and the zipper breaks the silence, comes apart down the way.

Sana clears her throat gently, hoping, possibly, that Tzuyu might be the kind of girl who just loses herself to the moment, caught in the headlights. The way every delicate, doe-eyed girl is supposed to do. Sana likes them a little helpless like that - makes her feel big.

It's too bad really, because Tzuyu doesn’t appear like she's awash with anything in particular. Or at the very least, she's done a fairly convincing imitation of not being the slightest bit off-put, completely disarmed or whatever Sana had been looking to see.

She does look up though. Long, pretty face still managing a bit of devastation from this angle. Those full lips slightly pouted and slick in red: such an inviting color against her pale skin.

"Sana," she coos, eyes wide and brilliant - innocent, yet taunting all at once - and she's deliberate in what she says next, flitting her tongue across her canines to punctuate every sound: "Isn’t daddy going to use me now?"

"Oh." Sana leans in, eyes flicking up at you, Tzuyu's hands, her body, and starts slowly, like she's exacting a punishment, "Tzuyu, baby," her own anticipation beaming off the surface of her thousand-kilowatt grin, "you're going to take that perfect cock," the words dripping off Sana's tongue, heavy, sweet, "you're going to take it, get your pretty little lips all over it sweetie, you're going to show him just how good you can use that filthy fucking hole of a mouth for him. You're going to take him until he cums in your throat, and then you're going to beg him for more. And if you can do that, well. Then we’ll fuck you exactly how you wanted."

Tzuyu blinks - doting and innocent like the angel everyone probably thinks she is.

But then what you've learned about the angels that Sana brings you: they're devils in disguise, well familiar with the sin and lust that resides in these places; sunk into the cushions of the couch, pressed against the cold pane glass of a window, wound tight in the springs of a mattress. You had long thought - and think, you do, particularly when doing the unthinkable - it's easier that way, to leave aside thoughts of right and wrong and ask: Just how far can an angel fall?

"Ah. Perfect," Tzuyu says, sounding like an answer, and her eyes widen as she peels past that band of elastic.

Your cock springs forward and bumps into the pad of her finger, which traces the length of it like it's hers to own, to pleasure.

"God," she hums with satisfaction, and even without looking up, or even before you say a damn word, she draws her tongue up along the underside in one swift, wet lick. "Sana you weren’t exaggerating: daddy's cock is fucking gorgeous."

There is that tiny whine, or more precisely a tiny, oh fuck when Tzuyu curls her hand around your shaft. Sana gives her a push. "Say it, Tzuyu," she all but growls at her.

"Daddy," she says, always pausing on the word. Testing it further. "Please."

"Please," Sana mimics in faux-sweetness, repeating it again once you start to nod.

Not that it changes much - the stare that Tzuyu fixes you is charmingly determined, like a challenge. Then, she inhales.

Deep.

That slide into her mouth is smoother than anything, hot and slippery and oh, right - you remember faintly with a shudder: those pretty teeth hidden away behind a perfectly lascivious mouth, so much that a couple sharp, expert brushes are enough to send lightning dancing along your spine. Sana moves her hands across your hips, to the buttons on your night shirt, working her way up until the fabric has fallen to the side and she can open your chest up to the air, let Tzuyu swallow the rest.

This, Tzuyu likes. "Ah," she gasps around you, or she tries to, your cock propped up on her soft little tongue.

She likes the way that feels. The way you fit in her hands, her mouth. And it shows. Her posture curls deliciously, under the satisfaction of her lips wrapping finally having something to wrap around tight, tight, tighter - under Sana's roaming touches, the skirting of her nails down Tzuyu's chest, reaching with slow deliberation across her stomach until there's a whisper of skin across sensitive flesh.

“She’s so fucking wet,” Sana tells you, smiling at Tzuyu from above and fitting a fingernail between her teeth. "Good fucking girl, aren't you Tzuyu?"

The moan that leaks out around the weight of your cock is pure. Pure lust, pure pleasure. Pure perfection. Her tongue flattens beneath you and finds you surging even deeper, a firmer slide of Tzuyu's wet lips that brings you right into the roof of her mouth - as she twists her face around you, a soft scrape against the inside of her cheek.

You sigh.

And Sana sighs back.

"Of course. Always such a hidden talent," she notes, as Tzuyu's perfect mouth moves and plucks and teases your nerves, twirling her tongue around your tip. Again as she swallows you down, slow, savoring.

“Tell me,” you say, because the heat of Tzuyu’s mouth is starting to remind you of a daydream, “how exactly do you know each other?”

"Work," Sana answers, flatly.

"Like-"

"Yup."

"She sings?"

"She does - rather, she will." Sana glances sidelong with a bit of a grin. "You have no idea what that tongue can do to people when it's got some good backing tracks, when it knows a goddamn fucking thing about rhythm. Speaking of," Sana looks down at where Tzuyu has her silky brown head of hair bobbing between your legs.

And then it's clear what she means, Tzuyu humming and rolling your shaft through the flat of her tongue. It's all slick, soaking heat and the tension building and building in your balls, aching, just absolutely desperate for more friction, to be taken and used and stuffed in her throat - or just more of this.

"Here," Sana's fingers are hooked in your pants, helping them off your legs, your ankles, pulling you further to the edge of the sofa. Let me, she's telling Tzuyu, this slight murmur of want she just can't wait on.

"Wait, I'm -" Tzuyu attempts, pulling her lips off the curve of your cock, to where pre-cum is weeping out of its tip, and she kisses it so very tenderly, going back for round two. Round three. She floats her fingers up over her eyebrows, into her fringe, all to tuck some dark, wispy hair gently behind her ear when she starts to hollow her cheeks and again suck your cock in earnest.

Until -

"Tzuyu," Sana reprimands her, "don't play, daddy's got his work cut out for him tonight. So be a good girl, and let me show you what he likes."

It takes a second, maybe three. It might take longer if Sana didn't have her fingernails digging into her thighs, sliding further to grab hold of Tzuyu by the hair and pull her lips off your shaft. There's a thin trail of spit coming off her mouth and stringing across you. Sana closes her fist in the back of Tzuyu’s hair and doesn't so much as blink while studying the look on her face: lips glistening, just absolutely needy, like she can't help the whimper in her throat.

"Hm?" Sana cocks her head to the side.

"But... sir."

"You are his toy," Sana explains, flashing her eyebrows because apparently it needs to be said, "not the other way around."

And it may be the first time you've seen it happen since Sana walked in with Tzuyu and declared her intentions: the fluster, the pink spread across Tzuyu's features like some scarlet-lettered stain. Defenses dropped like a draw-bridge. She's not quite every bit as cool and composed as she wants the two of you to think she is. (They never are.)

But the fact that Tzuyu's coy little smile returns into her lips - how she's wiping the spit off her mouth with the sharp edge of her hand and pointing your cock in Sana's direction with a delicate, arched brow, how she then moves on, untangling herself from Sana's grasp, eyes heavy, but on her - is a marvel in and of itself.

It’s an amusing surprise, a welcome one, for the simple reason that Tzuyu keeps showing both of you that she can have anything she wants exactly like this: wrapped around a slender fingertip, flushed and helpless, and without breaking a sweat.

"Have you considered daddy wants both our mouths on his cock and maybe a few less words?" Tzuyu scoffs. And even though Sana does scoff right back in retort, that's exactly how it plays out.

(And you may, upon occasion, reflect: you're a real lucky bastard.)

Sana always puts on this act. One that you’ve learned to see right through.

Like she isn't too eager to follow the momentum, that she hadn't just been just as impatient to touch you - to be on her knees with Tzuyu, all aside this beautiful girl who gives you a pretty smile when her tongue finds the base of your cock. Who likes being bossed around but can just as easily turn her face towards yours - in what seems almost like a taunt - as if saying: You know what else I like? to be challenged, and sometimes when the mood’s right, pushed and punished.

But Sana doesn't let you see what kind of resolve she has until she's gone another minute, licking, lapping her tongue around your cock - this is her idea, after all. The little white dress in a heap, the adoration and worship that comes with fucking girls she knows are the prettiest things to see ruined.

Listen - even if Sana’s veneer is as blatantly obvious as it is shatterably thin, she’s no less dangerous.

When she first pushes the very head of your cock inside her mouth, and just that - because why rush it, she's so fucking perfect with those pretty lips - the rest of your brain is shouting something to the tune of fuck me sideways because she knows you better than anyone, knows what really gets your blood burning.

A few slow brushes, one kiss, this lick that goes bottom to top and over and around. It’s like she's testing the surface, dragging her lips across your aching cock as she settles on a rhythm, a tempo that starts to mirror the movements of Tzuyu's hand.

Tzuyu lets you see: this slow twist, this slide of skin up and down the length of your shaft, her soft fingers rubbing tight circles up and down the path of her palm until it meets Sana’s mouth. And like it’s the most simple thing in the world, she dips down, finds a place at the base of your cock, where Sana’s lips can’t quite reach, and drops a hot, messy kiss right across the spot.

Fuck.

She kisses you everywhere.

"Sana," you start to say, and she looks up through the strands of blonde fallen slightly in front of her face. Her lips sink further down the length of your cock - until she hears your breath catch in the bottom of your throat. Until she’s pulling you up and out, again, just barely past her teeth.

Fuck.

"Mm." She hums it right into your skin, and her eyes are hooded, dipping right down with another pull of spit, and then another, before her lips are at the tip once more, flicking across the slit with her tongue - wet and rough.

"Sana," you try again, biting into your lip as you reach a hand into the gold locks of hair framing her deceptive, pretty little face, and tug, a warning, a reminder. You need. It's too early for you to be repeating yourself, and Sana knows that.

A pop, the release of her mouth slipping off the top of your cock, and Tzuyu moves - wrapping her lips tight and silken around the sides, the rest. It all happens in an instant. You're being taken with the sudden, harsh suction of one mouth, the other, fluid and slipping back and forth again and again.

Sana's nodding along, impressed, as she watches Tzuyu take you - completely, nose to your hip - and has a glint of pure hunger shining through her eyes when you hiss, when she kisses along the lines of Tzuyu's stretched lips. There's another flick of a tongue, and you can feel Tzuyu moan something muffled and choked, a frantic pulse at the base of your spine - pressure gathering like a fucking flood.

"Just how you like it, hmm?" Sana says, her breath warm on your balls as she seals her own mouth right over the base of your shaft. And you swear there's something about this: the drag and suck of both their lips as your hips stutter forward, the feeling of them pressed together in a perfect line, heads tilted and mouths fucking dripping with saliva and sin - your hands, resting on the backs of their heads as they're returning you these greedy little moans that vibrate off the top of your cock and nearly kill you in the process.

“Tell me,” Sana adds, dragging a hot, hazy kiss over the sensitive skin up your shaft. "How's daddy feeling? Hmm? Feels nice and perfect, doesn't it. Feels like you could just let go and release, a hot, sticky load of cum, right down her fucking throat. I know she’ll swallow every drop."

"Fucking hell, Sana-"

Sana doesn't exactly answer to your begging, only hikes Tzuyu a fraction higher over your body to gain better control of the rhythm, and a better view: the hollowed out cheeks, her watery, half-shut eyes, tears welling in her lashes - because the prettiest girls always come apart in the most perfect ways.

You grip into all that silky brown hair, thumb running gently up and over the soft skin behind her ear as she finds an exacting little movement with her lips that will have your spine twitching uncontrollably as you fuck deeper down the perfect arch of her throat, Sana keeping rhythm, guiding you all the way in - a searing heat, and then a new rush of saliva dripping off Tzuyu's chin and back down into the tangle of tongues, fingers, throats, mouths.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The pair of them. The things they're doing.

"Or maybe," Sana muses, tilting her head on an angle that suggests she's weighing her options, and then, massaging a quick, firm twist into the very base of your cock she finally lets spill: "You could make a mess of that perfect face," Tzuyu's faint whimper hardly slips out unnoticed, "I'd hold her hair for you while you cum all over her - how about that baby, should we make a big mess of your pretty face?"

The whimper grows louder - Tzuyu moans long and low, right up against the tightening tension gathering between your hips, right as your balls pull, that familiar coil about to break - and, god, if there's some part of you committed to holding the moment, waiting and wanting to stay in the vision of these two perfect mouths pressed together, it's a fleeting and useless notion - but, as usual, Sana already knows.

The way they're blowing you in perfect tandem, their mouths locked together, kissing around your shaft as they continue to pleasure you, filthy and open - a little more, the thought percolates, a little longer, to let the pressure swell.

"Sir," Tzuyu says, swallowing her next breath, and that's the first you've heard her sound like that: whining, pleading.

She slaps your cock against her lips, her tongue - it's all so wet with spit and precum and slick that her chin is coated, her fingers. A demonstration of what you should have already known: Sana's girls aren't just straight down the line. They want the messy, roughness that comes with the sin; the split in the seam, the wail, the raw, uncut want.

You watch Tzuyu’s lips curl, this quiet smile pressed against your cock, and after a slow draw of air, they fall open again. Asking, "aren't you going to fuck your toy's slutty little mouth?"

The silence of the night swallows up the sounds of Sana's low chuckle and the responding squelch of her fingers tearing free, her hand trailing after. Here’s three bodies in the otherwise ordinary emptiness of your living room, on the edges of the leather sofa, so completely drenched in anticipation and hunger.

There’s a flash across Sana's rounded cheeks, hot, like she's just this small space shy of smirking, or giving into something, you don't know. Tzuyu, however, you've got a fairly clear view of - how her eyes glaze, pupils going wide and dark, staring up at you as she places the shape of your cock so acutely up the length of her perfect features: chin supporting its base, the cute, button-like tip of her nose teasing the soft underbelly of skin pulled taut - a fucked up preamble to whatever the hell it is going to feel like, once she's ready for more.

"Say please, sweetie," Sana says, fluttering her fingers over Tzuyu's neck. And then to you, as an aside: "If there isn't a better way to break in a toy."

When Tzuyu doesn't immediately reply, Sana leans over her, with a fingertip under her chin, guiding her hot, wet lips to the edge of your cock.

"Ask daddy to fuck his filthy little whore."

"Ah," Tzuyu lets out an awkward exhale. "Daddy?" she pauses to swallow, licking her lips, then, with just the slightest inflection, this tight line, right at the border, somehow managing to hit both notes of I'm going to make you beg for it and is it okay for me to be begging you for more: "Please, daddy. Fuck my face."

But then the way she fucking looks - petulant, needy, like if you don't shove your cock down her throat in seconds it could kill her - that's the realest thing you've seen from her since she shuffled through your front door wearing a dress that belongs in someone's heaving, pent up fantasy and left it in a careless pile in the middle of your foyer, tits bouncing on her way into the living room. And somehow, that's a lot to take in: to think this whole debacle has led up to her, this girl you're probably never gonna see again, pressing the pucker of her perfect, pretty lips to the underside of your cock, and -

"Open," Sana cuts in, "your fucking mouth."

Tzuyu gulps thickly and stretches her jaw, blinking expectantly as her pink, slender tongue sticks out the faintest, most insinuating inch.

You lift your hips with one good thrust, the plushness of her mouth becoming soft and velvet as she opens wider, and wider still, and you're balls deep, hilt hitting her lips as she opens her eyes, taking you down her throat, slick and slow.

"Good girl," Sana grins, watching Tzuyu swallow around you.

You may be buried into her throat but the sound of Sana's encouragement has Tzuyu keening, this wrench in her brow like she wants to focus so fucking badly. Only made worse when Sana bundles a handful of Tzuyu's long, glossy hair into a fist and gets her voice into the shell of her ear.

"I know you love it, Tzuyu, how he's fucking taking you, huh? That's it. Show daddy how good of a toy you can be."

