the trailer is cramped and stuffy, the ac humming loudly against the distant fans cheering from outside.

it’s the final show of the tour, and megan’s supposed to go on in 20 fucking minutes.

but she’s not ready.

she’s sitting on the edge of the makeup chair, knees bouncing, fingers twisting the hem of her stage crop top, hair still half straightened, mascara wand forgotten on the vanity.

you’re katseye’s assistant—handling schedules, outfits, the endless little things that keep the chaos from spilling over.

you knock once before pushing the door open, bag of emergency snacks and water bottle in hand. “megan? you okay in here? the stage manager’s asking—”

she looks up, and your words die.

megan’s a wreck. eyes red-rimmed, cheeks flushed, voice already cracking before she even speaks.

“i can’t do it. i can’t. what if i mess up the high note? what if i trip during the choreo? the fans are gonna hate me. they’ll post clips and laugh and—”

“hey,” you say soft, setting the bag down and stepping closer. “breathe. you’re megan. you’ve done this a hundred times. you’re the one who kills the bridge every night.”

she shakes her head fast, hands fisting in her lap. “no, but tonight it’s the finale. everyone’s watching. sophia’s already been practicing perfectly, daniela’s probably nailing her part, and i’m just… i’m gonna fuck it up. i feel like i’m gonna throw up. my throat’s dry, i can’t even—”

you drop to your knees in front of her, hands on her thighs to stop the bouncing. “mei. look at me.”

she looks at you with those watery eyes, and bottom lip trembling. she’s blubbering now, words tumbling out in a rush. “i practiced for hours last night and it sounded like shit. what if i forget the lyrics? what if i—”

“stop.” you squeeze her thighs gently, voice firm but kind. “you’re the strongest one out there. remember the first show? you were nervous too, but you owned it. the fans love you because you’re you. not perfect, but you.”

she hiccups a laugh, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “you’re just saying that because you have to. assistant duty or whatever.”

“no,” you say, standing up, pulling her into a hug. she melts against you immediately, face burying in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist tight.

“i’m saying it because it’s true. you’re gonna kill it. and if you mess up? who cares. they’ll love you more for it.”

she clings harder, breath shaky against your skin. “i don’t know… i feel so stupid. like everyone’s expecting me to be this perfect dancer and singer and—”

you pull back just enough to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “you’re not stupid. you’re human. and that’s why they scream your name. now breathe with me. in… out…”

she does—slow inhales, exhales, her hands on your waist grounding her.

the panic eases a little, her shoulders dropping. “thanks,” she mumbles. “you’re the only one who can calm me down like that.”

you smile, lean in to kiss her forehead. “that’s my job.”

she looks up at you, eyes still glassy but softer now. then—sudden, impulsive, she surges forward, kissing you.

it’s desperate, messy, lips crashing against yours, tongue sliding in like she needs to taste you to stay grounded.

you moan quietly, surprised, hands flying to her shoulder.

she pulls you closer, one hand fisting your shirt, the other sliding up to cup the back of your neck.

she kisses down your jaw, your throat, small needy sucks that make your pulse jump. her hands roam—sliding under your shirt, palms warm on your stomach, then higher, cupping your breasts through your bra.

you gasp, head falling back. “megan…”

she doesn’t stop.

her mouth trails lower, kissing the spot just above your collarbone, then down to the valley between your breasts.

she pushes your shirt up, bra following, and latches onto one nipple—sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak.

“mei—” you whimper, hands in her hair. “t-the show in 20 minutes—”

she pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny, eyes pleading. “please… need you… just a little…”

your resolve crumbles. you nod, breathless. “okay… fine. just be fast.”

she smiles—relieved and dives back in.

her mouth is on your nipple again, sucking harder, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

her hand slides down, unbuttoning your jeans, shoving them open. she yanks them down with your panties, exposing you completely.

she drops lower, kissing your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs.

her breath is hot against your folds when she finally gets there.

she spreads you open with her thumbs, stares for a second like she’s memorizing the sight.

“so wet just for me,” she murmurs. “right?”

she leans in and devours you.

her tongue is everywhere—long, flat licks from your entrance to your clit, then circling the swollen bud with quick flicks that make your hips buck.

she moans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open.

she sucks your clit, tongue pressing flat and laving in circles.

you cry out, hands fisting her hair, pulling her closer. she groans, the vibration making your toes curl.

two fingers slide inside you, curling up to stroke that spot that makes your vision white out.

“megan, mei—fuck, i’m—” you gasp, thighs shaking.

she pulls back just enough to whisper, “hold on,” then dives back in, sucking harder, fingers thrusting faster, curling deeper.

she’s relentless, tongue flicking your clit in time with her fingers, making sure you feel every second.

you come hard—body convulsing, cunt spasming around her fingers, wetness gushing against her mouth.

she moans, licking you through it, slow and gentle, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and tugging at her hair.

she crawls back up your body, kissing you deep—letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

you moan into her mouth, hands sliding under her crop top, cupping her breasts.

she pulls back, eyes dark, breathing hard. “i’m wet too…” her voice is whiny, needy, hand gripping your arm tight.

she guides your hand down, under her shorts, pressing your fingers against her soaked folds.

she’s dripping, clit throbbing under your touch. she grinds down on your hand, hips rolling in small circles, moaning soft and desperate. “i love you… i love you…” she whispers over and over.

you circle her clit slow, fingers slipping inside her, clenching around you. she gasps, grinding harder, whimpering “i love you” with every roll of her hips.

she comes fast—pussy fluttering around your fingers, wetness coating your hand, a soft cry muffled against your shoulder. she clings to you after, breathing hard, kissing your neck softly.

“i needed that,” she whispers.

you hold her close, fingers still inside her, kissing her temple. “i know.”

the trailer clock ticks. 15 minutes left.

she pulls back, smiling shaky. “i’m ready now.”

you nod, helping her fix her clothes. “you got this.”

she kisses you quick—then grabs her mic pack. “for you.” she walks out, stage ready.

you watch from the side with your heart pounding.

she’s going to kill it.

—

the show is over.

the final notes fade, the lights dim, and the crowd’s roar hits like a wave—screams, cheers, ‘katseye! katseye! katseye!’ chants echoing through the arena.

backstage is something else… staff rushing with water bottles, stylists fixing hair, managers checking schedules. you weave through it all, assistant for the FULL tour, bag slung over your shoulder, towels and waters clutched in one hand, clipboard in the other.

you spot megan first.

she’s off to the side, leaning against a wall, chest heaving, sweat glistening on her collarbones.

she’s laughing with sophia, but her eyes flick up the second you approach.

“here,” you say, handing her a towel and water bottle. “you killed it out there. the note change in ‘my way’? just amazing.”

she takes the towel, wipes her neck, but her smile is just for you. “thanks. felt like i was gonna choke on it.” she drinks half the bottle in one go, then caps it, eyes lingering on your face. “you watch the whole thing?”

“always do.”

you hand out the rest to the others, daniela grabs hers with a quick “you’re a lifesaver,” lara winks and says “my hero” but your attention stays on megan.

she looks exhausted but glowing, the kind of post performance high that makes her eyes sparkle.

she steps closer when the others move off, voice low. “missed you today.”

you smile, small. “i was literally right there.”

“not close enough.” she brushes your arm with her fingers—casual to anyone watching, but you feel it like a spark.

the manager calls for wrap-up, and she has to go. “see you at the hotel?” she asks, eyes hopeful.

“yeah,” you say. “get some rest.”

—

the hotel room is quiet when you get back— except daniela and manon’s voices filtering from the shared suite next door.

yoonchae already crashed in her own room not wasting her time.

you drop your bag, strip out of your work clothes, and head for the shower.

the water is hot, steaming up the glass, washing away the day’s sweat and stress. you stand under the spray for longer than you mean to, letting it beat against your shoulders, your back, trying to unwind the knot in your chest from tiredness.

the knock comes when you’re drying off.

you wrap a towel around yourself, hair dripping, and open the door a crack.

megan.

she’s in shorts and a hoodie, hair still a little messy from the show, no makeup, eyes tired but bright when she sees you. “hey.”

“hey.” you step aside, let her in. “couldn’t sleep?”

she shakes her head, closes the door behind her. “missed you already.”

the words hit soft, simple. you turn to face her, towel clutched tight. “it’s been like… two hours.”

“yeah. long time.” she steps closer, hands finding your waist, fingers slipping under the towel edge to trace your skin. “you were right there the whole show right? but i kept looking for you in the wings. i needed to see you...”

you swallow, heart picking up. “megs…”

she kisses you.

you melt into it, hands coming up to her neck, pulling her closer. the kiss deepens fast—tongues sliding, small moans slipping out.

she tastes like mint gum and adrenaline, her hands roaming, sliding up your back, tugging the towel loose until it falls to the floor.

you’re naked under her touch, skin still damp from the shower. she groans softly against your mouth, hands cupping your ass, pulling you flush against her.

“you’re so soft,” she murmurs, kissing down your jaw, your throat. “so warm… missed this. missed you.”

you gasp when her mouth finds your collarbone, sucking lightly. “megan… the others—”

“they’re in another room,” she whispers, voice rough. “you just gotta be quiet.”

she backs you toward the bed, pushes you down gently. you land on your back, legs falling open. she climbs on top, straddling your thigh, grinding down once—moaning soft against your skin.

“thank you y/n,” she breathes, kissing your chest. “for everything today. for being there. for… this too.”

her mouth trails lower—kissing the swell of your breast, then closing around one nipple. she sucks slow, tongue circling the peak, drawing it into her mouth with wet, gentle pulls.

you arch into her, hands in her hair, moaning softly. she hums against your skin, switches to the other nipple, giving it the same tender attention, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

“mei…” you gasp, hips lifting. “feels so good…”

she moans, the vibration making you shiver. her hand slides down, cupping you between your legs, fingers brushing your clit, then dipping lower to feel how wet you are.

“you’re soaked,” she whispers, kissing back up to your mouth. “so soaked.”

“please baby,” you breathe.

she kisses you deep, tongue sliding against yours while her fingers circle your clit slow, teasing. you moan into her mouth, hips rocking up to meet her touch.

your eyes flutter open halfway through the kiss, gaze drifting down. her shorts are thin, the fabric dark with wetness where she’s grinding against your thigh.

you can see the outline of her pussy, its swollen and needy.

your hand moves on instinct—sliding down her stomach, under the waistband of her shorts. she gasps against your lips when your fingers brush her folds.

“shit…” she whimpers, hips bucking into your hand.

you circle her clit slow, feeling it throb under your fingertips.

she moans loud, grinding down harder, chasing the pressure.

your middle finger slips inside her—easy, wet, tight, curling up to stroke that spot that makes her gasp.

