#it seems that the messages are different from person to person? so I figured I'd share these

[oldfoxyaoi]

[catgirl-kaiju]

something worth pointing out in the case of Tumblr CEO @photomatt 's statement regarding predstrogen is the very clear side stepping of the conversation being had. the ask he chose to respond to as part of his statement was asking about tumblr's transmisogyny problem, and what he is commenting on is tumblr's transphobia problem.

transmisogyny is certainly related to transphobia, but the two are not the same. i've seen plenty of trans folks who are guilty of transmisogyny and have even been harassed by such individuals on this very website. he repeatedly refers to transphobia and accusations of tumblr staff being transphobes throughout the statement, but never once brings up transmisogyny. perhaps he is unfamiliar with the term, but he could look it up and read up on it before responding to a question directly asking about it. he is very clearly not doing his due diligence in addressing these concerns.

he mentions tumblr having "LGBT+ including trans people on staff," but this is not especially helpful in assessing tumblr's transmisogyny problem. based on this we don't know how many trans people, whether or not there any transfem or TMA folks (who might understand the nature of transmisogyny better than TME people) on staff, what positions these queer people hold in the company, or whether or not any of tumblr's queer employees are on the moderation team. and it's understandable why some of these specifics are left out; you don't want to put any staff members in danger of being doxxed or harassed, especially if they're vulnerable marginalized people. however, it seems to me a gross oversight to not mention if there are any trans folks working on the moderation team.

i think it's also a huge misstep to focus on predstrogen so singularly when the conversation about her account being nuked is part of a larger conversation about transmisogyny. what this reveals, too, is transmisogyny playing an active role in the decision to ban her for life. one of the aspects of transmisogyny is viewing transfem folks as especially and uniquely dangerous. i'd like @photomatt to ask himself if he would have taken "threats" like the one cited as seriously if they came from a cis person or a TME trans person. really reflect on that, Matt. i also put "threat" in scare quotes here because, frankly, it's pretty clear that said comment is a cartoonish and outlandish example of violence used to demonstrate that the intent to harm is not literal. i do this all the time both on here and in real life. telling a friend i'm going to "maul them to death" over a minor annoyance is a comedic way of expressing frustration in a way that communicates it's not actually a big deal. saying something like "i want them to explode after falling down the stairs when trying to evade a falling piano full of knives" about a public figure or someone who is negatively affecting your life works as a way of demonstrating the intensity of your feelings while not veering into territory where it sounds like you're literally planning an assassination attempt. if you're reading this, Matt, i hope you can begin to understand the difference between something like:

and a real actual harassment, like:

y'know, all actual comments and posts i've received on this website, and reported with detailed explanations for why i'm reporting them but never heard back from the moderation team about the situation. i have no idea if anything was ever done about any of these people sending me bigoted violent messages because no one ever does follow-up. the only time i've ever received follow-up on a report was when i reported an account for promoting self-harm in the form of anorexia. that's it. one time in the over a decade i've been on this website.

how does all of this sit with you, Matt?

[capslocked]

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.

[dropthedemiurge]

Love for Love's Sake | Things you didn't notice (probably)

Finally, I am watching a good K-BL and can enjoy multi-layered meanings within language, culture and translated subs altogether (unlike with Thai series where I need to learn a new language again xD)

So I'll be pointing out some fun things that I noticed for fellow foreign viewers =) Beware of a long post!

Disclaimer: I'm not fluent in Korean, but I've been learning and using it for years + lived and studied in Korea for a while so I'm offering my perspective and knowledge but it might not be the Ultimate Truth

Episode 1

«I prefer lonely supporting characters instead of happy protagonists. Cha Yeowoon is still unhappy. ... - Where are you going? - To see my main (최애). I mean, Cha Yeowoon.»

The word Tae Myungha used to described Cha Yeowoon, as I heard, was actually 최애 (choe-ae). It's a slang that can be translated as "my favourite" and typically is used for K-pop group members, meaning "my bias" (think One True Pairing but One True Person instead). Then, as his fellow classmate gets confused, hearing such word referring to a popular student in their school, Tae Myungha changes to "I mean, Cha Yeowoon", and it works because the word and the name sound similar.

Myungha uses this word because in the intro he stated that Yeowoon is his favourite character in the book out of all. So basically, his first reaction was "- Where are you going? - I'm gonna run to find my blorbo<3", which is so admirable. I'd also get obsessed with making happy my fav side character that was treated unfairly by creators :D

«Kids like chocolate, right? ... (Yeowoon grabs an icecream, Myungha grabs the same, adding with surprise:) Didn't see that coming. Bi-Bi-Big (비비빅)? You eat like an old man.»

What surprised Myungha there? That Yeowoon chose this icecream->

It's a traditional icecream that is made out of red beans. This taste is usually associated with older people (because typically kids like sweet things and older people like less sweet/bland tastes), also red beans or read bean paste is used in many traditional desserts in Korea. Yeah, who would've thought that a high schooler would choose this icecream out of all options?

Later, Myungha gets the message "You can compare Bi-Bi-Big to big Ba-Bum-Bar (another icecream with "old man taste" from chestnuts), why the hell would you eat it?" and gets confused as the message seems missent. I am confused as well, because Myungha wasn't the one choosing this icecream and Yeowoon wasn't typing in his phone. Considering that the phone number is unknown, I can guess that it might be a commentary from the book's author who's watching Myungha playing his story game? Let's figure it out in the next episodes!

«- You eat like an old man. - Do you play sports? - No. - Weird. You're a whiner like I've always heard. - Kids these days have no manners.»

My quick translation->

«- You eat like an old man. - Sunbae, do you play sports? - No. - Strange. You sound like one of those older jerks (꼰대). - Kids these days have no manners.»

More on the differences between Tae Myungha and Cha Yeowoon:

Myungha tried to poke Yeowoon about his "old man tastes", and Yeowoon called him out for his conservative/stereotypical thinking.

Yeowoon keeps calling Myungha sunbae (because he knows MH's a senior in their school so he must be polite), and Myungha REALLY TALKS LIKE AN OLD MAN to him ("Kids these days" in the subs does translate this style of speech correctly! I'm glad). We all know he's much older before he was thrown into high school times (~25-30yo?), but his words and intonations really make you feel like he's 50-60yo or something xD

Yeowoon doesn't like this at all, though, so he calls Myungha a sort of derogatory term 꼰대 (kkondae), which is used to described old conservative people who are set in their ways and keep nagging and scolding young people for not behaving properly. And, as a runner, he implies that there are senior sportsmen that are hazing or nagging younger sportsmen like this as well, that's who Myungha reminds him of. No wonder the affection stats fell down in the minus zone so hard!

There you go, guys, these are my comments on the first episode of Love for Love's sake! It is filmed so well, I like the idea, and I really enjoyed it (if this one gets really popular just like Semantic Error, we might get more BLs about gamers or gamedevs and I WILL LOVE IT I am so here for it, hehe)

Stay tuned for more as I watch next episodes :]

[somerandomdudelmao]

Have to say I'm loving Marble Sky. It's clear you put a lot of thought into the story and I'm excited to see where it's going.

Figured I'd weigh into the Oscar commentary going on and I think honestly the shirt he was wearing in the flashback when Ward was talking about how he ended up in space might say a lot about his character as a whole.

If you don't look at the shirt closely it says "the earth is fla-" and naturally people will fill in the missing 't'. A shirt that seems to support flat earthers is particularly tone deaf given he'd just walked into a building dedicated to science and specifically space. It's the sort of thing people would instantly react to and think lesser of Oscar for. Much like the fact that he comes from a rich family. Or the fact that he seems to embrace the world with puppy like enthusiasm. It creates an image of someone who is ignorant, who doesn't pay attention, and is careless to the point of being arrogant about it.

However looking closely that's not what the shirt says. it's just the text for the rest of it is small, harder to read and purposefully arranged so its divorced from the rest of the larger letters.

And I find that fascinating.

So reading the shirt properly it says "the earth is FLA-bergasting". This message I think has a lot of layers especially combined with Oscar's established fascination with aliens, biology and stuff that we have seen with him previously. It's a message that celebrates the world and all life in it. It's a message that acknowledges that understanding that world is impossible but compelling none the less. It's a message that says the earth is confusing and hard to understand and Oscar is not pretending to know everything about it. Some of this might be just my interpretation of the message so take that with a grain of salt. Still the difference between the first and second is interesting because in the first its a person asserting they know something as complete truth while the second basically admits they don't know anything at all.

Now apply this to Oscar. We're presented with a chaotic lovable doofus who is brimming with childlike wonder at the start of the story. We're presented with a "rich kid" who got into space because his parents paid for it. We're presented with a guy who seems okay with the slaughter of others in order to protect himself. A lot of people are looking at Oscar and seeing "the earth is Fla(t)"

However we've barely scratched the surface of this story or this character not to mention the situation as a whole. So I'm staring at the smaller hidden letters (metaphorically) and wondering exactly what is actually going on with this guy. Because I'm pretty sure "the earth is Fla-bergasting" and so is Oscar.

Thank you for indulging this long ask. I felt like ranting because I love Oscar and this story.

There are three things in this world I can look at forever. How fire burns, how water flows, and how someone carefully analyzes a character in whom I have invested a lot of time and effort.

Holy shit this is incredibly interesting and oh my fucking god you wrote the entire essay?? your brain?? is powerful??rjfkgi

[avatar-anna]

Unknown Number Part 2

the long anticipated part two to unknown number. enjoy!

Part Three is now up!

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

(one day later)

HS: Hey, I haven't heard from you. Is everything okay?

HS: I know you're busy and everything, but maybe you feel differently after us talking?

HS: It doesn't have to be different. We can go back to just texting I don't mind.

(one day later)

HS: You're not avoiding me are you?

HS: June?

(one day later)

HS: I don't know what I did, but whatever it is I'm sorry.

HS: But I'm starting to get worried. Are you okay? Like safety wise? Cold shoulder I can take but I would feel awful if you were hurt or in danger or something?

HS: Can you at least let me know you're alright?

J is typing...

(twenty minutes later)

J: i'm fine

HS: Good!

HS: Did I do something?

J: no i just think i was served a cold dose of reality a couple days ago

J: sorry for disappearing on you

HS: It's okay.

HS: Would you be more comfortable if we just went back to texting?

J is typing...

J: maybe

HS: Maybe?

J: i...like the sound of your voice

HS: You do, do you? ;))

J: don't be smug!

HS: I'm not, I swear!

HS is typing...

HS: I like the sound of your voice too.

(later that evening)

Y/n stared down at her phone and wondered if she was the biggest asshole on the planet.

She was never supposed to know who H was. Sure, she'd thought about it, had stayed up for hours thinking about who might be on the other side of their conversations. But it was all guessing and daydreaming. Y/n never actually thought she'd figure it out. Or that H would stand for Harry. As in Harry mother fucking Styles.

The person Y/n had been texting wasn't some serial killer or internet troll or some random person. He was one of the most popular names in pop culture right now. And not only that, they were in the same vicinity for the next few months while Five Seconds of Summer opened for One Direction.

When she heard H's voice, when she realized H was Harry, Y/n ran. She high-tailed it back to the tour bus, shooting a quick text to One Direction's stylist to tell her she wasn't feeling well and if she could take care of her band. Y/n pretended to be sick for a couple days while she hid on the tour bus. No one questioned it, but she did feel a little guilty for not doing the job she was paid to do.

But what was she supposed to do? The potential for running into Harry was extremely high. Y/n had no idea what she would do if they spoke and he came to the same realization as she had. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle the disappointment on Harry's face when he saw her and knew.

Pursing her lips, she typed out a new message.

(ten minutes from the last text)

J: do you ever think about us meeting?

(five minutes later)

HS: All the time.

J: you do?

HS: Of course. I mean it's hard not to.

J: do you...think you'd ever be disappointed by meeting me?

HS: Uh no?

HS: Is there a reason for this line of questioning?

J: no not really. just curious

HS: Somehow I feel like that's not true.

J: i don't know

J: i'm not sure why i'm in my head about this it's not like we'll actually meet

HS: You really think that?

J: do you think we ever would?

HS: I don't know.

HS: But I think I'd like to. One day.

J: you don't even know me!

HS: I do though!

HS: And you know me too!

HS: Where is all of this coming from?

J: i just think we should be realistic

J: i texted you by accident and we've become like modern day pen pals or something

HS: So you...don't want to meet me? Ever?

J: it's not about want it's about practicality. i just don't think talking about us in that way is smart

HS: You brought it up!

HS: And what do you mean by us?

(fifteen minutes later)

HS: Oh, so you're gonna ignore me now? Real mature.

HS: You're the one who brought all of this up you know.

HS: But you're probably right. I know I've been bothering you, but I think you had the right idea. I think we need a little space.

(one day later)

Harry was unreasonably irritated. Angry didn't seem like the right word, but nothing about his situation was normal.

June was technically right. This whole thing was ridiculous and nonsensical and completely impractical. There was no scenario where they would ever meet or...

Harry couldn't even think about it. Thinking about June like that...thinking about June at all outside of their messages was stupid. He didn't need to be thinking about her, about anyone that way.

So why was he so frustrated?