And oh, the reaction - the very clear one, no less. Tzuyu grips onto the cushion of the couch, a full set of fingers curling around Sana's forearm, any part of you - the one closest and she's digging her sharp nails into your skin and whimpering for Sana to keep talking like her life depends on it.

"Let me see if you can be as good as you think you are," Sana murmurs, and you shift forward again, bucking your hips just barely but getting there, and then there's more, fuck - getting closer to a good steady pace. Slow, forceful. Hitting the very back of her throat, the bottom of her lips.

Tzuyu can only respond by taking you impossibly deep.

"Remember what you told me?" Sana's biting her lip, finding as much satisfaction out of the mere display.

"Mnnph," Tzuyu chokes out before slipping off your cock, only long enough to gasp for another breath, "I said, I said - all the things I would let him do to me." Her voice sounds so wrecked. Broken. Desperate. Filthy, the kind that needs to be fucked. "Please, please," she says again.

"Tzuyu." Sana's fist tightens in Tzuyu's hair, and down Tzuyu goes. "You sounded so sure, baby - when you said you'd making him fucking cum so easy, how you'd make him bust over and over with this mouth, so -"

You're getting too close. It's really not your fault, it's the two of them. Every wince on your face a result of Tzuyu's swollen, shiny lips wrapped tightly around your cock, cheeks flush and hollow with every move of her mouth. She keeps doing this little flick of her tongue as her lips slide around you - even while Sana lifts her jaw up, down, up down, fucking her mouth onto your aching cock with a sort of callous disregard for how it's fucking her up - how it's fucking you up.

"-the prettiest girls make the best fucking cumrags, you know. Really - makes your toes curl," Sana finishes, giving one particularly pointed tilt of her head at the sight of how bad your knees are shaking.

And then, out the corner of her mouth, teeth locked over her lip, because you're so caught up in how good it feels fucking your length through the vice of Tzuyu's mouth, sliding across her wet tongue - "she's not lying baby, is she? Fuck, I bet she feels so fucking good on you doesn't she" - her voice hoarse and desperate, a hint of something caught at the back of her throat like she can almost taste what it's like. What it must feel like.

Sana pushes, and even she can probably feel you pulsing at the way Tzuyu chokes when the tip meets the drain of her throat.

It gets... it ends up too much, too fast. Borderline abusive - and not just the speed, or the sheer roughness - Nayeon was here on her knees, like this, in the middle of the night not too long ago, and deepthroating you is far from the unusual or accomplished, at this point. But, fuck if that isn't something you build up to.

The slight curve of Tzuyu's arms, rising as they tremble with the effort, the little tears that slip down her cheeks, and those lovely sounds she makes. It's not at all intentional - and you're so stupidly certain Sana didn't think you'd be this riled so quickly, like there's not an ounce of willpower in the world that could save you at this point.

And while that's not too surprising on its own - Sana knows you well, this is what she agreed to - Tzuyu must have understood (it was part of the plan, in fact) what she was walking into, what she was signing up for. But fuck it: she was still pretty new, an amateur. And an amateur just wouldn't be capable of doing the things she does, and looking the way she looks, not to the same extent as this.

"Can you cum from nothing but the feeling of daddy's dick hitting your throat? I'll have him sit back and relax while we work," Sana tells her.

It'd make two of you.

"Would you like that?" she's asking you, tilting her head when you've gathered yourself long enough. "No touching, just take my orders while we pleasure you. How does that sound, daddy?"

"Sana, easy," you practically growl, biting down on the inside of your cheek because the twitch in Tzuyu's pulse has you coming far too undone, her chest hitching and lungs heaving and face wet with spit and tears and cum as it's spilling down her chin. You're seconds from telling Sana to dial it back when a low, guttural sound, sputtering, leaves Tzuyu's throat.

The grip in Tzuyu's hair goes loose enough that she pulls herself up, swallowing up as much air as she can.

And fuck, look at the damage: that swollen mess of her red, glistening mouth; the dark runs of mascara and drying tracks that make a ruin of her face, her neck; a heart-stopping shine of white drool. She blinks the tears off her lashes in a moment.

Sana’s eyeing her over the same way a surgeon might approach a task with a scalpel and a careful hand, or perhaps a fisherman surveying the quality of a catch - before tossing it to the back of a truck to be hauled back home. Like the kind of sight she gets just a little too much satisfaction at. And it's the eyebrow she shoots up into her mess of toffee-blonde hair that asks, quietly, too much?

Fuck. Maybe.

But Tzuyu's eyes shift toward Sana's, and without even an ounce of hesitation - without anything more than a heavy exhale - she opens her mouth again so you can see her tongue run across her top teeth, incensed in her lust. More, fuck me, have me, use me she's saying, telling with you the slight indignance in her eyes that Sana finds perfectly irresistible.

Then, as if unbothered by how far your cock had been slotted in her throat, she swallows. Says, "is that all, sir?"

And the sound that follows it, that shuddering sigh - breaking, cracking, shattering into the calm quiet of your apartment - Tzuyu takes you like it's more than enough. She's swallowing it all back down again.

“Fuck, Tzuyu, you’re-” you try, only to have her moan loud, so loud, when she drags her tongue down your cock and swallows around the whole thing in a way that has you gasping. Your hands end up wound tightly in her hair, weaving through the smooth waves, knuckles straining when it really sinks in. Just how deep down her throat you go, so perfectly deep, the stretch of her lips holding on the side of a grimace because she needs it that way. She can't have it any other.

"Go on," Sana murmurs into the side of your face, drawing closer so she's got her nails curled down into your thighs, leaning in to place a wet, hot kiss into your cheek. "C'mon baby, she'd told me she'd let you do anything - said she'd swallow everything, like the fucking cockslut she is."

Sana's chin digs against the bone in your shoulder, eyes unwavering on where you disappear over and over inside Tzuyu's throat. And it's not just that - Tzuyu's hair clenched tight in Sana’s one hand, the other curled hard into a fist around the base of your cock, her harsh breaths washing over the bare skin of your neck. It's fucking indecent, how needy she's gotten. How needy she always gets. You can feel her greedy little lips finding your ear and biting just shy of savage enough to break skin, and licking - flicking across the vein beating down in your throat, and then -

"That's right," Sana says with a low growl when you look at her. "Cum."

An impoverished sound rips right through your chest. Spreads through you like wildfire.

And just like that, you're spilling inside her, thrusts growing unsteady and lost in the wet, searing heat of Tzuyu's perfect, wet lips, slapping and sliding into her throat, spilling on her tongue with every surge of pleasure drumming in your blood.

Tzuyu sinks down further. So deep that the brush of the back of her throat feels like a hand on the hilt of a knife, tearing into the ends of your nerves, where they’ve come alight and been set ablaze.

Sana picks up again whispering into the cuff of your ear. It makes your head feel like it might explode. And you're almost entirely certain that's what will actually happen, when the combined pressure between your ears and that of your cock becoming so desperately spent builds and builds and doesn't stop, as though waiting.

Biding time for some perfect snap.

Only, a tickle at the back of Tzuyu's throat has her choking out. The same uncontrolled way your hips start to falter - shaky, jerky motions instead of any precision or rhythm - and you're tilting and winding your head in circles, jaw tensed, squeezing her scalp and oh, oh fuck. Tzuyu's mouth slides itself all the way off you in one hurried gasp, then two and three, just barely giving her a chance to steady herself, all while you're still leaking thick, white cum all over the slick swell of her bottom lip, up over the ridges of her elegant features, the curves of her cheeks, the high arches of her brows.

Look - you're cumming all over Tzuyu's face. You’re cumming all over her pretty face and she just takes it.

She's, fuck - she's so, so good. And not just because her mouth is fucking perfection, or her eyes are all at once bleary but wide open, watching you twitch, her own cheeks flushing as she stares up at you - trying desperately to breathe, taking a quick lick off the end of your cock, flitting her tongue between her knuckles, because apparently another taste can't hurt.

"Ugh," Sana hushes, right into your neck, "would you just fucking look, see that - god, Tzuyu, how does it feel, does he taste as good as you hoped he would?"

There's a subtle, unmistakable bob in Tzuyu's throat as she's swallowing everything down, the evidence, and a small flash of her tongue. "Good, mmn-" and you can see how she struggles in her restraint to simply say so, to let her hand drift to the 'V' between her thighs and sate that ache.

But even if her body seems ready for more, Sana's finger finds its way underneath Tzuyu's chin to prompt, with one, simple command, "let's get you cleaned up before we give you what you came for. Go on, get our little girl up to the shower, won't you daddy?"

It's a minor miracle the three of you make it upstairs and down the hall without so much as a trip or stumble, the girls with their fingers woven together and hips swaying as you all stagger up. It's a minor miracle you don't pin either of them against drywall or up against a doorway or do any of the number of filthy things on the mind of a man just fucked, still coming down, with two gorgeous, perfect faces - two perfectly sculpted asses - all in arms' reach.

The bath mat is still bunched at the back of your bathroom door. Still damp from the last shower - Sana's last morning here - which you have to pry apart just a little so the two of them can file in.

And well - it does happen. Eventually.

At the sink.

Just inside the en suite of your bedroom.

With Sana, being the way she is.

While the faucet in the shower starts up a shallow stream of water - tap running warm, steaming the length of the mirror and condensing the glass that Sana will soon have Tzuyu's face up against if she has any say in the matter.

"Tzu," Sana says, carding a hand through her hair and bringing a damp washcloth up to the bend of her jaw. There's a slow trace of fingertips across the lines of her neck. "Keep your eyes right on his while I clean you up, ok?"

And then there's the mirror in the center. The three of you arranged - a sort of hierarchy - with Sana stepping forward and adjusting her stance in order to survey, and clean the mess she's made. (What you've made.)

In profile, you can't exactly make out a distinct detail about Tzuyu's face in the reflective surface, only the silvery blur that is the curve of her neck, and the silhouette of the small frame that her long, slim legs form against the cabinet. But the idea's always the same - she's being used like a perfect canvas. Like an empty, ready-to-use doll that you can twist and turn in the ways you want until all your control breaks and you're just fucking into her, or having her lick and suck all over Sana's gorgeous fucking tits while she's bouncing in your lap.

Whichever happens to come first.

"You missed a spot," Tzuyu tells Sana, as though she hadn't missed several - her head tilts in your direction, eyes wide still, endless in depth. Her mouth gives away what's already burning its way through her blood. "Maybe another pair of hands will help?"

"Mine are a little rough around the edges," you explain, coming in close. The bathroom is this tight, congested space, but at the right angle there's plenty of room, even if your hips knock slightly into Sana's body. Tzuyu's delicate body already has her back flush against the sink basin. "You want to feel them?"

She shakes her head, and even though the hunger on her tongue hasn't been satisfied, even after having a good fill, there's something else she'd rather have now.

"I think," she starts, her words cut off by a hitch of breath when Sana's lips travel to the very tips of her hair and work their way up to the soft skin behind her ear. "Rough is good, when... when I'm being," Tzuyu's closing her eyes - partly so that she doesn't fall off the edge so easily, partly to lean into the sensations of two warm bodies, all attention placed solely on her.

"When you're being worked over?" Sana offers.

"Ngh," she responds - with an attempt, as best as she can, at a smile. And then there's one, light, teasing stroke across her jaw, her mouth. Sana's thumb pressed gently into the crease. "When the fucking gets..." and you'll have to fill the gap - finishing her thought with your hands slotting themselves onto the gentle arch of her hips, pressing a kiss that doesn't even come close to satisfaction on the supple dip of collarbone.

She lets out this pretty sound at the feel of your lips, Sana's, all ghosting down her throat.

"Hard and deep?" you say. Sana smirks at this - continues the effort, "A little fucking nasty, huh, sweetheart?"

"Mhm." Tzuyu is, above all else, a little helpless. “Because - you know me so well.”

But make no mistake: Tzuyu is exactly where she wants to be. With the heat radiating off her bare body, she leans into it all, only flinching when your teeth catch her nipple - when Sana's tongue laps a rough circle over the other. The scene, the feelings, all of it orchestrated precisely - these are the things she likes, maybe loves even.

And after the soft sounds slip through her lips, a moan and another hum, she finds her words and voice, "hard and deep and, rough and, ff-"

"And?"

The quick brush of your tongue flickers across the hard tip. The sensation draws from Tzuyu this very faint cry and the exhale of a word: "Fast."

"Naughty little thing," Sana presses into her jaw, pulling back to regard you both. To lift a finger, wet the pad with her tongue - and reach down, down, down until her fingertips brush the very line of her thigh, into the slick between her legs. "I love it when girls get all messy."

"Please," is all Tzuyu has to say, barely anything but, as Sana's finger drags slowly inside her folds.

"Patience baby," she murmurs into Tzuyu's open mouth. The exchange is swift but thorough; you watch, all tongue and spit, and your fingers twitch with a sense of loss. "Why don't you remind me how this went last time?"

"Mm, listen here," Tzuyu says in an astute breath, the sound of it like tables turning. There's a firm pull on your wrist - the grip on it guiding you, encouraging you, just where she wants them, into the band of lace around Sana's impossibly narrow waist. You feel Sana sigh in relief, shiver at the touch of a warm palm up against her thighs, and into a pulse-wet cunt, as though the slightest touch will kill her. "I think you might be remembering wrong, Sana."

"And why might that be?"

"Weren't you the one begging me? When I had two fingers up your cunt in your apartment," Tzuyu presses forward, voice lilt and darkening like ink, and Sana whines and crumbles in her palms, knees buckling when there's one sudden and rough slide of fingers right on the base of her spine.

"Yeah?" Sana asks with a rising blush, already knowing the answer - it's her fatal flaw: she's all sharp edges and pointed teeth, right up to the point there's a finger at her own throat, a cock in her hands and a girl working at her clit until she's drooling. "Are you suggesting I'm easy? Is that where you're heading with this?"

Tzuyu's leaned up against the counter, turning Sana's slender frame around in her hands, until she has her fingers up on the over the wire of Sana's bra, palms hot beneath the thin cups, feeling for her nipples, and the change in dynamic is as palpable as the steam rising in the room.

"Let’s not put words in my mouth," she responds simply, dropping another kiss into the back of Sana’s hair. There's another one laid along the sweep of her neck, like a careful bite, and with a lift of a brow, a look that tells you what you've always known, "but if you’re asking, then sure, the sluttiest of all sluts. Easy," she pulls the cups down Sana’s chest, "as fuck."

It gets to her, clearly, as if that moan falling out of Sana's parted lips could mean anything else.

"Daddy?" Tzuyu asks, because apparently she's enjoying the bit, easing into all parts of the character. She can't seem to contain her grin.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you ask, dipping your finger down into Sana's cunt, and fuck - the girl is so, so slick for it. She needs to be taken and torn, that much is clear. Her whimpers don't get softer as your hips drive into her stomach, pinning her between the two of you.

"Is she always this much of a bratty tease? Or is that just how she gets when she gets all worked up over your perfect cock. I know she's aching to feel it stretch out that tight little cunt of hers-

"It's never been all that clear," you answer, before Tzuyu can start to say anything further. A moment of composure, in case Sana wants you to step in.

Except that, she doesn't exactly interrupt the play you and Tzuyu are setting up: "So," Tzuyu remarks instead. "Just for me then."

"It's possible."

The room suddenly feels very full, very small.

"Right. Okay. Well then," you say - watching carefully, when Tzuyu gives you an appraising glance. Sana squirms again beneath the pressure of all these fingers printing over her sensitive skin - she'd love to fuck this. Or be fucked.

"That means you'll have to take good care of your needy little princess, won't you daddy?"

It's surprisingly fitting.