“god, yes—” she breathes, voice breaking. “right there…”

you add a second finger, thrusting slow, thumb on her clit. she rides your hand—hips rolling in desperate circles, moaning nonstop.

her mouth is back on your nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak while she grinds down on your fingers.

“i love you y/n,” she gasps against your skin. “i love you so much…”

“yeah... i-i love you too,” you whisper, thrusting your fingers deeper.

she came as her pussy tighten around your fingers, wetness gushing over your hand, a soft cry muffled against your breast.

she keeps grinding through it, slow and shaky, until she’s trembling, oversensitive.

she pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and crawls back up, kisses you deep—tasting her own saliva on your tongue.

“thank you,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “i love you so much y/n,”

you hold her close, fingers still inside her, kissing her forehead. “love you so much too, megan.”

she curls against you, head on your chest, leg thrown over yours. her hand rests on your hip, thumb stroking slow.

“can i sleep here?” she asks quietly.

“i don’t see why not,” you say.

she smiles against your skin, already drifting.

the room goes quiet as you feel asleep in tiredness.

the practice room feels electric tonight.

the choreographer just left after a brutal 4 hour session, yelling 'clean it up tomorrow!' before slamming the door. the lights are dimmed to the emergency strips, casting long blue shadows across the mirrors.

only you and daniela remain.

the new choreo is filthy—slow, sensual, extremely close contact. you’ve been paired with daniela for the center section because you’re tall, strong, and can lift her during the lift.

the song is dark, sultry r&b with heavy bass. every move is intimate. body rolls, hip isolations, hands sliding down waists, thighs pressing between thighs, chests brushing, lips almost touching.

you’re already nervous.

daniela is in a black sports bra and very low rise leggings that sit below her hips. sweat glistens on her collarbones and abs.

she looks at you through the mirror, eyes dark, a tiny smirk playing on her lips.

“ready?” she asks, voice low.

you nod, throat dry.

the music starts.

from the very first beat, she’s on you.

she presses her back against your front during the opening, rolling her hips slow and deep, grinding her ass directly against your crotch. you feel her heat through the thin fabric.

your cock twitches instantly. she notices and pushes back harder, rolling in a slow figure-eight that makes your breath hitch.

during the drop, she turns to face you, hands sliding up your chest, nails grazing your skin under your tank top. she leans in so close her lips brush your ear.

“you’re getting hard already?” she whispers, voice dripping with amusement. “we’re only 30 seconds in.”

your face burns.

your cock is now fully hard, straining painfully against your sweats, visibly tenting.

she feels it—presses her thigh between your legs, grinding against your bulge on purpose while doing a body roll.

every move after that feels like torture.

she grinds on you during the chorus.

she lets her hand ( totally not on purpose ) brush your erection multiple times. during the bridge, she drops low in front of you, face inches from your crotch, looking up with those dark eyes while rolling her body up slowly, lips parted.

you’re leaking pre-cum into your boxers, cock throbbing so hard it hurts.

by the final pose, her back to your front, your hand possessively on her waist, both of you breathing hard—she subtly grinds her ass back against your cock one last time, slow and filthy.

the music cuts.

you’re panting, sweating, painfully hard. daniela turns slowly to face you, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

she doesn’t say a word.

she just grabs your wrist, pulls you across the room toward the small storage closet at the back, and pushes you against the wall.

the storage room door barely clicks shut before daniela drops to her knees in front of you.

“you’ve been hard for me for the last forty minutes,” she says, voice low and rough. “now you’re gonna let me take care of it.”

she drops to her knees, yanks your sweats and boxers down in one rough motion.

your cock springs free. thick, pre-cum dripping steadily from the tip. she licks her lips. “fuck… look at you,” she breathes. “so fucking hard just from dancing with me.” you can’t answer. your cock twitches hard under her gaze.

she wraps one hand around the base, her fingers don’t even meet and gives you one firm stroke. you groan, hips jerking forward. she smirks knowing what she can do with you.

“so sensitive already huh?” she teases. “poor baby. all that dancing with me pressed up against you… must’ve been torture.”

before you can beg, she leans in and takes you into her mouth.

the heat is immediate. she doesn’t start slow—she sinks down halfway in one smooth motion, lips stretching around your girth, tongue pressing flat against the underside.

you moan loudly, one hand flying to the wall for balance, the other tangling in her hair.

she hums around you, the vibration shooting straight to your balls. then she starts moving— deep bobs, taking more of you each time until her nose is brushing your pelvis.

she gags softly when you hit the back of her throat but doesn’t pull off. instead she swallows around you, throat fluttering, eyes watering but locked on yours the whole time.

“fuck, daniela—” you choke out.

she pulls off with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to your cock. her hand strokes you fast, slick and messy.

“you’re so fucking big,” she says, voice hoarse. “i can barely take all of you… but i’m gonna try.”

she dives back down—messier this time. spit drips from the corners of her mouth, runs down your shaft, coats your balls.

she sucks hard, hollowing her cheeks, tongue swirling around the head every time she pulls back. the sounds are obscene—wet slurping, gagging, her soft moans vibrating around your cock.

you’re shaking. your thighs tremble. you can feel yourself getting dangerously close already.

“daniela, wait—i-i’m gonna—!”

she pulls off suddenly, hand still stroking you slowly.

her lips are swollen, shiny with spit, a thin string of saliva still connecting her to your tip.

“not yet,” she says, voice low and commanding. “you don’t get to cum until i say so.”

you whimper—actually whimper—hips twitching desperately.

she stands up, shoves her leggings and panties down in one motion, kicking them aside.

she’s soaked. her pussy glistening, clit swollen and peeking out. she turns around, bends over the stack of mats, ass up, back arched perfectly.

she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes dark.

“fuck me.”

you step forward, grip her hips, and push in and letting her feel every inch. she moans loud, head dropping forward, fingers gripping the mats.

“god—yes... fill me up baby...”

you bottom out, hips pressed flush against her ass, and still for a second—savoring how tight and hot she is.

then you start moving, deep thrusts that make her gasp every time you bottom out.

but daniela isn’t satisfied with slow.

“harder,” she demands, pushing back against you. “don’t be gentle. fuck me like you mean it.”

your grip on her hips tightens, and you start pounding into her, but harder, faster, and deeper. the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the small room.

she cries out, back arching deeper, ass bouncing with every thrust.

“fuck! yes—right there, j-just right there—!” she moans, voice breaking. “don’t stop! oh! harder—give it to me!”

you rail her. relentless, cock slamming into her over and over, balls slapping her clit.

she’s soaking, wetness dripping down your thighs. her pussy clenches around you like a vice, trying to pull you deeper.

you reach around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast and rough. she sobs, thighs shaking violently.

“i’m gonna cum—” she gasps. “don’t stop. please don’t stop—”

you keep pounding, fingers working her clit, until she shatters, screaming your name, pussy spasming hard around your cock, gushing wet and hot.

you fuck her through it, deep and rough, until her legs give out.

you pull out, flip her onto her back on the mats, and push back inside in one thrust. she moans loudly, legs wrapping around your waist.

“fill me,” she begs, eyes locked on yours. “cmon' d-don't be a pussy.”

you thrust deep one last time and come hard.

thick fluids flooding her, spilling deep inside her pussy. she moans at the feeling, clenching around you, milking every drop.

you collapse on her shoulder, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat. she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you closer, kissing your neck softly.

“fuck…” she whispers, voice hoarse. “that was so good.”

you smile against her skin, still buried inside her, heart racing.

“y-yeah. it was.” she laughs breathlessly, then kisses you playing with your tongue.

“next time,” she murmurs against your lips, “we’re doing this in my room. i want to take my time with you.”

you groan softly.

you’re already looking forward to it.

it’s megan’s 20th birthday and the living room is lit only by the warm flicker of the three candles you managed to jam into the slightly lopsided chocolate cake you baked this afternoon.

the frosting is messy, the ‘happy birthday megan <3’ you piped on top is crooked because your hands were shaking from nerves, but when she saw it her eyes went glassy and she laughed that soft, surprised laugh that always makes your chest hurt in the best way.

dinner was takeout—spicy tteokbokki, crispy fried chicken, extra kimchi because she likes it tart.

you ate cross legged on the floor, her back against the couch, your legs tangled together, sharing bites from the same container.

she fed you a piece of chicken with her fingers, thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on your mouth like she was memorizing the shape of it. “best birthday dinner,” she said.

now the plates are stacked in the sink, the cake is half gone, and she’s straddling your lap on the couch, hoodie pushed up to her ribs, black lace panties already soaked through and shoved to the side.

her thighs tremble around your hips, slick with her own arousal and the pre-cum leaking from your cock where it’s pressed hot and heavy against her folds.

she’s kissing you like she’s trying to crawl inside your skin, slow, open mouthed, tongue sliding against yours in lazy drags that taste like chocolate and her.

her hands are everywhere.

fisting your t-shirt at your waist, sliding up to cup your face, fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan into her mouth.

every time she rolls her hips down, the head of your cock catches on her entrance, slides through her wetness, bumps her clit, and she makes this small, broken sound against your lips—half whimper, half plea.

“please…” she breathes, forehead pressed to yours, noses bumping. her voice is wrecked, thick with want. “i need you inside me… been thinking about it all day…”

you kiss her jaw, her throat, feel her pulse hammering under your lips. “slow, okay?” you murmur. “wanna feel every second of you.”

she nods fast, eyes glassy, hips rocking down again like she can’t help it. “slow… yeah… just—please…”

you grip her hips, hold her still for a second.

she whines—high, needy, hips twitching.

you guide the head of your cock to her entrance, rub it through her folds once, twice, coating yourself in her slick. then you push in, letting her feel the stretch.

her mouth falls open, eyes rolling back, a long, shaky exhale slipping out. “fuuuck…”

you slide in inch by inch, watching her face—lips parted, brows furrowed, cheeks flushed deep pink.

she’s tight, hot, walls fluttering around you like she’s trying to pull you deeper.

when you’re fully seated, hips flush, balls pressed against her ass, you still letting her adjust, letting her feel how full she is, how deep you are.

“so big…” she whispers, voice trembling. “feel you everywhere…”

you start moving, grinding more than thrusting, letting her feel every drag of your cock against her walls.

she moans softly with every movement, hips rocking to meet you, trying to take more. her hands clutch your shoulders, nails biting skin.

“like that?” you ask, voice low, hands sliding up her sides under the hoodie, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.