Maybe it was that June wrote him off so quickly and seemingly out of nowhere. It wasn't like they ever needed to talk about the obvious, which was that they'd probably never meet despite the fact that he'd grown fond of her. Harry was perfectly content to talk about whatever popped into his head or June's latest Tinder date—though that topic was slowly starting to grate on Harry for reasons he refused to admit. Now it was a jumbled mess.

With his head bent, Harry walked toward craft services. He pulled out his phone, looking at past conversations and willing himself not to send another one. June hadn't responded to him since his last message, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was what he'd asked for, but he still was itching to talk to her. Harry had grown used to expecting a quick response, had enjoyed June's wit and charming personality with each message she sent.

And now it was all weird and Harry's emotions were all over the place.

"Oof! Hey, watch where you're going!"

Harry glared down at the young woman who'd bumped into him—or who he'd bumped into, but he was too caught up in his own world to realize it. The young woman's eyes widened in shock as she stepped away from him. She opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, but nothing came out. Maybe a little squeaking.

He'd seen her around before, but not much. Honestly, these days Harry was usually holed up somewhere on the bus or at the venue texting June. But he'd seen the back of her head as she scurried around, or at a table on her own during lunch as she scrolled on her phone. He was pretty sure she was Five Seconds of Summer's stylist, but he didn't know for sure.

Raising his eyes at her expectantly. Harry waited for her to say something. "Sorry," she said, barely said. She was so quiet, Harry could hardly hear it. She looked scared of him, which made him feel bad. He was in a mood, but he didn't want to make anyone feel terrified of him, and this girl looked like she was about to cry.

He tried to apologize, but she scurried off before he could. Harry watched her go and sighed. He couldn't wait to get onstage and forget about June and the texts and all the ways she made him feel things he wasn't supposed to feel.

(later that night)

HS: Are we okay?

J: i don't know

J: i think so

HS: I feel like I'm going crazy.

J: how so?

HS: All I've been able to think about is our last conversation. I don't want to not talk to you.

HS: Can I admit something?

J: of course

HS is typing...

HS: I want to hear your voice again.

(five minutes later)

HS: You know, for the first time I think I actually kind of sounded like a creep.

HS: I didn't mean it in a creepy way I promise.

J: i know what you meant

J: in every other circumstance it would raise a red flag

HS: But this time?

J: i think i just want to hear your voice again too

HS: Yeah?

J: i'm not going to say it again to boost your ego

HS: :((

J: you know, you say all the time that you don't date, but i have a feeling you like having your ego fluffed

HS: Who doesn't?

J: attention whore. that's what you are!

HS: That was mean >:(

J: i would like to make it known that i'm sticking my tongue out right now

HS: I'm flipping you off!

(five minutes later)

J: so we're okay?

HS: Yeah. We're okay.

(one day later)

J: are boys always filled with energy?

HS: I would say 90 percent of the time. Why?

J: my clients are just...a lot sometimes

J: very nice but a lot

J: like the brothers i never asked for

HS: Aw. Are they getting on your case about your bad taste in men now too?

J: you're not as funny as you think you are

J: and maybe

J: they tease me about the constant beeping of my phone. they want to know who i'm texting all the time

HS: And what do you say?

J: that i'm texting my boyfriend

J: i feel like it keeps them at bay

HS: Boyfriend huh?

J: oh hush

HS: Don't tell anyone, but I like the sound of that.

J: don't tell anyone but i do too

(two minutes later)

J: i feel like we're wandering into dangerous territory here

HS: Maybe.

HS: I'm not as bothered about it as I thought though.

J: no?

HS: Are you?

HS: Sorry. You don't have to answer that.

J: that's ok. i just don't know how i feel

J: not a cop out just the truth

HS: I believe you. Will you tell me when you do know?

J: of course

(later that night)

J: how does one acquire a new mother?

HS: Typically through divorce.

J: that won't work. my parents are miserable people together. kindred spirits

HS: what did she do this time?

J: it's stupid

HS: Not if it made you upset.

(ten minutes later)

HS: June?

J: sorry i was crying

HS is typing...

(one minute later)

Y/n's eyes widened at the incoming phone call on her screen. She knew she shouldn't have told him she was upset, but she needed someone to talk to, and somehow H had become the person she confided in.

Even then she didn't expect Harry to call her.

Hesitantly, Y/n picked up the phone. "H—Hello?"

"Why were you crying, June?"

"I'm fine, H, I promise—"

"No, you're not. I can still hear it in your voice. What's wrong?"

"I..." Was their first conversation really going to be her crying to H about her family drama? Y/n knew perfectly well that he probably had a million other things he could be doing. She was aware that both bands typically went out after shows. The boys of Five Seconds of Summer had tried to persuade her to go out numerous times, but she had yet to take the bait. Y/n was perfectly happy to lay in her bunk and text H, who she now realized might have been in a bunk of his own a couple buses over. The thought made her stomach feel fluttery and nauseous at the same time.

"My mom posted on Facebook about one of my cousins who just got married," Y/n explained. "And she said, or commented, or whatever that she was, 'so happy' and 'so proud' of the 'daughter she always wanted.'"

"Oh, June, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, I swear it's fine," Y/n insisted, but even as she said it, she felt more tears begin to leak from her eyes. "I knew she was disappointed. Marriage is a huge deal in my family, and I didn't want—She called her the daughter she always wanted. What kind of mother says that?"

Y/n knew she was something of an outcast in her family, but she never thought her mom would say something like that, and so publicly. Facebook was her family's way of staying connected. This was a message for her entire extended family, not just Y/n.

"June, I—I don't even know what to say. That's horrible," H said.

"And you know what's the worst part?" Y/n asked. "Deep down I can't help but wonder if I should just settle down and get married like she wants me to because really, what am I doing here? I've been trying to make my way in this industry, but at what cost? My family has all but disowned me, I hardly have any friends because I live in a new town that just eats up my meager paychecks, and—"

"Hey," H said gently. "Do you really think you'd be happier back home with...with a husband at, what? 22?"

Y/n sniffled and rubbed her eye. "Probably, not, but—"

"And do you want this?" he asked.

"I thought I did."

"June. Do. You. Want. This?" he repeated.

He was the only person Y/n would admit it to. "I...I really do, H."

"Then go for it," he said. "I believe in you. In a year or two, everyone is going to want to work with you. You'll be the one turning people down."

"If only."

"Hey, that's not the voice of a confident woman. I need to hear confidence."

"H—"

"No, I need confidence. I can't be the only one believing in you here," H said, which made you smile despite the tear stains on your cheeks. "Do you need me to shout it? Because I will. Don't think I won't."

Y/n tried to stop him, but H proceeded to shout—to whom, she wasn't sure—that she was the best stylist and that she was the coolest person he knew and all sorts of nonsense that made her giggle and continually tell him to shut up.

"Okay. That's enough! Harry, that's—"

She stopped immediately. It was a slip of the tongue. Y/n had gotten caught up in the moment and his name just...it just came out. Her heart stopped and her hands began to shake, nearly making her drop her phone in her lap.

Y/n prayed that he missed it, that amidst all the laughing and shouting, H didn't hear it. But the minute his name left her lips, it was dead quiet.

"How do you know my name?" he asked. His voice wasn't lighthearted anymore. It was stone cold, closed off.

"I...I don't—"

"You do. You just said Harry. How do you know me? Have you known the whole time?"

"No! I didn't—I don't—"

"I can't believe this. I can't believe that I...that I let myself fall for this. You—You lied!"

"I didn't lie! I swear, I never—I never knew anything until..."

"Until what?" he shouted, and you flinched.

What was she supposed to say? That they were on tour together? Harry would definitely think she stalked him then. He was so angry, there was no way he would listen to reason right now.

"Until what, June?"

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

"Don't try to contact me again, or I'll call the police," he said harshly before hanging up.

Y/n could only stare down at her phone in disbelief.

(two days later)

Y/n decided to spend her days perusing thrift stores. Hiding, really.

Her first-ever clients as a stylist were pretty low-maintenance. When she met them for the first time and saw their scuffed-up sneakers and ripped jeans, Y/n knew she wouldn't be stretching her creativity pretty far. But her job was to find clothes that represented her clients' image, which was exactly what she did.

While everyone else on tour was doing who knew what, Y/n went to local thrift stores in search of vintage t-shirts and good quality jeans that would be easy to move around him. One time, she came back with a pair of gorgeous leather boots that she thought would be perfect for Luke, but he said outright that he wouldn't wear them. Boys, honestly.

It wasn't much, but they appreciated when she came back with cool band and graphic shirts. She sewed up holes and ripped new ones when she was asked. Y/n felt like Snow White sometimes, and the boys were her dwarfs, but they were nice and funny and kept her distracted, which she needed right now.

She was in a small thrift store in Oregon, a couple pieces on her arm—two flannels, a baseball tee, a t-shirt with Kurt Cobain on it, and a couple leather bracelets. Now that she'd been on tour with the wonderful members of Five Seconds of Summer, Y/n had an idea of what each member liked. They had very similar styles and often shared the clothes she picked out for them—which honestly made her life easier considering her smaller-than-small budget.

But she still thought about H, of course she did. There were times when she felt compelled to go up to him at the concert venue, or even his tour bus, but she feared that would just make things worse. He already thought she was a stalker, she wasn't going to make it worse by just...appearing right in front of him.

She didn't know what to do, but not doing anything made her heart hurt. Not talking to him made her heart hurt. Y/n couldn't believe that this was how their text friendship turned out. Of all the ways she imagined this thing ending, having Harry block her number and him virtually hating her.

"Just this today, hun?" the woman behind the counter asked when she brought the clothes up.

Y/n nodded. After her major slip up, she hadn't done much talking. She felt like a ghost, floating from place to place without a word until she could go back to her bus bunk and look at old messages. Y/n didn't really want to be on this tour anymore, but she couldn't bring herself to quit. She didn't have the energy.

Back at the new concert venue, Y/n went to the boys' dressing room. They crowded around her as she showed them the shirts and bracelets. "I can cut up the sleeves on some of them if you want," she said quietly.

"Really?"

"That'd be awesome!"

"Maybe a couple holes around the neck?"

"Do you think you could write 'IDIOT' on this one?"

Y/n had only been half-listening, but she looked over at Michael with her brows raised when he said that. "You want me to write what?"

"I don't know, I think it'd be cool. Don't you?"

All four of them looked to her at that. Since the tour started, the boys went to her for fashion advice. That was technically her job, but it felt like she suddenly had four younger brothers.

"Y—Yeah. Very punk rock. I'll get on that right now."

"You're the best, June!"

"I could kiss you!"

"Please don't," she said, shoulders tensing when they all squeezed her.

The four boys left her alone in search of food—because they were always hungry—and Y/n got to work. Or tried to. She was alone for all of two seconds before the door slammed open.

"Really? You fucking stalked your way onto this tour?"

It was the first time Y/n had seen Harry since the one time she bumped into him in the hallway a few days ago. Y/n thought he'd looked irritated then, but he looked downright furious now. His face was red and mouth turned into an angry frown. Y/n tried to speak, but she couldn't. She just kept staring at him, hoping the words to explain would come.

"I—It's not what you think—"

"You're sick! Sick in the head! I'm calling security. I can't believe this," he said, muttering the last part.

Sniffling, Y/n looked down at the clothes she was supposed to fix up for the boys. Her boys, she sometimes thought. She couldn't believe this was actually happening. Harry was in front of her, and he...he was calling security on her.

"You—You don't have to do that," she finally said. When she stood up, Harry stepped away from her. "I'll go. I swear. I know how this looks, and I know you won't believe me, but this is a coincidence. But...I'll go. You don't need to call security. I'll leave."

Y/n grabbed her things and the boys' clothes, not looking at Harry once. She couldn't handle seeing the look in his eyes. But she felt it. His glare burned his skin. She shuffled out of the room, head bent with her things in her hands. On her way out, she bumped into something. Someone.

"Woah, June. Is everything okay?"

It was Luke. He looked concerned, but she couldn't find it in him to explain. "I'm—I'm fine. I'm just going to finish this stuff up on the bus, okay? I'll have it done before the show."

Before he could say anything else, she left, trying to ignore what sounded like an argument starting in the room she'd vacated.

(three hours later)

Y/n was still on the tour bus fixing up the boys' clothes and waiting until it was time for her to leave for the airport. She knew she should've left right away, but she wanted to do this last thing. One last thing, and then she would be gone. It was almost time, and she'd finished cutting up the shirts, now she just needed to write the word 'IDIOT' on Michael's shirt. It was very fitting, Y/n felt like an absolute idiot for ever letting things get this far.

Still, she couldn't help but form a little smile as she sketched out the letters with a pencil. This job wasn't necessarily what Y/n had wanted, but it also wasn't what she initially expected. She liked the 5SOS guys, and she had to admit that there was something adventurous about going to a new city every few days. The point was, she liked it more than she thought she would, and now it was over.

(thirty minutes later)

Harry had been standing in front of the crew's tour bus for ten minutes. He wasn't sure if she was there, and he wasn't sure if he wanted her to be there. But he was standing in front of the bus door anyway, trying to decide if he was going to knock.

He'd been furious. Furious and alarmed and freaked out. When he'd gotten the first text from June, Harry immediately thought that she was some crazed fan who had somehow obtained his number. He slowly realized that wasn't the case, or so he thought. June had been lying this whole time, and not only that, she managed to become a crew member on tour.

