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#i'd just... have to figure out what that'd be

starheirxero · 3 months

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No but genuinely, how does Sun even get drunk... Like, is there some magic he's had this entire time that allows him to process alcohol in the same way as humans? Are nanomachines somehow susceptible to it??? Like I am truly wholly tryna figure something out for this because if robots really don't get effected by alcohol, then Sun's drinking really isn't a problem for the alcoholism reasons.

It might be a problem for like, maintenance reasons though. I don't think wine is particularly dangerous to robotic parts in any way—just as dangerous as water or soda or many other liquids—but if some of it isn't fully "processed" then it's probably gunking some stuff up internally. Maybe not to a fatal degree, but still to an annoying degree.

Idk just kinda thinkin' out loud. I think drinking headcanons are entertaining but they're really something that makes you go "yeah there's no way this could happen, I'm just bullshitting for fun" lmao 😭

#xero says things #i've seen people both be horribly worried abt sun and also be like 'oh lol he's just chillin!'#and both sides r valid in their own right! i simply am very confused HSJABDJSN #there's probs definitely other things that could act as alcohol to bots #i'd just... have to figure out what that'd be #i might see what other robo-fandoms do bc like #i can really only imagine its either A) made-up alc specifically for robots #or B) the bullshitting thing #or like. C) oil. which... is kind of a default for everything robot related atp huh BAJAHS /lh #but oh well. thats my two cents on the matter #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams sun

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violent138 · 2 months

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Time traveller Dick Grayson from the future: "Oh wow, you guys are fighting Mr.Freeze right now, I kind of remember that actually. Where are you at by now?"

Tim, figuring there's no harm: "Uh, we are kind of stuck on his location, don't suppose you'd help out?"

Dick, who has completely forgotten: "Sorry, I think that'd mess with something or another. Just know that you do figure it out." pats Tim on the back

Tim: "Great, very helpful. Also, in your time, does Freeze ever stop?"

Dick: "Stop what?"

Tim: "Trying to defrost his wife? Honestly, at this point I'd have given up, I can't imagine anyone that's worth it like that.

Dick, mentally telling himself: *do not think about the clones right now, do not think about the clones right now--*

Dick: "Well let's just keep an open mind, huh?"

#Dick: love does.... crazy things to a person #Tim:???#Dick: you got 99 problems but a boyfriend ain't one #*space time continuum implodes*#Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Batbros #Batfamily #Batman #Dc comics

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capslocked · 7 months

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PART & PARCEL

male reader x sana && tzuyu

18k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I can see that.”

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

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

And she comes around to you.

Why question it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is gorgeous.

And she says -

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

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

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

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

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

"What? That we were good friends?"

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

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

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

"No underwear," you note, watching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sana will explain it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holding her. Kissing her.

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

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

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

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

And she's right.

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

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

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

What you don't hear:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep.

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

And Sana sighs back.

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

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

"Work," Sana answers, flatly.

"Like-"

"Yup."

"She sings?"

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

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

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

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

Until -

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

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

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

"But... sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

She kisses you everywhere.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucking hell, Sana-"

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ask daddy to fuck his filthy little whore."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tzuyu can only respond by taking you impossibly deep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It'd make two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biding time for some perfect snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And well - it does happen. Eventually.

At the sink.

Just inside the en suite of your bedroom.

With Sana, being the way she is.

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

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

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

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

Whichever happens to come first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And why might that be?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's possible."

The room suddenly feels very full, very small.

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

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

It's surprisingly fitting.

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

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

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

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

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

Ostensibly for getting her so perfectly, perfectly raw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She does, she does, she does.

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

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

Nowhere to run or shy or look away.

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

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

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

And you believe her. You have to.

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

“Tzu, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(That’s a cue if you were looking for one, to get your arms fastened around Sana's small waist as she leans heavy into your chest.)

"More," The girl in your arms starts to complain, when you truly start fucking her.

"Hurt - hnn, please, more - fuck - harder," and all those sharp edges, that arrogance and conceit, it's all gone. Her pupils are blown out, an animal-like-desire set in its place - these are your invitations to wreck her, you realize, pushing so deep into her well-fucked cunt that she arches, and that her head knocks against Tzuyu's, that the small room is entirely empty save for these movements under the metal cloud of shower water, falling like rain.

This is all there is.

Tzuyu, smirking like she herself might get off on this.

Sana, begging.

And when Tzuyu buries a hot smile at her throat, nibbling at the skin - urging her, urging you, this sharp, "now give her the fucking dicking of a lifetime, will you?"

When Sana’s reduced down to her pleas of, please, harder daddy, and deeper, god, I can feel you so deep -

Well,

You’re all instinct. You sink your fingers into the firm skin of her ass, grab at the soft, slippery flesh around her hips. You sink your cock into her hole again and again.

The stretch is obvious and absolutely devastating, making Sana cry out and muffle her face in your shoulder. She makes a weak sort of sound around your neck - it could be anything, maybe please don't stop, or maybe please do - it doesn't matter.

"You look incredible like this baby, does he fuck you well?" Tzuyu croons, curling around her so her head rests on her shoulder - eyes watching Sana, meeting yours. "Oh, come on, aren't you always telling me about how it makes you feel - all this, full and hot and better than anyone? Now's your chance, no hiding from him. Or me."

"It's so, god it's - I -"

"Come on," Tzuyu squeezes out one long, eager moan with her hand dropped onto Sana's breasts, pulling and kneading like she owns it. "Tell him to cum in you baby, like the good fucktoy you are, let him cum up into that creaming pussy until you’re all sticky and leaking cum all over, just the biggest fucking mess."

There is measurable irony, you suppose, in how Sana brings these friends of hers back with the clear expectation to be fucked and torn apart, how they each want the same, all wanting to get her unraveling and her knees buckling. Only Tzuyu manages, more efficiently than anyone you've ever seen, to leave her all wanton and squirming against your hard, relentless thrusts into her needy cunt.

It's easy: this isn't difficult, there is nothing hard about falling for each and every promise her face has to offer - knowing her body's secrets and drawing the story out, line by line, so you can fall in love with it over and over, all while Sana starts to go helpless at the shape of your cock filling up that tiny, wanting cunt.

So you cum. Inside her. In one final push, filling her completely.

Sana opens her mouth like she's trying to say something - say yes - say daddy, say fuck yes daddy.

"That's it," Tzuyu strokes down Sana's belly. "I knew it - now keep your pretty thighs shut. Can't let even a drop out, understand?"

"Yes, fuck. It's - fuck - good, he feels," Sana finally sobs, chest heaving as you grind the last little bits of cum deep, so far and hot as it can get. All the way in. Where it's hot and wet and throbbing and slick.

Where it should stay, because you never pull out. You savor the last bit of your pulse, sporadic and lethargic. Because in truth - your mind is made and your mouth won't say it because you don’t need to.

Tzuyu's wringing the water out of Sana's hair, picking the strands into careful folds. "Alright then," and her grin is positively lecherous.

There's a bench in the corner of the shower where you eventually arrive, panting now that you realize it, and Sana makes herself at home right in your lap, face buried in your shoulder. Grinding her hips down in this almost imperceptible circle, circling back and feeling. Holding you inside and murmuring into your collarbone.

(Fucked, Sana is simply and unfairly beautiful.)

It’s all in that exhale of a moment, when Tzuyu catches water in cupped palms from the shower-head, wiping away what stray tracks of soapiness left on Sana's shoulder-blades and breasts and thighs. Her hands all up and down her body, sudsing the crease between leg and torso, down lower still, around her sensitive pussy and her folds.

You wonder if she can hear you swallow.

"Maybe we should actually wash up before we go again?"

The first thing Sana's free hand goes for when she stumbles through the threshold of your bedroom is a hair band you didn’t know she was storing in the top drawer of your dresser. She fidgets around keeping her towel wrapped tightly around her chest as though modesty were an option at this point.

"What?" she asks, fixing you with a slightly-irritated, slightly-teasing smirk. "You look like you have something you want to say."

"Nothing." You laugh out loud. "It's nothing. I'm just waiting."

She makes this face at you, guilty - so sorry about the contraband - as she twists her wrists and pulls the hair band round her middle-finger, wrapping her palms around her knot of wet blonde and bundling it into a half-assembled ponytail. It leaves the length of her nape exposed and vulnerable, neck flushed pink-from-showering in all the most wonderful of places.

"Waiting," is what she hones in on.

Tzuyu is pulling out of the bathroom. Her hands, washed clean and dried off with a fluffy, off-white towel. When she sets it down, she steps back, leaning on the frame. "He's waiting, for what I wonder?"

She's made of all things smooth-and-sharply-cut. Even from here, even through the sleep-haze fog, the silhouette of her nude figure gives itself to a small sense of anticipation. The long and smooth sweep of her chest, from breast, up and out, and then tapering along down to where her hips flare. She takes a step and then another and lets her fingers ride her side, from the very top of the shallow indentation in the dip of her waist, up. Then the tautness of her abdomen and further still, running slow and over the breast, coming to cup its full weight, pushing the bottom of the curve outwards.

"Waiting to," and she wets her lips in something akin to expectation. "Pound me into the fucking bed?"

You’re smiling when you explain, "I was going to say a request…"

Tzuyu’s dimples deepen. "You mean, like, we can tell you what to do?”

You sit on the bed, which is actually more of a proposition than you realize. "I suppose."

"Sana, sweetie, is there something I should be doing for him," Tzuyu looks up, wearing that trademark kind of playful expression that is definitely deliberate and not at all a tell. "Or maybe I've got this all wrong and you know exactly what you want."

"Well," you manage in reply, sounding surprisingly sane. "Don't both start coming forward with any ideas you have no intention of following through."

"And what if I have no ideas at all? What would you tell me then," is the challenge you find hanging around the slender outline of Tzuyu's wrists, and then at the back of her fingers, as she cards her hands through her hair and pulls it prettily over rise-and-falls of her collarbones, until it's barely curtaining her breasts.

(Barely.)

She crosses over to the bed - to you and Sana - and without much other movement than that, finds a knee on either side of you to let a lone fingertip skirt the tops of your hips. Flirting with the towel around your waist.

"For the record," Tzuyu says, flicking a glance at Sana and leaning down into your jawline. The palm she slides over your thigh is so warm, so promising of its heat and pressure you'd swear you can almost taste the touch of her. "I never, ever go back on my word."

"Try me," you tell her.

"I do have some, ideas." Every time her fingernail ends up between her teeth, it’s another drop in a well that runs god knows how deep. "Though very few of them involve this towel."

“And about the ones that do?”

"Well," Tzuyu starts to purr - reaching a hand down and spreading the flat of her palm on your chest, "I figured if I ever wanted something to bite down on, well, you know."