Though it hasn’t been that long, all things considered.

Not since Sana effortlessly waltzed her way into your life. And slightly less-than-that, the time it took her thereafter to find herself bouncing in your lap and tugging at your hair while you struggled for breath between her tits. This perfect storm, caught somewhere between laughing and choking and definitely, definitely falling.

It's been a year, maybe. If that. But that's plenty to know.

Know every tilt of her mouth, every sly grin. The different moans that shake loose from the curve of her lips.

Know what it means when Sana's palms hit the tiles of the shower wall, fingers splaying as she goes quiet and submissive, letting out the barest noise of frustration as Tzuyu spreads her tongue over the pucker of her ass - know that the knuckle you curl up in her cunt has her that much closer to unraveling in a stream of whimpers, needy fucking pants and a hoarse sound of gratitude.

Ostensibly for getting her so perfectly, perfectly raw.

"Fuck, yes, that," Sana barely manages, between the messy swipe Tzuyu's tongue makes over her hole. Just this thorough lick, drawing tight, swirling circles around her, lapping at the wetness before making a hot and steady pass over the sensitive stretch of skin, drenching it in spit until Sana's scrambling against the hard surface.

She's not close to going quiet: her cheeks look rounder, like she can hardly keep her noises under control as Tzuyu eases a single fingertip inside the tense muscle of her rim and uses the stretch and warmth of the water raining down her spine, to slip in deeper. Sana's sighing as Tzuyu eats her like an act, an invitation.

You push your fingers deep, deeper, slick, pulling, rubbing, coaxing Sana's mouth apart even as your lips press wet into her cheek. She groans louder, needier, with your hand flexing up a three-finger graze over that bundle of nerves. The kind that makes her back fucking arch.

"You," Sana sputters open like a struck match, burning bright in the steam-cloaked shower, "you, you, you," and it’s not really clear who she’s cursing, "going to - you're going to - you're going to make me-"

"Oh no," Tzuyu sings, starting to straighten herself out - until she’s reminding Sana that she’s the smallest of the three of you and in a possible sort of danger.

She reaches an open palm into the stream of water and splashes off the slick running down her mouth, her chin, her neck - gaze anchored to Sana's trembling figure. It's just one, heavy exhale into the hot, hazy air: "You've got it all wrong.”

Sana twists her head around, face still so wildly attractive amidst the look of worry and that flush of pink taking over from the bottom half. The tiny, imperceptible dip in her brows.

But before she can give voice to a complaint, Tzuyu has her spun by a rough grip around her waist, pinning her back to the tile - water beating down the rise of her breasts and the tops of her shoulders.

"If you're going to cum baby, it'll be all over his thick cock, getting your whole cunt so stretched and stuffed full it'll feel like he's cumming up inside your guts."

You and Sana share this wistful groan of a sigh after Tzuyu wraps her long fingers around your cock, aims you true, and brings you close. Closer. Until you can feel Sana's pulse at her cunt, lips wet and slippery and dripping, just a few inches from where the tip of your cockhead nudges the insides of her thighs. Sana's stomach is seizing in a fluttering of heat and -

"Do you like hearing her beg? That's good. Because this girl's gonna do everything she can to make sure you fuck her raw before you even let her come," Tzuyu's voice lowers, a deep register. "How long can you last, Sana?"

Sana gives you this look, all anticipation and pleasure, holding it for longer than is strictly necessary - and then, her pert little mouth falls open, keening, hissing out a shallow, almost painful, "fuck" the moment you bend at the knees and slip inside.

The feeling that washes over you is a beautiful elixir of relief, an indomitable kind of want, tinged with something heavier, and with just the tiniest hint of longing in the sense that this is not enough, nowhere near enough. It never is.

"God, Sana," is all you manage. All you want to.

Sana doesn't wait around any longer before giving you an impatient shimmy of her hips, fucking herself further down the length of your cock, like she wants to choke on it. And the feeling of it, well, she does it well - the tight warmth swallowing you to the base, her cunt squeezing you all at once, slick and smothering. Fuck, it's all in her eyes. How badly she wants to be held down, split apart. How tightly your fist finds itself locked around Sana's long, wet strands of golden hair as Tzuyu closes any semblance of distance - brushing her lips over where she can tease Sana's open and slack mouth, licking down inside, panting.

"Baby, you are so close, I can feel you trembling," Tzuyu teases, running her fingers up Sana's stomach, cupping steady the breast she can fit in her palm. She drops another messy kiss on Sana’s throat and hums: "Go ahead, cum. I'm sure he doesn't mind.”

"You're such a prissy fucking- nnh-" Sana's words skirt right over Tzuyu's fingertips before they're shoved roughly across the swell of her lower lip and into the back of her mouth. If Tzuyu's intent was to prove a point, she's about as successful as can be - Sana can only gag quietly around her digits, working her jaw over them.

"Sana, shh-shh-shh, baby, don’t fight it; just cum around around his cock, don't put yourself in a corner and try to play games - he'll fuck you right, until you scream, I promise, and-"

It hardly ever takes much. That's something you've come to appreciate: Sana can't ever help it. With the way it actually feels, you pressing right up against where the rest of her cinches so impossibly tight. She was practically teetering on the edge, on the very cliff and within reach of falling right off of it the instant you fit the very hilt of your cock up the molten-hot stretch of her perfect cunt, sliding, fucking into her while water sprays all over her quivering body, so soft beneath the wash of rain.

One of Sana’s long legs gets wrapped around your waist and you can feel her nails start to dig through the muscles in your shoulders.

Tzuyu smirks right into Sana's temple, biting at the slickness of her skin, running the curve of her thumb around the length of Sana's jugular, and sucking with her teeth when Sana cries out. "How does our girl feel wrapped around you? Wet, huh? Needy?"

"Unbelievable," you answer honestly - and maybe that's the point; Sana's pussy is incredible. Hot and silky and absolutely unreal. There’s no question, whether she's a work of art, or if she'll fuck you up, but you love that part.

“Ruin her for me, won’t you?” Tzuyu prompts, with that twinkle of mischief you're rapidly becoming accustomed to. "She looks even prettier when she's fucked out. I know you know that."

She does, she does, she does.

Your hips snap, up, fuck in - Sana mewling around the shape of Tzuyu's first two fingers - then back, drawing the motion slow, long, full - until you’re crashing forward and sinking up into that warmth you know is spreading across every inch of Sana’s body, swallowing her up inside-out as her legs start to shake and give and her tongue laps recklessly along the outline of Tzuyu's knuckles.

Sana knows she likes to play at coy and control, but this is never part of the act - your cock fucking her submissive pussy apart - it’s hard to argue she doesn’t love how you can come to own her: hot and fast and filthy, leaving her breathless and desperate, every thrust into her tight cunt punctuated with some pretty whimper. And here, she just… there isn't the luxury, there's nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to run or shy or look away.

Tzuyu curses when finally Sana bites down, part of a long sequence of reflexes that bloom from the depth you fuck up into her cunt. And with her voice back in her throat (Tzuyu's fingers shaking out the sharp pain) she fucking whines into it, unable to stop the steady line of nonsense tumbling past her lips, incoherent except for the single-minded purpose of her own release.

"Fuck, daddy, fuck," Sana repeats in the same way she always does, getting fucked, the letters collapsing into each other. "I'm cumming, fuck, fuck, so fucking wet. God, you're, fuck, right there, oh - I'm cumming, daddy, I’m fucking cumming," is the all further she gets, muddied with the sound of your slicked-up thighs moving in quick rhythm with the beat of your heart, slapping loudly against her skin - loud enough so that the neighbors can probably listen in through paper thin walls.

Then she goes silent, face painted with it all. She isn't crying, the tears won't come, but she's gone this quiet sort of wide-eyed that matches the way she's mouthing, cumming, over and over, you’re pulling me a-fucking-part.

And you believe her. You have to.

Just look at the way her legs are doing all the wrong things. Thighs tensing taut, muscles giving out - she’s slipping down the tiles, back bending and flexing and going limp all at once. Tzuyu's already moving, scooping her up like it's something rehearsed, before you even have to ask, "Tzu, help me hold her up, won't you?"

“Tzu, huh?”

It's not much, but it is worth noting: how Tzuyu, her fingers curling and interlacing between Sana's, holds the girl like she's breakable. Tenderly, cradling Sana's small body against her chest.

"Do you slip into pet names and all that with every girl Sana brings around? Or am I," and when Tzuyu tilts her head, her smile has this very palpable bite, "the exception?"

"Every pretty girl thinks they're special, sweetheart."

Tzuyu just glimpses one downward look into Sana, shivering, riding her orgasm down into nothing, and drops a kiss into her hair. A gentle chuckle: "And when have I ever given you a reason to doubt it?"

"Shameless," is all Sana offers up, beyond exhausted, trying and failing to take more than a passing, somewhat disgruntled interest in the scene unfolding around her, while she clings to the strength Tzuyu and the tile and your hands are putting into her body.

Meanwhile Tzuyu, this devil of a daydream - this tall, skinny thing of long hair and smirking lips and cheekbones as sharp as her wit, has her gaze locked. Still curious, and all but relentless - there's more she's dying to say. It seems almost impracticable that such a lovely woman would really be this way, weapons concealed under all that good-girl charm. And in its most uncomplicated form, that's what it is: an open invitation.

You've only managed the vaguest outlines, after all. "Do you mind?" you ask again.

The next movements feel more elegant than they probably are. Cradling Sana's limp body between you, finding a steady hold.

There’s a slight shuffle to discover a proper balance, a hand slapping the glass of the shower door, and yeah, Sana's fucked out. Slurring out sounds that might resemble the shape of words if she had the presence of mind. The rest are whines and whimpers, obscene in all ways.

“Baby,” Tzuyu tells Sana in a growling kiss to the back of her ear. "Keep your fucking legs up."

(That’s a cue if you were looking for one, to get your arms fastened around Sana's small waist as she leans heavy into your chest.)

"More," The girl in your arms starts to complain, when you truly start fucking her.

"Hurt - hnn, please, more - fuck - harder," and all those sharp edges, that arrogance and conceit, it's all gone. Her pupils are blown out, an animal-like-desire set in its place - these are your invitations to wreck her, you realize, pushing so deep into her well-fucked cunt that she arches, and that her head knocks against Tzuyu's, that the small room is entirely empty save for these movements under the metal cloud of shower water, falling like rain.

This is all there is.

Tzuyu, smirking like she herself might get off on this.

Sana, begging.

And when Tzuyu buries a hot smile at her throat, nibbling at the skin - urging her, urging you, this sharp, "now give her the fucking dicking of a lifetime, will you?"

When Sana’s reduced down to her pleas of, please, harder daddy, and deeper, god, I can feel you so deep -

Well,

You’re all instinct. You sink your fingers into the firm skin of her ass, grab at the soft, slippery flesh around her hips. You sink your cock into her hole again and again.

The stretch is obvious and absolutely devastating, making Sana cry out and muffle her face in your shoulder. She makes a weak sort of sound around your neck - it could be anything, maybe please don't stop, or maybe please do - it doesn't matter.

"You look incredible like this baby, does he fuck you well?" Tzuyu croons, curling around her so her head rests on her shoulder - eyes watching Sana, meeting yours. "Oh, come on, aren't you always telling me about how it makes you feel - all this, full and hot and better than anyone? Now's your chance, no hiding from him. Or me."

"It's so, god it's - I -"

"Come on," Tzuyu squeezes out one long, eager moan with her hand dropped onto Sana's breasts, pulling and kneading like she owns it. "Tell him to cum in you baby, like the good fucktoy you are, let him cum up into that creaming pussy until you’re all sticky and leaking cum all over, just the biggest fucking mess."

There is measurable irony, you suppose, in how Sana brings these friends of hers back with the clear expectation to be fucked and torn apart, how they each want the same, all wanting to get her unraveling and her knees buckling. Only Tzuyu manages, more efficiently than anyone you've ever seen, to leave her all wanton and squirming against your hard, relentless thrusts into her needy cunt.

It's easy: this isn't difficult, there is nothing hard about falling for each and every promise her face has to offer - knowing her body's secrets and drawing the story out, line by line, so you can fall in love with it over and over, all while Sana starts to go helpless at the shape of your cock filling up that tiny, wanting cunt.

So you cum. Inside her. In one final push, filling her completely.

Sana opens her mouth like she's trying to say something - say yes - say daddy, say fuck yes daddy.

"That's it," Tzuyu strokes down Sana's belly. "I knew it - now keep your pretty thighs shut. Can't let even a drop out, understand?"

"Yes, fuck. It's - fuck - good, he feels," Sana finally sobs, chest heaving as you grind the last little bits of cum deep, so far and hot as it can get. All the way in. Where it's hot and wet and throbbing and slick.

Where it should stay, because you never pull out. You savor the last bit of your pulse, sporadic and lethargic. Because in truth - your mind is made and your mouth won't say it because you don’t need to.

Tzuyu's wringing the water out of Sana's hair, picking the strands into careful folds. "Alright then," and her grin is positively lecherous.

There's a bench in the corner of the shower where you eventually arrive, panting now that you realize it, and Sana makes herself at home right in your lap, face buried in your shoulder. Grinding her hips down in this almost imperceptible circle, circling back and feeling. Holding you inside and murmuring into your collarbone.

(Fucked, Sana is simply and unfairly beautiful.)

It’s all in that exhale of a moment, when Tzuyu catches water in cupped palms from the shower-head, wiping away what stray tracks of soapiness left on Sana's shoulder-blades and breasts and thighs. Her hands all up and down her body, sudsing the crease between leg and torso, down lower still, around her sensitive pussy and her folds.

You wonder if she can hear you swallow.

"Maybe we should actually wash up before we go again?"

The first thing Sana's free hand goes for when she stumbles through the threshold of your bedroom is a hair band you didn’t know she was storing in the top drawer of your dresser. She fidgets around keeping her towel wrapped tightly around her chest as though modesty were an option at this point.

"What?" she asks, fixing you with a slightly-irritated, slightly-teasing smirk. "You look like you have something you want to say."

"Nothing." You laugh out loud. "It's nothing. I'm just waiting."

She makes this face at you, guilty - so sorry about the contraband - as she twists her wrists and pulls the hair band round her middle-finger, wrapping her palms around her knot of wet blonde and bundling it into a half-assembled ponytail. It leaves the length of her nape exposed and vulnerable, neck flushed pink-from-showering in all the most wonderful of places.

"Waiting," is what she hones in on.

Tzuyu is pulling out of the bathroom. Her hands, washed clean and dried off with a fluffy, off-white towel. When she sets it down, she steps back, leaning on the frame. "He's waiting, for what I wonder?"

She's made of all things smooth-and-sharply-cut. Even from here, even through the sleep-haze fog, the silhouette of her nude figure gives itself to a small sense of anticipation. The long and smooth sweep of her chest, from breast, up and out, and then tapering along down to where her hips flare. She takes a step and then another and lets her fingers ride her side, from the very top of the shallow indentation in the dip of her waist, up. Then the tautness of her abdomen and further still, running slow and over the breast, coming to cup its full weight, pushing the bottom of the curve outwards.

"Waiting to," and she wets her lips in something akin to expectation. "Pound me into the fucking bed?"

You’re smiling when you explain, "I was going to say a request…"

Tzuyu’s dimples deepen. "You mean, like, we can tell you what to do?”

You sit on the bed, which is actually more of a proposition than you realize. "I suppose."

"Sana, sweetie, is there something I should be doing for him," Tzuyu looks up, wearing that trademark kind of playful expression that is definitely deliberate and not at all a tell. "Or maybe I've got this all wrong and you know exactly what you want."