When he heard her voice outside Five Seconds of Summer's dressing room, Harry was floored, and then he was scared, and then he was angry. Why couldn't people just leave him alone? It wasn't enough that he performed and gave all these little pieces of himself to the world. Why did everyone expect to give over all of himself?

And he talked to June about that at length, and he thought he was confiding in her, he thought they were sharing with each other. But she was...she was just lying to him.

And yet, she was still June. Months of texting and everything he felt didn't just evaporate because he discovered the truth. She was funny and charismatic and seemed to really like him, and he liked her too. A lot.

It was why he was at the bus. Harry wanted an explanation. He deserved that at least.

It took about a minute for the door to open after he knocked on it. She peeked her head out, watery red eyes surprised, and a little scared, to see him standing there. Mixed emotions flared in Harry's chest at the sight of her. Something squeezed his heart at finally putting a face to all the messages, to the girl he couldn't go more than a day without talking to. June was very pretty with a thick head of hair, high cheekbones, and pouty pink lips. Her nose was red, as if she'd been crying, and the part of Harry that cared about his friend hated seeing her like that, hated to know that this was how their first meeting was turning out. Harry had daydreamed about meeting June for the first time many times. A lot of times. None of his daydreams looked like this.

"Um, I promise I'm leaving. My flight is later tonight, and I just thought—It doesn't matter, I'll go."

Harry had met a good number of crazy fans over the years, and while he knew June was one of them, she seemed rather subdued. Instead of jumping him at any possible moment this entire tour, she minded her business and didn't try to talk to him once. Maybe he was believing in something he wanted to believe, but June didn't seem like the crazy stalker fan that she was.

"I want to talk. I want an explanation," he said.

June nodded, not opening the door any further but reaching her hand through the small crack. "I wrote it all down. I was going to give it to someone to give to you. It was the least I could do."

She didn't even want to talk to him? Was this all just an act to gain his sympathy? There was no way of knowing. If this was all one big con, June was a very good actress.

Harry took the note from June and unfolded it, reading it carefully.

H,

I just want to start off by saying that you have every right to be angry, I understand that I have betrayed your trust. And I have betrayed your trust, just not in the way that you might think.

I found out who you were a few days ago, it was why I was avoiding your texts. I'd overheard you talking to Michael and the other boys in their dressing room. It was right after we'd sent all our voice messages, and I just knew it was you who was behind the door. I couldn't quite believe it.

But I also didn't know how to tell you that I knew. I was shocked and confused...and to be honest I didn't know what to do with the information. I just...wasn't expecting you.

So I kept the secret for a little while I tried to figure out how to tell you, and...Well, you saw how that turned out.

I just want you to know that I had no idea who you were when we first started texting. I truly gave my number to some idiot that I slept with, and by some twist of fate, he gave me your number instead. I didn't want to text you, I didn't want to like you, I didn't...expect to share so much of myself with you. I know this is harder on you for so many reasons, and you are justified in not trusting me, but it was hard for me too. Part of me thought that if I told you and you saw me, really saw me, that you would be disappointed or not impressed or something like that. You mean meant mean a lot to me, and the thought of ruining our tentative friendship by us meeting scared me, so I foolishly thought I could avoid you the rest of the tour.

I'm sorry that you found out the way you did, and I'm sorry it caused you so much emotional pain. I know you probably won't trust anything I've said, but I hope this might help you understand. And with the hope that I don't come off as the obsessed stalker that you already think I am, I really did do like you, and all your secrets are safe with me, as I hope mine are with you.

All my love,

Yours,

Sincerely,

Best wishes,

June Bug

Harry looked read the letter once, then twice, then looked up at June, who was still hiding behind the bus door. It had closed that much more, like she was trying to shut him out.

He knew he had a right not to trust her, and part of him still didn't. But another him was pushing her toward him, drawing him to her. His gut was telling him to hear her out, that she was the June Bug from all of their messages.

His show was in a little over an hour. He had last minute things to do and pre-show rituals to complete, and he knew that people would start looking for him soon. But he didn't want to go.

"Can—Can I come in?" he found himself asking. "To talk?"

June's brows raised, like she wasn't quite expecting Harry to ask her that. Which was a valid thing to think, of course, but now he was hoping she would let him in. Or send him away so they could avoid a difficult conversation.

"Sure. Are you—Are you sure?" she asked him, thick brows furrowing. Harry would've found the wrinkle between them cute if it wasn't for the situation.

Was he sure? "Y—Yes."

Nodding, June opened the door further to let him inside. Harry's hand brushed against hers on his way past her, and she immediately recoiled. He ignored it, and looked down at her for the first time. Really looked at her.

She really was beautiful, there was no denying that. June had a kind face, one that held so much emotion in it. Harry felt like he could read every little feeling as it flitted across her face. And right now, she was looking at him like one word out of his mouth could make or break her. Unable to handle that kind of pressure, Harry focused on a little scar that cut into June's brow.

"Um, so obviously you're familiar with the layout of the bus. Do you want to sit at the couches in the back? Or the tables here, or we could just stand—"

"The couches are fine," Harry said.

“O—Okay. Couches it is."

June turned around and headed for the back of the bus, strands of her hair swishing with each step she took. Harry followed, wondering if he'd just made a huge mistake or was taking a risk worth taking.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

tags: @cookielovesbook-akie @sucker4angstt @l0v3e1i @bellesmith628 @marigold-morelli @obsessedmaggiemay @sophthearthoe

[captn-trex]

make it feel better

Rex x F!Reader

word count: 4.3k

description: when scouting a new planet, you fall into a bed of flowers that you understand the effects of all too well. Captain rex is the only person around and the only one who can help you.

warnings: NSFW (18+) minors begone! sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, oral (f! recieving), pinv sex, almost voyeurism not really, some reader masturbation, swearing, little bit of praise, non-established relationship, to me this is consensual ofc (wouldnt write it otherwise) but if you find the sex pollen idea icky in that way then don't read

a/n: okay so this is the first ever proper smut I've posted and I'm SCARED. do not judge me pls and thank you <3 I haven't seen any sex pollen with Rex so I thought I'd try my hand at it

The sun was only just clinging to the horizon as you made your way back to the ship, taking a shortcut through the forest. You and Rex had been scouting for a new, and safe, planet to move to, where the small rebellion you were a part of could operate without detection. This one had been uninhabited, and so far proved to be a solid contender. You had come along because of your in depth knowledge of various flora and fauna across the galaxy, and Rex deemed you the most qualified to ascertain whether or not the planet would be suitable. He also enjoyed your company but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

You and Rex had known each other for many years, as you were somewhat of a consultant to the jedi in the war. Your knowledge of different cultures and languages throughout the galaxy proved most useful, and you often became an intermediary between the Republic forces and the primitive beings you encountered. A lot of your time was spent in the field, which was where you met Rex.

The 501st had been part of a relief mission to Abednedo, where you were required for translation purposes. The Abednedo mostly spoke basic, but it was their written language that proved difficult for the Republic to understand, and with you understanding the Republic’s supply logging system, they opted to have you catalogue the supplies rather than teach the Abednedo to use it.

Rex had been uneasy around you initially, with you being someone from outside of the GAR, but he quickly warmed to you when he saw how well you integrated with the rest of his brothers. That was part of the reason that you joined his band of rebels in the first place - you definitely had a soft spot in your heart for the clones, and even more so for Rex.

Your feelings for Rex had grown steadily. Naturally, you found him to be handsome when you first met, his closely cropped blond hair making him stand out among his brothers, but your attraction for him really set in when seeing him on the battlefield, taking down almost a whole wave of droids with only two DC-17s and his own sheer will.

Though that was years ago. Now, you found yourself harbouring deeper feelings for him, feelings you had been reluctant to admit to yourself.

When Rex had found you after the end of the war, sending you a message on your encrypted comm channel, you felt like you had finally hit a stroke of luck. The transition from the Republic to the Empire was turbulent for you, to say the least. The Empire had uses for your intellect, but you had quickly become disillusioned with the whole regime when you realised the deception that they covered up in every corner of their reach. Rex had all but saved you from the Empire, and for that, you’d always be grateful to him.

Meeting him again after the end of the war, when you hadn’t seem him in some time, was like a breath of fresh air. You had never been exceptionally close with him, no closer than you were with any of the other clones at least, but upon seeing his tired and haggard figure on the other side of the hangar, you couldn’t help but speed over to him and embrace him in a tight hug. He had chuckled and returned the embrace, commenting something about ‘understanding the feeling’.

Since then, the dormant feelings you had previously harboured for him only grew. You worked closely with him, spending most of your days by his side in the command centre, helping however you could. It was an inescapable fate that you would fall for him, and now here you were, living out that very fated feeling. You had no indication from the Captain as to whether he felt the same way, and so you kept it close to your chest, electing to not tell him.

Rex had gone back to the ship to comm the others, to say that this planet you were on could be the one, while you had stayed out to investigate a few final things. The water from the natural springs was drinkable, and the small bug you had captured carried no known diseases, and so you were satisfied that this planet would do nicely. You commed Rex and let him know what you were coming back, not waiting for an answer before you switched it off. It didn't really matter whether he heard you or not, you'd be back soon.

It was dark in the forest as you cut through, but it was just bright enough to see where you were going. Mostly.

You found yourself disproved when your foot caught on a tree root and you were sent tumbling forwards with a small yelp. Thankfully, there was a thick bed of flowers that cushioned your fall, so the pain from the impact dissipated quickly. You stood and brushed yourself off, but immediately felt your nose itching, and before you knew it, you were sent into a sneezing fit. You had sneezed at least ten times before you lost count, and you stumbled forwards, resting yourself against a tree when you came to a clearing.

The orange tone of the sky cast a gentle golden light over you as you caught your breath. The sneezing subsided, but as you breathed deeply, you realised that something felt wrong.

You felt your insides burn hot, the heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach, but it quickly twisted into a heavy pain. You doubled over, holding your stomach as it cramped up and sent shockwaves through your system.

You dug your hand into one of the pouches on your belt urgently, pulling out the small torch you carried with you. You switched it on and shined it over the bed of flowers that you had just landed in, and inspected their yellow petals and purple centre, your eyes going wide.

Fuck.

You knew exactly what flower these were, you had studied them and their effects in your time at University on Coruscant. You knew exactly what was going to happen to you, and you almost wish you didn't.

Aphrodisiacs.

You dug your heels into the ground in frustration as you threw your head back into the tree, your eyes screwed shut. The burning in your stomach was quickly transforming from a small flame to a full blown bonfire.

Somehow this was typical. This planet was so close to being perfect, and now you had to go and trip into some flowers that would cause you a pain so sensual you'd be driven out of your mind. It had to be you, didn't it?

As you were writhing against the tree, contemplating if you could really get yourself off right here, you heard your name being called and groaned quietly. Why did he have to come looking for you right now?

You tried your best to stay quiet, listening to him calling out to you and hoping that he wouldn't find you, but then he came through the treeline, his eyes finding your struggling form.

“What's wrong?” He darted over to you, at your side in an instant, and you instinctively flinched away from him. His gaze was filled with worry.

You we're clearly in some kind of pain, your skin damp with sweat and a deep blush across your cheeks.

He reached out for you as he called your name, and you moved away again, having to look away from the man that you desired fiercely at any other given moment, but especially this one.

“Rex” You breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady, “Please don't touch me”

“Why?” He asked quickly, “Is it your skin?”

“It's… everywhere, it's not going to go away, It hurts, it hurts so much” You spoke, though you weren't sure your words were even coherent.

“What hurts?” He asked more urgently, trying to get a read on the problem the best he could without touching you.

I can't tell him. I just need to get him away.

“You need to leave. Go back to the ship and wait for me” You pant.

“What? No, let me help you” He knelt down beside you, his hand itching to reach out and comfort you, “What can I do?”

“Nothing. Please go away” You begged, but he didn't understand what was going on at all. For all he knew, you could be asking him to leave you to die here.

“Please let me help you”

You let a small moan escape your lips, one hand stifling it and the other gripping at your clothes to resist from touching yourself right in front of him.

“Rex please go away” You said desperately, your head now in your hands and gripping at your hair to try and distract you.

“I can't! I can't leave you like this, are you crazy?” His voice was so exasperated, and you ground your teeth together as you shook your head in defiance.

“I need you to leave, now. Plea-” You were cut off by your own whimper escaping your lips.

The pain in your core was becoming unbearable. While you knew you couldn't die from this drug, you knew the only solution was to satisfy the intense desire that it gave you, but you would've taken death before pleasuring yourself in front of Rex.

“Cyar'ika let me help you” He said softly, coming closer to you again.

“Please don't call me that” You practically whined, your body acting without permission and splaying out of the floor, twisting back on itself.

“Tell me what's wrong” He ordered firmly, and you felt your desire for him only spiral further.

“The flowers” You exhaled, “They're making me… hot”

“Hot?”

“Yes, hot” You gritted through your teeth, your hand playing with the top button of your trousers. You had to relieve this pain soon before it became worse.

“What can I-”

“Just leave Rex!” You hissed, the pain becoming blinding, “Please leave” You were on the edge of tears, your frustration nearly matching your arousal. You continued begging, different sentence formations that included the words ‘leave’, ‘please’ and ‘Rex’ tumbling from your mouth in a last desperate attempt.