It's just a subtle little rock - and the perfect view: she starts like this, her hair all tucked behind one shoulder, the arch of her back lifting. Slow at first, Tzuyu only pausing after every other short breath to lick and kiss your lips with hers, and the edges of her teeth, all soft and insistent. You are sure - that with a subtle twitch, a minor jerk of the knee or hip - she is almost right over the perfect place, and when her hips grind in these micro-friction little motions that have her sighing and pushing herself flush, it's clear that all she's looking to do is rub her cunt down all over the erection you've been holding in since the last time your towel was hanging somewhere above your waist.

"Hold, please," Sana interrupts, when she leans over and plucks something out of the messy contents of the nightstand - a few hair clips, and, more importantly, a condom. She swears aloud when the package tears the wrong way, but she's quick to apply a lip balm-slick finger-tip on the inside of the ring, and hands the thing to Tzuyu by way of a passing roll, "so, I assume you've got this under control."

"Give me that."

"Mm. Have at it."

There is an intrusive thought that finds its place, wedged somewhere at the base of your skull when Tzuyu starts the careful act of lowering herself down your shaft - like this, it has an inevitability - a forward momentum, the familiar sense of excitement building a force in your heartstrings. Sana must have a similar sensation, as she scoots her ass and slides one hand over the same place you feel that force thrumming, her palm reaching right for Tzuyu's ass, while Tzuyu hisses out a tiny sound at the added stretch.

"Careful," Sana says, fingers drawn back from the cleft of Tzuyu's beautiful ass with a string of slick that's unmistakably arousal. "You try going back after having his cock. And trust me, there's nothing to go back to. Like, ever."

"That must be why you're always like this," is Tzuyu's cock-sure comeback, finding herself flush with your hips.

You're biting down. You're holding back. You're probably digging nails into your palms hard enough to break skin, because you could be double, triple wrapped, latex running up your length like a goddamn balloon and you'd still feel the hot, melting perfection of Tzuyu's pussy swallowing your cock in one, slick, seamless motion. There isn't any sound either more pleasing than that hitch-groan-slip you hear as Sana helps guide Tzuyu's hips back, forth, back again and to a steady beginning of this proper pace: smooth and full.

You both need a second, because, fuck - and she's biting into a grin. Eyes already half lidded as the speed builds. As Tzuyu starts really enjoying the drag of it, the feeling. The god-damn-fucking-stretch.

"Oh? Like what?" Sana asks, smirk filling out her lips to bridge the silence you're both groaning into. "Like what?"

"Greedy," Tzuyu says. The only part that really needs to get filled in. "Because he fucks the self-control right out of you."

Now Sana lets that settle, and it's not like she doesn't know. Or doesn't understand. And still, "Mm. That does sound like me, doesn't it, daddy?"

(Yeah, well- you- )

Tzuyu watches you watch what happens next: Sana peeling out the cotton slip of her bath towel - sizing up just how good Sana looks. Fuck-me-raw.

And then she laughs, deep and gorgeous. "Didn't he just do a number on you - hn, god. Can you hear him all up inside me? Fucking, splitting me apart."

It's true.

All of it.

The way Tzuyu rides your cock. Faster, faster, rolling her body and drawing her hands together behind the length of her hair and neck until the point of her chin is upturned, showing off the hollow of her throat. A tension that glitters with sweat.

The tightening in the space between the bottom of her ass and your cock - all of it is heaven. This slow-and-rough, rough-and-fast. Tzuyu picks the tempo of it to fuck out a particular pleasure that has you catching her and pulling her closer to your body, holding her through the upward grind, where your cock meets the heat of her cunt - pressing her closer.

That's it.

Possessive. That's what both girls have the good grace to read.

Sana's hands come up Tzuyu's ribs, fingertips skirting the muscle-taut-surface of her stomach, the bumps and grooves of her ribs, and up further still, riding the path of her breasts as they're bobbing-jostled and going full-on heavy - her thumbs go at her nipples. Rolling around the hardened tips - the faintest tug at them, enough to start to pull - then just teasing them between thumb and forefinger and loving the sight of you wincing. Loving that you love that.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Sana laughs.

"It's a real show," you bite the compliment out. The very least you can get to.

(You'll be fucked if you can hide how much you want to stay buried in this girl and cum a fucking waterfall between those perfect, creamy thighs. Oh, she knows. The dirty little smile, the filthy laugh, you're holding tight - even if the act is useless.)

"Like how she clamps down," she hums. "That's the part I've always loved, you know. She just does everything so slow, so fucking good, so... deliberate."

There's a fist in Tzuyu's hair and no trace of sympathy or self restraint in her friend when Sana tells her, "Baby, ride him slow for me, can you do that?"

When Tzuyu sucks a hiss through her teeth, mouth caught around the sharp intake, Sana just licks a slow line along the curve of her lower lip - as though saying, baby, like the slut you are, remember who asked nicely?

And it turns out: slow is worse. You can feel every tiny tremor of friction, every little shift of Tzuyu's cunt squeezing you. Clinging tightly. Your fingers wrap around her rib cage and hold her right as her ass hits your lap, while her head rolls back into her own hair. It is enough, finally, to draw an out-of-breath little pant out of her, making a beautiful blush crawl and spread across her cheeks - there.

(Oh, fuck, your brain echoes. So, you want slow, that's what the noise from your throat says as she eases back, rising up. So slow, you-can-feel-all-of-me. She makes the effort so flawlessly, it's fucking you both over, because she's looking at Sana with this flutter-beat look, eyes wide, wet and round and pleading.)

It gets that much worse the minute Sana pushes her down by the shoulders. Giving her some resistance. Showing you both she can take you inch by slow goddamned inch.

"Harder. Deeper, sweetie."

Tzuyu does everything Sana says she'll do, loving her fingers in her hair, pulling tight. Control given as easily as that. Because she looks just how she feels: utterly surrendered. A helpless kind of want, like there's something broken in her chest when the head of your cock pushes her deep, deep. To the point she feels something more than an ache.

"Want it," Tzuyu whispers out against Sana's smile. "From the back, like you promised," she says, and takes the shudder out of your breathing.

Sana cups her jaw, laughing. She puts one arm around Tzuyu's throat and bites at her chin, at her ear. "I bet he'd do just about anything to give you what you want, baby."

Tzuyu’s hips snap down onto yours again. Melting your cock in this thick, molten heat.

And again, faster. Needier.

The kind of movements across your lap that make everything louder - a beautiful chorus of small-sounds. Slaps and squelching. Wet and gasping and begging and skin-on-skin. You'd never, ever considered the act a competition before, not with Sana. But when Tzuyu seems to be seeing who can pull the most erotic of noises out from underneath your ribcage - or the highest pitched sigh - the wetter and louder it all gets -

"Sana."

"Tzu."

Tzuyu rides the pressure and finds her voice, head thrown back, jaw slack. "Sana - tell him to, I'm gonna, soon. Tell him what to do."

"Beg for him," and Sana gives her the fakest-of-all-pouts when she slips her hand along Tzuyu's inner thigh, nearing her where the two of you meet, then slowing her pace, bringing you both to an immediate stand-still, while her fingertips continue, ghosting across the shape of your stomach. "He doesn't need anything less than the truth."

Tzuyu's face. It's the most gorgeous thing you've seen. Her hips are winding slow against you when you hit a spot you're not entirely sure either of you can recreate at your own whim: deep inside. Her eyes as wide as they can be. All of her sharp edges now just these subtle things - the very shape of the shadow beneath her clavicle, the tensing of her thighs at your sides, the gentle lines that curl up from the wide bottoms of her hips when your fingers thread up her belly, palm open flat.

"I want," is where Tzuyu starts, not hiding it any part. "I want you to bend me over the bed."

And in a breathless voice:

"Please, please let me have what I want. Just bend me over the bed, shove my legs apart and take me. Hold me down. Fuck me and fill me and don't let me move or say a thing. Until we're both fucking finished."

You swallow. Hard.

Because here's what Sana's brought you: this tall brunette with an impossibly beautiful ass and thighs to die for, a sin-full mouth. The curves in her waist and back and tits a distraction, that you might try to map out until you're so lost you forget how to leave, how to ever take your cock out of this tight cunt.

"Is that a thing you can do?" Tzuyu practically purrs in one long tone, pushing herself up your waist, until your cock falls out and hangs there. Until you can only see all of this clear, gorgeous skin in front of you and hear her pretty little moan. "God, please, daddy, I’m begging you."

(She says this last part in a way that lets you know this isn't something either of you will get over easily, the kind of pleasure, the feeling and the flash. She's unreadable - almost, not quite- just too honest, there's nothing else for you to believe. Maybe that's where the shiver comes from, or your palms itching, or the sounds of your bedding ruffling as you spin her onto her back, her tummy - pull up on her hips until they're sky high and you can palm her breasts, let her press her knees up and apart on the duvet. Until you get that first look down the column of her spine and the sudden, stunning shape of her ass in a view you never want to say goodbye to.)

Tzuyu slides her hands across your sheets, all this stretch. A flex of muscle. When she opens her hips and you push two fingers deep, inside, easy - then back out -

"How much of that," Tzuyu interrupts, blushing furiously, "do I have left to beg with? Please."

- because she's been soaked and aching all day just thinking about it. Just begging for a good fucking - or so she told Sana, who now giggles and leaves small kisses up the ridge of her spine, crawls alongside the dip-line of the mattress, and after curling her fingers around the column of Tzuyu's throat - smooths a single fingernail up and down and presses, tracing, the groove of her jaw as you nudge your cock against her.

It’s not on purpose, this needlessly drawn-out moment - simple brush of latex against her slick, dripping folds, the tightening in her core and how it matches the tension in Sana's wrist and the coarseness of the bed-linens and the hardness of you - but everything eventually folds, into her.

And you're not helping, the way you're fastened to the narrow point of her waist like it's a handle. Your thumbs riding the arch of her hips, taking every opportunity to sink your fingers hard into the flesh, grip tighter and push, pulling Tzuyu, if only to really work that friction between your hips.

"Fuck, it's all in. Finally." Sana gasps like she's the one being bent, arched, fucked from behind, then lays herself down against the length of Tzuyu's shoulder, chin bumping her cheek. Watching Tzuyu. Taking it all in.

You have a hard time making it out, but Tzuyu starts this half-whimpered litany about how she needs to be fucked (that is, roughly - deep and long, or maybe rough and short and deep, or whatever, as long as it makes her lose composure), followed with some shoddy mix of cursing and your name and Sana's - the things all three of you might consider for another chance meeting.