“yes… god yes…” she nods fast, eyes half-closed. “more… please more…”

you keep it slow, grinding against her g-spot with every roll. her moans get louder, needier, hips grinding down harder.

“more,” she begs again, voice cracking. “harder… please…”

you grip her hips tighter, start thrusting, still controlled, but deeper, sharper.

the couch creaks under you, wet sounds filling the room every time you bottom out. she cries out, nails digging into your shoulders, head falling back.

“fuck, yes!—harder—” she’s babbling now, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around you.

you thrust harder and faster, hips snapping forward. she sobs, back arching, tits bouncing under the hoodie.

you push the fabric up, mouth latching onto one nipple—sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak. she moans louder, hands fisting your hair.

“you want it rough?” you growl against her skin. “want me to fuck you like a slut on your birthday?”

“yes! oh god—please… fuck me like a slut—” she cries, hips bucking up to meet you.

you pound into her—fast, rough, cock slamming against her cervix with every thrust.

she’s crying now—tears of pleasure, nails raking down your back, begging nonstop.

“cum…!” she gasps. “please! cum inside—fill me up—”

you groan, thrusts turning sloppy, balls tight. “yeah? m’ gonna cum, gonna fill you so full—”

“yes! yes! oh fuck—do it!”

you slam in deep, bury yourself to the hilt, and come—hot, thick ropes flooding her, spilling deep inside her pussy.

she comes with you, pussy spasming, clenching tight, milking every drop, screaming your name.

you keep grinding through it, pushing your cum deeper, until you’re both shaking, oversensitive, spent.

you collapse together, panting, bodies slick with sweat. she wraps her arms around your neck, legs locking around your waist, keeping you inside.

her pussy is swollen, puffy from how hard you fucked her, clit still throbbing against your pelvis.

she’s breathing hard against your neck, small shudders rolling through her.

her nipples are hard against your chest, brushing you every time she inhales.

you can feel her heartbeat—fast, uneven, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to match yours.

“fuck…” she exhales, voice wrecked, barely above a whisper.

she clenches around you on purpose, a tiny ripple that makes you groan low in your throat.

more cum leaks out, warm and slick, dripping down the crack of your ass.

you stroke her back, fingers tracing the knobs of her spine under the hoodie. “you okay, mei?”

she nods against your skin, hair tickling your jaw. “yeah… just… full.” she shifts again, hips rocking once, shallow, like she can’t help it.

you both groan at the feeling—your cock dragging against her sensitive walls, pushing the mess deeper.

“still leaking,” she mumbles, embarrassed but not moving away. her thighs quiver, muscles jumping every time she clenches. “i can feel it… dripping out…”

you kiss her temple, then her cheek, tasting salt. “i know. and i wanna keep you like this.”

she whimpers, soft and needy—hips giving another tiny roll. “yeah… want that too.”

you stay like that for a long time. her on top, your cock still inside, softening but not leaving. every small shift makes more cum slip out; you can feel it cooling on your skin, sticky and intimate.

her breathing evens out slowly, but she doesn’t pull away. instead she nuzzles closer, lips brushing your collarbone, small kisses pressed there like ‘thank you’s.’

after a while she lifts her head, looks at you with those big, glassy eyes.

her cheeks are still flushed.

she looks wrecked and beautiful and yours.

“happy birthday,” you whisper, thumb brushing her lower lip.

she smiles. “best one.”

you kiss her then—slow, lazy, tongues brushing without rush. she sighs into your mouth, hand sliding up to cup your jaw. the kiss deepens, turns messy, wet, needy. her hips rock again—small, helpless circles and you feel yourself harden inside her, just a little.

she gasps, pulls back an inch. “you’re… getting hard again?”

“can’t help it,” you mutter, kissing her jaw. “you feel too good.”

she whimpers, clenches around you on purpose. more cum leaks out, warm and thick. “fuck… keep going slow… just like that…”

you roll your hips gentle, shallow, grinding deep.

she moans softly, head falling back, exposing her throat. you kiss it, suck lightly, feel her pulse jump under your tongue.

she rocks back against you, matching your rhythm, slow and easy, like you’re both too sensitive for anything harder.

“i love you,” she whispers, voice cracking. “love you so much…”

“ilove you too baby,” you say against her neck. “so fucking much.”

her fingers dig into your shoulders. her moans are soft, breathy, every roll of her hips making a small wet sound.

cum squelches out with every movement, dripping down your thighs, soaking the couch.

she comes again, quiet this time, just a soft gasp, pussy fluttering around you, milking gently.

you follow a minute later—slow, deep, spilling inside her one last time, low groan muffled against her shoulder.

you stay like that, tangled, and warm until your breathing evens out.

she kisses your collarbone, your jaw, your cheek softy, over and over.

you finally pull out carefully watching thick cum gush out, dripping down her thighs.

she whimpers at the loss, hips twitching.

you grab the warm cloth, clean her gently between her legs, her thighs, her stomach—kissing every spot you wipe.

she watches you with soft, sleepy eyes, hand resting on your arm.

when you’re both clean, you crawl back up, pull her into your arms. she curls against your chest, leg thrown over yours, face nuzzled into your neck.

“thank you for everything,” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

“i’m glad,” you whisper back, kissing her forehead.

she falls asleep like that. wrapped around you, safe and full and yours.

it’s february 10th—megan’s birthday and you’ve been planning this small moment all week.

you’re 6 months pregnant, belly round and heavy under your oversized shirt ( one of megan’s old ones ), moving slower than usual.

the kitchen smells like vanilla and burnt sugar because you almost fucked up the frosting but managed to save it.

you finish lighting the single candle on the tiny chocolate cake you made from scratch. it’s not perfect, slightly lopsided, frosting a bit runny but it’s yours.

you carry it carefully into the living room where megan is sprawled on the couch in her favorite gray sweatpants and a black tank top, scrolling her phone with one hand, the other resting lazily on her stomach.

she looks up when you start humming happy birthday off-key. “happy birthday megan…”

the cake is small—two layers, chocolate with vanilla frosting, a little wonky on one side from your shaky piping.

“no way,” she says, sitting up fast. “you made this?” her voice is quiet, almost disbelieving.

her whole face lights up—big, genuine, that cute smile she only does when she’s really happy and she stares at it like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“yup. just for you.” you light the candles, the tiny flames flickering.

megan’s eyes go soft. she reaches out, pulls you gently onto the couch beside her so you don’t strain yourself. “it’s perfect. you’re perfect.” she leans over, kisses your cheek, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. “thank you, baby.”

you blush, duck your head. “come on, make a wish.”

she closes her eyes, blows them out in one breath. you clap softly, laughing when she opens her eyes and looks at you like you’re a miracle.

you cut two slices, hand her the bigger one. she takes a bite, eyes fluttering shut. “fuck, this is good.”

“language,” you tease, but you’re smiling.

you eat together, shoulders touching, her free hand resting protectively on your bump.

she keeps stealing glances at you between bites, still can’t believe you’re here, married to her, carrying her baby.

after the cake, you clean up together—her washing dishes, you drying, hips bumping occasionally.

“you know you could spend tonight with your friends,” you say while stacking plates. “sophia already texted me she has three different presents lined up for you. i bet they’re ridiculous.”

megan laughs, drying her hands on a towel. “nope. i’d rather be here with you.”

“it’s your birthday, mei. go have fun. i’ll be fine.”

she turns to face you, leans against the counter, arms crossed. “my birthday wish was to spend it with my wife and our little one.” she places her hand on your bump, thumb stroking gently. “that’s all i want.”

you feel your throat tighten. you lean in, kiss her slow—soft, lingering, tasting the faint chocolate on her lips from sneaking a bite of frosting earlier. she kisses you back just as gentle, hand coming up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like you’re made of glass.

later, after you both get ready for bed, you’re in the bedroom. you’re in pajamas, brushing your teeth while she changes into boxers and a loose tank.

you catch her reflection in the mirror—she’s staring at you.

expression soft but… disappointed? not in you. never in you.

just… like a puppy who knows she’s not getting her favorite treat.

you rinse, spit, wipe your mouth. “what’s that face for?”

she shrugs, climbs into bed, pulls the covers up. “nothing. just tired.”

you crawl in beside her, turn off the lamp. the room goes dark except for the soft glow of the baby monitor. you lie on your side facing her, hand resting on her arm.

“mei.”

she hums.

“it’s okay if you want to… you know.” you trace a finger down her arm. “i know we haven’t in a while because of the pregnancy. but if you want to tonight…”

she goes still. then turns to face you fully, eyes searching yours in the dark. “i do want to. fuck, i want to so bad. but…” she swallows. “i’m scared. what if i can’t control it? what if i hurt you? or the baby?”

you reach up, cup her cheek. “you won’t. you’ve been so careful with me the whole time. i trust you.”

she exhales shakily, leans in, kisses you slow and deep. “you’re sure?”

“i’m sure.”

she kisses you again—deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours, hand sliding under your shirt to rest on your bump. she pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “i love you so much.”

“i love you too,” you whisper back.

she kisses you again, like she’s memorizing every second, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she stops.

her hands are gentle—one cupping the back of your neck, the other resting low on your hip, thumb stroking the skin just above your waistband.

she pulls back first, just enough to breathe. her forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

her eyes are half lidded, dark, and so soft it makes your chest ache.

“you’re so beautiful,” she whispers, voice rough from kissing, thumb tracing the curve of your stomach. “i can’t believe you’re here with me.”

you smile, small and shy, fingers sliding into her hair. “i’m not going anywhere.”

she exhales shakily, kisses you again—deeper this time, tongue sliding slow against yours, hand slipping under your tank to rest warm on your bare stomach. she pulls back only when you both need air, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

“i want to taste you,” she murmurs, voice low and earnest.

she kisses down your jaw, your throat, soft open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver. her hands push your tank up slowly, exposing your stomach, your ribs, your breasts.

she pauses to kiss the center of your chest, right over your heart, then lower, soft kisses along the underside of your breast, then her mouth closes around your nipple.

she sucks gently, tongue circling the peak, drawing it into her mouth with slow, wet pulls.

you gasp, back arching slightly. she hums against your skin, switches to the other nipple, giving it the same tender attention—sucking soft, laving with her tongue, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper.

her hand slides lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of your shorts.

she tugs them down with your panties in one slow motion, tossing them aside.

you’re bare now, legs falling open instinctively. she settles between them, shoulders spreading your thighs wider, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“so pretty,” she breathes, thumbs spreading your folds gently.

you’re already wet, glistening, clit swollen and sensitive.

she leans in, presses a soft kiss right above your clit, then kissing your entrance, tasting you with a slow drag of her tongue.

you moan softly, hips lifting.

she holds you down with gentle pressure on your thighs, tongue flattening to lick a long, slow stripe from your hole to your clit.

she groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“taste so good,” she mumbles, voice muffled. she licks again, slower, tongue dipping inside you to gather your wetness, then circling your clit with soft, wet strokes.

she’s unhurried, savoring every sound you make, every twitch of your hips.

you’re close already. “megan—i’m—”

she pulls back just enough. “not yet, okay?” she whispers, kissing your inner thigh softly. “wanna take my time with you.”

you whimper, head falling back. she smiles against your skin, then dives back in—tongue circling your clit slow and steady, two fingers sliding inside you, curling gently to stroke that spot that makes your toes curl.

she thrusts slow, matching the rhythm of her tongue, building you up again without letting you tip over.

