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#they're still not perfect but it's better than before
chaggiehearts · 2 days
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I'm gonna be brutally honest: I think it'd be far more satisfying to watch Lute redeeming herself than dying as a villain.
I know a large part of the fandom hates her (although thankfully most people here on Tumblr don't) and I'm not gonna act like I don't understand why. She's a sadistic genocidal woman who won't hesitate to hurt everyone that goes against her corrupted morality. Even outside the series, her words and beliefs might remind a lot of viewers of extremist Christians, and since a lot of us are LGBT we might be reminded of ugly things we've been told in the past (I'll admit that even though I don't interpret that scene as her being homophobic, the "Their love is vile and blasphemous" comment might hurt me if I watch that scene when I'm feeling too sensitive). Lute is clearly not a good person and the series doesn't try to hide this fact at all, specially given her fixation with hurting/mutilating/killing Vaggie. Even though she's my 3rd fave character, I admit that she kinda sucks as a person.
However, I think that all the arguments on why she's irredeemable fail to be convincing once you take something into account: Lute is the Vaggie that never left her Exorcist position.
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Their characters are clearly parallels and meant to be narrative foils. Vaggie is what Lute could turn out to be if she admitted she's wrong. Vaggie is my favorite character but I can't deny that before her fall she was despicable too. We know that at the very least she killed 2,000 sinners (going by the "thousandS of Sinners" comment) and I highly doubt the actual amount is that low given the number of Sinners killed by Lute during last Extermination. My personal headcanon is that it's around 10,000-15,000, but we don't know, at least not yet. Vaggie WASN'T a good person, even if she had doubts from the very beginning (which we don't even know if it's true, let's be real here) she still did horrible things. She took part in the Exterminations and, according to Adam, she was one of the most efficient Exorcists (perhaps second only to Lute herself). This is why I adore the dynamic between them, because the mutual hatred comes from the rejection of certain ideals: Vaggie hates what she used to be in the past, which is represented by Lute, a perfect reflection of who she used to be, and Lute hates the idea that Exterminations might be wrong, that she might be wrong, that her entire worldview might be flawed, which is represented by Vaggie.
If Vaggie was able to redeem herself, if we can collectively agree that she regretted her actions and improved as a person, if we can understand that Hazbin's concept is that EVERYONE can be redeemed, even the worst villains, even the nastiest individuals, if we can see that the structure of the Exorcists greatly resembles a sect (I will analyze this better another day, but they're literally a patriarchal sect in which one has to adhere to all of their leader's beliefs and not doing so will result in abandonment, punishment and isolation from your entire circle), isn't it logical to think that Lute might reach the same conclusions as Vaggie one day? Why would Vaggie deserve compassion and forgiveness and a new life and not someone who's overall very similar to her? As I said before, yes, I do understand why people hate Lute more than Vaggie, specially given what she did to her, one of the protagonists, but they're not that different at all. The issue is that we've only seen evil Lute and good Vaggie so far, but the series might explore other aspects of their characters. Hazbin Hotel criticizes the black-and-white mentality of Heaven, Lute's very mentality that has led to what she is right now. Putting Vaggie in one end of a morality scale and Lute in the other is imho a flawed interpretation. They're both in a gray place, they're both complex people.
Lute is going to do horrible things in the future and, if I'm allowed to speculate, I heavily believe she's going to be worse than what Adam ever had the chance to be, way worse than Vaggie ever was. After losing Adam, revenge will probably make her go from evil to downright monster. And honestly, I want to see that fall, that corruption arc (does it count as a corruption arc when the character was already corrupted from the beginning?). I want Lute to metaphorically fall into the darkest pits of Hell. And you know what? I want her to get up after that, start a new life just like what Vaggie did. I think Lute searching for redemption would be a great test on Charlie's ideals, because she probably wouldn't be too enthusiastic about this idea (since her body language in Episode 8 clearly shows that she knows about what Lute did to Vaggie, her role in Vaggie's fall). I think something beautiful might come out of something like this happening. Charlie realizing that she doesn't have to personally empathize with someone to help them become a better person (and the whole concept of redemption being proven right because if someone like Lute can do it then literally anyone can), Lute seeing the error of her ways, growing and searching for the light she lost in the shadows and Vaggie empathizing with one of the residents in a deeper level. Even though Lute doesn't deserve Vaggie's forgiveness, I'd love to see Vaggie extending that forgiveness to her and seeing her past self in Lute, but this time not the merciless Exorcist Vaggie that she hates, but the hurt, lost and scared Vaggie that had just arrived in Hell after her worldview had been flipped entirely. If these two made amends, I think we would be able to see a very sweet new side of Vaggie, because even though she'd love to help Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb... She'll never fully get how they ended up down there. But she would get Lute, she'd understand how addictive bad actions can be for an Exorcist, the search for purpose and acknowledgement from Adam, the self-righteousness. If there's anyone in that hotel that would know what it's like to be an Exorcist that regrets her actions, that's Vaggie.
In the end, the only thing I'm sure of at the moment is that Lute's story is far from over. Things could go either way and redemption is a viable path for her. Who knows, maybe she'll do something so extremely evil in the future that I lose my faith in her ability to change after that, but for now I'm still holding onto that hope :)
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vintageseawitch · 1 day
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to everyone who is still not going to vote for Harris or will vote third party because of Gaza: please say with your whole chest that you want trump to win. we're living in the real world & it sucks but it's between the two. just say that you're perfectly okay with Project 2025 being implemented. just say that you're fine with mass deportations, another Muslim ban, people being sent to camps, people getting serial numbers, millions of women at risk for reproductive reasons, more oil drilling than ever before as they deny climate change. tell anyone you care about that is worried about any of these things that you are okay with all of this happening. no matter who we get, things will be happening over there. if you don't want to help your own house, how can you possibly help anyone else's?
"if she loses, just know it's because of her policies. they should have chosen a better candidate." THIS IS SUCH A COPOUT. we're going to have someone in charge of our military one way or another so they are ALL warmongers!! y'all have no fucking clue how this government works!! you're not marrying your candidate & to wait for someone perfect means you never live in the real world anyways.
it won't be entirely your fault if she loses, but if you're working harder for her to lose it's not good. just say that because we live here, we ALL deserve what we're gonna get, & that's including you because you're going down with the rest of us.
there's this thing called "being concerned about more than one thing" & another is telling everyone vulnerable around you that your principles matter more than other real people. where is the anger for Congress. for trump meeting with netanyahu & violating the Logan Act to do that. there's so much at stake in this election. who would you feel safer to protest under? whatever, y'all think they're "the same." we won't get your votes? odds are, a bunch of y'all will get deported anyways should he win. good luck.
