#they claim she is a child because she is small. they claim that their reason is actually because she was isolated for most of that time.

[labyrynth]

genshin fans really will be like “i can excuse child combatants but i draw the line at young-looking adults”

[phoenixkaptain]

I love it when pre Original Trilogy era shows how much effort went into making the Death Star. It took decades, literal decades, and it took so much money and so many people and it was such a secretive thing and it’s staffed by millions because it’s the size of a small moon.

I cannot express how much all of the added information makes it so much funnier that Luke blew it up.

Luke destroys literally everything Palpatine built. He blows up the Death Star, which was referenced in universe as early as the second movie. He blew up the weapon of mass destruction twenty years in the making. And he blew it up pretty much directly after it’s first and only successful attack. It was operational for fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes that Palpatine had the thing he’d been building for longer than Luke has been alive, and Luke blows it up. First day retirement, but first hour retirement.

Luke convinces Darth Vader to turn back to the light side, a feat thought literally impossible by literally everybody. Sidious clearly doesn’t see Vader’s betrayal coming. Vader’s betrayal was not in his plans, nor was it something he was prepared for. Sidious is a powerful Force user with all four limbs while Vader is a man in the tin can Palpatine put him in. If Palpatine had seen Vader turning coming, he would not have allowed it to happen.

Luke literally should not even be alive. Palpatine almost definitely got Padme out of the way on purpose, and he almost certainly was trying for her unborn child as well (there was way too big of a risk that a cute liddol bebe would bring some humanity back to Anakin, and Palpatine did not want Anakin to have any humanity) Luke living is literally the first step in Palpatine’s ultimate downfall, especially once Vader finds out that Luke is his son. His very alive son. His son that is not dead, despite Palpatine claiming Anakin killed Padme. Implying that Anakin killed Padme and she posthumously gave birth. But, she didn’t give birth on Mustafar, which was the last place Anakin interacted with her. And once the mother dies, you have to get those fuckers out fast or they die too.

I imagine Darth Vader piecing all of this together is that meme with all the math floating around his head, because how could Padme have died by his hand and then given birth like two hours later?

Luke killing Palpatine is what ultimately leads to the dissolution of the Empire as an omnipotent entity. Luke killed the Empire. Luke spends a good amount of his adult life killing Empire remnants. We see that in the Mandalorian, since he’s so recognizable that Gideon immediately knows he’s fucked just by seeing an X-wing. We read it in Legends’ continuity, where Luke terrifies Imperials because he can walk into their changing room and stand in their for a minute and they don’t even notice.

Luke destroyed Palpatine’s life’s work. Everything Palpatine spent his whole life working towards, and Luke kills all of it. He blows up not one, but two Death Stars (he may not have pulled the trigger on the second Death Star, but without him, it never would have been destroyed). He convinces not one, but multiple Sith and Dark Jedi to return from the Dark Side. He is the only reason that Obi-Wan Kenobi, the biggest pain in Palpatine’s ass ever born, lives long enough to make it to the Death Star.

Palpatine went through so much effort. And just when he had finally won, when he finally had a weapon capable of destroying entire planets with a single blast, making it impossible for any planets or peoples to go against him, Luke shows up nineteen years late to the Jedi party with space Starbucks and a droid twice his age and almost singlehandedly destroys everything Palpatine ever had a hand in creating.

Luke manages to become even worse than Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ultimate thorn in the side of politicians, and Luke doesn’t even understand any politics. He wasn’t trained in diplomacy like Obi-Wan and Leia, no, he’s a farmboy who left home for the first time in his entire life, just this morning. And he is the one to destroy the Empire.

If they rewrote Star Wars and had it entirely from Palpatine’s perspective, Luke Skywalker would be his greatest foe. Luke Skywalker would be the final boss. Luke Skywalker is the antithesis of everything Palpatine believes in and he is the one character that Palpatine cannot predict. He isn’t as moldable as Anakin, he doesn’t respond to threats very well, he’s apparently impossible to kill via Force lightning (still the funniest scene of all times, the progression of Palpatine’s face falling and him looking like “what the fuck??? Is this kid rubber??? I’ve electrocuted him eight times???”), his unwavering faith in his father’s goodness makes Darth Vader want to be a better person, Luke Skywalker is the big bad of Palpatine’s story and—

There is nothing in this world that is funnier than someone’s biggest antagonist being Luke fucking Skywalker. Luke Skywalker, who saved the galaxy with the power of love and who shouldn’t exist, by Jedi rules and by Palpatine’s own attempts, and whose best friends are literally droids, which Palpatine canonically hates!

Everything about this is hilarious, this is the funniest thing in all of media, Palpatine loses absolutely everything to some backwater farmboy who fucking likes droids.

[capslocked]

PARITY

male reader x sana & miyeon

21k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's really fucking uncanny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Anyway,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty," you say out loud.

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

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

"Lose it," you request, quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So then, what could it possibly be?”

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

Sana sits up a little in her chair.

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

You and Sana almost snort in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two tops.

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

Her eyelids flicker once.

Then close.

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

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

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

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

And then her lips tighten and she just-

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

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

She just-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-and when he has to pull out-"

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

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

"-maybe-"

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

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

The answer’s a two-part chorus. Yes.

-

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

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

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

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

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

"Miyeonie," Sana says.

"Sana," Miyeon returns, flat.

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

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

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

"You know the one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve noticed.”

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

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

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

Sana shrugs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh, birds of a feather.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

On your phone, there are some choice text messages:

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > jesus

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

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > PLEASE

// Miyeon 2:18 AM > fuck any quieter

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come here."

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

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

It's really always about the two of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"N-need," Miyeon chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miyeon cries out.

“I'm going to cum-"

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

"I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now's no different, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not meaning to, or maybe too eager.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

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

It goes without saying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Direct.

To the point. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-yeah," she huffs, panting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is not much talking from then on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"-please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, it's just like this:

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

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

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

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

The smallest, lightest grind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gives you two so much to talk about."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So: "I need the both of you."

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

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

You just groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

They're fucking-

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

- identical.

"Look, I didn't mean-"

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

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

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

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

"She isn't?" you ask.

Sana sighs. "Um. Not even close."

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

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

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

-gorgeous, lewd, completely fucking filthy.

"I got a lot, babe."

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

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

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

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

[loaksbitch]

imagine you’re too scared to tell neteyam you’re pregnant cause he’s not ready for a family but you’re so wrong yes? this is a little present until i’m done writing the finale of ‘i trusted you’ series — 1.2k wc

warnings - mention of vulgar language, none other than that! likes + reblogs are super appreciated and not pressured thank you sm <3

“my baby in you?” — neteyam sully (✿)

you’re scared.

you’re so scared and mo’at’s voice dining in your head isn’t helping but making it worse. you knew this would happen, it would eventually come but not in a million life time you thought it would be now.

“you should tell him, my child.” mo’at had said to you. “he must know you’re carrying a fruit of love inside you.”

how can you randomly go and tell him, your mate, neteyam that you’re pregnant with his child? he clearly has told you he doesn’t want a family, at least not right now.

you both agreed to focus on yourself and each other and family would come later but here you are crying because of the child you’re carrying, scared neteyam won’t accept him or…her.

you haven’t noticed how you’re protectively covering your stomach until you had to bring your hands up to wipe your tears

hours have passed since you haven’t stopped crying or went to sleep unintentionally.

“princess, wake up.” a familiar voice echoes in your head and you open your amber eyes hardly since it was swollen and pretty puffed up.

once you recognize who the man in front of you is, you jump and scoot away from him. “shit, did i scare you?” he brings his hand close to you, “it’s me baby, neteyam i’m neteyam, your man.” the way he claims he’s yours makes your stomach even churn

what if he doesn’t want to be your man after this?

“that’s right, come here” he calls for you, taking your dainty hands to him and pulling you close for a hug. “you were crying while sleeping.” you’re both now hugging while neteyam is kneeling in front of you and you’re sat on the thick mat

“something bothering you?”

he feels you shake your head and licks his lips before pushing you back a little to scan your face.

“don’t lie to me, pretty girl” you feel him cup your cheeks and trace your blue stripes as he gives you a melting smile.

did this really need to happen, eywa? why was she making you suffer like this when neteyam was clearly strict over having a baby right now?

“princess,” you’re pulled from your thoughts when your mate calls for you. “talk to me, what is it?”

“it’s nothing.” you blurt out and push neteyam’s hand away from you before getting on your feet. neteyam watches you with a furrowed brows when you walk away from him

this time, he calls you by your name and no pet names to make you freeze at your spot. “what’s wrong with you?” he didn’t fail to notice how your moods kept changing this days

how you’re very argumentative or a crybaby with no reason.

“i said,” you take a deep breath “noth–“ neteyam had enough. “cut the crap and tell me, what’s wrong? you know i won’t leave you alone without knowing what’s bothering my wife.”

his wife, neteyam was also on his feet now, towering your small body. he knows how stubborn you can be and he’ll make sure to fight until the end to know what’s up with you

“i’m worried, okay? fuck i’m so worried i can’t even focus on my training”

right, his so-called training.

you bite your lips and look away, why is it hard just to tell him you’re carrying his baby huh? why does this argument need to happen?

“hey,” neteyam was close to you again, taking your face to his large palms. “please tell me baby, mhm?” he presses a soft kiss on your lips but you don’t kiss back nor smile

“what’re hurting you? let me hurt with you, yeah?”

you can’t even describe how much you love this man and just losing him scares you so much. but you’ve to tell him, sooner or later you have to let him know you’re gonna give birth to the fruit of love you both made after months

“nete’” at your call, your mate desperately hums and searches for your eyes that’s becoming very teary. “i’m sorry” you can feel how his face twists in confusion but he’s silent so you can talk farther

you’re finally opening up and he wasn't dating to interrupt you.

but then again you’re awfully silent, only tears trickling down your beautiful face. “why’re you sorry?” his heart is now picking up its race and neteyam swallow down his worry

“i know you never wanted it to be this soon, i know you’re not ready and i’m sorry i’m ruining everything.”

the way your voice quivers makes his plan sweat and chest tighten, he hates seeing you in pain. “baby, please tell me what it is, what am i not ready for?” you’re silent again but neteyam was patient with you

he can see how you’re debating with yourself if you should say what you’re going to say or no

his breath bitch when you look at him, your pretty and big amber eyes wet from tears, neteyam only wipes them off your cheeks.

“i’m…” you stop and take a deep breath, “i’m pregnant, neteyam.”

right there, you don’t miss how his fingers stop wiping your tears, how his eyes are slightly widened and his body completely going stiff.

you begin to panic and bring your hands to him which is holding your face warmly, “i-i know you’re not ready and i’m sorry i ke— i keep ruining things for you.” you’re fast to apologize but neteyam wasn’t budging that you’re thinking he’s having a stroke

“i’ll take care of it myself,” you say wanting to bring back neteyam to himself but no answer, “i’m so sorry, we should’ve neve—“

things were fast when neteyam suddenly clashed himself to you, teeth clashing to each other when he’s kissing you, your wet eyes are widen and neteyam is desperately tugging on your lower lips with his teeth

did he not get what you said? you literally told him what he doesn’t want to hear and he’s kissing you.

one hand on your cheek and the other slides down to your lower back and pulls you close to him, you close your eyes and kiss back.

warm touches and tongue licks your lower lip, neteyam whines to your lips. he breaks the contact and a string of saliva latches to both of you.

“you’re having little us.” he was pressing his forehead against yours. you’re somehow confused and open your mouth to speak. “you’re not mad?” you softly whisper and neteyam looks at you like you’re stupid.