“please,” you gasp, fingers threading through her hair. “please let me—”

“soon,”

she promises, voice soft. “just feel it. feel me.”

she keeps going—slow licks, gentle thrusts, sucking your clit lightly then releasing, over and over until you’re trembling, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels.

finally she curls her fingers harder, tongue flicking fast, and you come with a broken moan—body arching, pussy clenching around her fingers, wetness coating her chin.

she licks you through it, slow and gentle, until you’re whimpering and tugging at her hair. she pulls back, kisses your thigh, your mound, then crawls up your body.

she kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue then settles between your legs again.

her cock is hard, leaking against your thigh. she looks at you, eyes soft but dark with want.

“can i?” she asks quietly.

you nod, legs spreading wider.

she lines up, rubs the head through your folds, coating herself in your slick then pushes in slow.

you both groan at the stretch. she’s thick, filling you inch by inch, careful despite how badly she wants it. when she bottoms out, hips flush against yours, she stills, breathing hard against your neck.

“fuck… you feel so good,” she whispers, voice cracking. “so warm…a-and so tight…”

she starts moving deep rolls of her hips, grinding more than thrusting at first.

every drag of her cock makes you gasp, her tip hitting that spot inside you over and over.

she’s whimpering already—soft, pathetic little sounds against your throat.

“ughn… i-i love you…” she chokes out, hips stuttering. “love you so much…”

you wrap your legs around her waist, pull her closer. “i love you too,” you whisper back, fingers threading through her hair.

she keeps it slow and deep, grinding thrusts that make you feel every inch, every vein.

she kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips—messy, needy, tongue sliding against yours. her hands roam, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples, then sliding down to grip your hips.

“you’re so good,” she mumbles between kisses. “so fucking good and s-so perfect for me…”

she speeds up gradually, thrusts getting harder, deeper, but still controlled. she’s whimpering nonstop now. high, broken sounds every time she bottoms out. “ugh… fuck… feels so good… love being inside you…”

you’re moaning with her, hips meeting every thrust, nails digging into her back.

she’s close, you can feel it in the way her cock throbs, the way her thrusts turn sloppy.

“gonna cum,” she gasps, hips jerking. “can i—inside?”

“yes,” you breathe. “inside me.”

she slams in deep one last time, groaning low and wrecked as she comes—thick, hot spurts flooding you. she keeps grinding through it, whimpering your name over and over, until she’s spent.

she collapses on top of you, panting, cock still inside, softening slowly.

she kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, your cheek—soft, over and over.

“thank you,” she whispers. “i love you.”

you stroke her hair, kiss her temple. “love you too.”

your legs are loose around her waist, thighs sticky with sweat and the mess she just left inside you.

she’s panting softly against your neck, small shaky exhales, her hands sliding up your sides, thumbs stroking your ribs like she’s grounding herself.

she lifts her head after a minute, hair messy and sticking to her forehead, cheeks still flushed.

she looks down at you with that goofy, dazed smile she gets right after she cums like she’s half drunk on you.

“happy birthday to me,” she whispers, voice rough from moaning.

you laugh quietly, breathless, fingers threading through her damp hair. “happy birthday, mei.”

she leans down, kisses you slow and lazy—lips brushing yours, tongue just barely touching, more affection than heat now.

when she pulls back she rests her forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“twins, huh?” she says suddenly, voice raspy and serious for half a second.

you blink up at her, “…what?”

she looks down toward your stomach, then down between your legs where she’s still buried, cum slowly leaking out around her cock. “twins,” she repeats, deadpan. “because i just… um… came inside.” she pauses “okay yeah not funny. sorry.”

she winces immediately, cheeks going from post-orgasm pink to embarrassed red.

she starts to pull out carefully, but you tighten your legs around her hips on instinct, keeping her there.

“wait,” you say, voice soft. you’re still catching your breath too, but you can’t help the small laugh that bubbles up. “that was… so bad.”

megan groans, dropping her face back into your neck. “i know. i’m an idiot. why do i say shit like that?”

you laugh again—fingers threading through her damp hair. “because you’re a dork.”

she peeks up at you, eyes big and hopeful despite the embarrassment. “and yours?”

“of course.” you pull her down for a slow kiss.

she melts into it, whimpering softly when you clench around her softening cock one last time.

she finally pulls out with a small groan from both of you, a thick trickle of cum following immediately.

she winces like it physically pains her to leave you empty. “shit… look at that,” she mutters, staring between your legs with a mix of awe and guilt. “i made such a mess.”

you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down too. your thighs are slick, cum smeared everywhere, pussy puffy and leaking.

it’s filthy and intimate and somehow makes your stomach flip all over again.

megan grabs the warm cloth from the nightstand, wipes you gently—between your folds, down your thighs, careful not to press too hard on your sensitive clit.

she cleans herself next, quick and efficient, then tosses the cloth toward the hamper.

she crawls back up, pulls the comforter over both of you, tucks you against her chest.

her hand immediately finds your stomach, palm flat and warm over the small bump.

“you sure you’re okay?” she asks quietly, voice small now that the haze is clearing. “i didn’t… hurt you? or the baby?”

you shake your head, nuzzling into her collarbone. “no. felt good. really good.”

she exhales, relieved, kisses the top of your head. “thank god. i was so scared i’d lose control.”

“you didn’t.” you trace lazy circles on her chest. “you were perfect.”

she hums, content, fingers stroking your back now. “gosh, i love you,” she whispers. “so fucking much.”

“and i love you so so much.”

she pulls you even closer, leg thrown over yours, hand protective on your bump. “no more stupid jokes,” she mumbles sleepily. “promise.”

you smile against her skin. “i kinda liked the joke.”

she huffs a laugh. “liar.”

the vintage camera sits on her desk like a relic from another era—black plastic scratched from use, strap worn thin, lens cap dangling by a thread.

she found it buried in a bin at a garage sale last summer, bought from a guy for ten bucks, and now it’s her constant companion.

slung around her neck on a lanyard she stole from the campus bookstore, clicking away at anything that catches her eye.

at first it was innocent stuff.

campus quad in the morning light, her roommate sophia making funny faces over breakfast, stray cats lounging by the library steps. people noticed the camera right away.

“you should be a photographer, lowkey,” they’d say with a laugh.

“you’re like a hipster photographer now.” she’d grin back, shrug it off.

“yeah, the photos come out so grainy and real. digital’s too clean.”

but that’s not why she does it.

it started with the girls.

one day in the courtyard, she saw a group of freshmen laughing by the fountain. one of them—tall, with long dark hair and a crop top showing a sliver of stomach—caught her eye.

megan lifted the camera without thinking, snapped a shot.

later, when she developed the film in the campus darkroom, she couldn’t stop staring. the way the light hit her skin, the curve of her waist, the carefree tilt of her head.

that night, alone in her room, door locked, lights off, megan pulled the photo out from under her mattress.

her hand slipped into her shorts, palm wrapped around the base, slow at first, then faster as she imagined the girl’s mouth on her, the girl’s hands pinning her down.

she came hard, whimpering into her pillow, photo clutched in her free hand.

after that it became a habit.

she’d spot girls around campus—in lecture halls, at the coffee stand, on the quad and lift the camera casually. “hey, can i get a shot for my portfolio?” she’d ask with that goofy, harmless smile.

most said yes. they thought it was artsy, cute, a fun story to tell friends.

megan laughed along, but inside her stomach twisted with anticipation.

the darkroom became her sanctuary. locked away in the red light, chemicals sharp in her nose, she’d watch the images emerge on the paper—girls smiling, laughing, unaware.

she’d take them home, hide them in a shoebox under her bed labeled ‘old notes,’ and wait until her roommate was out.

that’s when the real routine started.

megan would lock the door, strip down to nothing, spread the photos out on her bed like a ritual.

she’d pick her favorites—maybe the one of that blonde from bio class bending over to pick up a book, ass perfectly framed or the brunette in the library with her legs crossed, skirt riding up just enough.

she’d start with fingers trailing down her stomach, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples until they hardened.

her cock would twitch, hardening fast, pre-cum beading at the tip. she’d stroke herself lightly at first, base to head, thumb smearing the slickness, eyes fixed on the photos. “fuck… you’re so pretty,” she’d whisper to the image, imagining the girl on her knees, mouth open.

her hand would speed up, hips bucking into her fist, whimpers slipping out—high, pathetic little sounds like “please… touch me… i need it…”

she’d edge herself sometimes, stopping right when the pressure built too high, panting hard, sweat beading on her forehead.

“not yet… not yet…” she’d mutter, flipping to another photo to keep going.

eventually she’d lose control—hand flying fast, cock throbbing, balls tight.

she’d cum with a choked whimper, ropes of thick white spilling over her hand, the photos, her stomach. “y/n—fuck—y/n—!” she’d moan your name without thinking, body shaking, tears pricking her eyes from how intense it was.

y/n.

you were the worst. the best. the one who made her feel like the biggest pervert.

she first saw you in the campus bookstore, reaching for a textbook on a high shelf, shirt riding up to show a strip of skin.

she snapped a pic before she could stop herself. developed it that night.

jerked off to it twice.

then she kept seeing you everywhere. psych class. coffee line. quad benches. she started ‘accidentally’ being in the same places, camera ready.

“hey, mind if i take your pic? for a project?” she’d ask, voice casual but heart pounding. you’d shrug, smile that small smile, pose awkwardly.

she’d thank you, walk away cool, but inside she was dying.

the shoebox filled with you. candid shots. close ups of your lips, your neck, your hands.

she’d spread them out, stroke herself slow, imagining your mouth on her cock, your hands pinning her wrists, your pussy clenching around her.