"Well," you manage in reply, sounding surprisingly sane. "Don't both start coming forward with any ideas you have no intention of following through."

"And what if I have no ideas at all? What would you tell me then," is the challenge you find hanging around the slender outline of Tzuyu's wrists, and then at the back of her fingers, as she cards her hands through her hair and pulls it prettily over rise-and-falls of her collarbones, until it's barely curtaining her breasts.

(Barely.)

She crosses over to the bed - to you and Sana - and without much other movement than that, finds a knee on either side of you to let a lone fingertip skirt the tops of your hips. Flirting with the towel around your waist.

"For the record," Tzuyu says, flicking a glance at Sana and leaning down into your jawline. The palm she slides over your thigh is so warm, so promising of its heat and pressure you'd swear you can almost taste the touch of her. "I never, ever go back on my word."

"Try me," you tell her.

"I do have some, ideas." Every time her fingernail ends up between her teeth, it’s another drop in a well that runs god knows how deep. "Though very few of them involve this towel."

“And about the ones that do?”

"Well," Tzuyu starts to purr - reaching a hand down and spreading the flat of her palm on your chest, "I figured if I ever wanted something to bite down on, well, you know."

It's just a subtle little rock - and the perfect view: she starts like this, her hair all tucked behind one shoulder, the arch of her back lifting. Slow at first, Tzuyu only pausing after every other short breath to lick and kiss your lips with hers, and the edges of her teeth, all soft and insistent. You are sure - that with a subtle twitch, a minor jerk of the knee or hip - she is almost right over the perfect place, and when her hips grind in these micro-friction little motions that have her sighing and pushing herself flush, it's clear that all she's looking to do is rub her cunt down all over the erection you've been holding in since the last time your towel was hanging somewhere above your waist.

"Hold, please," Sana interrupts, when she leans over and plucks something out of the messy contents of the nightstand - a few hair clips, and, more importantly, a condom. She swears aloud when the package tears the wrong way, but she's quick to apply a lip balm-slick finger-tip on the inside of the ring, and hands the thing to Tzuyu by way of a passing roll, "so, I assume you've got this under control."

"Give me that."

"Mm. Have at it."

There is an intrusive thought that finds its place, wedged somewhere at the base of your skull when Tzuyu starts the careful act of lowering herself down your shaft - like this, it has an inevitability - a forward momentum, the familiar sense of excitement building a force in your heartstrings. Sana must have a similar sensation, as she scoots her ass and slides one hand over the same place you feel that force thrumming, her palm reaching right for Tzuyu's ass, while Tzuyu hisses out a tiny sound at the added stretch.

"Careful," Sana says, fingers drawn back from the cleft of Tzuyu's beautiful ass with a string of slick that's unmistakably arousal. "You try going back after having his cock. And trust me, there's nothing to go back to. Like, ever."

"That must be why you're always like this," is Tzuyu's cock-sure comeback, finding herself flush with your hips.

You're biting down. You're holding back. You're probably digging nails into your palms hard enough to break skin, because you could be double, triple wrapped, latex running up your length like a goddamn balloon and you'd still feel the hot, melting perfection of Tzuyu's pussy swallowing your cock in one, slick, seamless motion. There isn't any sound either more pleasing than that hitch-groan-slip you hear as Sana helps guide Tzuyu's hips back, forth, back again and to a steady beginning of this proper pace: smooth and full.

You both need a second, because, fuck - and she's biting into a grin. Eyes already half lidded as the speed builds. As Tzuyu starts really enjoying the drag of it, the feeling. The god-damn-fucking-stretch.

"Oh? Like what?" Sana asks, smirk filling out her lips to bridge the silence you're both groaning into. "Like what?"

"Greedy," Tzuyu says. The only part that really needs to get filled in. "Because he fucks the self-control right out of you."

Now Sana lets that settle, and it's not like she doesn't know. Or doesn't understand. And still, "Mm. That does sound like me, doesn't it, daddy?"

(Yeah, well- you- )

Tzuyu watches you watch what happens next: Sana peeling out the cotton slip of her bath towel - sizing up just how good Sana looks. Fuck-me-raw.

And then she laughs, deep and gorgeous. "Didn't he just do a number on you - hn, god. Can you hear him all up inside me? Fucking, splitting me apart."

It's true.

All of it.

The way Tzuyu rides your cock. Faster, faster, rolling her body and drawing her hands together behind the length of her hair and neck until the point of her chin is upturned, showing off the hollow of her throat. A tension that glitters with sweat.

The tightening in the space between the bottom of her ass and your cock - all of it is heaven. This slow-and-rough, rough-and-fast. Tzuyu picks the tempo of it to fuck out a particular pleasure that has you catching her and pulling her closer to your body, holding her through the upward grind, where your cock meets the heat of her cunt - pressing her closer.

That's it.

Possessive. That's what both girls have the good grace to read.

Sana's hands come up Tzuyu's ribs, fingertips skirting the muscle-taut-surface of her stomach, the bumps and grooves of her ribs, and up further still, riding the path of her breasts as they're bobbing-jostled and going full-on heavy - her thumbs go at her nipples. Rolling around the hardened tips - the faintest tug at them, enough to start to pull - then just teasing them between thumb and forefinger and loving the sight of you wincing. Loving that you love that.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Sana laughs.

"It's a real show," you bite the compliment out. The very least you can get to.

(You'll be fucked if you can hide how much you want to stay buried in this girl and cum a fucking waterfall between those perfect, creamy thighs. Oh, she knows. The dirty little smile, the filthy laugh, you're holding tight - even if the act is useless.)

"Like how she clamps down," she hums. "That's the part I've always loved, you know. She just does everything so slow, so fucking good, so... deliberate."

There's a fist in Tzuyu's hair and no trace of sympathy or self restraint in her friend when Sana tells her, "Baby, ride him slow for me, can you do that?"

When Tzuyu sucks a hiss through her teeth, mouth caught around the sharp intake, Sana just licks a slow line along the curve of her lower lip - as though saying, baby, like the slut you are, remember who asked nicely?

And it turns out: slow is worse. You can feel every tiny tremor of friction, every little shift of Tzuyu's cunt squeezing you. Clinging tightly. Your fingers wrap around her rib cage and hold her right as her ass hits your lap, while her head rolls back into her own hair. It is enough, finally, to draw an out-of-breath little pant out of her, making a beautiful blush crawl and spread across her cheeks - there.

(Oh, fuck, your brain echoes. So, you want slow, that's what the noise from your throat says as she eases back, rising up. So slow, you-can-feel-all-of-me. She makes the effort so flawlessly, it's fucking you both over, because she's looking at Sana with this flutter-beat look, eyes wide, wet and round and pleading.)

It gets that much worse the minute Sana pushes her down by the shoulders. Giving her some resistance. Showing you both she can take you inch by slow goddamned inch.

"Harder. Deeper, sweetie."

Tzuyu does everything Sana says she'll do, loving her fingers in her hair, pulling tight. Control given as easily as that. Because she looks just how she feels: utterly surrendered. A helpless kind of want, like there's something broken in her chest when the head of your cock pushes her deep, deep. To the point she feels something more than an ache.

"Want it," Tzuyu whispers out against Sana's smile. "From the back, like you promised," she says, and takes the shudder out of your breathing.

Sana cups her jaw, laughing. She puts one arm around Tzuyu's throat and bites at her chin, at her ear. "I bet he'd do just about anything to give you what you want, baby."

Tzuyu’s hips snap down onto yours again. Melting your cock in this thick, molten heat.

And again, faster. Needier.

The kind of movements across your lap that make everything louder - a beautiful chorus of small-sounds. Slaps and squelching. Wet and gasping and begging and skin-on-skin. You'd never, ever considered the act a competition before, not with Sana. But when Tzuyu seems to be seeing who can pull the most erotic of noises out from underneath your ribcage - or the highest pitched sigh - the wetter and louder it all gets -

"Sana."

"Tzu."

Tzuyu rides the pressure and finds her voice, head thrown back, jaw slack. "Sana - tell him to, I'm gonna, soon. Tell him what to do."

"Beg for him," and Sana gives her the fakest-of-all-pouts when she slips her hand along Tzuyu's inner thigh, nearing her where the two of you meet, then slowing her pace, bringing you both to an immediate stand-still, while her fingertips continue, ghosting across the shape of your stomach. "He doesn't need anything less than the truth."

Tzuyu's face. It's the most gorgeous thing you've seen. Her hips are winding slow against you when you hit a spot you're not entirely sure either of you can recreate at your own whim: deep inside. Her eyes as wide as they can be. All of her sharp edges now just these subtle things - the very shape of the shadow beneath her clavicle, the tensing of her thighs at your sides, the gentle lines that curl up from the wide bottoms of her hips when your fingers thread up her belly, palm open flat.

"I want," is where Tzuyu starts, not hiding it any part. "I want you to bend me over the bed."

And in a breathless voice:

"Please, please let me have what I want. Just bend me over the bed, shove my legs apart and take me. Hold me down. Fuck me and fill me and don't let me move or say a thing. Until we're both fucking finished."

You swallow. Hard.

Because here's what Sana's brought you: this tall brunette with an impossibly beautiful ass and thighs to die for, a sin-full mouth. The curves in her waist and back and tits a distraction, that you might try to map out until you're so lost you forget how to leave, how to ever take your cock out of this tight cunt.

"Is that a thing you can do?" Tzuyu practically purrs in one long tone, pushing herself up your waist, until your cock falls out and hangs there. Until you can only see all of this clear, gorgeous skin in front of you and hear her pretty little moan. "God, please, daddy, I’m begging you."

(She says this last part in a way that lets you know this isn't something either of you will get over easily, the kind of pleasure, the feeling and the flash. She's unreadable - almost, not quite- just too honest, there's nothing else for you to believe. Maybe that's where the shiver comes from, or your palms itching, or the sounds of your bedding ruffling as you spin her onto her back, her tummy - pull up on her hips until they're sky high and you can palm her breasts, let her press her knees up and apart on the duvet. Until you get that first look down the column of her spine and the sudden, stunning shape of her ass in a view you never want to say goodbye to.)

Tzuyu slides her hands across your sheets, all this stretch. A flex of muscle. When she opens her hips and you push two fingers deep, inside, easy - then back out -

"How much of that," Tzuyu interrupts, blushing furiously, "do I have left to beg with? Please."

- because she's been soaked and aching all day just thinking about it. Just begging for a good fucking - or so she told Sana, who now giggles and leaves small kisses up the ridge of her spine, crawls alongside the dip-line of the mattress, and after curling her fingers around the column of Tzuyu's throat - smooths a single fingernail up and down and presses, tracing, the groove of her jaw as you nudge your cock against her.

It’s not on purpose, this needlessly drawn-out moment - simple brush of latex against her slick, dripping folds, the tightening in her core and how it matches the tension in Sana's wrist and the coarseness of the bed-linens and the hardness of you - but everything eventually folds, into her.

And you're not helping, the way you're fastened to the narrow point of her waist like it's a handle. Your thumbs riding the arch of her hips, taking every opportunity to sink your fingers hard into the flesh, grip tighter and push, pulling Tzuyu, if only to really work that friction between your hips.

"Fuck, it's all in. Finally." Sana gasps like she's the one being bent, arched, fucked from behind, then lays herself down against the length of Tzuyu's shoulder, chin bumping her cheek. Watching Tzuyu. Taking it all in.

You have a hard time making it out, but Tzuyu starts this half-whimpered litany about how she needs to be fucked (that is, roughly - deep and long, or maybe rough and short and deep, or whatever, as long as it makes her lose composure), followed with some shoddy mix of cursing and your name and Sana's - the things all three of you might consider for another chance meeting.

And as you're following up the suggestion with a low groan, that's exactly how you notice that grind in her hips - a jerk back, a twist, bucking against you. She feels so, so incredibly tight when she writhes onto you, squeezes. Like she wants to tear her heart out her chest, she's so overwhelmed. So thoroughly and totally taken by this fuck. By you. "Harder," is all she says.

This one line does it, then two more. All in-and-out thrusts from behind, fuller the second time, then the third.

Only when you find Tzuyu peering back over her shoulder with a pair of eyes that say, please, pretty-please, all liquid and warm and wanting. "Fucking ruin that cunt, I want - god. Do you have the slightest idea how much," and that is where the words disappear into a slow and sticky whine.

"Yeah baby," Sana whispers.

She knows what it is. Tzuyu wants so much more, so you give it. Give her the just-this-side-of-ruthless fucking and the slow-pace grind you know can push her right over the edge. Give her more, all of you, and get her hands twisting in the pillow and grabbing fistfuls of sheets, burying her face into the space above her wrists and nearly choking on her hair with how she moans and yelps - loud.

Her whole body jolts forward the next time. The arch to her back deepening. Body drawing in on a flawless line.

Tzuyu does cum. Eventually.

She keens and rolls and begs you not to pull out or slow, just stay put and fill her with your cum - keep fucking going, please. The only thing keeping her from landing flat on your mattress as she practically unravels around your cock are fingers you have under her hips, tightening. Bruising.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, you’re,” you’re railing out of her lungs, where the words hang on sex-stale air.

First with Sana whispering promises into her ears and letting Tzuyu swallow, and suck around the length of her index, then two, fingers. Then licking a kiss into her mouth, tongue tangling up hers and finishing up the act with, "cum for us, Tzu, like the sweet girl you are - you take him so well."

Then, with your hand held over her ass-

(She could cry from it. From how everything pulls you in, like a riptide, and, really, with no regard for things like safety or drowning.)

-the utterance off her lips has your stomach twisting into knots:

"Keep," you hear her ask Sana. Barely getting the words out as you ride, fast. "Please, keep, telling him that I - god."

It gets worse before it gets better.

"I can't - I need; fuck, I can’t, with the rubber, I want him," and Sana smirks like she knew all along. "Sana, please-"

"You want the real thing, sweetie. Isn't that right, baby? Hm. Of course it's okay," and Sana soothes a hand through her friend's fringe, pushes it away from her eyes and over her ears, making something that sounds like an adoring laugh slip out. "You want him to fuck his cum so deep in that pussy, I know you do, don't worry."

When you slow down the grinding, wipe the sweat from your face, Sana gets your attention and nods to the very place your cock is disappearing between the cheeks of Tzuyu's ass, "go ahead. If you want the mess-up, sweetie - let's make sure that's exactly what he'll give you."

Who exactly wants what most is hard to say. Sana's the one pulling off the condom, the rubber stretching to an obscene limit that has you fearing for your life should it snap back before it breaks. Tzuyu is already a sort of gaping mess with it all, her own fingers snuck under to rub harsh circles in the absence of cock and something firm and heavy to fill her. To feel full.

And there's you, asking, or maybe, double-checking: "Tzuyu, you're saying you want me to-"

"She doesn't care," is what you're interrupted with, courtesy of Sana. "Fuck a baby into her cunt, that's what she wants."

(Like you wouldn't fucking love it too. Or have the frame of mind to even begin to unpack all of that.)

It’s a lot, admittedly.

And not just because Tzuyu has never looked better: on all fours, pressed, and presented. Legs all the way apart and ass and thighs in your grip, with that smile all pointedly certain and wild-eyed, like, she knows, that you know exactly what to give her - what she really wants - filling her so full and marking your claim by fucking your cum right to her very core.

Tzuyu drags her head back, so she can peek over her shoulder and meet your eyes.

She does things. Like sighing this small sound and laughing and - she has this thing for noises, for things breaking under the strain, where she won't say a word, except to murmur some part of your name into your jawline, a raggedness in her breathing. Sheer hunger.

"I want - want you to, fuck me."

You will. Or you are. Or you're going to, only - Sana's lips are fast around your cock, fingers fluttering delicately between your thighs and drawing these stuttering sounds in your breath, "I will. I will. I'm - I will."

