#like same name and eveything
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I’ve been watching dynasty recently and I’m on season 2 as of now and Anders the butler suddenly has a daughter?? So, naturally, that lead to me thinking what if Nathalie had some child that lived with her father in some far away country? And then she came back? And her and Adrien are liek buddies but they haven’t seen eachother in a minute?
#I like this idea a lot#like a lot a lot#and I’m so tempted to just steal the character away from dynasty and shove them into mlb#like same name and eveything#Kirby Anders who’s a red head and Australian and a badass cleptomaniac/ arsonist#like I could do So. Much.#mlb#mlb txt#adrien agreste#tbmf
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PANACEA
male reader x sakura && kazuha
17k words
Sakura can't expect you to actually be down for this - the setup, the miscommunication, the endless drama, all that messy work, and for what, your girlfriend-in-eveything-but-name-only's peace of mind?
You lean in. "Declining. Politely. Please."
“C'mon, It’s foolproof. Have I ever steered you wrong?” she says with a click of her tongue. “We can fix her.”
(It isn’t foolproof. She has. And you can’t.)
-
If you’re going to get tangled up in origin stories, this is probably a good place to start: at this gaudy bar, on the gaudier side of Ginza, with the shops you can’t afford to shop at - whose clientele can’t afford to be seen with you. It’s not your first pick, and you can say this because it so very often is, that this one’s all Sakura’s idea.
To be specific, it starts when Sakura grabs you by the wrist - Kazuha pinched by the fabric of her dress - and shuffles you both into a coat closet, which is as empty as the frost-less days of spring might expect. It was probably a mistake, thinking she wasn’t serious, but it’s that uncanny talent of hers, to always find someplace or another to steal away.
And look, you’re not crazy about the bar scene. Not here. You never have been.
When you’re at home, when you’re alone - when it’s you and Sakura - it never takes long to fall into that sensual rhythm of give and take, but here, under the dim light of the closet, it’s no different. You can feel the corners of her wry, delighted smile beginning to quirk as she steals those little shudders at the end of each exhale.
Maybe it’s the abundance of time you’ve had to become familiar with how Sakura can set the stage:
The soft press of her mouth on yours, the speed of her kisses, those little licks, to that less-than-gentle pull at your bottom lip. It’s like she is everywhere, all at once - the warmth of her breath ghosting along the cartilage of your ear, the curve of your throat, her teeth hovering above where your pulse thrums and your skin runs thin.
Nevertheless, something quite new, a touch of novelty. This girl in black - built like a gazelle, all legs - who you think might quietly prefer to be addressed by her full name. Kazuha Nakamura, who would rather not make a fuss over the fact you forgot it the first twenty times or so - but she does have that look about her, that, if she asked you to, you could imagine dropping everything, anything, just to be at her beck and call.
That if she were in your shoes, you could imagine her wanting to do the same.
And then she asks for the most mundane thing.
Kazuha looks at you, not the way she looks at Sakura, but there is a stilled softness, a sweetness, that has her asking for permission - like she isn’t asking to do what she’s about to do - and when Sakura gives her a little tug at her skirt, Kazuha slides onto her knees.
“What did I tell you,” says Sakura, right into the angle at your jaw, pulling tighter on the end of your tie. She wraps it once over her wrist into something she can make a real grip out of. “The girl’s head over heels.”
A touch at your thighs, touches hooked into the seam of your pants and furling elastic - noticeably different from the hand kneading circles into the nape of your neck and carding through your hair. You laugh when you realize Kazuha has your fly undone and her shallow breath is hot against you, anticipating. Part of you is shocked, though another part equally thrilled. She’s actually going to do it.
Which, imagine that.
“And just what is it we’re doing here?” You lift your mouth off Sakura’s several times, chins brushing, colliding, kisses coming together and falling apart again. Your hold on Sakura’s waist firms up, steadying her as you try to reason with her. “What do you figure happens if we bring her home?”
“Oh, I have no clue,” Sakura admits. “We’ll probably fuck her, and then fuck each other again when we she leaves.”
“Hm,” you start, shakily, coping with the tongue that’s begun licking up from the base of your cock. It’s agonizingly slow - fuck, it’s only the seal of Kazuha’s pouty lips cushioning themselves around you. Which feel perfect, but only so perfect to the extent that it makes you want so much more. Sakura’s looking at you like she knows you’ll take it if you have to. Like she knows Kazuha will let you.
“Well.” You’re pushing some of the dark, glossy hair that had fallen in front of Kazuha’s face out of the way, and you start to posture, “I’m not about to start complaining, but-”
Sakura shoots only the slightest smirk in your direction. She’s got that usual unrepentant expression, eyes wide and brilliant, framed by those long eyelashes that happen to land more or less exactly on what you’d describe as your type.
“You have to see how this could backfire.”
She blinks once, twice, a few times, her expression remaining all but even, studying your face. “It’s not going to backfire.”
Your lips part to voice some final concern, but if that isn’t a ship long sailed. Here you’ll be marooned, shipwrecked - something you’ll have to come to terms with later - because you’re left only with siren calls: the soft sounds of Sakura’s lips smacking, of Kazuha’s; left with only a gaspful of air when she finally steals you into the wet heat of her pretty little mouth.
See, these hookups, your dalliances and escapades - the truth is that none of this really comes to you as a surprise anymore. Because if anything, Sakura has always had that tendency, a real proclivity for it. She was mischievous right from the jump, from when you first met her, and she’s only grown bolder. But the thing that you’re having to learn anew, beyond the way Sakura gets her mouth onto yours, how she’ll make a mess of your hair and leave marks on your neck, how her tongue glides effortlessly past your teeth, is with a second set of lips - that blowjob Kazuha is now settling into, mouth inching further and further down your cock - there’s suddenly a little less surefire to your wit, to your raillery.
(Because here, you’d anticipated for impressive, perhaps even overwhelming, but with these two - well, there’s a lot to unpack. There always will be.)
The plan is - or at least it was - to catch an Uber back to Sakura’s apartment. All three of you piling into the backseat, acting casual and pretending like you weren’t just trying to engineer how to share a kiss between three people. How’s that for logistics? Though that was moments before Sakura dropped a doting kiss into Kazuha’s hair and helped ease her down onto the carpet of the coat closet. And when you consider letting out the moan that festers in your chest, the one growing ever more unruly each time Kazuha’s tongue slowly curls around the head of your cock, you hesitate, swallowing down on nothing.��
“Fuck,” you say quietly into Sakura’s mouth. You’re not in public, technically speaking, which is not at all the reassurement Sakura insists it is.
Sakura twists her fingers into your hair a little bit, just enough to sting, and asks, “does that feel good? Kazuha’s perfect mouth on your cock?”
“Yeah,” you admit, slightly annoyed - slightly under duress. The pressure of Sakura’s thumb a little harder into the soft muscle of your neck can usually coax out whatever it is she wants to hear. “Of course it feels good, Sakura.”
“I’m glad, it should.” Sakura nods. “And look, she’s just a natural, isn’t she?”
Oh, Kazuha - the poster child for a debate on innate talent and hard work, because as she works more of you into her mouth, you realize she’s both, a total package, an all in one. You’re not easy to take, and she presses her lips down, and draws you deeper like she’s done it a thousand times.
Though it pains you to ever admit Sakura’s right, about anything.
“How about we dial it back,” you say to Sakura, and for the first time, you look down at the mess of midnight hair in front of your waist. It’s glossy, even here in the dim glow of a dusty closet, and it’s just as silky to the touch. As you pilfer more of it through your fingers, you watch the glistening length of your cock vanish between the pouty pucker of Kazuha’s lips - bowed perfectly into this red elegant arch.
“Are you sure? You seem like she’s just about killing you,” Sakura says. It’s the wince here and there. That slight quiver in your lip. All dead giveaways.
“Listen-”
“Shh-shh,” Sakura soothes you gently, and starts to ease your jacket off your shoulders until it lands in a puddle of fabric at your feet. “Why don’t you just let her take care of you, huh?”
Sakura has her hand fit under your jaw again, urging you down to kiss her, but you’ve not quite finished taking in the sight of everything - of Kazuha, kneeling and bobbing her head back and forth - really settling into this hasty tempo. She takes more of your cock each time, and when you can feel her mouth tighten around you, to where her throat narrows and offers you a truly filthy sensation, you watch her eyes open, with lashes fluttering away stray tears and looking straight up at you. Pupils blown, dark as the dead of night, and every bit as sinful. It’s hard to even start to believe, that the girl who was paranoid a few weeks ago that she looked nothing like the fake ID Chaewon had given her is here on her fucking knees, slobbering on your cock.
“What’s the matter?” Sakura asks, pouting ever-so-slightly as she realizes you’re not going to lean into her again, and settles with a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck.
“I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” you start, kind of sharply. It’s the way her black mini dress hugs her body - this masterwork of genetics, of countless hours in the gym, a miracle in the flesh. It’s the way one of its flimsy straps is falling down her shoulder and she’s so busy sucking your cock that she can’t be bothered to pull it back up. You don’t look away. You can’t. And jesus, your voice is coming out more broken, more graveled than you expect. “I should - if she’s going to swallow my cum, I think I should get to watch.”
“You hear that?” Sakura asks, and Kazuha chokes on you, just a little. There’s spit at the corner of her mouth when she pulls herself back, runs her tongue over the head of your cock, and tries again. Sakura’s laugh comes out rather amused. Her two favorite people in the world, finally getting what they deserve. “You’re so perfect, Kazuha, you’re going to make him cum.”
Kazuha lets you slip from her lips, and for the first time since she last said anything at all - muttering, please, please, I want to suck his cock - she pulls a stray hair out of her mouth, looks up at you and says: “On my face. I want it on my face.”
“Jesus,” you murmur, gripping Sakura’s waist harder into you. A sort of reflexive response. Because, fuck, if that isn’t well within your wheelhouse. If she’s asking - if you can oblige -
Kazuha lifts her gaze toward Sakura, eyes beaming. “Can I? With your boyfriend’s cock?”
“Kazuha, sweetie, he’s not my boyfriend.” And you can almost hear Kazuha trying not to roll her eyes. It’s just not a technicality she’s ever been interested in - you’re not taken, but you’re definitely not single, and that’s the part that’s only ever mattered to her. Sakura lets her hand fall to the base of your cock, angles it up for Kazuha to instinctively start licking its sensitive underbelly, fingers threading through your balls and fuck, the little kisses she saves for those are going to fucking end you. “You have to ask him.”
Kazuha’s got her brown, bambi eyes fixed back on you when she does. And it’s just a litany of nonsense, as she tries to look you square on, asking you politely to cum on her face. "Please, can I have it? Please, please. Cum on my face. Cum on my pretty face. I want it so bad, please. Please, I need it."
She’s a self-starter at some things, but the profanity, the dirty talk, these simple methods of seduction, you’ll ease her into them. You figure you’ll ease her into a lot.
Because you’re taking note of how her soft lips pucker as you cup her face. Fucking hell, she’s breathtaking.
“I’ll try not to get it in your hair,” you tell her. In a tone that makes it feel like a compromise. Something just shy of completely corrupting, though heavens knows you want to. This want - to get your hands in her hair later, bordering on something near abusive - otherwise, it comes across as this gentle dominance radiant with authority. Something she quickly melts into, eyes twinkling up at you, and you can’t resist digging a little deeper, asking, “that always been a fantasy of yours, sweetheart?”
“She watches porn with Yunjin.” Sakura leans into your ear. “Like, a lot.” Like, it’s borderline concerning, she explains.
The shade of crimson burning across the bridge of Kazuha’s nose is as beautiful as she is, and you’re piecing together some of the puzzle. “I see,” you say, more serious.
For the girl who Sakura described as naive but enthusiastic, you’ve become rather lost, maybe a little too quickly, somewhere deep in the pull of it. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quicker, painfully slow. The draw of Kazuha’s soft lips back and forth along your cock. Every now and again, you can feel her tease the head of your cock against the back of her throat, just short of dragging you past her palate and holding her nose nearly flush to your groin.
She pumps a fist around your shaft harshly, delivering an indiscriminate pleasure. You can hear her steady her breath, and almost without missing a beat, she lets her spit drool onto your cock and familiarize itself with her fingers, corkscrewing around you faster. Tighter.
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Sakura starts hot and close, breath fanning over your cheek, and yielding her idea a moment to the sound of Kazuha’s hand sliding up and down your shaft. It’s such a filthy noise, lathering spit and precum between her slender fingers, the obnoxious squelch of it when she grips firmer and starts to pump you in earnest.
“When we get home,” she continues, “I think you should get that dangerous mouth of yours-”
Okay, fuck. Fuck. You’re spitting the word out, groaning as your eyes snap shut - the moment Kazuha gets her lips back around you, hollows her cheeks, she inhales sharply.
“-oh?” Sakura teases, flirting her lips about the edge of your ear. Her breath is hot, close, closer. “Maybe your mouth isn’t the one I need to be worried about.”
In an instant, you’re nuzzled deep into Kazuha’s mouth, seeking damp, seeking heat. With the flat of her tongue, she has you reeling from base to tip, and oh, god, the teeth. Just the slightest, sharp scrape of her teeth as she works her mouth on you faster, sloppier - without caring for so much as a concern about the tears cornering in her long dark lashes, or the makeup smudging beneath her eyes. It’s electrifying, and it has you bucking forward into Kazuha’s little mouth, until you’re swallowed nearly in full.
But behind that, it’s silent. Behind the smacking sound of Sakura’s lips pulling harshly at yours, behind the half-chokes punctuating how hard Kazuha’s lips are trying, it’s just breaths. Sakura’s, relaxed. Kazuha’s, careful and measured. And yours, panting, desperate.
It didn’t matter what image Kazuha had in her head before, beyond the generic appeal of your smile or how you’d rub the back of your neck when you laughed, or the way your forearms looked when you rolled your sleeves up. The silence Sakura creates when she seals her mouth over yours, kisses drowning those slight shuddering whines, it reveals to Kazuha the more present truth: you’re not just perfect. No, you’re perfect for her, and with the right touches here - of which Sakura is eager to demonstrate - ever so wonderfully brittle.
“Mnpph.” Kazuha simply hums, sucks up and down, over and over.
“Come on,” Sakura breathes against you, barely above a whisper, then says it once more as she twines her fingers with yours and makes silky knots of Kazuha’s hair for you to hold onto.
“Fuck her pretty mouth,” she tells you, and you do.
With two greedy handfuls of Kazuha’s hair, with Sakura’s hand sliding down the buttons at the front of your shirt until she’s replacing Kazuha’s at the base of your cock, you rock your hips forward, experimental. Kazuha makes a strained sound, but nothing like the protest you were listening for - and so you do it again.
And again.
It’s unreal how she doesn’t react at all, just splaying her fingers out along your thighs, ready to brace herself as your thrusts into her mouth start to quicken. Given how things started - coupled with the fact that she looks so satisfied and serene - she’s doing outstanding. And if the air dragging through your teeth isn’t enough to make that clear, Sakura’s sure to guarantee you’re all on the same page:
“Just like that,” she tells her. “You look so pretty taking his cock, love. You’re doing so good, keep going, just a little more, and he’s going to cum for you.”
So then, there Kazuha is, bruising her knees and yielding her lips, her mouth, her throat to you - with the girl she idolizes giving her the praise she’s always craved, these sickly-sweet affirmations, a petal-blossom of assurances. They ignite something laid deep within her, something that makes her work that perfect mouth onto you just a little harder, a little deeper, a little more slacked.
She wants you to cum so badly.
You can feel her tongue flatten again, and without hesitation, while you fuck unabashedly between her wet, messy lips, she delves, she massages, she laves.
For god’s sake, she worships.
Sakura is grinning, because she knows. She can feel the familiar way you’ve begun to throb, how the pulse in your neck is racing and blotchy and hot - she recognizes instinctually that all the damage your teeth have now done to your bottom lip could only mean one thing - you’re spiraling. You’re cracking under pressure, and so, so quickly. And then, nonchalant as ever, she just teases, “going to cum?”
You laugh, dryly. You are. You’re forcing the mundane into your thoughts: rainwater sliding down a pane glass window, paint swatches, the sound of your alarm clock, ringing, ringing, sucking - slurping, choking and spitting and gagging and fuck, Kazuha’s making a god damn meal out of you. You’ll let her.
“I’m pretty fucking close,” you finally admit to Sakura, holding Kazuha’s face firm. It’s not a warning. It’s an admission of guilt: you’re fucking ruining her makeup. There’s mascara dark as india ink, as dark as her jet black hair, streaking down her cheeks, and you’re imagining her glassy, tear-filled eyes, the ones that are currently screwed shut, impossibly tight. But she doesn’t wince, she doesn’t whine - and aside from the choking sound her throat makes when your cockhead stains pre-cum onto the back of her throat - she keeps her lips sealed tight, totally demure. Perfectly submissive.
“In her mouth,” Sakura orders dryly.
You still can’t look away from the place where you and Kazuha are joined together, cum and spit and lipstick clinging to your shaft, her mouth, her chin. You’re simply stuck imagining the amusement stretching across Sakura’s face when she tells you again, voice resolute - fuck your load into her mouth.
It’s nothing that might ever take a lot of convincing, but you’re being gracious, being polite, trying to take Kazuha’s side. “We both heard her. She said she wanted-”
“Unh-uh, no,” Sakura tuts, rubbing a knuckle into the base of your spine. “Not here, you can make whatever mess you want when we get home.”
You thrust again, loosening one grip, tightening another. Vaulting toward the edge.
A mess, mess, mess, mess; a proper one, of her, crying and clamoring, shaking and stuttering, you know we will, you know it’s what she wants, Sakura’s explaining. Trying to explain. Fuck, it’s hard to pay attention to anything beyond your cock sheathed deep in Kazuha’s throat, but Sakura’s voice carries that usual gentle quiver, like she isn’t describing the filthiest assortment of ways you’ll get Kazuha off, how you’ll both get off. Going to fucking take her apart - she’s murmuring, kissing into your neck - until she’s sobbing for it.
It’s not difficult to imagine. There are these images taking shape in your mind’s eye, photographically vivid, near pornographic, and god, Kazuha’s body is magnificent: how it curves, how it flexes, how it bends. You’re so close to unloading in her throat when you can practically hear Sakura’s posh, practiced smile flirting her voice into your ear. “If you’re worried she won’t swallow it, I will.”
For once, you don’t manage to say, no, not yet.
“Mnnph.” Kazuha strains, sinking deeper into the floor, hands falling to her knees. Nothing short of full surrender.
And it’s all over in a flash, before you can even register it.
Though in fact, you’ve seen it. You know it. There’s the warmth, the wet, the tightness of the seal that Kazuha makes around your cock, and the way she just fucking stays there, her mouth unmoving as you spill down the back of her throat. You try to catch yourself on the doorframe, and there are a thousand and one things you want to say to her - tell her, ask her, beg her, please, sweetheart, please, fuck, fuck, baby, I can't-
But you don't.