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gamebunny-advance · 7 months
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Vs. DJ Subatomic Supernova Custom Remix Ratings (Try Again - OK - Superb)
I made these kinda quickly, so I know they're not great, but I still wanted to have *some* custom graphics since I couldn't be bothered to download Unity to make the custom textures.
Fun Fact about the mix: I added different wrong lines for failing the First Contact minigames. I think I made one for every instance of it, but I might have missed one or two.
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snekdood · 10 months
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so uh
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for 1. most people are gonna take advantage of black friday and wont see your specific niche tumblr post, I hate to say it
2. the us isnt running out of money for war any time soon, so...
3. this is just antisemitism???????? all we need is some (((echoes))) around the us and israel and then I'd have no reason to suspect otherwise from op...............
#why in tf do you think they care that much about getting your money rn and not before in any other war?#does it. mayhaps. have something to do w jewish people being involved now?#our tax dollars go to the govt regardless and has been for years and we already have an obscene amount of funding for military shit#preeetty sure they're not concerned about getting a couple hundred tumblr users money...#and also pretty sure one could only believe that if they're paranoid about jewish ppl.................#hard not to put two and two together and figure out op is prolly antisemitic and hopefully they just dont realize it#i say hopefully they dont realize it bc thats better than someone who knows and is pretending to be a leftist still.#if anything this pause happened bc its thanksgiving and biden doesnt wanna think about it over the holidays. thats p much it.#thats the only amount of conspiracy theory im willing to believe in this situation lmao.#but that ^ still assumes that biden has some sort of control over this that he really doesnt#and i dont think netanyahu cares that much about thanksgiving tbr...#it sounds more like to me that op is seeing this from a very american centric pov and assumes everyone celebrates thanksgiving#or cares enough about it to remember the dates.... i dont think this is as planned as op is making it out to be and any insinuation#that it IS planned sounds like conspiracy theory talk to me personally. i dont think biden is hittin netanyahu up and going#'hey thursday is thanksgiving and would be the perfect time to pause so we can (((get peoples money))) out of them#asiftheUSdoesnthaveplentyalready' like i just really dont think that convo is happening lmao.
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sortanonymous · 4 months
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Wait, they're making another one? Oh-kaaayyyy... Not holding my breath, but hopefully it's at least better than the $h!tshow that was the second movie. (Even if that "version" of Silver is still there.) If it's any consolation, I don't know how much Sega is involved with the Sonic movies, but if it's a good bit, then maybe they can help out! At the very least, there's this amazing comment under the reveal teaser. (GOLDEN ISLAND MENTIONED)
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#angry birds#angry birds movie#the angry birds movie#angry birds movie 3#the angry birds movie 3#am i the first one to tag that?#just hoping it's anywhere near as solid as the first and not the dumb unfocused slop that is the second#but seriously please don't drag silver back into this you massacred my favorite adopted piggy-turned-bird enough last time#maybe they could finally do something cool with jo like they've deserved for the past year?#then again it's likely an average-tier animated kids movie so they may not dare include a non-binary character#(then again spa's involved and spider-gwen is at least 80% likely to be trans...#...so maybe there's still hope for jo to finally get to be more than a pfp for a month)#(then again sony wants to play with ai soon so yikes)#yeah i'm still bitter that they're continuing a movie series that got killed five years ago instead of continuing better stuff#like c'mon we get an angry birds movie 3 before angry birds stella season 3 or even toons season 4?#hopefully they actually use the darn slingshots (the absence of which was one of many things that sunk the 2nd movie)#i don't know what to make of angry birds anymore considering how they murdered their renaissance before it could ever begin#(shortening and delisting the remake. making reloaded apple-exclusive. whatever on earth bad piggies 2 was.)#but i'm just hoping they can get at least one thing right this decade. just one please.#being an angry birds since 2012 and witnessing everything go to hell from 2015 onward...#...really was the perfect preparation for being a bengals fan wasn't it#welp forget everything i said about studios earlier#sega is absolutely producing it and the animation will be done by dneg who animated freaking nimona#okay NOW this just got very interesting. now i'm keeping an eye out on this.#(seriously i know dneg didn't do the most on nimona but still.#a studio involved in nimona an angry birds movie.#that combo of words alone might make my day! 2012 sorta and modern sorta would be hugging jumping up and down at that!)
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izzy-b-hands · 1 month
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My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.
#text post#like i know why i am awake babe why are YOU awake this late#and god why do we have to do another visit#they aren't bad enough to make me stop this dose and i haven't been on the new dose long enough to let it even out#can i not just Not have to do another uncomfortable visit where even if things turn out okay after#i later feel like I'm still not being wholly trusted/treated like i know my body and how i feel#i had worse side effects restarting this med months ago and we didn't have any additional visits for that#they fucking forgot to even book me for a f/u and i had to call in and beg for one basically#and then they misbooked it for the wrong reason and with the wrong doctor#and made it out like it was my fault when i made clear i begged and told the receptionist i spoke to to book said appt#that it needed to b with my doc for the Lamotrigine and that i hadn't been told when to follow up so i was just. doing it#bc she said i needed to but then didn't say when to book it#they're trying hard and im trying to give them grace but then this shit happens and like#im tired. makes me want to go into my new doc like nah never mind im fine. don't ask me nothing and i won't bug you with anything#unless im dying or nearly dead already.#would suck beyond believe attempting to raw dog life mostly again but goddamn. im so sick of this lack of stability with my care#anyway. probably an appt next Tuesday which is great#that's the week of the weekend that i work again and the week before my bday#(a bday I'll be working now which I'm not normally irked abt but. i am a bit rn)#so cool. yeah. let's stack anxiety and fear over a medical appt on top of everything else for that week#and that's not counting that this weekend I've been tasked with buying and getting signed a v expensive and rare figure#for my mum's bf and I'm kind of terrified im gonna fuck it up#he paid for tickets to the con the figure will be sold at and that the person he wants to sign it will be at#so if i fuck this up he'll want (understandably) to be paid back asap for that#and that's money i don't fucking have rn#i really wish she had waited till the actual day proper to contact me bc i couldn't sleep before this#and now i definitely cant bc like#it's dumb. but what if she takes my med away. it isn't perfect but it works better than any other med I've tried#what if she wants me to try a new one. i cant do that and b dealing with major side effects during the intense work schedule#that'll be happening for me v soon and then into November
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can i just say that gaul should've stuck to researching on her poisonous pookie fauna because istg that woman was running the games like a frat party.