Sana just hums, copper hair bobbing in place. Her hot mouth and wet fingers pulling and sliding and pulling and sliding. Tongue moving in all the ways she knows you like.

Which, here’s a fact: Sana can be mean. No one would believe it.

But sometimes this is the price of admission. You have to be honest about what it takes, how, exactly, you intend to break this beautiful brunette whose ass is swaying back and forth in this mesmerizing little waggle of the hips. It's hard not to marvel, not to ask questions and not wonder at what a pair of friends so similar and so opposite do to each other and other people and to themselves in those small, private hours and space no one else shares, that has you panting and burning and her clasping the hollow of your neck and asking with her body if this is okay, because sometimes, in moments of absolute need, just a glance can mean your end.

So, there's no tease; Sana is well aware of what it feels like when you're throbbing and ready to burst - she's working you up and over and right to that point of no return-

"Can I? Fucking-"

"Fine," she replies, maybe having now considered every other way you might spill a hot load out and make a mess of the sheets. "Have at her," and a flick of tongue catches around the tip of your cock - the final tease, the best punishment.

And the promise of how Tzuyu makes that perfect whimpering cry. Something entirely wounded. Because as soon as it begins - your cock in the shallow depth of her creaming cunt - you're both made aware how she's wetter than she was an hour ago and clenching at nothing, hands balling themselves in frustration, palms bunched white-knuckled up in fists. She needs something, anything. Something for her to squeeze against. For her to bear down on and bounce her cunt off-

The sound all three of you make when you grit your teeth and bury yourself deep into her pussy is a guttural, aching thing, with you biting a lip and gasping. Tzuyu half-growling-half-sobbing into the sheets.

It doesn't matter that she lets Sana cover her open and slack mouth in an attempt to quiet it.

It doesn't matter because in a blink, the exact point in which you sink completely inside - where it's the first, the best, feeling of Tzuyu’s hot pussy taking your cock.

(Mind-numbing, is the word that doesn't come to you.)

Under you, Tzuyu is writhing and hot and tight into the mattress - and so desperate.

"Please," is about all that gets away from her. Which is just too cute to ignore: she's been dying to be fucked, ever since stepped into your foyer and was introduced by the softest, most deliberate of gestures that wound up being all-too intimate. "Please- I need - harder, fucking-"

Sana takes to touching you, her own little form of enjoyment that ends with her fingertips mapping the shape of your jaw. Pupils blown, "Isn't she amazing?" Sana laughs into your neck.

"Fucking," is what your first real stroke back into Tzuyu pulls out, “unreal."

The friction has you both grinding your bodies together at the base, and she arches, this throaty moan, before looking back up at you and letting her mouth fall open - this wordless sentence of plea, over and over again. She's shaking. Body-full. It's almost something painful to see, that she's so undone - and what if you were the only person who'd ever fucked her like this: into ruin.

Tzuyu clenches around the next thrust - begging, so-sore-and-begging to cum.

The demand is practically written in her muscles, and all you want is for her to let go for the second, third, last time - until she loses track of the count. To get there before you have the time to register that she is actually doing it. She's already half-way gone and at your mercy - her only choices now, being: cum, or let you chase the orgasm you're currently rubbing all around the curve of her cunt.

Sana swallows her scream when the first little cry comes, that you've edged out of her. And it gets worse and better the second time her ass meets your thighs, where she's making a real mess on your hips and all but yelling out her orgasm in her state of such incoherent stutter and disarray. The arch to her back is this thing out of your best imagination, which has you - pounding out all her noises - gripping and curving over the plane of her stomach. Until Tzuyu's beginning to make these different cries, somewhere new, somewhere you're finding a whole lot deeper.

"Hold her ass up and fuck her 'til she's full of cum," is the advice you get from Sana in the end, as you fuck her and fuck her through the tumultuous rise and fall of orgasm after orgasm, "oh baby, does it hurt so good? Do you feel that heat spreading down your thighs and getting you all slick? You always knew the best toys are the ones that get bred, sweetheart."

And from her, barely, "fuck, yes."

That's what does it: the desperation just that tangible in all your voices.

Sana manages to get her lips on yours. A kiss that could knock the wind out of your sails under normal circumstances, one that curls a fist and tugs around a familiar part of you. But Tzuyu's eyes roll and drop low, fluttering shut, while your hips crash in quickening succession:

"Fuck-you're so-perfect, cum in me again, daddy - make me," and, "please, so fucking full, just give me more. Want more of you, until it's-"

Tzuyu gets you. Just there. Just the way you needed it. Just like that.

There's something addictive in how her muscles clench and grab around the head of your cock - drawing everything you'd been holding back to a painful front, and - Sana's taste in your mouth still so sweet, mixed with salt and sweat, while you fuck and pound, with absolutely zero respite. Cum buried deeper and deeper until it's spilling and Tzuyu whines for the filthy feeling. Until you're fucked through, emptying every single drop into her open cunt. Until your legs feel sore, a slight shake all through the muscle and the tension in your neck and shoulders, and you're growling this thing that might be her name, and "Tzu, my god, baby, you feel, so amazing," in between thrusts.

It earns you an appreciative whimper.

Something breathy and not-at-all restrained. She doubles down on it when your cock slides out of her swollen, well-fucked cunt.

At first, she only hums a sleepy smile and turns her face in toward the touch, eyes closed and unresponsive. A long exhale. Even like this - especially, perhaps - Tzuyu is lovely.

Either out of exhaustion or overbearing satisfaction, you collapse into her - bodies folding up like that old-cliche about a stack of cards or dominoes - with your cheek to her back and your arms wrapping around her chest, tight, trying to squeeze. Like you're hugging someone from behind. Which isn't too far off. Because for the next five or ten or fifteen minutes or a half-hour, you lie there, pressing your face in against the side of her neck, smelling her hair - how sweet the strands are - then down along her shoulders, and under, listening to the soft way Tzuyu falls into her breaths.

In, out. In, out.

Sana follows all the while with, "should we not have let her ride, first?"

To which, Tzuyu says, "fuck off."

Sana brushes it off, crawls around your shoulders and slips two, three, five kisses into your forehead. That's when you know to shuffle over, dragging and tugging limbs and muscles and bone in the same direction - careful not to let the sticky sensation linger anywhere it shouldn't. Not even for an instant.

The three of you are laying in a total fucking mess. But it's your mess, and that's beautiful in a sort of thought-provoking poetic way.

You turn your head. Tzuyu's there, still, blinking slowly.

"Hello again, hi," you say and the smile comes up all sorts of natural. "Okay?"

Her gaze shifts into something vague, so much quieter, but she nods. So it must be. Okay.

“Is it too early?” Tzuyu asks two weeks later, and nothing has ever, ever started like that.

She’s at your doorstep, a little too dressed up for the middle of the afternoon, hair pulled away from her face in two loose braids, bright eyes, lip-gloss that shimmers just enough. Something innocent in the whole way she looks and stands and smiles. Nothing, on the surface, that gives the truth away.

You lift an eyebrow, skeptical. Always. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Yes you were," and she dangles a set of keys.

"I'm sorry, did you steal those?"

The laughter from her chest is as surprising as it is gorgeous, rich and thick like molasses, rolling over the shape of her tongue. It hits you hard that two weeks - really, any amount of time - it’s not nearly long enough.

And before Tzuyu can admit as much out loud, Sana chirps from her spot aside the door, knee bent and grinning, "maybe I did."

"Well," you say, hands on your hips, "this is all a little..."

"Irregular, I know." Sana's giving her best impression of you: so exasperated.

"Which is, honestly," she continues to explain, pushing away from her perch and approaching in these small, gentle steps. "We need, that thing you promised you'd do," she trails a finger up the buttons of your shirt, under your jaw. You're already drowning. "Whenever" - is her very worst torture - "we called."

(Might just be a little bit of trouble, is the one honest answer, to whatever you were trying to start when you saw their faces and recognized their bodies and said: yes, come inside and meet me and fuck my brains out, all that.

What a way to begin. What a story it'll be.)

a/n: these two are fucking adorable.

#twice smut #sana smut #tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #twice sana smut #twice tzuyu smut

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madlori · 2 months ago

Text

Ok my fam, I think we all need a lil Come to Jesus moment. So let's talk about it.

"I'm disappointed Tommy wasn't in 8x02 and 8x03." That's ok! We'd all like to see him, and see our boys together. Going by precedent, we can probably expect to see him in 6-8 episodes this season (it could be more - Taylor had 13 episodes in season 5 - but we shouldn't count on it) and we've already burned one. I'd prefer not to have half of them during the opening disaster when SO MUCH ELSE is going on. I'd rather him appear in episodes when he's got a storyline with Buck, or even on his own, and especially at the midseason break or the end of the season when Relationship Events are more likely to happen.

"But the 217 engine!" I know. But as we sometimes like to say to other fans - we kind of baited ourselves with that. It was suggestive, sure. But the fact that production has MADE a 217 engine is also suggestive that we may see it again later, and they just put it in the hangar scene because they already had it and they had to fill up that hangar with as many vehicles as possible.

"An airplane disaster without using the pilot??" As others have pointed out, Tommy's not a jet pilot. And don't let anybody make you think you were nuts for thinking it was possible. It was definitely a reasonable theory, with supporting evidence, that he might be involved, but in the end, the big opening disaster is always going to be about our mains. As it should be. And honestly? It was great.

"But the whole point of bringing him back was to integrate him with the 118 more!" I'm sure that's still a goal they have, but it's probably easier said than done. Not just from a writing standpoint, but a contractual one, in that there's a limit to how often they can use him, so they have to pick and choose where.

"It's like they don't care about this relationship as much as we do." You're right. NOBODY will care about it as much as we do. They care about the main characters, about the show's actual premise (i.e. first responders encountering wild situations, secondarily the characters' personal lives). There is no universe in which ANY relationship in the show will be prioritized as much as we, the fandom, would like it to be. That's just life in the big city. But they do care, oh boy, they do. Enough to use BT scenes in off-season promo. Enough to write Tommy into a scene in the opening episode where, frankly, he didn't NEED to be. Also, consider this - to shoot that scene, Lou was probably on set a grand total of one day, MAYBE two. And they made sure to include him in the jokey "bee pickup lines" reel. You know what other relationship we haven't seen much? Buddie. They have not appeared together outside of work (and honestly, barely AT work either) except in the birthday party scene, and hey, did you notice that they do not interact at ALL in that scene? Buck spends that entire scene interacting only with Tommy. And that's a friendship featuring two mains that we know they value. That's not indicative of anything except the sheer scarcity of screentime.

"They should be promoting the queer relationship!" Should they? They've never really done that before, with the several pre-existing queer relationships. I have always sort of appreciated that they have not hung a neon sign on Buck and Tommy saying LOOK AT OUR NEW QUEER PAIRING. It's never gotten the Very Special Episode treatment - Buck never had gay panic, or much coming-out drama - and I like that. I like treating it no differently than other romantic pairings on the show. And they did actually promote it quite a bit when it happened. Now it would just feel kinda performative to me.

"Will he be in [whatever episode]?" Imma gently suggest we not do this every week. He'll be there or he won't. There'll be some we know he's in (I think 8x06 is a lock), some we won't know and will be pleasantly surprised, or unpleasantly surprised. I'd say odds for 8x04 are...20%, rising to at least 50% with 8x05 and 100% for 8x06.

And if you ever feel sad about it - go look at a still of Buck from any episode so far this season, and say to yourself, "This man is having heaps of amazing sex with his hot pilot boyfriend on the regular. Canonically."

I know a lot of us have encountered some pretty irritating gloating from people who hate this relationship (in a frankly weirdly obsessive way) about him being not there. Just remember - that's all they have to gloat about. The only "victory" they can claim is the absence of a character? Lame. And it's not even a victory, it's just the cost of doing business when your ship involves a recurring character. Sit back and enjoy your canon relationship between two men who've actually kissed on screen and ignore it. We can be generous about it.

So let's not talk ourselves off the deep end, shall we? I'd like to keep being a reasonable fandom.

#bucktommy #9-1-1 #911 abc #911 discourse #911 shipping #tommy kinard #evan buckley

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koiiiji · 2 months ago

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lookism x reader. between takes

summary ; lookism actually is a series, and all guys are just actors, same as you, so you happen to meet with them backstage.

starring ; seongji, jungoo, jongun, gimyong

SEONGJI x demon!reader

the bustling film set was alive with energy. you were taking a break from your role, when you spotted Seongji Yook across the lot. his team was filming scenes for “lookism,” in the mountains of cheongliang too. you couldn't help but smile at the sight of your friend. Seongji noticed you and waved, making his way over with a grin. “nice horns. going for a new look?”

you laughed, adjusting your tail. “just trying something different. how’s the day going on your end?” he shrugged, glancing at his hands and feet. “i feel kinda weird with this,” he said, gesturing to the fake extra finger on each hand and foot.

“really?” you asked ironically, pointing at your demoniacal makeup, horns on your forehead and the tail behind you. “i think we’re both quite the spectacle here”

as you both found a quiet spot to sit, the conversation flowed easily. you talked about your roles, shared behind-the-scenes stories, and teased each other about your costumes.

“you make a pretty convincing demon,” Seongji said, his tone teasing yet sincere. “i’d say you’re stealing the show.”

“thanks, but i think you’re the real star,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “i saw you on set, your scenes have been incredible, your appearance in “lookism” will blow the whole show.”

there was a comfortable silence, the kind only shared between good friends. yet beneath it, there was an unspoken tension, that nobody dared to speak about. Seongji leaned back, watching the crew set up for the next scene. “you know, i’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your roles.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words feeling more personal than casual. “thank you, Seongji, i really appreciate it!”

and before you knew it, the break was over, and you both had to return to your sets. as you stood, Seongji hesitated for a moment. “hey, maybe we could grab dinner after filming wraps up?”

the invitation hung in the air, filled with possibilities. “i’d like that,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement.

with a shared smile, you parted ways, the encounter leaving you with a sense of anticipation.

JUNGOO x pirate!reader

cozy coffee shop was bustling with the morning crowd. you felt a bit out of place in your full pirate costume — with oversized shirt, high knee boots and tight corset, complete with a big hat adorned with feathers and all small accessories everywhere. your team took a break from filming, you all needed a caffeine boost. as you waited for your order, the door chimed, and in walked Jungoo Kim. you heard that his team filming “lookism” somewhere near your location. his costume torn in some spots and covered in fake blood, his skin in bruises from a fight scene and hair is messy. despite his rough appearance, he carried himself with his usual charismatic confidence.

your eyes met briefly, and you both did a double take. you recognized him instantly — you kinda were his fan, he is an actor you secretly admired and respected.

he recognized you as well, approaching with a playful grin, trying to play it cool. “ahoy there, captain,” he called out with a playful grin as he sauntered over. “looking for treasure, or have you already stolen it with that outfit?”

you laughed, tipping your hat. “just trying to keep myself and the crew in line.” you smiled, waving your head to the side where your set colleagues were sitting, feeling your cheeks warm. “and what about you, mister criminal? fighting off enemies before breakfast?”

Jungoo smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “thought i’d see if the rumors were true about a captivating pirate queen causing a stir. seems they were right.”

you leaned back on the counter, smiling conspiratorially at him, playing along with his little performance, “ah, so you're not here by chance, and it's you the one who are looking for treasure here” you smiled teasingly, lifting your chin, the feathers on your hat trembled slightly.

“well, you caught me,” he chuckled, eyes twinkling. “i do have a knack for looking for treasures. maybe i should join your crew — think you could handle the competition?”