And as you're following up the suggestion with a low groan, that's exactly how you notice that grind in her hips - a jerk back, a twist, bucking against you. She feels so, so incredibly tight when she writhes onto you, squeezes. Like she wants to tear her heart out her chest, she's so overwhelmed. So thoroughly and totally taken by this fuck. By you. "Harder," is all she says.

This one line does it, then two more. All in-and-out thrusts from behind, fuller the second time, then the third.

Only when you find Tzuyu peering back over her shoulder with a pair of eyes that say, please, pretty-please, all liquid and warm and wanting. "Fucking ruin that cunt, I want - god. Do you have the slightest idea how much," and that is where the words disappear into a slow and sticky whine.

"Yeah baby," Sana whispers.

She knows what it is. Tzuyu wants so much more, so you give it. Give her the just-this-side-of-ruthless fucking and the slow-pace grind you know can push her right over the edge. Give her more, all of you, and get her hands twisting in the pillow and grabbing fistfuls of sheets, burying her face into the space above her wrists and nearly choking on her hair with how she moans and yelps - loud.

Her whole body jolts forward the next time. The arch to her back deepening. Body drawing in on a flawless line.

Tzuyu does cum. Eventually.

She keens and rolls and begs you not to pull out or slow, just stay put and fill her with your cum - keep fucking going, please. The only thing keeping her from landing flat on your mattress as she practically unravels around your cock are fingers you have under her hips, tightening. Bruising.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me, you’re,” you’re railing out of her lungs, where the words hang on sex-stale air.

First with Sana whispering promises into her ears and letting Tzuyu swallow, and suck around the length of her index, then two, fingers. Then licking a kiss into her mouth, tongue tangling up hers and finishing up the act with, "cum for us, Tzu, like the sweet girl you are - you take him so well."

Then, with your hand held over her ass-

(She could cry from it. From how everything pulls you in, like a riptide, and, really, with no regard for things like safety or drowning.)

-the utterance off her lips has your stomach twisting into knots:

"Keep," you hear her ask Sana. Barely getting the words out as you ride, fast. "Please, keep, telling him that I - god."

It gets worse before it gets better.

"I can't - I need; fuck, I can’t, with the rubber, I want him," and Sana smirks like she knew all along. "Sana, please-"

"You want the real thing, sweetie. Isn't that right, baby? Hm. Of course it's okay," and Sana soothes a hand through her friend's fringe, pushes it away from her eyes and over her ears, making something that sounds like an adoring laugh slip out. "You want him to fuck his cum so deep in that pussy, I know you do, don't worry."

When you slow down the grinding, wipe the sweat from your face, Sana gets your attention and nods to the very place your cock is disappearing between the cheeks of Tzuyu's ass, "go ahead. If you want the mess-up, sweetie - let's make sure that's exactly what he'll give you."

Who exactly wants what most is hard to say. Sana's the one pulling off the condom, the rubber stretching to an obscene limit that has you fearing for your life should it snap back before it breaks. Tzuyu is already a sort of gaping mess with it all, her own fingers snuck under to rub harsh circles in the absence of cock and something firm and heavy to fill her. To feel full.

And there's you, asking, or maybe, double-checking: "Tzuyu, you're saying you want me to-"

"She doesn't care," is what you're interrupted with, courtesy of Sana. "Fuck a baby into her cunt, that's what she wants."

(Like you wouldn't fucking love it too. Or have the frame of mind to even begin to unpack all of that.)

It’s a lot, admittedly.

And not just because Tzuyu has never looked better: on all fours, pressed, and presented. Legs all the way apart and ass and thighs in your grip, with that smile all pointedly certain and wild-eyed, like, she knows, that you know exactly what to give her - what she really wants - filling her so full and marking your claim by fucking your cum right to her very core.

Tzuyu drags her head back, so she can peek over her shoulder and meet your eyes.

She does things. Like sighing this small sound and laughing and - she has this thing for noises, for things breaking under the strain, where she won't say a word, except to murmur some part of your name into your jawline, a raggedness in her breathing. Sheer hunger.

"I want - want you to, fuck me."

You will. Or you are. Or you're going to, only - Sana's lips are fast around your cock, fingers fluttering delicately between your thighs and drawing these stuttering sounds in your breath, "I will. I will. I'm - I will."

Sana just hums, copper hair bobbing in place. Her hot mouth and wet fingers pulling and sliding and pulling and sliding. Tongue moving in all the ways she knows you like.

Which, here’s a fact: Sana can be mean. No one would believe it.

But sometimes this is the price of admission. You have to be honest about what it takes, how, exactly, you intend to break this beautiful brunette whose ass is swaying back and forth in this mesmerizing little waggle of the hips. It's hard not to marvel, not to ask questions and not wonder at what a pair of friends so similar and so opposite do to each other and other people and to themselves in those small, private hours and space no one else shares, that has you panting and burning and her clasping the hollow of your neck and asking with her body if this is okay, because sometimes, in moments of absolute need, just a glance can mean your end.

So, there's no tease; Sana is well aware of what it feels like when you're throbbing and ready to burst - she's working you up and over and right to that point of no return-

"Can I? Fucking-"

"Fine," she replies, maybe having now considered every other way you might spill a hot load out and make a mess of the sheets. "Have at her," and a flick of tongue catches around the tip of your cock - the final tease, the best punishment.

And the promise of how Tzuyu makes that perfect whimpering cry. Something entirely wounded. Because as soon as it begins - your cock in the shallow depth of her creaming cunt - you're both made aware how she's wetter than she was an hour ago and clenching at nothing, hands balling themselves in frustration, palms bunched white-knuckled up in fists. She needs something, anything. Something for her to squeeze against. For her to bear down on and bounce her cunt off-

The sound all three of you make when you grit your teeth and bury yourself deep into her pussy is a guttural, aching thing, with you biting a lip and gasping. Tzuyu half-growling-half-sobbing into the sheets.

It doesn't matter that she lets Sana cover her open and slack mouth in an attempt to quiet it.

It doesn't matter because in a blink, the exact point in which you sink completely inside - where it's the first, the best, feeling of Tzuyu’s hot pussy taking your cock.

(Mind-numbing, is the word that doesn't come to you.)

Under you, Tzuyu is writhing and hot and tight into the mattress - and so desperate.

"Please," is about all that gets away from her. Which is just too cute to ignore: she's been dying to be fucked, ever since stepped into your foyer and was introduced by the softest, most deliberate of gestures that wound up being all-too intimate. "Please- I need - harder, fucking-"

Sana takes to touching you, her own little form of enjoyment that ends with her fingertips mapping the shape of your jaw. Pupils blown, "Isn't she amazing?" Sana laughs into your neck.

"Fucking," is what your first real stroke back into Tzuyu pulls out, “unreal."

The friction has you both grinding your bodies together at the base, and she arches, this throaty moan, before looking back up at you and letting her mouth fall open - this wordless sentence of plea, over and over again. She's shaking. Body-full. It's almost something painful to see, that she's so undone - and what if you were the only person who'd ever fucked her like this: into ruin.

Tzuyu clenches around the next thrust - begging, so-sore-and-begging to cum.

The demand is practically written in her muscles, and all you want is for her to let go for the second, third, last time - until she loses track of the count. To get there before you have the time to register that she is actually doing it. She's already half-way gone and at your mercy - her only choices now, being: cum, or let you chase the orgasm you're currently rubbing all around the curve of her cunt.

Sana swallows her scream when the first little cry comes, that you've edged out of her. And it gets worse and better the second time her ass meets your thighs, where she's making a real mess on your hips and all but yelling out her orgasm in her state of such incoherent stutter and disarray. The arch to her back is this thing out of your best imagination, which has you - pounding out all her noises - gripping and curving over the plane of her stomach. Until Tzuyu's beginning to make these different cries, somewhere new, somewhere you're finding a whole lot deeper.

"Hold her ass up and fuck her 'til she's full of cum," is the advice you get from Sana in the end, as you fuck her and fuck her through the tumultuous rise and fall of orgasm after orgasm, "oh baby, does it hurt so good? Do you feel that heat spreading down your thighs and getting you all slick? You always knew the best toys are the ones that get bred, sweetheart."

And from her, barely, "fuck, yes."

That's what does it: the desperation just that tangible in all your voices.

Sana manages to get her lips on yours. A kiss that could knock the wind out of your sails under normal circumstances, one that curls a fist and tugs around a familiar part of you. But Tzuyu's eyes roll and drop low, fluttering shut, while your hips crash in quickening succession:

"Fuck-you're so-perfect, cum in me again, daddy - make me," and, "please, so fucking full, just give me more. Want more of you, until it's-"

Tzuyu gets you. Just there. Just the way you needed it. Just like that.

There's something addictive in how her muscles clench and grab around the head of your cock - drawing everything you'd been holding back to a painful front, and - Sana's taste in your mouth still so sweet, mixed with salt and sweat, while you fuck and pound, with absolutely zero respite. Cum buried deeper and deeper until it's spilling and Tzuyu whines for the filthy feeling. Until you're fucked through, emptying every single drop into her open cunt. Until your legs feel sore, a slight shake all through the muscle and the tension in your neck and shoulders, and you're growling this thing that might be her name, and "Tzu, my god, baby, you feel, so amazing," in between thrusts.

It earns you an appreciative whimper.

Something breathy and not-at-all restrained. She doubles down on it when your cock slides out of her swollen, well-fucked cunt.

At first, she only hums a sleepy smile and turns her face in toward the touch, eyes closed and unresponsive. A long exhale. Even like this - especially, perhaps - Tzuyu is lovely.

Either out of exhaustion or overbearing satisfaction, you collapse into her - bodies folding up like that old-cliche about a stack of cards or dominoes - with your cheek to her back and your arms wrapping around her chest, tight, trying to squeeze. Like you're hugging someone from behind. Which isn't too far off. Because for the next five or ten or fifteen minutes or a half-hour, you lie there, pressing your face in against the side of her neck, smelling her hair - how sweet the strands are - then down along her shoulders, and under, listening to the soft way Tzuyu falls into her breaths.

In, out. In, out.

Sana follows all the while with, "should we not have let her ride, first?"

To which, Tzuyu says, "fuck off."

Sana brushes it off, crawls around your shoulders and slips two, three, five kisses into your forehead. That's when you know to shuffle over, dragging and tugging limbs and muscles and bone in the same direction - careful not to let the sticky sensation linger anywhere it shouldn't. Not even for an instant.

The three of you are laying in a total fucking mess. But it's your mess, and that's beautiful in a sort of thought-provoking poetic way.

You turn your head. Tzuyu's there, still, blinking slowly.

"Hello again, hi," you say and the smile comes up all sorts of natural. "Okay?"

Her gaze shifts into something vague, so much quieter, but she nods. So it must be. Okay.

