#but everything after is practically sacred

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (2)

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part one here

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, head f receiving, p in v unprotected, breeding kink, cum eating & fingering for like a sentence. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ you asked, and i delivered. PART TWO IS HERE YALL. i hope I didn't let you down :( 5.52k words of pure wrongness, but hey, it's joel, so it's okay (haha, not). not proofread, so if you see any errors, just close your eyes pls thank you.

The weight of that night lingered in every breath you took. The memory of Joel's touch, his hands tracing every inch of your body, had seared itself into your skin, refusing to fade. It wasn't just the physicalㅡ it was the way his voice had trembled when he whispered your name. The way he'd held you like you were something sacred something he couldn't afford to lose. But you both knew that after last night, everything had changed. There was no going back

The secret you now carried inside you was heavier, pulling you further into an abyss you couldn't climb out of. And the worst part? You wanted more. Now that, you had tasted what it felt like to have him, the craving for him was worse than ever. You were addicted. The first morning without him felt empty wrong. You should have been able to bury the night, to bury the guilt, but instead, it gnawed at you, weaving into the longing that wrapped itself around your chest like a vice. You scrolled through your phone again, reading the last text he had sent.

• miss you, baby. I can't stop thinking about you. Wish it was you here with me.

your heart twisted in your chest as you read it again, your fingers hovering over the screen, aching to respond. He was gone. He had left early that morning with your mother, whisked away on a honeymoon that was supposed to be filled with love and joy: A honeymoon that, in a cruel twist of fate, was meant to celebrate his new life with her.

But here he was, texting you and you couldn't help but answer the pull that tied you to him. You could practically hear his voice when you read his words, feel the roughness of his hand brushing against your skin in the way your body still hummed with

the memory of him, and your cunt still felt him deep inside of you. Your fingers shook as you typed your response:

• I miss you too.

You stared at the words, hating yourself for them, but unable to stop. You hit send before you could think twice. A sick sort of thrill coursed through you as you imagined him reading it, imagined him lying next to your mother, his phone lighting up with your message, pulling him back to you even from miles away.

You had woken up in his arms, tangled in the sheets, the air between you still thundering with the afterglow of the forbidden but impossibly sweet. You had watched him get dressed in silence, his eyes lingering or you with a mixture of longing and regret before he had leaned down, kissed you hard, and whispered, "This changes everything." that it had. You hadn't stopped thinking about him a second since. But the worst part was, neither had he. Another message came through, lighting up your phone, pulling you from your thoughts.

• I need you. Being here with her feels wrong, baby. don't know how I'm gonna survive his week without touching you. ❤️

your breath caught in your throat as yot read it, heat blooming low in your belly. He missed you. He wanted you. Even while he was supposed to be with her, on their honeymoon, he was thinking about you.

You hated the way it thrilled you, how the hought of him being with your mother didn't make you sick with jealousy, but instead only intensified the twisted longing that had wrapped itself around your heart. You knew it was wrong, god, it was so wrong, but now that you'd had him, you couldn't stop wanting more. You typed back, your fingers moving quickly, not giving yourself a chance to reconsider.

• need you, joel, I dunno know how to do this.

the truth of those words settled over you. you didn't know how to do this. how to navigate this mess of secrets and lies, of immense guilt. All you knew was that the need for him hadn't gone away: it had only grown stronger. As you waited for his response, you lay back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you mind replaying every moment of the night before. Your phone buzzed again.

• ill find a way for us to be together.

it was insane. It was dangerous. But he means it. And so did you. this impossibly tangled knot that you couldn't unravel, no matter how hard you tried. And part of you didn't want to. You wanted him. Still. More now than ever.

Your phone vibrated once more

•When I get back, I need to see you. Alone We'll figure this out, I promise.

You were already too far gone

Joel’s name lit up your phone screen, the buzzing pulling you from your thoughts. It was a shock, seeing him call. You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, before finally answering. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “Hi, baby.." Joel’s voice came through low and rough, like gravel under your feet. There was a pause before he spoke again, the silence thick. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear your voice.”

Your heart plummeted at his words. The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver through you, bringing back everything from the night before—the touch of his hands, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the feeling of him filling you up. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed. There was a soft sound from him, almost like a groan, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. I can’t stop. You under me like that, full of my cockㅡ it’s all I can think about. I keep replaying it. I miss you so much.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hearing him say it made it all so real, the intensity of it, the wrongness, and yet how much you both wanted it anyway. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his hands on you still fresh, your skin tingling. “It’s been so hard," you whispered. “ I hate that you’re there with her...” The words slipped your lips before you could process them. He exhaled deeply, like he was struggling to hold himself back. “I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m trying to be here, I really am, but all I can think about is you. You’re all I want. I wish I was with you right now, not here.”