“y/n… please… fuck me…” she’d whimper, hand flying fast, cum splattering the photos when she came.

she felt pathetic. a loser sneaking pics, jerking off alone in her room while her roommate was out.

she knew it was wrong. creepy. but she couldn’t stop. the high was too good, the shame too twisted into pleasure.

one night it’s bad.

she developed a new roll—pics from the festival, you in a sundress laughing, wind catching the fabric to show thigh.

she strips fast, spreads the photos out, hand already on her cock. “y/n… you’re so fucking pretty…” she whispers, stroking base to tip, thumb circling the head.

she edges for an hour—stopping every time she’s close, whining “not yet… want you to make me cum…” finally she can’t hold it. hand flies fast, cock throbbing, balls tight.

“y/n—fuck—gonna cum for you—” she moans, high and pathetic, body arching as she cums hard, ropes hitting the photos, her chest, the sheets.

she collapses, panting, cum cooling, tears in her eyes.

she’s a loser and a pervert. she knows it. hates it.

but she’ll do it again tomorrow.

megan’s got this old 1998 sony camera she bought off a guy on facebook marketplace for forty bucks.

it’s bulky, silver, scratched to hell, screen cracked in one corner, but the lens still works and it takes these grainy, slightly oversaturated photos that look like they’re from a time capsule.

she carries it everywhere on campus, slung around her neck like a tourist, or dangling from her wrist when she’s biking between buildings.

people think it’s cute. aesthetic.

‘vintage vibes,’ they say. ‘you’re so artsy, megan.’

she lets them think that.

she takes pictures of girls. a lot of girls.

candid shots mostly. girls laughing in the quad, girls walking to class with iced coffee, girls stretching before dance practice, girls sitting on the grass with textbooks open they’re not reading.

she zooms in on small things.

the way a skirt rides up a thigh when someone sits down, the curve of a neck when hair gets tucked behind an ear, the flash of skin when a crop top lifts during a hug. she frames them perfectly, deletes the blurry ones, keeps the rest in a locked album titled ‘misc.’

but it’s not about the photos.

it’s about you.

you’re in almost every roll.

you walking across the courtyard with your headphones in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song is playing.

you sitting on the steps outside the library, skirt bunched up just enough to show the top of your thigh. you laughing at something your friend said, head thrown back, throat exposed. you bending over to pick up a pen you dropped, ass curved perfectly in those jeans you always wear.

you stretching after class, arms above your head, tank top riding up to show a strip of stomach. you chewing on a straw while you read, lips pursed around it like you’re sucking something else.

she gets home after a long day, locks her dorm door, drops her bag, kicks off her shoes, and collapses onto her bed. phone out. album open. she scrolls slow.

your face fills the screen.

she zooms in on the last one she took today; you leaning against a wall outside the lecture hall, one foot propped up, skirt riding up just enough to show the edge of your thigh highs.

she stares at that skin for too long.

her breathing changes. hand slips under her waistband.

she’s already half hard just from looking.

she pulls her sweats down to mid thigh, cock springing free, thick and flushed. she wraps her hand around the base, strokes once, slow, eyes glued to your photo.

she imagines what it would feel like to push that skirt up, to press you against the same wall, to slide into you while you’re still holding your notebook like nothing’s happening.

she whimpers.

low, pathetic, barely audible. her thumb swipes over the head, spreading pre-cum. she scrolls to the next photo; you laughing, mouth open, tongue visible for a split second.

she groans and strokes faster.

“fuck… you’re so pretty,” she mutters to the empty room. “so fucking pretty.”

she keeps scrolling. another one; you bending over in the library, ass curved, skirt tight.

she squeezes harder, hips bucking into her fist. her free hand grabs your pillow, presses it to her face, inhales the faint scent of your shampoo that’s still on it from the last time you slept over. ( she never washed it )

she moans into the fabric, muffled.

“need you… please… i love you…—ugh fuck…”

she’s jerking faster now, slick sounds filling the room, hips lifting off the bed.

she scrolls back to the thigh highs photo, stares at that exposed skin, imagines pushing between your legs, spreading you open, sliding in slow while you gasp her name.

she comes hard—sudden, messy, cum spilling over her knuckles, dripping onto her stomach, a few weak spurts landing on the screen of her phone.

she gasps, body jerking, high pitched whimpers slipping out as she rides it out. her hand slows, milking the last drops, until she’s oversensitive and shaking.

she lies there panting, cum cooling on her skin, phone still open on your photo. the screen times out, goes black.

she stares at the ceiling for a long time.

then locks the album again, and pulls the covers over herself.

the old camera became her ‘way-to-go’ toy. since she’s been taking pictures of you for months now.

megan’s room is dark except for the glow from her phone screen. the rest of the dorm is dead quiet. she’s lying on her stomach, legs kicking slowly behind her, chin on the pillow, phone propped up on her folded arms.

she’s scrolling reddit again. the same subreddit she’s been obsessed with for two weeks now.

r/camerashacks

someone posted a thread titled:

“PSA: the sony 1998 nightshot mode + dark filter method ( for educational purposes. )”

megan clicked on it immediately.

the post has photos. proof. people testing it in real life. turning the old night shot mode on during the day, slapping a black filter over the lens, and suddenly you can see right through thin clothes.

its not perfect, not hd porn, but enough. shadows of nipples, outline of underwear, the faint suggestion of skin under fabric.

the comments are full of people losing their minds.

“tested on my gf’s tank top n you can see EVERYTHING”

“bro this is insane i can see my roommate’s bra through her shirt rn”

“this is so wrong but i’m not deleting the pics”

megan read every single comment. twice.

then she looked at her desk.

the 1998 sony camera is sitting there charging. silver body scratched to shit, lens cap dangling from the wrist strap.

she picks it up.

her thumb hovers over the power button.

she powers it on.

the little lcd screen flickers to life. she goes into the menu, finds nightshot mode, turns it on. then she digs in her drawer for the dark filter she bought.

she tapes it over the lens with black electrical.

she stands up.

walks to the door.

opens it quietly.

your room is two doors down. she walks barefoot, heart slamming so loud she’s sure someone will hear it.

your door is unlocked—you never lock it.

she pushes it open maybe two inches. just enough to aim the camera through the gap.

you’re asleep on your stomach. thin tank top. no bra. tiny sleep shorts. the hallway light is off but your desk lamp is on low, warm orange glow spilling across your back, lighting up the side of your body perfectly.

megan raises the camera.

she presses the shutter.

click.

the screen shows the photo instantly.

and there they are.

your nipples. dark, hard little peaks clearly visible through the thin white cotton. the shape of your breasts pressed against the mattress.

the curve of your ass in those shorts. the faint line of your spine. everything.

she stares at the photo for so long her eyes start to burn.

she takes another one. slightly different angle.

click.

and another.

click.

her breathing is shallow. she can feel herself getting hard just looking at the screen.

she backs out slowly. closes your door without a sound.

she walks back to her room on shaky legs.

megan locks her door again, double checks the deadbolt even though no one ever comes in unannounced.

her heart is still racing from the hallway, from standing outside your door with the camera raised like some creep.

she sits on the edge of her bed, legs shaky, phone clutched in one hand, the sony cybershot resting on her thigh like it’s burning her.

she opens the gallery.

the first photo loads; you asleep on your stomach, tank top thin, breasts pressed against the mattress.

the nightshot and dark filter did its job.

your nipples are clearly visible—dark little peaks showing through the fabric, the faint outline of your areolas, even the slight puffiness from how full they are.

she stares.

her thumb hovers over the zoom. she taps. the image enlarges. she can see the tiny texture of the cotton clinging to your skin, the way one nipple is slightly more prominent than the other. she imagines putting her mouth there.

warm, wet, sucking until milk beads at the tip, until you wake up moaning her name, arching into her face.

her cock is already throbbing again.

she shoves her sweats down to her knees, wraps her hand around the base, strokes once slow. a bead of pre-cum wells up immediately. she swipes it with her thumb, spreads it down the shaft, then starts jerking—eyes locked on your nipple in the photo.

“fuck…” she whispers to the empty room. “wanna suck them so bad… wanna taste you…”

she strokes faster, twisting her wrist on the upstroke, thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of the head. her breathing turns ragged, little whimpers slipping out every few pumps.

she scrolls to the next photo. she zooms in again, stares at the perfect little circle, imagines flicking it with her tongue, sucking until it’s swollen and sensitive, until you grab her hair and push her face deeper.

“please… wanna put my mouth on you…” she mumbles, voice cracking. her hips lift off the bed, fucking into her fist. “wanna make you feel good… —i wanna drink it all…”

she’s jerking hard now, slick sounds loud in the quiet room. pre-cum drips over her knuckles, runs down her shaft.

she switches to the photo of your ass in the shorts—curved perfectly, fabric clinging to the shape.

she imagines flipping you over, spreading your legs, pushing inside while your tits bounce.

“fuck—fuck—y/n—” she chokes out, hips bucking. “gonna cum… gonna cum thinking about you and—and your tits…”

she scrolls back to the nipple close-up one last time. stares. strokes faster. her balls tighten, thighs shake.

she comes with a muffled whimper. white ropes shoot across her stomach, some hitting her shirt, some landing on the phone screen again.

her hips jerk with every pulse, cock twitching in her hand as she milks the last drops.

she collapses back, panting, cum cooling on her skin, phone still open on your photo.

she stares at the ceiling for a long time.

then she wipes her hand on her shirt, locks the album again, and pulls the covers over herself.

she tells herself maybe she’ll delete them soon.

spoiler alert! she won't.

you’ve known megan and sophia for almost a year now, ever since you started dating sophia’s older brother, kai.

kai is sweet, steady, the kind of guy who plans dates weeks in advance and remembers your coffee order.

he’s the reason you’re at their family dinners every other sunday, the reason you’ve become a fixture in the laforteza and skiendiel household.

their parents adore you, always refilling your plate, asking about your job, telling you how lucky kai is.

you smile and thank them, play the perfect girlfriend, but every time you’re in that house, your eyes drift.

sophia is always there, quiet in the background, watching you with those dark, unreadable eyes. she’s the older sister who doesn’t talk much at the table but notices everything.

like, how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous, how you laugh a little too hard at kai’s jokes when you’re trying to convince yourself you’re happy.

she never says anything, but sometimes you catch her staring a second too long, cheeks faintly flushed, before she looks away.

megan is louder, bolder, always the one cracking jokes and pulling you into hugs that last a heartbeat longer than they should.

she’s kai’s best friend ( too ) since high school, practically family so no one blinks when she slings an arm around your shoulders or calls you ‘pretty girl’ in that teasing tone.

but you feel it.

the way her fingers linger on your waist, the way her laugh drops an octave when it’s just the two of you in the kitchen grabbing drinks.

the way she looks at you like she’s starving and you’re the only thing on the menu.

you’re not stupid.

you felt the spark the first time you met them both—at kai’s birthday barbecue last spring.

sophia shook your hand politely, but her grip was warm, her thumb brushed the inside of your wrist for half a second longer than necessary.

megan hugged you like you’d known each other forever, chin on your shoulder, whispering “kai didn’t tell me his girlfriend was this gorgeous.” you laughed it off.

blamed the beer.

blamed anything except the truth; your pulse jumped. your skin tingled where they touched you.

and it never really stopped.

you told yourself it was nothing.

you love kai.

he loves you.

he’s good. he talks about the future.

house, wedding, kids someday.

that’s what you’re supposed to want. that’s what’s right.

so you ignore it.

ignore the way sophia’s gaze lingers when you wear that one sundress she complimented once ‘it looks really good on you… like, really good.’

ignore the way megan ‘accidentally’ brushes her hand against your lower back every time she passes you in the hallway.

ignore the dreams where it’s not kai’s hands on you at night.

but it’s getting harder.

family dinner last weekend, you were helping clear plates in the kitchen.

sophia walked in behind you to grab water.

she reached past you for a glass, her chest brushing your back for a split second.

you froze. she froze.

neither of you moved.

you could feel her heartbeat through her shirt—fast ans unsteady.

she exhaled shakily against your ear before stepping back like nothing happened.

you didn’t look at her for the rest of the night.

two days ago, megan ‘dropped by’ kai’s place to ‘return a hat.’ you were alone in the living room.

she sat next to you on the couch. too close.

her thigh pressed against yours.

she stretched, arm draping along the backrest behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder.