“Is it too early?” Tzuyu asks two weeks later, and nothing has ever, ever started like that.

She’s at your doorstep, a little too dressed up for the middle of the afternoon, hair pulled away from her face in two loose braids, bright eyes, lip-gloss that shimmers just enough. Something innocent in the whole way she looks and stands and smiles. Nothing, on the surface, that gives the truth away.

You lift an eyebrow, skeptical. Always. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Yes you were," and she dangles a set of keys.

"I'm sorry, did you steal those?"

The laughter from her chest is as surprising as it is gorgeous, rich and thick like molasses, rolling over the shape of her tongue. It hits you hard that two weeks - really, any amount of time - it’s not nearly long enough.

And before Tzuyu can admit as much out loud, Sana chirps from her spot aside the door, knee bent and grinning, "maybe I did."

"Well," you say, hands on your hips, "this is all a little..."

"Irregular, I know." Sana's giving her best impression of you: so exasperated.

"Which is, honestly," she continues to explain, pushing away from her perch and approaching in these small, gentle steps. "We need, that thing you promised you'd do," she trails a finger up the buttons of your shirt, under your jaw. You're already drowning. "Whenever" - is her very worst torture - "we called."

(Might just be a little bit of trouble, is the one honest answer, to whatever you were trying to start when you saw their faces and recognized their bodies and said: yes, come inside and meet me and fuck my brains out, all that.

What a way to begin. What a story it'll be.)

a/n: these two are fucking adorable.

#twice smut #sana smut #tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #twice sana smut #twice tzuyu smut

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bluecollarmcandtf · 3 months

Text

Dads, Dads, and more Dads

I did something I shouldn't have! My buds all bailed on our night out, so I hit the bar and got hammered by myself. Somehow, I ended up blackout drunk in a fortune teller's shop. I remember crying about how much I wanted a fatherly figure in my life. She did this weird ritual to make me feel better. I thought it was a joke at the time, but I know now it wasn't...

"Buddy, get out of bed! Breakfast is ready!"

A pang of guilt empties my stomach. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling with absolutely no urge to eat. It's been two days since that fortune teller put a curse on me, and I have no idea how to live with myself. I obviously can't pretend her little ritual wasn't real anymore.

"Hey, Josh," I nervously answer, stepping into the kitchen to look at my roommate.

"Can't sleep all day, buddy. Eat up!" Josh gives me an endearing smile that sends shivers down my spine.

A few days ago, Josh was a lazy, rude asshole who was only good for paying his part of the rent. We were chill enough roommates, but he only ever talked to me when he wanted a second opinion on girls he saw at the gym. The guy was easily the biggest douchebag in our friend group, always showing off and making someone else the butt of his joke.

Looking at him now, I'd laugh! If only I didn't feel so guilty for his personality's erasure.

"Look at the time! I better get moving. That yard won't maintain itself!" Josh flashes the brand new watch on his wrist. The thing is clunky and old: the kind of wristwatch you'd expect a dad to wear.

"You know we're only renting this place for the semester, right?" I search his expression for any trace of the slimy old Josh, "The landlord is supposed to take care of the yard!"

Josh just chuckles and mutters something about wanting to impress the neighbors. He even has the audacity to reach out and tussle my hair. My face gets hot as a guy, only a month older than myself, treats me like a child.

That curse really screwed up his brain. When Josh found me the morning after, something just broke in him. He immediately jumped to my side and promised to help me nurse my hangover, and it didn't stop there. After he tucked me in for a nap, he drove straight to the mall, buying a whole new wardrobe of cargo shorts and polos. I thought he was just hitting the gym like usual, so when he came back dressed up like the suburban father he hates, I barely even recognized him.

"Have a good day, buddy!"

Josh ignores my protests and plants a big smooch on the back of my head before marching out of the kitchen. It was bad enough my roommate was calling me buddy! Does he really have to kiss me like that too? It makes me uncomfortable to see my scummiest friend infused with such insane paternal instincts, but this is kind of what I asked for. Right?

I slam the back door shut and look at my rusty old bike. Today is already getting on my nerves and I'm not in the mood to peddle all the way to class. Maybe, that guy next door hasn't left for work yet...

"Oh, hey there, Kiddo!"

The deep voice of my neighbor makes me relax a little. I see all six and a half feet of him climb out of the car and stare at me with the same look Josh had on earlier. He's a father of four, but ever since my night out, he looks at me like I'm him his only real son.

"Hey, Mr. Jones," I mumble back.

"Glad I caught you, Kiddo. I was just about to pull out of the driveway," he explains, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "You want a me to drive you to class today?"

I push aside my feelings of guilt and manage a smile, "That'd be great."

Mr. Jones beams back brilliantly. He claps me on the back, which knocks me a bit off balance. Before I know it, he's guiding me into his passenger seat and asking me to hold his briefcase.

"Just let me text work to let them know I'm coming in later than normal," he adds while texting on his flip phone, "How are classes going, kiddo?"

I shrug off the question with a one-word answer. Now that everyone's forced to act like my dad, I get asked about my classes like twenty times a day. My thoughts drift, but Mr. Jones keeps up the conversation, lecturing me about good grades or something. I don't know how a guy who barely knows me can have so many opinions about my academics!

"You know what!" I cut him off just before he starts reminiscing on his own college years, "Just drop me off at this cafe."

Worry lines form on his forehead, "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you the whole way?

"No. Just give me some cash."

Mr. Jones gives me a look of disappointment before shimmying his wallet out of his khakis. He counts off forty dollars and hands it over.

"Can I have a little more?" I press quietly.

Look, I know it's wrong to abuse this bizarre new dynamic between us, but I'm a poor college kid! If he doesn't want to give me his money, he can just say no. It's not like I'm holding a gun to his head!

"Sure thing, kiddo," he gives me a dry smile and pulls out a couple more twenties, "Don't spend it all in one place!"

"Ok, bye," I awkwardly announce and hop out.

"Wait!" his husky baritone calls from the car window, "You want a ride home after class?"

"Nope! Just go back to your own life," I yell stiffly. Even though I don't turn to watch him drive off, I hear his car pull away. It's just a car, but it somehow sounds disappointed in me too. I try to swallow the growing lump in my throat and step into the cafe for some much needed coffee...

"Morning, young man. What can I get you?"

The lump in my throat seems to get bigger when I see the waiter. He's a lot hotter of a man than I expected to find in this little cafe.

Already, the way he looks at me is shifting. That curse is transforming whatever thoughts he'd just had in his head. He's feeling more and more protective and responsible for me with every second he looks at me. At this point, I've grown accustomed to the mysterious effect I have on older guys. It's only been a few days, but I've seen so many random dudes go through this psychological transition. It's like they're discovering a new purpose in life: me.

"Uh yeah, I guess a cappuccino would be nice," I mutter with a dry mouth.

"You got it, young man!" he gives me a friendly wink, "Anything else I can get you?"

I know I shouldn't push my luck, but I can't help myself with this guy, "A hug would be nice! I've been feeling a bit isolated lately..."

The waiter instantly puts his pen and paper down and holds out his arms. His welcoming smile is gone, and a look of genuine concern waits for me, "Come here."

I practically leap into his arms, and he eagerly accepts me, pulling me into his chest like it's where I belong. It feels amazing to be held by this man, even if I don't know him at all. I could stay here all day if he'd let me.

"Seems like you're enjoying the hug," the waiter eventually chuckles into my ear.

For a second, I'm confused, but then I realize I'm fully erect and the waiter can definitely feel it poking into his waist.

"Sorry!" I jump back, searching for any other witnesses.

"Hey, don't be!" he assures me, "It's a completely normal part of life, ok?"

"You're not mad?" my voice comes out more timid than I expected, but I can't help myself. I just accidentally boned up someone who was trying to be nice. What makes it worse, is that he's probably only trying to be nice because of my ridiculous curse.

"Of course not," he affirms, "I can help you take care of it, if that's ok, young man?"

"What do you mean?" My face burns red hot.

"Oh, let me show you," he grabs me by the hand and leads me away from the table, "There's no need to be ashamed of any part of your body! In fact, this part can be a lot of fun."

I'm left speechless as the waiter gives me another fatherly wink, but I can't linger on what he's said. I'm being pulled into the men's restroom. I hear the click of the door locking behind us as he pulls me in front of the mirror, sliding up behind me. I can feel his chest on my back and his thighs against my ass.

If I was hard before, I'm practically bursting now!

"It's time you had the talk, young man," he calmly speaks in my ear like this is a completely normal thing for a waiter to do.

He starts droning on about men, women, sex, and where babies come from, but I'm not listening. I obviously know what sex is, and I think I'm having it right now. His hands slip under my arms and wrap around my waist to unzip my pants. My rock-hard cock bursts out of my jeans the second they're open, and a moan of surprised ecstasy fumbles over my lips just when the waiter gets to his point on male anatomy.

Does the waiter really believe a dad should do this for their sons?

He starts talking me through how to jack off. He must think I've never masturbated before, and I'm sure as hell not telling him that I have! Hearing him narrate every wrist movement, every ball tug, every nipple pinch is just too much fun! Before long, the waiter has me violently shooting on our reflections in the mirror.

"And there you go," he pats me on the back while I stand there stunned. The waiter steps back and looks at me like he's proud of the great life lesson he'd just taught me, "Now you know how to get rid of those boners of yours. Let me go get your coffee started."

I stand in the bathroom, collecting myself, as the waiter finally tends to my coffee order. This dad-curse the fortune teller gave me might be more fun than I originally thought. If I can get one daddy to randomly jack me off, then who knows what else I can do! Rushing out of the bathroom, I already have so many ideas flooding through my head...

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Sorry!" I shout.

In my excitement, I almost crash into the cafe's porter. A little less graceful, and I would have sent every single dish crashing to the floor. Glancing at the face of my would-be victim, I almost moan when I see get a good look at him. I can tell his head is already filling up with the same artificial need to be my father.

"No damage done," he assures me, lingering back to stare at me like I'm some lost puppy.

"Don't you...um...have to bus some tables or something," I breath nervously.

"Oh yeah," he frowns, "Sorry to get in your way."

He shakes his head like he's trying to lose the strange new thoughts in his brain. I stand there frozen like a deer in headlights as he walks away. He glances back at me before turning his attention to a cluttered table.

"Wait!" I yell, "Come back!"

The busboy drops the tub of dirty dishes and rushes back over like his life depends on it. The sight of this worried hunk running back to me makes me hard all over again.

I grab him and pull him into a hug, but his arms quickly take over and support me. Once again, my boner is rock hard and poking into the body of some random guy I just met!

"You have a car?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"You want to drive me around?"

"Of course!" he yanks off his apron and puts a hand on my back.