Instead, your teeth are grit and your jaw is tense and your hand is knotted into a fistful of her hair and you can hear yourself barely manage to get out each sinful consonant: “I'm cumming,” and then nothing else.
In the silence, you can see the lumps roll down the column of her throat, of her swallowing, and it doesn’t end. It doesn’t stop. Kazuha’s lips stayed locked around you, and she sucks, she swallows, and sucks and sucks. Like she doesn’t even know you’re reeling.
“Oh…” Sakura says, over a tiny laugh, the kind that’s dripping with mirth. She traces a line with her finger, from your jaw over your chest and down to your hip.
Realistically, the relatively innocent touch shouldn’t make you crazier than her hand gently wringing out your cock, or the way Kazuha’s chest rises and falls with a heavy, satisfied breath, or -
The look she has, staring up at you with her heavy-lidded, sated eyes:
It’s the sort of look that’ll be stitched into your thoughts and haunt your dreams for months.
(It’s the sort of look that leaves an impression, one that cuts deep and engraves:
Adoration. Arousal. Awe.)
Sakura starts to pull her fingers through Kazuha’s hair, smoothing down the parts that were mussed, and she leans down, planting a kiss at her temple. And then another. And another. She whispers something into her ear - a request, a command - something more, until Kazuha finally lets you slip from her mouth.
It’s a disaster.
There’s a translucent thread of spit hanging from her chin, and her tongue runs a semi-circle over her lower lip to collect the last bits of cum clinging to her skin. It should be criminal, how she looks up at you through those long eyelashes, a mess of black makeup and glassy eyes; how her cheeks are rosy, and her lips swollen and parted.
How she can smile through it all and still manage to look like this is what she was made to do. Like she can go a second round, like she could go several - you can practically hear her saying it: let me get your cock back in my mouth. I can do better. I can be better.
But she never gets the opportunity. You crack the veneer of that unearthly silence first.
"Sakura."
"Yeah?"
"I have a question," you say steadily, and Kazuha makes a wounded expression as you pull up the zipper on your pants.
"What's that?" Sakura asks.
“How close is that car?”
“Should we wait outside?” Kazuha starts to say, but it's a garbled mess. She’s still wiping her lips when Sakura reaches into her clutch and pulls out her phone. There's the saliva, the spit, the cum. You can't help but think you've ruined her voice. That it might not sound the same, even a week from now.
“Yeah.” Sakura brings her fingers to Kazuha's chin, tilts it up towards her, and then she kisses her. “We probably should.”
-
This is where it gets kind of complicated, because you know Sakura, know her better than most.
She’d been enrolled in one of your elective courses way back when. Had been the kind of girl that immediately stood out, the kind that left a mark. You were likely the more studious one, by comparison. Grounded. Whereas she had her dreams, a dream of a life, a dream of the world - and the two of you just had this way of keeping each other level-headed. When you think back to it, and for as long as you can remember: it was one, the other, a constant pendulum, always swinging back. You know what keeps her steady, what makes her tick, and she knows you just as well.
Though about this thing you share, the thread between you, it’s not something you pretend to understand.
"Maybe we could define it," you suggested, once.
"No." That was her answer. "I don't know. We're just doing what we do, right? We're just having fun."
"Okay, sure," you said. "I get it. But you know how these things are. They’ve got a tendency to go belly up."
“Oh absolutely,” she remarked, casually, leading you to believe that she both understood the peril and was somehow totally unfussed by it - she probably always had the upper hand. See, she’s gorgeous, but also there’s just that pinch of cute in the mix that makes you believe she’d never hurt you. Makes you believe that she never could.
And that was before it metastasized into where you’re at now:
She’s got a toothbrush on your bathroom counter. There’s a pair of shoes too, at the front door. Shirts in your closet, a jacket of hers that’s managed to claim its own hook. She’ll throw her underwear into your wash while you’re measuring detergent and give you these gentle eyes that make all these silent demands, look the other way, please, just ignore me.
There’s the coffee already in the brewer, light roast, the one she likes. There’s her side of the bed, it’s neatly made. Always. She's neat like that. And it’s all a bit much, if you’re being honest.
Because, yeah, it's not exactly conventional. What the two of you are doing is this total, unmitigated disaster.
So the fact that Sakura wanted to invite Kazuha out -
The fact that Kazuha actually showed up -
The fact that Sakura is now helping her out of her dress in the entryway of her apartment and is kissing her neck and her shoulders and telling her, sweetie, come on, let’s go, let's get you in the shower -
Yeah, this is the part that is sort of fucking complicated.
It's a lot, even for someone like you.
-
So - of fucking course it backfires.
You’re hesitant to say I told you so, but Sakura can read the sentiment right off your face. You don’t need to say anything.
Though that’s a realization that only catches up with you once a week goes by and the progress you’ve made in regards to the whole Kazuha situation is categorically negative.
Because, here it is: her lipgloss on the rim of your water glass.
The lid of her moisturizer sitting on the kitchen counter.
According to Sakura, it’s not supposed to go like this, though a lot of people, if asked, would suggest you should probably not be playing with this girl’s heart in the first place, and then there’s the issue that yours is starting to look more and more precarious, like a house of cards. Forget it, they’d probably suggest - move on, be done with it. You haven’t thought so far, in days, hell, even hours, to decide that it might be good for you. You’re usually rather decisive. But, Kazuha? Yeah. Deciding to not think about her was never going to happen.
In the sense, anyway, when the surprise cold of a winter-in-spring day still has you wearing your sandals where there's a blizzard - memorable in how there are flecks of melting white everywhere, like frozen lace, and a sensation lingering at the tip of your fingers, numb and insensate, which -
Or maybe the same is true of frostbite - or, better, hollowness: how it lingers and persists, that faint sting.
"Kazuha." You sigh, closing a book shut. It falls onto the coffee table and slides to rest, and there’s more: her perfume bottle on the side table, the socks on the couch, her favorite shirt balled into the crease of the cushions, and the sweater that she’s apparently keeping draped over one of the kitchen chairs.
You think you’re starting to understand her perspective, if at least a little.
-
It’s only a handful of days later, when Sakura wakes up to a long, bumbling text from Kazuha. She’s still in bed, holding the edge of your comforter up over her breasts like you haven’t seen her naked a million times before, and she’s twisting her lips, tapping away at her phone screen.
The text is long, you realize as Sakura’s reading it out to you.
Its message is a bit disjointed but legible nonetheless, more or less asking, hey, can i come over?
-
Hand to god, this was never about the fucking. Well, not exactly.
The truth is you really did want to get to know Kazuha - in whatever ways, under any circumstances - in a less...messy setting.
Not just to get her off, or to hear her make sounds she never even knew she was capable of; to have the luxury of seeing how she lets a stray moan echo in the back of her throat when she tries not to get too carried away; how she bites at the raw cushion of her cheek when Sakura works a hand beneath her shorts - like she's always desperate to shut herself up, lest someone call her out on it - because, the whole point to this, it's never really been about the fucking.
But, never you - and certainly never Sakura - were going to be able to keep your hands off her.
It isn’t totally your fault either. It can’t be. Kazuha’s at your front door, and she’s wearing the smallest dress imaginable. The tiny little piece barely qualifies as a sundress, and she knows it. Some sort of pattern recognition - she’s putting two and two together - the type of bodice that clings tightly to the gentlest curve of her chest, the skirt hem that stops right at the tops of her thighs, and you think, fuck, she’s just too damn beautiful for her own good.
Then it’s the other thing: she’s so nervous that her hand is nearly trembling around the strap of the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. It's not your fault she's so pretty. So shy. So easy.
The moment she steps inside, you can see it in her face, that same neediness, the same hunger from yesterday, the day before, from last week - at the bar, when she was kneeling in front of your cock, looking at you like you’d just offered her the world.
(And in so many ways, you did.)
“An overnight bag?” Sakura sounds moderately amused. "Correct me if I’m wrong Kazuha, but I thought you said you just needed to drop by," she continues, not in any grandstanding manner - just factually, straightforward. "How long are you planning on staying?"
You watch her bite her lip, and you’re trying not to react, but there’s a noticeable twitch in your brow. You start by puzzling out the weight of the duffel bag as you help it off her shoulder. “Feels like a couple of nights."
Kazuha nods, sheepishly. “Yeah.”
And she should be ashamed, you think. She knows exactly what she's doing, probably wearing those little lace panties if you had to guess - or maybe nothing at all - the pair of black heels, and her hair is down and wavy, and her lips are full and painted pink, and she smells like the best kind of trouble, and if she isn’t trying to get fucked -
"I'm sure we can figure something out," you tell her.
She smiles at you, and there's that fluttery, flirty kind of a gesture, the kind of coy, coy shyness that could just make anyone's heart swell.
"Want to help me find a spot for this in the bedroom?" you ask.
She nods again, and the blush coloring her cheeks is this soft, subtle shade of crimson.
"Yeah," she breathes, "yes, please."
-
Let the record show, Sakura kisses her first.
You watch her hands thread into the silkiness of Kazuha's hair, the way they firm up and hold her steady, how she draws her body into her own. It's the kind of kiss you see in a movie, the one that should happen in a rainstorm, with an orchestra swelling, the camera panning, a fade-to-black. You're watching the way their lips meet, how she holds Kazuha close, the ease in her shoulders when she feels Sakura smile against her. How it all just seems to click.
It's the sort of thing where you could watch forever.
And, honestly, Sakura is gentle with her - maybe as an overcompensation, a correction for the fact that she’ll get her mouth between her legs later and make her scream - but here she is, tender, warm, touching her delicately like otherwise she might break. The same as she was in the backseat of the car, the first time, the same every time after that. But she doesn't let the opportunity slip through her fingers either. Kazuha's body ends up pressed back into the mattress, and the sound of her breathing is slightly haggard, just like the rise and fall of her chest, as Sakura's pulling up the hem of her dress.
“Hey,” Sakura starts, with a kiss at the corner of Kazuha’s mouth, and then the other. And then a few more, until Kazuha is blushing, smiling, and she asks her, "do you want this off?"
Kazuha sits up and leans into her, and they both laugh softly, because, god, Sakura is fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress. She tells her to hold still, and gets it down in a second. It's just the slightest sound - a little shuffle, the swish of fabric pooling on the floor, and then Kazuha is in nothing but a set of lingerie, the heels that make her legs look so long you start to ache, and and with only a moment’s hesitation, the two of them are kissing again.
"Kazuha…" she says, "you know, I didn't take you for someone who owned lingerie. This is nice."
And it is.
There's the dainty fabric hugging Kazuha's body, the way her chest looks, the bra, the lace, how her nipples are just barely peeking through the thin material, and how she's just letting her fingers trail along the top of her panties, this tiny triangle of satin and lace.
"What," Kazuha says, "you don't think it's me?"
"It's very cute," Sakura agrees, running her thumb over Kazuha's lower lip, and as you settle in next to her, skirting touches first at her bare knee, tracing up to where her skin is softest on her thighs, she adds, “but you don’t need to dress up for him.”
"I don't mind," you murmur through busy lips - dragging kisses up her leg. "I think it’s hot."
"Then I suppose she should keep the shoes on," Sakura suggests and lifts her own shirt over her head, heaping it somewhere near the laundry bin. Her hands come up to her tits, holding them in place, and as she lets go - lets them bounce back into place - the smile she gives Kazuha’s is so, so soft.
This genuine flash of affection.
You get lost in them both a little. For a minute. Two. The three you all tangled up, bodies folded into one, arms coiled over each other, lips crushed, until finally, there is a need.
Something frantic, burning, clawing. Something insurmountable.
Kissing and kissing.
And kissing - and kissing - and -
Then you’re kneeling at the side of the bed, between Kazuha’s legs, sucking at her hip. Her skin. Pressing your mouth to every place it can reach. Up and down her thighs - running hot over the stitches and marks and stains from where your lips have dragged, peppered, blotched and bruised. Where you will, more.
In the past week, this image has hardly left your mind, sticky and unmoving. Kazuha in your bed, on your sofa, in the bath, over the cool countertop of the kitchen island - wanting to be touched, wanting to be used - chasing every possible high - you had her begging to cum on your fingers, on your mouth, on your cock. In every possible way.
That probably should have been enough.
But after Sakura strips down to nothing, wrestling her feet from her shorts, panties hanging loose from the edge of her ankle, she mounts Kazuha, straddling her waist, bringing her hips right atop hers - rolling them down, further, inching closer and closer -
It isn’t. Oh, it isn’t, it won’t be. It never would be.
“How many times are we going to make you cum,” Sakura wonders aloud, a single finger making a slow circle around the outline of Kazuha's bra. "Huh. Two?" She’s smirking now, you can hear it. "Three? I could probably convince him to go for four."
Sakura kisses hard into her neck, and it’s reflex that sends Kazuha spinning, coiling - closing her legs around you. Or at least she attempts to, but you get your hand slipped between her thighs first, and you’re leaning forward, leaning in, pressing these tantalizing kisses to the side of her knee, drawing your thumb under the arch of her foot. You can just see it, the dark blush she's starting to get between her legs: this lovely, sweet, rose-colored flush. Radiant with heat, with want, with need.
You could have your way with the two of them, you realize, take and take and take; they could put on a show, all for you. And it's not just about the pretty picture they make in bed together, Sakura and Kazuha, who are both the type to belong on covers of magazines, on billboards. Sakura's a deceptive panoply of curves, and Kazuha’s all toned muscle - her built-like-a-trackstar physique looking amazing above you, underneath you, on all fours -
But Sakura, well. There are those things that get her going.
You slide your thumb across her pussy, and you can hear the moment her breath catches, somewhere downstream of all those sweet nothings she’s saving for Kazuha, the kisses into her jaw, her neck, crashing fast against her lips. Those nothings, filthy and sweet, obscene and tender.
“Fuck, Kazuha, I didn’t realize how bad I needed this,” Sakura is saying, telling her. Promising. Her hand is brushing through her hair, making sure she doesn’t flinch away, and god, they’re so close. Sakura’s toned stomach at the dip of Kazuha’s ribcage, laid flat - the way Sakura’s breasts press into Kazuha’s chest has them spilling out ever so slightly at the sides, and Kazuha has her hands all over the ridges of Sakura’s back, dug tight into her shoulders.
“He’s going to fuck us again. Until we can’t take it anymore,” she adds, almost reverent, and you are, you will, your fingers catch the elastic of Kazuha’s panties, drag them to the crease of her thigh and -
It’s fucking perfect, how they’re both so impossibly wet.
Sakura turns back to give you one last look. She tends to be bossy, she likes to feel like she’s in control, and maybe that’s why she can’t get over how Kazuha melts beneath her, but it’s not enough. She’s snapping at you, “I need you to eat me out. Right now.”
You arch an eyebrow, acting surprised. “Right now?”
“Right now,” she repeats, shifting her hips pointedly.
“This very second?” You’re teasing, you’re a little irritating when you want to be, you’re well, you’re a lot of things, but you’re also working at the button of your pants, rubbing a thumb over the fabric of your underwear where it’s stiffening, tightening, all at the sight of these two in front of you.
“I swear to god,” she practically growls at you, the sound catching in her throat.
“So demanding.” You laugh. You have to. And your breath fans right over the folds of her pussy. She hates that. She loves that.
“If you don’t start now-”
But the thought never finishes.
Because you're leaning forward, and your hands are gripping tight, pulling you into her, and -
Fuck, it's not fair, she tastes fucking fantastic. With your mouth at Sakura’s pussy, licking past her heat, she spreads her knees just a little further apart.
Then there’s your hand, ghosting across where Kazuha needs you most, and you let the pad of your index finger roll, circle, drag and drift everywhere else. She shudders, gasping into Sakura’s mouth; you lick up, tongue through the perfect squeeze of Sakura’s lips - perniciously lapping, licking - and she’s returning to Kazuha the very same.
It's indulgent. Not that you hadn’t known it would be.
But Sakura - god, she grinds her hips down, down, down, against you, against Kazuha, and you can just hear the pair of them kissing. It’s messy, hard, hungry. There’s wet sounds, sloppy ones, and tongues, lips, teeth - Kazuha is moaning, Sakura is sighing - fuck, you could settle in here, like this, for days.
Because here’s the first truth: you’re an expert at eating Sakura out. Possibly the best.
You’re not being boastful here, it's just a fact. You know how she tastes, how to get her off - and Kazuha learns this firsthand.
And just like that, the best part about it is, when you flick your tongue flat against Sakura's clit, when she breaks her kiss enough to spit out some curse or another, Kazuha can feel it.
When you push two fingers into Kazuha - deep into her - curl them, massage, crook, tug -
Well, Kazuha can feel that too. Made certain by the way she croons into Sakura, how she holds on tight, grips hard. How Sakura does the same, rolls her hips - there’s so much to digest, just in how Kazuha breathes out your name, and by the way Sakura sighs, by the way she chokes back these whiny, winded moans. You’re afraid to miss any of it. Any single second.
And so it goes like this: your tongue working Sakura over; Kazuha writhing on your fingers; her hips shifting, squirming; Sakura rocking herself back onto your face, onto Kazuha’s cunt, onto the sharp edge of her hips - all while you’re sucking and kissing and licking - until you have one dripping down your chin. The other ruining the sheets.
Until you have Sakura practically unraveled, frayed and falling apart, that thread nearly unwound from its spool, messy and inarticulate.
Until you have Kazuha whimpering, and Sakura’s voice hushed into a whisper, speaking these words you can barely make out:
“You’re doing perfect, Kazuha, baby, keeping your legs open for him, for me, for us-”
It’s just the right amount of praise, of adoration, all of it cracking, splintering, breaking apart - Kazuha laboriously tries to kiss her quiet, breathing her in - and when you use the hand that isn’t mercilessly fucking two, three fingers into Kazuha’s little cunt to grab at that perfectly-sculpted ass, Sakura starts to lose it. She falls apart.
Loudly.
“Oh god,” she sputters, again, and again, and again. Because you grab more. A handful. Your entire fist. Spreading Sakura open so that your tongue can reach further, licking in, in, in. It starts at her thighs, a tremble, this quaking - Kazuha not far behind her: swallowing these desperate, useless sounds, gulping down air like it’s in short supply.
The room is filled, flooded, drowning, with just their voices, the pair of them moaning nearly in tandem. With the sound of your fingers fluttering, blurring, making the wettest mess between Kazuha’s legs.
Until -
Sakura cums first. And she cums hard.
It crashes over her like the kind of thing you read about in a magazine: a flash, a spark, an explosion. It rolls up through her spine, over her ribs. You can hear her try to catch her breath and come up short, Kazuha drinking every ounce of it. How she collapses, folding - Sakura resting her face in the crook of Kazuha’s shoulder; your tongue doesn’t stop.
Sakura doesn't ask it to, she can’t. And you keep on, keep going, making her cum and cum and cum.