‘you smell good,’ she said casually. ‘what is that?’

you mumbled something about perfume.

she leaned in, nose almost touching your neck, inhaled slow. ‘fuck… it suits you.’ her voice was low, rough.

you clenched your thighs together and pretended to check your phone.

yesterday, group hangout at a barbecue spot. kai was inside paying.

you were outside with megan and sophia, waiting for the table.

it was windy. your hair kept blowing in your face.

megan reached over without thinking, tucked it behind your ear. her fingers lingered on your cheek.

sophia watched the whole thing—jaw tight, eyes dark.

when megan’s hand dropped, sophia stepped closer on your other side, brushing your arm with hers.

you felt sandwiched between them, heart hammering, thighs pressing together under the table.

you told yourself it’s fine. you’re with kai.

you’re happy. right?

but every time you’re near them, your body remembers what your mind keeps trying to forget.

and tonight, another family dinner, you’re sitting across from both of them again.

sophia’s knee brushes yours under the table when she shifts.

she doesn’t move it.

megan leans over to pass you the kimchi, her fingers grazing yours longer than necessary. she smiles, knowing—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

you smile back. polite.

but under the table your hands are shaking.

you don’t know how much longer you can pretend.

the laforteza and skiendiel family trip to bali was supposed to be relaxing.

two families, one massive villa rented for the week, ocean view, infinity pool, private beach access—everyone’s idea of paradise.

your boyfriend kai had been planning it for months, group dinners, boat trips, sunset yoga sessions, the whole “bonding” package.

you’d been excited at first. a week in the sun with kai’s family sounded perfect.

you were wrong.

day three, everything explodes.

it starts small.

the villa has eight bedrooms, but the booking agent fucked up—only seven are usable because one has a burst pipe and black mold.

the parents immediately claim the master suites. kai’s cousins take two rooms.

kai’s parents take another. sophia and megan get the last two decent rooms.

that leaves you and kai… without a bed.

kai shrugs like it’s no big deal. “we can share with someone. it’s only for a few nights.”

sophia offers first—eyes flicking to you for half a second too long. “you can stay with me. i have the king bed.”

kai laughs. “nah, you’d kill us with your snoring, soph.”

megan jumps in next, casual as hell. “she can crash with me. i don’t mind. my room has the pull out couch anyway.”

kai considers it for two seconds, then nods. “cool. problem solved. thanks, megs.”

you open your mouth to protest, something about how you’ll just sleep on the couch in the living room but kai’s already walking off to grab another beer, and megan’s smiling at you like she just won something.

“come on,” she says, voice low. “i’ll help you move your stuff.”

the room is beautiful.

ocean facing balcony, white linen curtains blowing in the breeze, one king bed with too many pillows, and a small pull out couch that looks like it hasn’t been touched in years.

megan kicks her suitcase into the corner, flops onto the bed, arms behind her head, watching you unpack.

“you can take the bed,” she says. “i’ll crash on the couch.”

you shake your head. “no way. it’s your room.”

she shrugs. “we can share the bed. it’s huge. we’re both small.”

you freeze for half a second.

she says it so casually, like it’s nothing.

like sharing a bed with your best friend sister isn’t loaded.

that night you lie awake on your side of the bed, back to megan, trying to breathe normally. the mattress dips when she shifts.

you feel her heat behind you, close enough that if you moved back even an inch you’d be touching.

she doesn’t speak for a long time.

“you okay?”

you swallow. “yeah. just… not used to sharing a bed with someone who isn’t kai.”

she’s quiet again. then, “does he know how lucky he is?”

your heart stutters. “what?”

“having you.” her voice is barely above a whisper. “he’s so fucking lucky.”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

your pulse is too loud in your ears.

she shifts closer. not touching, but close enough you feel her breath on the back of your neck.

“sorry,” she mumbles. “i shouldn’t have said that.”

you turn over slowly.

in the moonlight you can see her face, eyes open, staring at you like she’s memorizing every detail. she looks… wrecked.

like she’s been fighting something for a very long time.

“megan…”

she closes her eyes. “don’t. please. i’m trying so hard to be good.”

your throat clicks when you swallow. “trying not to what?”

she laughs once, bitter. “want you. touch you. taste you. fuck you...”

the words land like punches.

you feel heat rush between your legs, shame and want twisting together.

“we can’t,” you whisper.

“i know.” she opens her eyes again. they’re wet. “i know.”

silence stretches.

then she reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away and brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“but if you ever… want to…” she trails off. “i’d take care of you. better than he ever could.”

you don’t answer.

you just stare at each other in the dark.

neither of you can sleep peacefully that night.

the next morning, the villa is already alive with the sound of waves and distant laughter from the pool.

you wake up alone in the king bed—megan must have slipped out early to avoid anyone noticing she spent the night wrapped around you.

the sheets still smell like her, vanilla, sweat, and the faint musk of everything that happened last night.

you shower quickly then throw on a simple white sundress and head downstairs.

the guilt is there, sharp and heavy, but so is the afterglow.

sophia is in the kitchen when you walk in.

she’s alone, leaning against the counter in tiny sleep shorts and a cropped tank, hair loose, sipping coffee from a mug that says ‘world’s okayest sister.’

she looks up the second you enter, eyes flicking over you like she’s cataloging every inch.

“morning,” she says, voice low and smooth.

“morning,” you reply, trying to sound normal. you grab a mug, pour yourself coffee, keep your back to her while you add creamer.

you feel her eyes on you the whole time.

she moves behind you. you don’t hear her approach until her front is pressed lightly to your back, her breasts soft against your shoulder blades.

her hand slides around your waist, casual, like she’s just reaching for the sugar bowl on the counter in front of you.

except she doesn’t reach for sugar.

her fingers trail lower, over the thin fabric of your sundress, resting just above your hipbone.

she leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“you look tired,” she murmurs. “long night?”

your breath catches. “sophia…”

“relax,” she whispers, hand sliding lower, cupping you through the dress. “no one’s here. kai’s still sleeping. megan’s out on a run. parents are at the pool.”

her fingers press gently, rubbing slow circles over your clit through the fabric.

the touch makes you jolt.

“sophia, what are you—”

“shh.” her other hand comes up, covers your mouth gently. “just feel it.”

she pushes the dress up slowly, fingers slipping under the hem, finding bare skin.

no panties—you didn’t bother after the shower.

she hums approvingly when she discovers that, middle finger sliding through your folds, gathering the slick already pooling there.

“already wet,” she breathes against your neck. “you’re always so ready, aren’t you?”

you whimper into her palm. your hands grip the counter edge, knuckles white. “we can’t… kai—”

“kai’s not here,” she says simply. “and you’re dripping for me.”

she circles your clit slow, teasing, then dips lower—two fingers sliding inside you with no resistance.

sophia groans softly when she feels it.

“fuck,” she mutters. “feel so tight, huh?”

you moan against her hand, hips rocking back instinctively.

she curls her fingers, stroking that spot inside you that makes your knees buckle.

“that’s it,” she whispers. “ride my fingers, baby. let me make you feel good.”

she pumps slow at first, deep, strokes then faster, thumb pressing your clit in tight circles.

you’re shaking, thighs trembling, trying to stay quiet. the kitchen is open-concept; anyone could walk in.

she doesn’t care.

her free hand slides up under your dress, cupping your breast, pinching your nipple through the fabric.

you arch into her touch, moaning louder than you mean to.

“quiet,” she warns, but her voice is wrecked. “unless you want them to hear how wet you are for your boyfriend’s sister.”

you bite your lip hard, trying to obey.

she rewards you by adding a third finger, stretching you wider, thrusting deeper.

the wet sounds are obscene—loud in the quiet kitchen.

you’re dripping down her wrist, slick coating her hand.

“look at you,” she murmurs. “taking three fingers like it’s nothing. kai ever stretch you like this?”

you shake your head frantically.

no.

never like this.

“thought so,” she says, smug. “he doesn’t know how to handle you. but i do.”

she speeds up.

fingers curling relentlessly, thumb grinding your clit. your legs shake harder.

you’re so close.

tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels.

“come on,” she whispers. “cum on my fingers while you think about how wrong this is.”

you shatter—silent but violent, pussy clamping down on her fingers, gushing around them.

your knees buckle, she holds you up with her body, arm tight around your waist, fingers still moving slow inside you, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and oversensitive.

she pulls out gently, brings her wet fingers to your lips.

you open instinctively, sucking them clean. she watches, eyes dark.

“good girl,” she murmurs. “such a good girl for me.”

she kisses you, tasting herself on your tongue.

when she pulls back, she wipes her hand on a dish towel, adjusts your dress like nothing happened.