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in-class-daydreams · 1 month
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Imagine yours and ex-husband Gojo's son possessing both the six-eyes and limitless, just like his father.
You'd ask him how was school and he'd beam while toeing off his shoes.
"Sensei and I spent hours perfecting my domain." Sen stretched out his shoulder. "I'm so tired!"
Sukuna may have been rough around the edges (to say the least) but surprisingly his teaching style worked like a charm with your son.
Even more surprising is that Sen and Sukuna seem to actually like each other. They're Kyoto Jujutsu High's strongest mentor-mentee duo. That little detail is best kept away from Satoru.
~
Imagine ex-husband Gojo dropping off some flowers to you ("as friends!") and when you head to the kitchen find a nice vase, his eyes lock on another bouquet sitting on your dining table.
"You got another admirer, sweetheart?" he'd say jokingly, assuming they were from Sen or you bought them yourself. Your silence suggests otherwise.
He'd walk up behind you and put his big hands on your hips. Whispering in your ear, "Who're they from, baby? Does he make you feel the way I do?"
Tired of his tendency to get in your business, you turn around and push him off you. "It's none of your business. Stay in your lane before Sen puts you through a wall again!"
~
Imagine ex-husband Gojo coming over again with Sen's (tentative) permission.
Gojo would drape himself all across your couch and say, "Y'know, there's still time to transfer him to Tokyo High. There's no rules against it and I'm literally the only one who can properly teach him how to use our cursed techniques."
"It would be nice to have him learn with another six-eyes user, but he's doing very well at his current school," you'd tell your ex. "He and Sukuna work very well together."
"And how well do you and him work together?" he'd ask casually.
"Excuse me?"
"Mom, I'm back!" Sen would burst through the front door and wrap you in a giant bear hug. He only spares his father a fleeting glance. "Don't you have anything better to do other than bothering my mom?"
Satoru would ignore the comment. "Hey, kiddo, what do you think about transferring schools and learning from me? I could teach you a lot about your abilities! What do you say?"
Sen's face would contort with disgust. "No thanks. I actually want to learn how to fight, not just rely on limitless and the six-eyes to carry me."
The evening would end with Satoru storming out the house, Sen locking himself in his room, and you taking a few pills for your growing headache.
~
Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]
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Logan and Wade's relationship post movie is slow burn in the most infuriating way cause they have so many hang ups about the relationship
On Logan's side: He fell in love with Wade first. Which mortifies him cause 1) Wade is still in love with Vanessa 2) they're roommates in a one bedroom apartment with Blind Al until he gets his life together in a parallel world where he's technically dead and his SSN is donezo 3) Wade Winston Wilson is probably the most embarrassing person to have a crush on, let alone be in love with. Logan will defend him to heaven and hell and back, but even he knows it's crazy to fall for the Blowjob Queen of Sasqatoon.
He's fully aware of his feelings but tries to squash it down, acts like he hates Wade's guts. Even though every morning he wakes up early to make coffee for the both of them before Wade wakes up. Even though he's memorized what's his favorite gun cleaner and oil are, then stocks them up before Wade even notices his supply is running low. Even though he's the most at peace when Wade and Laura are having Girls' Night in the living room, wearing face masks and watching A24 horror films, while he's kicking back with Blind Al in the kitchen, sipping shitty beer.
On Wade's side: He has no idea Logan likes him. Or, better to say, he has no idea WHY Logan would like him. He might be gods perfect idiot, but if 2+2 = 22, then if someone tells you to shut up and stabs you in every argument to be had, they can't possibly LIKE like you. So even when the initial hostility of being new roommates dies down, he takes the domesticity they find together a side effect of being a Wolverine over the age of 40 with a teenage daughter and no active income in sight. "Beggars can't be ungrateful bastards who couch surf for free" and all that jazz.
Wade is also still hooked up on Vanessa. She'll always be his soul mate, and that will never change. So they try to talk it out. They go on a couple dates. They try to work something, anything out, but in the end they both agree it just isn't right anymore. They still love each other, but that doesn't mean they should be in a relationship. They both deserve better than to be stuck in the past.
So by the time Wade is single for real, Logan is already set on them not getting together. Previous points aside, he's no rebound chick. He just got promoted from Worst Wolverine to Okay-est Wolverine (via the coffee mug Laura got him from etsy) -- so he's absolutely NOT fucking gonna be a sloppy bitch and make a move on his roommate after he got out of a whatever the fuck situationship with his ex-dead, ex-fiance.
When they finally get together, it's so far down the line and so slow-burn, that they genuinely don't know how they got there. All they know is that they share a new one bedroom apartment together, alone (but Blind Al lives on the same floor of the complex) and that they are so far gone in domestic bliss that they're arguing with each other over how to properly assemble a pet condo for Mary Puppins.
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vampireyuuta · 30 days
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includes: gn! reader, aged up! boys, i dont know what to put here u get the point
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what are the boys packing?
MEGUMI — perrrrrrrfect like the rest of him
6.50 inches, reasonable girth, uncircumcised, curve to the right, pretty pink tip, one big fat vein running on the underside of it. it's very nice. like i said, it's perfect. he fits so snugly inside you, reaching the most head-spinning spot inside you. you don't need two hands to give him a handy, but you definitely struggle to take him in your mouth. his tip is super super sensitive also. he blushes every time you ogle it like it's the most beautiful thing ever, but he stops caring when you absolutely worship his perfect cock.
TOGE — short boy, short dick
4.75 inches, on the thinner side, circumcised, oh so subtle curve to the left, light salmon pink tip, veerrry veiny (like big fat veins that he NEEDS you to lick). it's cute! it fits! to his credit, he is great with it and it fits just right in your pretty mouth. not too much, not too little. he makes up for his lack in size with his tongue and hands, don't worry. he’s a little embarrassed about it being too small, but, of course, you reassure him. though he wouldn't mind if you made fun of his size a little.
YUUJI — a great size <3
5.50 inches, really fat, circumcised, no noticeable curve, tip is really pink (especially when you tease him for hours), also extremely vieny but they're less prominent than toge’s. the length is perfect and cozy tight inside you, but his girth stretches you out until you're seeing nothing but stars. same with your mouth—it is a challange to stuff all that thickness in your throat. he leaks like a lot. a gust of wind will have this bitch leaking pre like a waterfall. his balls, too, are super fat. please play with his balls!!!