“Cyar'ika” Rex grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and another whimper escaped you at his touch, “I'm not leaving you”

You whined, “If you don't leave I-” You couldn't finish the sentence.

“You'll what?”

“I need to- you can't be here” You said already unbuttoning your trousers with shaking hands.

“Why not? Cyare you're not making any sense”

You'd were finally at your limit, the pain driving you insane.

“It's an aphrodisiac Rex!” You screamed, hands tightened into fists to hold yourself back.

Rex froze, “Oh”

“Yeah. Oh” You mustered up a desperate chuckle, curling up in a ball on the floor.

“What should I-”

“I don't know. I don't know, you just need to get out of here before I do something I regret” Your words tumbled over each other as you spoke.

He touched your shoulder lightly, and when you moaned at the simple gesture, he understood how bad it really was.

“Rex, leave!” You screamed at him again, your hand finally finding its way past the waistband of your underwear.

Rex immediately averted his eyes, “I'm just going to be over there, I don't want to leave you here like this”

“Whatever! Just do it!” You said, a loud moan escaping you as you fingers found themselves running easily through your slick folds.

Rex quickly moved away from you. The sounds of your moans spilling from your lips were driving him crazy, but he was also overwhelmingly worried about you. He wanted to help you, but he knew that wasn't something he could really do without… well, fucking you. The idea alone was working him up, and the sound of your moans growing more and more frustrated had his cock hardening and pressing into his codpiece uncomfortably.

“It's not working” You cried out and removed your fingers from working your clit to pull your top off, trying to at least ease some of the heat. You were at your wits end, your thoughts all blurred together.

“Rex!” You shouted helplessly, “Please come here!”

Rex ran back over to you in a flash, the sight of your body sprawled out on the floor making his heart beat out of his chest.

“It burns” You choked out, tears spilling from your eyes, “It hurts so much”

“Maybe I could help?” He suggested, letting his emotions get the better of him.

“Help?” You said in a disbelieving laugh, “Are you going to fuck me yourself Rex?”

The silence was so loud.

You looked up at him, standing above you, and his expression was absolutely flat.

“You're serious?” You practically gasped, and he just nodded.

You brought yourself onto your knees and cradled your head in your arms, mumbling under your breath. “Maker, this is so fucked up, I can't believe this is happening. I can’t-”

Rex interrupted your ramblings as he knelt down in front of you, placing his hands on your arms to take them away from your head. You looked up to him desperately, and you could see the pity in his eyes.

“Rex it hurts, it really hurts” You whispered, the pain continuing to burn into you.

“I know” He said soothingly, “I'm going to help you, okay? I'll make it feel better”

You whimpered, your breathing calming just the tiniest bit.

“Is that okay?” He asked, getting a conformation that this is what you wanted from him.

“Yes” You breathed out, any shame now escaping you, “Please help me”

With that, Rex took you up in his arms, and darted back the short distance to the ship. He set you down on the bunk in the back area and pulled off your trousers and underwear in one swift motion. The sight that greeted him drew a deep groan from within his throat, but he was hesitating.

“Rex please” You begged in a strangled moan, needing to feel him immediately.

“I'm sorry Cyar'ika, I just didn't think it would happen this way” He said honestly.

“Wha-?”

Before you could even ask what he meant, his tongue found its place between your legs. You cried out, the pain in your stomach melting away into pure pleasure. He was eating you out as if it was his last meal, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. It felt so incredible, and yet, your head still felt foggy, and your pulse was elevated to an unhealthy rate. Even as he worked at your clit, the sensation of him sucking and biting feeling divine, given straight from the maker, you knew it wasn't enough.

“Rex I need-” You began, your words getting caught in your throat.

“Tell me what you need Cyare” He hummed against your pussy, “Anything”

Your hips bucked, “I need more, I need you” You panted.

“I'll need a little bit more than that I'm afraid” He said, and you looked down at him to see the slight teasing smile curling his lips.

“Please don't make me say it” You whined as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Come on Cyar'ika, tell me��� He cooed, his hands gripping at your thighs tightly.

“I need your cock! I need you inside me Rex! Please” You finally admitted, and felt Rex hum against your core.

“See that wasn't so hard was it” He rumbled.

He placed a kiss to your clit before he moved away, and you shuddered, feeling the pain begin to twist at your core once more. Rex made short work of his armour, his dexterous fingers working the clasps quickly, his brain on autopilot as he looked down at you writhing beneath him. He then slipped off his blacks and his cock finally sprung free. You moaned as you saw it, throwing your head back onto the bunk and trying not to think about how wrong this was.

“See something you like Mesh’la?” You knew Rex was smirking, you could hear it in his voice. It only drove you more insane.

“Shut up and fuck me Captain” You hissed, which pulled a deep groan from Rex.

He chuckled slightly as he replied, “Yes Ma’am”

He lined himself up with your entrance and looked up to you for conformation, taking your face in his hand to make you look at him. You could see the question in his eyes, and behind all of your blinding arousal, your heart fluttered at the careful actions of the man you were undoubtedly in love with. You nodded.

“Please” You sounded so pathetic, and Rex brushed his thumb across your cheek tentatively.

“I’ve got you Cyare, don’t worry, I’ll make it better”

He breached you entrance and the moan that escaped your lips was the most sinful sound he had ever heard.

“Oh Rex” You whimpered sadly, and he stopped his movements to check that you were okay.

“What is it?” He rocked his hips back and then forward very gently, earning another moan. “What is it Mesh'la?” He whispered.

“I'm sorry” You whispered

“Why are you sorry?” He frowned, and pushed your hair from your face to get a proper look at you.

The pain burned hot inside you, but you needed to say this.

“You shouldn't have to do this, I'm so sorry”

“Cyare, I can stop if you don't want me to do this, I can let you finish yourself”

“No!” You said quickly, too quickly, “I mean-” You were floundering to find the right words but Rex just pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You don't need to say anything” He said gently and pushed deeper inside you, his cock now fully sheathed within you. You moaned gently at the sensation of the stretch, and it was music to his ears, “I'm going to fuck you now, and we can forget about it later okay?”

“Okay” You breathed out unsteadily.

He started to pick up the pace and it was heavenly. The feel of his cock dragging along your walls was divine, and if this was any other time it would have been perfect, but right now, you needed more.

“Rex, please-”

“Tell me Cyar'ika, what do you need?”

The underlying feelings that you already harboured for Rex were spilling into your words before you could stop them.

“Please, I need it harder, faster. Fuck me like you mean it Rex, please”

“Won't be a problem” He said breathily before he began pounding into you, and you could already feel the familiar coil tightening in the pit of your stomach, replacing any pain that once inhabited it. Rex slid his arm around you, arching your back so he could hit the deepest possible spot within you.

“Fuck” You hissed.

“That feel good?” He panted out, and you nodded hastily. Rex tutted slightly, “Use your words Mesh'la, tell me how it feels” He said, dragging his lips across your neck, leaving small markings behind as his teeth nipped at you.

“Fuck Rex, it feels so good. Please don't stop, I need you” You were whispering, as if it were a secret you didn't want to tell.

Rex groaned loudly, burying his face in your neck, “Say it again”

“Which part?” You said letting a small smirk onto your face at his reaction to your words. You knew exactly which ones he wanted to hear.

He looked up at you in disbelief of your teasing at this moment, then pressed his forehead into yours, slowing down his pace and making you whimper at the loss of intensity, “Tell me you need me”

You had no problem saying something as true as that. “I need you Rex, I want you” You emphasised, your eyes burning into his from a mere hairbreadth away.

He groaned, the distinction between the two phrases not lost on him. He quickly resumed his punishing pace, pulling away from you slightly to watch you. You felt the coil pull taught within you, just waiting to snap. You weren’t certain if the drug had something to do with it or not, but you had never been wound up to an orgasm so quickly by anyone else before.

“Stars, just like that” You moaned, eyes closing and head pushing back into the bunk.

“Fuck, look at you” Rex breathed out, “You’re so beautiful taking my cock like this”

The words hit you in the very centre of your being, and without thinking, you grabbed the back of Rex’s neck and pulled him in to your lips. His hips stuttered for one second, but then he was groaning into the kiss, his hips snapping to yours even harder, his fingers holding you down with bruising strength. You didn’t care at all. The idea of having his hands imprinted into your skin only sent you careering towards your orgasm.

“Rex I'm gonna-” You couldn’t even get the words out.

“That's it Mesh'la, let go, cum for me”

His words tipped you over the edge, the coil snapping suddenly and harshly, filling your system with intense pleasure. Rex wasn't far behind.

“Where-”

“Inside, please. I want to feel you Rex” You scraped your nails down the back of his neck as he rode you though your high.

“Kriff, you're going to be the death of me Cyar'ika” He mumbled, hooking his lips with yours as he snapped his hips to your one final time, spilling all of himself inside.

You both took a second to come down from your highs, breathing heavily against each others lips. The more your breath returned to normal, and the burning inside of your limbs subsided, the more the dread crept in.

Rex slid out of you without saying a word, without looking at you. You whimpered slightly at the loss and covered you mouth out of embarrassment. He left the room and your thoughts instantly spiralled out of control.

He’s never going to speak to me again. He’ll never look at me again. I’ve ruined everything. There’s no way we can just move on from this. I’m never going to be able to forget this. He’ll never look at me the same.

A moment later, Rex returned with a damp towel and knelt on the floor, placing a hand on your knee. “Open” He said gently, a kind smile across his lips as he guided your legs open to clean you up. You couldn’t look at him, opting to lay your head back and stare at the ship’s ceiling.

“Rex, I’m so sorry” You said quietly, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

“Don't be, I'm just glad I could help you” He replied, as sweet as he always was, and you felt the tears spill, running silently down the sides of your face.

Everything's ruined.

When he finished cleaning you up, Rex noticed your despondent expression and tear stained face and grabbed your hand tentatively.

“What are you thinking Mesh'la?” He asked, his deep voice exceedingly smooth.

“This isn't what I wanted, it shouldn't have been like this” You stared up blankly, blinking hot tears out of your eyes.

Rex's heart started beating faster, “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” You sat up, looking into his eyes, “It's not that it's-”

He brought a hand to cup your cheek and his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, wiping some tears from under your eye, “It's what?”

You took a deep breath. Now felt like both the right and the wrong moment but you were past caring, your dignity was already laid outside in the bed of flowers that started this whole mess.

“I- I actually like you Rex, I might even love you, and now…” You looked down to your lap, shaking your head, “Now I've ruined everything. I'm just sorry” You buried your face in your hands, feeling ashamed of your actions, even if they weren’t entirely your own.

“Hey, hey” Rex pried your hands away from your face, “Cyar'ika look at me”

You raised your gaze to look into his eyes, your head still angled down as if it would stop the confrontation.

“You haven't ruined anything okay? Its not your fault, I-” He smiled a little, “I like you too, might even love you” He mimicked the way you had said it and your heart stopped.

“You do?” Your eyebrows pinched as you stared into his amber eyes, seeing only admiration and honesty swimming in their depths.

“Yes” He placed his hand on your cheek, “It's like I said, I didn't think it would happen like this”

“Oh, that's what you meant” You said plainly, and he chuckled at your expression.

“Yeah” He said, gently rubbing your thigh, “I'm sorry, I should've told you before all of this happened” He said, some kind of guilt creeping across his features.

“It’s okay” You took his face in your hands, “Thank you Rex, for helping me”

A smirk grew on his face, “Anytime”

[krsnaradhika]

Fanfictions and Hinduism.

Those who are active on Wattpad, might know that there are many many writers (including myself) who tend to write fiction over itihāsa or historical epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, purely for fun and our love for them. It seems very odd, yes, and we do get to see blasphemy there too. People love some characters, hate the others with a burning passion and there are hour long debates over human nature, characterisations, myths involved, folklores and the many versions both of them have.

We have OCs, we make graphics and video edits, we pair the said OCs with CCs and sometimes with other OCs. The comment sections are the most fun things because writers and their audience interact there. Some works are much more impressive than published paperbacks while some are simply atrocious. You know it, shades are everywhere.

Now, very recently did I come to know that in Tamil literature, a fictional tale that is weaved around a couple or more incidents or points coming from the purānas or itihāsas is called a prabandha. Fun, right?

We do get to see fanfictions in Hinduism by the name of Pancharātram by Bhāsa (the one who also penned Svapna Vāsavadattā) and Kalidāsa's Abhigyāna Shākuntalam. While the latter romanticises and adds non canon events to the canon event of Lady Shakuntala and King Dushyanta's love story, the former is about a "what-if" scenario based on the Mahabharata.

So, do we promote fiction writings on such stuff? Definitely. I got much into the Sanatana culture solely via such fictions. They promote higher thinking skills, brainstorming, even fun facts many a times if the author is literate enough. And is that different from disrespecting scriptures and our very own ancestors? Also yes. Because neither of these authors claim to strictly follow the canon events. You do not like something you see, click away. As easy as that.

Do I support all of them, tho? For sure not. There are some which whitewash the bad guys and blackwash even the divine figures. Some straight up induce cringe. But that's just my opinion. A debate is always based on facts, not personal opinions. So yes, you do you.

