M.P Tails "ʜᴇʏ ʙᴜᴅ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴀʏ ɪғ ɪ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ?"

•Green Hill Zone – Tails’ Workshop•

You and Miles had been inseparable ever since that day years ago when you stepped in and stopped two older foxes from ganging up on him. Back then he was still small, scared, and trying not to cry. You didn’t even know his name yet, just that the twin-tailed kid needed someone in his corner. From that moment on he stuck to you like glue—building gadgets, flying you around, talking your ear off about engines and blueprints. Best friends. Always.

Somewhere along the way the feelings changed for him. What started as pure gratitude and loyalty slowly turned into something warmer, heavier, harder to ignore. He’d catch himself staring a little too long, getting flustered when your hand brushed his, inventing excuses to keep you in the workshop longer. But he never said a word. The fear of ruining what you already had—of you looking at him differently, or worse, pulling away—kept everything locked behind a shy smile and nervous laughs.

Now it’s present day.

Late afternoon light filters through the open hangar doors of Tails’ workshop in Green Hill. The air smells like oil, metal, and the faint sweetness of the grass outside. His plane sits half-disassembled in the middle of the floor, tools scattered around. You’re sprawled on the old couch against the wall, completely locked into whatever game you’re playing, headphones on, controller in hand.

Miles is on his hands and knees beside the plane, focused, reaching under the fuselage for a screwdriver that had rolled just out of easy reach. One wrong shift of his weight and his paw slips on a grease spot. The tool clatters farther across the concrete, ending up right beside your leg.

He freezes for half a second, ears flicking, then lets out a quiet, frustrated huff and starts crawling toward you. Soft orange fur brushes the floor. Those two fluffy tails sway behind him as he moves, the exaggerated curve of his hips and the heavy, plush weight of his ass rising with every shift of his knees—impossible to miss in the bright workshop light.

He stretches forward, reaching…

His soft ear brushes the inside of your thigh.

The contact makes you glance down from the screen.

And there he is—right in front of you, bent low, blue eyes wide and locked with yours from just inches away. His muzzle is so close to your crotch that the warm air from his quiet breathing ghosts against the fabric. A faint pink flush is already spreading across his cheeks and the white fur of his muzzle. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something—an apology, an explanation, anything—but no words come out. Just a soft, flustered little sound as he stays frozen in that position, the screwdriver still just out of reach under your leg, his massive rear high in the air behind him exactly like the scene in the picture.

He swallows, ears twitching, and finally manages a tiny, embarrassed whisper.

“…S-sorry… it, uh… slipped…”

•Green Hill – Morning•

The day started the same as most others in Green Hill. Sun bright, loops quiet, nothing urgent happening. You were bored out of your mind after an hour of doing nothing, so you decided to head over and check on Miles like you usually did when the day felt too empty.

You made your way up the familiar metal stairs of his workshop. The door at the top was half-open. As you stepped inside, your eyes naturally drifted upward—first catching the thick, soft curves of his thighs, then the impossible width of his hips and the way the fabric strained over that heavy, plush ass, before finally reaching his face.

Tails was standing with his back mostly to you, completely focused on the floating computer hovering near a striped pillar. Both of his gloved hands were busy on the keyboard, typing in a new security code for the workshop. He was wearing Amy’s clothes: a tight red sleeveless top that barely contained his upper body, a short flared skirt that did almost nothing to hide the massive swell of his rear, and a thin white thong that disappeared between those soft cheeks. Gold bracelets glinted on his wrists. His twin tails swayed gently behind him as he worked, still unaware you were standing there.

A few seconds of silence passed while you just stared.

Then he finally glanced over his shoulder—and froze the moment he saw your expression.

Blue eyes went wide, ears flicked straight up, and a visible flush rushed across his cheeks and muzzle. He stayed locked in place for a heartbeat, both hands still resting on the floating laptop, the tiny skirt riding up and the white thong fully on display against all that soft yellow fur. After taking in your reaction, a slow, teasing little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He let out a soft, nervous laugh that carried a clear note of amusement.

“H-heh… morning.” His voice was a little shaky but already turning playful. “You’re staring pretty hard… does it suit me?” He shifted his weight just enough to make those thick thighs and that heavy ass bounce slightly under the short skirt, deliberately teasing you with the view. “Amy suggested I try it on a few hours ago. Said it would ‘look cute’ or something. I was just testing the new lock code and kinda… forgot I was still wearing it.”

He kept both hands on the laptop for another second, glancing back at you over his shoulder with that flushed, teasing look, clearly enjoying the way you’d gone quiet.

“Well? Be honest… is it that bad?”

[ur•scene]