“mad? baby, i’m the happiest na’vi alive.”

something in you finds relief and you start to smile.

you giggle when you’re swept away from your feet and neteyam twirls you while laughing happily. “neteyam!” you say in between your laugh but neteyam was too happy to even listen

once you’re back on your feet, neteyam searches for your eyes, “you have my baby in you?” his eyes were teary when you shyly nodded.

“don’t ever apologize for this, it’s not only you who’s in this but me too.” he tucks your braids behind your ears, “princess, you’ve no idea how scared i was to tell you i want a family with you sooner.”

neteyam takes a deep breath, “i regret telling you i’m not ready because i was from the start, i just didn’t want you to feel pressured.” he says and your lips curve for a smile.

“i’m so fucking ready you’ve no idea.” he places a feather light kiss on your forehead.

“i love you baby,” he pulls you for a hug and loves how you fit on his chest. “i love you too.” you hug him back, silently thanking eywa and apologizing at the same time.

i need a man like neteyam and it’s not even a joke, i hope you liked this one! thank you for reading — likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 i love each and everyone of you sm! mwah**

[initialchains]

teenage dirtbag, baby! | luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: there is nothing more exhausting than being known as the picture perfect daughter of aphrodite… luckily, camp half-blood’s resident teenage dirtbag luke castellan can’t relate at all. fake dating him to piss off your siblings and mother could never go wrong, right? (based on 18 by anarbor)

wc: 6.5k

warnings: smoking, mentions of drinking, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex, implied sexual content, drew tanaka being a bitch, and kinda ooc luke bcs hes meant to be well … a teenage dirtbag.

a/n: its still valentine’s day for me sooo happy valentines 💌💗 !! in mexico valentine’s day is also known as the day of friendship so this one is dedicated to my favorite people ever: @emiliehornby @love-that-we-were-in and @kestisvrse <3 !! hope you enjoy it mwah !!

The sounds of campers laughing and gossiping in the dining pavilion are drowned out by your siblings and their annoyingly loud whispers about the allegedly cute (you’d beg to differ) son of Ares who joined camp less than twelve hours ago. Sure, he seemed like a nice guy even though he's a child of the god of war, but you were certain the only reason they kept bringing him up was because they wanted to set you up with him.

“And his arms, oh my gods! Have you seen them?” one of your brothers chimed in, trying to get you to agree with him, but all you could come up with was a hum and a polite smile. 

It pissed you off a bit, the knowledge of you never being able to go against your siblings' wishes.. the fear of disappointing them and your mother being all-consuming and blinding you with fear.

There were times you’d think about it if you’re being honest. Times where you would let yourself dream of doing something so stupidly reckless for once. Something that would stop your siblings from walking all over you and treating you like their personal lapdog. 

Not only was it tiring but it was also humiliating to a certain point. You were older than most of them and you were pretty sure you were the only one that took being a demigod seriously, even taking your time to strategize for Capture The Flag with Clarisse, and yet… you rejected Chiron when he asked you to be a counselor and told him to ask Silena instead. 

And you loved your family—you really did, but it was getting exhausting. Always having to be perfect was draining you and you were afraid of the kind of person you’d become if you allowed this to keep going. 

“He totally wants to ask you out,” Silena’s voice snapped you out of the daze you were trapped in. You turned your head to the right, facing your half-sister with a small frown on your face.

“You really think so?” you replied, trying your best to sound excited. 

“Oh, I know so,” she answered before going on a whole rant about how cute you’d look with the newly claimed son of Ares. A son of Ares—that you badly wanted to remind her—had only been in camp for less than twelve hours and you knew nothing about. 

You stayed in the dining pavilion with your siblings until you found the strength to tell them you were tired and wanted to go to sleep (an incredibly blatant lie but it didn’t look like they cared) and stood up, brushing the dust off your jeans.

“Wait, I’ll go with you!” Silena said with a smile, standing up and moving closer to you. 

“You don’t have to. You can stay with them if you want to, really—“ you were cut off by your half-sister with an exasperated sigh.

“I want to go with you. Plus, I can walk back here once I drop you off at the cabin,” she stated with a playful roll of her eyes.

The two of you walked back to the Aphrodite cabin in a comfortable silence. You liked being with Silena, she was a few years younger than you but she carried herself with so much grace and love it was hard to feel uncomfortable or weird whenever you hung out with her.

You kept your gaze on the sky, noticing that the moon was out by now. “Hey,” Silena whispered, trying to get your attention.

“You okay?” you answered. Your mind was practically hardwired to always look after your siblings, so your brain was unwillingly making you think of the worst-case scenario.

“What? Yeah, I am okay,” Silena was quick to reassure you, “I just wanted to talk to you about—“

“I swear to all the gods, Silena. If this is about that camper..” you replied with a small sigh. The two of you stopped walking when you reached your cabin, deciding to continue the conversation outside.

“He’s not that bad! He is a nice guy and the two of you would look really cute together,” she insisted.

“You don’t even know him.”

“Ugh, fine. Good thing is there are other cute campers we can introduce you to. I met one of Charlie’s brothers a few weeks ago and I think he’d—“

“I can’t do this tonight,” you replied in an exhausted tone.

“Wow, okay. No need to be mean about it,” Silena muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been trying to help you find a boyfriend for months now and you always shut me down. It was fine at first but now you’re just being mean,” she explained.

“Mean? Silena, you said it yourself. I’ve always shut you down because I’m not interested in getting one.”

“Whatever,” she replied bitterly before turning around and walking back to the dining pavilion, leaving you alone outside of your cabin. 

You stared at her back as she walked away, going through the last few minutes over and over in your head. Were you being mean? All you did was stick up for yourself. You didn’t understand why you were feeling bad for standing up against your siblings just for once.

A snort made you realize you weren’t alone. You turned your head towards the noise just to be met with.. oh.

Luke Castellan was leaning against the side of your cabin, carefully hidden under the darkness of the night and the shadows of the trees, he had a cigarette in his right hand and an obnoxious smirk adorning his even more obnoxious face. 

“Hope you enjoyed the show, Castellan.”

Luke raised his hands as if he had been caught and blew the smoke away, “I’m on your side, she was being a fucking bitch.”

“Don’t call her that, she’s just a kid.”

Luke raised a brow before taking another drag of his cigarette, “Do not call your sister a bitch after seeing her.. be a bitch to you?” he shook his head. “Oh, princess, you need to work on getting rid of that altruism.”

“Do you even know what that word means?” you snapped, not being in the mood to indulge in whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

“Why? You want to teach me?” He said with a smirk.

“Don’t even start with your annoying stuff, Castellan,” you muttered, running a hand down your face, clearly overwhelmed with everything that had happened. 

“Because you know you won’t want me to stop?” he pressed, but after a moment of silence his smirk fell and a frown took over his features. 

“Uh.. you want to...” he trailed off and cleared his throat, “you want to talk about it or something?” 

You squinted at him before eventually letting out a sigh and walking over to Luke, standing next to him with your back pressed against the wooden walls of your cabin. Luke extended his arm away from you to keep the smoke far from your face. 

“So, um... Silena wants to set me up with that new camper,” you started.

“Fuck. The Ares one?” Luke interrupted.

“Castellan.”

“Right, sorry. Please continue, princess.”

You decided to ignore the insufferable pet name he gave you and continued, “The thing is I do want a boyfriend, just not… him.”

Luke hummed before bringing the cigarette to his lips again and inhaling the smoke in, he kept his mouth closed as he thought of something decent to say before slightly tilting his head away from you and blowing out the smoke upwards. 

“Alright, and have you tried telling her to stop?” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Nope that was shitty advice, have you tried maybe describing your type or whatever it is you Aphrodite people say to describe the people you’re attracted to.” 

“My type?” you replied, almost offended by the statement.

“Yeah?” Luke answered as if it was the most obvious thing to do, “Just describe the type of guys you’re into and I’m sure that cult of yours you like to call siblings will be happy to help…” he trailed off when he noticed your gaze set on his right hand and your bottom lip in between your teeth as he flicked the cigarette, causing the ashes to fall into the ground. 

He looked up from his hand and burst out into laughter, shaking his head before whispering an amused fuck. 

“Oh?” Luke said with a bright smile and raised brows, “You find this attractive, angel?” 

“That thing is going to kill you,” you explained, “I’m not attracted to people that like to slowly kill themselves.” 

“Fucking bummer. I wanted to see you take a drag, that would’ve been really hot,” he said, his smile not wavering. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you don’t drink, right?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Look at you, being such a good girl,” Luke teased before throwing the rest of his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. 

“Also, that thing you said about Silena being just a kid was really fucking stupid. She’s almost the same age as Annabeth and she doesn’t act like an asshole, I’m pretty sure your sweet little sister is just a bitch.” 

Annabeth. You forgot that even though Luke is an annoyance most of the time and prefers to stick to himself.. he still has a soft spot for the twelve year old daughter of Athena. It was kind of endearing. 

“Annabeth is a daughter of Athena, you can’t expect her to act—“

“You didn’t act like Silena when you were fourteen. You need to stop giving her excuses and allow yourself to get mad at her.” 

“I’d rather have my siblings get mad at me and just stop perceiving me as this perfect and weak person, maybe once that happens they’ll stop trying to mess with my life,” you explained, your gaze set towards the ground. 

Luke was about to open his mouth and try to come up with a funny one-liner to make you feel better, but he didn’t get to because you were quick to look up at him with a gasp and wide eyes.

“The fuck? Are you okay?” 

“I need you.”

“Shit, angel. Most girls say that after a few dates but I’m not against the idea,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. 

“Ew, no. I mean, I need to date you—fake date you.”

“I’m uh... not for sale?” Luke answered, clearly confused by the plan you were trying to explain.

“No, Castellan. Listen to me. My siblings despise you, I’m sure they’d set my bed on fire as a way of cleansing my soul from you if they find out we’re dating.”

Luke’s eyes got bright and his smile widened (if that was even possible), “Set your bed on fire? And what would we do in your bed for them to feel disgusted by its existence?”

“You’re disgusting. Anyway, if we fake date I’ll get to stop being perceived as their perfect sister and you’ll have bragging rights for dating an Aphrodite kid,” you said, moving your hands as you spoke. 

“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” Luke asked carefully, trying to make you think about what was at stake. He didn’t give a shit about staining his already nonexistent reputation, but he couldn’t have you ruin yours. 

“I am so sure, Castellan,” you reassured him. 

“You know, for a good girl I’m extremely surprised you never say please.”

“Please, Castellan. Could you please be my fake boyfriend so I can finally stop being seen as my siblings' personal toy?” you said with a fake smile while bringing your hands together as an exaggerated way of begging Luke to say yes. 

“You’re so cute when you beg. But you need to prove to me you’re serious about this fake dating thing. Meet me tomorrow at the bonfire, no bullshit.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You had been on edge the entire day. Silena seemed to be past the argument, which made you feel better to an extent, but that didn’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling that settled in your gut because throughout the day you could feel someone staring at you. You could feel Luke staring at you.  

You were walking past the sword fighting arena with Katie Gardner from the Demeter Cabin the first time it happened. The feeling of a pair of eyes completely set on you. You turned your head to the right just to be met with Luke’s exhausted figure, he was sweating and panting, but that didn’t stop him from running his eyes up and down your figure and smiling at you. 

To say Katie was disgusted would be an understatement. A “Castellan is a dick, you should stay away from him,” was enough to stop you from staring at him and turning your head back to Katie. She went on to explain how Luke was a “real shitty person” and only hooked up with her as a way of getting her to grow weed in the back of the stables. 

It happened around eight times in the last two hours (not that you were counting) and it only got worse when the moon came up and everyone was making their way to the bonfire. You were walking next to Michael Yew when you felt a hand on your lower back. 