But are they also dangerous? Umhm. Look at the Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. One word : atrocious. Some modern day prabandha style novel which sat a little above average in my reading experience? Abhaya by Saiswaroopa Iyer is the one (she's also written Mauri, Avishi, Draupadi and a few more if I'm not wrong.) (Abhaya is an OC paired opposite Kanha and tbh their chemistry was chef's kiss jsjshdjsjd-)

Should you write such, if that is what you want? Yes! I'd love to read-

But do you have to be careful with the message you deliver via your work? Swayam vichar kijiye *wink wink*

Some fanfictions which I may recommend. Note : not all of them involve OCs. All of these are from Wattpad. The authors' usernames are in bold.

— To Love A Murderer, Hope Embodied, and Samsrishti ; ruhitherambler.

— Satata Haritam ; Ramayana_Lover.

— Hello Mahabharata and My Days In Mahabharata ; thewomanwhobleedsink.

— Sambhavāmi ; indeevara18ls.

— Mathuraraaj ; Shivran86.

— Ehi Murare ; kanakangi.

— The Diary Of A Gopika ; Thoughtshub.

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Chapter 12.

I quickly tidied up my small apartment after everyone had left, resulting in me crashing on the couch. I sighed contently, pulling out my phone as I felt it buzz.

jake: so when is you amd Johnnie's wedding?

me: you've used that joke like 10 times get better

jake: shut up but fr whats going onnnn

me: jake you literally love with him idk why you're asking me cause idk

me: live*

jake: yes y/n I'm in love with johnnie

jake: oh.

me: shut up 😭

jake: ig I'll go have a chat with johnnje

me: that's not scary at all

jake: :)

me: ok lmk please

jake: sorry, bro code still exists

me: oh my GOOOOD jake I swear

me: whatever goodnight twink

jake: nighty night

I left him on read and got up, making my way into my bedroom. of course, the one thing I forgot to do was make my bed. you could still see the way the covers were twisted from where me and johnnie laid. I smiled softly to myself, sitting down on the bed and undressing.

my phone went off once more. I rolled my eyes, assuming it was jake coming back to bully me more. i picked up my phone off the night stand and read the message I had gotten.

mom: hey honey! how have you been? me and your father will be coming to town in March to check on you and the cafe. well see you soon! miss you bunches.

I didn't bother opening the message, internally groaning at the thought of having to see my parental figures for more than a day. every time they visited, they'd stay around a week and constantly harass me. it always messed up my whole schedule, and now it'd be even worse with johnnie, jake, and Tara in my life. I wouldn't hear the end of it from them. I'd get my ear chewed off by them, saying my friends are weird or stupid shit that wasn't true. if they weren't the perfect people, then they were nobody to my parents. it was dissapointing to me, and honestly embarrassing. i tossed my phone onto the nightstand and placed my hands over my face, sighing loudly. my phone vibrated loudly, startling me out of my exasperated state. i groaned, assuming it was someone i wouldn't be very happy talking to. i let it ring a little longer before reading the caller ID. my phone read "johnnie." i flew out of my bed, snatching my phone. i answered his face time call after making sure my hair wasn't a mess.

"hello?" johnnies raspy voice came through the phone, making me face heat up. he was close to the camera, i was only able to see his nose and eyes.

"Hi, johnnie." I smiled, matching his camera angle. "what's up?"

"I'm bored and playing fortnite alone." he said, propping his phone up.

"oh shit, I've never really played fortnite." I admitted.

"we gotta change that." he smirked. "i'll have to teach you how to play next time you come over."

i smiled, "okay."

it went silent for a bit, allowing me to examine his makeup. he had streaks of eyeliner coming down one eye with bright blue eyeshadow around and on his eyelid. somehow, he noticed me staring. he obviously had an amazing eye, considering we were on the phone and not in person. "what?" he giggled, a light blush showing through his makeup.

"i don't know, i like your makeup." i looked at the ceiling instead of the phone, laying down to get comfortable. i propped my phone up on my nightstand.

"really?" his smile grew, "you should let me do yours sometime. i mean, i usually don't like doing other peoples, but i think it'd be fun with you."

i wondered what made me different than anyone else, but i didn't bother asking. i rubbed my eyes and muttered, "sounds fun."

"you tired?" he asked, his whole demeanor changing as i heard shooting coming from the background. his hands fondled with the controller swiftly as he fought the other player. his eyebrows scrunched together as he focused, his smiling dropping.

"i mean, yeah." i laughed at him. "that seems intense."

he tossed his hands up in the air in defeat. "what the fuck, dude." i continued to laugh at him, causing him to look at the phone. "wow."

"i'm sorry, it's just funny as fuck seeing you like this." i explained, gently closing my eyes.

he rolled his eyes playfully. "whatever." he had a small smile on his face as he loaded into the next match. "you know what else would be fun?"

"hm?"

"if we went to a concert together." he pondered. "have you ever been to a concert before?"

"no, just school concerts." i said. "who would we even go see?"

"i don't know. my chemical romance, really whoever's in town." he paused. "that we like."

"well, obviously. you like my chemical romance?" i asked, surprised.

"is it not obvious?" he giggled.

i rolled my eyes. "whatever. mcr is one of my favorite bands, though. i never hear about anyone who likes them anymore."

"i love them too." he smiled at me.

the silence began to lull me to sleep, along with johnnies presence on the other side of the phone. my eyes began to feel heavy, and i eventually fell asleep.

[trek-tracks]

hello! I am also diabetic (type one). I’m curious if when you think of star trek or yourself in Star Trek if you imagine having diabetes still? I think either way is valid, just curious. I go back and forth trying to figure out if they would have cured it or just advanced insulin pumps to the point of being practically seamless with day to day life. For me being diabetic is so integral to my personality I kind of don’t know if I would like to think of it as being cured? It’s cool if you don’t want to answer too! Just thought I’d ask :)

This is an interesting question.

I've always thought about my type one diabetes as being solidly on the second end of the disability "spectrum," so to speak, where the first end is "this is integral to my personality and who I am, accommodate but do not 'cure' me," and the second is "this brings nothing but pain to my life, please cure me immediately."

The only accommodation that would fully make my life better, in my opinion, (which is only my opinion about my own disability), is either a functional cure (artificial pancreas) or actual cure (no machinery necessary), the latter of which I would prefer, because frankly I'm sick of wearing a pump and a cgm 24/7 and the sheer amount of waste it produces, which is not my fault because I need to live, but still weighs heavily on me (and takes up a large amount of space in my apartment). Not to mention the scheduling--this message brought to you by me being woken up at 5am by an empty insulin pump and realizing that, no, I don't seem to have any unused cartridges left, so I have to use an old one and pray that the pump accepts it while waiting for the delivery of the supplies I just now ordered, which cost $750.

When I think about a life in the Star Trek universe, I can really only think about being transferred there now, as I am, with the life I have led, and I think that's what also shapes my decision. If I had been born into the Star Trek universe, there are so many aspects of my personality that might have been different, considering I wouldn't have to worry about scarcity and affordability of, for example, housing. Instead of being a theatre critic as a second job that feeds my soul but doesn't pay the bills, I'd probably be a playwright/dramaturg/critic full time. However, I might find not having a job outside of the theatre world to be detrimental, because when people don't have lives outside of theatre, their writing tends to get smaller and more insular.

This is a digression, but what I mean is: I can only see me as I am now joining a Starfleet world, rather than trying to envision the person I would be if I'd begun my life there. I mean, I certainly wouldn't be known for making memes about Star Trek, the TV show, if Star Trek were reality instead of entertainment, so things would be different in a number of ways. I can't even think about all the ways my life could have been different in this reality without getting a headache.

In that case, I have learned a lot from being diabetic, including patience and empathy for other people, and a strong sense of social justice. I've learned a lot about food and exercise and how they affect the body. I've learned responsibility and self-management. I've made more peace with aging than many of my friends, because I've felt prematurely "old" (aches, pains, contemplation of mortality) since I was a preteen. I think I would have some form of these things without diabetes, but my worldview would likely be different. In a way, I'm grateful for these lessons, and I don't know if born-into-Star-Trek me would be insufferable.

That being said, I firmly believe that having diabetes for more than 25 years means that diabetes has taught me all about life it's going to teach me. I'm done. If I were to wake up tomorrow without it, I'd, in the words of Beyond McCoy, "throw a party." A party with plenty of cake. Or, to misquote The Voyage Home, "The doctor gave me a pill, and I grew a new pancreas!"

Now that it's part of me, its absence might leave me somewhat adrift, but I think of all the time I've lost to it where I could have been enjoying life and been allowed to be the unfettered me I desired to be, and I say, good riddance.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for saying that my boyfriend would deserve it if he died in the Titan submersible implosion?

I figure it's far enough out from the argument itself now that I can post this. I (27M) and my boyfriend (29M) come from very different backgrounds.

He grew up in a wealthy family. His family isn't, like, billionaire rich--his father is a semi-prestigious actor--but they can, for example, eat at michelin star restaurants on a regular basis, pay for all their kid's ivy league educations, drop thousands of dollars on an impromptu trip to Europe for no reason, and so on and so forth. Which, like, good for them! Genuinely, I'm glad my partner and his family did not struggle with money growing up.

I, on the other hand, grew up in poverty. I didn't have any formal schooling until I got my GED and enrolled in college. I grew up food insecure, living in a very poor area, and frequently had periods of time where my family could not afford to pay our bills. I was extremely lucky to be able to go to college, and I only managed to pay for it due to spending basically all of my free time either working or applying for every niche scholarship I could find. Even now, several years into my career, I pretty much live off of rice and lentils so I can pay rent.

All this to say: Neither of us would consider ourselves pro-corporation or billionaire, but my boyfriend is sometimes more sympathetic to wealthier individuals due to his background. We do not currently live together, which is not because of the aforementioned, but is relevant.

A while back, my boyfriend's grandfather came to stay with his parents. His grandfather was, at the time, not feeling well--coughing, sneezing, the works. He pretty obviously had COVID. Nevertheless, my boyfriend took the 4 hour drive to spend time with him, and wouldn't you know it, he got sick. He stayed at his parents house until he got better. I decided not to make the drive to see my boyfriend, and stayed at my apartment. This is because I am immunocompromised and would prefer not to. Y'know. Die.

While my boyfriend was out, the whole debacle with the Titan submersible occurred, which I kept an eye on and made some memes about. A couple days after they found the wreckage, my boyfriend became coherent enough to have a phone conversation. While talking to him, I told him the story of what happened, the details about the submarine, the $250k ticket price, and so on.

He seemed indifferent until I brought up the 19 year old on board. He then seemed very upset, especially when he found out the kid didn't want to go in the first place. I tried to assure him that most of the memes were not about the kid, but he was having none of it. He seemed very sad, and said something along the lines of "I hope I don't go out like that."

I was confused. I didn't think his parents were so rich they would be able to afford that, but I figured it was just a hypothetical. My boyfriend has a big fear of death, and I often need to reassure him about things like this. "Well," I replied, "If you're worried about that, I can assure you that's an easy death to avoid. Just don't do dumb shit like that."

He then got VERY upset. "What do you mean??? Are you saying I'd deserve to die like that???"

Me: "I mean, that's not what I was saying? But you're not 19, you're almost 30, and you're not financially dependent on your parents. Also, your parents aren't nearly that rich, and even if they were, I know them, and they are not nearly that stupid. So, at that point, to get into that situation, you would need to personally drop $250k on a ticket, then weld yourself inside of an experimental deep sea submarine controlled via text message and an xbox controller. Like, there are several steps you personally could have Not taken to avoid being in this situation, including simply not deciding to be on an underwater death trap. So, yeah, that'd be on your head."

He then got even MORE upset, and started yelling about how insensitive I was being. After some back and forth, I got it out of him that he had been speaking metaphorically--that, from his perspective, I was saying that I thought he deserved to die of COVID, because he had made the choice to spend time with his grandfather despite knowing he had COVID.

I assured him that no, that was not what I was saying in the slightest, and he calmed down, but I was still upset. He had been yelling at me, after all, and it legitimately didn't occur to me that he was speaking metaphorically, while I was still on the very literal experimental submarine.

I asked one of my friends/his other partner (30M) about it after it happened, and he laughed and said that my boyfriend was being ridiculous. It's been several months at this point, it was a silly argument, I'm not going to bring it up again (because that would be weird) and I'm sure he's forgotten all about it. That said, if I'm being honest, I still feel kind of indignant that he immediately assumed I was secretly hoping he was going to die in a submarine. Am I being insane here?

What are these acronyms?

[furiousgoldfish]

How do I decide a career field?

I mean my entire self esteem, self worth and self confidence is destroyed. I hate myself. I don’t think I’m capable of doing anything. I like art, even though it’s very hard for me to do I’m pushing myself to explore as much as I can. I am thinking of going into data analysis but it’s so overwhelmingly scary for me.

I have an MD, but i can’t pursue it because of my mental health issues.

Okay so I might not be the best person to talk about this, because I figured out that career just isn't important to me when I'm just trying to survive, so I don't think any field is worth chasing or putting effort into, for me at least! Job is just something that gives you the means to get survival resources and that is it.