“breakfast?” she asks casually, turning to the stove.

you’re still shaking, thighs slick, heart hammering.

you nod.

she smiles and starts making eggs like she didn’t just finger fuck you in her family’s kitchen.

the guilt is there, sharp and familiar.

but so is the ache between your legs.

and sophia’s eyes on you promise it’s far from over.

that’s when the back door from the patio swings open.

megan walks in, fresh from her ‘run’.

she’s in sports shorts and a tank top, hair damp with sweat, skin glowing from the sun.

her eyes flick between you and sophia, narrowing slightly.

then she steps inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“wow,” megan says, voice low and edged with something sharp. “you had her before me?”

sophia rolls her eyes, a soft laugh escaping her lips—like it’s all a joke, like megan’s just being dramatic.

she crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter, completely unbothered. “oh please, mei. don’t start.”

megan doesn’t laugh.

she steps closer, eyes locked on you, ignoring sophia completely.

her gaze is intense, almost possessive, like she’s piecing together exactly what happened in the five minutes she was gone.

you feel your face heat up more, the guilt crashing over you in waves. “no,” you say quickly, voice shaky. “nope.”

you push off the counter, grab your coffee mug like it’s a lifeline, and walk away, fast, toward the living room, heart pounding in your ears.

you don’t look back.

you can’t.

the sound of sophia’s laugh and megan’s low murmur follows you, but you keep going, disappearing around the corner before either of them can say another word.

you collapse onto the couch in the other room, mug clutched tight in your hands, trying to steady your breathing.

what the fuck just happened? what the fuck are you doing?

behind you, in the kitchen, the tension thickens. but that’s a problem for later.

for now, you’re just trying not to fall apart.

the beach is crowded but not unbearable, late afternoon sun low and golden, waves crashing steady against the shore.

most of the family scattered after lunch, parents under umbrellas reading, cousins building sandcastles with the kids, kai off somewhere taking photos with his phone.

you ended up walking the waterline with megan’s brother, your best friend since high school.

he’s barefoot, board shorts slung low, tossing a frisbee back and forth with you while you both talk shit about old teachers and laugh at nothing.

it’s easy.

familiar.

he’s the one person who’s never made things complicated, who’s always just… there.

you’re laughing at some dumb story he’s telling about a failed group project when you feel it.

warmth at your back.

megan.

she’s silent as she steps up behind you, close enough that her front presses flush to your back. her chest against your shoulder blades, hips slotting perfectly against your ass.

and then you feel it—hard, thick, unmistakable.

her bulge, straining against the thin fabric of her swim trunks, pressing right into the cleft of your ass like it belongs there.

your breath catches mid laugh. the frisbee sails past you; you don’t even try to catch it.

megan’s hands settle on your hips—light, casual to anyone watching, but you feel the way her fingers dig in just enough to keep you exactly where she wants you.

she leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“you look good in that bikini,” she murmurs, voice low enough that only you hear. “too good.”

you swallow hard. “megan—”

her brother’s still talking, oblivious, turning to grab the frisbee from the sand.

megan uses the second of distraction to grind forward once.

the ridge of her cock drags along the seam of your ass, heat seeping through both layers of fabric.

your knees almost buckle.

“careful,” she whispers, one arm sliding around your waist now, holding you upright. “wouldn’t want your best friend to notice how wet you’re getting.”

you glance sideways.

her brother’s jogging back, grinning, no clue what’s happening behind him.

megan’s other hand slips lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your bikini bottoms, teasing the elastic.

“megan, stop,” you hiss under your breath, but your voice cracks.

your body betrays you—hips tilting back just a fraction, pressing yourself harder against her.

she chuckles, soft and dark against your ear. “you’re saying stop but your ass is begging for it.”

her brother reaches you, tosses the frisbee lightly. “yo, you okay? you look spaced out.”

you force a laugh, too high pitched. “yeah, just… hot. sun’s brutal today.”

megan’s grip tightens, thumb stroking the skin just above your bikini line. “she’s fine,” she says smoothly, voice all casual charm. “just needs to cool off.”

her brother shrugs, jogs off toward the water again, calling for someone to throw the frisbee back.

the second he’s far enough, megan’s hand slides fully under the waistband, fingers dipping between your legs.

you’re soaked—embarrassingly so—and she groans quietly when she feels it.

“later,” she promises against your ear. “when everyone’s asleep. i’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget his name. gonna fill you up until you’re leaking me for days.”

you’re shaking now, thighs trembling, trying to keep your moans silent.

she pulls out slowly, brings her fingers to her mouth, licks them clean while staring at you over your shoulder.

“i’ll be waiting,” she murmurs.

then she steps back, casual as ever, like nothing happened.

she jogs off toward her brother, calling something about the frisbee, leaving you standing there, legs weak, heart pounding, wet and aching and completely fucked.

the villa is dark and quiet by 11:30 p.m.

the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors settling.

everyone else has already disappeared to their rooms.

the living room is empty except for the low glow of a single lamp on the side table and the two of you on the couch.

you’re exhausted.

the day at the beach drained you, sun, salt water, forced smiles, the constant weight of megan and sophia’s eyes on you.

you’re curled up in one corner of the sectional, knees to your chest, wearing one of kai’s t-shirts and soft sleep shorts.

he’s sitting next to you, arm slung lazily around your shoulders, scrolling his phone with his free hand.

“you look tired, babe,” he says softly, voice warm. he sets his phone down, turns toward you, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

you nod, leaning into him a little. “yeah. i’m ready to crash.”

he smiles, that gentle smile he always gives you before bed. “come here.”

he pulls you closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you goodnight.

it’s meant to be quick, just a soft press of lips, but you tilt your head, open for him, and it deepens.

his tongue brushes yours, hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there. you sigh into it, letting the kiss linger, letting it pull you in like it always does.

your eyes flutter open halfway through—lazy, unfocused and that’s when you see her.

megan standing in the hallway entrance, half in shadow, just far enough that kai can’t see her from his angle.

she’s in an oversized sleep shirt and nothing else, hair loose and messy, arms crossed tight over her chest like she’s holding herself together.

her eyes are locked on you on your mouth.

on the way kai’s hand cradles your neck.

she doesn’t move, she just watches.

the guilt hits you like ice water.

your stomach drops. you freeze, lips still on kai’s, eyes wide on megan’s face.

she doesn’t look angry. she doesn’t look hurt. she looks… empty. like something inside her just went quiet.

kai pulls back first, smiling softly. “goodnight, babe. i love you.”

you force a smile, voice barely there. “love you too.”

he kisses your forehead once more, stands up, stretches. “don’t want to wake you when i get up early for the boat thing. sleep good, okay?”

you nod, numb. “okay. night.”

he walks off toward the hallway, passing right by megan without noticing her in the shadows.

she doesn’t move until he’s gone, until the door to the spare room clicks shut.

then she turns and walks away, disappearing down the hall toward the room you’re supposed to share.

you sit there for a long minute, heart hammering, lips still tingling from kai’s kiss, mind screaming. you feel sick.

you feel guilty. you feel like you’re drowning in your own skin.

finally you stand and turn off the lamp, walk down the hallway in the dark.

the door to your shared room is cracked open. a sliver of moonlight spills out.

you push it wider.

megan is already in bed, lying on her side, facing away from you. the sheet is pulled up to her shoulders. she doesn’t move when you step inside. doesn’t speak.

you close the door softly behind you.

the room is silent except for the sound of the ocean outside and your own uneven breathing.

you walk to the bed, climb in on your side, lie on your back staring at the ceiling. neither of you says anything.

after a long minute, you hear her shift—slow, careful. she turns over, facing you now. her eyes are open in the dark, reflecting the faint moonlight. she doesn’t speak. just watches you.

you swallow. “i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t answer right away.

then, very quietly: “go to sleep.”

you close your eyes. she doesn’t move closer. doesn’t reach for you. eventually sleep takes you.

but even in dreams, you feel her eyes on you. watching. waiting.

you’re on your side, facing away from her, knees pulled up slightly, wearing nothing but a thin sleep tank and cotton shorts.

the room is warm, the ceiling fan turning slow overhead, stirring the air just enough to keep it from feeling stuffy.

you drifted off earlier than usual, body heavy from the sun and the emotional whiplash of the day.

megan hasn’t slept.

she’s been lying awake for over an hour, staring at the back of your head, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

she tried to fight it, tried to close her eyes, count backward, think about literally anything else but her body won’t listen.

she’s aching.

has been since she watched kai kiss you goodnight on the couch, since she saw the way your lips parted for him, the way you leaned in even though your eyes flicked toward her in the shadows.

she shifts closer. careful. she tells herself she’ll just hold you.

just feel you close. nothing more.

her front presses lightly to your back. her chest to your shoulder blades, arm sliding around your waist, hand resting flat on your stomach under the hem of your tank.

you don’t stir. your breathing stays even.

she exhales shakily against your neck.

then her hips move, small, tentative roll forward.

her cock is already hard, aching, trapped against the cleft of your ass through her thin sleep shorts. she grinds once, slow, testing.

the friction makes her whimper—soft, needy, barely audible.

she does it again. and again.

tiny little thrusts, hips rocking in shallow circles, pressing herself harder against you with each pass.

her breathing turns ragged, hot against the back of your neck.

she’s trying to be quiet, but the little sounds slip out anyway—small, desperate whines, muffled against your hair.

“fuck,” she whispers, so quiet it’s almost nothing. “need you… so bad…”

her hand slides lower, under the waistband of your shorts, fingers brushing the bare skin of your hip.

she doesn’t go further, just holds you there, rocking herself against you, cock sliding up and down the seam of your ass, the fabric between you getting damp from her pre-cum.

she’s trembling now.

hips moving faster, more desperate. the bed creaks faintly under the motion.

her free hand grips the sheet, knuckles white, trying to keep herself in check.

you stir.

your breathing changes, deeper, uneven. your body tenses slightly under her arm.

megan freezes instantly, cock still pressed hard against you, hips stilled mid thrust.

you shift, eyes fluttering open in the dark. you feel her—her heat, her hardness, the way she’s molded to your back like she can’t bear even an inch of space.

“megan?” your voice is thick with sleep, confused.

she doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe for a second.

then, softly, almost pleading. “sorry… i didn’t mean to wake you.”

you feel her cock twitch against you. she’s still rock hard, still leaking, still pressed so close you can feel every vein through the thin layers of fabric.

you swallow. “what… what are you trying to do?”

she exhales shakily against your neck. “i couldn’t sleep. you were right here and… i just needed…”

her hips give a tiny, involuntary roll forward. she whimpers again.

“megan,” you whisper. “stop.”

she does. instantly.

body going rigid behind you, hand pulling out of your shorts like it burned her.

“sorry,” she says again, voice cracking. “i’m sorry. i’ll go to the couch—”

you feel her start to pull away.

your hand shoots back, grabs her wrist, keeps her arm around your waist.

“wait.”

she freezes.

you don’t know what you’re doing.

you just know you don’t want her to leave.

you turn slowly in her arms until you’re facing her.

in the faint moonlight you can see her face—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted, looking like she’s about to cry or beg or both.