There’s something so satisfying about it, so inexplicably filthy - you, with Sakura’s cum all over your mouth, and Kazuha, this hot, wet flustering tangle of limbs. When you finally rise to your feet, you can tell she’s so near her own finish that the tension in her muscles is winding up, running hot over the skin of her neck. She looks so good getting fucked like this.
"Fuck," Kazuha's sighing, panting. "I can't, I need-"
Her hands are everywhere: up in her hair, down her neck, gripping the sheets, fisting at the bedspread. If it wasn’t for how Sakura had crumpled into a heap on top of her, mewling softly into her shoulder, she’d be rubbing fast circles at her own clit.
"You want my cock," you ask her - well it’s not really all that much of question, but the look on her face tells you, yes, yes, fuck, yes.
You say it to her, and Sakura says it too, with a kiss at the side of her jaw. So good, look at you - she’s murmuring, not even coherent - so fucking good.
“Here, Kazuha, just hold on for me,” you tell her, stepping out of your shorts, and, to be honest, you’ve never seen anything so desperate. So ragged and needy. It inspires the worst kind of half-truths, these wicked assurances that slip from your lips as your palm drags the length of your cock. I’ll be good, I’ll go slow, I’ll go easy, I’ll do anything for you - oh, she’s putty in your hands, and she’s not going to fuss over the technicalities; how you’re hooking under her thighs and sliding her forward on the mattress, settling her into that angle that’ll let you absolutely ruin her cunt.
You could tease her - you have, and you would, in a second - but the fucking noise you earn out of her when draw the shape of your cock over her wet lips is like music: a broken moan, the kind you could bottle up, save forever, the kind that has you thinking aloud, “what a good little slut, Kazuha, fuck, aren’t you just perfect. I’m going to fuck your pussy now, okay?”
And you mean it, when you say it, when you push your hips forward, when you watch her take it. There’s the head of your cock, the way her pristine little pussy seems to open - to suck you in.
“I need - you need to fuck me.” She's barely able to say your name, begging - please, need it, hurry - it’s like Kazuha’s ticking off, minutes to midnight, gasping out: "please, please, please."
You slip inside her. Even when you’ve come to expect it, you’re still left next to speechless, because, fuck - how she can stretch.
It’s hot, it’s heaven, it’s hopeless, and as you sink further, bottoming out, there’s all this heat - the wetness - she had to have been just made just for you. Which is wild, you think, considering you’ve done nothing to deserve it, but her gorgeous little cunt is right there, quivering, hugging every inch of you while she throws her arms around Sakura’s neck.
You start to pull back, and then, thrust, once, twice. Just to let her know, to feel how tight she is.
“Shh,” Sakura’s soothing her and kissing her to silence as Kazuha holds on so, so tightly. You watch the pointed ends of Kazuha’s acrylics, faux set of french nails, dig deeper into Sakura’s shoulder blades, the fine edges of bones, the muscles and the tendons - it’s all so visceral, and so quickly - her eyes screw shut, and she’s biting the inside of her cheek so hard you can see the indent. Only letting it go when you snap your hips back into her, deeper, faster -
(There's something almost instinctual about it, in all the most upsetting ways.
So, here’s your new angle: it’s not usually like you, or it shouldn’t be. With you fucking fast into her sopping cunt and making her sob with it, like you need her at the furthest point, you want it the tightest possible, when she has her ankles hooked together around your waist, until she’s crying and cock-addled, all fucked-out and satisfied - with a load of cum buried so deep in her, she’ll be thinking about it for weeks.)
Sakura lets the kiss go with a loud smack. And when she turns those brilliant eyes over her shoulder, she's got that dreamy, lop-sided kind of smile of a girl who'd just been sent to the moon and seen stars.
"Okay, look," she chides, voice uneven, but entirely the usual sound. Her arm reaches back until her fingers splay out across your hip. “You’re going to break her in half, you know, if you fuck her like that-”
"No," Kazuha whispers. Or rather, chokes. "Harder," she’s urging you, wanting you, needing you. "Please. Don't stop."
Your pace has gone reckless, rough, relentless, but this isn’t even all on you. She’s shaking. The building, the crescendo, you’d already taken the time, with two fingers, taken more with three, slowly winding her clockwork tight, tighter, tightest - like she hasn't quite yet realized: you might never stop fucking her.
There aren’t words really, and there haven't been, it's nothing but nonsense. Guttural moans, high whines, your hips fuck into her and you’re choking off an expletive here, another there. But still, she’s an open book, and you’re reading every page. You know each of those transient thoughts in her head, every single word, even if she fails to give a voice to any of them.
Cumming - Kazuha’s trying to mouth out, the silent shape of each syllable falling off her lip - I’m going to fucking cum. And you see -
she is,
so fucked.
It just hits her: suddenly, impossibly fast, rolling her in like a tide.
Sakura is there to hold her down as she washes up. She gives her succor, she tells her not to worry, whispering this gentle hush, hush, shh - pressing a kiss to the side of her cheek as your cock dives deep and makes an audible mess of her pussy. Makes a mess of the blankets, the bedding, and you think, if she’ll be here all weekend, you’ll be in and out of the laundry, load after load.
“I’d be willing to bet you'd take anything he gave you,” Sakura says. She’s laughing, recovered mostly, and somewhere in the doting affection and tenderness is the indistinct bite of a sneer. “Wouldn't you, you little, little fucktoy. Look how good your cunt stretches for him, for his big cock. You’re just so easy, aren’t you? Oh, Kazu, you are just so - so good for us."
Kazuha’s gasping in incoherence. "I can't - oh god, I can't - please, please-"
In the moments before, it's like every toned muscle, every taut nerve in her body had braced against one another. She takes your cock like the perfect little thing she is, and then - the twinge, the twist, the fucking release - it’s too much. She can barely make a noise out of that pretty mouth of hers, wrenched open in delighted agony, but her body is screaming.
Here you could spill into her in a fucking heartbeat, so it feels almost wrong when you pull yourself from her cunt, teetering there instead.
“Kazuha,” you say, slapping your cockhead against her sore clit, and it’s so sensitive that it makes her keen. “Do you think you can take it, if I fuck your cunt a few more times. Is that what you need? This pretty thing full of cum?"
It’s cute, her commitment to the bit - the bashful, the blushing, the biting into the edge of her hand. You can’t help but find the kind of innocence in direct contradiction to the sight of her: legs thrown wide, cunt absolutely fucked raw and dripping, painted in the glow of an orgasm that ripped her voice to shreds.
“Nope. Sorry sweetheart. Too slow.” Sakura’s lifting herself, shifting her hips, and she quickly has a hand reaching back to your cock. Her slender fingers encircling your shaft. Holding it, stroking it.
Like it needs any help.
"Do you have even the slightest idea?" she continues, talking out both sides of her mouth - this time at you. “How fucked you both are? I don’t think she’s going to let you off the hook until she’s got your cum inside her.”
Kazuha whimpers into her hand, merely at the thought.
“It’s a little cruel I imagine, to keep her waiting too long, but trust me: when we’re finished, I’m going to ride your cock - not going to stop until you fucking cum again, and then maybe, Kazuha should too.”
Probably by virtue of proximity and time, you know Sakura could go on like that forever, and it's true: when the moment is right, she's going to take what she wants, going to slide herself onto your cock like it’s hers. Right after you let Kazuha sit on your face - letting her rub herself off, however she likes it - then maybe even have her mouth. Your cock between her lips, watching those pouty things flush hard all over again.
The throuple, the three of you, this plurality you’re still not entirely sure you’re used to - not so sure you should be getting used to - there's time you figure, for Kazuha. There has to be. And Sakura again after.
But in terms of the here and now, you’ve got a set fingerprints burning into Sakura’s impossibly narrow waist, a fist around your cock, brushing Kazuha’s slick right into the wet between her lips - just a matter of alignment - and - and -
“I don’t think you should be drawing this out.” A course correction. Sakura slides lower, hips up higher, proffering, and she’s drawing back at the soft, supple skin across her thigh, letting you take her all in. Her face is flush against Kazuha’s, combing a finger through her hair, telling both of you, “our little girl looks like she can’t wait another second.”
"Hm," you're starting to say. “I suppose you’re right.” The least you could do was add the one-two of another suggestion, but then your cock is lined up perfectly with the tight muscle of her ass, and, well.
It’s like you said, you know Sakura.
There’s a sharp draw of air sucked in through her teeth as you get her started. And fuck, she’s tight, so delectably tight - with each bit, the barest touch of your tip at her rim at first, before your hand finds leverage in the curve of her back, easing her onto your cock like she’s some obscene piece of artwork.
Even then, getting slowly fucked open, she has the capacity for these thinly veiled barbs:
“This, Kazuha, like this - that’s the way you deserve to get fucked. Your perfect little cunt, your ass-”
You should probably be familiar with it, about how she is always, always plotting, always scheming - in control of things that should be well beyond her grasp - this is all on her own.
So as your cock stretches, inches, spreads her out - it isn't at your mercy. Though not quite at hers, either.
“Oh, fuck,” You have to steady a breath, because it feels better on you, you think, it must. Because Sakura has you squeezing past the ring, and oh, you can only imagine how it feels on her, taking it inch by inch. How full Kazuha would feel. God, imagine what you could do with a girl like her, it would ruin her. Ruin her in the best way.
“Sakura,” Kazuha says, faintly.
You can hear Sakura biting down on nothing when she answers, “Kazu, yeah.”
“Is he… are you...”
Her sentence never really finishes. Kazuha’s holding onto Sakura with both hands, one under her jaw, another in her hair. Her eyes are trailing along, studying the serene lines of her face, how they wobble ever-so-slightly when you pull your hips back and sink into Sakura’s ass again. And again. Until you can tell your cock is starting to settle, to hit this particular angle, that perfect sort of spot - that makes her body start to grow soft, shiver, and spill over.
Sakura tries to shake the hair out from in front of her face, and you get to watch Kazuha. Watch as she delicately brushes it back behind her ears, and they lean in. They kiss. And it's nothing like before.
“Words, sweetie,” Sakura tells her, hot against her lips, “say what you want to say.”
Kazuha bites at her lip, and when Sakura draws her into another kiss - an open-mouthed one, a long, lingering one - their tongues push together, meet together, dance together, the words leaving her throat with hardly any sound at all:
“I want, him, I want - to be fucked, I want him - I want…”
Sakura interrupts her, and in the exact same lilting cadence, that same smug tone, she says, “you want him to fuck your ass, Kazuha, right baby?”
Kazuha starts to blush profuse - bright pink up the sides of her neck and in her chest, this roseate smolder seared into her cheeks. Some part of you is disappointed she can’t see the whole picture, because for you, it’s all in frame: you spread a hand across the full round of Sakura's ass, squeezing as you pull out, sliding it along to press your thumb into the base of her spine as you push yourself inside her again.
“Come on, of course you do,” she goads, the obvious edge in her voice looking for a reaction.
And she can have an audible one from you, because Sakura looks like an absolute dream, the outline of her back flexing, muscles moving like machinery under her skin. Her legs strain against the mattress as she starts to fuck back. Taking control of it, of you, of her. You know her game, you’ll play along.
Your gaze flickers, first to Kazuha, back to where your cock is fucking Sakura open. Until it vanishes in between those two faultless curves. Buried to its base. Until the rhythm gets there. Until it takes you. There are certain things that, at this stage, are just inevitable - this momentum, or call it the weight of desire - and suddenly, Sakura’s fingers wind tightly around one of your wrists, guiding you, trying to show you: deeper is good, harder, more, rough, rougher - trying to tell you to wrap her up and fuck her - truly fuck her.
“With this beautiful fucking cock?” Sakura is saying, somehow unrushed and harried at the same time, in her half-there, half-catching-her-breath kind of way. “Oh Kazuha, you just want to be an awful mess - an utter fucked-out mess. Under him and on him and filled; tell me it isn’t that you want your perfect asshole getting fucked raw and hard by his big thick dick-”
As she sinks down onto your length, leaning backwards - which, god, she's probably fucking gaping - you bring an open palm down hard onto the taut, creamy skin of her bare ass, and she yelps.
“Maybe we should just show her.” You pull Sakura's little frame up into you so you can say it right into the shell of her ear, and your thumb smooths a line from the bony edge of her hip, up to her navel, with your fingers splayed out over the concave flatness of her tummy. “It would be so much easier, for all of us.”
She squirms into your shoulder, agitated, but with another snap of your hips into her slick, puckered hole - with a satin-like kiss onto her lips - she bends to you, surrenders to you. She has to.
Kazuha can’t look away. Pushing her fingers into her cunt. She’s watching you fuck Sakura and hold her tight. Watching closely how you’re going to take her apart.
The way it all comes down, the beginning of the end, it starts with a kiss. Another.
A series of them, quick. Crushing your mouth onto hers. Sakura hums this meek sound into your mouth the moment your hands are up on her perfect tits, cupping them, squeezing, kneading, listening to her pitchy little whines when you roll your fingers around her nipples.
Kazuha. Sakura.
Circling fingers, mussed up hair.
Folded knees, rippling skin.
There's no shortage of imagery for either one.
Lewdness, vulgarity, the truly depraved - the dark places the brain goes, the deepest recesses: the buried fantasies. You are fucking her harder and harder and faster and faster and - god, Sakura loves it, she wants it, her tiny body clinging to you - pulling you back every time your cock threatens to drag free from the confines of her tight ass - pulling you back every time your mouth leaves a spot, a smear, an unbearable, unendurable mark into the line of her shoulder.
“Please, you need, it's, god, it's just, you feel so perfect,” is what you’re shaking out of her, broken, breathy.
The screws of the bed are just about wailing with it, her chest is in full motion, the picture perfect arch of her neck is red, pink, raw. And how her skin glows, you have no idea, but her eyelids are fluttering open, closed. Open, closed - all the while using the hand that isn’t pinned behind her back to tease at her swollen little clit.
“Oh,” you say, grinning, “what happened to using my fucking cock for exactly what I'm made for, hmm?”
"Don't - don’t get all funny," she huffs at you, face too stricken with your cock throbbing in her asshole to scowl. Then her body relaxes, and it seems to work. That, and the quick circles she's rubbing over her cunt, the one soaking down onto Kazuha’s legs, into the mattress, the sheets, everything.
You fuck her harder. She rolls her shoulders back.
And somewhere beneath, lost in the fold of the sheets, the pooling sweat, there's something so unguarded - this sick little voice in the back of your thoughts, thinking - mine, mine, mine, mine - and it’s so incredibly territorial.
It doesn’t get any quieter when you look down either; Kazuha’s eyes, heavy and hazy. They have to be. She has two fingers sunk inside her. And they look like they're doing the work for you, because it's like she's been waiting for ages, ever since you sank the length of your cock into Sakura's ass. She hasn't stopped rubbing figure-eights and circles over her cunt. She hasn’t stopped, and you don’t think she ever will.
“Cum, please, I want you to cum,” Sakura is frantic at you, breathless, a little miserable, and you think you could, with your own hand and just from the way Kazuha is moaning and panting and getting herself off. "Just, fuck, get that cock in her, cum, fuck, don't-"
You could lose your mind here, and it's what they’d both want.
(That is, until Kazuha calls out: fuck me, please fuck me.)
Which makes you aware. Reminds you: not even yet - you’re fucking Sakura so hard, so fast, you’re ready to burst -
“Fuck,” you spit, with your cock sliding out of Sakura’s ass and watching her recoil.
Actually, it’s almost too late. You’re almost too slow on the draw. And for a few seconds, all you have are your senses: there’s the wet, failing noise, your skin is fevering hot as liquid fire, and the smell, blossoming saccharine sweet, turgent like gasoline.
Actually, you can’t keep your eyes open, not for a moment. You’re cumming everywhere.
On the inside of Sakura’s thigh, into the bedding, and when you get your cock into your fist and point it at Kazuha’s cunt, you spill a puddle of cum right onto her puffy, reddened lips - pumping, jerking - there’s more on the flawless plane of her stomach, hot white streaks across her body like you’re debasing a masterwork, a canvas beholden to the perfected female form. Now tarnished, and sloppy and slutty -
But, you’re fucked. You’re spent. Kazuha sees the pale in your face. You can read the wordless worry there, but what she does with it is obscene.
Just the tips of two fingers, and she traces a line down from her chest, picks a lazy path through the splatter on her skin to rub it into her pretty, soaked pussy. You watch as she pushes it all in, like it could be - where it’s supposed to be - all filthy, the fucking definition.
There’s a listless groan, and a shake of Sakura’s head. She’s running her hand over her brow, through her messy fringe and flipping it away. “Jesus, Kazuha, gross, if you want it inside - put his cock in there, seriously. Go sit on it, ride him till he can't help himself.”
(Always the smooth-talker, Sakura.)
"Wait, wait," Kazuha says, scuffing her feet against the comforter, knocking her head back as far as her shoulders will let her. "I’m close," you're barely able to catch the words, paper-thin and shivering, "just need..."
Sakura shimmies off of Kazuha and lands on her feet, gait looking kind of silly.
“Oh, Kazuha,” she says, with the kind of dejected little sigh that you’re used to hearing when you say something disappointing or objectionable and Sakura has to set it right.
She shoves you off with a gentle push from her fingertips and moves until the two of them are reshaping themselves into this soft, cozy pile. By the time they finish, she's got her fingers hooked around Kazuha's thighs and her face buried between her legs.
“There, there,” Sakura’s whispering as she laps and circles her tongue around Kazuha’s cunt, the needy tragedy of a shape that it’s in. She makes a long lick up and through the glisten between her legs before pushing her finger in, just a knuckle, curling - then two.
You feel it. You’re half-hard and aching, maybe ready to go. You feel those familiar phantoms of rising pressure, in your thighs, your hips, your chest. The familiarity of how Sakura soothes her into it, inches closer to her, you never knew it looked like this.
“Fuck, Sakura, you-” Kazuha’s eyes are widening and the bones of her neck are straining, her lips parted into a perfect, pleading little bow. The duvet spills through her fingers as she searches blindly for somewhere, anywhere - she needs, and needs, and needs - needs to stay, to find an anchor, to come up for air -
She is gasping. It’s fucked: the friction, the fever-dream.
Because Sakura has her nose on her clit, mouth fucking her fast and senseless, precise, eager to please, and the way her fingers flutter in and out of her cunt looks nothing short of amazing.
It looks even better when her orgasm hits, or when it vanishes, as the case may be, because for her none of it manages to last that long; there's just this crazy moment where Kazuha goes white all over - it starts in her face, spreading across her torso, and her back snaps forward in a cresting wave before she falls. Flat and alluring and inviting.
It makes Sakura almost laugh, right into her skin. “That’s our good girl.”
Kazuha is laying there, fucked-out, sodden in her own slick, destroyed. She has a hand over her face, one between her legs, feeling over her skin and what it's turned into now. Her beautiful, blemishless skin, just…smeared with you. Smothered.