Otherwise I really relate to what you're saying, I also don't feel like I'd be good at any field, don't feel like I'm made for anything and can't see myself doing anything specialized seriously. It's also very difficult to choose a field when you've never gotten to try bunch of things, never had experience doing stuff and you don't really know what you'd enjoy, what you like, or at least what doesn't feel too stressful, overwhelming and impossible.

It's incredibly impressive that you have a MD, that alone signifies great endurance, persistence and intelligence on your part, and it's awful that mental health issues prevent you from doing anything related to it (I feel the same tho, my degree is in the closet, never seen or used at all lol)

I think the best way to decide is to talk to people who work in various fields and ask them what their day-to-day work is like, and figure out where you see yourself, where you fall in easily, or at least what seems doable, not too stressful, not overwhelming. What doesn't make you hate yourself. I'm just doing cleaning but I couldn't be more pleased because it's very obvious when I've done well and it's so low stakes that pretty much nothing can go wrong. Nobody ever complains either. In fact yesterday I got a text message from a client saying I did amazing, I mean that kind of stuff is ideal to my mental state.

I think we're raised to believe that our career needs to be something very significant, something that creates a place for us in the world, the proof that we're useful to society and that we made something out of ourselves! We need to show off our success and our identity needs to be tied to what we do. And we need to be good at it and make a difference in the world with it.

Well in the current capitalistic climate, this is bullshit. The only socially useful jobs are the ones which get no recognition, no social acceptance, no praise, no acknowledgment, in fact you're looked down upon if you just do manual jobs that are incredibly necessary to keep the society going.

The jobs where you can reach high success and high paycheck - are the ones that make rich people richer, and that is not what I'm about. I mean it's not what anyone really wants to do, but it's the only thing that is considered successful and admirable, and I hate it, don't want to participate in it, makes me want to run away from capitalism.

And also it's a myth that you need to be really good at your job because people do bad jobs constantly and get paid and they don't feel bad at all, lots are bad on purpose and use their jobs to do evil, and get away with it, so there's no pressure to be perfect at your job. If it gets done thats all that matters.

So if you can find anything that just fulfills the purpose of getting your survival resources to you, go for it. If you feel like data analysis is what makes you pleased and happy, go for that. If art makes you feel good, you can do that too! You don't have to have only one job, you can change jobs multiple times during your life, it doesn't need to define who you are, you are not here to serve the society, you're here to survive and you can do your job for yourself only. It's supposed to serve you, not the other way around. You don't exist only to do your job. You exist to be safe, and happy, and fulfilled, and safe. A job is supposed to do this for you, and it doesn't matter which one, as long as you're not being tormented by stress and fear, it's fine.

So what I'm trying to say, the world should not pressure you into making a quick decision, you should take your time trying out stuff and finding what works for you, and what doesn't make you feel awful about yourself. And also if it helps, everyone has a sort of a low confidence when only starting! Everyone is bad at everything when they're starting. Confidence will come with experience, when you see yourself getting better at something trough the years, you will get a chance to gather some faith in yourself and know you're doing well. You can follow any interest you have, regardless of how well or bad you're at it, as long as it can secure you some income. It's okay to be bad at first too because everyone is kinda bad at first.

Also, I've seen some people incredibly confident in their work while doing an awful job at it, it was pretty scary. Like they were doing active harm to society and didn't understand how anything actually worked but boasted about how capable they are because they were picking up a high paycheck. When I think there's people like that, and then others are worried about not being good at anything, it makes me stunned. I truly believe that no matter what you do, you'll never do as much harm as some high-paid people out there.

I hope you don't have a horrible time deciding anon! It's a difficult spot in life for anyone, so don't worry if it takes a bit of time or if you choose something and then quit, it just brings you a step closer to what you actually like doing, and it's a good thing to try things out and pick out the one that works best for you.

[onlylove4louis]

So Armands backstory reveal, and the discussion/comparison to Lestats previous peak into his own... More in regards to why it happened, and how Louis'/DremStat subconscious reacted to it, etc...

This is one of the things that I've been wanting to post about, but I just don't have a solid enough grasp on my own understanding and perception of it. But then I came across this post, by/from @loustat-0 :

That helped me sort of uniform my thoughts on it a bit more, and I didn't want to hijack that post, so I figured I'd just make my own 👌🏽

@loustat-0 please let me know if you're not okay with me linking you're post here, or your post being associated with mine via reblogging or commenting. As I am not able to properly use or access my messages and can't seem to comment on literally any post I come across, I didn't really have a way to respectfully ask for permission first. And if you don't want it publicized either way, you may be able to send an 'ask' my way. And I won't post that, but just a way for you to privately communicate, if you need/want.

Now, to this scene:

With a quick input about this part of it:

While the bulk of it will be the parallel/comparison, to this scene/moment:

Now, I will say right up front, the point of this post is not directly about either backstory... as both of their pasts and past traumas trigger me rather bad, I will not be discussing specifics about that. All I will say about either is they're both being honest, both backstories are true, but both have been clearly adapted ever so slightly for reasons that will be made clear later. But it can be assumed to be changed just to better fit with the adapted characters, and the adapted story being told here. Now, lets dig in...

First, I want to talk about what I personally understand of the 'why's of both, as in why they each individually divested this painful part of themselves, and exposed these particular wounds. What they hoped to gain, and/or may have used/utilized it for. Primarily because I think it's the core to helping you understand why Louis reacted to and handled it the way he did. And why DreamStat essentially barked at it 😅

I almost fully agree with what was discussed and answered in the link above, especially the part about Lestat being "forced" to give that part of himself in that moment, vs Armand "offering" it himself. And why that effected how Louis perceived it, but I wanted to reiterate certain things from my own perception of it...

So with Lestat, I do think he still had the choice and made the choice to reveal that part of him/his past. So while I don't think using the word "forced" is wrong, I just see it more as; both Louis and Claudia needed this thing from him, and he realized that in order to basically be allowed back in (to his physical home, to his family, but especially into Louis' heart) he knew he had to give this 'thing'. I believe it does need to be understood that this is a very VERY traumatizing thing for Lestat, this is something that he deals with CPTSD from, etc. for the entirety of the Chronicles. So it's something that he himself would not have just offered. Because he does not like to think about it, remember it, give voice or space to it at all, even acknowledge how badly it did/does effect him. But that also does not change the fact that he did very much use it as a means to gain understanding from Louis, via compassion, sympathy and empathy. Simply meaning he did utilize a painful truth in order to get him access back into Louis' very gentle, human heart.

Which is what I believe Armand did as well. But the differences, in the circumstances and how it happened, are why it just didn't get the same reaction/response from Louis. And it's also because of this previous moment with Lestat, that Armands attempt simply wasn't as effective.

So with Armand, the sheer difference is (I believe), other than Armand himself offering it without being asked, is; I genuinely believe Armand did in fact go into it, in order to actively garner the compassion and sympathy from Louis... Think of it this way, as a kid you would have to go on errands with your parents (usually mom), not wanting to, but knowing that there's a chance you MAY get ice-cream. Or McDonalds, if you do. Ultimately making it worth it... Versus, knowing for a fact that you will get it, so you proactively agree to go, or even ask to go, in order to get those things.

-- I don't know if that's a great analogy, but hopefully it helped some understand what I'm trying to say.

And I think that's what made the most difference between the two, in how if effected Louis. From Lestat, it was a moment of reluctant vulnerability. Humanizing himself, for Louis specifically, and allowing Louis a chance to have a closer look in order to get a better understanding, of what makes Lestat the way he is. Which in turn bonded Louis closer to him. For Armand, it instead felt like... and this is going to come out harsh, I apologize in advance... but it felt like a manipulation tactic. 'Let me tell you this sad story so that you will feel bad for me, and stop being mad at me for doing multiple things that have upset you.' Both were clearly utilized in manipulation of Louis' empathic nature, but only one was so overt that it made it hard for Louis to look past the manipulative nature of it. Combined with the first time leaving Louis untrusting and more paranoid about it being done again. Specifically because of how much he "allowed" it to affect him the first time (with Lestat). It made him alot less willing to allow that again, and made him alot less susceptible to that particular style of manipulation. Simply put, he's been so manipulated in the past, that he's jaded now and not as open or vulnerable to it as he was before.

-> I want to interject right here real quick before continuing, because I have come across and am aware that some people think and have pointed out/posted about that they feel Claudias Bruce reveal, was the same thing. And while I do understand why they may think that, and why they may have perceived it like that. I personally don't actually agree. And it's why I'm not also using that moment as an example of past manipulations, that have worked on Louis. Now I'm not saying that Claudia has not manipulated Louis in the past, because she definitely has. I just don't see that moment as one of them. And I definitely don't want this post to become a discussion about that.

Now, moving right on... Before we talk about HalluciStats "HA!" bark, and what I think that was all about, I want to get to the surrounding circumstances:

So it can't be denied (although some clearly keep trying) that Louis has been keeping Armand at an arms length. He's actively not allowing Armand to get too close to him, he's not letting Armand in. And for good reason. But it's very clear that Armand is really struggling with it. He's struggling with essentially finding ways to climb over Louis' walls. He's actively pressuring Louis STILL, to if not join the coven then at least to make more of an effort to "belong". Which does include using the fact that he knows and is keeping their "secret" (we all know what else that alluded to/implied) as a means to manipulate Louis into coming around the coven more. Which is really just coming around him more... And then he's also treating Claudia in multiple ways that Louis is very much not okay with (again, regardless of what some go out of their way to "erase"), and flexing his powers in ways that's are only reminding Louis of Lestat (derogatory).

I am not going to go into, the parallel made to abusive relationships that happens here, and that particular type of manipulation tactic used by abusive people. Because again, triggering. But I point all of this out, to point out the circumstances that put Armand in a place of wanting and needing to both placate Louis, defend himself, but mainly to get back on Louis' good graces. As well as attempt once again to get Louis 'closer' to him, to get him to open up more. Basically a, maybe if I allow myself to be vulnerable to you if I show you a vulnerability, you will in turn trust me enough to let down your guard to/around me.

Now it also can't be ignored, that one of the things that Louis is impressing on Armand here as well, and has been. Is that he actively wants and needs Armand to show him some of who he truly is. He wants to see some of the real Armand. Some of what's behind/underneath the Coven Master, hat. And just like Lestat, Armand understands that this is something that he needs to give to Louis, in order to get what he wants, from Louis. He needs to give some of his real self, in order to be allowed in.

But all of this, combined with the fact that Armand took Louis here, to this museum, with a specific purpose. Which means most likely, it's clear to Louis that this is not happening organically. He did not just happen to reveal his backstory because the moment called for it, or they happened to stumble upon, the moment. But instead it's been planned ahead of time, which falls too close to being orchestrated. In order to get a specific result. Which would make sense as to why Louis would already be on his guard, and untrusting, and skeptical of Armand and this entire thing. And would also make sense as to why he'd be weary of the manipulation in it, rather than anything else. Thinking 'why are you telling me this/what's the real reason behind it', rather than simply reacting to what is being revealed.

And finally, why I had to be jump-scared ass early in the morning, by Sam Reid barking on my screen. Because ya'll, on the first initial watch, and the 2nd to be honest, I was so caught up and stuck trying to emotionally survive Armand bearing his mangled, brutalized soul. And almost getting lost in his trauma, that I wasn't even paying attention to Loustat in the background, until the "HAA!!". And I just about

It took me two re-watches to really pay attention to Lestat back there. And what I can tell, is that while he's clearly manifesting Louis' unconscious mind being very skeptical of the whole story, essentially 'are you believing this, really?!' type of energy. Very reminiscent of how Claudia reacted to Lestats backstory reveal. She didn't believe a single part of it, because all she could see was the manipulation in it (lets not forget, just because that's what she saw doesn't mean that's what it was, or at least "all" that it was. It's simply just an individual perception). But you can tell, that DreamStat doesn't actually start getting legitimately angry, and defensive by how he's crossing his arms so tightly... Until Armand mentions Magnus. As in it's not the whole story itself, it's instead that particular part of it.

Because what Armand does there, is casually lump Lestat in with Magnus, and the implication is that what Lestat did to Louis, how he turned him, was in any way similar to what Magnus did to Lestat (which I'll say right now, very much was not). That's what he was reacting to, and that's what he (aka Louis) completely rejected. Which I think, unfortunately also drastically than decreased the effectiveness of the entire thing. What I mean by that is, if a part of what you're telling someone, no matter how sincere and honest it may be. If even a small part of it garners or causes a negative reaction like that, then they're much more likely to reject the entirety of what you're saying. So I personally think that's more where Armand failed here, than anything else. He doesn't seem to be able to not bring Lestat into it, if I'm being honest it's almost like he can't help it.

It's like him in present day Dubai, feeling the need to say "Forty-seven more than he did with Lestat" 🤣 Because the point was, to get Daniel to stop comparing and contrasting Loumands relationship with Loustats. But in saying that, Armand himself directed it right back there anyways🤦🏽‍♀️👌🏽

I don't know if there was actually intention behind it, but in mentioning Magnus at all, and then the "conception" of Louis via Lestat... two things he has no business speaking on. He inadvertently diminished everything that came before it. At least in Louis' mind.

But phew, I think that's it. I'll end it here. If you made it this far, thanks for reading 🙌🏽

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Double: Initial Thoughts

Hello Milgram community! It's time to talk about Mikoto's second MV, Double! This is pretty fun for me, given that Mikoto is actually the first prisoner whose MV I watched when it came out. I have gotten so much better at theorizing. The old theory is... meh. Ignore it, it was wrong and doesn't really matter.