YUUTA — wtf? freakishly huge??
8.25 inches, super duper girthy, uncircumcised, curves to the right, the most beautiful pastel pink tip, a few cutesy veins. like many before me, i declare that huge massive dick yuuta is canon. it's scary, terrifying even. he’s muscular—can't be the second strongest without being musclar—but he’s still pretty lean and lanky, but he has such a long, fat dick that it is insanely jarring. a shower, for sure, but that's okay. he’s so humble about it; “is it really that big?” he blushes when you're gawking and rambling about how there's no way it’ll fit your first time with him. spoiler alert, it does not fit. it stretches you out and splits you open like nothing else ever could. he feels so guilty about it, yet it always makes you cum so hard you almost pass out so he feels a little better!
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confessedlyfannish · 1 year
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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5
Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.
After a moment, the door opens.
"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.
"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.
"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."
Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.
"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.
For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.
Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.
Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"
"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.
"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.
"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.
"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.
"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.
"He did," Jazz says.
Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.
Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.
A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.
This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.
Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.
In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.
"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.
Damian stops dead in his tracks.
"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.
Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.
"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.
Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"
Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.
"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.
"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.
Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.
"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.
"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.
Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.
Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.
Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.
They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.
"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.
"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.
Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."
"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."
"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.
"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."
Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.
"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"
"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.
"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."
"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."
"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."
Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.
"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."
Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.
Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.
Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.
Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.
A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.
His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.
"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"
"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.
He never stopped practicing, after all.
"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."
"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."
Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.
"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.
"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."
"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."
Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.
"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."
"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."
"Mr. Wayne-"
"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."
Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."
"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."
For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.
"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."
"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.
He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.
Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."
Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."
Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."
"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."
Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."
"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."
"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.
"Even then."
Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.
"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.
"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.
But for his brother, Danny will wake up.
"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."
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alice-everafter · 2 months
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"Were you aware that you talk in your sleep?"
Through the haze of tiredness, Vil's voice rings clear, as it so often does. It takes a few too many blinks to will the grogginess away. But when it does, you turn on your side towards him. He's in a position mirroring your own, his form highlighted by the early morning rays of sunlight leaking in through the window behind him. Swathed in blankets that have clearly seen better days, as was typical of Ramshackle grade furnishing.
"...Good morning to you too, Vil."
He doesn't reply with any words, merely a hum of acknowledgement.
It's unfair how perfect he can look so soon after waking. Cause you know for a fact your hair is in tangles under your head. Makes you feel like a true potato, as he so calls you.
You're reminded of the circumstances behind this current arrangement as he eyes your drowsy self calmly. Turns out, even after renovations, Ramshackle is still ramshackle. It only took one flop onto your bed for the legs holding up the bedframe to give out entirely. The sound had attracted the whole VDC squad, so they got to bare witness to probably one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. Well, Ace made certain that it was, at least.
Originally content to sleep on a slightly shorter than usual bed, Vil had been quite adamant on not letting you. Something about bugs and possibilities of them infesting the mattress. It didn't really matter to you, but somehow you found yourself in his room. Rather, one of your guest rooms. And that was where you still were, letting him eye you down like a product on display.
"...Something on my face?"
"Yes, drool."
Nice to know that Vil's charm was present every hour of the day.
"...What was this about me talking in my sleep?" You try to nonchalantly swipe a hand over your mouth, but it fails spectacularly. Nothing gets past this man.
"You mumble all sorts of nonsense." He looks like a Renaissance painting as he brushes a stray lock from his eyes, tucking it elegantly behind his ear. "I nearly thought you were awake at first, talking to yourself."
"Yes, cause that's totally what one does first thing in the morning. Talk to themself."
The sleepiness has clearly made you overly confident. If the glare he levels you is anything to go by.
"Notice how I said 'nearly.' Meaning I didn't actually think you were. Does the morning dim your wit more than normal?"
"...For someone so insistent on getting me in their bed, you're rather snappy."
"Why I never." That comment gets him riled enough to sit up. You feel tiny as he stares daggers down at you where you continue to lie. In your puddle of disarray, while he's somehow runway ready at the ass crack of dawn.
"How can you look like a Greek god first thing in the morning?" Oh, so you've decided to voice your thoughts out loud. Ok, cool, that's totally what you wanted to do. Totally.
You watch as his anger morphs into confusion. "Greek god?"
"Oh," that's right. That's a 'your world' thing, isn't it. "A reference from back home, don't worry about it."
"Hmph," he grunts. Well, you'd hardly call it a grunt. Vil wouldn't do something as barbaric as grunt. It was more like a delicate, posh scoff. But, he no longer looks as mad as he did before, so you guess it was a good thing you decided to voice your inner musings aloud. "Does this 'Greek god' happen to have flawless skin, gorgeous hair, and impeccable taste?"
You don't want to answer him, cause you know where this is going. But, again, nothing escapes the notice of this man. You're forced to watch his lips curl up into an infuriatingly hot smug grin.
"From your face, I assume so. It's kind of you to notice the obvious."
You're very well awake by now, but you still roll your eyes. You may lowkey highkey fear this man, but nothing could've held that reaction back.
"Yeah, well, they're also incredibly abnormal. Cause the rest of the population doesn't typically wake up looking like a supermodel."
"If you think I'm a supermodel now, then you must think I'm ethereal on a day to day."
You do nothing but grumble as you shuffle to sit up, rubbing leftover sleep from your eyes while pointedly ignoring how he practically preens next to you. When you instinctually card a hand through your hair, instead of it catching on knots like you expect, it goes right through.
"It's the pillow case."
Again, the bastard reads your expression like a book and promptly comments on it.
"Satin is good for both the skin and the hair."
You're tempted to call him extra, cause who brings their own pillow case to someone else's house? But the way your hair feels, how it's free from a majority of its typical morning tangles, shuts you up.
You chance a glance up at him. Head turned towards you, knees bent below the covers, an elbow rested over top, chin held primly in the palm of his hand, still haloed by the rising sun like it’s a paid actor. With an elegant quirk to his brow and an expression equal parts amused and sickly fond.
There is... something running laps in your chest. Begging to be acknowledged. To be known.
"...If you're fishing for another compliment, you'll find that I've reached my daily quota."
You swing your legs over the side of the bed as you hear him click his tongue. And no, it's not running away, but it sort of feels like it is.