It's impossible. How could anybody function at even half their normal rate when it all just ends up here?
“Okay, alright.” Sakura crawls back on her hands, peering back. Her chin glistens and she kisses the taste off of her lips before sucking a couple fingers into her mouth to clean up. Then she lifts her arm, looking at you with a steely expression, and points to the chair in the corner of the room.
Her smile kicks back up into the corner of her mouth, elastic, and she just says, “A promise is a promise, yeah?”
(Of course. Of course she does.)
-
It’s hours later, when a foot sharply jabbed into your rib wakes you in the middle of the night.
You have the wherewithal to take inventory, to tally it up: Sakura, Kazuha sprawled out across the sheets, the night sky flashing and splintering into iridescent sparks of darkness outside the bay window - rainfall now slowly pelting across its pane.
At the sound of a snore - a novel one, one that must be Kazuha’s - Sakura turns and drapes the sheets up to her waist. She’s half-asleep. The softness in her eyes obscured by the short, drowsy blinks of her lashes.
“What time is it?” she asks, trying to will herself back to sleep.
You tell her: “Don’t matter.”
-
The "full disclosure" here isn't of a whole lot of use. Not really. But it's all there, at least, this surface-level pretense of an explanation.
It’s late August, a summer ago, and you can still picture the unbothered look on Sakura’s face when she brings it up.
“So, like,” Sakura starts to say. She’s inspecting a pair of stilettos, weighing them carefully in one hand. They would look lovely on her and the price tag isn’t anywhere near enough to dissuade her. “What’s your take on Kazuha?”
“Um.” You’re there, beside her, shuffling out the way so a mother and her squalling child can pass. “Is that a name I’m supposed to recognize?”
There are several people in line behind you and not a single one of them are pleased, judging from what you can infer from the grumblings in their pockets and the anger bristling amongst their expressionless faces.
You could ask: please be patient with us, it has been a long few months - I can tell by how Sakura has this irritated look in her eye and hasn't called me by my pet name since we woke up from a midday nap, or how she's barely said anything other than oh and yeah or umm or sure since. That said, there have been bigger, larger-scale concerns, so forgive us, please, we love each other, or something like that.
Instead, you lean against a wall, by a clothing boutique display full of eye-searingly-bright polo shirts, and pull out your phone.
“Seriously?” Sakura asks. “You’ve met her like, twenty times.”
You don’t look up from the screen. "Well, when you give me some kind of clue, I'll see what I can do."
This gets a tight-lipped frown. She leans in on her toes, whispering it into your ear: "The one I said is a little crazy about you."
“Ah.” It clicks. Kazuha, that one. “She was the one with Chaewon the other night right? Dark hair, yea-high? At the gala - helping Minju look for her boyfriend. Did you ever hear about where they found him? By one of the bathrooms on the second floor, with an arm around Eunbi and-”
Sakura creases an eyebrow.
(And what a glare, really. It makes her face look like the backdrop of a brick wall in some mediocre, early-2000s film noir.)
“Another quarter in the gossip jar.”
“Oh, but asking me some loaded question about a girl I hardly know is let-me-guess: perfectly kosher.”
“Loaded?” Sakura huffs, tugging at her sleeve. She pauses, though, her expression almost flounders because she can never truly ever explain why the rules don’t apply to her. “Is that the word?”
“My answer,” you tell her, “is unchanged. She’s sweet and nice and a sort of, conventionally attractive.”
"Really; nothing about her does it for you?"
A loaded question gets a loaded answer, so: “No, not particularly.”
"And what happens if the question becomes less 'what do you think' and more 'I want her to rail me,'" she says, somewhat chilly. “You know, as a hypothetical.”
She wants you to look up at that, and well you are, because you realize it now. “Oh my god. Sakura, you still haven’t told her about us.”
Sakura just makes a face, of a type of: puzzled and concerned quality, and it’s kind of cute actually. She’s perfected the look.
Although, really, she shouldn’t have to explain anything - why you sleep over some times, stay the whole night. Or several. Nothing has to be answered after. It’s you, Sakura, and it always has been. But it’s a problem. Each morning, Kazuha’s eyes get a little sadder, and that kernel of shame inside Sakura grows ever larger.
“Sakura,” you insist.
“I know, I know, I know.” She bites her lip, thinking, and hums under her breath. “Lying about it obviously isn’t helping, but being straight with her sounds…” Sakura’s expression dips. “You know she just has that - that disposition, those never-been-hurt-once kind of eyes. Disappointing her is like choking out the little mermaid with a bike chain.”
“You could set her up.”
“Trust me: Chaewon and I have tried.”
“And it doesn’t take."
Sakura shrugs. “She gets nervous easily, or something. Didn’t get enough attention from boys while in ballet school I suppose - and then here you come along and smile at her like you don’t know what it does to people. Which, careless by the way.”
“Well, it explains the legs.”
Sakura scoffs. “Conventionally attractive, huh, seems like you’ve cast a wide net.”
It earns her this pinched look, your mouth set in a tight line, and Sakura smiles - all smug-like. By this time, she’s narrowed it down, a pair of shoes in each hand, and she holds them out to you, sighing.
"Which ones."
You point at the heels Sakura has in her left: a sleek pair of green pumps with a thin gold buckle across the ankle strap.
"Hmm. Kazuha likes the color green, by the way. A lot."
"That's nice. I'm a fan of neutrals."
Sakura clicks her tongue. “You really don't have anything to say about her."
"Nothing comes to mind." You hold a tote bag out in front of you, waiting for her to plop the shoes in. "Although, she's tall - taller than you - hey, with the heels maybe you could finally kiss her."
“Ha, funny,” she says, and then, pursing her lips, you see the lightbulb go off: Sakura is struck with an idea.
You don’t go out of your way to hate her ideas. She has so many of them. It’s just that they have this tendency to be pretty damn awful.
“Can I, politely decline?” you ask, once Sakura finishes whispering into your ear, and sinks back to the soles of her feet.
Sakura blinks, innocently. (She can be so obnoxious when she wants to be.)
"No, I'm serious," you tell her. Sakura can't expect that you're actually down for this - the setup, the miscommunication, the endless drama, all that messy work, and for what, your girlfriend-in-eveything-but-name-only's peace of mind? "Declining. Politely. Please."
"C'mon, hear me out. It'll be fun."
You tip your head, onto some more dismissive angle or another, but Sakura takes it to be a whole different type of signal: that you're actually warming up to the idea.
(You're not.)
"Fun," you repeat.
“Well,” she says, cracking a grin. And that’s when you know - that her mind is set, immovable - like she’s laid the foundation, poured the concrete and is now standing in it, knee deep, spitefully triumphant. "It sure as shit ain’t going to be boring."
-
It was supposed to be like dominos, falling sequentially, until at last, the final one is knocked down and all three of you can move on with your lives.
This is how things tend to work out: Sakura, a bit of a schemer, and you - well, you a bit of something else.
-
It’s begun raining biblically by the time the three of you’ve gotten dressed, eaten and had something that even remotely resembles a functional, human interaction.
It’s over a cup of tea and a modest stack of papers - Sakura's sitting at the dining room table with her knees tucked into her chest and has taken to typing something on her laptop. It’s a whole thing, she refuses to write by hand like you. And Kazuha feels it’s within reason to start playing twenty questions. Starting simple, mundane: how did the two of you even meet? How have you not told me this story? How did it become, whatever the fuck this is?
Sakura rolls her eyes, thinking, please, how juvenile, and opens her mouth to explain, then pauses, unsure. She thinks it through - the simplest iteration, the most plausible interpretation, or at least something that makes the two of you seem a little less unhinged - but when those gears grind to a halt, Sakura's teeth click together and the words fail to make any headway at all.
You lean forward in the quiet, and end up telling Kazuha the usual story, how it kind of went down, telling her that neither of you "are looking for any sort of commitment."
(That's, by the way, exactly the turn of phrase Sakura once told you when she explained she didn't want a "monogamous, committed relationship," once upon a time, in fact - just a wayward daydream - a hazy, silly memory.)
Kazuha laughs, softly. "Cool." She does a bit of nodding, biting into a slice of toast, the crunch singular and resolute. She seems to understand.
Then she cocks her head, a frown shadowing in on one side of her mouth. "Okay, um, you're not...doing that with anybody else though right?"
"Doing what?" Sakura asks, seeming kind of amused.
"Dating - fooling around, that kinda stuff."
You let go of the ballpoint pen in your hand and take a deep breath.
"Kazu," Sakura says, clamshelling her laptop emphatically. “We are not going to (1) have a threesome with anybody we’re not absolutely candid about and then (2) fucking lie about it after.”
“Cool.” Kazuha bobs her head again. “Cool, cool, cool.”
-
So actually, maybe it’s not a total disaster, you think. It’s all with a bit of luck, and a whole lot of foolishness, but it’s however those sayings tend to go. You can’t take life too seriously, or you’ll never make it out alive.
-
Here's what tips you off: Sakura is deep into a game of Bloons on her phone when you cum on Kazuha's face.
Well - after your load spits a long stripe onto her tongue - and once the heady taste of it makes her recoil on instinct, but then she sinks a little further onto her knees and settles, with her mouth open wide, and her tongue out like she’s being baptized. She simply lets the rest of it happen. And let’s be perfectly clear, she wants it to.
She’s jerking you with her fingers, smearing it all over her. On her cheek, her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, the luscious swell of her pink lips; every gorgeous and perverse spot and stain becomes something Kazuha has earned.
Sakura’s laying totally horizontal on the couch and has yet to lift a single one of her eyes from the screen, humming approvingly, "is she letting you jizz on her face?"
You look up at Sakura's even expression, catching how she's peeking from beneath heavy eyelids, with two thumbs swirling over the face of her phone.
"Guess she is," you reply, turning a smirk into your shoulder, rolling a thumb along Kazuha's temple as a viscous glob of cum dribbles over the edge of her brow and into her lashes. "Fucking filthy little cumslut."
Kazuha lets your cock slip out from her lips. Manages still, a pretty little smile.
It’s not just that she likes it when you degrade her a little, which, honestly, you wouldn’t have ever pegged, but Kazuha likes being made to wear her sin so that it never leaves her alone. Here she is, now realizing that dirty, divine truth: getting called names, used and treated like a cumrag.
Now, she can’t get enough.
The grip you’d woven into Kazuha’s dark silky hair to fuck your cock into her lips is the same you use to rein her in, walking her from the unassuming doorway where she’d gotten herself down on her knees for you and reached her fingers into the waist of your pants - over toward the couch where Sakura’s lounging in the world's smallest pair of shorts and a tank top.
Sakura’s still going on about this level she can’t figure out when you bend Kazuha over the arm of the sofa. “It’s this fucking chimps stage,” she says, blowing her bangs out of the way. “It’s the only intermediate one I haven’t full cleared-”
Kazuha gasps - and the sound comes out near reverent - when you pull her underwear down her thighs and slip your cock into her cunt.
Fuck, she feels incredible. You’ve claimed two greedy handfuls of her ass, watching her head drop between her shoulders as she steadies the air that rattles out of her, and you just keep sliding into her - deeper and deeper until your cock is fucking her apart, spreading her open, so very full.
“Have you tried, not spamming plantations?” you ask Sakura, the syllables slowing, making room for the rough cadence of your breathing, as you drive your hips in. “Since they, you know, don’t actually pop anything.”
“Hey.” Sakura’s lip quivers like it’s about to pout, but never does. “It’s rude to backseat.”
You’re fucking Kazuha slow, but you’re also tilting your hips down, going for the deep, sharp angle that you’ve found she likes - the kind of stroke that get’ll her sobbing if you really lean into it. You don’t miss the soft moans that drift out of her either, or the way her pussy throbs and grasps and swallows every inch of you.
“And see, that’s a common misconception,” Sakura continues to drawl, squinting up at the screen, “this game isn’t actually about popping the bloons. It’s about making as much money as humanly-”
She looks up. Sees, finally.
You press your hips right down to the curve of Kazuha's ass and bottom out inside her. Confirming what you already knew: the way it feels to fuck this needy, insatiable, incomparable body. Sopping wet. So hot, too. So tight, snug around your cock. It's unlike anything, and seeing Kazuha like this, folded over and racked with a shudder - when it all comes down to it, it's just that simple.
It's this fucking little pussy. That fucking curve of her ass, peerless in nearly every conceivable way. It urges you to move, irresistible. To push past that tight, snug grip and pound her relentlessly.
However she wants it.
“You look pretty today, Kazuha,” Sakura tells her as she leans forward, nonchalantly and holding back a smirk, and she starts to inspect the damages: the red that taints her ears, the blush creeping in, the face you're drawing a few curls of her hair aside for Sakura to stare at.
There is, of course, the more obvious - the most obvious - all the cum still painted onto her pretty face. You find beneath your fingertips that it’s sticky all over her cheeks, the kind of sticky that is quickly drying, almost tacky.
"I always look pretty," Kazuha gathers the composure to say back at her, like her arms aren’t trembling with the effort to hold up her lithe frame.
Sakura laughs, the sound coming like a plucked chord.
And it is true, that beneath a few splatters and streaks of your cum, Kazuha looks pretty, is pretty. She's pretty because of what she is, with what she was born with, born without - and if she's sinking her teeth into her lip, covered in cum, biting down on this moan, the next, the one that shivers through her whole body when your hips snap reckless into hers, that is more proof of her flawless disposition. That is something special one could be lucky to witness: her panting and squeaking and pressing her palms into the leather beneath her so you can slam the cock inside her to its very hilt - then fucking her, razing her like a blaze, spreading her apart until she's writhing and clawing at the sofa with every strike of your cock to that sweet, spot within her.
"You just look so particularly, um," Sakura does a bit of tilting her chin, thinking, "fucked."
Kazuha smiles despite herself. Maybe there was this vision of her before - prim, polite - demure, reserved; with the role now filled out, it couldn’t have fit less.
Sakura lets her phone fall between the cushions, and leans forward, dragging her thumb along Kazuha’s jaw - smearing more of you into her skin - dipping it just barely into her mouth so that Kazuha can suck on the tip.
“So,” Sakura starts, tipping Kazuha’s chin up on a fingertip and studying how each motion urges forward a tiny, punched-out breath. “Are you two planning on doing anything else today besides fucking each other senseless?”
It’s a hard sell. Not with your hands on her narrow, wrought little waist, and certainly not when her cunt keeps rippling around you, pulsating, spilling over - dripping like she can't take it any longer. Kazuha's a bit out of sorts, has been for more than a few moments, but this one, especially. With the stilted way she's saying, "could, we go again, if, ah," then sucking a hard breath, "if, we," and "if you think," and "please, please, please."
“Just to be clear,” Sakura runs her tongue between her lips before her gaze tracks up to meet yours. “This is on you; she wasn’t like this.”
“What, you mean cumdrunk?”
Sakura runs her hand through Kazuha’s hair “Something like that.”
All the while, she is sliding one of her hands under the cotton of Kazuha's shirt, bringing another one up the sensitive expanse of her leg, thumb stroking just inches from where your cock is gliding in out of Kazuha’s aching cunt. You almost find it a shame that Sakura's never in any rush to actually fuck Kazuha, taking her apart piece by piece first, not allowing for an ounce of hurry.
Not to mention the effect she has on her - something intense, something almost electric - and there are sparks, when she leans in and silences Kazuha’s moan with a soft kiss, somewhere between their lips, as Kazuha melts -
And dissolves -
And opens her mouth -
Your hand finds the jut of Kazuha's hips, squeezing gently, using her body to pull her into you. Pumping, thrusting. Then back and in, again, and again. Kazuha goes a little boneless; this soft, quivering mess. There's one final teary squeak - and she just, takes it.
"God," you whisper out, in an almost perplexed admiration; her cunt looks so good like that. Taken. Fucked. In use.
It’s like some wild and wonderful thing - the absolute fucking wreck she is now - her bottom lip sticking out, Kazuha sighing, "m-more."
Sakura peers over her, eyes sharp, head held high. “Better not keep her waiting.”
As it were. It all goes on and on and on.
-
So,
Here’s what people usually fail to consider about “fucking each other senseless” when they’re discussing definitive day plans:
In general, it goes off the rails - like when your hand closes around the column of Kazuha's throat and the bathroom is abruptly fogged in sex-infused haze as you're fucking your cock between her legs. The tip nudging just past the smooth of her folds, slipping along the ridges and curves of her thighs, or when it all builds up to something else and the head of your cock is a sloppy mess against the little dip of her asshole and you fuck her there, too.
Sometimes, it gets very silly. When Sakura pouts at you and pulls your fingers from Kazuha's cunt to have her lick at them and there's an instant jolt that hits at the look in her eye - dilated and black, smirking, hungry.
Then, maybe Sakura slips a hand down Kazuha's pants, gives her a little, "good girl, huh? Little fuckin' cumslut. And you can do it with your mouth full, too, hmm?"
She’ll do this thing so practiced, you’d think she’d done it a thousand times. She’ll slow the roll of her hips down on your cock, for a rare respiteful second, and press a sharp bite to the shell of Kazuha's ear. You get that gleam off her canines when Kazuha lets the words drop, mumbling with Sakura's fingers on her jaw and yours buried three knuckles-deep inside her mouth. "Yes ma’am, yes I can."
And there's when things get very serious. Maybe, in particular, a time, a moment -
(Let's call this moment one of many, but just to use it as something of an example.)
-a phone, going off and ringing, ringing, ringing.
You haven't seen the numbers - you're kind of too busy with your cock in Kazuha's cunt and her riding the edge, circling her hips on the line of your thigh, rolling into it and soaking your skin. Until she freezes, going rigid.
(Yeah,
No shit, she's the one getting Yunjin on the other line. A few days out of town, she has this text - call ASAP. ASAP means: she is now in this awkward spot, of pulling her own soaked underwear off of your wrist, trying to compose herself, not moan or writhe. You're trying to act natural, as Kazuha hastily arranges you both - nudging you onto the bed, letting Sakura wrench your shirt off from behind.)
By the time Kazuha's listening to Yunjin retell some story - no, yeah, she went out and got a new car. Then this funny thing, so she came across the scrapyard, and this other thing - did you know it costs a dollar fifty? She's got a shovel in the back, still can't believe it! - your hand is closed around your cock, trying to, gently, in vain, get some sort of handle on it.
But everything else happens way too fast: Sakura's foot falls across the meat of your inner thigh, and her expression is all, please. Don't you want to put me in my place? Please, for her - it'd mean so much to, just to, ride that massive, fat fucking cock-
Fuck, she's a bad influence, your best friend. Your lover, in all senses.