“only if you promise not to steal my spotlight,” you bantered back, imagining him in a tricorn hat and boots.

Jungoo leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “i promise to keep the spotlight firmly on you. though, i might steal a dance from the captain.”

the playful exchange left you smiling, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than expected.

“i have to admit, i’ve been a fan of your work for a while,” he confessed, suddenly trying to sound nonchalant. “your performances are always captivating.”

surprised and flattered, you replied, “really? i’ve been following your career too. your fight scenes with sword are legendary.”

but as the director burst into the cafe and barked at everyone, urging them to return to set to start filming, Jungoo offered you a wink. “break a leg, captain. i’ll be here to catch you if you fall.”

with a wave, you returned to your role, feeling a bit more buoyant from the encounter.

JONGUN x black swan!reader

film studio was a maze of sets and props, buzzing with activity. you were navigating the corridors, adjusting to the thick black eye lenses you wore for your role as the black swan in upcoming film. they made everything difficult to see, but the effect was stunning on camera.

as you carefully made your way to the break room, you suddenly collided with someone. the impact, unexpected and strong, caused you to lose your balance and fall.

“whoa!” a deep voice exclaimed. you found yourself looking up at Park Jongun, who was also wearing the same intense black lenses for his role on the neighbor set.

“i’m so sorry!” you said, embarrassed as you tried to regain your footing. Jongun quickly helped you up, grabbing your wrist, pulling. you to his broad chesr, a little harder then he should have. his grip steady. “no, it’s my fault. these lenses make it hard to see anything.”

“tell me about it. i’ve been bumping into everything.” you laughed softly, brushing yourself off. he glanced at your costume, noticing the contrast between your delicate ballerina attire and his all bruised and blooded body makeup. “looks like we’re playing quite opposite roles.” he said, finally losing his grip and letting you go.

“yeah,” you admitted, feeling a bit self-conscious. “i had to lose a lot of weight for this role, so i’m not exactly steady on my feet.”

Jongun offered you a charm smile. “you look incredible, though. very convincing as a ballerina.”

“thanks,” you replied, appreciating his kindness. “i’m guessing you’re the tough guy in your film?”

he nodded, a hint of pride and amusement in his voice. “yeah, shiro oni, always ready for few crazy fights. but i promise i’m not as scary in real life.”

as you continued talking, you found Jongun to be easygoing and surprisingly funny. you shared stories about your roles and the challenges of filming with these horrible jet black lenses.

“next time, we should get a guide dog,” he joked, making you laugh.

“or maybe just a cane,” you suggested, enjoying the lighthearted banter.

eventually, it was time to return to your respective sets. “it was nice bumping into you — literally. let’s try to meet again when we can actually see each other.” Jongun smiled dazzlingly again, gently clasping your wrist, and leaving a light, soft kiss your knuckles.

“deal?” he asked with a charm grin, while you stand there smiling shyly, feeling a newfound connection.

“i’d like that,” you replied, feeling grateful for the unexpected encounter. with a wave, you both headed back to work, the meeting leaving you with a smile and the possibility of a new connection.

GIMYONG x targaryen princess!reader

sun was beginning to set over the bustling film set near the sea, casting a warm glow on the neighboring sets of two popular series. one set belonged to the fantasy series where you played a targaryen princess, and the other to the hit show "lookism," where Gimyong had one of the main roles.

he had often glanced toward your set during breaks, intrigued by the regal world of dragons and thrones. he'd heard about y&u from mutual crew members and quietly admired you from afar.

but today, fate seemed to favor him. a scheduling overlap meant both productions were on a break simultaneously. seizing the opportunity, Gimyong wandered over, pretending to be curious about the elaborate set design.

as you stepped outside, still in your flowing, black gown embroidered with red and gold threads, depicting scales, tails and heads of dragons on the sleeves and collar. you saw Gimyong standing nearby, looking somewhat out of place in his black coat. classic black trousers, white shirt and loafers amidst the medieval backdrop.

“hey, aren't you from "lookism?"” you asked, recognizing him from the posters plastered around the studio. he abruptly pulled his hand away from the blue weird machine that soon will be turned into your dragon with computers cgi effects help. he beamed at you, intensively nodding. he was a bit surprised but pleased you knew of him. “yeah, i'm Gimyong. i've been curious about your set for a while. it's got quite the atmosphere.”

you smiled, appreciating his interest. “it's definitely a different world over here. i'm [y/n], by the way.”

“it's nice to finally meet you,”he said, but paused himself for a moment, glancing back at weird blue platform. he noticed once, that your team usually shoot scenes of flying on dragon's back on this thing. brilliant pick up line immediately was born in his head.

“sooo that’s supposed to be your dragon on screen, right?” he grinned, swinging onto the platform from behind, trying to play it cool, but it came out a little awkward, as you can see he is clearly nervous. you giggled softly, but decided to play along, already understanding what he was leading to.

“yes, his name is Vermithor, really huge dragon.” you elegantly covered your mouth with your hand, trying to hide a shameless smile, at Gimyong’s attempt to flirt.

“you know, im kinda dragon myself, being the son of a golden dragon… so how about safe the dragon and ride-” you couldn't let him finish the sentence, bursting into laughter from his pickup line and such a self-confident face. Gimyong was truly humongous man.

in fact, he was not confused or upset by your laughter, because in the end he amused you. his light laugh joined yours and he was happy that he made you laugh.

“no, but seriously, i’ve heard great things about your performance.”

“thank you! it’s been a dream role for me,” you replied warmly, your genuine smile still playing on your lips. “i’ve seen a few episodes of lookism — i absolutely in love with it! your character is such a gentleman.” you exclaimed admiringly, remembering all the scenes where Gimyong was filming with his 'mother', and how cheerful his character was, representing a wonderful leader.

as you talked, the conversation flowed naturally, and Gimyong felt his initial nervousness fading away. he found himself captivated not just by your talent, but by your genuine enthusiasm and kindness.

“maybe you could give me a tour of your set sometime?” Gimyong suggested, hoping to extend the conversation — and his time with you.

“i’d love that,” you replied, intrigued by the idea. “and maybe i could visit yours. i’ve always been curious about how you bring such a cool fightings to life.”

with a shared promise to explore each other’s worlds, Gimyong returned to his set with a newfound excitement. meeting you had been even better than he imagined, and he couldn't wait when you will visit his set, to show off in front of you with his skills and muscles.

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fickleminder · 10 months ago

Text

sacrificial lamb

The impossible choice between you and the Devildom.

I can’t believe I didn’t see anything based on this cliffhanger yet. I gotta do everything myself, don’t I. Spoilers for the Frost event!

“Well, it was nice knowing you guys.”

The joke fell flat as everyone’s heads whipped towards you with varying degrees of shock and horror.

“You… How can you possibly think that we’d ever consider—”

“It’s the classic trolley problem. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” you explained with a sad smile. “You of all people should understand that.”

Diavolo visibly winced. You were right, as always. The fate of the Devildom and all its denizens hung in the balance.

“There has to be another way.” Solomon shook his head, unwilling to accept the ultimatum. “Barbatos, let me try talking to it—”

“I’m afraid we are out of options. The white wolf expects an answer before it returns to the ice realm, and we do not have any bargaining power at the moment.”

Lucifer’s grip on your hand tightened. You didn’t realize when he’d grabbed it, but now it was the only thing keeping you upright.

There’s a rumor that the white wolf likes beautiful things. It freezes them and keeps them in its personal collection. Thirteen’s words burned at the back of your mind and sent chills down your spine. You knew better than to take rumors at face value, but the reaper was rarely wrong about these kind of things. Your mental impression of a soft, fluffy good boy was quickly twisting into one of a sadistic beast straight out of a nightmare.

The impatient howls echoing from the summoning chambers weren’t helping your nerves either.

“What if I went and bought you some time?” You whispered to Lucifer, who’d been watching quietly from the sidelines as Diavolo, Barbatos and Solomon dissolved into frantic discussion. “Maybe this arrangement isn’t permanent. I could go with it for now, until you find something else it wants more than me.”

“Out of the question.” The demon shot you down without hesitation. “There’s no guarantee the white wolf will respond to our summons a second time, and only it knows the way to the ice realm. If we let you go now, we risk losing you forever.”

All the breath left your lungs in a shaky exhale. An unbidden image popped into your head: a crystal statue of a human figure preserved in ice, curled up for warmth that would never come, a hand reaching out for loved ones who would never be seen or held again.

Lucifer drew you closer as you shivered, and you decided to let him think the cold was finally getting to you.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon

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junedenim · 2 months ago

Text

it's three in the morning

for the long haul

warnings: piv, eating, pregnancy piv, mild dad!alex, and probably some other stuff too

word count: 8.8k

There was an attitude when you first met that you each would hold a sense of permanence in each other's lives. It wasn't completely romantic at first. You and Alex met through a series of shared friends.

This was 2013 and you were both otherwise occupied with separate relationships. His was longer and much more stable. Yours was a short passionate fury that ended by early 2014. Coincidentally, as did his.

But still, it wasn't a direct rebound. He was touring and when the band stopped in New York—your home at the time—you stuck around at the after-party with Alex. Nothing much happened there other than a questionable conversation three rounds in.

"It's all speeding up," he said. It was drunk talk and you weren't paying attention to the idea he had spoken before it but you tried your best to follow after. His body came closer and huddled so close to yours, which was excusable in the February chill, but debatable with the indoor heating.

He slung an arm over your shoulder and, with great camaraderie, you slid your arm behind his back; a "friendly" side hug. "Time is weird," you said.

Alex looked at you. His eyes were alcohol-glazy but his soul was bursting to say something. You could both feel the unsaid left lingering and his head moved forward at one point as if he were going to kiss you but it was then decided he would hesitate on that front.

He chuckled through his nose as if some joke had been made before turning his head to look at the buzzing partiers. He nodded at something and you weren't sure if it was related to your statement or not. You took another sip of your vodka Coke and he said, "Timing is everything."

He slipped away from you after that and it's possible he slept with someone else that night but you aren't sure. You don't even know if he would remember. He slept with a lot of people in 2014. It was a messy time.

Later in the year, toward the end of July, he called you from Iowa. Despite the hour, somewhere in the early morning, neither of you was drunk. Alex's sleep schedule had little idea of the concept of time with the mad case of severe jet lag he could be diagnosed with and you, well, you were asleep but you acted like it was normal for him to wake you up at 3 AM.

"Where in Iowa are you from?" He asked. Neither of you had really gotten to know one another. Not those small details. You knew he was from Sheffield but you don't know what college he went to or his parents' names or if he's ever broken a bone. Your relationship had never been built on knowing each other. It was always just about feeling each other. You had always gotten on well, never fought, always laughed, slung arms around one another, and thought about the maybes.

"Why do you ask?" You laughed at the idea of him calling you in the dead of night, sitting outside his tour bus, smoking a cigarette, talking about your tiny hometown.

"We're playing there tomorrow. Council Bluffs or something. You're the only person I know from Iowa." You told him that the first night you met and he latched onto it like it was some lie you told to impress people because people are usually so impressed with the concept of being a Hawkeye. Although, he never got more information about it. He didn't know that you grew up on a corn farm and you learned how to drive your dad's truck at 9 years old.

You scoffed, "Council Bluffs. You might as well just be in Nebraska."

He chuckled. "Sorry. I'll plan it out better for you next time."

"I'm from Beaman. It's close to the center. Very small town," you told him. "But there's a library and a basketball court that becomes an ice skating rink in the winter. It was dull but I liked it."

"Sounds like a nice place to grow up." You shrugged, not that he'd be able to see it. An air of silence hung over the conversation and you're not sure if he was waiting for you to say something in return. And then he suddenly said, "I've been thinking about you. Not just in Iowa."

You weren't sure what that meant. He was still so new to you and a one-on-one phone call had never been done before. You couldn't yet tell what he was trying to convey through the tone of his voice if this was some playful thing, a joke or something serious, a flirtation. "Why?" You questioned.

It was silent and you imagined him shrugging but you'd never know for sure if he did or not. Eventually, he answered, "Guess I just missed you. Is that allowed?" It was rolled in humour and tucked in a laugh so you took it as a joking sweetness. Some sense of sincerity lingered but it wasn't packed with desperation.

So, you told him you missed him too and hopefully you'd hang out again soon. The conversation ended and soon wasn't around the corner. You kept in touch, by text and through friends, but he didn't return from the road until November and you weren't yet one of the people he would hang out with as soon as he was back, especially since you were in New York and he was in LA when he wasn't on the other side of the pond.

But then you moved to LA, right at the beginning of 2015. Truthfully, it was for your boyfriend. It was an awful idea and you knew it. You had only been dating the guy for a few months and retrospectively it was never serious but in the moment fantasy and blurred visions came to mind and they took the wheel from you. Besides, you had a career that you could do anywhere, most of your friends were in LA, and there was, of course, Alex.

At a shared friend's birthday party, you saw Alex again through a barrier of smoke. Your boyfriend was off in the bathroom and Alex was pushing himself off the wall with a drunken stumble and throwing his arms around you.

"Huck told me you'd be here. Told me you're out in LA. How come you didn't tell me?" His words were rolling out of him quickly with little care where they ended up.

You did your best to reciprocate the hug and follow his sloppy manner as he leaned back against the wall. You stirred your gin & tonic with the flick of your wrist, still sober having just arrived. "It's all been hectic. We're just starting to settle out here."

His eyes drifted away, looking behind you, and when the cold hand touched your back you realized what he was looking at. "Yeah, well, once you are, we should get together or something. Alex, by the way." He waved to your boyfriend, staying against the wall this time. He looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open but his speech was clear with no slurring sounded.

You put your arm around your boyfriend's back, returning his hold. "I'd like that. We'll probably have some housewarming party at some point so..."

Alex hummed his acknowledgment like words were becoming too much work. He brought the spliff to his lips and the smell of marijuana began to give you a headache and a craving at the same time. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him away from you. It took a moment of staring before you moved to find residency on the couch, but more lingered in the air than just the smell of weed. Uncertainty persisted.

A month later, the house had been settled and a housewarming party occurred but Alex didn't attend. He had said he was out of town but you're not sure where out of town. It didn't matter much. You didn't live in that house for very long.

It would seem like fate stepped in at some point or a mere happenstance that the night you and your boyfriend broke up everyone in the world seemed to be busy. Friends were away for the weekend or had guests staying with them or simply didn't pick up their phones at 2 AM. But Alex did.

When you arrived at his house, he was peculiarly waiting in his driveway. His hands were on his hips and his head cocked in a way that some might interpret as pissed but you knew it was just his resting position.

Your unaffected nature could also be misinterpreted. You didn't feel the urge to cry, and though you were upset at the demise of a loving relationship, it didn't provoke your tear ducts and you remained indifferent.

After exiting your car, he asked, "Are you okay?"

And it was easy to nod and answer, "Truthfully, yes." It's probably easier to feel this way when you are the one who initiated the break-up.

It's also easy to feel that way when instead of going to bed you're accompanied by Alex and drinks. No rejection was involved when downing a bottle of hard liquor, especially when Alex seemed to have it stockpiled. You both operated better drunk, which could have been alarming to an outsider, but for you and Alex it was understandable. It wasn't used as coping, each other was used for that. The alcohol was just an additional treat.

"It's hard to not feel like I'm wasting away my youth," you told him, leaning your head on the back of the couch.

He was on the opposite end, cigarette stuck in his mouth as he spoke, "You're still young."

"Not forever," you lamented. "I guess that's the thing. I'm not particularly pissed it's over. I think I did us both a favour but I'm pissed about running out of time for these things. I mean, I moved across the country for this guy. I used to have fun with guys! Now I'm just following them places and desperately trying to play the role of wife. Like, who am I?"