Luke’s hand on your lower back, to be exact. He left it there as he walked past you, only turning his head back to say “It’s adorable to see you together, are you two a couple?” 

You had to hold yourself back from strangling him when you heard his irritating laugh after he saw Michael’s reaction to his statement. Michael tried his best to be polite and tell him he was wrong, that there was nothing going on between the two of you. 

But his reply only seemed to fuel Luke’s actions even more because all he did was answer with a cocky “Oh, I know. Our princess here is only into... what was it? People that like to slowly kill themselves with cigarettes?” before walking away.

You were going to kill him.

Michael left your side as soon as you arrived, moving to sit with his siblings from the Apollo Cabin… leaving you with two choices: sitting with your siblings or sitting next to Luke (who for some reason always sat alone and spent the entire time listening to the music coming from the MP3 player he somehow managed to get into camp). 

So this is what Luke meant, you thought. This was the only way you could prove to him and everyone that you were serious about dating him—fake dating him—but it's not like they would ever know the truth.

You dragged your feet as you walked towards Luke, clearly having second thoughts about your plan, but there was no turning back now. You tried to ignore the confused look Drew was giving you and the gasps you could hear coming from your siblings. 

“I’m pretty sure Drew started the rumors about me having lice and smuggling coke into camp, are you sure you want to fake date me of all people?” You weren't so sure anymore but that didn’t stop you from taking a seat next to Luke Castellan, who took one of his earphones off and looked at you with a smile. 

“Happy now? I just proved how serious I am about this,” you whispered to him, trying your best to not let anyone hear you.

Luke nodded before saying, “You could’ve done better, but I’ll take it.”

“Done better? I just sat next to you in front of the entire camp, isn’t this good enough for you?” you asked, indignation evident in your tone. 

“Promise not to beat me up?” Luke said before pulling your arm and manhandling your body so you were on top of him, sitting on his lap. He placed his hands on your hips and looked up at you with stars in his eyes.

“Wow, Castellan. How scandalous, I’m sitting on your lap,” you deadpanned. 

He chuckled, bringing you closer to him and pressing his lips against yours. Luke’s hands felt like fire against your skin, all you could feel was a heat taking all over your body as he continued to kiss you, only pulling away to catch his breath before bringing you in for another one, this time he kissed you deeper and faster. 

Luke dragged you closer to him by pressing your hips against his and all you could do was melt into him and the feeling of his lips against yours. In the distance, you could hear gasps and people gagging, and you were pretty sure the campers from the Ares Cabin were cheering and whistling, but all your thoughts were on Luke Castellan and how good of a kisser he is.

You pulled away first this time, trying to steady your breathing as you looked into his eyes. He licked his lips before whispering “We should go.”

Your eyes widened as soon as he said that, the implications of what the sentence meant making you feel nervous. Luke was quick to reassure you, “If we leave, your siblings will be even more outraged. We don’t have to do anything, but they’ll think we are doing…some stuff. Just come to the woods with me for a little while.” 

You nodded and grabbed his hand as he guided you through the woods. You could hear Silena calling out your name and warning you about the consequences of your actions, but her voice was drowned out by the loud cheers coming from Clarisse.

Once the two of you were far enough from the rest of the campers, Luke let go of your hand and sat down by the lake, nodding his head as a way of asking you to join him.

You sat in silence for a few minutes until Luke spoke first. “How long do you think we should keep this thing up?”

“Valentina and Drew will want us to be over by tonight,” you said with a smile, a laugh escaping your lips. You didn’t notice how Luke’s eyes got brighter when he heard your laugh or how the melody that came out of your lips went straight through his heart and made him feel more alive.

“But I think a week should be enough. We can say we’ve been secretly dating for like... five months? That way it won’t be weird if we break up in a week,” you explained while your fingers played with your camp necklace. 

Luke nodded before going silent again, staring at the lake with a look you couldn’t quite comprehend. Your gaze was set on him, your eyes traveling from his toned arms, all the way to the scar that sat right below his right eye. 

“I know it’s awful, I can feel you staring at it,” he murmured. You could physically feel your heart sinking when he said it. You cleared your throat, “No, I… I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re—” Luke turned his head to face you, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “I think you’re really brave, Luke.” 

“Beautiful?” Luke asked, confusion written all over his face. “You should hear what your siblings say about it, then. I’m sure your opinion would change in a second.” 

“Being an Aphrodite kid means you see beauty everywhere,” you explained, “And I think your scar must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Luke stared at you with an unreadable expression, making your heart almost beat out of your chest. 

“Are you flirting with me, angel?”

“Of course, you’d ruin the moment. Screw you, man.” You rolled your eyes. 

Luke threw his head back in a fit of laughter, it made you want to strangle him… again. “Did you just say screw you? Gods, princess, saying fuck won’t kill you.” 

“I don’t like to curse, thank you for pointing it out, Castellan,” you said, playfully shoving him, making him fake a gasp. 

“You went from trying to seduce me to trying to kill me, you’re so interesting, angel,” he said before letting out a sigh. “It, uh… It was really hard at first, getting used to the scar.”

“Having people call it all sorts of names, and looking at me with nothing but pity in their eyes was not easy to get used to. But after some time you just… stop caring. I mean, I’m not that big of an asshole to hold a grudge over a fucking scar, it even looks sick. But yeah, when it gets hard again all I can do is snort a line and move on.

“The coke smuggling was real?” you gasped, only focusing on the last sentence he said. Luke tried to keep a straight face but his facade fell the moment he noticed your wide eyes. Luke Castellan has the type of laugh that makes everything get fuzzy and makes you feel lightheaded, and all you wanted to do was to come up with bad jokes just for the sole reason of hearing him do it again. 

“Fuck, you really believe anything, huh?”

“Shut up, Castellan. I’ll literally stab you and let you slowly bleed to death,” you threatened, standing up from your place next to him. Luke followed you as you walked back to the cabins.

“You do know I’m the best swordsman in the last 300 years, right? Do you even know how to wield a sword?” he asked, matching your pace and walking next to you. 

“Low blow, just because I don’t like to indulge in violence it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to wield a sword,” you retorted. 

Luke snorted a laugh, “You don’t know, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Will you shut up now?”

“I only will if you accept to let me teach you how to fight tomorrow,” Luke said with a tilt to his head. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer because he walked away from you while saying a loud “Meet me tomorrow morning in the sword fighting arena.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You were sure you were seconds away from passing out. It's been around two hours of sparring with Luke and your arms and legs were about to give out. The sun was starting to come out, which meant this torture was nearly over. At least that’s what Luke promised. “We’ll stop as soon as the other campers wake up, that way you won’t have to be embarrassed if they see your… skills.”

The two of you circled each other, your swords were raised and Luke’s blade was pointing straight at you. Luke took a second to study your stance before lunging forward, his sword meeting yours as you quickly blocked his attack. “Not too bad, huh?” Luke teased before trying to get another hit, his moves becoming more calculated the longer you kept blocking his advances. Proving he wasn’t called the best swordsman at camp for nothing. 

With a disarming maneuver you weren’t aware of, Luke was quick to throw your sword to the ground and have you stumbling back, not being able to regain your footing. Luke gave you a smirk when your body hit the ground with a small thud, “That was easy,” he said, “We should do this more often.” 

“Nope, this is a one-time thing, Castellan,” Luke rolled his eyes before bringing the blade of his sword closer to you, reaching for your chin with a glint in his eyes. The blade met your chin and Luke lifted it, making you meet his gaze as he slowly made you stand up by raising his sword even higher. 

The two of you stood still, staring intently into each other’s eyes until you heard it—the sound of the Ares Cabin making their way to the arena. Luke let out a surprised shit, dropped his sword to the ground, and walked closer to you, cupping your jaw with his right hand and kissing you. 

Your lips met in a hurried collision, causing the same fire from yesterday to set in your stomach. Your hands moved to Luke’s hair, softly pulling it as the kiss got heated. You knew this was fake, you knew this kiss meant nothing to him… but you didn’t want him to stop. “Holy fuck, are you two always sucking each other’s faces?” Clarisse’s voice cut through the moment, causing you to pull away from Luke, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, that’s what being in a relationship entails. I don’t think you’d know much about it, La Rue,” Luke breathes out.

“Don’t you have weed to sell or a cheap bottle of vodka to down, Castellan?” 

“Aw, you know me so well,” Luke answered before picking up both of your swords and grabbing your hand, walking away from the arena. 

The following days were (and you hated to admit it) filled with the most fun you’ve ever had. Luke would come up with some insane idea for a fake date and it would always end with one of you lying about seeing a camper or hearing Silena’s voice as an excuse to make out with each other. 

There was this one time the two of you were having a picnic by the strawberry fields and the day ended with the two of you hiding in the empty forge while making out, running your hands over each other’s bodies, and doing the normal stuff fake couples always do… it all happened because Luke swore he heard Valentina’s voice near the fields. (You were sure Valentina had been on the stables that entire day because she had cleaning duty, but why wouldn’t you play along with something you also wanted to do?)  

It was Sunday–the last day of your fake relationship–when Silena finally found the guts to talk to you about Luke. You even felt slightly bad for the girl because she was so nervous when she sat next to you in the dining pavilion. 

“I..um... I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” she began, “Well, there are lots of things for me to apologize for, but I think it’s pretty obvious what the main problem is.” 

“The way I’ve been treating you is not okay and I’m really ashamed of it. You shouldn’t have to feel pressured to be the person we want you to be, I used to see you as someone who couldn’t do things on her own and always needed someone to push her and help her handle everything… and now I see I was wrong,” Silena explained, running a hand through her hair. 

“It’s fine, Silena. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. You’re strong and more than capable of doing things on your own, and you don’t need me to try and help you or fix you.” She took a deep breath. “I didn't know you were dating Luke, and to be honest I didn’t even know he was your type. He is so… weird and I never would’ve guessed you were dating. I mean, Drew told me he does cocaine and—”

“He doesn’t,” you interrupted.

Silena raised a brow before continuing, “Anyway, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad for just... existing. And you always look so happy after hanging out with Luke, I truly hope the two of you stay together for a long time.” 

You didn’t even know how to explain the situation so you just blurted out “I broke up with him.” 

Silena looked shocked for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath, “Oh, thank the gods. Just because we trust you it doesn’t mean we trust him,” she spat the him with so much disgust it made you feel sick. “You deserve so much better.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

This is probably the first time you have ever felt ill at the thought of seeing Luke. Sure, you used to be annoyed by his presence before the whole fake dating situation even started, but at least you were a strange type of friends back then. Not really close but also not complete strangers. There were times you’d catch him hiding his secret stash of weed behind the stables and didn’t tell anyone, and he’d always pay you back by lying to Chiron about you practicing your sword skills with him. (You had only used a sword once and it was years ago when you were still a new camper, you had no idea why Chiron would ever believe him.)

Luke was sitting in his usual spot by the lake, a cigarette in his hand. It had become a tradition for the two of you to always meet up by the lake before curfew to talk about your day and practice your kissing so it wouldn’t look fake. 

“Hey,” you said, taking a seat next to him. Luke threw his cigarette to the ground, stepped on it, and almost instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your temple. “Blink-182?” you asked, nodding at the MP3 he had on his lap. 

“The Smashing Pumpkins,” Luke answered, taking his earphones off. “Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness is one of the best albums ever made.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll take your word for it,” you said. Luke smiled and poked your side. 

“So, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” you began, but Luke held up his hand as a way to get you to stop.

“Can I say something first?” he asked, looking shy for probably the first time since the day you met him. 