Anyways - your tongue in her mouth -
Your arm around her waist -
Kazuha gets it figured out. Yunjin's good to talk for a couple of minutes, and while your head is thrown back on a pillow, hearing Kazuha work out all this small talk about her shiny new volkswagen, your brain is somewhere between exploding, overstimulation, overload - Sakura's mouth, her tits, her pussy - whatever, wherever - just, fuck, she's -
You're just…fucking her. Truly fucking her. She's grinding, rolling her clit, making these choked noises. She’s not as flexible as Kazuha, who’d let you turn her into a pretzel or force her into the splits and pound away until there’s a load leaking from her pussy - until there’s several - but there’s something else about Sakura’s tight, grasping cunt, how you it quivers and milks you, a soft, soft silk that wants to tug at you, consume you -
Kazuha’s on the phone, wrapping up, telling Yunjin, “okay, I love you, bye, I love you, yes, okay, I love you, bye, I’ll talk to you later, soon, I love you. Yes, I’ll get to it. First thing tomorrow.”
Sakura’s on a sort of different thread, leaning into you and telling you to put a hot load into her cunt, your pretty girl, please - her mouth toying with the soft lobe of your ear, working in the angle of her hips on top of you and dragging her cunt against all the right parts of your cock in tandem, then asking: "is this little pussy gonna get filled up like hers? Make a mess and ruin me?"
And, there’s you -
Going fast, faster - you want more of her, she wants more of you - her tiny frame shaking with need, your hips slamming into hers and pushing her up the mattress and making a fucking mess of her perfect cunt. Your fingers are clasped over her mouth. Hers are probably clasped around your very soul, because you think:
This girl.
This girl -
Fuck, it isn’t complicated at all.
-
(As it is most years, the full bloom lasts about a week. There’s a cherry tree outside the window, one, three floors down from your apartment; its flowers are in their final days. A warm breeze whispers a cascade of petals to the earth below, and from this distance, they look almost dream-like, like snow falling soft.
You lie to yourself: maybe, if it could stay just like that, maybe forever.)
-
For weeks, Kazuha comes and goes. More of her belongings enter than ever leave the apartment - shoes, laundry, hair ties, the occasional purse or two. Her books take up the most space, overflowing to the point where the stack is spilling off the kitchen table.
It all serves to solidify the unspoken agreement among the three of you, that this isn’t going away any time soon.
At present, she’s currently in a moment of going.
You and Sakura watch from the fire escape as her figure on the street below climbs into a cab and heads off in a vaguely-western direction.
With your backside to the railing and your elbows looped over the iron bars, the cigarette smoldering between your fingertips curls up a single smoky tendril. Beside you, Sakura has her sunglasses shielding her eyes from an early-evening summer sun. Her lips, just the subtlest pink shade of coral - pink, rose - start to pick up the colors of fleeting daylight. You watch her focus flit between you and the horizon, unreadable, inscrutable and turn back on the asphalt.
There's this wind that fills out her skirt and reveals a sliver of her thighs, a space in time where her legs aren’t painted red and her hair looks a bit lighter.
Sakura points the fronts of her sneakers down as though to really study the pavement below. "What's with that face?"
"No face," you say.
"Yes face," Sakura insists, tipping her head.
A strand of her bangs swings along the line of her cheekbone to where she tucks it, delicate, behind her ear. And then:
"Y'know."
You tap off a line of ash. "Do I?"
She rolls her eyes and replies, simply, "us."
-
Some mornings, there's coffee.
Some evenings, another show gets binged, or a movie.
Some nights are always reserved for bed, a three-person scrum at the very center and warm bodies laced over one another.
This one - tonight - is always the hardest to predict.
There was no denying the thud. There were no stifling the sounds - the cries and pleas, the streams of no, please don't stop, which you think must’ve been coming from Kazuha. There were other voices too, fainter - they slipped right out your head, unabashed.
Another came from behind, Sakura moaning out a hoarse "there you go baby, just like that. Take that little cunt of hers." And on, on and on: Kazuha whimpering and mewling out an obscene pitch - fucked over and out, full and satisfied.
With that, you can't even tell which is better. Looking down, the lovely sight of your cock filling Kazuha's pussy - spreading her wide open for you - so indecent, and hot, and, really, there's that fantasy that she has that can play out on repeat. Laid out on a mattress and used, exactly as she's always wanted to be. Fucked, again, again, again - full of cum.
Only somewhere along the way it all slows down. To the basics, the essentials.
See, there’s a place by the tidal river that you and Sakura like to go, sometimes, just to take a break. It’s a clearing in the trees that by mid-summer will be swarming with bugs, but is for now, mostly okay. And if you’re going to get tangled up in origin stories, this is probably the best place to start:
"What about that one?" Kazuha asks, pointing up at another ambiguous point on the vast dark canvas overhead. Her head is in your lap, and she's tearing up the grass with her other hand.
Sakura squints. "Hmm. Let's see. That one over there is Gemini, I think." She moves her finger, dragging Kazuha's gaze across the heavens. "That star cluster right there. I call it The Bee. But if you want the real name, you can call it Messier 35. The French got to that one first, I guess."
Kazuha seems to ignore her, the brief aside, to stare, to dream.
“Sakura, hey,” she says in a half-whisper, its sound trailing into the dull drone of cicadas, the croaking cadence of bullfrogs, like a will o’ wisp into the night sky. “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”
“She didn’t,” you tell her. “She makes it up as she goes along.”
Kazuha twists around to level her with this pout, half-crooked, almost grinning. Sakura just shrugs, blameless. There’s grass falling off her sweatshirt and speckling her knees. Her ponytail is crooked, her smile bright and beaming and contagious - you find it a wonder how you ever manage anyway.
“What about that one, you think?” she asks Kazuha, gesturing vaguely to a cluster of three bright flecks, glistening against the gradient, and Kazuha’s head tilts to follow Sakura’s index finger.
(And it’s totally worth pointing out the sort of cosmic irony here being that if any of you knew a lick about anything, you could say oh that? That’s Orion’s belt, binding together the great hunter himself - to his quiver, and to the bowstring, his pride, and to his most prized possession: his arrow, gleaming, eternally shining in the midnight glow of faraway planets and twinkling, blinking stars.
None of you are astronomers after all. Not you. Sakura, maybe, if you ask Kazuha. But for the time being, you'd never know.)
“Dunno,” Kazuha says, "but it must mean something."
You and Sakura share a long breath.
The three of you staring up into the infinite blue.
#sakura smut#kazuha smut#le sserafim smut#izone smut#kpop smut#male reader smut#izone sakura smut#le sserafim kazuha smut#le sserafim sakura smut
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omg can you write a little scenario about aaron and jack in the kitchen and aaron is telling jack eveything about you and you just watch and smile 😓 loving ivy so far btw!
this is the cutest thing ever!!! and thank you sm <3
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
“Why are we whispering?” Jack asked with a voice that could barely be heard, as he settled into his seat.
“I’ll explain,” Aaron answered in that same tone. “Did you have breakfast at aunt Jessica’s or do you want me to make you something?”
“I did, but I’d like some chocolate milk, please.”
Aaron smiled at his son’s politeness. “You got it.”
After serving him a large glass of chocolate milk, he sat on the chair next to him.
“We have to be quiet because someone is sleeping in our house,” he said.
“Who?” Jack asked, intrigued.
“Do you remember this girl I work with that I’ve told you is really, really pretty?” His expression was serious, making Jack feel as if he was confiding in him a huge secret.
“Of course I do, her name is Y/N!” he said, proud to have remembered it.
“That’s right. Well, she slept in our house last night.”
“What? You guys had a sleepover without me?” Jack’s mood switched from excited to disappointed in a matter of seconds.
“Don’t worry, buddy. We’re gonna have many sleepovers and you’ll get to be here too.”
“Is she in my room right now?” he questioned, fascinated by that mystery person. Aaron was sure that you were like a mythical creature in Jack’s mind.
“No,” he chuckled softly. “She’s sleeping in my bed, because your bed is so tiny,” he said, pinching Jack’s side making him giggle.
“Dad!”
“Okay, I’ll stop.” He raised his index finger at Jack. “But only because we need to be quiet.”
Jack took a big sip out of his milk that left him with a cute brown mustache. Before Aaron could say anything about it, he wiped it away with his sleeve.”
“Jack…”
“Sorry, I forgot.”
Aaron was in a way too good mood to care about having to remove the stain form his son’s white t-shirt.
“So, is she your girlfriend now?” Jack asked with a grin.
“She is,” he answered, his chest swelling from pride.
“Daddy has a girlfriend,” Jack sang with a mocking tone, and Aaron couldn’t help but join his giggles.
“Didn’t I say we need to be quiet?”
“Yes, but I want her to wake up so I can meet her,” he whined. “Do you think she’ll like me?”
“She’ll love you,” Aaron reassured him. “I talk to her about you a lot and she says you’re an angel.”
“She sounds so nice!”
“She is. She is nice and sweet and really funny too. I’m sure she’ll make you laugh all the time.” Aaron ran his fingers through Jack’s hair as he spoke. He really did believe you’d make Jack laugh a lot. And he deserved it; to giggle like all the kids his age.
“And you know what else?”
“What?” Jack’s brows were suddenly raised.
“Her favorite superhero is Spider-Man,” he whispered in his ear.
“Oh my God!” Jack jumped out of his chair and stood right next to Aaron’s. “I’ll ask her to play with me and watch all of his movies with me! Can we watch all of his movies together, daddy?”
“Of course we can,” a voice that wasn’t his or Jack’s said. “As long as we make some yummy popcorn to eat as we watch.”
“Y/N?!”
“Hi, sweet Jack!” you said, and bent your knees so you could be at his eye level.
“Hi!” he said, and ran into your arms.
You looked up at Aaron who was standing behind him, as you wrapped your arms around his son. The sweet smiles you sent to each other said without words, that the meeting you were so nervous about, was a success.
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The Laundromat
Pairing: Stranger! Heeseung X Stranger Fem! Reader
Genre: Smut🔞 (Minors DNI), college AU, neighbours!
Warnings: unprotected sex (pulling out), Heeseung being a pervert, male masturbation, fingering, panty stealing thing, voyeurism (as in publix sex in the laundromat), reader being a pervert as well, handjobs, lots of cursing, dirty talking, and a bunch of unwash laundry. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else
Summary: Heeseung had just moved into his own place after abondoning his roommate. With a laundromat and you, his hot neighbour in the new building, eveything seemed perfectly good until he open the dryer machine, only to see a baby pink panty.
The problem? It has your name on it.
Main masterlist
Word count: 3, 220 words
Lee Heeseung described himself as an ordinary college student who was just getting by.
He went through the same shit as any graduated high school student does; move out of your parent’s house and get a taste of what the adult world feels like. To say he struggled was an understatement really, because he did move out together with his best mate Beomgyu, whom he made a pact with since high school— sharing a flat together once they’ve escaped from the clutches of their parents.
The freedom tasted sweet, if only Beomgyu didn’t ruined it by having sex with a random chick every night.
Heeseung was no prude— as a young healthy man in their early 20’s, he had he’s shares of hook ups and sexual fantasy evident by the amount of porno magazines and DVDs under his bed.
At first, he was kinda turned on by the voyeuristic aspect of hearing your roommate having sex. With the walls being extremely thin, he could hear every moan and wet sounds that it got him jerking on his white bed, pajama pants down to his knees with a hand on his hard leaking cock. But when he starts to hear it every fucking night, Heeseung wished he didn’t have a dick to get hard.
It didn’t help that sometimes it sounded like it came out of a bad porno. He had to wear noise cancelling headphones just to burn the midnight oil to finish an assignment at two in the morning.
The last draw was when he went to the kitchen one night, oblivious to the fact that Beomgyu was doing the devil’s tango on top of the island bar seat (He was wearing headphones on so he didn’t realize in the beginning). Heeseung crashed at Jake’s place for the moment because ain’t no way he was eating cereal there anymore after witnessing that.
It took him a few weeks just to find a good place when he scored a good deal on a studio apartment not far from his campus.
The monthly rent was reasonable, he didn’t have to share with any roommates and he had exclusive access to all the facilities in the building, including the laundromat at the ground floor beside the gym.
It felt like a reward after all the sufferings he went through.
But this was all just the beginning. You see, there was one tenant in the building that got his attention.
The first day he used the laundromat, it was late in the afternoon. He was minding his own business, learning on how to operate the machines when you waltz in, clad in freshly used workout clothes that were sticking tight to your figure.
Heeseung can’t help but stare at you in the corner of his eyes, your ass peeking out from the leggings you wore, back facing away from him as you used the coin exchanger to get some change. Even with the loud music from his air pods and the blinking lights from the washing machine, he can’t take his eyes off you.
Heeseung hasn’t been indulging himself sexually, which he blames it on Beomgyu and his studies for repressing the need for it, but you were literally the hottest thing he’d ever lay eyes on.
He contemplated introducing himself but he backed off every time due to his cowardly nature, and the fact that he can’t stop the bulge forming whenever you were in the laundromat with him. He was your neighbor in a way after all. It wasn’t like he wanted to get in your pants right? Wrong. He very much wanted to dive straight into them.
It didn’t help that you were always wearing workout clothes drenched in your sweat.
It’s been like this for the past few weeks— he would secretly look at you, run away in embarrassment after finishing his laundry and touch himself with the thought of you, whether it was in the shower or on his bed.
It was so fucking wrong for him to that, but you look so fucking hot wearing that shirt without a bra on, perky nipples visible under the fabric. He was glad that it was one in the morning with no one else doing the laundry except for you and him, enabling him to be the only one who got to witness it.
Heeseung was a routine man. He likes to do his laundry precisely at a spot that no one else would use. He uses the one at the far corner on the left, the lowest row possible that he had to squad down in order to reach it. When he opened the lid without much thought, he closed it back hastily in shock.
No, this can’t be true.
He slowly opened it back, and low and behold, a baby pink panty was just sitting there.
Heeseung stayed in his position while staring at the article of clothing, confusion plastered on his face. He was sure that no one else would use this spot, but he was naive to think that, clearly. Don’t panic, Heeseung. Just move it to the next machine and act as if nothing happened. The male made up his mind, pinching as little fabric as possible from the undergarment before pulling it out of the machine.
He was gonna toss it in the other machine when he noticed a label on the inner seam of the waist. It was labelled with a name on it, specifically yours.
L/N Y/N written clearly.
Heeseung stood there in bewilderment. Fuck, what was he suppose to do now? He could be a good normal person and leave it in the machine and just use another one. You were bound to notice it was missing and come looking for it next time. But the perverted side of him, the one that has been aching for you, wanted to keep it to himself.
And he did. He tossed it in his basket and brought it home.
The things that he did to that article of clothing was unimaginable.
He smelled it first, and it was definitely washed, the faint smell of floral and detergent was evident as he pushed the fabric closer to his noise. The little void inside of him wished that it was a used one, hoping to catch a whiff of your arousal in any way possible.
God, to be able to smell the juices of your pussy, he would do anything to do that.
Heeseung was laying on his bed, pushing his pants and boxers down, pumping his hardened dick with one hand while the other was grabbing your panty, smoldering it on his face.
“Fuck.” he let out a desperate moan, thinking about the curves on your body, and the sweat that was dripping down your neck after you work out. Your scent sends shivers down to his cock, tiny precum trickling down his length before Heeseung gathers it, spreading it across until the tip of the head.
“Your so fucking hot, Y/N. I wanna fuck you.”
Heeseung moaned in pleasure, hips bucking on his hand, imagining that it was yours that was jerking him off, delicate and soft hands with blue nail polish pumping his cock. He swipe the tender head with his thumb, sending shockwaves of pleasure as he hump the air with his back arched, the familiar knot in his stomach burning for more.
“More, please.” His whines filled the room, moving your panty to his shaft and rubbing the cotton fabric of your underwear with every thrust of his hips. His stomach rises and falls, feeling the delicious friction of the panty against his pulsating cock.
“Please, please.” He whimpered. “Y/N, please fuck me.” His desperate request to you was lost in the empty room as he neared his high.
He closed his eyes, imagining that you were on top of him, your wet pussy filled with his big cock as you ride him, hands on his thighs, fucking yourself dumb until you cried his name out. He would have the beautiful view of your tits bouncing with every movement, his hand gripping on your hips to speed up the pace.
Heeseung groaned in agony, biting on his lips as he was close to orgasming. He imagines sucking on your nipples, eating your folds and pounding into you with your head down and ass up, feeling your panty giving him the most beautiful pleasure before he cums, soiling the cotton fabric with his hot seeds.
Strings of moan echoed the room as he pump his cock continuously, feeling ropes of hot semen smearing the fabric of your panty. His breathing was labored, mouth open to savor the last of his delightful high before feeling the evident flush on his skin due to cold sweats.
Heeseung used your panty until your scent was no longer there.
He watches the baby pink panty among his clothes, the bulk of clothing spinning around the machine as he washes his shame away. With his head down, he began to wonder what was wrong with him. He was definitely classified not only as a pervert but also a panty stealer.
He folded your panty and placed it ontop of his side table. There was no way in hell he would return it back to you with the amount of dirty things he did to it.
Heeseung usually does his laundry every Monday, dead in the morning when no one was there. His schedule switches from time to time where he does the laundry at odd times due to restricted time.
It was three in the morning when he decided to do his forgotten laundry, hoping to end his lazy ass for procrastinating on doing his chores.
With his air pods and a basket full of dirty clothes to wash, he stops in tracks when he spots you at the glass window of the laundromat. He backed away to hide himself in case you saw him, peeking at the corner to see what you were doing at this late hour.
You were squatted down in front of the dryer, the one he specifically always uses. Heeseung felt his heart beating fast and throat getting dry, thinking you were there searching for your missing panty. But when you place your bra inside the machine, leaving through the back door of the laundromat, he blinks his eyes in surprise.
To say he was shocked was an understatement.
Did you leave it there on purpose for him to find?
So many questions bombarded his head. He slowly went inside after he was sure you had left, making his way to the machine. He opened it to see the red bra staring back at him, and pulled it away to make sure your name was there. It was.
He decided to grab an empty paper and pen from his place to write a message, telling you to meet him at exactly the same time dead in the morning. He left a message inside the dryer but took the bra with him.
Heeseung was sure you and him were the only ones using that specific machine because when he saw you in the elevator one day as he squeezed through the amount of people, the stare you gave him allowed him to be confident that you saw the message loud and clear.
He was shitting in his pants waiting for you in the laundromat.
He doesn’t know what to say— should he confront you about leaving your undergarments on purpose for him to find? Or should he apologize for taking it in the first place? So many worries cross through his mind when he hears the door opened, turning his head to see you walking towards him shyly.
You wore a blue cardigan with white flowy skirt, in contrast to your usual workout clothes.
The both of you stood there awkwardly, facing each other but with your gaze averted from one another. The tension was tense as neither of you found the courage to speak first, but when Heeseung took the chance to open his mouth to say something, you pushed him to sit on the empty bench; totally taking him off guard.
When you capture his lips with yours, you taste as sweet as he imagines. He tightens the grip on your hips, letting you lean down further with your hands on his cheeks to deepen the kiss— he lets your tongue explore the cavern of his mouth. Your scent invades his senses, the same one that sticks to your bra and panty (yes, he smelled the bra you left him too)
It was at this moment that Heeseung realized that his fantasy was coming true.