Alex openly laughed in response.

You giggled in return, "Don't laugh at me."

He shook his head, removing smoke and cigarette from his lips. "I think you're getting worked up over nothing."

"Maybe." You shrugged. "But I don't think so. I don't know what I'm saying. Wait, yes, I do." Alex laughed again. "I'm saying I want to have fun again."

"Right." He nods.

His eyes locked with yours and once his cigarette was stubbed out and the bottle you had been clutching was placed down on the coffee table, his lips then locked with yours. It was harsh and rough like every drunk kiss that had occurred before in history.

It must have been around 4 AM at this point and everything felt hungry. Like this was—he was—your midnight snack. This is when desperation occurs. The quick need for satisfaction with no care about the journey to get there.

Alex's arms clutched around your lower back up to your shoulder blades, pulling you on top of him. Her hands grasped around the endpoints of his sharp jaw making it impossible to be stuck in a heated makeout. You straddled him but it was hard (in two ways) to not feel frustrated quickly.

You reached down, swiping your hands along his chest, and landing on the button of his jeans. Everything must come undone and he understood that perfectly. You didn't even bother to pull his zipper down, instead reaching your hand into his underwear and letting the force drag the zipper apart.

He pulled your hand out just so you could get your top off of you and while your arms were up in the air, you grind on him and soft moans escaped, swallowing it up when your lips reunited. He was a master at unclasping a bra and had easy access to your pussy through your small skirt made up of flowy material.

Your hand made small movements around his cock and his fingers grazed through your folds and he seemed to want to do a version of shared masturbation but you ached for something stronger. You lifted yourself off of him to remove your skirt and panties. He shuffled just enough to kick his jeans and underwear off the bottom of his feet. You finished reaching nudity at the same time.

Alex didn't allow you to straddle him again, pushing you onto your back as he took off his shirt. His nude body hovered over you and the back of your head hit the arm of the couch. You curled your legs around him, pushing his hips toward yours. Everything is non-verbal, all performed through signs. You've always been on the same wavelength and it feels like words would have ruined this and made this all seem questionable.

He quit the foreplay of kissing your neck and pinching your breasts and became rough like this is what you wanted, now shut up and take it. He was in you and on top of you and it's exactly what you wanted: fun. He could be described as a pleasurable jackhammer as he moved in and out of you. Everything was hard and skin was slapping but you're both moaning and none of it was silent whimpers. It was shouts of "Fuck!" and "Harder!" and "Holy shit!" and "Right there!"

It's all responded to correctly. You nipped at his neck and toward the end, he reached down to rub your clit. It's all masterfully done on both of your parts. Your walls clenched around his dick and he stretched you open to a degree that has you grasping at the couch cushions until you've come. Then, he pulled out of you, letting it all go, straight onto your stomach.

Exhaustion and complete silence fell. Alex laid back on his side of the couch, panting. A few breaths passed before he rose and grabbed a rag from the kitchen, wiping his cum off you.

"Is that your cum towel?" You joked.

His face broke a smirk and he nodded. A question hung in the air of what to do next, stuck in the middle of his hot living room. He towered over you as you sat up, slowly adjusting. He folded the rag up in his hand and then asked, "You wanna use it again?"

Laughter erupted from you but you did end up using it again the next time in his bedroom, which allowed comfort and greater sensuality. It was less rushed but left you both exhausted by the end of it. You slept like rag dolls, limbs hanging over one another, and powerful sleep.

In the morning (or afternoon, you're unsure), with your bodies connected, you both awoke around the same time, blinking away sleep and finding his eyes doing the same. Your unsaid nature returned and you weren't sure if you should even leave the bed or if you should be racing out the front door.

"Thanks for letting me stay," you whispered with tired vocal chords.

He shuffled closer, sheets rustling, and licking away sleep. "Course," he croaked. "You could stay forever."

It might have meant more, especially after fucking each other, but it felt more like a favour than a request. You ate breakfast together before you left, no goodbye kisses, and he said goodbye at the door instead of walking you to your car. Two weeks later, he joined you and a group of friends for drinks where you shared light small talk and he bought a round. You left for New York two days later with no acknowledgment of anything more. It just was what it was and neither of you was hurt by that, but both of you still felt longing for it to be otherwise.

In the heat of summer, you visited LA and met up with Alex for dinner. The LA visit was more for business but you decided to sort out the personal while you're there. His hair was longer, cut around the ears, no longer greased back. It's a reminder of that morning when everything was thrown about without care. He was dressed in a white button-down that was unbuttoned enough to have a clear view of the chain that hung around his neck and his seductiveness was so clear you have a hard time believing he didn't know exactly how this night was going to end.

There was small talk but Alex was quick to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of things. "We've never had dinner together before," he said. "Not just the two of us." A smirk played on his face and lewd images flashed in your mind.

You sipped your wine as a coping mechanism and leaned back in your chair. You needed to be far from him, at least for now. Playing it cool was the main goal. "Are you telling me you don't want to hang out with me?"

"Oh, I want to hang out with you but I was thinking of something much different."

Intentions were clear and things were laid out on the table so when he invited you back to his house for drinks, you had no issue with him stopping in an abandoned parking lot so you could fuck each other.

Because fucking was easy and you always felt things together instead of knowing things together. So, when he takes you in the backseat, confined, and hot & heavy, it feels romantic for something usually so drenched in the word "dirty."

The leather seats stick against your sweaty back while he undoes his belt and then his trousers before sliding your underwear aside and going into you. The AC is blasting but you don't feel it and there's a lightheaded feeling likely from wine and dehydration but you blame the way his cock hits that spot in you.

The rest of the drive isn't awkward and that's when things started to feel different. It became clear that the sense of permanence with one another wasn't a platonic coincidence of sharing friends but something much more loving. You laughed that his car radio was stuck on the sports channel and made fun of the baseball announcers shouting over the Dodgers losing to the Phillies.

Before this shift, you expected to continue your intense rush to instant passion; fucking in the hallway, fucking in the living room, fucking in the kitchen, fucking on the bathroom floor, fucking in the shower, fucking in his bed, fucking against a wall, fucking on the washing machine, fucking on the ceiling if you could. Instead, you watched the rest of the Dodgers v. Phillies game, despite knowing little about baseball and Alex's knowledge reliant on Bad News Bears and high school phys ed.

Besides, little attention was paid to the game itself. He drank a beer and made you a vodka Coke and baseball is boring and Alex had suddenly become everything.

"There's a reason baseball is America's pastime," you commented. "Who the fuck wants to sit and watch this all day?"

Alex shrugged, a smile playing on his cheeks. "It's fun when they get a home run."

"It's fun when I get a strike in bowling, doesn't mean everyone wants to sit and watch me," I struck back.

He chuckled, wiping his beer lip. "You like bowling?"

"Yeah. My dad used to set up empty cans and have us play. The nearest bowling alley was 45 minutes away so we went there on special occasions."

Alex smiled, completely charmed, and that's when you started knowing each other. Later, you walked to his bedroom and had sex and while it was passionate, it had lost its spontaneity quality, which didn't lessen it, instead changing it into something new.

The following morning, you took his old words of "stay forever" to heart and never left LA. Your return move to LA was mocked by your friends for your coming-and-going nature and moving everything all over again was a pain in the ass but Alex flew to New York and helped pack your things. When you moved into your new place, Alex helped you unpack and helped "Christen the place," as he put it by going down on you on those marble kitchen counters.

Separate places felt ideal not to rush things, but soon it seemed wasteful as most nights were spent at Alex's. You weren't a big fan of your new place in comparison to Alex'ss, which wasn't shocking. Alex had a pool for Christ's sake.

Although, it still felt like the best fit. You didn't like how much Alex smoked and Alex didn't like how messy you were. While technically not living together, you fought over these things like you did.

Smoking usually went:

"It's my house. I can do it however much I want to!"

"You're going to ruin the house by smoking inside it!"

"I paid for it!"

"You're killing yourself!"

"It's my lungs!"

"I'm gonna die from secondhand smoking!"

Messiness usually went:

"You can't come over and trash my house!"

"It's barely anything! If you let me have a drawer this wouldn't be a problem!"

"It's not just your clothes! You leave dirty dishes everywhere!"

"I get to it eventually!"

"So do the rats!"

But all and all, it always ended relatively positively. Alex took to smoking on his balcony more and you would join him from time to time. You didn't really clean up more, but Alex did give you a top drawer in his dresser.

At the beginning of December, you both attended a Christmas party, where you and Alex wore a Santa hat you bought at Party City because neither of you owned anything festive. However, everyone at the party considered it to make you the cutest couple there. You both thought it was rather cheesy but you leaned into the cliche of it and got drunk off eggnog and roleplayed Mr. & Mrs. Claus at the party until it verged on too creepy.

Over a shared cup of eggnog, Alex asked you, "You want to come to Sheffield?"

Meeting the parents had never been discussed. It was easy when his parents lived in another country and your parents were scared of planes. Though excitement and nerves bubbled, you answered, "Sure" before taking a sip.

He chuckled, now accustomed to what your reactions meant. "We could do Christmas there."

You said, "Sure" and sipped the eggnog again because it helped fight against those nerves in your stomach.

Alex chucked again because he was charmed, now completely lost in you.

Christmas in Sheffield was cold. It rained heavily the whole time you were there. You and Alex only braved walking around town once on the 23rd when the rain had stopped momentarily. The city centre was time for sightseeing all his old haunts. You walked arm-in-arm with Alex in an effort to combat the cold but still keep your hands in your coat pockets.

You got a half hour in before it started pouring rain and you were left feeling like idiots for not bringing an umbrella with you. The car was far away and you both debated ducking into a bookstore but you were both already too soaked and cold and decided just to head back to the car. He grabbed your hand, leading the way, as you raced through the unbearably cold beating rain.

On the way back to his childhood home, the rain had increased even more making it nearly impossible for Alex to see properly while driving. "This is how you end up killing someone," you said.

Alex put his hand on your shoulder but kept his eyes steady on the road. "Relax. I know how to drive."

You removed his hand from your shoulder and placed it back on the wheel. "Then, keep both hands at 10 and 2," you ordered.

He laughed and reached over to kiss your cheek and while the affection made you gain a cavity, your nerves bubbled up as you pushed him away. "Eyes on the road, mister!"

You both made it back unscathed, minus your socks, which had been soaked through. The house was warm and the smell of dinner wafted through the air. The house was quiet other than the pattering of rain and some jazz record his dad had put on. It felt like coming home.

Christmas dinner, however, was hectic. You drove out to his grandparents' place and the quiet 4-person car ride led to a fistful of screaming grandchildren and uncles whose laughs broke the sound barrier.

It had you turning to him. "This is your family?"

"Yeah. Hard to believe, right?" The calmness of Alex must come from his mum's side of the family.

Once dinner was served, the noise level calmed down as people stuffed their faces and they wished to show a great impression to their American guest of honour. The questions were light and it was clear that you weren't the first American girl Alex had brought home but everyone was welcoming and Alex placed a reassuring arm on the back of your chair. He would occasionally lift his hand and play with the longest strands of your hair, bouncing the curls you had made that morning.

Later, while the young kids played with the toys they had just received as gifts, Alex and you drank tea together. It was a warm distance for the fast nights of Los Angeles. You leaned close to Alex on the settee so he could hear your words. "I like Sheffield a lot."

He turned his head away from watching the kids, meeting your eyes. A smile crept to his lips. "Good." His hand smoothed down your sweater-covered arm. "I'm happy you're happy."

That in turn made you smile. "I like this quietness. You know, of the city, not this house."

Alex chuckled and pushed the front hanging pieces of hair behind your shoulder, eyes sculpting over your body. "It's nice to come back. Feels like a reset."

You took your fancy tea cup off your fancy tea plate and took a sip, feeling like a proper English lady. "You should come to Beaman. You'll probably hate it but it's like no one else in the world exists out there."

He hummed, staring softly at you. His eyes made the ice in you melt. "If you love it, I'll love it," he promised.

"It'll just be you, me, and the chickens," you giggled.

Alex grinned, skimming his thumb over your cheekbone. "Hm. I love you."

It caught all the air in the room and it suddenly didn't feel as cold as it did a minute before. You inched closer to him and smiled because he was smiling. "You've never told me that before, you know."

He furrows his brows, playing up his acting. "I haven't?"

"Actually, you told me when you were drunk once. Back in October, at that Halloween party."

He squints seriously this time. "I don't remember this."

You coyly smile. "I know. It was when Miles and me were carrying you inside and I couldn't figure out if you were saying it to me or him."

He leaned forward, his arm pulling you toward him as he laughed in your ear before kissing your cheek. "You. Always you."

"Good." You clapped your hands. "I'll hang this over Miles's head for decades."

That night, Alex fell asleep quickly, allowing you to realize something. You nudged him awake, making him groan. "What?"

You curled your arm around him. "Nothing. I'm sorry I woke you."

His arms moved around your waist, laying you on top of him. His eyes stayed shut, not wanting to lose his sleepiness. "It's alright," he mumbled. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." You leaned into his ear, whispering, "Love you."

A grin spread across his lips, enticing you to lean over and kiss the corner of it. He hummed. "Love you too. Night."

The following year, Alex went away on tour. You stayed, he went, but it never felt like it placed a strain on the relationship. There was longing and missing but never any resentment and as Alex would put it, "It always makes for great reunion sex."

You briefly joined them in August when they played California: Santa Ana, San Diego, and Outside Lands in San Francisco. They were all one after the next and left you exhausted and though Alex was much more well-adjusted to the pace of touring, it was reaching the tail end and he struggled with the comedown on it all.

Those were the only times you grew frustrated with one another. You never really yelled or fought—maybe because you didn't want to or maybe because you were in close quarters with other people—although, you had tiffs.

Much like your annoyances at home, traveling or touring only amplified what truly annoyed you about each other but in a way—a super corny, cheesy way—you loved Alex even more for that.

"I like that you're not perfect," you said late to him one night. He was smoking a cigarette and though the weather was hot, there was a nighttime breeze that settled over the two of you.

"Gee, thanks," he quipped, puffing away.

You knocked a shoulder into him. "I'm being sweet. If you were perfect then I'd feel inadequate all the time in comparison but since you've got these flaws and vices that make you more real, in a roundabout way, you are perfect. For me, at least."

Alex grew amused with every passing word, tucking an arm behind you. "Well, you're perfect. I hope you feel that."

You shifted your body to get a full look at him. "Maybe not perfect but I feel worthy or something. You always make me feel adequate. I appreciate that."

He shrugged, unsure of how to respond. "You're easy to love. I've never struggled with that."

That's always been the word: easy. From the moment you met, it was a clear link holding you two together, and with time doing its thing, it only grew slowly into what it should be. There was never a force of change, you held onto each other until you clicked at the right time. After that, there was no way to disrupt it.

You moved into Alex's in September. After the tour (and even before), you spent all your time there anyway. He decided over breakfast one day to make it official.

He pulled out a pan to make eggs but before he could place it on the stove, he stared at it. "This is your pan," he said."

You looked up from your cereal. "Oh, yeah, you don't have small pans so I brought mine over. It's better for your eggs, you know. Heats up quicker."

Alex began to laugh, placing the pan down on the stove, and his hands on his hips. You chuckled along with him, even though you were confused. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, trying to shake off the laughter. "Do you even have anything at your place anymore?"

"Um, I don't know." you thought aloud. You shoveled a pile of cereal in your mouth.

"Why don't you just sell the place?" He suggested. "Move in here."

You shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He questioned.

"Yeah, I mean, I like my place."

Alex snorted. "You're never at your place."

"I still like it," you insisted.