You nodded and let him take the lead of the conversation. “Alright, so… I’m kind of shit with words so I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense but this past week has probably been the best week of my life. And I’m not even fucking around, I don’t have many friends–apart from Annabeth, and getting to be with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Being your friend is the greatest gift the gods have ever given me, and sometimes I feel like I don’t even deserve it. I’m a mess of a person, and you’re well… you’re you,” Luke stared deeply into your eyes, “And I just wanted to let you know that—”

Luke didn’t get to finish his sentence because this time it was you who cut him off with a kiss. You could taste the cigarette on his lips as he brought you closer to him, running a hand down your back and deepening the kiss before pulling away and moving to kiss your neck. 

Luke began to trail kisses down your throat and only stopped to whisper a low “Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.”

Aphrodite.

You pushed him away the moment you remembered your mother. “Silena apologized. We can stop pretending now.”

Luke was silent and just stared at you, his fingers moving to fidget with the wire of his earphones. “Oh, right,” he cleared his throat. “It’s Sunday, I forgot.”

You knew he didn’t.

“Yup, so we can go back to normal now,” you said, looking away from his eyes because you knew it would only take one look into them for you to kiss him again.

“Good,” Luke stood up, not daring to even shoot you a glance, and walked away. Leaving you alone by the lake with the lingering smell of his cheap stolen cologne mixed with the cigarette he was smoking. 

It didn’t help that you were welcomed into your cabin with hugs and your siblings congratulating you for breaking up with the son of Hermes. Sure, you weren’t the perfect sister anymore because you dated Luke Friendless-Freak Castellan, but knowing they liked you just because you were with him and then broke his heart made you want to set the cabin on fire. 

The main rule of the Aphrodite Cabin was something your siblings were extremely proud of, but the thought of its existence made you want to storm into Mount Olympus by yourself and yell at your mother for putting all these useless ideas into their heads. 

For a child of Aphrodite to prove themselves, they must make someone fall in love with them and then break that someone's heart. 

Is it possible for the rule to backfire? For the child of Aphrodite to accidentally fall in love with someone and then break their own heart because of it? You didn’t even know if that was an option, but you were sure that’s exactly what you were going through right now. 

It was hard for you to go to sleep that night because your mind kept replaying the past week on a loop. Your conversation with Luke by your cabin. The night of the bonfire. The conversation by the lake about his scar. Sparring with him. Going on a million fake dates. The night on the forge. Your last conversation with him. 

“Look at you, what would Aphrodite say? I’m sure she’d be proud.” 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

You could feel Luke staring at you. Again. 

You were helping Annabeth strategize for Capture The Flag, because she had the brilliant idea to have the Athena cabin team up with Hermes and Aphrodite. You didn’t know much about fighting and spent most of the time sitting with your sisters during the game, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy helping them come up with new plans. 

Once the three of you were done, Annabeth excused herself with an awkward “I think Malcolm wanted me to help him go through some maps. You two have fun… chatting!” and left as fast as she could, leaving you alone with Luke. 

You watched her leave the amphitheater and turned around to face Luke, “I can see why you like her. She’s so much like you.”

“Yeah, she’s like my little sister.”

The silence was so uncomfortable you almost broke down crying. You nodded and turned around, not being strong enough to face him, and walked away. You could hear him behind you, following you.

“Can we talk?” he pleaded.

You were about to open your mouth when Drew’s voice made you turn your head. “Gods, Castellan. It’s so embarrassing to still be hung up on your ex.” 

Luke sighed, “Hello to you too, Tanaka.” 

“Can you leave her alone? She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Drew said through a fake smile. 

“Oh, really? Did she tell you that?” Luke answered, tilting his head as he spoke and making eye contact with you. Wordlessly begging you to please talk to him. 

You stayed silent and looked away from him. Luke let out an incredulous laugh before nodding his head. “Good to know you’re back to being their little pet.” 

Drew rolled her eyes and walked away, shoving Luke as she walked past him. “So? You’re just not going to say anything?” Luke said. 

“What do you want me to say, Castellan?” 

“Tell me that last week didn’t mean anything to you,” Luke answered, his voice trembling. 

“Why do you care? I thought I was nothing but Drew’s little pet,” you replied, trying your best to not look weak in front of him.

Luke ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer to you, “I’m sure you’re thinking the exact same thing about yourself.” 

You hated that he was right.

The truth made your blood boil. “I don’t want any of your shit,” Luke let out a genuine laugh this time, a mocking look in his eyes. “Oh, so now she can curse?” 

You hated him for seeing the real you. You hated him for knowing the truth. You hated yourself for loving him.

“Fuck you, Castellan,” Luke hummed before stepping even closer to you and placing a hand on your waist, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I’m sure you’d love to do that again, right?” Luke’s smell was taking all over your senses and making your knees go weak. He continued, “Because even if we do it in the darkness of the Forge… it is still two friends fake dating because your mother might be watching.” 

You found the strength to press your hands against his chest and push him away, “Don’t talk to me ever again.” 

You spent the rest of the day with your siblings and friends, too afraid to leave their side because you didn’t trust yourself. Because you knew that if you were left alone for a second—you’d run straight to him. 

You sat next to Silena in the dining pavilion. Helped Katie and the Dyonisus cabin grow more strawberries by keeping them company. Walked with Michael to the bonfire, and stayed with Drew throughout the entire singalong. 

As always, Luke was sitting by himself, his MP3 player in his hand and his eyes were set on you. 

You walked back to your cabin when the singalong was over and helped your siblings get ready for bed. You were about to go to sleep when Valentina whispered your name, saying she had something for you.

“We found it last night under your bed, Drew wanted to give it to the harpies but I managed to take it away from her,” a frown made its way to your face.”What do you mean?”

“We found this,” She pulled out a badly wrapped gift from under her pillows. You were confused until she told you to open it.

 It was a bright pink MP3 player. 

“Oh,” you whispered, your hands shook as you stared at it. “I’ve got to—”

“It’s okay,” Valentina whispered. “He’s probably by the lake.”

You gave your half-sister a hug before running out of your cabin, and making your way to the lake. You could see Luke’s silhouette in the distance, and the sight only made you run faster.

You took a moment to catch your breath before saying, “The Smashing Pumpkins?”

Luke turned around at the sound of your voice. “Blink-182” he answered with a small smirk.

“Uh, of course,” you said as you walked closer to him. “Alright, listen. You were right.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you continued with a smile. “So, it turns out I may or may not be in love with this certain guy, and he may or may not be my type or whatever it is my siblings say.”

Luke took a step closer to you. “There’s a chance this guy thinks I’m going through a phase and only fake dated him to piss off my siblings and mother but the truth is… I don’t even care about them whenever I’m with him.” 

His hand moved to caress your cheek, “That’s cute and all but how does this guy know you truly mean that?” 

“I’m not going to make out with him at the bonfire, so I guess all he needs to do is believe me,” you whispered, your eyes moving from Luke’s eyes to his lips.

Luke smiled before answering, “Believe you? That’s alright with me,” and pressing his lips to yours.

Luke was right. Aphrodite would be proud. 

[vikkirosko]

Since Hazbin Hotel first season is out, can I request alastor and his child umbra witch contractor spending time together with their mentor/student (student he's quite found of in a platonic way).

Like, Alastor teach her how to dance like in the 1920's, to sing, to always smile like him, to cook, sometimes invite her as a guest to his radio program.

He also brings her to Rosie's, so she can have a total relooking. Her clothing style matching Alastor's (free of charge, because Rosie said that if reader is the summoner of Alastor, she must be as classy as him).

And to finish, Alastor brings her with him to piss off Vox. Now Vox has a deer demon and a child witch against him.

thanks

📻 Alastor x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons His young ward 🎙

You were very surprised when Alastor suggested that you spend time together. You were his contractor and you spent most of your time training, but Alastor saw that the more you trained, the more tired you got, and he decided that you should relax. That's why he thought you should take a break. Alastor practically didn't accept your refusal

The first thing he started with was music and dancing. Alastor told you a little bit about what life was like in his time, introduced you to music and even gave you some dance lessons. Vaggie, who was watching this, even began to worry that Alastor decided to make a small copy of himself out of you, because after a couple of days you began to smile a lot, following Alastor's words that without a smile your outfit is not complete. The next step in Alastor's plan was to visit Rosie

You didn't know why you had to go to Rosie, but Alastor claimed it was very important. As it turned out, the reason for this was that Alastor decided that you needed to change your wardrobe. You tried to convince him that you were fine with your old clothes, but Rosie took you away, cooing that since you and Alastor had a contract, then you should look as great as Alastor. She wasn't even going to charge for it

When you returned to the hotel, Vaggie's anxiety increased. Your clothes matched Alastor's style. She didn't even have time to talk to you, because he took you to his radio studio, claiming that he wanted to show you how everything works there. He saw how curious your eyes lit up. You've never seen the inside of a radio studio and you were interested in everything. Alastor even suggested that you spend a little time with him, because he just wanted to spoil the mood of his old acquaintance a little

By the end of the day, there were rumors all over the city that Radio Demon had a partner on his radio show, little witch, and that just a few hours ago they were on the air together, thanks to which Vox lost his temper again. You didn't regret it for a second, especially after Alastor told you a little bit about Vox. You understood that he could only tell you what was beneficial to him, but you wanted to believe him. In Hell, Alastor was one of the people closest to you and you hoped he wouldn't lie to you. Besides, singing a duet with Alastor was really fun, even though your goal was to piss off Vox

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

⚔ ARES: God of War and Violence 🐗

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you get claimed, it’s either during or after a victorious battle. If it’s during a battle, like Capture the Flag, it’s when your blood is pumping and you’re on adrenaline high. You could be losing or winning, but you hit that point of state where you’re just so in the zone before you realize you’re covered in red. You decimate the other team, striking fear in their hearts as they see you running over their teammates, your weapon swinging like it’s your own limb. Everyone looks above your head as they see the floating red boar above your head and then you hear a roar of cheer from your now half–siblings. They let out whoops, howls, and cheers, slapping you on the back and some wrestling you if you’re still battle high, before they lift you up and carry you around. 

When you’re shown the cabin, you’re immediately nerved by the boar head posted above the door, its eyes following you…but you can’t focus on that because you’re immediately told and made to remember where the live mines are around the entrance. They didn’t clarify if they were actual mines or alternative mines…they said it was classified information and you didn’t have the clearance level yet. Either which you didn’t want to find out the hard way.

If the Hephaestus cabin is the forge, you bet you can imagine that the Ares cabin is their armoury. It's not on the scale as theirs, but its pretty close. Weapons galore. It's a weapon maniacs dream. You have equipment here to upkeep and maintain weapons and if you pick out a weapon that you're not sure how to maintain? You have siblings jumping up the chance to show you. 

You wanna try and wield different weapons? Go on ahead! Every Ares’ member has their own mini armoury and collection of weapons. 

Y'know how siblings like to push each other and get into play fights? Yeah, the Ares cabin is like that constantly. It goes from rough housing to actual sparring. If you're not a big fan of participating in it, you're going to learn how to redirect people's movements. Don't worry about it getting the heat off you, as long its not entirely personal, you have another Ares’ sibling ready to switch with you. 

You also begin to take on bets because with the amount of rough-housing and sparring, it's just too good of an opportunity. The currency ranges from actual dollars, drachmas, candy bars, or what have you. All currency is accepted.  

People often like talking with their fists, but it's mostly getting rid of the pent up emotions when you guys do some talk to talk. Got to be fair you know.

If you're not particularly looking for a fight, don't worry about it. While it is true, you're a war god child, you're also good at de-escalating. After all, there's a reason in the book, "The Art of War", Sun Tzu says "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting".