A soft moan left your mouth, sending all the blood rushing to his shaft. He was becoming dizzier the more you moved your lips, saliva coating at the edges of each other’s mouth. When you let go of his mouth, tugging at the hairs on the back of his neck, you said something that had him exploding.
“I wanted to kiss you so bad.” Your breath was hot against his cheeks as he saw the lust swimming in your eyes, causing him to swallow down.
“Really?�� His voice cracked a bit, not believing the words coming out of your mouth. You now grip on his shoulder, resting your forehead against his as you nod your head.
“Of course. I wouldn’t leave my underwear for you if I didn't want to.” Heeseung flushed when he heard you say that; so you did purposely leave it for him to find. He brings your waist closer to him, standing in front of him with your lips close to his.
“I want you so bad.” He whispered, the lust evident in his voice.
You grab onto one of his hands that was resting on your waist, leading it under your skirt. Heeseung let out a gasp when he felt his fingers touching your wet folds, feeling the dampness between your legs. You were not wearing any panties. Fuck.
The dent on his jeans grew bigger when he rubbed your soaked folds, earning whiny mewls from you as his lanky fingers probed your pulsating hole. You lurch forward when he pushes a finger inside, letting out a high pitch moan when he slowly rubs the inside of your walls. When he moves to enter another finger, scissoring your hole with back and forth motion, you are holding him by the shoulder to regain some balance, feeling your knees buckled at the pleasure that washes over you.
“You like that?” He taunts, liking the way your face contracts with pleasure with each movement of his finger.
“Hmm…love your fingers fucking me.” You move your hips to reciprocate his fingers that were moving in and out of your hole, your juices leaking down your inner thighs. You move down to palm his dent, earning a groan from Heeseung’s pouty lips.
“Want to feel your cock in me.” you unzip his jeans, searching for a way to free his hardened shaft from the confinements. With skillful hands, you pump his dick out of the hole of his boxers, he’s precum coating the palm of your hand as you move to jerk him.
Heeseung hissed at the warm contact but he let out a chuckle, watching you desperately rut your hips against his fingers for more friction. “Your pussy is drenched, you know that yeah? Are you ready for my cock baby?”
You let a string of incoherent words of affirmation, lost in the way his fingers were moving inside of you that tears were starting to form at the corner of your eyes. You move to straddle his waist, holding onto his dick as you slowly push him inside. He aids you by holding on your waist with both hands, watching you choke as he stretches you out.
“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His eyes rolled at the back of his head, feeling you engulfing his cock with your wet and hot walls.
“Hee you're so big, you're stretching me out.” You moan, pushing down yourself as close to his hips as possible, needing to feel him fill you up.
His heart stirs when you breathe out his name. You knew his name.
When you feel yourself adjusting to his size, you start bouncing on his cock, holding onto his neck as you feel him thrust into you as well. The wet sound of skin slapping and the moans filled up the vacant laundromat, echoing in the dead of morning when every tenant was still sleeping.
The both of you were glad that the CCTV inside was broken, making you feel less shameful at how loud your moans were as Heeseung continued to pound into you mercilessly. You burrowed your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his hands wander under your cardigan, hearing him letting out a curse when he pinch your bare nipples.
“Fuck, no bra too?” He growled close to your ear, causing you to yelp when you felt him dick twitch inside. He played with your breasts, thrusting roughly into you to the point where your legs felt like jelly.
“Are you that desperate for me to fuck you huh? Baby wants my cock so much that she puts on a show just for me?” Your fingernails scratch at the skin of his neck, unable to move your hips at the amount of pleasure overwhelming your senses. But Heeseung didn’t mind doing all the work, rapidly ramming into you until you felt the familiar knot in your stomach.
“I’m close.” You sobbed into his neck, feeling him hitting your g-spot over and over again, not letting you rest in between thrusts. His finger snakes into the front, thumb latching on your tender clit, causing you to go haywire at the feeling.
“That’s it baby, cum on my cock.” He coaxed, your pussy clutching onto him tightly and sending him over the edge at the stimulation. All he could think of is his clumsy thrust and your wet pussy sucking him in, feeling dizzy at the amount of pleasure that was about to unfold.
He lets you cum first, the loud whine that emitted from your mouth sends shivers down his spine as he rides you out of your high. When he reaches his own high, Heeseung pulls out in time for the ropes of his semen to drip down his jeans, dampening the area together with your juices.
Heaving breathing filled the silence, and the sound of the flickering fluorescent lamp from time to time. You lay snug on his chest, feeling the aftermath of the orgasm relaxing your muscles. Heeseung pushes his bangs with one hand that was sticking to his forehead, adjusting his legs to give you more space to sit on his lap.
“I guess we’re beyond introduction at this point huh?”
You laugh, the embarrassment evident in your tone. He laughed as well, his chest moving up and down at the thought that you had wanted him the way he wanted you. But the real question was— Heeseung moved to look at you, eyes staring back at you with a cheeky smirk.
“Do you still want your bra and panty or can I keep it?”
#enhypen#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#heeseung x reader#enhypen hard hours#enhypen heeseung x reader#enhypen x reader#enhypen heeseung smut#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenario#enhypen headcanons#enhypen oneshots#enhypen jay#enhypen hake#enhypen sunghoon#enha#enhypen drabble#lee heeseung#kpop hard hours#kpop smut#heeseung oneshots#enhypen blurbs#heeseung imagines#Lily’s enha hard hours
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Hey Cass, love ur blog
I’ve been reminding myself that I am awareness and whenever I do, I realize that I’m not this body or mind. But I can’t seem to manage to “believe” that as awareness I am objects and other people. I see awareness as being aware and observing objects but not being them.
I’m sorry if you’ve answered this before but I don’t understand how I can be awareness but still not understand the “all oneness” connection 😭
Unless I’ve never truly noticed “self” ?? even tho I’m always self ?
Anyways, Appreciate any help you can provide me with 🙏
See it like a dream, there seems to be others, trees, world etc etc but in reality it's all the same mind, all the images and things you live/ feel in a dream is the same mind. There aren't ACTUAL persons, world etc it's all appearences of your same mind.
Or like a movie, it's all the same screen, no actual trees people etc it's all the same screen "appearing" as the movie,
You're not inside of a body, you don't "possess" awareness, you are IT aware of yourself.
"Your seeing of it is what makes it appear", not the opposite . It never existed outside of You.
If it appears , disappears in Awareness and it comes from Awareness only , then it must be made of it also :
The same way a pot is clay appearing as such, the form disappear if we change it or break it but the clay stays. Is there a seperated pot that was ADDED to the clay, or got SEPERATED when it broke ? No there was never a seperate object called "pot" it was only clay, a form of clay. Putting a name on a specific form is what makes us think it actaully exists.
You are like the clay , you are no-thing appearing as eveything
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seductions—chapter one
gf! sam monroe x fem!reader
tws/cws: mentions of murder, angsty, mentions of ED and self harm, vomiting, manipulation, swearing, y/n isnt used i think, petnames, kinda sexual at the end, non-con kinda but not really
summary: When you find out one of your best friends was murdered by the neighborhood serial killer, you head to school sad. Struggling to stay sane, you end up experiencing something unexpected.
You sob into your pillow as you read the local newspaper, reading; WEDNESDAY 5/07/03: WESTON HIGH SCHOOL TEEN NAMED MARY LOUISE FOUND DEAD AT 17, KILLED IN HER OWN HOME AFTER A MYSTERIOUS PHONE CALL.
it showed a picture of her, making everything 10x worse. she was your best friend, and there she was, dead and buried. you continued to sob into your pillow when you realized you had to get to school. how would you be able to survive after this? you sniffle a few times and put on a pink cardigan with a mini skirt, thigh highs and some cute sneakers. Sadly, you put on your backpack (which was baby pink, obviously) and head out the door without eating.
once you arrive to school, you don’t put any effort into talking to anyone, and you make your way to the auditorium, where a assembly will be taken place on..recent events. you sit down at a empty area when after a few minutes, someone taps your shoulder from the seat behind you. you turn around and see Sam, one of your closest friends.
“are you okay, angel? you ignored me when i tried to come up to you earlier.” he says sadly, giving you a soft pout of disappointment. You shrug, visibly less energetic then usual. “m’ fine, sam. it’s just..” you start, tears threatening to leave your eyes, “you know.” you say, looking away from him. sam sighs and climbs over and sits in the seat next to you, ignoring that he just accidentally kicked someone in the leg. “listen, angel.” sam coos, grasping his hand at your chin and turns your head to look at him directly, “I’m sorry about what happened to mary, but..eveything happens for a reason, right?” he says, trying to comfort you, but ending up sounding slightly sadistic.
you squint your eyes at him, about to speak when the principal talks into the microphone at the auditorium stage, peaking you and sam’s attention. “Good morning, everyone.” he starts, his voice echoing through the room. “i would just like to take a moment and..talk about recent events.” he says. you already know he’ll be talking about mary, corey, and some of the other students who have been lost. you don’t want to hear about it anymore, it just adds on to the indescribable feeling in your chest.
Sam somehow senses you discomfort, and reaches over to hold your hand, carressing your palm with his thumb. you blush slightly. “Mary was a great friend to all of you.” the principal says solemnly, “she will not be forgotten.” behind you, you hear two of the jocks, logan and aiden, snickering. you turn your head around and glare at them, and sam does the same. something about sam’s stare at them was..unsettling. the two jocks immediately stopped laughing, sam’s unsettling stare scaring the shit out of them, to say the least.
sam will definitely be remembering them, for later.
The principal continues talking about mary, and then sam leans over to whisper to you, “i’ll be right back, sunshine. stay here f’ me.” you nod in response and watch as he walks out of the auditorium. assuming he’s just going to the bathroom, you continue listening to the principals speech about mary and corey. the more he talks, the more sad you get, and the more angry you get at the person who killed them so brutally. After a while, you notice that sam is still gone. a pit in your stomach starts to form, as you start to get extremely anxious. Carefully, you stand up and walk out of the auditorium. you make your way to the girls bathroom. You walk into a stall and lock the door. Suddenly, a wave of nausea waves over you. “when was the last time i ate?” you think to yourself. your thoughts are cut short when you suddenly bend over the toilet and vomit, you really should’ve ate breakfast. after a couple minutes of..intense sickness, you flush the toilet and walk out of the stall. You try not to cry as you walk to the sink, and wash your hands and wash your face, hoping to make yourself feel better. as you raise your head, you see something in the mirror behind you.
a hooded figure in a mask.
you ignore it at first, thinking you might be hallucinating from all of the pills you’ve been taking. But that’s when you hear a metal sound from behind you. You turn around instantly, water still dripping from your face and hands.
He…or she..or they, wave at you, knife in hand. you instinctively run towards the door and try to open it.
of course it’s fucking closed.
“fuck.” you say under your breath and turn back around, and the masked figure..doesn’t run towards you? he walks closer to you as you stand there, paralyzed in fear. before you know it, he pins you against the cold wall of the bathroom, and whispers in your ear, “stay quiet or you’ll end up like your good friend mary.” you gasp, trying to recognize his voice, but his voice is awfully distorted. fuck, is he using a voice changer?
you nod. he runs his gloved hand down your body until he reaches underneath your skirt. You feel your underwear dampen, and you curse yourself silently for that. the masked stranger cups your core through your panties, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat. He pulls his hand away, a smirk underneath his mask that you wish you could see are glad you can’t see. he walks out of the bathroom after that, leaving you confused and still aroused.
did the neighborhood serial killer just touch my pussy?you think to yourself and let out a slight cackle, even though it’s not that funny. unable to leave your position, you stand there, wondering what to do. you’re definitely traumatized for sure—but at least it felt good. after what seemed like forever, you walk back to the auditorium and sit down next to sam and let out a sigh. at least he’s okay.
“hey, what took you so long?” sam smirks and nudges you playfully. you shrug, “i felt sick, it’s nothing really.”
“Good thing you’re still alive, i was worried that someone snuck in there.” he jokes, although his tone is a bit sinister. you laugh it off nervously, and listen to the principals incredibly long speech for the next hour.
in that hour, you find yourself thinking about what happened, something inside of you wishing the masked stranger did more with you. You brushed off the thought, sighing to yourself.
maybe someday you’ll lose your virginity, and today was almost the day.
tags: @g4sstationdr-gs , ask if u wanna b added!
#Spotify#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker smut#anakin x reader#hayden christensen#star wars smut#anakin smut#sam monroe x reader#sam monroe x y/n#sam monroe#ghostface sam
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Battle of the Captains
Round 3 Part 2 Poll 1
Propaganda
Janeway's the first female captain to be portrayed on a Star Trek series. Groundbreaking, badass. Extremely capable, gets her crew through challenges of isolation and various external threats and as yet uncharted regions of space. Loves coffee.
Propaganda (by @deep-sea-gigantism) :
James tells the same obnoxious stories at dinner parties over and over again. He continually fucks up social interactions by accidentally insulting people. He also insults people on purpose. Namely the other captain.
This manages to work out well for him ! He tells a guy that his nails are a terror while they've been stuck in the arctic for like 3 years. He throws a massive party for the rising of the polar sun and considers wearing a dress to it
And he has self-worth issues ! He's a bastard and got his position through social and political luck and he calls himself a fake in a confession he makes to the aforementioned captain while James is dying of scurvy. He's eveything.
#tournament polls#battle of the captains#round 3#captain kathryn janeway#captain janeway#star trek janeway#kathryn janeway#star trek voyager#st voyager#star trek#star trek fandom#st fandom#star trek tag#james fitzjames#the terror 2018#the terror amc#the terror#terror amc
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HIIIIIIIIIII WE HAVENT TALKED IN A WHILE HRU
WHICH HYPERFIXATION ARE YOU ON NOW HUH 👀
AND WOULD YOU REC?
HIIIIIII, I FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL YESTERDAY AND I'M IN EXAMS SEASON SO I'M NOT DOING GREAT, HRU???
Girl, you just opened a big bag of worms cause this hyperfixation has taken over the other like 4 that were in my mind at the same time (one of them since January).
There are just a few things I have to warn you about the show before I throw my words at you: there is blood and violence, they do not shy from that; there is physical abuse mentioned and shown (although it's just shown in one scene, if that's the only thing bothering you but you wanna watch I can tell you when to skip); there is cursing, nothing major just what a high schooler would normally curse; abusive relationships and bullies are subjects that are heavily spoken about; death, don't know if that's a trigger but better safe that sorry and I'm pretty sure that's it
First, I have to ask you two questions:
Do you like supernatural stuff?
Do you like gays?
If the answer to both of them is yes, then you need to watch dead boy detectives. It's a series about two ghosts (Edwin Payne- "the brains", spent 70 years in hell, sassy little bitch, from London 1916 and speaks like it, gay, a fucking nerd, somehow everyone is in love with him except his crush (more like the crush doesn't know that he is in love with him, but whatever), so much trauma it's insane, tumblr's favourite; Charles Rowland- said crush, "the brawns", so bisexual but doesn't know it yet, do you know that character that is so charismatic and funny but actually has so much fucking trauma? That's him, daddy issues (because of abuse), from 1989, has a magical bag, so fucking british, so fucking protective of his friends it's insaneee like he will kill someone for them) and these two ghosts are detectives and solve cases to ghosts so they can move on to the afterlife.
This show is so fucking well written, you have no idea, like Charles and Edwin's relationship is so unique, because even though there is a romantic subtext they are best friends before eveything and they know eachother so well it's so rare to see such good friendship where they are so open with eachother in media specially between men (also their ship name is painland, if that's not enough reason to watch the show idk what is).
Another great example of the amazing writing is that characters like Charles normally have their trauma super overlooked, but in this show his trauma is treated so well, there is still a lot to work from it (reason 484837 why I need a season 2) but the other characters actually see his trauma and acknowledge it, it's so fucking satisfying to me because these type of characters are always my favourites but they always have that lack of development (I sometimes confuse between my mutuals who likes what but I'm pretty sure you have read hoo so you know Leo Valdez? Yeah, that's what I'm talking about).
Speaking of development, they do not leave characters behind. There is this character called Niko Sasaki, who is this girl who loves anime and loves love and is always so positive and so sweet and always thinking of others. Now, when someone describes this type of character, my first reaction is "oh, so she's just the comedic relief who is going to have a shallow ass personality" (no shade to that type of characters, shade to the writers who leave them behind), BUT SHE'S NOT. She also has her traumas (dead dad, literally almost dies, more shit that I don't wanna spoil) and they acknowledge it and they develop her. She may not be one of the main focuses of season 1 (I'm pretty sure if we get a season 2, she's gonna have more screen time because of... [spoilers]) but she still has some character development, in the 3rd episode they are solving a pretty brutal case and she says that she doesn't want to be part of it because she litterally almost died the previous week and it's totally okay, she stays at home watching scooby doo and eating noodles, again so fucking satisfying.
Since we're talking about Niko, I have to talk about the dynamics of this show because OMG THE DYNAMICS OF THIS SHOW. Like, you look at the way I described Niko and the way I described the boys and you would think that they would focus on Niko and Charles relationship, right? The two charismatic kids, makes sense. Wrong, it's actually Niko and Edwin's. At first, you're like "you're gonna pair Mr. Horrible at relationships with other people and hates physical touch with Ms. Loves love and hugs fucking everyone?" BUY IT WORKS, IT WORKS SO GODDAMN WELL, IT'S INSANE, they easily became my favourite dynamic of all times, it's so fucking good. Actually, Charles and Niko is the only dynamic that isn't really developed in this show (which is a crime honestly, how could they).
Another thing is that there is one (1) antagonist out of four who isn't likeable. And that fucker is litterally Crystal's abusive demon ex (I've realised now that I haven't talked about my queen yet, she's a bitch, she's a physic, she's fucking badass, she doesn't know who she is until the 8th episode (not in a philosophical way, she litterally loses her memory) and her dynamic with Edwin is fucking hilarious, it's an on going competion of who gets to be the bitcher). There is a witch who is immortal, kidnaps young girls to feed to her snake and has an obsession with getting revenge on the boys and Crystal (they hadn't met Niko when they confronted her for the first time), but she serves cunt everytime she's on screen and she's so hilarious, you love to hate her and deep down you also love her. There is a cat king who is the reason Crystal, Edwin and Charles get stuck in the town they spend the season (they live in London, the town is somewhere on the US coast, technically it's just Edwin who is stuck, but they're all ride or die) all because he wants to fuck Edwin but Edwin doesn't, but his hilarious and annoying in a funny way and a loser and a simp. There is a woman from the afterlife office who spends the whole season trying to catch the boys (who are running away from death, it's a whole thing), fails and ends up stuck with them, I just got mad at her when she interrupted a love confession, but we got it later so it's fine. Then there's David the demon (yes, that's his name, yes, that's hilarious) who is Crystal's abusive ex, is able to get inside her mind whenever he wants and is just so fucking annoying (but is such a great simbol of abusive relationships and how much they scare you even after it's over).