He moved over, coming behind you like a snake, and hugging your waist tightly. "Come on, move in," he whispered in your ear.

"I'll think about it," you said as he kissed your neck.

Alex decided on other plans for breakfast. You stood up to clean your bowl but his arms stopped you from making it to the kitchen sink. "I have a convincing argument," he said, taking the bowl out of your hands and setting it down.

You laughed at his bravado but you were soon overpowered by it. He bent you over the counter harshly with a kiss to your left shoulder blade as a form of salvation. He kneeled down on both his knees and grazed his hands on your butt, playing with the fabric of your shorts. He squeezed and pulled and yanked, eventually dragging the material off of you and having it lay at your feet.

Alex's slow nature in the morning took hold as he danced his fingers around your cunt. The tips of his fingers edged on the lips of your pussy. The thumb on his other hand, touched over your asshole, making it pucker up with tension.

"Your teasing is only making me want to say no," you said, desiring relief as soon as possible.

Alex only hummed and muttered, "Interesting." He placed a light kiss on your inner thigh but it only felt like he was moving further away from the point of release. He moved up and kissed your left butt cheek, his hand squeezing the right.

His touch became light and he moved his hand back down to your lips. "I know how to get you there," he insisted. He tapped both your knees. "Spread. They're so close together. It's like you don't want me to touch you."

"It's called being bored," you retorted.

Then, Alex slapped your ass. He'd never done anything more than a pat and it was usually more in a casual setting, not when you were butt naked and not that hard.

You turned your head around, looking down at him with a squint. "Did you just slap my ass?"

"Yeah," he quickly admitted. "Why? Did you like it?" A smirk presented as if he already knew the answer.

You didn't want to give in to him. This was frustration, it wasn't supposed to be satisfaction. You wanted him begging for you, not the other way around. But you couldn't help it. You bit your lip and turned away, not wanting him to see the pleasurable smile on your face. "Maybe."

But then he overwhelmed you, diving straight in and placing his mouth directly on your cunt, dragging a long moan out of you. You could feel the coldness of the counter through your shirt, erecting your nipples. Your hands made a fist, unable to grab onto anything, thwarting you.

His tongue plunged into you and then moved up to your clit before pulling away again, making everything unbearable. His mouth moved to kiss your inner thigh before he left completely to slap your ass again. "You alright?" He asked to make sure, even if you gasped in delight at every feeling.

"Go back down," you demanded.

Alex listened and returned to your core, licking his way through your fold, and reaching his tongue up to your clit. He continued the game of agony, moving back and forth from the pleasurable, but slowly the edging made for a great build-up and he began to lay it on thick, never abandoning your clit until your legs were shaking and you were practically pushing him away from you.

He stood up and slapped your ass. You moved in on Tuesday.

Not much changed. You already had drawers in his dresser and space in his closet and pans in his kitchen. You had already infected his house with your essence and the only difference was you weren't paying rent on a place you were barely ever sleeping.

As the new year began, things slowed. Alex started growing his hair out, stopped shaving, and became far more reclusive. He had grown tired from the road, was now in his 30s, and, most importantly, settled. At times, that thought was terrifying for you, staring down the barrel of this being the rest of your life. Other times, it was comforting, usually waking up in the morning next to Alex.

But there was a lifestyle shift in Alex that you weren't yet aligned with. He rebuffed the idea of going out, talked about leaving LA, and locked himself away in his music room. You weren't particularly annoyed at the latter other than it sometimes felt like he was locking you out of part of him. The idea of leaving LA wasn't unappealing, but he longed for England more and you were American through and through. Going out, well, maybe that's where you got into trouble.

Alex's newfound life as a hermit wasn't horrible now that you were living together but you started to go out more and more without him. Usually with various groups of friends, sometimes for work, two times with Miles, and one time by yourself. Alex said no to going so often that you stopped asking. Soon, you weren't spending many nights together. He'd stay up late working on music or you'd stay out late drinking. Like everything else, it eventually came to a head.

"I think I'm going to Beaman next week," you told him while getting ready to go out one night.

He was in the shower. He was staying in. "Why?"

You furrowed your brows toward the shower curtain. "I haven't been back in a while. My mom's birthday is at the end of the month."

"Alright," he said over the sound of rushing water.

"Do you want to come with me?"

For a moment, only the shower made a noise. It didn't even sound like Alex moved an inch. You stared at the shower curtain and thought he might pop his head out. But he didn't and you didn't move to open the curtain either. Finally, he answered, "No, no. I think I'll stay here. Jamie's coming into town soon."

You thought about fighting it or asking him if he was going to do anything with Jamie, instead, you said, "Okay. I'm leaving now."

"Alright," he said, "Have fun. I love you." He never came out from behind the curtain. When you came home he was asleep.

Upon your return from Iowa, Alex picked you up at the airport. The car ride home was pleasant and he made dinner. You were scraping your fork along the plate when he asked, "Would you ever want to live in Iowa again?"

You snorted at the ridiculousness. "I left home when I was 18 and have only lived in New York and LA. Does that strike you as someone who wants to move back to the Midwest?"

Alex shrugged and thoughtfully looked down at his nearly empty plate. "I just never knew if you thought about it."

"Are you thinking about it? About England?" You leaned on your fist, eager for the answer.

He shook his head. "I'm just homesick, I guess." He then stood up and took his plate to the dishwasher.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shouted into the kitchen.

You awaited an answer from the other side of the wall. You heard the dishwasher shut and his feet pad across the wooden floor, he stopped in the archway, facing you. With certainty, he said, "I'm happy here."

You stayed seated. "Would you want to move back?"

He looked unsure but answered, "I don't think so."

"You can be honest," you assured him. "If you think I'm worried or going to shoot it down. I mean, I'm not saying yes, but if you're thinking about it I think we should talk about it."

He shook his head. "I'm not saying I want to be here forever and maybe that's something we should talk about since..."

"Since?" You questioned, clueless of where his words were leading.

Alex laughed at you, turning away, not bearing to make eye contact. "Since we're us. You and me."

"I'm confused," you said, crossing your brows. "What's this have to do with England?"

He laughed again, nerves tackling him. "We're not just fooling around here anymore. This direction..." He motioned a straight line and though you were catching on you still wished to hear him talk in full.

"This direction?"

He rolled his eyes with a smile, exasperated by your questioning. "Look, we've talked about it."

You playfully raised an eyebrow. "It?"

He wagged his finger at you. "Quit playing games with me here."

"Oh," you nodded enthusiastically, "the marrying me thing. You talk around it like it's a curse word."

"'Cause it makes me nervous." He played with the ends of his hair as a soothing mechanism.

You shifted forward, leaning your head onto your hand, resting it on your knee. You genuinely asked, "Why does it make you nervous?"

A nervous smile played at his lips as he calmly said, "Why the fuck do you think?" He laughed, feeling overwhelmed, both of you.

"You tell me," you egged him on.

Alex threw his head back, exhausted from you toying him. "You do the laundry. I know you've been in my underwear drawer."

You giggled, remembering the sight. "Well, you put it in your underwear drawer, how cliche are you?"

"At least I didn't do my sock drawer!" He shouted, trying to insist he wasn't such an idiot. "I didn't think you'd go digging around in there."

"Hey!" You assert. "I didn't find it. It found me."

You both laughed and soon the room fell quiet. "Hey," you said. "You got me a princess cut." It was dainty like you wanted, no giant diamonds, and no uncomfortability. A simple, classic look. He did good.

He kept a small smile, despite both of your racing hearts. "Well, that's what you wanted."

You grinned back, sitting up straight, and leaning your side into the back of the dining room chair. "You got my ring size right too."

He raised his eyebrows. "You put it on?"

"On my right hand that way I didn't break any rules."

Smiles were plastered on each of your faces. "Should I just go get it?" You'll probably cry if he does go get it.

"Yes. And yes to your next question too."

"I haven't even gotten down on one knee."

You shook your head. "You don't have to get down on one knee."

"I want to." He does. And the ring fits just as well on the left as it did on the right.

Just like moving in, being engaged isn't that much different either with the exception of getting your mother off your back and a nice new piece of jewelry. Alex enjoyed calling you "fiancée" when introducing you.

You started to go out less but when he did he came more often. It was a non-verbal comparison and with a new album on the horizon, you started to stockpile time together. Any wedding talk was limited but agreed upon to take place after the tour so you could enjoy married life together. Alex also heavily enjoyed the in-between state of being engaged and what you thought would be the dull before the actual excitement of marriage, turned into its own new game.

You accompanied him more on tour, mostly because it was much longer this time. You joined him for branches, attended the US shows, made him shave his head in Texas, and made your way over to London. There were bigger breaks this time with things not packed so closely together. You spent Christmas in Iowa with Alex for the first time. You went to Hawaii for his birthday. You went bowling for Valentine's Day.

When the tour ended and there was an actual wedding to plan, everything felt stuck. It was either too cliche or too underwhelming. It became easier to just get married and worry more about planning a party. So, you got married at a cute small inn with sycamore trees with a small number of guests. Those who would be willing to sit through a wedding without getting antsy.

The reception party grew in numbers and the loveliest part is you didn't have to worry about cleaning any of the mess up. Alex got cake on his suit and you went to the bathroom more times than you can count. But overall, it was a simple, sweet night.

Honeymooning (fucking) in Fiji and then resuming life two weeks later. "Wife" became Alex's new favourite word but everything else stayed the same. Well, for about a month.

You just had a feeling. You woke up one day and felt it. You nudged him awake, it was early before the sun was up. "Alex."

He hummed in acknowledgment, shut-eyed.

You burrowed into him and nonchalantly said, "I'm pregnant."

"What?!" His eyes were wide and his face wrinkled in confusion. "Seriously? When did you find out?"

You flopped onto your back, turning your head to the side to look at him. "Just now. I can feel it."

"So, you feel like you're pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yeah."

"But you don't know it. You didn't take a test?"

"No, but I know. I'll take one in the morning, I just wanted to let you know. Night." You turned over into your pillow and closed your eyes.

Alex sat with his mouth agape. "Yeah. Night." He didn't fall back asleep.

And you were right. You shrugged and said, "Told ya." Alex laughed. Then, he cried. Then, he hugged you. Then, he kissed your stomach, but you thought that was too weird so you told him to stop.

Being pregnant definitely changed things but things felt the same just with one more thing. You fucked. A lot. Your sexual appetite increased but you had always been horny for Alex. It's just a given. But there was a point where things did change.

It was the first ultrasound. You felt it when you entered the room. The air was cold and there was a shift, everything suddenly becoming real. You enjoyed watching Alex twiddle his thumbs while you waited for the technician.

When they started to move the wand around your stomach, he became fascinated with the machine, continuously asking questions. More of them were about the machine rather than the baby.

And, well, then the whole twin thing happened.

"Like two of them?" Alex held two fingers up like he couldn't quite comprehend it.

The technician nodded and you still couldn't think of a verbal response to the news.

Then, Alex said, "We've been having a lot of sex, did we like make another baby when we—"

You interrupted, "Are you the dumbest person alive?"

Alex pinned the ultrasound to your fridge and kept a copy in his wallet. He held an affection for it that you didn't. Maybe because you were the pregnant one. The proof came attached to you. Nonetheless, you were charmed by Alex in his fatherly role, even if he stressed you out with the need to be super-ultra-prepared. His nervousness about what you could and couldn't do got annoying by the second month. He calmed down after you yelled at him.

Although, it was nice for him to take on the extra work. You picked out the design for the nursery and he did all the work, citing that you couldn't paint because of the toxic fumes and everything was a heavy load.

He knew you were full of bullshit but he didn't care. "I like helping out. Being the man in charge."

You told him not to get too full of himself. His insistence on doing everything led him to break his index finger.

But after everything had healed and two babies became two girls, you both relaxed into your final months of solitude, which really just meant lots of sex. You fucked and he went down on you but sometimes you felt too sore down there from all the pelvic pressure and though Alex insisted that no sex was fine, you insisted that release was release, even if it wasn't your release. Alex still fondled your breasts too, saying that's where all his horniness came from.

"How can I not be turned on when they're just staring at me?" They were bigger and Alex was always insatiable.

"I feel like a cow," you whined. You were bigger with two babies and the only way you did have sex was doggy style with everything hanging.

"You're not a cow," Alex said, climbing into bed. You were under the sheets, exhausted at 9 PM. He curled up behind you, whispering in your ear, "You want me to fuck you on your side?"

You thought about it, felt the ache, and said, "Okay."

You were already underwear-free because they hurt your vagina too much when you slept. You had returned to your old days of quickness. Alex pulled himself out of his boxers, gave himself a few pumps, and slid into you. You softly moaned as Alex pushed into you slowly at first before his thrusts grew quicker. He knew you were tired and needed a quick release.

"Fuck," he harshly whispered as his speed picked up, skins slapped, and sweat beads formed. He clutched your hipbone tightly and you fisted your pillowcase. Every action rushed and a final slam resulted in you falling apart and him emptying into you. His hand caressed up your bump and you knew he was very turned on but the whole pregnancy sex things and not just because of the boobs. However, he did love those too, and gave them a quick squeeze before cleaning up.

The final change came in an expected way. Labour was shorter if only for the epidural and the C-section. You wanted to resist the idea until the thought of pushing two babies out set in and the pain became too unbearable and Twin A was breached and then a C-section seemed like the best thing, even if it was surgery.

Alex liked wearing the medical gear and kept adjusting his mask. Oh, Alex, sweet naive Alex. Luckily, everything was smooth, except for the fact you couldn't hold the babies until they had sewn everything up. But Alex cut the umbilical cord and got to hold them, which was a sweet enough sight.

When you were placed in recovery and finally got to hold them, then came the hard part. "What do we name them?" You asked.

Alex shook his head. "I got no fucking idea." Names had been discussed but you never really landed on one let alone two. "You should name them. You carried them and they're getting my last name."

"It's too much pressure," you whined.

Alex sighed and concluded, "Thing 1 and Thing 2 it is then."

Eventually, you decided on Wren and Willow. You initially hated the shared first initial but Alex liked it and it became too frustrating to think of any other names.

The first month was harsh. Your body was slowly healing and you ached all the time. You had backup with both sets of parents but then everyone went back home and everything shut down and it was just you, Alex, and Wren & Willow. It didn't actually feel like much had changed. It's not like you would have left the house anyway.

Alex takes to having the girls nap on him. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes both. Sometimes he will let you nap in his arms too. The days are long but the weeks move fast.

One day, Willow laughs. It's the first time either of them has laughed. It took you both by surprise. You were feeding Wren while Willow laid on her back with Alex loomed over her. Usually, when he would blow raspberries on her stomach she would just gurgle and flap her arms and legs around, but this time she laughed, and it’s the loudest sound you've ever heard.

Alex looked down at her, completely engaged, not bearing to take his eyes off, scared to miss the sight. It gets him laughing too with tears in his throat. He leaned down again and blew more air against her tummy. She shrieks this time, giggling, and you want to capture the sound forever. Run and have Alex record it.

But you looked down at Wren and rubbed your finger against her tiny baby cheek, deciding that there was no need to move from this comfort.

They aren't easy babies. There are two of them too. They both wake each other up, which means both you and Alex have to get up because it's 2 v. 2 and they're small but mighty. They eventually get on a sleep schedule and a routine and trade-off between you and Alex is set into place.

By the end of the year, it's the new normal and you don't remember a time when they weren't around. You want to be with them all the time just like you want to be with Alex all the time.

They're great. But then they wake you up at 3 AM.

a/n: so...this slowly became a prequel to my dad!al fic and i decided to just finish it that way. i also have not read through it because i'm tired so any mistakes you did not see.

#alex turner fic #alex turner x oc #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #junedenim

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