Blood was roaring in your ears with eyes red as you gripped your weapon high. Your veins were pumping with adrenaline, almost making you shake but you never felt more alive. You had just won and you thrust up your weapon high in the air, and let out a yell. Immediately, a cacophony of cheers and yells joined you, sending another spike of adrenaline and you faintly saw the claim of Ares above your head. People swarmed you and in the zone, you attacked them which they gleefully returned back the favour. Then they lifted you up in the air, cheering that about another child of Ares as you were carried back to the Ares cabin where your siblings plopped you in front of it, and Clarisse at the head. 

She grinned at you, her figure imposing but you kept your chin high. 

“Not bad, but expected as a child of Ares. Don’t let it get to your head because there’s plenty coming” she said. 

“Bring it on” you fired back with a grin as she gave a smirk. 

“I’m Clarisse Rue, cabin leader of Cabin 5. Welcome to the Ares cabin.” 

[nikachansstuff]

You were always the prettiest of the three

You were four years and two months the first time you heard your mother saying the words. It hit you in the chest, something between agony and guilt. But you were a child feeling those foreign words, so you just cried big, fat tears in your father’s arms.

Beauty is labor.

That was her words, while she brushed your long hair. One hundred times before bed, another one hundred before braiding to start the day. Your scalp was so sensitive those days, and you were only six, but your mother told you repeatedly: beauty is labor. And love would come.

And how beautiful Elain was. Like a blooming rose, my lovely Elain, Father used to say.

One day you overheard her, telling your older sister - your protector - how you were an important investment. A promise of a future marriage. But all beauty, nothing else. No high hopes, Nefertiti’s face blessed, but nothing else.

The balls in society started earlier for you. Not even a debutant, but your presence was noticed in those halls. You liked the colors, the smell of flowers. But there was always the sharpness in the older girls eyes, and you understood their reasons.

Because beauty is labor.

When your mother took her last breath, you felt guilty for a while. For the wave of relief, you see? There was pain, yes. There was grief. But you can still feel your scalp tingling every time you face the vanity’s mirror.

Life went fast and still after her passing. Father lost the title, lost the fortune, lost his health. Lost his hope. But even with the cold and hunger, you found happiness in that crowded cabin. You had your family. And the seeds your little sister gave you turned into a beautiful garden.

The labor in that type of beauty didn’t hurt you, besides the faint superficial scars in your hands. You found love in gardening, among the flowers.

And yet again, life changed. A long lost aunt became ill, your younger sister - the brave heart - left during the night. Father regained his wealth, his health, and stood again a little taller.

Fast and still. Going by flashes.

You didn’t miss the ballrooms, but it was there you found love. His blue eyes had a promise of forever, and deep inside, you thought that he could understand what comes with beauty. You felt, you fell. The engagement was the natural step.

Giving yourself fully was the next. Something wet, something sweet. Lingering touches in once forbidden places.

Love. For the first time, love. The one your mother had promise, in those long sessions brushing your hair; hurting your scalp.

Love.

And suddenly, magic is very real. Brave heart is no longer human, with that delicate pointed ears and strange winged companions.

That was the first time you saw him.

The man who had ivy in his strong hands. You asked him about flying, he told you about how the wind sings.

War is coming. The chilling air brings people in the property, possible allies, enemies to the crown. You feel small in comparison to such strong sisters, but you endure. You emulate the courage you see in those identical silver steel eyes.

It happened in the middle of the night. They woke you and took you into that throne room, with all those strangers.

“Put the prettier one first.”

The last words you heard with your ordinary human ears. Deep inside, you thought fate was cruel for laughing at you by agreeing with your mother’s mantra.

You died that day. As the cold water surrounded your body, you felt yourself die.

You took your first breath in those new powerful lungs. Reborn, through pain and magic. And then, you’re claimed.

Mate.

The foreign word hangs in the air, while your sister - your protector - snarls like a wild beast, defending you from that claiming.

You died. Or maybe you’re sleeping? Surrounded by visions, and new sounds. That relentless heartbeat. The bird of flame. And those old hands.

They think you lost your mind. Maybe you did, maybe the Cauldron took too much, took your human life, human love. Took your sanity.

Maybe you did lost everything. It’s hard to see in that murky realm. No one sees you.

You feel like drowning again.

But then… sunshine.

“The Cauldron made you a Seer.”

He sees you.

The winged male with ivy in his hands. He’s there again, and something inside you eases with his presence. He is safe heaven. He didn’t let you drown.

He offers his hand and company. Those cobalt jewels, those deeply scarred hands. You heard yourself saying how beautiful he is. All of it, beautiful.

He takes you to the garden. No imposition, just easy company. It feels familiar, because he sees you - with that bright hazel eyes.

The war keeps pushing boundaries, and you are still human at heart. So you emulate your sisters’ courage once again and to protect the vulnerable you make yourself vulnerable too: you beg your old love for asile, for recognition and reconciliation.

You dare utter the words… your heart belongs to him.

You watched as he shattered everything, every last bit of your once human heart. It lays there, for everyone to see how beauty earned you nothing but labor at the end.

The siren’s call promise you salvation. So you answered it, and ended up in chains. Without hope, you just wait for the ending.

The winged male with ivy in his strong hands. He’s there again. You thought you had seen him in a dream, but his arms feels very real once he saves you.

“You came for me.”

He cradled you in his chest. His strong armor gives you comfort. He smells of cedar and mist, and soothe something inside you. It’s familiar.

It gives you hope. And you feel so grateful for his presence that you kiss him, openly. Such a dare move for a lady, but it doesn’t matter, because he saved you. He saw you, repeatedly, and then he saved you.

So you see him too.

From his deeply scared hands to his afflictions and recurring headaches.

You learn his favorite baked goods - raspberries scones. His favorite tea. You invite him to the garden and show him your plans for it - for the future. His calming presence gave you hope for it, to plan for a future. In this new body, new essence.

Life doesn’t go as fast as before. Not by flashes. Your heart swells everyday with his presence.

It’s familiar.

Like a long lost tale you heard before.

They keep reminding you you’re claimed, by another. But it’s wrong. Fate just failed you all your life, why obey willingly once again?

Because those ivy hands brushing your fingers? That feels right. His presence in the garden, longing glances through the kitchen’s window: these feels right.

You dream then. Of his hands, first. Touching you freely, the ivy surrounding your body in a heated embrace. You wake up breathless, yearning for him.

Such dare move for a lady to take those steps, in the longest night of the year.

You reach for him. And, thank to all Gods, he offers you the long dreamed promise and you give him permission to make it real. To take it all.

“This was a mistake.”

He murmured the words and vanished in the shadows.

Something inside you, something you didn’t know to still have, breaks with those words. The other half, he takes with him without knowing.

Cruel fate fails you once again. If you’re an oracle as they said, how could you misinterpret the signs? You wish you could hide in the shadows too.

During the day, you fell like drowning in the absence of that long lost tale.

But at night… you still dream of ivy. Everyday.

Heated longing ivy dreams.

[coffee-in-rain]

Vulnerable Hannibal Fic Rec List

New addition (located @ the bottom of the page) as of 9/24/2024!

On my previous post, people were interested in finding fics where Hannibal is touch-starved and or dealing with separation anxiety post-fall. So here is a small list of some that may fit that theme! The first five fics are mine, but the rest are some of my favorite fics I’ve ever read that feature vulnerable Hannibal in various seasons, AUs, and post-canon. This list will be updated intermittently!

The Ache Against The Wind (Rewritten): He’d sustained a substantial amount of brain damage throughout the last eleven days, Will had been told. Resulting in Post-Traumatic Amnesia. (Hannibal is tortured in the BSHCI via beatings, laxatives, enemas, starvation and the “water curing” method after his toilet is removed. Will saves him).

Pareidolia: Six weeks post-fall, Hannibal suffers from a seizure during dinner.

Je Te Laisserai Des Mots: Six months have passed since Will pulled them over the cliff. Even in light of their progressing relationship, much of Hannibal still remains a mystery to Will. For reasons unknown, he’s begun to pull away. (A sequel to Shrike; my housewife Hannibal fic!)

Between The Hour Of Reprieve:

At the cliff house, Hannibal receives a much-needed-hug. (features crying, touch-starved Hannibal).

Shrike (To Your Sharp And Glorious Thorn): Hannibal feels anxious about the prospect of Will abandoning him one day because he isn’t at all capable of being like Molly. His anxiety only heightens when Will gets a job. (features crying housewife Hannibal speaking Lithuanian).

A Cabin In The Woods by KoolJack1: Hannibal is thirteen and runs away from the orphanage when he feels that a fate of the elements will be better than the fate of abuse. He finds a small cabin in the woods, thinking warmth will be all he finds. He also finds Will. But who changes who?

Recipricol Alchemy by Scifibabe: In the silent echoes of his dreams, Will Graham treads a line blurred between control and chaos, each step drawing him inexorably towards claiming Hannibal as his own. It's a perilous dance on the edge of darkness, where the thrill of possession whispers of a transformation too profound to resist.

Hold Me, Don’t Let Me Go by sourweather: It's a few months after the Fall when it finally hits him. Hannibal has barely been touched in 3 years. And Will won't let it go on for another moment.

Hosanna In The Highest by sainthannibal: During the fall, Hannibal receives the brunt of the injuries, which leaves him unable to care for himself. Will discovers how much he enjoys taking care of him.

You Made Me Soup by itsybitsylemonsqueezy: Hannibal comes down with pneumonia while incarcerated. Will decides to make him some soup. Absolutely no one thinks it's strange that Will comes to give his ex soup when he finds out he's sick. No one at all finds this suspicious. At. All.

The Boy Under The Monster’s Bed by Wr4tttttthh: There were deep wounds that needed healing, new and old, physical and otherwise. (features crying, vulnerable Hannibal).

Delicate Ghost by hannigramcracker & TimmyJayBird: She was different- not the ghost of his memories, but something about this bloodied child ripped right at Hannibal's chest, and left him drowning in a cold snow he thought he had left in his childhood, that he had locked away within his skull. Drowning, with only one hand to grasp at, one body to cling to. One man to work him through the trauma and remind him what life was.

You With Those Nails, Me With This Cross by TheBitterKitten:

Will goes too far.

The Distance Is Quite Simply Much Too Far For Me To Row by softhan: Hannibal is having a rough time recovering from his injuries post-fall, and retreats into himself to avoid confrontation with Will while he's still weak and ill. Having to play happy husbands hardly helps.

Silk and Lace by jonnimir: Bedelia leaves Hannibal and Will a gift at the house on the cliff.

[caffedrine]

Silvio Ricci - Beyond the Connection Between the Past and the Present – Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

Many things in this world are more impossible than the fantasy stories written in books. Emma reminds herself of this as she watches the passionate battle between Silvio and his younger self, Chibi-vio.

Silvio shouts that there is no way in hell he’ll lose to some snot-nosed kid who only knows how to doggy-paddle. Chibi-vio snaps back that Silvio is annoying, it’s not his fault Silvio started late. And if anything, he should let go of his leg. Silvio shouts back that just because he’s small doesn’t give him the right to take shortcuts. Chibi-vio laughs derisively, it’s Silvio’s own fault for not choosing the route. For an adult, Silvio is very stupid. Silvio calls his younger self a brat, and Chibi-vio tells him to bring it.

Chibi-vio shouts that he’s just caught his tenth fish, and the score between them widens even more. Silvio notes that this proves that Chibi-vio is a true brat, he only cares about shitty quantity over the quality of Silvio’s larger fish. Silvio advises that if he aims for victory, even if by numbers, always go for the ‘big one’.