"I'll go and make myself presentable before starting on breakfast. You said we needed more protein, right? I was thinking I could make omelets━"
"A shame, really."
You have no clue how he moved so silently, but he was suddenly next to you and unapologetically in your space. Brushing hair behind your ear like he was born to do it. Walking the small distance around to your front so you could see the pleased smile upon his lips and knowing twinkle in his eyes.
Damn him, you can't help but internally curse as goosebumps form where his fingers had barely even grazed. Nothing gets past him, and especially not you.
"I was so hoping for a few more compliments, because I certainly haven't reached my needed quota."
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rin-may-1103 · 2 months
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Delilah's language (part three)
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Danny stood next to Mr. Bruce, watching as people milled around and chatted. a large group gathered right in front of them.
They had flown to Gotham last night, and Danny had been given a nice room to stay in at some fancy hotel. motel? which one was supposed to be fancy?
eh, either way, Danny settled into the room and promptly went back to sleep. He managed to get a total of twelve(12) hours of sleep before waking up. he spent the time after that just sitting and playing on his phone until his alarm went off.
that was two hours ago, and now here he was, standing in the middle of Gotham City Zoo at 8 in the morning. No one had noticed them yet, which Danny was greatly appreciative of; he had not been ready for this.
Sure, Mr. Bruce had said he invited all the scientists, but this? this was not what he was expecting.
he was expecting maybe one or two scientists to be standing around, watching Dalilah and her family as some rich kid hounded them for answers. they were scientist, surely, they had better things to do than attend some kid's birthday party.
but no.
All of them were here. All. Of. Them.
the whole scientific team was in attendance, and right in the middle of them was the birthday boy. his voice drowned out by the scientists all hungrily trying to force their knowledge into his brain.
oh dear ancients what had Danny agreed to?
suddenly, an older boy (slightly younger than Danny, it seemed) approached the group and turned the birthday boy to look in their direction. Danny's poor overstimulated enhanced hearing instantly zeroed in on what they were saying, a pool of dread settling in his stomach. "look, Damian. Bruce is back with that dude you wanted to meet."
Immediately, the kid's green eyes lit up in excitement as they settled on Danny and the kid's father. The boy promptly shoved past the other scientist and marched over to them, mouth somehow set into a scowl even though Danny could feel the kid's excitement increase tenfold. The older boy easily followed behind in amusement.
before the kid could open his mouth, Danny felt the air shift next to him. It wasn't a ghost, they wouldn't have been so obvious, and his sense hadn't gone off, so human then. (he should have heard them earlier, but with how loud it was? Danny wasn't too worried about how he had missed the person) which means, Danny couldn't react obviously or people would ask questions.
tensing up, to prevent his body from reacting on instinct, he waited for the person to act. Not even a second later, someone threw their arm around Danny's shoulders and pulled him close to their side, their voice bright and cheerful. "Damian! look who Bruce dragged in!"
Danny turned his head to glance at the man, he had black hair and blue eyes. This wasn't a surprise, considering almost all the kids Bruce adopted had the same features, so which one was this? One of the older ones, obviously, hmmm. Slim frame, but still musculer. perfect for swimming or gymnastics. So, that would mean, this was Dick Grayson, the oldest?
"tch," Damian scowled even more, "release him, Grayson." bingo. Danny had been correct then. and that was one heck of a scowl, how did the kid do that? Danny could feel he was happy at the sight of the older boy, but somehow, he looked like he'd rather be eating snails than deal with the man.
maybe he should introduce him to Sam, she'd love to learn how to do that.
"Alright! Alright!," Grayson chuckled, what was Danny supposed to call him? Dick or Grayson? Richard? "I'm just trying to be nice."
he turned to face Danny, releasing him from his grasp, his smile almost blinding, "Hi there! my name is Dick. Yes, that is my name. No, I'm not joking. It's nice to meet you, what's your name?"
Danny blinked, then hesitantly shook the man's hand. he should have stayed home, anything would have been better than this. oh, shit they're all looking at him now. "uh, my name's Danny. Danny Fenton."
"Danny! nice. So, what did you do to be invited?" Dick asked, resting his hands in his pockets and lifting a brow. Mr. Bruce had walked away a while ago, so Danny would have to deal with this himself it seems.
Damian rolled his eyes but looked curious as well.
"uh, Mr. Bruce," This got an immediate reaction from all three of them; their eyes widening in surprise and maybe a hint of glee, "invited me. something about how Damian wanted to learn how to speak with Dalilah."
"Really?" asked the other boy, Tim? "you can actually speak with them?"
"Tch, of course not, Drake. The purple-backed gorillas do not have a spoken language, they use their bodies to communicate. Daniel here is the only person in the world to figure out how to communicate with them."
"Don't call me that," Danny cut in, wincing when they turned to look at him, "my name's Danny, not Daniel."
"isn't Danny a nickname for Daniel?" Damian asked, his brows furrowed. "I do not call people by their nicknames, it creates a false familiar connection."
"Usually," Danny conceded, "but my name isn't Daniel. My parents chose Danny, it's not a nickname. and if you really don't want to call me that, then you can use my last name. It shouldn't be a problem considering I'm the only Fenton here."
"Oh," Damian blinked, then thought about it for a second, "Danny it is then."
The other two shared a glance, clearly surprised for whatever reason. Sighing, Danny waved his hand in agreement. The kid could call him whatever he wanted, just not Daniel. Anything but Daniel. (Ancients forbid if he gets called Dan.)
"Anyway, like you were saying. Delilah speaks with her body movements but there is a vocal part. It's a little like sign language and that one whistle language combined, but instead of just using your hands, facial movements, and whistles to communicate, you have to use your whole body. All at once."
Danny then rubbed his neck, "And I'm sure someone else would be able to speak with her if they just paid attention. It's not that hard."
"Not that hard?" Grayson asked, glancing at the gorillas. "how long did it take you to figure out her language then?"
"Oh," Danny blinked, then shrugged, "like, two hours. Like I said, it's really not that hard, you just have to watch her talk for a while."
"two hours?!" Tim, Danny's pretty sure his name was Tim, gaped, staring at Danny like he was nuts. which, Danny didn't appreciate by the way. "It only took you two hours to figure it out?"
Danny wasn't sure if he should feel offended or amused...
"That's impossible," someone scoffed, dragging all of their attention to an approaching scientist. "It takes upwards of three months to multiple years of hard work to even understand human sign language, let alone animal gestures. You couldn't have learned it in just two hours."