Also, no one, and I mean no one, in this fucking show is straight, whether it is confirmed or not it doesn't matter (although 4 of the nine recurent characters are canonically queer).
Don't know if you heard about it, but this is from the same universe as the show The Sandman and there are two cameos in this show (both Death and Despair get a scene).
There are two things that weren't perfect in this show: the fact that Charles and Niko got one (1) scene together (fucking crime) and the CGI, not that it's all bad it's just they focused on the more visual scenes that make you go uuhh and aaahhh but there is a roof where they sometimes talk where the CGI is so bad, but it's just background shit, do not decide not to watch because of it the only scenes like that are the roof scenes and a scene in the forest (again, background shit).
I did just spend around an hour writing all of this, you are not gonna read this whole ass essay, but just watch the show, it's on illegal sites Netflix (although if you have Netflix, put it, even if it's just background noise, we need the views, this is Netflix and a not that cheap queer show we're talking about)
#dead boy detectives#dbda#niko sasaki#charles rowland#crystal palace#crystal palace surname von hoverkraft#edwin payne#esther#cat king#david the demon#night nurse
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Is it just me or does TG's argument that Criston Cole is a victim of Rhaenyra seem like really demeaning? Like the fact that their argument hinges on the fact that Cole is played by a poc/is Dornish. Pretty much everything I've seen from them about that scene is how Rhaenyra, who is white, took advantage of a defenseless poc. It's just infantilizing him purely due to his race. I might be reading too much into it, after all every TG argument is them grasping at straws, but this one just really rubs me the wrong way.
@pessimisticpigeonsworld
"Infantilization":
over-simplifying explanations, using demeaning nicknames (e.g., "sweetheart" or "honey"), or suggesting that the infantilized person would not understand a topic without reason
to treat a person as if they were a prepubescent child with no experience whatsoever in worldly matters
treat (someone) as a child or in a way which denies their maturity in age or experience
Yes, it should be demeaning, but it is away of them applying victimhood where there was none in either show or book. Its more uwuing him bec he's a man than PoC, as he's not PoC (the Dornish are "spicy" "whites" in-universe, "olive" skin is a trait many Mediterranean Europeans have). Even if he was, it'd still be more bc he's a man then bc he's PoC. to them.
They make as if Criston was totally helpless when he is both Kingsguard and a man where the girl approaching him is a girl in a court that some think she should never be heir on account of her gender, and women/girls both already have to fear their entire reputation being ruined by mere well placed rumors (and have less chance of marriage, bc marriage was the way they most likely could stay economically secure for their futures). Criston could threaten Rhaenyra quite easily to make some gains on her. Or get into an affair with her, sleep with her while she's inebriated, and threaten her and she'd be the one blamed by both her father ad larger society! She'd be labeled the seductress largely, and Viserys would, like he did abt Daemon, that Rhaenyra's "desires" or "allowing" to have her virtue ruined even just by name and repute hurts herself & the monarchy. Viserys explicitly tells her the truth doesn't matter, only the image in epi 4. Really, the only good thing that we can draw from his image-loving self is how he decides to protect her and her kids…but even then a lot of it is also so he retains his chosen heir…and yet it's is true that he genuinely loves her and his grandkids [bk and show]. (What a mess)
So it's not really the same sort of infantilization people commit against grown women to make them seem weak and thus "need" a man to "guide" them, but closer to the sort of "infantilization" that is designed to give white women the "privilege" of being seen as the eternal victims who can do no wrong as well as masters of others' bodies (Cole can demand Rhaenyra to run off with him & abandon eveything bc she "owes" him; she can't request him to sleep with her when she teased him). And I mean that it mirrors this by the green stans' intent, not necessarily the nature of the infantilization that is not infantilization--green stans intend to make Cole seem helpless and cutely dumb in order to make Rhaenyra seem a predator and that become the lynchpin of her being bad for rulership. Bec she somehow reinforces all that classism, instead of Alicent/the greens reinforcing all that classist-sexism for personal, baselsss "revenge" and order-keeping.
It's the green stans doing something that I learned concerning peoples switching between ideas or phrases in bad faith to support another contradictory thing--something integral to bigoted talking points.
#asoiaf asks to me#criston cole#rhaenyra and criston#rhaenyra targaryen#criston cole's characterization#rhaenyra's characterization#hotd characterization#book vs tv comparisons#fandom critical#greens stans#green stan nonsense
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@inhcursed asked: "trust me, if i could go to someone else, i would."
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Peter would be well within his right to slam the door in Harry's face, or call the police, anything but hear him out. It would be reasonable, it would feel justified, after everything that had happened. After Harry had gone out of his way to take Gwen and drag her into the middle of a fight she had no reason to be part of, that ended up getting her killed. After sending a list of powered and enhanced villians, ranging from actively criminal to jaded scientists, in Peter's direction to try and beat him down for good.
After Harry had tried and so very clearly wanting him dead, just because Peter had tried to keep him safe from something terrible...
The day that Harry Osborn got out of Ravencroft, either released or escaped, was something that haunted Peter. Waking nightmares that let him spiral into his own head wondering who would be hurt or killed next because of him. Driving him into keeping himself as isolated from others as possible, with only May left in his life to keep him anything close to grounded. In other ones consuming his dreams. To fill them with that same laugh and malicious, snarling grin he'd witnessed the last time they were together. All accompanied with the echos of crashing metal, explosions, and clock chimes that would cling to him until the day he really did finally die himself.
This? Harry coming to him to ask him for help once again? That wasn't even at the very bottom of the list of reasons why Peter might see his best friend- ...his former best friend, again. It felt like a sick joke from the universe, some poorly disguised plan to try and trick him in the end. A mockery of what had happened before eveything had gone so horribly wrong in the first place.
...and yet that was exactly why Peter was hesitating in the doorway, because Harry was also right. If there was anyone else, anyone in the entire city, that he could go to for help, for anything, he would. Peter should not be on that list of options. Not anymore, and yet if he was being told the truth, that's exactly where his name was. On the list. It was a sick joke, it was insane to believe. It twisted something in his chest that Peter actively tried to pretend wasn't there, even on his worst days. When he hated himself more than anything.
It also begged the question of just what the hell Harry needed help with so badly that he was willing to swallow all of that and come to see Peter.
He hadn't moved or responded for several seconds, which Peter would openly admit he felt entitled to while he debated what to do and tried to just remember to breathe. The door handle in his hand was also, probably, about to be torn off. Just from him trying to keep from cracking over the fact that he'd opened the front door to Harry Osborn. May wasn't home..that was possibly the only thing letting him even try to think rationally and calmly. Finally, he took two steps forward and closed the door behind him, keeping his eyes on Harry and somehow, finding his voice, "Alright, let's talk..."
Harry had come to him, at least possibly, for his help. Which meant he was desperate. Again. Even with five years and the death of Gwen Stacy between them, Peter couldn't bring himself to say no.
#answers#muse | peter parker(tasm)#inhcursed#[v: down at street level]#tw depression#tw panic attack
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I know we aren’t necessarily Sansa’s number one fans around this neck of the woods but I am curious about what her storyline is like in your season eight au! No matter what it’s for sure a massive improvement compared to the bullshit those two dudes churned out.
Although I’m not an avid Sansa Stan— I wanted to give every character a solidly written ending & Sansa is no exception :)
I wanted Sansa’s final arc to be about her reservations of assuming the full role of Lady of Winterfell & processing eveything that has happened to leave her the only one left for the title. She wants to carry on her parents legacy & protect her remaining siblings during the war—but she struggles with feeling like she’s not doing enough & that she isn’t on the battlefield like Jon, Arya & Dany
Pretty much every character has a “moment with Bran” scene where I utilize his 3ER powers to show us relevant flashbacks. Kind of like Bran kidnaps their mind for an immersive psychotherapy session. Super fun.
His moment with Sansa is about her parents & their early days in Winterfell after roberts rebllion. She sees how long & hard her mother tried to get her back before her death & some of what happened to Cersei after Sansa fleed KL.
Her friendship with Theon is very important & they lean on eachother much throughout the war. She’s heavily involved in the Greyjoy centric episodes plot.
Her relationship with Dany is different too— she starts out the same by not trusting or liking anything to do with Dany. She’s not happy her brother fell in love with her cause she thinks it’s clouding his judgment. After the first battle at Winterfell, Sansa sees Dany in action for herself when she helps Sansa evacuate some children from the crypts. Shortly after, when Jon tells Sansa & Arya that Daenerys is pregnant & they are to be married— she’s still skeptical, but agrees with Arya that if Jon truly loves her, they can try to trust him as their brother. Also Jon never tells Sansa or Arya about his true heritage & name (for reasons I can explain in a different post if anyone wants)
Sansa mends Danys wedding dress, and gives it to her casually as a gesture of peace & Dany is touched. They don’t talk or spend as much time together as Arya & Dany inevitably do— but Sansa doesn’t mind making conversation with her at dinners. But near the end of the war, when Dany is too far along to fight in battle, her & Sansa relate to feeling stuck behind & eventually bond over reading silently together to pass the time
Sansa goes with Jon & Arya to Kingslanding for the final siege. She sends a secret letter to Cersei from outside the wall offering to meet & try and negotiate. Because Sansa knows Cersei so well, she believes she has a good chance to convince her to surrender. I won’t tell you what happens from there though because that’s TOO much spoiler :)
Hope this was an answer you were looking for & sorry I typed so much. I love LOVE answering questions about the AU, so if anyone ever wants to send me more I’ll literally type just as much. Thanks for the ask!
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also did a read a random dc week~
i ended up with 9/18/2000
of which i've read 3/17 (lol @ my lack of the titans and birds of prey, i've only managed to read sporadic tie ins. they're firmly on the eventually will read through once i have time). and full disclosure, i'm only gonna read it if it's on dcui. if it hasn't been uploaded...too bad.
so without further ado...
aquaman #73: wait. skartaris?? warlord?? i've only seen such in zahri's recaps but i am intrigued lol. we start with mera hanging with a delightfully half-dressed warlord, both captive. valgos has apparently control of aquaman's hand (and aquaman) and used it to punch warlord in the face. mera is tied up suggestively by some tentacle looking roots. garth is here, also getting sucked into some suspicious water. so is dolphin, but something mysterious is being implied about baby cerdian. anyways arthur got out of being mind controlled enough to give mera a way to get her and warlord out. day is saved, warlord is still scantily clad. not out of skartaris yet!
batman: dark victory #12: how have i never read dark victory? weird. well, may as well jump in on the penultimate chapter. i'll be honest, i'm only so-so on jeph loeb & i can tell dark victory has all of his hallmarks--a quick whos who of everyone in an attempt to tell an iconic story that will be collected & reprinted forever. good & enjoyable tho.
gotham knights #9: could i read dick & tim watching batman fight hugo strange on a rooftop and eating popcorn forever? yes, yes i could
sorry but look at them!! look at tim's little grin as he's like!! look dick they're on the rooftop!!
birds of prey #23: dinah & lady vic looking for gorilla grodd. trying to get a heart for blockbuster. deathstroke is unfortunately also there. i do like that ted thinks babs should send the justice scouts to help her & says that that's the team robin said he was on...i assume this conversation occured after tim locked dick in the simulation room and left with ted. i can only imagine how that conversation went and let me assure you it was delightful.
cartoon network starring #15: can't find it on dcui. thank god, bc i didn't want to read it.
deadenders #9: found the collection on dcui ultra. i have no idea what is happened, but it seems good.
jsa #16: it's a jsa book that's for sure. lots of characters, many of whom i don't know but some of them i do. it was. Alright.
legends of the dc universe #34: hal is the spectre & he's a mostrous many headed beast to kill someone. and then spectre things happen. it's the middle of a story, so i only have so much working knowledge of what is going on here.
millenium edition the brave and the bold #85: looks to be a reprint of the original? so i just read that. anyways. batman & green arrow team up. a senator gets shot & he was going to vote on an anti-crime bill. they want to name bruce as his replacement. both oliver queen & bruce wayne are both having an identity crisis about whether they're more important as their civilian or hero personas. bruce straight up tells the son of the senator who got shot (and who bruce wants to replace the senator instead) that he's batman and then says he can't reveal bruce's secret because he's a psychiatrist...bruh he ain't a priest lmao. then oliver also tells this same dude he's green arrow. bro if we're looking to a team therapist lets bring back this ed dude. he did get kidnapped tho. bruce becomes a senator. and then resigns. and then ed self hypnotizes himself to forget who the heroes are. and i say forget that, bring psychiatrist ed back.
orion #6: i feel like i read an orion issue during like. J:LL or something? and i didn't like it then and i still don't really like it.
robin #82: ahahaha brentwood. wesley the new roommate! intro of danny temple! steph being reasonable about wanting to know tim's identity and jealous and unreasonable about eveything else! i did forget that tim called dick to ask for advice & dick was like "go on the weekend trip with them!" & he does. and steph sneaks into the hospital star is at. classic.
superboy #80: roxy becomes a burning alien! serling! the titans show up at the end & are kind of dicks! (love when other characters show up to be antagonistic to the protagonist even tho they're not like that at all lmao)
superman the man of steel #106: that sure is a Chin on clark there lmao. john henry & lois working together is fun! lex winning the people over bc he's running for president! fun!
the dreaming #54: honestly, going into these things blind with no context has been fun. no clue what's happening or why but the vibes are fun. mr. corinth is apparently mortal and the lady with teeth eyes is having fun.
the powerpuff girls #7: also can't find it in dcui. another thank god, cause i didn't wanna read it.
the titans #21: the trial of cheshire! while donna and roy are apparently in some sort of situationship. jessie quick's mom is giving me fanon janet drake vibes. there's a lot of moms in comics who seem to have the vibe people want for janet, but like. they actually exist, unlike fanon janet. anyways people want to kidnap lian to stop cheshire from testifying. lian is adorable, i love garth swimming roy to get to her "hold your breath" & i really do need to read this series front to back at some point. deathstroke jump scare at the end.
tom strong #10: motherfucker this was written by alan moore? siiiiiigh. if i *must*. immediately:
thanks, i hate it. there are. a lot of adjectives here. honestly the whole time i'm reading it i'm thinking of the guidance counselor from 10 things i hate about you constantly trying to find a different description for an erect penis. you know what's a good movie? 10 things i hate about you. this is not. and then the second half is a story where tom strong is in a land of furries for some reason. he finds an anthropomorphic rabbit alternative version of himself. anyways, first story: not good. second story: not good. third story about tom strong's daughter tesla also running into alternate universe versions of herself? definitely the best of the bunch but also
not good.
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Dating Pablo Gavi
Gavi was the person who taught you what love really was.
The two of you had met unexpectedly after he split his drink all over you in a restaurant while rushing out to go home before paparazzi. He spent over 5 minutes apologising to you with bright pink cheeks displayed over his face. He insisted on buying you a drink and had asked for your number and one thing led to the next and here you were.
He was the worlds #1 sucker for neck kisses. Always wanting to give and receive neck kisses and getting into moods if he wasn’t given one.
He would often wake you up by kissing your neck gently while rubbing his hands through your long soft hair.
He loved when you came to his games. Always trying to find you in the crowd of Camp Nou and sending cheeky subtle winks towards you.
Although you had been together nearly a year, both of you often found yourself blushing at things the other did
He always blushed when you called him ‘bebe’ and the same for you when he called you ‘princesa’ .
His parents didn’t like the idea of him at first afraid of him being the typical fuckboy footballer however they soon changed their opinion when they seen how he treated you ‘like a princess’.
He thought you were the smartest person on earth. His clever girl. He always liked to watch you study not in a weird way but so he could admire you. How your eyes would furrow in confusion when something didn’t make sense and how your beautiful eyes scammed the words written on the pages infront of you.
He LOVED spoiling you. It was never a surprise seeing him come home with a bag from your favourite shops and gifting you with anything and eveything.
He adored when you wore HIS jeresy with HIS name on the back.
For your six month anniversary he bought you an anklet with the letter G on it promising you it would soon be your surname when you were both ready.
He found it difficult to sleep when you weren’t lying beside him keeping him warm with your hair pressed up against his bare chest.
However he does not enjoy waking you up before your ready. As it is a nightmare. You need your ‘beauty sleep’ however he says you don’t need anything to beautify you as your already perfect enough.
You were close to being one of his fans as you often found yourself scrolling and liking edits of him on tiktok. As much as you loved tiktok twitter was by far your favourite often laughing at memes of your boyfriend and teasing him about them.
You would never admit it but you had gotten into reading fanfics on tumblr and wattpad and let’s just say you enjoyed some of them a little too much.