The waiter comes back around and hands me my coffee, looking at his coworker in utter confusion.

"Cover his shift," I demand, "He's driving me to school."

The waiter nods with an open mouth. He does look completely confused, but there's also a hint of jealousy in his stare. I think he's mad the busser gets to chauffeur me around: poor guy.

The porter doesn't seem bothered to be walking out of his job. He's busy smiling at me like I'm his whole world. I slide into his humble car and tell him where my class is. Before long, he's pulling out of the parking lot and driving me to school. I use our time to get to know him. I'm honestly not all that interested in learning about his life, but I do enjoy watching him talk. It doesn't take a while for us to get to campus, but before I get out I grab his hand and put on my best puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know when you get off work, but I'd love it if you came by my apartment. My roommate is trying to clean it up, but he could really use the help of someone more experienced."

"I love housework!" he just answers, "I'll be there!"

I snicker and slam the car door shut. I might be an hour late, but I'm finally here for class. It's time to give my professor a visit...

"Yeah, I can unbutton my shirt!"

My professor fell under my spell just as fast as the others. He had a look of anger when I walked in; probably from me skipping his class, but that expression quickly warped as he looked at me. Within seconds he was rounding his desk to give me a big old hug. Apparently, he "forgave" me for being so late.

"You like what you see?" he asks, gesturing to his hairy chest, "Trying to check out your old man?"

"You're my old man?" I ask, kind of surprised by the goofy smile on his face.

"Well, no," he bumbles, "But I am a strong male influence in your life! I'm like your dad!"

I nod my head like he's just made a really good point, "Oh. Then you probably want to treat me like your son. Right?"

"Yeah!" he holds his arms out to animate his enthusiasm.

Professor Reid has a reputation for being stiff and demanding in the classroom, so his new personality completely contradicts his true character. The man I know would never smile at a student, let alone bare his chest to them.

"So, I'm off the hook for missing today's class right?"

"Well," he pauses, "Sure."

"Can I skip the rest of the semester?"

"What, no. I want you to have a good education, my boy!"

I creep up to him and place my hands on his hairy torso, feeling the fur and the weight of his body. Professor Reid sure has a lot to hide under all those dress shirts he always wears.

"I'm just so lucky to have a daddy like you," I purr, "A daddy who's willing to do everything he can for me."

My professor grabs my arm and stares into my eyes. With a serious tone, "I am willing to do everything for you, my boy."

"Alright," I smile, "You should give me private lessons then..."

"What a great idea," he's back to grinning like an idiot.

"...and you should always do it in your underwear!"

"I can do that. From now on, I'll be stripped and ready before you come in!" He smiles at me like this is the best decision he's ever made in his life.

"Alright, now pull the rest of your clothes off," I command, "I want to see what the rest of my daddy looks like."

Mr. Reid doesn't hesitate to start stripping in front of his favorite student. I could probably get this guy to do anything now. I can already imagine our private lessons; me lounging in his leather armchair and him on his knees with his mouth full. Maybe that curse isn't a curse at all. Maybe it's actually a gift...

"Hey, buddy! How was class today?"

Josh looks tired from a long day of yardwork, but he still seems excited for me to come home. The lawn looks immaculate compared to our neighbors', and I have my roommate to thank for that.

"The grass looks great, dad."

"Dad! Woah!" Josh yells ecstatically, "Buddy, I can't tell you how much it means to hear you say that."

Josh sweeps me up in his arms. Apparently, it doesn't bother him to be the father figure of a guy only a few months younger than himself. It doesn't bother me anymore either. I kind of like that he smells like aftershave and bacon now instead of weed and sweat.

"Let's go inside, buddy. I'll cook something up for dinner," Josh says with a hand on my back. I'm already growing so accustomed to being guided around everywhere.

"Actually, I invited a guy to come over," I admit, "He can cook. You should relax. You got a lot of work done today, dad."

"I did, didn't I?" he smiles proudly, "Let me grab a beer, then. We can watch TV."

"Actually, I thought there might be something else you'd enjoy."

"You know me so well, buddy. What are you thinking?"

"You could bend over the couch..."

Josh cringes and shakes his head. Once again, it's like he's fighting the foreign thoughts entering his head.

"...I know how much you like to make me happy, and I really want to pound ass right now."

For a second, a look of horror flashes over his face, but it's gone in an instant. A bright fatherly smile spreads between his cheeks.

"That sounds perfect, buddy. Enjoy yourself."

Josh doesn't look away as he unbuttons his cargo shorts, smiling at me with love and devotion the entire time. He seems completely relaxed as he bends over the couch, and he only seems to become more comfortable as he spreads his cheeks apart.

Once again, I'm rock hard as I stare at one of my dads. This curse might have made me feel guilty before, but Josh said it himself.

I think I will enjoy myself.

Thanks for the ASK, Vebrendos

#hypno story #gay mind control #gay hypnosis #hypnotized #gay ai art #gay dad and son

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 4 months

Text

Imagine taking Rayleigh and Shakky out on a date

This is part 2 of this post

Rayleigh: so you want to take us out on a pretend date to spite your first mate and captain for bullying you?

Reader: I know how it sounds, but I figured it'd be a good way to get back at them.

Shakky: While I'm all for helping you get revenge, I don't understand your logic.

You: well, Rayleigh is Shanks's father figure.

Rayleigh: That's not how I'd put it, but I suppose I'm the closest thing he's got.

You: And while I know you two have an open relationship, I thought fucking my captain's father figure would be crossing a line.

Shakky: probably a wise move.

You: And I wanted you to go on a fake date with you, Shakky because Benn has had a crush on you for years, but has been too nervous to ask you out on a date.

Rayleigh: so a date, with both of us, would be two birds with one stone.

Shakky: Oh, I know about his little crush, his poker face is terrible

You: I know, right? I saw him in here earlier, looking at you, he was about as subtle as a sea train.

Rayleigh: *turns to his wife,* What do you think?

Shakky: I dunno.

You: I'll pay for dinner.

Shakky: Deal.

Rayleigh: Pick us up at six thirty tonight.

That night during dinner

Rayleigh: *drinking straight from the wine bottle you ordered*, So how's the brat supposed to know you took us on a date?

You: Well, he planned on dining here at seven, so by the time our food arrives, he should be here. But you know him, he's not good at sticking to plans. If he doesn't come, we could take a picture as a backup plan.

Shakky: Sounds like a plan, in the meantime, we should have a proper date.

Rayleigh: yes, tell us about yourself.

An hour later

You: And Shanks, buck ass naked, slips on the wet rocks, falls, and smacks against the surface of the water!

Shanks: (y/n)?

You: *looks over to notice Shanks and his inner circle gawking at you*

Rayleigh: hey sport

Shanks: what's going on here?

Shakky: what does it look like? We're having a date with this little cutie. *wraps her arms around you and rests her head on your shoulder, giving a pointed smirk at Benn*

Rayleigh: *puts his arm around both you and Shakky and pulls you into his side,* They were just telling us about your skinny sipping mishap on Koala Island.

Shanks: No

You: yep

Benn: *glaring daggers at you,* You little shit, how long has this been going on?

You: Not long, this is the first date.

Shanks: Is this because of what we said two weeks ago?

You: a little

Shanks: *pouts,* We were just teasing.

Shakky: You're interrupting our date, it's quite rude.

Shanks: Fine, enjoy your evening.

Later

Shanks: *alone, passed out drunk on his table*

Rayleigh: *sighs* this boy I swear.

Shakky: Want to ditch him with our tab?

You: Yeah, but we're not gonna leave him without the cash, *pulls out his wallet and puts the Berry you brought along inside before sliding it back into his pocket*

The next day on the Red Force

You: *walks onto the ship only for everyone to stare at you*

Benn: You have some explaining to do.

Shanks: *bursts out of his cabin,* Did you fuck them?

You: no, I thought that'd be crossing a line.

Shanks: then where did you stay last night?

You: In their guest room, I helped Shakky open this morning because Rayleigh had wandered off after our date... Look, it wasn't a real date, Boss, I was upfront with them about my intentions.

Shanks: We didn't bully you.

You: It certainly felt like it to me, and when I voiced that hurt, you didn't apologize, and basically told me to stop sulking. So I wanted you to know how it felt, so I asked Rayleigh and Shakky to help me get back at you for bullying me.

Shanks: I see, *reflects on his behavior for a moment* I'm sorry we teased you, it was supposed to be a joke but ended up hurting your feelings.

You: Apology accepted.

Shanks: Now, please never date any of my former crew mates from my time with Roger.

You: I promise I won't knowingly date any of them.

Shanks: I don't like the way you phrased that, but fine, I guess.

Benn: Now that that's done, tell me how in the hell you got Shakky to go on a date with you.

You: Again, it was a fake date, but I simply asked.

Benn: I was afraid you were gonna say that.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter

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thankskenpenders · 5 months

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Happy new year, everyone! Welcome to 2024, the year that will mark the 10th anniversary of Thanks Ken Penders. I'd like to go over my plans for the blog for this year.

First of all: in the very near future, I'll have a post with my thoughts on Sonic Dream Team, and I'm sure I'll write one last Sonic Prime review once the final episodes drop on the 11th. I've also been sitting on an unfinished piece about the Sonic LEGO sets. I wanted this to be longer and more detailed piece that not only reviewed the sets but also went into the weird disconnect between homogenized image of Sonic the Brand and the actual fiction it's based off of, but it'll probably end up getting cut down a lot just so I can put something out. Let's just say I did a fun little thing with one of the sets.

Second: yes, I would like to return to regular TKP updates this year. As I've said many times, I wanted to do this in 2023, but I've been suffering from creative burnout after finishing SLARPG and have generally been unable to focus on any of my creative goals this past year. I'm hoping that this year will be better and I'll be able to get back into the swing of covering Archie Sonic issues. Even doing one issue every week or so would be vastly preferable to continuing the hiatus. I'm still only halfway done!! But aside from burnout, my other main hurdle is that I need to reread my own archive to refresh myself on all these things after nearly three years away. This will take some time.

The thing is, though, this year I'll have an extra incentive to go back through my previous writing and brush up on all things Archie Sonic. Because you see...

I've decided that I want to make a video essay about Penders. The comics, the copyright battle, The Lara-Su Chronicles, everything.

The why

I've thought about doing this before, but I never committed to the idea. I was too busy with gamedev, or I thought it'd end up being too long, or I figured that there were already enough videos on the subject, or I just lacked confidence in my ability to put together a video essay. So I told myself it wasn't meant to be, and let the multiple YouTubers who have cited me as a source on their own Penders videos fill that void.