Danny rolled his eyes, he remembered this guy. Dr. Trynul or something or whatever, he absolutely refused to believe Danny the last time they talked. he was a real stick in the mud if Danny ever saw one.
"Danny Fenton is listed as the only person in the world to have the ability to communicate with the gorillas. It even says as much in the scientific papers your group released last month." Damian huffed, narrowing his eyes at the man.
Dr. Trynul rolled his eyes, "I requested they leave that false information out, but Mertil absolutely refused to listen to reason."
"and it's a good thing she didn't," another researcher cut in. Danny remembered her from the first time he had to talk with the scientist involved with Dalilah. Real stern but a nice lady.
"This young man can communicate with them just like he would if he was one of them. I've seen it with my own eyes." she then turned to the group, a small smile growing on her face.
"Danny, it's so good to see you again! Delilah has been just such a sweetheart, and her baby is just the cutest thing in the world. You have to come and see them."
Danny rubbed the back of his neck and smiled back, "Sure, Oh!" He turned back to Damian, "maybe I can introduce you to them if you haven't been already?"
The boy nodded his head, his excitement rolling off of him in yellow swirls. Turning back, Danny nodded his head with a small smile, "Please, lead the way."
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teddybeartoji · 4 months
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彡 NO GARDEN CAN BLOOM WITHOUT THE SUN
☆. contains: bf!satoru gojo x gn!reader; fluff fluff fluff!!!! they're in love!!!!!! satoru is the king of acts of service!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wc: 1.5k
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"c'mon, show me those chompers, baby!"
sat on the bathroom counter, you watch your boyfriend bare his fangs at you in the most adorable way. his eyes are pressed shut, his smile so wide that it's almost reaching his ears – he's showing how you should do it.
unable to contain the sleepy chuckles that bubble up your throat, satoru's eyes crack open. he's sleepy, too. but he's still here; he's still determined to make you happy, to make you feel good, to make you smile. he's determined to take care of you no matter what.
he ushers you with a laugh of his own, showing you the lump of toothpaste sitting on your new toothbrush.
(he bought you matching ones the other day. he's very proud of himself.)
(you love him.)
you can't say no to him. his free hand squeezes your waist, a sign that he's here and he's waiting. he's not being impatient, though – no, never that. he's just reassuring; skin on skin, he wants you to know he's never leaving.
to him it isn't dramatic to be thinking about his everlasting devotion while doing a menial task like this (if you can even call it that) – it's more than normal actually. he simply cannot stop; you're eating him from the inside and he's grateful.
you do as he says and clench your teeth together while pulling your lips back. you're sure you look a little silly but satoru couldn't disagree more.
"there we go! you look like a little tiger!" he leans in and brushes his nose against yours, making it scrunch up and that makes him giggle in turn. he feels giddy around you, he feels like he's in heaven.
he wets the toothbrush before bringing up to your mouth. he takes his hand from your hip and places it on your jaw instead, gently guiding your face up so he can see a little better.
bristles brush against your enamels and you peer at satoru. he looks awfully concentrated – he's cute like this. there's a small crease between his brows, his crystalline eyes glued to your canines as he watches your mouth fill with foam.
blindly, you play with the hem of his shirt; your fingers graze his marble skin and he shudders at the light touch. the fluorescent light coming from behind you illuminates his face and you waste no time in counting the freckles that adorn his skin. again. you've done it a thousand times before and you'll do it a thousand times more. they're your stars – his smile being the sun and his pretty blue eyes the equivalent of the moon in the sky. he's your guide during the day and the night, you'd be utterly lost without him.
he's your world.
satoru wipes the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the extra toothpaste that's threatening to trickle down your skin and smears it into his shirt, laughing loudly when you gasp at his antics. you smack his stomach and watch his head loll back with a dopey grin. his chest rumbles, hearty giggles bubbling up his throat. his adam's apple bobs before he lowers his head back down, his gaze meeting yours. he's so full of love, he just might burst.
"was gonna wash it anyway."
he looks proud of himself and you snort at his answer.
"yersuchachild."
the toothpaste in your mouth is making it hard to sound serious, your words coming out all muddled and slurred as you splutter at him. he doesn't care for your lecturing – his mind is filled with hearts and sparkles and rainbows and kittens and puppies and pastries and warm blankets and glitter and roses and the color pink and the color red and your eyes and everything else that could possibly be associated with the word love. he watches your mouth move and he sees flower petals falling, he watches you blink and he sees shooting stars, he watches you breathe and he feels at home.
he's your air.
you're a perfect match – you breathe him in and he makes a home inside your lungs. you keep him safe, you cradle him with your gentle hands and hide him from the cruel world. and he in turn takes care of your heart; he warms it, he tends to it like it's a garden. he waters and he weeds, he plants new seeds and he reaps what he has sowed with the softest smile in the world.
no garden can bloom without the sun.
satoru places the toothbrush in your mouth before yanking the dirty t-shirt off of his body. he raises his brows, seeking for praise. "better?"
you nod sleepily and the brush between your teeth bounces up and down, making satoru laugh again. you give him a smile and his breath hitches just a little. all foamy and pretty – he loves you so fucking much.
he goes back to his job, carefully brushing over your front teeth and then the sides. he gives your cheeks a squeeze, telling you to open up again and then he's leaning in so close that you almost choke on the paste in your mouth. a smirk tugs on his lips as he squints his eyes, glaring at your teeth like he's a proper dentist.
your fingers itch for him and you refuse to suffer when he's right there; you trace over the scars that cover his tummy, his whole body, and you hum. finally, you decide to just rest your hands on the waistband of his pyjamas – you need to be touching him, always and forever.
but the sleepiness is starting to take over; your eyes feel heavy and satoru doesn't miss your slow blinks. he speeds up his movements, whispering for you to show him your tongue. he quickly cleans it, intent on giving you his hundred percent.
when he deems that he's finally done, he takes the brush from your mouth and leans back, taking a good look at the masterpiece before him; half-asleep, mouth covered in toothpaste & content. he couldn't wish for anything else.
without giving you time to react, he lunges forward, pressing his plump lips against yours. he holds your cheeks like you're made out of glass and you grasp at his skin like he's about to fade away—
— but you won't break and he won't disappear.
seperating from him, you're met with the most bashful fucking smile in the world. his hands rest on his hips and he really couldn't be more proud of himself. frothy lips and sparkling eyes, you simply stare at him and just let the butterflies fill your stomach. there's no stopping them anyway.