Though, to be honest, and I think people will agree here -- I don't feel like Double actually gave us much to work with. The biggest thing is the confirmation (in my opinion) that there for sure only are two alters, which makes things easier to figure out, not harder. Because of this, these initial thoughts might be a bit less interesting than normal. Still, I'll do my best!

T/W: Murder, toxic work environments, mental health crises, blood

For the sake of this theory, I'll be using @onigiriico's English translation of Mikoto's new audio drama, Neoplasm! Thanks as always for your great work! I'd also like to thank everyone who sent in help with the translations! I'll be using Rochisama's (@barudo's) translation post, which translates all of the Japanese background text in the MV.

Also, as you'll see in the audio drama, Es takes to calling Orekoto John and Bokuto Mikoto. I... will not be doing that. They're called Bokuto and Orekoto to me based on the personal pronouns they use.

Disclaimer: I'm for sure not an expert on DID, so if I say anything wrong/offensive please let me know so I can correct it!

Anyways though, here's what thoughts I do have!

Orekoto's alter developed as a result of stress in Bokuto's life.

This is pretty much straight-up confirmed in the audio drama.

Orekoto: … I think… I might be the person Boku wishes he was. The person who stubbornly stands his ground, who doesn’t cry himself to sleep from stress, who gives people their payback. If I, the “ore” personality, hadn’t been born, I’m sure Boku would have reached his limit and fallen apart.

Based on this, we know that there's some general stressor going on in Bokuto's life, and we know that Orekoto seems like the new alter who developed for the sake of protecting Bokuto. I believe that's what's pictured at the beginning of the MV:

The glass breaking is most likely meant to display the "fracturing" of Mikoto's identity, signifying the creation of the Orekoto alter.

The most obvious stressor in Bokuto's life seems to be work. At the beginning of the MV (0:12-0:18), we see Mikoto's phone with text messages. The text translates as follows:

Chief (7 mins ago) Regarding the first draft you submitted today, I think option B might be the best after all, so can you remake by the morning.

Chief (5 mins ago) Also I forgot to mention, but you also made a lot of mistakes with the one we spoke about earlier, so make sure it’s all fixed too. This one also needs to be ready by morning, so I’ll leave it to you to get everything ready.

It seems like his "Chief," likely the boss of his job, is demanding a lot of work from him, and Bokuto is struggling to keep up with his work. On the whole, it seems like Bokuto is kinda just struggling to cope with living.

You’re overdoing it, you’re already broken

I was having such a hard time, I was trying so hard

That's what Orekoto comes into the picture.

Orekoto killed ??? people.

We don't know how many people he may have killed! The video is... pretty nonspecific about it. There are definitely multiple mannequins that he smashed, which for sure implies multiple.

Based on MeMe, I thought it was only one person, just because it seems like he only hid one body. Based on the new audio drama, I don't think he killed multiple different times, either.

Es: Who did you kill? Orekoto: Just someone who was walking around nearby. Es: … How many did you kill? Orekoto: Can’t remember. I was first born back then, you know. It’s kinda fuzzy.

If the murder happened right around when he was "first born," it would make sense if it's only the one time, right? It's possible that this is meant to refer to a broader time frame and I'm taking "first" too literally here, but I still think it's a definite possibility that he only killed one person.

It's gonna be hard to get a confirmation on that one, since it seems like Bokuto and Orekoto don't know the actual number. Still, we can look at the crime out of context of the body count and try to determine our forgiveness of that.

Neither Bokuto nor Orekoto are coping well with the guilty verdict.

Bokuto is, understandably, distressed. He's aware enough to realize that things have changed and that something must be happening while he's "sleeping," but he still seems to have no idea what's actually happening or who Orekoto is.

Notably, in both MeMe and Double, Bokuto is seen reacting to Orekoto in at least some ways. However, the way it's portrayed, I don't really think that's a lie or feigned innocence in any way. My best guess is that it's just using the visuals of what actually happened while showing Bokuto's distress with not knowing what's happening.

Either way, Bokuto was heading straight for a mental breakdown before accidentally committing ??? murders and getting told he's guilty for it by a weird mystery prison, so it's not surprising at all that he's faring poorly.

As Orekoto hypothesizes in the audio drama, the amount of stress Bokuto is under is actually why we've seen Orekoto fronting so much more now. Orekoto exists to help Bokuto escape from the stress of his day to day life, and given that Milgram has become extremely stressful, Orekoto fronts a lot.

Orekoto isn't doing super well either, though, likely as a result of the toll everything is taking on Bokuto. He exists and did what he did solely to protect Bokuto, so the fact that it's causing Bokuto stress and potentially endangering him definitely isn't something he'd be happy about. The MV focuses on this pretty heavily at the end.

The audio drama tells us that Orekoto is perfectly willing to own up to his guilt and take the blame for what he did. He's very clear about Bokuto not having done anything, though, and insists he has no idea what was going on. He was only dreaming.

I have no idea how the end of MeMe plays into this video.

I interpreted Orekoto handing Bokuto the death card as a moment where Orekoto shows Bokuto his existence and letting him know about the murders, but like I said, I don't really believe Bokuto knows anymore. If that's the case, though, I have NO clue what that scene was supposed to mean. I can't really figure out how to piece Double and MeMe together, and based on how little I feel like I got out of Double, it concerns me to just disregard MeMe-based theories entirely.

That being said...

VERDICT: INNOCENT

Please vote him innocent. For pretty much any reason I can think of, an innocent verdict is better.

Orekoto is right when he says that Milgram clearly instructs us to judge Bokuto specifically; Orekoto isn't a prisoner in regards to restraints or rules, but Bokuto is. If you're judging based on forgiveness, if Bokuto truly didn't know, it's hard not to forgive him, even if he arguably shares guilt.

Mikoto in general is probably more likely to have a further mental breakdown if we keep applying pressure with a guilty verdict, which in turn makes him more likely to lash out in stress again and kill another prisoner. We can't restrain Orekoto, who would likely continue fronting in the face of a guilty verdict, and we already know that his high-stress coping mechanism is killing whoever walks by. It's the safer option to vote innocent.

And then there's the fact that I just, like... want to help him? Genuinely forgive him? I don't want to vote Mikoto guilty. There's no point, and I just disagree with it. I'm pretty firmly in the innocent camp on this one, and based on the votes, it seems like a lot of people agree.

[princesscolumbia]

It's been...

So something happened a week ago that is neither bad nor good, it simply is, and it's happened before, so thankfully the knowledge exists on how to manage and cope.

Now to explain.

Back in the 80s I experienced some mental trauma that hurt me so significantly I wound up 'splitting' into what we now call a system or a plural (I've also seen "plurality"). By the time I was in my early 20s, there were about 8-9 people rattling around in my head and the ones that got the driver's seat had proper names. Of course, at the time we only had Sybil as an "example" of "multiple personality disorder," so people like me kept our damn mouth's SHUT 'cause we knew the second we showed any sign of being neurodivergent in any way that resembled schizophrenic, we'd be marginalized HARD. The person in the driver's seat always (always) responded to my given name and assigned pronouns and never let slip there were whole conversations going on in my head as I was going about my day.

Around the middle 00s there began appearing in online spaces, mostly instant messaging spaces and BBS forums, where people began to express themselves as "multiples" and, I'll confess, the system that was me had too much programmed fear to be one (heh) of those brave souls. Nonetheless I started to see the acceptance (and the pushback) that has become more commonplace today.

Between 2015-2019 I experienced trauma so severe I was in CPTSD hyperarousal for a good chunk of it, which pretty much shattered my mental landscape. I was mentally just completely broken and had no way of really paying attention to more than the moment I was in. By the time I emerged from the 'fog,' I was functionally a 'singleton,' that is, not a system.

Starting earlier this year, there were a few signs that, in retrospect, should have made me well aware of something coming. I started feeling 'foggy' again, but I thought that was the depression and insomnia. The depression and insomnia were major contributors, as well, and REALLY should have been a wake-up call...but that's depression for you. I think the biggest "20/20 hindsight" indicator was starting to write "Double Isekai," a story about a single person who winds up isekai'ing into two people. This was in March.

One week ago yesterday I was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when I started, for lack of a better term, talking to myself and expecting an answer. I actually had the thought, "Things would sure be easier if I was a system again."

Considering I'm a transwoman and, with slightly different wording, that's classic egg behavior, the penny dropped and I figured out what was going on.

One week ago plus a few hours I sat my GF down and explained what happened back then, what was happening now, and that I was likely to 'split' soon. She just...accepted it. Barely batted an eye, made sure she still had the right pronouns, and went back to her computer.

I was so relieved I nearly cried. Before the divorce when I'd tried to 'come out' as a system to my then-wife, she had NOT reacted well. (And, in retrospect, it makes more sense how upset she was with me that I seemed so, in her words, "unreliable and inconsistent." All she ever knew of me was a 'guy' who kept changing behavior patterns in, to her, random ways)

As though my GF's acceptance were like permission, the split...happened. I could almost physically feel my head-mate separating from me.

And, as I'm sure you've guessed, I've been writing as though it was me going through all of this, and, more or less, it has. Since this split wasn't due to trauma and had been developing over time, it was far more organic and gentle. There wasn't a horrible tear where suddenly there's this nasty, goth punk with a scar around one eye, a penchant for black leather, and absolutely zero compunction to kill because of how traumatic the creation event was (yes, that was one of my alts in my original system, she was a nasty piece of work that never got a name and was never allowed the driver's seat, but did she ever enjoy hurting our stepmother) We both are full participating members with equal access to all our previous memories, even if we're looking at our past self with different lenses.

That's right, Bunnies, I'm back! The EGS fandom will know the name Helen from my days as "Dame Helen the Leather-clad." Even though I'm knight-emeritus now, I'm still quite proud of what we did during those years of the Order of the Bunny. Still she/her, still so very, very sapphic, and still a bit of a useless lesbian.

That said, there's been some changes.

I'm a dragon, along the lines of the crazy-famous Dragon HRT comic that's been super popular this year. If the body were mine alone and Dragon HRT were a real thing, I'd be partially covered in scales by now. I'm not as into gaming and music and art as my new other half is or the old me was. I'm a mother where the previous alt to bear my name was still trying to figure out how to people, and I'm the one with the head for numbers and driving and focusing on work. Also, even though I'm a woman with she/her pronouns, I'm NB and what might be called 'intersex' or 'futanari,' depending on what generation you're in and what part of the Internet you spend most of your time in.

Yes, I know, not a terribly creative name if you know my given name, but it's the one I chose when I emerged. I started out as what us systems call a fictive. If you go back into some of the comments sections on our writing on AO3, you can see references to proto-me scattered around and referred to as "the little author that lives in my head and looks an awful lot like Ranma-chan." On a somewhat silly note, though the pre-fully-realized version of me served as a sort of mental author for our previously unified self, I'm not the writer. That's Helen.

She/her, all girl, and SUPER sex-positive! I'm a bit (I'll confess) of a horny slut and since I'm bi/pan and Helen pretty much gave me control of the NSFW blog, you're probably going to start seeing more guys there than have shown up in the past. I've got a 'type,' though, and that type does NOT include facial hair or bears.

I can't STAND office work! One of our top priorities right now is to get something else...ANYTHING else to earn money so we can drop the office job we've been doing. It's boring anyway! I wanna get started on streaming, though I will NOT be streaming Star Trek: Fleet Command! That game is a bag of stress and I don't know how Helen plays it without wanting to hurt someone!

One thing that is pretty much ALL me is I like fitness! Before we knew fitness was good and it was something we learned to appreciate, but when I got all that I also got a LOVE for it! I can't wait to get back out there and run again! (...but it's getting into the hot season in Arizona, so we may not be able to just yet)

One amusing thing about this is we both realized we're redheads. The body is, sadly, very blond, but now we've got our first body mod goal we can both agree on and get behind.

Speaking of body mods, we're getting booba! I'm tired of being tiny in the chest 'cause of lousy genetics and craptastic HRT timing! We talked about it and our second major shared goal is saving up for top surgery. And we both want FFS and facial hair removal. Basically, I'm in charge of the body, which means FITNESS UPDATES!

That's right, I'm gonna be one of those annoying running fanatics and there's nothing you can do to stop me! 😆😆😆

In any case, expect changes as we figure things out. One thing we didn't really expect that has, nonetheless, had a pretty major impact is our energy level. It takes A LOT of sugars to keep us both going! There've been times one of us has basically taken a nap just to keep from burning too many calories before the end of the day.

Oh, and do you like these identifier bars? I made 'em! Turns out I'm the artist! If you want your own version for you and/or your alts, check out my new store on ko-fi!

[jinisnuggets]

𝕊𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕄𝕖 (ℙ𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕒𝕝 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕆𝕟𝕖?)

ᵖᵃⁱʳⁱⁿᵍˢ: ˢᵖʸ!ˢᵉᵘⁿᵍᵐⁱⁿ ˣ ⁱᵈᵒˡ!ᶠᵉᵐ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ: 2.5ᵏ

ᵍᵉⁿʳᵉ: ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ, ˢᵖʸ ˣ ⁱᵈᵒˡ ᵃᵘ

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ᵃ ᵇⁱᵗ ˢʷᵉᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ, ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵍᵍʳᵉˢⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵉᵘⁿᵍᵐⁱⁿ? ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃʳᵐⁱⁿᵍ, ᶠᵃᵏᵉ ⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗⁱᵗⁱᵉˢ.

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ: ᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵛⁱⁿᶜᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ⁱˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵏᵒʳᵉᵃ'ˢ ᵗᵒᵖ ᶠᵉᵐᵃˡᵉ ⁱᵈᵒˡ, ʰᵉ ᵖᵃᶜᵏˢ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵃᵍˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰᵉˢˢ.

ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳˢ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ: ⁱ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵃ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ, ⁱ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵘʸˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ):>

Authors note 2: This is stationed by order of events so it may seem rushed but like I actually spent a really long time working on this and trying to perfect it, sorry if it's not what you're looking for, I'll try to do better on part 2 :) I know that this part is a bit boring but like I just didn't have a way to make everything all connect without making this really really long and really boring for 3/4th's of the fic soo this is what were dealing with ):>, part 2 will def be more interesting if you would like to see one :D

ᵉˣᵗʳᵃ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ: ʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵉˣᵗ: ʰᵃⁿ, ᵖᵘʳᵖˡᵉ ᵗᵉˣᵗ: ˡᵉᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ.

ᵇʳⁱᵉᶠ ⁱⁿᵗʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

1:00 pm

You stood next to your members, as there stood a long line of fans, your leader said a couple of words before all of you took a bow. Everyone around you sat down while the people stood excitedly in line holding their albums.

It was fan meeting day, you sat down holding your pen and looking around and saw excited and easy moving fans pacing around in their spot, jumping up and down with excitement while communicating with the people in front and behind of them, you smiled lightly at the excitement of the fans, as the line begun moving.

You waited, you weren't exactly the last in line but you definitely weren't one of the first.

You greeted people and signed a lot of albums, your group name was written down behind you as you sat around the middle of the group, you made cute drawings on some of the albums along with some cute little messages.

Until he came… particularly one guy caught your attention, but you couldn't understand why, it's not like he looked suspicious he was just eye catching, you glanced at him while you were discussing with another fan, none of your members looked to share your reaction, but for some reason you just grew interested in him.

“Hello.” He spoke calmly, definitely different from the majority of people who you had talked until now, he handed you his album softly, and leaned on the table.

“Hello, how is your day going?”

“Good, what about you?”

You thought about your response teasingly and then responded

“Definitely better than usual.” You lightly said with a chuckle.

The guy laughed along with you as you lightly joked.

“What's your name?” You asked softly while glancing up at him.

“Yang Dongyun…” he smiled lightly, while watching your moving hand as you drew a cute little puppy on his album.

“That's a pretty name, do you have a bias?”

You could make out a small nod coming from him as he opened his mouth to talk before shutting it.

“You can say.” You said with a smile on your face, while looking back down to finish his album.

He chuckles lightly, while glancing up from your hand to you. “I'd rather not.”

“Aw, come on. You can't leave me on a cliffhanger like that!” Half joking… “I'll make sure you attend the next fan event so I can get an answer out of you!” This time somewhat cringing at your expression.

You noticed him laugh with you as the bell rang, you handed him his album and fist bumped him as he moved on to the next member.

Curiously though, there was something so hypnotizing about him that you couldn't figure out.

You glanced at him once in a while, trying to get a glimpse of where he currently was, you saw him when he got up and left the room, going out with another guy, who you guessed was a friend of his, you were so distracted that you didn't realize the next person calling your name.

“Oh- my bad!” You said while turning back to look at your fan.

3:17 pm

“Hello!? Is something in that brain of yours?”

“What do you want?”

“Geez why are you so mad all of a sudden… you just went to a fan sign, cheer up.”

“Speaking of, did something happen there?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary, just a regular.”

“Boy! You just met some of the area’s hot topics at the moment! That's one of the biggest girl groups right now!!! You could at least be more excited!”

“Why are you so interested whether I was excited or not?”

“Seungmin isn't a fan.”

“Minho, speaking of, why did you need Seungmin to get in a fan sign?”

“I needed him to inspect the members better.”

“Why?”

“One of the members is about to be targeted by an anti-fan. I needed Seungmin to figure out who.”

“Why couldn't I have been the one to go?”

“You would've forgotten the reason for your presence in seconds after seeing your favorite girl group.”

“Whatever…”

He said with a light voice, almost inaudible..

“So who do you suspect it is?”

“It's hard to tell.”

“Did no one have a tracker, or like something that could possibly resemble stalking?”

“No…”

Silence filled the car as everyone felt a sense of hopelessness, with no keys on who it could possibly be.. now what was the next step?

“I do have my suspicions though.”

“What suspicions do you have?”

Seungmin glanced at his album, at the happy puppy that was drawn on the blank sheet.

“L/N Y/N”

Minho pulled over and looked at Seungmin, Jisung himself couldn't hide his surprise either, both stared in complete shock.

“Why her!?”

“I don't have evidence but I do have a theory.”

…

“We’re waiting?”

“L/n is the only member in her group with a solo career, and therefore it's very likely that this stalker is planning on attacking whenever their victim is alone. L/n has to go to the US for her tour very soon while her group will stay here in South Korea. L/n is the only member who has excused activities to be alone, therefore if she didn't appear with her group, no one would suspect a thing until it's too late.”

“Shit-'' Minho looked at the dark road as he grabbed his phone and began dialing a number

“Why would someone target y/n!?”

“She’s an easy target for any anti-fan. She gets to be alone often and is easy to talk to, probably easy to trick as well.”

Both Minho and Jisung looked over at Seungmin

The silence was disrupted whenever a small “hello?” was heard from the other side of the phone,

Minho quickly cleared his throat before speaking

“We found the victim. L/N Y/n, 24 years old, height,165 centimeters tall, member of ( ). ”

“L/n Y/n?”

“Yes, L/n will be having solo activities in another county very soon, the most likely option is that her stalker will approach her there.”

“Do you know what country she will be touring in?”

“I believe she will have a U.S tour.”

“Which country will she be in?”

“California I believe.”

7:01 pm

“I'm so tired!!!” Your maknae got tired easily, you chuckled lightly as you noticed your leader looking through the car’s reer-view-mirror.

“Should we stop by Subway? to pick up some takeout before returning to the dorm?”

Suddenly calm mood switched from the members yelling out their regular order, you heard a chuckle come from the passenger seat..

“Alright, alright, with pies and bobas too.”

The chaos in the car was loud, so you put on your earbuds and put on some music, looking at the calm night sky after a long day.

“Yang Dongyun”

“I’d rather not.”

“Hey girls, did you guys feel something weird about this guy named Dongyun?”

The car suddenly went silent and everyone turned back to look at you.

“Who's Dongyun?”

“Oh- he had small eyes, I believe he wore braces, he had soft brown hair, really calm personality.”

“I don't recall.”

“How do you expect us to remember the exact guy out of like 100’s of different faces we saw today?”

“Well I guess that's true…”

“What about him?”

“I don't know, there's something off about him.”

“Like creepy?”

“No… not creepy, he just stands out.”

You noticed your members all take turns looking at each other, before looking back at you, you noticed your leader look at you from the rest-view-mirror before smiling.

“Let's just go get Subway.”

You smiled softly and nodded but you knew that you wouldn't be able to escape the thought of this Dongyun guy.

Who was he? Why were you so attracted to him? What brought or hypnotized you into him? Did he put a spell on you or something? Whatever he did.. it worked.

Because he couldn't get out of your mind. He was just trapped in there internally, it shouldn't be this way… out of all the fans you met today… why was he the only one you continued recalling?

9:29 pm

Concerts and a bunch of upcoming events were taking place. You got out of the shower and entered your shared room with your roommate.

“You ready for the flight tomorrow?” She asked, glancing up from her journal to look at you.

You were the only member in your group with a solo career, and although you were quite proud of it, it meant a lot more stress for you.

“I partly don't wanna go but oh well. It is what it is.”

“Hey, at least you're getting a lot of attention right now for your solo activities and you're not flopping.”

“Yeah, in a way.”

“You gotta go to sleep early so you make it to the airport on time.”

“Yeah.” You were looking in your closet to pick on an outfit for the long trip to California for your tour. Along with your group, you just came back and the tour was gonna start now.

You took out a few pants and shirts from your closet, looking for what to wear to the airport. Your bags and luggage were already packed, you just needed to prepare your clothing for the morning.

“What's your airport fashion?”

“I don't know… which one do you like better.”

You put up a few shirts and played a game of save one drop one until you were left with a causal looking outfit, you nodded in approval and picked out some shoes before folding everything and laying down in bed.

“I feel like something may go wrong…”

You saw your roommate turn around to face you.

“Why? You shouldn't think like that, you'll have staff with you 24/7.”

“I don't know, it's just a gut feeling.”

“Maybe you're just paranoid…?” Her words came out half joking, insinuating that you're gonna miss the members and her.

“Maybe I am.” You added on to her joking pitch, raising an eyebrow.

“Better not die!! You're our visual and main vocalist. You can't die.”

“How can I control if I die or not?”

“Easy! Just don't die”

You both chuckled at your roommates answer, laughing off your silly sense or humor from the connection that each of you built with each other.

But seriously…

Why did you have a feeling that something very bad was about to happen…?

***

California, LA…

You're album, “Soul Night of Memories” was ranking high on music charts, for it's hypnotizing vocals, small rap, heavy choreography, and overall.. great tracks.

After all, you weren't the main vocalist, and lead dancer for no reason, you shined as a rapper without the need of the position, and although you missed out on some group promotions, you would still be able to reunite with them in about 2 weeks as you both were making a stop by Paris.

You once recalled your leader telling your group the words: “Loving a fan is simple as the feelings are shared, however some fans may have different intentions whether good or bad”

“Why do I always think of those when remember of Dongyun-”

“L/n Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Oh- Hello! I'm Yang Minyung. I heard you came on tour so I wanted to stop by and say hello.”

“Yang Minyung… you're the soloist, who used to be a member of Drama Club right?”

“Yes! I've been wanted to meet you for a while as I really admire your work.”

“That's really sweet… thank you…”

“I'll be here if you need anything.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Yang Minyung, once a member of Drama Club however the group passed through some tragic things that caused their disbandment. Minyung was really brave for speaking out about tragic things in her songs.

6:27 pm

“Heyyyy!!!!”

“Hi girls.”

“How'd it go, first few days in Cali how's it going?”

“Pretty normal, we're having concerts, singing, a few fan meets, and fan video calls. Speaking of! Did you guys know that Yang Minyung came to California as well?”

“Yang Minyung? Like the soloist?”

“Yeah.”

“Former member of Drama Club?”

“Yeah.”

“Where'd you hear that from? She's still in Seoul, she actually had an accident and is in the hospital with a fractured leg right now.”

“What-?”

“Yeah, did a fan tell you she was in California?”

What the hell? If Yang Minyung had an accident that caused her to fracture her bone. Then why did you see her earlier? Or was it some sick fan who decided to pretend to be Minyung just for the fun of it?

“Yeah… a fan told me that she was in California and that she recently had a concert. I guess I believed it”

Your members laughed at your gullibleness.

“It sounded believable.”

“Yeah whatever you say main vocal.”

You rolled your eyes at your members before turning back to the phone.

“I think my food is here, I'm gonna hang up and eat, since I haven't eaten yet.”

“Ok! Take care y/n!”

***

“Just remember that this isn't an ordinary task, you're protecting one of Korea's most famous idols, best vocalist, and she's going to be surrounded by a lot of people for the next few weeks. Whether it's fans, staff, or friends she's always gonna have someone around.”

Seungmin wandered around the building where you were supposed to be spending the night, looking around for anyone who could possibly look suspicious. After all this was Korea's top female idol at the moment, how was he not supposed to put his absolute best effort to try to locate your perpetrator?

“Sir? Do you need anything?”

Seungmin immediately turned around to face the employee, shoving them into the wall, looking them straight in the eye.

“Did anyone suspicious come in earlier today?”

The employee, who was quite startled thought for a moment.

“I don't think so.”

“No one who looked to be in a rush? No one who was demanding staff to be quick with their work?”

…

“Now that I'm remembering, there was one person. But it was probably just because an idol came in earlier.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

“No… I can't recall.”

Seungmin got up, nodding and thanking the staff.

He dialed a number

“The perpetrator is going by a fake identity, they have already checked into the hotel L/n Y/n is staying in and treated the staff harshly. It is highly possible that the perpetrator has already contacted L/n in some sort of way or manner, whether it was digitally or physically.”

“Good job, keep up the pace and this will be quick”

“L/n Y/n seems to have no suspicions yet, as long as she doesn't come close to the-”

“Did you call me?”

The utter silence that filled the room was threatening, Seungmin didn't dare to move a muscle until he turned around, looking and facing the familiar voice behind him, keeping the phone a safe distance from his ear before pulling it back.

“I'll talk to you later.”

“Seung-”

He hung up before whoever was on the other side was able to finish their sentence.

Turning his body to completely face the familiar voice, keeping steady eye contact.

He had been caught by the person he least wanted to see, yet the one person he promised to protect.

L/n Y/n...