Recently, though, a few things have happened that have convinced me it might be time. For one, YouTube video essays/media retrospectives/etc. are just getting longer and longer. When Quinton Reviews is out here doing 21 hours of videos on Sam & Cat, a subpar Nick sitcom that only lasted one season, I don't feel so crazy for wanting to make a video about several hundred comic books and two lawsuits that'd be at least an hour or two long lmao. Admittedly, I've also been self-conscious about doing a long video essay like this as a trans woman who has yet to do any vocal training. But these days I feel like I see a lot more transfem YouTubers who have done little to no vocal training, and that's given me more confidence on that front.

But the big one was Hbomberguy's recent plagiarism video. As I sat there watching it, I kept thinking about the time I found a CBR article that was just a crude 800 word summary of my two previous articles on Penders, published by a CBR writer who's put out over 4000 articles since 2019. If I've already been plagiarized before, and my writing is so frequently passed around as a go-to source on Archie Sonic drama, then I wouldn't be shocked if there were YouTubers out there straight up just plagiarizing me. I don't watch other peoples' videos on Archie Sonic, so I'd never know! So if people are just gonna paraphrase me when covering these topics anyway, why not take matters into my own hands and make what I would consider to be the definitive video on the subject? If hacks like James Somerton and iilluminaughtii can churn out these shitty video essays and people will still watch them, surely it can't be that impossible to make my own, right? (And also, uh, Hbomb literally told me I should make the video lol. If you're reading this, thanks for the encouragement.)

The what, how, and when

So here's the plan.

Part of this video essay will be an adaptation of my Medium article on the recurring themes of Ken's Archie Sonic run, with its content touched up and expanded upon. There were a few things I skimmed over in the article because I didn't want it to get too long, but again, people are out here watching ten hour videos about bad Nickelodeon sitcoms now. I can get away with elaborating a little more. I can add a few paragraphs talking about the Chaos Knuckles arc, or throw in a little more historical context I've discovered in the years since.

After covering the comics, the back half(-ish?) of the video will be dedicated to the copyright battles and their ensuing controversies, trying to give an accurate picture of what actually went down, the sheer scale of how bad Archie fucked up, and what our takeaways should be. This will have some similarities to my New York Magazine article on the subject, but I'll be rewriting it from scratch. I REALLY had to keep things short for that article because I was already way over the expected word count, and my tone was a little more straight-laced than normal because I was trying to keep things Professional. I can riff more and insert more of my own opinions this time, like I normally would.

I'll inevitably have to touch on some of Ken's Bad Tweets when discussing things that have happened after the lawsuits, but I don't want the video to just devolve into a list of times people got mad at him on Twitter, so I'm gonna try to keep that to a minimum in favor of focusing on his actual work. Things like the Scourge the Speed Demon incident and his continued statements on certain characters' copyright statuses probably warrant mentioning, though. And finally, assuming that the book really does come out this summer, I would like the grand finale of the video to be about those first couple chapters of The Lara-Su Chronicles.

I don't currently know when this video will get done, but it'll probably be in the back half of the year, especially with me waiting for the book to either drop or get delayed yet again. But I've actually already started writing a bit of the script, and will keep chipping away at it for a while.

So, uh, yeah, look forward to that? Wish me luck?

#tkp post

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skzstannie · 5 months

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"Let the memory-making commence"

SKZ -> ot8 x 9th member! reader

genre: fluff wc: ~2100 cw: none :) summary: After an emotional night, the boys cheer you up and try to give you something to look forward to surrounding the holidays again.

Here's Part 2 to "We'd never want you to struggle alone" Alsooo, I hit 100 followers a couple days ago, so THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Reblogs are more than appreciated!

Happy Scrolling! || Masterlist

Previously:

You all lay in each other's arms, and you feel incredibly comfortable and safe. Chan's the first to break the silence, "We have five days left until Christmas. What do you say we make some new Christmas traditions? We don't want to replace what you used to have, and you’re entitled to spend your Christmas season as you'd like. But, if you'll let us, we’ll give you something to look forward to about the holidays again. Please?" The guys are all looking at you now, each of them displaying a face that could rival a sad puppy.

You realize now that there's nothing to be scared of. These are your best friends you're talking about, who want nothing but to shower you in love and happiness.

"I'd love that."

So, the guys set out on their mission early the next morning, figuring they better start as soon as possible. After all, they had so many fun things they wanted to do with you before Christmas Day.

You were abruptly brought out of your peaceful slumber from an added weight landing atop your stomach. You startle, opening your eyes to be met with Hyunjin’s hair brushing up against your cheeks. You try to push him off you, holding up your title of being a grumpy morning person, but he won’t budge.

“Get up!” he whines, shaking your shoulders. “It’s already 8:30, and we can’t just let you sleep all day!”

“I’m not asking to sleep all day. I’m asking to sleep until 10, now please get off,” you struggle some more, pushing with all your might. You quickly give up though, finding your attempts futile against Hyunjin’s size and stubbornness.

“No can do, up and at ‘em sunshine!” he grips your blankets and whips them off you in a flash, leaving you shivering from the cold temperature of your room. He’s quick to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and he begins to make his way out of your room.

Your fists pound on his back, your only desire to go lay back down in your warm bed. This doesn’t deter him however, so you give him a nice firm smack to his butt, making him yelp. You swiftly wrap your arms around his waist as he lets you slip a little off his shoulder.

“Hwang Hyunjin don’t you drop me!” you yell, holding onto him for dear life.

“I won’t, I won’t. That just hurt really bad, you little menace!” He puts you down once you’ve arrived in the kitchen, and his hands immediately reach back to massage his poor bum.

“Well, that wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d have let me sleep another hour,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Ok, no more Ms. Grumpy Pants, I only wanna make cookies with Ms. Sunshine, so if you could please find out where she is, that'd be great,” he retorts, a sarcastic smile taking over his features.

You roll your eyes but give in, allowing your lips to curve up into a genuine smile.

Hyunjin starts to gather the ingredients for making cookies, slamming cupboards left and right. As you busy yourself doing the same, you look up towards the kitchen entryway upon hearing some ruckus from the hallway. Seungmin and Felix practically bounce into the kitchen, looking way too excited for 8:30 in the morning.

Seungmin makes his way over to you, holding an extra apron that he plops over your head, tying it loosely around your waist. “Thanks Minnie,” you tell him, turning around to give his arm a gentle pat.

“Alright, let the memory-making commence,” Felix claps his hands and giving them a quick wash in the sink, reaching for a stainless steel bowl Hyunjin had set on the counter. “If we wait too much longer, everybody else will get up and crash our cookie making party.”

All was going smoothly, the four of you working together and following a recipe Felix had printed out, until Seungmin got a little antsy and decided to flick Hyunjin in the forehead with a flour-covered finger.

Seungmin laughs at seeing Hyunjin’s expression. “Flour boy,” he calls Hyunjin, breaking out in even more giggles.

In retaliation, Hyunjin grabs a fistful of flour and launches it at Seungmin’s face, leaving the poor boy coughing.

Of course, all hell breaks loose after that, and by the end of your food fight, all four of you end up absolutely covered in flour with a single egg plastered against the fridge door.

You guys managed to finish the cookies, having barely enough flour to make the batches. Once they’ve gone in the oven, the four of you decide to go shower and get cleaned up while they bake.

All the other guys have woken up by the time you’re finished with your shower. They’re all sat around the kitchen, the aroma from the cookies no doubt drawing them in. Chan goes over the plans for today, and you smile at his thoughtfulness. After breakfast- a.k.a Christmas cookies- you’re all going to go sledding, then come back to the dorms for dinner and a Christmas movie marathon.

After you’ve all eaten one too many cookies, everyone goes to get dressed for your first group activity of the day: sledding.

You realize you don’t have any appropriate clothing for sledding, the snow sure to seep through the nice coat you have, so you ask Seungmin if he has any extra garments that'll keep you warmer.

"Yea, let me find some really quick," he responds, diving deep into his well-organized closet. He comes up with two pairs of gloves, one slimmer and one thicker, a thermal, long sleeved turtle neck, a hoodie, and a huge winter coat.

"All of this will not fit on my body at once, Seungmin," you comment exasperatedly, overwhelmed by the weight of the clothes he just threw in your arms.

"Yes they will, and you will be warm. Go get dressed, we're leaving in a few minutes," he dismisses your concerns, leaving no room for discussion. He gives you a light push out of his room so he could get himself dressed and shuts the door in your face.

"Thanks!" you shout through the door, heading back to your room to layer up.

After putting on all the clothes Seungmin gave you, you feel like a marshmallow. A big puff ball, if you will.

You walk to the living room where everyone is waiting for you, ready to complain about how you are not going out in public like this.

They are quick to rebut, telling you how adorable you look while pulling you out the front door towards the readied van in the parking lot.

The drive is uncomfortable, all your winter gear making you all hot, everyone fitting a little tighter in their seats than normal. The ride is short, though, only about 10 minutes before you're all allowed freedom of the outside once again.

You let out a small chuckle upon seeing the hill you'll be sledding down. It's small, no taller than 20 feet, but the guys assure you it'll still be fun. Upon some further digging, you find out you're manager requested you partake in absolutely zero dangerous activities during your day off, and this is all the guys could convince him of.

You guys make your way up the hill, Jeongin and Felix dragging the sleds up. To make things more interesting, everyone decides two people will race down the hill at the same time, and the winner will be decided tournament-style.

Chan and Hyunjin go first, and Hyunjin wins by just a few feet. Next is Felix and Minho, and Minho pulls out ahead. Seungmin and Changbin go next, and Changbin wins by default because Seungmin wiped out about half way down the hill. You and Jeongin, being the maknaes, decide to team up against everyone else and ride together. Of course, this doesn't go without complaints from the rest of the members, Hyunjin giving you guys the nastiest side eye he could muster. The maknaes come out on top, beating Jisung by a landslide. Maybe it's because your sled had twice as much weight on it, or maybe it's because you guys are just better; it's up for debate.

By the end of the day, you and Jeongin reign champions. You all continue to sled for a while longer, and eventually your peaceful sledding session turned into a brutal snowball fight.

The culprit of the snowball fight was Minho, deciding it'd be fun to shove a handful of snow down Jisung's jacket. This of course lead to the development of two teams, Maknae line versus Hyung line.

You guys pelt the oldies for a few minutes, obviously gaining the upper-hand once your makeshift snow fort was built, courtesy of Felix and Jisung. However, you guys surrender once Jeongin is captured and threatened with handfuls of snow down his pants.

Once arriving at home, hot showers are in need, all your fingers and toes frozen to the bone. You get dressed in your coziest pyjamas, accompanied by a big hoodie and fluffy socks.

Chan takes it upon himself to order food in for everyone, and you all thank him before deciding on which Christmas movie to watch.