"okay, c'mon, sleepyhead." satoru taps your thighs. "wash your mouth."
he comes up close again, his nose touching yours. "or do you want me to do that for you, too?"
he's a little cocky and he's a little smug and you think it's only fair; he has every right to be – you're wrapped around his finger like honey around a dipper. but alas, you plop off the counter and press yourself flush against him before turning around and facing the sink. he doesn't move, staying glued behind you like it's where he's meant to be.
(it is.)
his arms snake around your middle, patiently waiting for you to finish cleaning up. satoru sways his hips, gently, as if trying to lull you to sleep. he stares at you through the mirror, unable to tear his eyes from you. his own shirt drapes over your figure, soft skin peeking from under the collar, just waiting for him to press his lips against it. you feel like putty in his hold, like his own personal plushie and he has never been this excited to go to bed. he can't wait to sleep with you – to curl around you, to hug and kiss, to feel your heartbeat under his heavy head.
(every morning he wakes up already dreaming about spending the night with you again. you rest together, you heal together.)
you raise your head from the sink and satoru is already handing you a towel. you thank him with your eyes and dry yourself off. he rests his head on your shoulder and your fingers crawl between his messy white strands, you rub at his scalp and he closes his eyes. a purr reverberates through his body and then through yours and another smile makes it's way onto your face. it's inevitable; he just makes you so fucking happy.
hearts beating together, you stand there in your bathroom. it feels special, it is special – he always makes you feel like this, no matter where, no matter when; like a lock and a key, like a blanket and a pillow, like a piece of paper and a pen, like rain and thunder, like the ocean and the beach—
— like a ray of sunlight and a blooming flower.
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+ hii my beloved satoru lovers just felt like tagging you guys bc... i felt like it<333 @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @staryukis @mossmurdock @neptuneblue @lxnarphase @nkogneatho @cockaiine @kentophilia @sugulani @13curses @blankwashed i love you
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anantaru · 1 year
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DAY 11 — BREEDING
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kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3
𖧡 — including — wriothesley, zhongli, thoma, ayato
𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, breeding, hitting it raw, established relationship, lots of cum & making a mess, taking about starting a family, a little baby fever, praise kink, petnames used: princess, baby, cute boys & feral boys, love sick genshin men
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𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY
wriothesley's trace was slow on you, on the other hand it was also precise, as if he was wholly sure on where he was supposed to touch you.
at the end of the day, it was him and he was aware on what would please you— certainly it's over his logical thoughts and his body moves on its own when he digs his fingertips into your hips to push into you strongly, a hazy grin brilliantly touching up his soft lips when you curve one hand around his neck, forcing your eyes to meet. his arms hold your legs apart consistently, sending charged shivers hastening from your quivering thighs to your sloppy sex.
how utterly perfect you were to him and how unbelievably well he could snug himself inside your dripping pussy— you're driving wriothesley insane, you better keep that in mind, and the way your walls were narrowing down on his thick shaft, almost tasting just like a warm peck of your soft lips worshipping his skin.
and with no punches pulled, wriothesley wonders if you're real sometimes, it's truly frightening that he cannot resist you. mainly when he ghosts his thumb over your perspiring skin, idly contouring the outlines of your curves and smiling when you puff out a needful whimper because of him. other than that, he doesn't move slowly when it came to his hips, and his hands? well, they're ruthless, way beyond recovering, exploring your body when his painfully hard cock snaps forward— you're almost there and so was he, feeling it wide in your belly, pulling the coil in your stomach and soon after he chases more of his relief, unable to keep his hips still, he tastes the shivers of an impending orgasm like a vibrating, electric current weighting around the hardened outline of his length.
"—wanted this for so long." his way of wording was slurred despite his clear intention to confess his desperation, and you're clearly unsure on what exactly wriothesley meant by that— needless to say there were conversations in the past that revolved around dodging the condom for a while, so he could penetrate you raw and reach the warmest, most delicious sweet spots on your walls without the thin plastic ultimately separating you two.
but instead of asking him for a better explanation, you reach out to touch him and mouth wet kisses over his neck before whining when he spreads your thighs further apart to watch how the filthy blend of your arousal and his milky whites dribble out of your hole, your used slit drawing more of it out each flutter— so, wriothesley does what he believes was the most proper way to handle such situation and immediately shuts his dripping dick back into your core, your mouth going dry by the unexpected intrusion as he kisses your forehead with a soft laugh, sending a ripple of heat to your stuffed cunt while tracing the patterns of your walls with his pink cock head.
it's cute, when he kisses your forehead again before continuing his sentence from earlier, "i dream about this constantly." a low, rumbling heave breaks into your ear all hotly and wet, "to feel you, baby, fuck— for real this time." as you peer up at him— he looks like your cunt just sent him to heaven, his thrusts sloppier than before but imbedded with more passion.
they're purposeful, tensed and slobbering all over your cum-stricken walls— he's giving you his all, holding you still while pushing his cock deeper only for you to clench down again, almost bringing him to tears by how eagerly you were responding and how desperate you fluttered around his shaft, almost strong enough to push him out again, your sensitive pussy so responsive, and deliberately letting his cock feel the warmness of your insides.
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𖧡 — ZHONGLI
under the homely protection of zhongli's weight on top of you, he greedily pumps his thick shaft in and out of your cunt, attempting to shift his hips a little so he could trace his cock head even better, more so finer into your walls that the intense precision of it stole the air off your lungs.
the passionate noises expelled by your bodies graze against the shell of your ears, the wet, smacking plunges burgeoning at every following thrust as zhongli twists his large palms around your knees with the force of his bodily strength before pressing them towards your chest, your complete frame now folded in half, your dripping cunt on full display and fuck, you're so damn tighter this way— and your precious husbands eyes edged on to the brink of swelling with translucent crystallines due to how unbelievably constricted your tiny hole got just when he sunk back inside, seeking out more.
pushing his tip through your pussy, he roams over your silken walls lingering on his shaft, the small oozes of your arousal and his cum spitting and drooling all over his dick as he rams it back into you, so he could claim you, dwell on top of the correct spot, so he could scatter his load all over your insides, his balls slapping against your flesh. zhongli doesn't give you time to breathe, leisurely fucking you through your helpless whines, puffed out hiccups of zhongli, zhongli, touching the depths of his heart as you coax a breathy chuckle from his throat— you're so fucking adorable when he gets you to that point of wobbly trembles taking over your frame, your half-broken sobs sealing the cracks of his soul.