Chibi-vio is amazed at the fish Silvio pulls out of the water – the color, the shape, and the size! He thought that fish was legendary. Both he and Silvio gaze at it in awe.

Emma recounts the day – first, they had raced on the beach, then they competed who could swim faster to a nearby isolated island. Next, they competed over who could row a boat faster, then they climbed trees to see who could reach the top first.

This fishing battle was just the newest contest between the two.

Chibi-vio complains that Silvio is just some rich guy who jangles a lot. He has absolutely nothing in common with him. And all he wants to do is play games! Silvio insists this is the better way of doing things.

Emma is trying not to laugh at Chibi-vio’s antics. The memory of him calling Silvio ‘some rich guy’ still brings on giggles.

(Picture this for Chibi-vio, but less rich)

She is a bit put off by Silvio going all out against a child, but that is Silvio’s way. Besides, Chibi-vio seems to be enjoying himself. She remembers stories she heard about Silvio’s childhood where he had no friends or opportunities to play. Maybe that’s why neither version of him is holding back.

Emma calls out to them, if they collapse in the sand, they’ll dry all up. She brought them jelly snacks and water.

Silvio remarks that Emma is very kind, and Chibi-vio reluctantly thanks him. She thinks that he’s not sure what to make of her, he’s been watching her as much as he’s watching his adult self.

Silvio snaps at his younger self, telling him to watch it, he’s claimed that big piece. Chibi-vio snaps back that he saw it first, so it’s his. Silvio shouts for Chibi-vio to stop kicking him, calling him a bad child. Chibi-vio snaps back that he’s also a bad man.

Emma cuts in, saying that she won’t give snacks to a child who won’t get along with them. Grumbling, Chibi-vio gives in.

Both of them start eating quietly, giving Emma a chance to get a closer look at Chibi-vio.

Again, they are so similar. Even Chibi-vio has a beautiful way of eating that makes her fall in love. His hair is soft and silky, and his eyes droop a little. He looks like a miniature of Silvio – and she wonders if his reactions are the same.

Chibi-vio jerks away from her hand touching his cheek. He demands to know what she thinks she is doing. Emma apologizes, explaining that she wanted to try something. Chibi-vio turns red and starts walking away, wondering aloud what she wants to try.

Maybe the reason he’s embarrassed by her touch is different, but it’s the exact same reaction Silvio has.

Very cute.

Silvio is gloating, what is even with that reaction? Chibi-vio looks so stupid when he gets upset over such a little-

Silvio nearly leaps in the air and jumps away, shouting at Emma for hugging his arm so suddenly, even after he told her to warn him. Emma asks what she has said or done that implies that she’s listening to him. Chibi-vio points and laughs at Silvio, asking why he’s so shy even though he’s an adult. Silvio shouts at Chibi-vio to shut up, this one is special, and he is no way at all embarrassed when anyone else grabs him.

Besides . . .

Chibi-vio is appalled. Emma can’t believe Silvio would just grab her and kiss her in front of a child.

Shaking and pointing, Chibi-vio demands to know what this rich man, no, wait, this rich pervert thinks he’s doing with this face-hugger display. Silvio asks who is the shy one now.

Emma grumbles over Silvio’s lack of maturity. On the other hand, she enjoyed the kiss, so maybe it’s catching.

Very softy, Chibi-vio says not to do this, and Emma begins to nod. Suddenly Chibi-vio shouts not to embarrass him, he’s sure he can kiss Emma without feeling embarrassed, unlike a certain pervert. Before Silvio or Emma can react, Chibi-vio jumps Emma and lightly kisses her cheek.

Smirk, smirk, Chibi-vio has absolutely no problem kissing Emma, in fact, he enjoyed it. It’s a cute reaction, but Emma doesn’t think she likes this.

Silvio shouts at Chibi-vio to not touch his woman without permission. Roughly, he grabs Emma’s face and begins wiping at her cheek with a cloth. Emma complains and Silvio tells her to endure it, after all, he’s being nice to her.

He calls this nice?

While Emma whines and rubs at her cheek, Silvio whirls on Chibi-vio. He lunges at Chibi-vio, grabbing him, and begins to wipe a Chibi-vio’s mouth. Chibi-vio shouts at this rich pervert to let go and stop.

If Silvio is a rich pervert, that makes Chibi-vio a moody pervert. And stop squirming!

Emma begs them to stop fighting as Chibi-vio screams as Silvio.

[puppetmaster13u]

For any of your cryptid batfam AUs. We know Batman thinks criminals are superstitious and cowardly. So how superstitious should most Gothamites be? What are some of the superstitions and things they do because of that? And what random BS do the Bat kids do to actively encourage the superstitions because they think it’s funny?

Vibrates in headcanons.

Okay, so, this is less just the criminals of Gotham- a lot of goons are just trying to put food on the table after all- and more of, Gothamites in general. Like they have good reason to be superstitious.

Like everyone already knows about the Court of Owls, if nothing else then from the Rhyme they use to get children to behave. But Gotham? Is Weird with a capital W even in canon. There are literal streets that disappear and only reappear on certain days, areas where on specific days gravity just doesn't work right, several portals to hell have been opened just in Arkham alone, and there's enough curses and cults to smother any other place.

Funnily enough I am actually currently working on a story that focuses a bit more on the superstitions of Gotham lol. Like a lot of this stuff? Not shit you're going to see in the more tourist-esque spots, but those are death traps already.

Now a lot of the habits and myths of Gotham start out as a thing about Survival. It started less with things about the Bats and more about the Rogues and how to survive.

Tiny plant boxes meticulously cared for, after one noticed how plants react when Ivy is around. They line the windows of almost every home despite the smog, and some even pray through them for their Mother to not attack today.

Small scarecrow dolls, made of grass balls and cloth hang from overhangs on roofs with rope like a hangman, a charm in hopes that the one walking the streets will leave them alone. It ends with some claiming that if you rip the head from the body of cloth, the Scarecrow will come for you.

Small candles and lanterns begin to appear on the windowsills of children, their own homemade batsignals. Some say if you're very good, gifts will appear beside it, while others claim that if you're very bad, the Signal will appear and take you away.

Tiny shrines appear on rooftops over the years, meticulously carved statuettes within. It started with one for the Second Robin, and some whisper about how the Red Hood emerged from it, was reborn through their prayers and gifts. Now there are more, offerings ranging from snacks to child's drawings to figures of clay. No one dares take things from it, the last time someone tried... well, let's just say it didn't end well.

The thing is? The Bats don't even have to do much to encourage this, and don't usually even do it on purpose.

Everyone knows what happened to the ones who tried to be a vigilante. They know of the first Batgirl, humanity slowly dripped away the longer she huddled in the Bat's shadow until she was twisting around just like it. Any child who had been making their own costumes, their parents burned it that night, terrified that the Bat would take their children to be its own next. The small child, everyone knew about him, a wee little thing with a camera clutched against his chest. They all saw him run after the Bats despite the protests, saw him run towards the Bat as bodies crumbled before it. They saw him grab its arm with such tiny hands, and the Bat, grieving, stopped. They all saw the Bat whisk him away, and once more whispered to their children to never follow the Bats into the shadows. They know of the girl cloaked in amethyst cloth, who chased after them despite the warnings and pleadings of others. She disappeared, and the faceless thing of chittering laughs that raced the Robin that appeared in her stead... Everyone knows what happens to those who offer themselves to the Bats, knowingly or not.

Robin can mimic voices, their own childish giggles and clicks echoing across the stone slipping into another's words. What is merely a game to them is horrific for anyone wandering the streets in the dark of the night. Some say that it can steal your voice permanently if it so wished.

Everyone in Gotham knows that the Bats aren't human. Oh they might mimic and pretend to be as such, or even had been at some point, but they're confident they aren't. Even if they put on an act outside of Gotham, corpse-like skin gaining hints of color like blood is actually rushing through veins, everyone knows that's what it is. An act.

The Bats themselves? Well, it keeps their civilian identity safe- and the shrines have helped them get children out of bad home lives and to safety, so they're not going to just... not encourage it.

[visenyaism]

Okay so what *would* the line of succession look like if it starts with Visenya??

well complicated because absolute primogeniture would change who is getting married to who. also disclaimer i am making all of this shit up. here are my thoughts.

- so assuming that as the eldest visenya still has to marry aegon out of obligation maegor is born as the heir from the beginning. earlier in he was in canon. aenys is rhaenys and ???s child

- since the order is switched i think it makes more sense to have maegor marry alyssa velaryon and aenys marry ceryse hightower. Judgement call for thematic reasons here: Maegor and Alyssa have Rhaena, the heir, and Viserys (this is Aegon uncrowned but Maegor will be naming his son after his mommy and not his dad come on.) Aenys and Ceryse have Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

- Maegor isn’t king for too long since Visenya lives forever. Viserys still dies after the birth of Rhaena’s twins due to slipping on a banana peel or maybe getting like Ivan the terrible’d by his own dad or something you know how it is with them.

- After Maegor dies, brief succession dustup where the more traditional southern reacher houses all back jaehaerys (half hightower, raised in the faith, male) over Rhaena but they lose their political momentum when Jaehaerys marries his younger sister and loses his “pure westerosi princeling” cred. Oops. Conflict resolved when Rhaena agrees to let Jae and Aly onto her small council, send one of her daughters to the faith, and betroth the other to some reacher family or another. Doesn’t matter because Aerea dies very young and Rhaella becomes a septa still.

- This leaves Rhaena in a bind trying to figure out which of her cousin’s kids to designate as heir. Kind of a problem since Rhaena never remarries and puts the succession question off until all of them are old.

- Alysanne backs Rhaenys, eldest child of their eldest child and bearer of Dark Sister.

- Jaehaerys backs Baelon and his son Aegon (Viserys I but in this universe since Visenya was king the function of the names Aegon and Viserys are switched) because he still hates women.

- This is already self-indulgent so I’m going to say bitter jaded elderly Queen Rhaena pivots at the last minute and backs Saera, Jaehaerys’ willful maligned daughter who miraculously returned from essos where her own Aerea did not. (she made it to the dragon pit and claimed Balerion in this one. just for fun)

- Dance of the Dragons happens earlier and has 3 major factions. Stormlands and Crownlands back Rhaenys, the Reach, Westerlands, and Vale back Baelon, and the Triarchy backs Saera. After that literally who knows.

[delafiseaseses]

Y'know what I think makes Jeannie May Crawford stand out so much amongst Fallout villains? Not just the fact she's associated with Boone and one of the horrors he's dealt with, but because she's different than most other Fallout villains, big or small.

[I'm not gonna be going into the cut Ghoul bigotry in Come Fly With Me even though it supports me point, as that is, well, cut and therefore not-canonical actions. Though it is in-line with her other behaviour.]

I know why Jeannie May feels different to me. She's an advocate of Normality. What do I mean by that? Well, it's simple. Her motive for her Big Evil Action is pretty clearly the fact that Carla didn't like Novac and was overall an annoyance to her status quo. The perfection of her town. Her "little desert oasis". Jeannie May is basically the leader of Novac. She owns the Dino-Dee Lite and by extension the entire town. To her badmouthing Novac is badmouthing her and that is a crime she cannot stand. No punishment is too great. Carla and her unborn child deserve to suffer, in her mind. She knows what the Legion do to women, but she didn't care.

But it doesn't just stop there. That's the thing. She doesn't just hate people disliking Novac. Jeannie May also resents the idea of people not being very social as Alice McBride says this "Oh, we keep to ourselves, for the most part. Try not to pry. I think Jeannie May gets bothered that we aren't more sociable, but it's just our way. Ain't that we don't appreciate what she's done, managing this town like she has, but I worry she feels that way anyhow." the McBrides were probably not at risk of the Carla-treatment, but who knows what Crawford would've done to them if she got too upset at their lack of sociability.