You reveal that one of your favorites used to be How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the Jim Carrey version, and everyone agrees to start with that one.

Your food arrives about a third of the way into the movie, and you all indulge on the much needed meal. You have some more Christmas cookies for dessert, and by the time you're finished with the food, the movie is over.

You all make light fun of Hyunjin for crying over the ending, but allow him to choose the next movie to try and put a stop to his dramatics. He chooses National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, and you're thankful for another comedy.

While the day has been quite fun, watching movies isn't as thought-provoking as a snowball fight, allowing some of your anxieties and negative thoughts to creep into the back of your mind.

You miss your family. You miss the way your grandma used to sit and listen to all your school drama and the way she'd gasp when you'd tell her what your best friend had done for a boy. You miss the way your father used to buy you a pair of earrings every year for Christmas. You still had every pair, your first being cute little bunny studs, and your last being a beautiful pair of Sterling Silver hoops. You miss your grandfather's sarcastic remarks; your mom found them insulting but you always thought they were funny. You miss your mom. Everything about her- her home cooking, her hugs, the way she'd always know what to put in your stocking.

You know now, after today, that it's okay to miss those things. You're supposed to miss your loved ones. However, it is not okay to live in the past and despise change. Your mom would've wanted you to celebrate Christmas with a family as loving as the one you have here surrounding you. You know she would've loved your members, every single one of them.

She would've loved the way I.N was your partner in crime in life, never backing down when you ask him if he wants to prank Chan with you. She would've loved the way Seungmin acted like your older brother, teasing you every chance he gets. She would've loved how happy Felix is, always acting as your light in the darkness. She would've been proud of Han for fighting through his anxiety and how he helped you with yours, never letting you feel alone. Your mom would've loved Hyunjin's art, the way he paints his soul on paper with a singular brush. Your mom would've been impressed by Changbin's health journey and motivation, and she probably would've secretly convinced him to drag you to the gym with him. Your mom would've admired Minho's gentleness towards animals and his love for his cats. Lastly, your mom would've loved the way Chan takes care of you, always making sure you're happy and well.

Thinking back to yesterday and how thoughtful and caring everyone had been, you decide to tell them your creeping thoughts. They, of course, comfort you, Changbin pulling you closer from your spot between him and Minho on the couch. They ask if you want to elaborate on your feelings, but you tell them no. It had been such a fun day, and for the sake of your mental health, you choose to try and busy your mind with the plot of the movie.

This works in your favor, and you’re able to replace your thoughts with laughter. Towards the end of the film, Changbin's comforting hold has begun to lull you to sleep, too comfortable and warm to keep your eyes open any longer.

"Thank you guys for such an amazing day. I had a lot of fun," you mumble into Changbin's shoulder, pulling everyone away from the movie for a second.

You hear a chorus of coos and whispered affirmations before you officially let sleep takeover your restless mind and body.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz oneshots #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth member #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #part 2/2 #skz 9th member #stray kids 9th member #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 months

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DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton

Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).

One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.

Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.

It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.

I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.

The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?

Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.

The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?

I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic. By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.

The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?

It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.

The Hub: Where are we?

I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting

The Main Event: What's going to happen?

Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.

The Setting: What's over there?

While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.

Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to

The Change: What the fuck?

A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning

artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #writing #dm tips #writing advice #campaign skeleton

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suzukiblu · 6 months

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excerpt from the one where Tim Drake goes to an alternate reality and decides to get his other self laid via the local Kon's bisexual awakening:

"Hey, remember when you saved my life earlier?" Tim asks.

"Yeah, kinda," Kon replies in amusement. "Seeing as it was about two point five seconds after you rigged the evil alien robot army to self-destruct and helped save our entire literal reality's life, so I was definitely paying attention."

"Flatterer," Tim says with a smirk even as he waves him off. The self-destruct function wasn't even that hard to hack, comparatively. That time he'd downloaded Lex Luthor's active IP files from his personal office while the asshole had been on his damn computer–now that'd been tricky. Interdimensional alien invaders barely compare. And the Brainiac incident still gives him stress migraines when he thinks about it for too long.

Metropolis sucks and Tim frankly has no idea how his own Kon can stand the place.

But like, getting off-topic here.

"Well, I was gonna say you should let me pay you back for that," he continues. "But since you bring it up I'll also accept a show of gratitude on behalf of your reality, whichever gets you off harder.”

Kon laughs, because he is apparently adorable enough to have assumed that was a joke. Precious little moron, Tim thinks fondly.

"You know, you're a lot less uptight than our version of you is," Kon says, grinning down at Tim before flashing Tim's other self a smirk. "No offense, Rob. Dude's clearly just doing more yoga than you or something. Maybe drinking more tea? Taking the occasional bubble bath?"

"Silly me, if only I'd invested in more bath bombs in my life," Tim's other self says dryly.

"It's probably my sex life, actually," Tim himself puts in with an easy shrug. Turns out when you stop pretending you don't have a ridiculously high libido and actually just indulge the thing, a lot of life's little annoyances become a lot easier to handle. Go figure. "Plus my boyfriend Bernard is really great, just his entire existence does wonders for my mood in general and he also makes me eat real food on occasion and monitors my caffeine intake much more reliably than I'm capable of doing on my own. The man is a living antidepressant and I don't even mean that in a fucked-up way, he's just that good."

"Boyfriend?" Kon blinks at him, then puts on another grin. It takes, Tim cannot help but notice, exactly two beats longer than his real grin would've. "Ohhhhh, okay, so the problem is just that you're not getting laid hard enough?"

"It is not," Tim's other self says dubiously, watching Kon just a little bit warily and obviously worried about his potential reaction to the word "boyfriend". Well, Tim never claimed to be emotionally intelligent about Kon, so no surprise his other self is also a dumbass there.

"It kinda is, actually," he tells his other self. "I was tracking my cortisol levels the last time I went on a solo away mission and let's just say they were . . . concerning? Like really concerning. Like by the time I got back I was kiiiiind of convinced I was going to need to go on anti-anxiety meds again. But then I jumped my Kon in the Titans Tower med bay instead and that pretty much solved the problem."

Kon . . . pauses, sort of. Tilts his head. Tim's other self looks a lot warier.

"'Jumped'," Kon repeats carefully. "Like . . . what, you dragged him to the gym to spar or something?"

"Like I blew his back out so hard that when he came his TTK fritzed out and disassembled my recovery bed," Tim clarifies helpfully. "It really helped with the cortisol levels issue."

Kon blinks. Tim's other self looks pained, but also desperately envious. Tim would also be desperately envious if their situations were reversed and so does not blame him for said envy in the slightest.

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?" Kon says after a moment, sounding a little odd in a very telling way. Or at least very telling to Tim, anyway.

As is the way that he's not looking at Tim's other self at all anymore.

"Open relationship," Tim says. "Also Bernard thinks you're stupidly hot and really likes hearing about the kind of stuff you let me do to you. I've actually been debating inviting you over for his birthday so he can watch us live for once but I haven't asked you yet."

"What, so your Kon is the side chick?" Kon jokes, awkwardly putting on another just barely belated grin.

"More like my kept boy, functionally speaking, but he's having a 'weird about commitment' phase right now so I've just been making a lot of sugar baby jokes to soften him up," Tim replies with a shrug. It's only sort of been working, but it has been working, and he's willing to take his time on it. It's not fair to expect Kon to only be easy, after all. "Long-term goal is to marry Bernard and ideally get Kon to 'live-in boyfriend' status somewhere in there, but that would also require him not being weird about commitment and also figuring out how well he and Bernard get along in the same space, so we'll just have to see how that one goes."

"Uh," Kon says. "Why?"

"Because you are incredibly important to me and also look like a very horny Renaissance sculptor made you out of calacatta marble," Tim tells him matter-of-factly, gesturing meaningfully at him. "Frankly it's criminal that you ever put clothes on."

#timkon #tim drake #dc robin #kon el #conner kent #superboy #rinfic #wip: interdimensional whoring for timkon #long post #somehow I still haven't written any sex scenes for this fic #just a lot of Tim terrorizing his alternate self and flustering alternate Kon #'Tim'-orizing his alternate self?

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homunculus-argument · 11 months

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Have you ever had one of those things happen that just straight-up sound like something that'd only go down in a badly written sitcom?

This one time a few years ago, I had nothing to do in the middle of the day so I went out to wander around the city, and encountered one of those christian missionaries of some sort - not mormons, some local finnish-speaking one, probably Jehova's witnesses, I can't recall - who addressed me first. Having only gone out to kill time I figured I'd stop to see what he had to say, this might get interesting.

He started talking about sin, and I told him that I don't think that's real, humans aren't inherently bad creatures that need to be goaded into not doing evil by an outside force. Apparently taken back by my confidence about this, he asked me why I think so. And while I was absolutely not this eloquent about it while talking as I am typing it out now, I explained that if doing good didn't come naturally to people, it wouldn't feel good to do it. There's been studies about that - it makes people feel happy to help others, even when they gain nothing from it, or even at a cost to themselves sometimes.

Doing good things feels good for the same reason as eating, sleeping and having sex feel good - because we're supposed to do it. It doesn't matter to me why that is - either there's a god who made people with inherent goodness to them, or natural selection of the cold uncaring universe saw this behaviour as beneficial for survival. People want to be good to one-another just like migratory birds want to fly south for the winter.

He gave me his best annoyed "alright, fair enough"-shrug and was clearly trying to think of how to disagree with that when we were interrupted. I have no idea how a person that large and entirely indifferent to concepts like subtlety, stealth or an indoor voice even can sneak up on people, but we were both startled when someone I had briefly met appeared out of apparent nowhere, loudly going

HEY AREN'T YOU THAT TRANNY FROM THE PARK

addressing me. I used to go drinking at the park quite often back then, and while I did meet a lot of people that way and my memory is the first thing to disappear when I'm drunk, someone that loud, tall and broad-shouldered, covered in tattoos, with long hair, braided beard and electric blue eyeshadow isn't someone you easily forget. I was, indeed, the tranny from the park and I had been the person who had explained the concept of "nonbinary" to them.

My acquaintance here was somewhere between 30 and 50 and not exactly up to whatever the kids are doing these days, and their reaction to this information was roughly "oh huh so there's a name for the thing I'm doing". As they only spoke finnish, I can't say that I would have been the one to explain the concept of gender neutral pronouns to them, but they had been fascinated to discover that other languages have gendered pronouns in the first place.

Refreshing my memory of the encounter - and apparently unintentionally also recounting it to the missionary who was still silently standing with us - they proceeded to explain that they've never really felt like a man or a woman. And sometimes not really even like a human, but more like an alien who had just been dropped off here from a spaceship - but not like in a psychotic delusions sort of way, but just the vibes, you know? They then proceeded to tell us about some other fascinating epiphanies that they had had while on psychedelics.