zhongli likes to dwell on the thought of starting a family with you, his cute darling loving him and yearning for his body— it had always persisted through his consciousness whilst playing small fantasies on repeat. truly, it was difficult to hold himself back in bed, taken into consideration just how strong zhongli was, and he genuinely does try his best to not go beyond feral on you, holding himself back when he lastly drips his creamy cum down to your battered walls, your head lolling back and digging into the disheveled pillows as your mind breaks in shambles.
in spite of that, he gives you what your body shamelessly yearned for, his bangs sticking on his wet forehead as zhongli continues to paint your sloppy pussy and plaster his cum all over you, dragging his hard shaft over a sensitive patch on your responsive flesh. suddenly— you make a mistake and cry into his neck, whilst unbeknownst to you, you're turning him on again immediately, his cheeks inked in redness, his lips curved up, his eyes widening with a light bead of sweat forming just above his brow bone.
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𖧡 — THOMA
this was, without a doubt, the furthest you have ever gone with thoma this eventful night— and you cannot help the perpetual twitches of your body before you pant out a passionate cry, so blissful that it brought you to tears when he cums inside of you again— with a low, deep rumble of your name coming undone, a feral noise coruscating through your delicate shape with how impossibly intense and hot it was.
his white, creamy seed sowed a blistering hot spot on your inflamed cunt as his sticky load easily slips into you and overflows the deepest depths of your pussy, messily bubbling out instantly before thoma swiftly crowds it back into you— your fists trembling against your body when his cock messily slaps at your cunt.
but do not be mistaken, because his muscled arms won't move away from you, even after cumming large and hot, he keeps his hips steady at all times whilst slowly rutting in and out, in and out before lifting up one of your leg to settle it on top of his shoulder, coaxing minuscule effects of overstimulation on your throbbing pussy.
"fuck— i can't wait." thoma suddenly whispers at you, his lips leaving wet manifestations on your cheek before grabbing onto the swell of your breast with his palm, all the while forcing his thudding cock back into your poor cunt, your clit twitching in anticipation to climax once again. "i really can't want to start a family with you."
in a way, you could state that thoma meant it in a literal sense, because the split moment after spelling his words out for you to hear, he does not waste a single, more second before ramming you into a feverish daze— and he thinks it's adorable when all you can do is whine in response, your hips steadily moving up to receive his blows as you corner his neck with your trembling arms, your lips mouthing hasty please, please, please, and more, more, more, as a pearl of sweat forms on your forehead.
you clench so tight around him now, thoma thought he's about to break under the pressure you put him through— despite that being utterly determined to make this work flawlessly, prolonging your lust when he reaches down to your clit and flicks one calloused finger over the bristling bundle of pleasure, pending between rubbing rough circles over your inflamed nerves and nudging his fat cockhead inside your cunt walls, his balls straining from the heaviness of his milky whites when he once again— nuzzles his face inside your neck and noses over the familiar scent of your wet skin before shooting his full load into your tight pussy, his abs hot and red, flexing with the ridges imbedded in sweat.
thoma just loves his little sweetheart so much, and he'd never deny any requests you'd throw at him— and the moment he comes back from his strong high that made his heart almost burst out of his chest, he nips at your bottom lip all sweetly, his hands a little shaky, closing around your frame;
"i just love you so much, ‘can't wait to start a family with you."
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𖧡 — AYATO
your husband ayato was, in his untouched eminence, a kind man— compassionate and affectionate, and he works hard at his job to provide for his family, adores spoiling you and treasures your precious frame, as if it's the most delicate, most exquisite diamond in the world.
most importantly and beyond anybodys imagination, the yashiro commissioner likes to reveal a side of him, that he believes needs to devour you entirely;
"so tight, fuck!" he curses through a tensed jaw when he fucks you, and your ayato always made it his duty to tell you just how he was feeling because of you— what kind of pleasure he was experiences, how his soft, kissable lips touched up into a hazy smirk when you peer up at him, "i crave you, princess." he whispers again, your moans energizing him to hit all inside you, splitting you effortlessly with the thickness of his shaft reaches places.
it's quite easy for him, and he fills every last inch of your pussy that it overcrowds you and you start to believe that if you were to push down on your stomach right now, that you could actually feel him brush in and out.
another experimental thrust and you greedily squeeze up around him as he makes you swallow around his cock, gaping down before admiring just how fucking sinful it looked disappearing in your sloppy pussy— a ring of pearly whites presented around his shaft, almost like you're claiming him that particular way, the film of your arousal sticky and spilling all over his stiffened erection.
"w-where do you want me?" ayato leans over to mouth a kiss on your cheek before whispering wetly into your ear, hoping you are still able to respond despite looking like a hot mess by now— your legs quivering and on the brink of giving up on you if it wasn't for him strictly keeping them apart;
"inside..." you babble incoherently, inside, inside, inside, gasping, when he observes you struggling to properly take the fullness of his cock even though he had prepared you properly beforehand, his muscled arms looked against you before he drums his erection back and forth, your cunt creamed up and ready to take another one of his load.
"fuck— you don't even know how much i wanted you to say this." he confesses, the soft sounds of your cunt suckling him in appear like the finest music to his ears— and your body arches up into his chest, twisting slightly under him as you listen to a deep groan fall from his lips.
you whine, overstimulated, and squirm under the towering touch of his body when he obliges to your pleas, your bedroom feeling oppressively hot as he fills you at last, the trace alone, fuck, the warm feeling of ayato filling you with his seed made your head spin and rewire— he was so big, so hard and he just felt so good throbbing angrily inside of you.
his balls drip with your arousal and his cum, there was just so much of it that it made you dizzy, an aching pulse on your wet sex pawing its way through your sensitive places, your body jolting heavy while grinding on his hips, his dick sinking and bulging constricted around your insides, mouth agape and whining out a silent scream.
it took your breath away, truly, and now it’s silent and everything else stood still, only your foreheads pressed against one another, the room humid and smelling of lewdness and filth— but it's comforting in a way, and ayato’s hand drums up to your bare side, inches his way all up to your soft cheek before pushing you against his mouth with the same intensity as he was handling your pussy earlier, squeezing the air from your lungs, suffocating you with sweet nothings and praises, new confessions and small fantasies of breeding you once more.
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©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify
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capslocked · 7 months
Text
PARITY
male reader x sana & miyeon
21k words
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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.)
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