“i’m not mad,” you whisper.

her breath hitches. “really?”

you nod. swallow. “just… be gentle.”

her eyes search yours for a long second.

then she leans in—slow, giving you time to pull away—and kisses you.

it’s soft at first. tentative. like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she moves too fast.

but when you kiss her back, when your hand slides up to cup her jaw, she melts into it, deepening the kiss, tongue brushing yours, a small whimper escaping her throat.

she pulls you closer, leg sliding between yours, hips rocking forward again—slow this time, deliberate.

you feel her cock press against your stomach, hot and hard through her shorts.

“can i…?” she whispers against your lips. “please. just a little.”

you nod, breathless.

she shifts you gently—rolls you onto your back, settles between your thighs. she doesn’t push inside yet just grinds against you, cock sliding along your folds through the thin layers of fabric, coating herself in your wetness.

she’s shaking. whimpering into your neck. “feels so good… you feel so good…”

you wrap your legs around her waist, pull her closer. she grinds harder, faster, breath hitching with every roll of her hips.

“megan…”

“i know,” she gasps. “i know. just… let me feel you. please.”

she keeps moving—needy little thrusts against you.

her mouth finds your neck, kissing, sucking softly, leaving tiny marks.

her hands slide under your tank, palms flat on your stomach, then up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples.

you’re both trembling now, chasing the same edge.

“i’m close,” she whimpers. “can i—inside your shorts? just… rub against you?”

you nod, breathless. “yeah.”

she pushes your shorts down just enough, frees her cock, presses it bare against your soaked folds.

no penetration—just sliding along your slit, head bumping your clit with every thrust.

she moans low and broken—hips stuttering.

“fuck… gonna cum—”

you clench around nothing, hips rocking up to meet her. “me too—”

she comes first.

hot spurts painting your folds, dripping down your thighs.

the feeling pushes you over, clit throbbing, pussy spasming, a soft cry muffled against her shoulder.

you both collapse, panting, sticky, tangled.

she’s trembling, face buried in your neck, small whimpers muffled against your skin as the aftershocks roll through her.

you stroke her back slowly, fingers tracing the knobs of her spine, trying to bring her down gently. “hey… it’s okay,” you whisper. “breathe, megs.”

she nods against you, takes a shaky inhale, then lifts her head.

her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

she looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered.

then she leans in and kisses you.

soft, like she’s asking permission even after everything.

you kiss her back, hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.

she sighs into your mouth, the kiss deepening fast.

her tongue slides against yours, needy but gentle, tasting like salt and desperation.

her hands roam, sliding under your shirt, palms flat on your stomach, then up to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples slow.

you moan softly, arching into her touch. she pulls back just enough to kiss your jaw, your throat, then back to your lips, deeper, hungrier, tongue fucking into your mouth like she can’t get close enough.

her hips rock forward again, cock already hardening again, sliding through the mess she left on your thigh.

“i… i want you,” she mumbles between kisses. “need you… want you.”

then, the door creaks open.

sophia steps in, barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that hits mid thigh. her hair is messy from sleep, eyes half lidded until they land on the two of you tangled on the bed.

then she laughs, amused, a little mean.

sophia tilts her head, lips curving.

“don’t have your own fun without me, megan.”

megan lifts her head slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. she doesn’t move off you. just glares half heartedly over her shoulder.

“fuck off, soph.”

sophia laughs stepping closer to the bed. “yeah? and you were humping her like a desperate puppy while she slept. real classy.”

megan groans, dropping her forehead back to your shoulder. “you’re so annoying.”

“says the girl who came in her sleep shorts without even getting inside.” sophia climbs onto the mattress, knees sinking into the comforter on your other side. “move over.”

megan huffs but shifts just enough so sophia can settle beside you.

sophia’s hand immediately finds your thigh, palm warm, sliding up slow.

you’re still dazed, body buzzing, but the sight of both of them flanking you makes your stomach flip again.

sophia looks down at you, thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your shorts. “you okay, baby? she didn’t wear you out too much?”

you nod, breathless. “i’m… okay.”

sophia smiles—soft but edged. “good.”

her fingers hook into the waistband of your sleep shorts and tug them down in one smooth motion, dragging your panties with them.

you lift your hips automatically.

she tosses them off the bed, then spreads your legs wide—knees pushed back toward your chest, exposing you completely.

megan makes a small, wounded sound in her throat.

sophia glances at her. “jealous?”

“shut up,” megan mutters, but her hand is already wrapped around her cock, stroking slow, eyes locked between your legs.

sophia lowers her head without another word.

her tongue is warm, flat, dragging from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow lick.

you gasp, hips jerking up. she pins you down with both hands on your thighs, holding you open, and does it again—slower, deeper, tasting every inch of you.

“fuck,” megan breathes, hand moving faster on her cock.

sophia hums against you, the vibration making you whimper.

she circles your clit with the tip of her tongue, teasing, then sucks it gently between her lips.

you moan louder, hands flying to her hair.

she licks faster, firmer, tongue flicking side to side, then dipping lower to push inside you, fucking you with slow, wet thrusts.

megan groans, stroking herself harder. “goddamn… look at her eat you out.”

sophia pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your wetness. “she tastes better than you deserve, megs.”

megan rolls her eyes, but her hand speeds up. “whatever. my turn after.”

sophia smirks, then dives back in, sucking your clit hard now, two fingers sliding inside you, curling up to stroke that spot that makes your vision white out.

you cry out, hips bucking, thighs shaking around her head.

megan watches for another few seconds, then groans low in her throat. “fuck this.”

she moves, fast—kneeling up beside your head. her cock is right there, thick and leaking, head brushing your cheek.

“open,” she whispers, voice wrecked.

you turn your head, lips parting. she slides in, slow at first, letting you adjust, then deeper until she hits the back of your throat. you gag softly, she moans loud, hand fisting your hair.

“fuckk, yeah— just like that…”

sophia doesn’t stop.

she keeps eating you out, tongue flicking your clit in time with megan’s shallow thrusts into your mouth.

you’re moaning around megan’s cock, the vibrations making her hips stutter.

“she’s so good,” megan pants, eyes flicking between your mouth and sophia’s head between your legs. “look at her—taking both of us.”

sophia pulls off your clit with a wet pop, fingers still thrusting deep. “and look so pretty.”

megan groans, thrusting a little deeper. “yeah. so perfect...”

they move in sync.

sophia’s fingers curling faster, tongue back on your clit, megan fucking your mouth in shallow, needy thrusts.

you’re drowning in it—overstimulated, overwhelmed, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

sophia’s voice is muffled against you. “cum for us, baby. cum on my tongue while she fucks your throat.”

you do, body convulsing, pussy clenching around sophia’s fingers, muffled moans vibrating around megan’s cock.

sophia licks you through it, slow and gentle, while megan keeps thrusting, shallow, desperate until she pulls out suddenly, stroking herself fast.

“fuck, m’ gonna—”

she comes across your chest and neck—hot, thick ropes painting your skin. sophia lifts her head, watches with dark eyes.

megan’s eyes flash with something feral the second sophia’s tongue flicks over your clit again.

she growls low in her throat, shoves sophia’s shoulder hard enough that sophia has to catch herself on the mattress.

“move,” megan snaps.

sophia pulls back with a wet sound, lips shiny, smirking even as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “jeez, megan. desperate much?”

megan doesn’t answer with words.

she just grabs your hips, flips you onto your stomach in one rough yank, knees spread wide.

you gasp, hands scrabbling at the sheets for balance.

before you can even process the shift, megan’s behind you, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back, the other guiding her cock to your entrance.

she doesn’t ease in.

she shoves forward all at once. you cry out, the stretch burning sweet, her cock filling you so completely it knocks the air from your lungs.

she bottoms out with a guttural moan, hips flush against your ass, balls pressed tight.

“f-fuck,” she chokes, voice cracking. “s-so, tight… unhh…”

sophia laughs; soft, mocking, already shifting up the bed. “you’re so pathetic when you’re horny.”

megan groans louder, hips starting to move, short, rough thrusts that slap skin on skin. “shut… the fuck… up—”

sophia just rolls her eyes, climbs higher until she’s kneeling right in front of your face.

your cheek is pressed to the sheets, mouth open on every moan megan punches out of you.

sophia grabs your chin gently, lifts your head until you’re looking up at her.

“you’re gonna make me feel good too, okay?” she says, voice soft but commanding.

her thighs frame your face, pussy already glistening inches from your lips.

you nod eyes watering from the angle and the way megan’s cock keeps slamming into that spot inside you.

sophia smiles, small and satisfied, then lowers herself slowly until her folds press against your mouth.

you open for her instantly.

your tongue slides through her slick, tasting her—sweet, tangy, addictive. she moans low, hips rolling in tiny circles, grinding her clit against your tongue. you lap at her eagerly, sucking her folds, pushing your tongue inside her when she rocks forward.

megan’s thrusts turn brutal behind you—every snap of her hips driving you forward into sophia’s cunt.

the wet sounds are obscene, megan’s balls slapping your ass, your muffled moans vibrating against sophia, sophia’s breathy gasps every time your tongue flicks her clit just right.

“shit, don’t stop baby—” sophia pants, fingers threading into your hair, holding you exactly where she wants. “just like that… good girl…”

megan’s grip in your hair tightens, yanking your head back a fraction so your tongue drags harder against sophia. “she’s so fucking tight i swear,” megan groans, hips stuttering.

“gonna cum again! gonna fill her up—”

sophia grinds down harder, clit throbbing against your tongue. “do it. fill her. make her drip for days.”

you’re moaning nonstop, muffled against sophia’s pussy, body shaking between them.

megan slams in one last time, burying deep, and comes with a choked groan—megan’s cum flooding you, spilling out around her cock when there’s no more room.

the feeling tips you over. you come hard, pussy spasming around megan, tongue still working sophia frantically.

sophia follows seconds later—hips bucking, clit pulsing against your mouth, wetness coating your chin as she rides out her orgasm with soft, broken moans.

they collapse on either side of you—megan pulling out slowly, cum leaking out immediately, sophia sliding off your face and lying beside you, chest heaving.

for a long minute, no one speaks.

just heavy breathing, sticky skin, the faint scent of sex hanging thick in the air.

megan nuzzles your shoulder first, voice wrecked. “you’re… so fucking perfect.”

sophia kisses your temple, soft. “just for us...”

you lie there between them—wrecked, heart pounding.

you just feel… wanted.

completely.

a/n : whaattt new layout??!! idk, i tried my best okay?