As they went on, the christian missionary next to us was drifting backwards so slowly that I don't think I noticed him actually take an individual backwards step, just silently sliding gradually further away from this situation, with apparent mild concern. And while my happenstance acquaintance - whose name I either never heard or couldn't remember hearing - was talking, I noticed I had gotten a text message from a friend, who asked if I'm around and whether I want to come hang out.

So as the nonbinary giant self-appointed alien was finished with their story and took their leave - telling me that they'll probably see me around, and as I was around a lot, I reassured them that they would - I turned to the missionary and told him that while I'd love to carry on with what we were talking about, I actually have people to see now, and bid him good luck with whatever he was trying to do.

It's been like five years between that day and today, and during that time I moved to a different city and back here. I don't think I've seen the nonbinary giant again even once during this time, and wherever they are, I hope they're doing ok and no longer doing any weird drugs. Or if they are, that at least they're having fun.

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scarrletmoon · 3 months

Text

About Powder Blue

This is going to be long. There are going to be discussions of suicide and trauma. This is going to be a bit of a jumbled mess because I can't tell a linear story to save my life. Don't feel like you need to read this, now or ever.

If you're wondering what the issues with PB were, and looking for what's next, read the indented text and skip the rest if you want!

I've had a bit of a...tumultuous relationship with the OFMD fandom. I've made close friends and lost them, made even closer friends who've very patiently reminded me of my worth when I needed that. I'm at a point where I'm still struggling, but I'm getting better. I'm still working on not being afraid. It's a bit of an uphill battle, but I'm still pushing my little boulder. I'm not alone this time, which is nice.

I entered the fandom as a nobody. I had almost 50 fics on AO3 and two had mildly popped off while I wasn't looking, but I wasn't really known for anything. I was a fandom ghost, posting my little fanfics and sharing them with the world because I just enjoyed the characters so much. Like a lot of people, I dreamed of being known for something. I thought that'd be neat.

I'm still in a state of shock and confusion that I've written anything in the past 2 years that people remember and even love. It's weird to be in a place where I never imagined myself to be. I can't stress enough how much I did not write explicit fic before this fandom; in high school, I would've welcomed a porn ban. I was afraid of my own sexuality, convinced it was some sort of monster I had to control. Convinced I was dirty. To other people my age, I was a prude, naive and childish for not being comfortable with it. So I feel for people who lash out now, who insist that attraction is actually fetishization, that if we set enough rules, maybe if we resist temptation, we'll be saved. I see you, and I feel for you. I personally don't think that's a healthy way to live, but if you'd told me that 2 years ago, I would've cussed you out. It's really a realization you have to come to (or not) on your own terms.

Anyway.

I know it's tacky to talk about your own success but it doesn't feel real. I go back and forth, reading other people's work -- and my god, there's some unbelievable talent in this fandom -- and thinking "shit, why would anyone read anything I've written? My stories are kindergarten finger paintings next to museum masterpieces". I am learning, slowly -- very slowly -- that I can't bully myself into a shape I like better. I'll never abuse myself into the kind of writer I think I want to be.

The first chapter of Powder Blue was written on a random day of the week after work. I was in a server -- the first fandom server I'd properly joined and talked in, watching a convo about how funnyt it would be for Ed to be a middle aged sugar baby -- when I pulled out my laptop and wrote for an hour and then posted that chapter to the server. I hadn't written for five years before OFMD. I had never finished a multi chapter fic. I posted that chapter and went to make dinner, and assumed the Google Docs link would get lost in that channel after a few likes.

That's not what happened.

The next few months were...a lot. My 7 year old Twitter account blew up from about 200 followers to 1000 in a matter of months. I was misinterpreted half a dozen times. Suddenly, people knew who I was and had Opinions. Some of those Opinions were Not Nice. I was told to grow a thick skin and get over it. So I figured my extreme reactions -- physical shaking, intense fear, a spiking heart rate, like I was being chased -- were just me being weak. I thought if I just sucked it up and laughed it off, it'd stop affecting me.

Turns out RSD is real and not an excuse I was using to be a baby, and it literally didn't get better until I was medicated! Wild

(This -- "I'm just overreacting and everyone else is secretly handling it better" -- has been a pretty consistent pattern my entire life, so figuring out I'm actually AuDHD has been mindblowing. If you've been wondering why you're so weak your whole life, I've got some screening tests you might be interested in).

Anyway my point is, a few things happened over the course of 2023 that brought me to a level of emotional pain I've never experienced.

At the start of the year, I was taking a self imposed internet break, after being forced to apologize for a tweet thread about Izzy, where I'd made the mistake of suggesting that fans of his should consider thinking about why they enjoy his character, but to only do this if they wanted to and ignore me if they didn't. This was taken as me being a hypocrite, and accusing Izzy fans of being terrible people. I apologized, vowed to never mention him again, and left Twitter for a month. Around the same time, a few things in a very close friend group went very wrong. I assumed it was entirely my fault for misbehaving, picked myself up, and tried to punish myself into a shape that would be acceptable for other people.

It didn't work.

Since I was now marked as an anti-Izzy bully, I couldn't say anything -- either on Twitter or in private -- that wouldn't be interpreted as me trying to start fights, as me being passive aggressive, as me trying to send covert messages for others to decipher so they could come and grovel for my forgiveness. Some of this is my fault -- it took a long time to learn than my private locked Twitter account isn't a diary. it took even longer for me to learn that maybe the people I was hanging out with weren't my people.

During all of this, I was posting Powder Blue after months of tears, pain, heartbreak, frustration and stress. I still don't understand why people write books for work or FUN. It was the most horrific experience of my life. It was valuable and so rewarding but jesus christ did writing PB take a lot out of me.

So as I felt less connected to my friends, as I was trying to hide how I felt because I thought I didn't deserve to be upset about anything (everything is always my fault, you see, and if I just behaved better, these things wouldn't happen to me), someone came to me and said they'd noticed some issues with Powder Blue. I'll refer to this person as the reader.

I was more than happy to hear them out. And it's true that I made some mistakes. The environment that I published PB in was not the one that I wrote it in. I didn't read any other sugar daddy/sex work fics as I was working on PB. PB was never a reaction to those fics. But because of those stories, which had handled things is harmful ways, there was suddenly a responsibility I'd never expected to have. I've never done sex work, I've just spent a lot of time listening to sex workers and trying to understand the legislation and environment as much as I can as a lay person. And since I don't have a personal experience with sex work, I shared my finished but rough draft with the reader, who did.

The problem, ultimately, is not something I could ever have fixed to their satisfaction. The fic doesn't involve dubious consent on a level that I think warrants an archive warning tag -- I tried to make it explicitly clear that Ed never does anything he doesn't want to, and that he's never coerced. The issue is that the nature of Ed and Stede's relationship is inherently uneven -- Stede is rich, and although he gives Ed money that's his to keep, Ed still isn't as obscenely wealthy as Stede is. Ed is poor and has been for a while. He's good at whatever he chooses to do, but he's struggling. That's a very uncomfortable spot to put Ed in. I also put Ed through some things that I've personally been through, as a way to work through my feelings and to try and better understand myself. If I was acting like Ed in real life, the reader is right that it would be concerning. But, importantly, Ed's not real. Nothing in this story is happening to a real person. Nothing in this story is an endorsement of any of his behaviours or unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I still believe the reader had good intentions -- the amount of effort they put into coming to me would be utterly bizarre for someone who was just looking to be cruel for no reason. But that also doesn't change the fact that being told I was having a trauma response and needed to stop working on the fic immediately, pushed me into the most suicidal period I've ever experienced.

That's not their fault. I'm sure that wasn't their intention. I've chosen to not try and find out who they are, or try to contact them again to respect their privacy. Some of the things people said to me, publicly dismissing the reader's pain, were so harrowing to read that it made me feel worse for ever writing PB in the first place. They were right to stay anonymous.

I'm sure the reader never meant for me to have such a massive breakdown that I took down the entire fic and left Twitter (and a few friend groups). It's been difficult to understand that just because someone didn't mean to hurt me, doesn't change the fact that I was hurt.

One silver lining is that I did go and find a new therapist. She's great! And she also thinks that how the reader tried to bring things up to me was wrong. As the reader obviously saw, I have a lot of Trauma, so I'm still not entirely convinced that I didn't deserve what happened to me. I'm not angry at them. I appreciate their concern. I just can't do what they asked of me. In the end, Powder Blue was not a story that was right for them. And that's okay.

My point in detailing all of this, is that I stayed quiet for a long time because I didn't think I deserved to tell my part of the story. I was scared that when people said they respected my choice to take down the fic, that they agreed I'd some something impossibly harmful. People trusted my judgement but I didn't trust myself. But people didn't know that I didn't trust myself.

Additionally, reader can't speak on this without revealing themself in some way. I'm terrified that they might read this and say something anyway. My biggest fear is becoming the kind of writer who sees negative criticism and pushes on anyway, or even blocks people who disagree with me. I don't want to hurt anyone the way I've been hurt.

BUT I've been holding onto this for months. I cannot write a perfect fic that will never trigger anyone. I will never write a meaningful story that won't hurt someone, no matter my intentions. There IS a way to admit you fucked up, or a way to listen and disagree, without turning into a raging asshole. I'm struggling to find that line. I'm hoping I'm making the right choice here.

And honestly, I'm just soft. I am so fucking soft. I talk a big game but I am so soft that a single person poking at my trauma caused me to break down so severely that my partner was legitimately afraid for me. I am learning that this softness doesn't mean I should become a crueler person to cope. But it's hard. There are going to be people who see this post and think I'm being a whiny crybaby looking for attention and pity. And I just have to deal with that.

Anyway. All previous chapters of PB will be up soon. Read them or don't. I will do my best to add more detailed trigger warnings. And I would personally suggest that if you're worried about any of the content in the fic, to run these worries past a friend who's read the fic, because they'll know you better than I ever will. Please don't read Powder Blue if you think it'll harm you. I would rather have fewer readers than triggered ones.

If there's anything I've missed that you think I need to address, know that my inbox is open, that anon is on, and that I'm not in the business of retaliating against people who come to me with an issue, even if they're a dick to me while they're doing it. I'm not going to dismiss someone because they weren't nice to me while they were upset. I'm a bitch but I'm not that kind of bitch.

So. Thank you for waiting for this fic. Thank you for waiting for me. We've got something like 16 chapters to go, and I can't tell you when they'll be up, or if they'll be up soon. But thank you for loving this story. I can't tell you how much that means to me, especially now.

Love,

Scarr

#scarrlet rambles #powder blue #about powder blue #this is also just a really long about me

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