The day you met his parents was the most nerve wrecking day of your life. But they welcomed you as their own and you often enjoyed game nights and movie nights together
A/N: Help i hate this so much die
#pablo#gavi#football#pedriandgavi#gavi x you#pablo martín páez gavira#pablo gavi imagine#fc barcelona#gavi imagines#football imagine#gavi headcanons
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charlie and the chocolate factory ticket winner headcannons!! (Apart from charlie)
(This is from the 2005 movie so their birthdays will be what age I think they were in 2005)
Augustus Gloop:
birthday: August 1st 1990
is German
has a younger sister called Andrea who is 6 years old
his father is a butcher and owns a butchers shop
Comes from a rich family but not as rich as verucas
he rarley eats vegetables
is babied by his mum
his mum does EVERYTHING for him - gets his clothes, cleans his room, wakes him up, gets him food, everything
hates listening to music
is very lazy
loves the colour red
Couldn’t sleep when he got the golden ticket - he was too excited to go to the factory
his mum is called gail and his dad is called otto
is so lazy he’s never hurt himself - yeah he’s grazed his knee as a kid and all that but he’s never sprained his ankle, stretched too hard or broke a bone
After the factory he was stained with chocolate so he has a slight tan now
when he found out Charlie won the factory he was so jealous and mad that he didn’t eat chocolate for a full 2 weeks
has a huge king sized bed
is homeschooled
Veruca Salt:
Birthday: November 2nd 1994
is British but has Swedish, Irish and Scottish heritage
goes on holiday 5 times a year
goes to a private school
teachers pet
only child
her father is in his 60s as her mother is in her late 20s
has seen the queen before
Can horse ride
has a massive bedroom, on-sweet bathroom, walk in closet, study room, eveything
everyone wants to be her friend at school
has a private doctor
her parents are called Ken and Maria
thinks her name is the best
has a pure gold necklace
has pure silver earrings
if she isn’t in the top set lesson at school she gets her dad to complain and move her up to the top set even if she’s dumb lol
was going to be named Kylie but her parents chose Veruca instead
has a personal hairstylist
claims she will never wear makeup when she’s older because she’s ‘perfect looking’
comes from a upper class family
after the factory her parents started saying no to her and she had a huge fit and smashed most things in the house - her parents went back to giving her anything she wants after that
loves the film ‘pretty woman’
never uses slang - always uses complicated words and instead of saying ‘yeah’ she’ll say ‘yes’
Violet Beauregarde:
Birthday - March 3rd 1992
Is American but has Italian heritage
Has a twin sister named Lilla
her parents are divorced - her sister lives with her dad, and she lives with her mom
her mum is a Karen lol
can box
is popular in school
even though she chews gum every single second of every single day she has perfect teeth - people think she has fake teeth
is allowed to swear
Loves nirvana
her mum is called Shona and her dad is called Liam
Is a pure blonde
Her mum tried flirting with mr Wonka to try and increase violets chances of winning
Thought she was gonna win
gets called blueberry girl at school after the factory
after the factory she tried to use makeup and other things to make her not blue but nothing worked
her whole closet is blue/purple
has a pet chinchilla called Gumball
loves the amazing world of gumball
Always has packs of gum on her
likes watching law and order
rarely sees her sister
her and her sister are identical
mike teavee:
Birthday: October 4th 1991
Is American but has Spanish and polish heritage
has 3 older brothers and 2 older sisters called Luca (29), Gary (30), David (22) , Sarah (27) and Tina (25),
his siblings are quite a bit older than him, the one that is the second youngest is 10 years older than him
his Parents had kids in their 20s, then had Mike quite late on
hes the baby of his family and RAGES when they baby him
has a niece who is the same age as him
has atleast one day off of school a week because he wants to play video games and if his parents try to get him to go to school he breaks things
once broke a window with a vase lol
his parents are called Norman and Clara
likes tomb raider, call of duty, watch dogs, hitman, James Bond, GTA, ect
loves heavy metal music
can do a metal scream and it terrifies his parents when he does it
his sleep schedule is he falls asleep at 4am and wakes up at 9am
Loves energy drinks
bites his fingernails when he’s nervous
hates people who call him micheal (his real name)
wants to be a twitch streamer lol
after the factory he found a way to shrink back to his regular size
when he got home from the factory and looked in the mirror he passed out because he thought he looked fresky
thinks Veruca is a brat but she’s pretty lol
has a very short attention span
likes race car driving
hates football
wishes he was born on halloween
has a whole bookshelf full of video games
#catcf 2005#charlie and the chocolate factory#Augustus gloop#mike teavee#violet beauregarde#charlie bucket#veruca salt#catcf#headcannons#siblings#hobbies#videogames#2005#lol
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more steddie fic recs - all completed
i have more! steddie is of my favourite ships ever, the dynamic is top tier and i think everyone should appreciate it, so here are some more steddie fics that have stuck with me and deserve to be known.
the shire is NOT on fire by kissesforcas - one of my all time favourites. it's funny, sweet, cheeky, and soft as hell. the gang goes to a renaissance faire and steve jumps right into eddie's world. the writing is incredible and the characters are written to perfection. eveything in this fic is immaculate, there's no relationship drama and that always makes me so damn happy so i will recommend this to anyone who will listen. this author also has some other great steddie fics, such as don't go wastin your emotions and what love is.
you looking at me, looking at you by emryses - this is beautifully written. the angst made me feel ill and the romance made me cry, it messed with my emotions on such a weird level and you know the writing is good when it makes you feel like that. i really don't have much more to say other than it was beautiful and if you haven't read it already, you need to.
i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin - i fucking loved this one. eddie's a ghost and steve is the only one who can see him, so obviously it's worth the read. it's funny, and just super cute. i love the dynamic between the two boys and while their relationship is a tad fast paced, it's not so rushed that it's not enjoyable or 'believable'.
waving down the wind by macksdramaticshenanigans - this one was really sweet, it's just a short fic about eddie being cold and steve warming him up in the softest ways. i fucking love these boys, they're absolutely precious.
same as it ever was by quokkafoxtrot - another awesome time loop steddie fic. sometimes with time loop fics, the endings can be a bit of a hit or miss, but this one was definitely a hit. i really liked this story, it was really sweet and i always really enjoy getting a deep dive into steve's head. it does have some angst of course, and there are some moments where i didn't like the image it gave me because it was just so sad, but it has a happy ending (like all of the fics i recommend, unhappy endings are not a thing on my page) and i loved it.
my name for you by kefisdemise - this one is just really sweet and simple, it's little snippets of eddie and steve getting closer over time. a really easy read that literally gave me butterflies, i am going to read this so many times.
click here for part one of my steddie recs
#steddie#steddie recs#steddie fic#steve and eddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things 4#stranger things#stranger things fic#ao3fic#ao3#archive of our own#ao3 recs#fic recs#fic recommendation#fic rec#fanfic#fan fiction#fan fic rec#steddie fanfic#steddie fic rec
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‘The Last Time’
Dr Strange x fem!reader
- i’m back with another hurt smut fic that i’ve been a slut for recently, i think i just like being dramatic tbh. but this one is loosely based on the song call out my name by the weeknd bc lord that mans discography is toxic and nasty and this fic is lowkey all that horny brainrot. anyways enjoy ily x
- HE’S DAMN FINE LEAVE ME ALOOONE
Stephen was hurting in a way that was ineffable, too difficult to describe the particularities of what he felt, it was all too much to comprehend at once. As always he internalised it, more angry about it than sad if he was being completely honest. He helped you out of a broken place, he eased your peace of mind, he held you close when it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders and the roughness of night made sleep seem pointless. Stephen was the one that was there, no one else. You found each other and sometimes it seemed fated but other times it just felt like it was two people who needed solace, two people who just wanted to feel wanted.
To say you both felt wanted in it was an understatement, he showed you what true desire was like, what was like to be worshipped. But it just couldn't work. Stephen was bitter and arrogant, you were stubborn and unrelenting. It didn't make for a good relationship but it made for the most potent, unmatching and sinful sex. The kind that made you call out his name, aching for just that little bit more. The pining. The knowing it was bad but still continuing to do it anyway. It was the definition of insanity, doing this over and over and expecting a different result, but Stephen would prefer that over nothing.
He swore you off, he never wanted to see you again...but how could he hate someone he's loved for so long? Although, he thought that you certainly didn't feel the same because you were with someone else. You wanted someone else. Stephen was just a pit stop and you simply just wasted his time. He'd grown a poisonous resentment for the both of you, even though he loved you and wanted your midnights and uneasy mind, he despised you for wanting someone else, he despised the idea of someone else wanting you; watching you, feeling you, fucking you.
It was irrational, insane- you were maddening him in ways he'd never thought were possible and he hated you all the more for it, filling the void with every man you met because you were upset with him.
But you weren't his anymore. Or so he thought before he found at the door of the Sanctum at an hour deemed unadmissable. Stephen had been ignoring everything between you, keeping himself occupied through his duties for as long as he could but damn, you just standing there is the most incredible thing his eyes have ever seen. Now what kind of pathetic would that make him?
It reminded him of when he first saw you.
When he first saw you, he broke. You broke him, and nothing had been the same ever since. He just wanted to let you know that it was all real to him, every touch, every word. Stephen could tell you that, you were right in front of him but he wouldn't out of pure spite-eyes sad and bleary, yet retaining that wild firey nature he'd always loved. He didn't know what you wanted and he was nervous to find out.
His shadowy figure emerged from the depths of night when he creaked open the door, your breath halted and the relentless humming of your heart along with it. It felt like you hadn't seen him in years, your palm was twitching and your fingers were restless. This was bad, it just reinforced eveything you knew to be true. You just needed to see him- you knew you belonged to him, it was an eternal battle between your good moral judgement, what your heart was begging for and your body. Your body was stiffening under his dark gaze, those dark and sensual eyes that could convince you in one look to do what he wanted. With one look, you knew what he wanted and your body's reaction was foreign and natural all at once. So damn confusing, but isn't it what made it fun?
Isn't it what made it hurt? You frowned at the thought
You had to tell him the thing you've been dreading. Stephen would be hurt, you would be hurt but you had to rip the bandaid off. You needed to think about your future happiness, even if it didn't include him.
Without uttering a single word, he opened the door fully to let you in from the cold. Stephen committed your scent to memory and it was a welcome feeling to be wrapped up in it again. But he knew he didn't have long to keep you here.
He could fuck you one last time, hear those final screams of his name before you abandoned him forevermore but he doubted it. Stephen scowled at himself for pushing his luck.
‘’I needed to tell you something.’’ You said seriously as you twirled around and flung your bag to the floor,
Stephen closed the door and gave you a confused look- stoic as always but you knew that exterior would shatter once you told him what you needed to.
‘’Then tell it.’’ He said softly, reassuring when he locked eyes with you. You wore yourself tensely, eyebrows knitting together the longer he looked at you.
You sat with the silence. It was radio. You took the time to just drink him in one more time because you were sure it was going to be the last. The thought made you bite your lip and the telltale signs of tears beginning to form told you everything, but you sucked them back. Stephen was growing more anxious with every moment that passed but as per usual he would never let anyone see that, the air was thick with anticipation and he was cracking under the pressure.
‘’He asked me to marry him.’’
You kept it simple and short; heart aching with every word that came out of your mouth and the fact you were saying it meant that it was real, it only just registered to you fully and it made a deep void form in your chest. Your voice was hushed and cracked when you said it.
‘’And I said yes.’’ You finally admitted with a breath, eyes darting away from his face as a means to avoid your own hurt, you didn't care if it was selfish you just couldn't picture his reaction let alone view it in real time. Stephen had to surpress his mouth opening in surprise, he thought it through all wrong, his heart was shattering in his hands and he couldn't pick up the pieces without slitting his fingers even more when he reached for them. All he could see was you- you being happy with someone else, you without him, but right now you looked...sad.
Just plain, simple sadness.
‘’He's good to me.’’ You stared down at the floor and raised your eyebrow as if you were finding an excuse, breath calmed as you regained your cool and collected nature. ‘'I feel like I can be happy with him.’’
To avoid himself lashing out or breaking down, he just stared at you…you deserved to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.
‘’Can you say something? Please?’’ Your eyes were filling up with tears as you exhaled sharply. Stephen's silence was killing you in ways you couldn't even fathom, eyes wide and begging for just about anything to fall out of his lips- you didn't even care at this point you just wanted to hear his voice again.
Stephen's tongue forgot how to function, every single vein in him felt like it was rubbing together like sandpaper- itching with uncertainty and pain, he didn't want to take the high and mighty road but he had to, he had to do it for you because he loved you.
Your happiness was something that couldn't be replaced and Stephen realised that it was more important than his heart and ego being bruised. His true feelings were unpalatable but he swallowed them down, he was at your mercy and just like the first time he saw you.. you broke him...again. But this time he shattered.
You sauntered forward to be near and blink up at him, hoping for a reaction, an insult- anything. He said nothing.
‘’Please.’’ You begged again with guileless eyes and Stephen's vast blue eyes bore into yours, obviously not giving anything away in the process. Your arms held onto his biceps as if to anchor him back to reality, to make him wake up from his daze. To make him fight for you- that's all you ever wanted.
Fuck this. Fuck it all. If he didn't want to say anything, fine. So be it. At least you had given him the grace of telling him to his face than finding out by his lonesome.
‘’You know what? Don't say anything, just know that it was all real. Everything. I'm not going to stand here and watch you be vacant.’’ You huffed as you grabbed your bag and headed for the door out of the maddening atmosphere, it was thick with judgement and dread but fire tinged within you when you swiftly made your way passed him and he grabbed your arm and and pushed you against the door.
Stephen grabbed your face harshly and kissed you with a fervour you had never experienced before, a brutal kiss- as if to say goodbye.
His lips were as intoxicating as you remember and it made a stray tear fall out of your eye when he ripped his lips away from yours to gawk at those beautiful, tear stricken eyes. Your face contorted into an angry, yet pleading frown.
‘’Can you just stop being so goddamn noble for once? Tell me this is stupid, tell me not to do it, just tell me-!’’ Your voice was pained before he cut you off with another searing kiss, you didn't want to get married but you didn't want to experience hurt the way you did with Stephen either, the worst hurt- you were stuck and everything felt impossible. He held onto you impossibly tight, his hands cradling your face as his thumbs smoothed away the tears leaking down your face.
‘’Listen to me, you deserve to be happy. I couldn't give you that and if you're happy with him then I can't stop you from marrying him. Do what you have to do...but I'm a jealous man and I will never stop loving you, I always have and I always will and I'll be angry about it but all I know is that you deserve to be happy. I would wait for you for as long as I have to, just don't leave me alone tonight.’’ Stephen finally said the bittersweet words and it was paradoxical rolling off his tongue. Your mouth opened to form words but you simply couldn't say anything and what sent you even further to the edge was that his thumb brushed over your lips, it made you heave softly as you shivered into his touch. ‘'Please.’’
‘’I love you.’’ You said hastily , eyelashes fluttering. The words falling from your mouth and you couldn't even attempt feigning them back in.
Stephen didn't let a single second pass after those words came out, his lips instantly collided with yours- to say it was desperate was an incredibly vast understatement. It was as if it was the last kiss you would ever share, the atmosphere was dampening with guilt and sin but you were too high off his taste to care. Lord you fucking missed him. The look in your eyes was scorching. Wanton. Unwavering. Stephen knew it was wrong but his morals were always grey anyway. He wanted to sink his fingers into your glowing skin as he got you naked under him again, he was aching for this specific moment for so long.
Desperation clouded the air as he intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you from the door and back through the foyer and up to his room, lips still like magnets- unable to be pulled apart.
With every pace, your heart beat was thundering. You were devious for being ungrateful but Stephen's faithless love was the only hoax you believed in. One last time. One final time until you part ways- for good. Let it be sweet, let it be heady and impulsive. Let this time be soul enamouring. You were begging for it at this point.
When he finally got you in the room you had christened many times before, you were sure you had never felt Stephen's tongue wrestle with yours like this; he kicked the door closed and the pinch of your waist was delectable. Holy.
‘’Let me make love to you.’’ Stephen breathed between brutal kisses. ‘’Let me make you feel pretty. Feel worshipped.’’ He strung out and your mouth was going dry with every word he uttered, it was as if he could read your mind. But it was your body he memorised like a map.
He was getting you naked already, discarding each layer of clothing until he got you in your underwear- he pushed you roughly down on his antique of a bed and your whole body recoiled as your legs dangled off the side of the bed.
‘'Do what you want to me.’’ You whispered as you perched yourself up on your elbows, Stephen found hospice between your legs as he stood before you, glaring down at you only to be met with desperate doe eyes.
‘’No. Stop it.’’ He grunted softly as a means to tame your threat. His mind was running rampant with those words and his fingers were itching to feel at you but he showed restraint by discarding his shirt instead.
‘'Do. What you want. To me.’' Your voice was stern, certain. A fucking goddess, a woman beyond space and time.
‘’Don’t say that. I won’t be able to hold back’’
Stephen gawked down at you through creased brows, he could cry out and weep with how unattainably gorgeous you looked right now. You had every man at your mercy, including the man that was once deemed untouchable. Your eyes were a window into the soul he wanted to live in, analyse, piece apart and understand- but he wouldn't have the chance, that was someone elses pleasure. This was the last time.
It was good enough for now.
You whined in a savourable satsifaction as his body dominated against yours, fawning over your frame to nestle himself between those sweet and soft thighs. You couldn't forget Stephen's figure no matter how hard you tried, those shoulders, , that chest, those biceps...those hands that had the ability to extract so much pleasure out of you it was almost metaphysical. You could weep at the delectable feel of his body on yours. Stephen's hands roamed the expanse of your skin, watching your face intently as it contorted into different scenes of pleasure. His fingers clamped around your neck and he loved your reaction, he wanted to have it etched on his tombstone.
‘’You and I always end up like this, don't we?’’ Stephen quirked an eyebrow and breathed into your skin, you weren't sure if he was teasing or being deadly serious.
‘’Uh huh.’’ You nodded furiously as he kissed between the valley of your tits. His free hand finally rid you of your underwear, the elastic burned but it was incomparible to the way he was making your insides burn with that intense gaze of his. Your fingers rushed to get his pants off and to your satisfaction you got your way. Unrelenting. Unstoppable.
‘’Fuck I missed this.’’ Stephen groaned as his eyes clamped closed momentarily, as if to savour the pure feel of it all. ‘’I missed this type of desperation.’’
You were about to explode. You needed him inside you so bad, you insides were swirling into a cyclone and it was spiralling out of control. Stephen entered you with a splendour that was unbelievable, you were so wet, so ready for him and only for him; you melded into him perfectly. You cried out. With abandon. With ecstacy. Desperate to cling onto this final moment before the inevitable departure. Your eyes never once broke connection with his, the intimacy was clandestine but it made the atmosphere that much more provocative and seductive.
He pulled out of you then slammed his way back into you. This was what he wanted and you were happy to oblige- you met his thrusts and it made a strangled cry tip from your lips. Stephen swallowed your moans in its entirety, his fingers still on your neck- he knew you liked being fucked in this way. The only way he knew how. Possessive and jealous.
'’Call out my name, baby.’' Stephen demanded and you were more than willing to comply to his every instruction. ‘’Scream my name for me.’’ He just needed to hear it out of your sweet mouth one last time.
‘’Stephen!’’ You let out with a strangled cry, eyes sprinkled in a wicked and desperate gleam.
'Again.' He said gruffly.
‘’Stephen!’’ You whimpered like a pathetic slut and that's when you felt yourself come undone on his cock- you were greedy and full of sin, not holding back as you gushed onto him, taking all you wanted, taking all you can. A voracious counterpart to him.
"You're going to unman me.’’ Stephen gritted through clenched teeth, staring deeply into those eyes he knew himself to constantly get lost in. He was a lovesick fool...but he kissed you like a god. He kissed you and tugged your bottom lip back and it snapped back into place, the moan you let out was enough to send him to the immediate precipice. He came into you and relished the final feeling before he had to sadly pull out and be dragged back to reality along with it. He stilled once he finished, imploring you with sad, stern eyes.
He just wanted to stay inside you forever. He would never have it.
You were both panting into each others air, nose sliding against noses, casted into a spell in which you couldn't find a loophole from.
It was going to be the death of him. But then he remembered. The thoughts of the words said before making love to you flooding back, sadness stained his face and you only echoed it.
Stephen wanted to ask if you loved your soon to be husband, he knew he could be so pious as to ruin the moment just for clarity but part of him just needed to know, no matter how much it hurt. Anguish grasped at his heart at the idea...so he didn't say anything. He just revelled in those last moments with you, where you were laying on his chest and he was smoothing your hair- clinging onto each other for the warmth you both had the lack of if not for these moments.
In another universe, it wouldn't be fleeting. In another universe, it wouldn't be the last time and only the beginning. But for now, it was the end of the greatest and almost poetic chapter of his life.
#dr stephen strange#dr strange angst#dr strange fluff#dr strange x fem!reader#dr strange x y/n#stephen strange smut#dr strange smut#stephen strange
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