Oh, also, the reason she kept the document that got her killed? 500 caps. That's it. In the Bill of Sale it says "Payment of an additional five hundred bottle caps will be due pending successful maturation of the fetus, the claim to which shall be guaranteed by possession of this document." considering Jeannie May is a landlord to so many people that sum has to be nothing to her. The entire 1500 caps was nothing. But she was confident, arrogant. Nobody would discover her actions. Boone's suspicions wouldn't go anywhere (and he'd never suspect her). It was her town and she was safe in it. Everyone was unable to see past her act (except No-Bark if you believe that one thing he says is an indication he knows something is off about her).

Of course, when you're so confident that you'll never be caught, the thought never enters your mind anyone will find out. The only thing that enters your mind is... a .308 round.

[adarkrainbow]

Why was Hansel the meal of the witch?

This is a question I was aked recently, and I thought it would make a good subject for a post. "Why did the witch only try to fatten up and eat Hansel? Why didn't she imprison and fattened up Gretel too? Why did she choose to make Gretel her slave instead of Hansel?"

Which is actually a fascinating question. Now, I do not promise that there is some grand truth or secret meaning behind this. It is just a little detail and some technical workings of fairytales. But it is a point that many authors and rewriters have taken an interest upon, and that if a true well of reinterpretations.

So let's go... Why was Hansel the meal, and Gretel the slave?

If we go by the "canon" of the text (of course "canonical" fairytales do not exist, this is just an expression) - if we go by the Brothers Grimm's text, we... well we do not know. It is not specified anywhere why the witch decides to lock up and fatten up Hansel out of the siblings, and to not do the same thing for Gretel. There is no reason explicitely spelled out or given. Maybe she simply prefers the meat of boys over the one of girls? This absence of justification, and the apparent "randomness" of the choice opens a door for authors who would like to change things: for example in "A Tale Dark and Grimm" (the book, not the Netflix series), it is both Hansel and Gretel that are fattened up by the witch, and she only picks Hansel as the first one to be roasted. The Looney Tunes Hansel and Gretel also were both in the cooking pot of the witch Hazel...

The text only leaves implications for the reader. For example, the need for the witch to have a slave/assistant to help her with the chores is implied by the facts that she is 1) elderly 2) has a very bad sight and 3) walks with crutches (a very important point). So it is understandable she would require a slave to help her - but then why pick Gretel, and not Hansel? Again, the text does not answer. Many people like to portray Hansel as the oldest child of the duo, and Gretel as a younger sister - this is because Hansel seems to be the strongest, bravest and most intelligent one, as well as with how his name always comes first in the text, Gretel being after him. Maybe the witch chose to eat him first because he was precisely older, and thus there was a more developed body to eat? Even if the siblings are of the same age, we can always imagine the very old and present male/female dichotomy that claims that men's body are naturaly stronger, larger and meatier than women's, who have graceful, slender, lighter bodies. Maybe such a concept is at work, putting forward a mindset where a cannibal witch will always go for boys first as a main course, and girls next as an appetizer...

One possible reading of the story is that the witch only had enough place to lock up ONE child and thus had to make a choice. Maybe there wasn't enough room for two kids in her prison for future meals? This interpretation is supported by the ORIGINAL text of the Grimm's fairytale. In the first edition of the brothers Grimm's fairytales (provided by Jack Zipes), there is an explicit mention of the place Hansel is locked in: it isn't some sort of stable or cage as it would later be described, oh no! It is a chicken coop so small Hansel can BARELY MOVE. It is a really tiny prison, in which he barely fits. Of course, on a practical side, it can help with the whole fattening process since having a child eat rich meals without ever moving is certain to make him plump in no time (just look at these horrible industrial farms and how they lock up animals in tiny cages) ; but this detail actually explained why the witch only placed her efforts on one child, and not two: she obviously had only enough to place to lock up one kid, and had to deal with the other in a different way.

But even if we admit all those implications - that the elderly, handicaped witch needed a help, that she had only enough room to lock up one child, that maybe Hansel as an older boy makes a better meal than Gretel - there are still some strange and bizarre logical holes. For example, the witch beats up and starves and exhausts Gretel. This is the complete opposite of what she does to Hansel, who is pampered and fattened up - does this imply the witch maybe does NOT want to eat Gretel? Or does she really have only enough resources to fatten up one child, and can only afford making Gretel more edible once she is done with Hansel?

Again, mysteries upon mysteries. Fairytales are not created to work on practical details or actual psychological processes - they are stories relying on powerful visuals and ancient motifs and a dream-logic-structure. When we are told that the witch locks up Hansel to fatten him up and eat him, and that Gretel is becoming an abused slave, we just accept it, because it works on a set of powerful visuals, such as the malnurished slave sister cooking and feeding her imprisoned and soon-to-be-killed brother. The idea of the sister being reduced to a tool in the process of killing her own brother is a very powerful one, never explicitly stated, but still present and sometimes used by adaptations. There was this German Hansel and Gretel movie released in 2005 that explicitly played on this: the children were never told by the witch her intentions when she locked up Hansel, and for the first week or so of Gretel being a slave and Hansel fattened up, they were left in the dark concerning the real intentions of their mysterious jailers. This was a stark contrast with many Americanized adaptations that have the witch gloating and explaining her cannibalistic desires to her victims, and which opened the door for some interesting plot points - in this movie's case, Gretel being quite jealous and envious of Hansel's new life of feasting and being kindly treated by the witch when she got all the insults and chores. Of course, when they discover the truth, their mutual feelings reverse as Hansel realizes his seemingly "easier" fate is actually the worst of the two.

Still, the text is left ambiguous and open-ended enough for us to imagine TONS of things. There could be a rewrite of the tale where the witch exclusively eats little boys, and hates little girls. One nterpretation of dark poetry of the tale can be found in Znescope's Gretel mini-series. Despite this mini-series having BIG flaws (the choice of the witch's true identity was... quite bad to be honest), it does have a very interestng and morbid answer to the "Why was Hansel the only one fattened up?" question. It chooses to depict this difference of treatment as a sick and cruel game the witch plays with her preys: Hansel and Gretel are both her prisoners, but she fattens up Hansel while she starves Gretel, to make a contrast between the two, simply out of a perverse amusement. There is one particularly striking image of the two children locked in two cages arranged like a weighing scale, with Hansel's cage going lower as he grows fatter and Gretel's going up as she becomes skeletal... It is a nice visual contrast that has been reused by various artists.

Now, I spoke mainly here of the content of the story and of the text itself. However, as I stated before, we must look beyond the story itself to understand why Hansel was to be the meal, and not Gretel. Or rather we need to look at the fairy tale's structure, on a meta-level.

As I said before, the fairy tale works here on a system of duality. Hansel and Gretel are meant to be a yin and a yang, complementary reflections. The boy and the girl, the brave and the coward, the cunning older brother and the crying little sister. The idea that their fates are "split" into the house of the witch not only furthers the anguish of the characters, who at this point were always together but now find themselves separated, unable to face together the same trials, but also keeps on playing on these visuals and motifs. As I said, there is something that many artists read in the tale, in the opposition between a malnourished Gretel and a feasting Hansel. This is part of the same duality of food and famine present all throughout the tale, such as the woodcutter's famished and poor household, opposed to the witch's house made of sweets and with chests full of pearls. The siblings represent two forms of abuse and evilness enacted by the witch, but in complementary forms: with Gretel the witch becomes a domestic abuser and an enslaver, with Hansel she becomes a jailer and an ogress.

One can also read in this an extension of the typical sexist duality between men and women in these old centuries: the fates the witch forces upon the two children can be caricatures of what each gender is supposed to "do" in such a society. Gretel, like women, is expected to do household chores and to cook for her "man" - here it is caricatured into her becoming a slave, and only helping fattening up her brother like some cattle. In return, Hansel, like a man, is supposed to be well-treated and well-fed, but here the caring wife/mother figure is a monstrous hag who only makes him feast so she could eat him later. In fact, it is quite interesting to see how both siblings are dehumanized and reduced to the status of animals - from Hansel being fattened up in the stables like some pig or chicken, to Gretel being fed leftovers like a dog.

All of that being said, there is another much needed argument that must be made: the answer fo thte question can be easily found in the story's structure. This is the most obvious solving of the problem when you consider it all: the story of Hansel and Gretel relies on the idea that the two children must save each other in turn. There is a balance in the tale, which bears the name of the two protagonists as heroes, but one before the other. During the first part of the tale, it is Hansel who takes the lead and the decisions. He is the cunning hero who tricks his parents, saves his sister from the woods, returns home thanks to his plan. Gretel is only seen being scared, and crying, and not doing anything except follow her brother around. In the second part of the tale, within the witch's house, it is Gretel who becomes the hero. Her brother is "out of the race", locked up away and unable to do anything, and it is Gretel who this time has to trick the deadly parental figure, come up with a clever ruse, and ultimately save her brother from death. This creates a perfect balance between the two characters: Hansel starts out as the hero protecting his useless sister, and then it is Gretel who vanquishes her uselessness to become the hero saving her own, impotent brother. The siblings need each other to survive, and thus save each other in turn. This is how the story works. And this is why Hansel must be the locked-up, fattened-up victim, so that his sister can save him. Else it would have been the story of "Hansel", and not "Hansel and Gretel".

All of that being said, a last point must be made about a final theory. A theory and reading of the tale that has been very prevalent and prominent in recent adaptations of the story.

The recent "Gretel and Hansel" horror movie did it. Before the (X horror movie) also did it. Neil Gaiman's Hansel and Gretel also used this idea. The comics Fables toyed with it in a side-way. And this idea is simple: the witch did not want to eat Gretel, but rather wanted to make her a witch like herself. Gretel wasn't the witch's slave, but unwilling apprentice.

This idea is born of course from a reconsideration of what a "witch" is, and the gender questions attached with the figure of the witch. In the original story, the witch is not a witch in the modern sense of the term, in fact she is a monster that is very clearly an ogress by another name. There is no question of learning how to be a witch, or making deal with dark powers, or anything like that. But when you read the tale with the modern sense of "witch", as a symbol of dark and hostile feminity, as a woman of power, who works against the domination of men, or the tyranny of patriarchy - when you consider all the gender questions surrounding real-life witches and the witch hunts, you see the witch's actions under a different eye. Her not wanting to eat Gretel at first, and making her do her chores, and forcing her to live with her, might hint at the fact she still considers her more "human" or more valuable than her brother, who is nothing but food, a mere cattle. Several of the modern reinventions of the tale, such as those stated above, decide to add the twist that the witch actually wants to shape or make the little girl into her image: from a slave doing the witch's chores, she becomes the witch apprentice, who is by her side in everything she does. Some of those readngs remove the elements of abuse towards Gretel, while others do not forget them. Neil Gaiman's take on the story is especially fascinating as the witch is explicitely described as oscillating between periods of sweetness and kidndness, promising Gretel all of her secrets and great powers, and periods of pure hatred and violence where she just insults and beats up the girl - all of it highlighting either the witch's madness, or a form of senility due to her old age.

But this theme of "Gretel as a future witch" or "Gretel as the witch's apprentice" ties in with another subtext well-hidden in the original text, but that many like to weave upon: Gretel as the "daughter" of the witch. In many of those rewrites and reinterpretations, the witch doesn't just treat Gretel as an apprentice, but as an heir or a replacement daughter. This is no surprise since it is very clear that in the original tale, the witch is the dark side of the mother figure, and an evil doppelganger of the wicked stepmother/mother of the siblings. As such, it makes sense for her to impose an abusive and unconsented motherhood upon Gretel - doesn't her forcing the girl to do all the chores not reminiscent of how famous fairytales stepmothers treat heroines like Cinderella? Such a perverse motherhood was already explicit and obvious in her treatment of Hansel: like a mother she nourishes and feeds Hansel (in fact she succeeds where the wicked stepmother failed), but this is all to devour him, in a ritual of "un-birth", she becomes a death-givers who doesn't expel a child out of her womb, but has it return to her stomach. [This is a very common and usual motif among ogres of fairytales, who are all caricatures of parenthood].

More generally, to have the witch act in such a way actually makes the fairytale more "feminist" somehow, but in a quite perverse way. Because in such a reading, we have a women-dominated world. The true active and powerful characters of the story are beings such as the wicked stepmother and the witch, who command, control and influence the other characters - especially the male ones. The father is a weak puppet who can't stand up to his wife, Hansel is reduced to a fat pig in a cage. Hansel did try to escape the tyranny of the wicked woman, but all he could do was push back his doom, and his plans ultimately failed. Gretel, as a woman herself, is given a special treatment - and in the "apprentice/daughter" interpretation, is "absorbed" by this world of wicked, dominating women. But she actually breaks from it, and kills the one that would have "turned" her - and it is telling and interesting that the only one who can have a true an full success, a definitive victory in this tale is Gretel. Hansel's plans work and save them, but only for a brief time, and his last plan fails dramaticaly, before he gets locked up and "out of the story". Gretel meanwhile, when she gets the courage and intelligence to act, proves herself much more efficient and definitive than her brother, as she puts a true end to the threat other them by killing the witch (and by extension killing the wicked stepmother/mother). This is something Hansel couldn't do - all he could was trck the wicked woman, and nullify her plans, but he could not remove the threat of the death and the hunger.

Anyway, as you can see, despite being a quite superficial and silly question, this fact (or rather absence of facts) opens up a whole jar of various interpretations, readings and themes, and proves the hidden complexity of these apparently "simple" stories.

[calisources]

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

 You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb. 

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband. 

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid. 

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do. 

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?

 God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son. 

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would  go to war if you dismiss them.

Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires.

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine! 

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young. 

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles. 

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity. 

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce. 

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances. 

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her. 

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman. 

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares. 

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son. 

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly? 

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.

[n30nwrites]

Rewind (Bridgerton)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Penelope Featherington x Colin Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Kate Sharma x Reader, Penelope Featherington x Reader, Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Soulmate AU, Polygamy, Reader is autistic

Warnings; Mentions of homophobia? Mentions of absent parents, Christianity but the Reader doesn't believe in God, Talks of Unwanted touching, Talks about canonical child death and sickness

This is just a small excerpt because no one else will fulfill what I need because I am very much in love with the people surrounding Bridgerton. IDK if I'll continue it.

You weren't the eldest son, nor were you the youngest. A Classic middle child, having your older brothers torture you and your younger ones followed in their footsteps soon enough. But all of your siblings wanted one thing.

Your parent's attention.

Your father, The King George, was a mad men, at least he was considered one. Your mother was too busy ruling England and keeping everything picture perfect to really care about you guys.

Well you didn't really count yourself as one of your siblings.

Simply because you weren't meant to be here.

When you were first taken to this universe, you had been a babe, just freshly born. It was strange, to have full consciousness when being a young'en. The minute you could, you were walking and talking, far earlier than any other babe, but you had too.

By the time you were five, you had been considered a spectacle. The prodigal son, they claimed. You had your wits, you were respectable, truly the perfect gentleman.

You played your cards right, up until you couldn't.

Growing older meant more siblings, and you took care of them the best you could. But you hated these new rules. You couldn't be alone with a woman who wasn't a relative, your brothers were rude and loved it, and your sisters were innocent. Naive really, which you felt was a strange thing. To know about Sex but they couldn't. You tried to teach your sisters as well, education was the future.

But it was all useless.

Eventually you became a recluse. You stuck to yourself, in your room with instruments. Your English guitar, harp-lute, piano, and even the improper ones like a violin, cello and flute. You had to make the best of a situation, and that was what you did.

Even well into your adulthood, your brothers were still your biggest bullies. They thought you were a prude for never having Sex, which frankly if women couldn't without being criticized and shamed, then you shouldn't either. They said you were secretly a woman, or queer.

Well you could attest you weren't a woman, and well you kind of were queer. Bisexual, but they wouldn't know that word.

But you were brought into this universe for some odd reason. You weren't sure why, you didn't really get into Bridgerton like everyone else. Not that you were different from others, you just couldn't commit to watching a tv series, but you had seen the edits.

It just made no sense for you to be the one. It wasn't until the marks appeared that you understood.

Soulmates. That was a new adaption. Apparently they were rare, rare enough that out of all your siblings, you were the only one to have one. Your mother said it was a gift from God, though you thank she only said that because the bishop was there when you got them.

Them as in multiple, that put the bishop out of his head. He said it was blasphemous, you were too entranced with them to care. A matching soulmark would tie you to these people. 5 people.

That was a lot of people to keep happy. Especially when this century wasn't very happy with queer couples and polyamory. After that, your mother had insisted you hide them, and you weren't willing to risk a Romanov situation because people were too religious.

Your mother didn't like that you weren't religious, but she didn't bring it up again after one intense arguement that caused you to leave for a few weeks.

But you agreed with her, you wouldn't tell others. You were here to find a way out, you already had some ideas, one being a specific spot in the woods where you found something from the future.

A portable Radio/Cassette player. Wasn't that far in the future where you were, but it would work. You had headphones with it, and you finally felt some sort of sanity. Music in this era wasn't nearly as relaxing as yours was.

Keeping to yourself was easy after that. Every servant was ordered to knock on your door loudly by you, and to stop any sibling that would come your way just in case they caught you. Your servants were almost your friends, you knew they were reqired to be there, to be kind to you, but it was the closest you had to an actual relationship.

You stayed away from your mother on days like this. She's irritated, you don't know why, you don't care to ask. Your siblings are stomping around the palace but you don't move from your room, you instead walk around your room, shirtless, listening to your music. Your favorite servant, Zelena, is behind you, just watching you. She's always been touchy with you, your hair, your chest, you assumed it was just the way she communicated. And while you were uncomfortable with it, your mother had told you that you couldn't afford to be rude to people.

Zelena stayed next to you while you played the English Guitar. You knew enough about it in your old life, having made adjustments to the strings to be able to play older songs. The ones you could remember (Which you wrote down because eventually, you wouldn't.)

You ignore the knock at the door, simply nodding your head to Helena, who opens the door gently.

A gentleman is at the door, he's staring at you the minute he walks in. Like he's almost amazed at you, you didn't understand.

You never did.

He seems to look at you yet avoids eye contact. You set the instrument down to the side, gently. "Can I help you sir?"

He says your name, and you nod your head. "Can we be alone?" He asks. Your mother said it was improper to be with women alone, not men. So you nod your head and your maids walk out of the room. You figured this man was a duke or something, he had to be important considering he was in the castle. Perhaps a suitor for one of your sisters.

"My name is Benedict Bridgerton."

"Bridgerton? I've heard stories about your family before from my mother. She enjoys the drama that surrounds your family." You tell him, "Last I heard the Viscount found a wife."

"My brother, Anthony." He confirms.

"What brings you to my room?" You question. "Surely it's not to tell me about your family?"

"I just had to meet you."

"You really didn't." You frown slightly, to be fair, you knew a bit about Benedict. You weren't the biggest fan of his story, kidnapping a bride from her wedding day and tying her to a pole. It was strange, but you couldn't change the writers opinion. At least you think that was his story, TikTok could only tell you so much and it's not like you read the books.

You could only hope that it was different in the tv series, considering that's where you were right now. The actor himself you knew very little about as well, but you didn't really care for actors. You stood from the couch in your room, "Why is the artist here?"

"You know of my work?"

"I know a lot of things Sir." You take a few steps away from the couch. "Can you get to the point?"

He seems unsure now, fiddling with his fingers. "You're my soulmate" He tells you, and you look down at one of your marks.

"Which mark are you?" You question, and he looks hopeful. He pulls up his sleeve, the little feather on your wrist, in matching spots. You looked at your own and slightly traced it.

"Benedict!" The voice is angry and your door opens. You glare at the person who opened it. He didn't knock. It's Anthoyn Bridgerton, looking angry. "Benedict what are-"

"Next time Viscount I would ask that you knock instead of rudely interrupting." You cut him off, glaring at him. He seems to have brought a group of people behind him. Benedict stands up and walks right next to you. You put your hands behind your back, picking at your wrist. "It seems you've brought company." You tell Benedict.

"I was about to explain." He tells you, but you look at Anthony, more specifically behind him. You can see your mother through the crowd.

"If we must speak, we will not do it in my room." You grab Benedict's wrist, still refusing skin-to-skin, and pull him with you. Your glare causes the eldest Bridgerton to move to the side, he walks next to his wife.

Outside your room is a lot of people, it's almost overwhelming. There's the Featheringtons, really you only recognized Penelope but you knew by the yellow dress that they had to be her relatives. You could guess they were her sisters and the eldest-looking was her mother. You then saw your own mother, with what seemed like all of your siblings behind her. You rolled your eyes, your eldest brother seemed to glare at you. He hated you though, and you didn't particulary care. You just hated the drama that came with them. Then the Bridgertons. All of them, it seems. The eldest Bridgerton son is there with his wife, Kate. As is their mother, then Benedict who was next to you, Colin who seemed to glance between you and Penelope, Daphne with her husband, Simon. Eloise, Francesca (you truly hoped she got a better story in this show than the books), Gregory and Hyacinth.

"Brimsley, a pleasure to see you again." You avoid everyone to speak to your mother's right-hand man.

"Perhaps if you came out of your room more sir."

"Ah but if I did I might just die." You smile slightly, "Especially if I see William's face." Your brother takes a step towards you but quickly faltors at your mother's expression. "What have I done to warrant a family meeting without me."

"Being born really." George remarked and you smiled at him, cruelly.

"Brother you make me wish I wasn't and that instead I was with Charlotte, Amelia, Alfred and Octavius." What you said was cruel. Amelia died of tuberculosis, Alfred and Octavius died of smallpox, and the young Princess Charlotte who you weren't really sure how you died, you were barely there during the funeral. George (The fourth?) seemed to quiet down, looking sad. You were being rude, you didn't care. They back you into a corner and you attack, like always. "Edward! If you want to strike me you might as well try, but we both know you lack in that department, and many others."

"Quiet." Your mother tells you, and you wish you could care but you didn't. "This doesn't pertain you." She says your name gently, as if convincing you to calm down.

"Obviously it does if it has my soulmate running towards me." You jest towards Benedict. "What? Now that my attraction to men is out we must kill them all? It's not like it's been a secret."

"It is not godly." One of your brothers say.

"God is not Godly." You dennounce him, "You follow a book that has been rewritten multiple times, through many different languages. I do not believe in your God, you know that."

"Hush." Your mother calls your name and you just stare at her. "This was for the better of the Kingdom."

"Why does the Kingdom matter more than I?" You question, "Frankly, none of this does. But why are the Bridgertons and the Featherington's here?"

"You know who we are?" One of the other Featherington sisters say, she seems hot, considering the red to her face.

"I know of Penelope." You looked to her and nodded. "Who wouldn't? She's absolutely beautiful." You notice the looks that you recieve after you say your words. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I just think its best-"

"She wants to discourage us from going after you." Benedict says as he grabs your wrist causing you to look at him.

"Us?"