What he was saying hit you hard. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, with your mother. But here he was, calling you, telling you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to touch you, hear you moan his name again. It was twisted, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—desired, important, needed. “Joel...” You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just wanted to hear him say more, to fill the aching silence between you. “I can’t stand being away from you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Being here with her… it’s all wrong. 'm thinkin' about you the whole time. I want to be with you, not hidin' this.” The admission made your heart race, your body responding to the urgency in his words. You sat up on your bed, the phone pressed tight against your ear, needing to hear more.

“I need you,” you whispered, not caring anymore about what it meant. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, Joel. I made everything worse. I don’t know what to do.” Joel’s voice came through soft but strained. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want this to end. I need you too, baby. I’ve needed you for so long, and now that I’ve had you…” He trailed off, breathing heavy on the other end of the line. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About us. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week without you.”

Your heart ached hearing him say it. You imagined him there, lying next to your mother, feeling the same torment that was tearing you apart. The thought should have made you feel worse, but all it did was make you crave him more. “When you get back...” you began, your voice unsteady. “What’s going to happen?” There was a pause, tension .” I don't know, little girl. But I need my hands on you again, feel you around me, kiss yaㅡ we'll figure it out."

Before you could respond, you heard a faint sound in the background—your mother’s voice, calling for him. Your stomach twisted, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You felt like throwing up. He was still with her, still living this life he didn’t want, while you waited, caught in the middle of it all. “I have to go,” Joel said quickly, his voice urgent. “But I’ll call you again. I miss you, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, but all you could think about was him—how much you still wanted him, even knowing how wrong it was. The pull between you was too strong, and you didn’t know how to stop. his last words were ringing in your ears—“We’ll figure this out.” But would you? Could you?

Your hand shook as you placed the phone down, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on you with crushing force. The room felt colder, emptier, like all the air had been sucked out the moment his voice disappeared from the other end of the line. You had been holding it together, balancing the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, but now, in the quiet of your room, the dam finally broke. You pressed your palms to your face, feeling the burn of tears already welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop it. The guilt, the longing, the impossibility of it all—it came crashing down like a wave, and you were powerless against it.

A sob escaped your throat, low and broken, as you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You didn’t even try to hold them back. You wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept falling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You hated this—hated how torn you felt. Hated that, despite knowing how wrong it was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It made everything feel impossible. You wanted him so badly, it ached. But the guilt—it clung to you, wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed, suffocating you with its weight.

The sobs came harder, your body trembling as you rocked yourself, trying to find some sort of release from the storm inside you. The image of Joel lying beside your mother, on their honeymoon, gnawed at you, twisting the knife deeper into your chest. How had you let it come to this? How had you fallen so far, wanting something you knew you could never truly have?

But even through the disgust, through the pain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, his touch, the way he had looked at you. It had felt real. Too real. And now it was like you were caught in a spiral, unable to pull yourself out. You cried harder, the sound of your sobs filling the quiet room, your heart breaking under the weight of it all. You pressed your face into your knees, feeling the dampness of your tears soak through the fabric of your jeans.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had wanted to make your mother happy, to stay away, to be the good daughter. But Joel—he had always been the one thing you couldn’t resist. And now that you had crossed that line, there was no going back.

The phone buzzed softly beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t need to look at it to know who it was. Even now, your heart still reached for him, wanting more of the thing that was tearing you apart. But you couldn’t. Not right now.

So, you sat there, curled up in your bed, crying alone, knowing that despite everything, despite the pain, you were already too deep. And you weren’t sure how to climb out.

the time slipped through your fingers.

The sun had barely set when you heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Your heart raced in your chest as you glanced out the window, the bright glow of the headlights cutting through the dusk. Joel’s truck. They were back. He was back. you hated that he had to go away for work so often. even though the honeymoon ended early, he had to leave again for something regarding his job, so this was the first time you saw him in weeks.

The past week had felt endless—long days filled with quiet moments where you found yourself staring at your phone, hoping for a message that never came. After that phone call, everything had felt suspended, like you were teetering on the edge of something you could never go back from. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but every time your mind wandered, it drifted back to him—the sound of his voice, the memory of his touch. The longing, the guilt, the jealousy... it was all there, swirling together in a storm you couldn’t control.

You stood by the window, watching as Joel’s truck pulled into the driveway next to your mother’s. He climbed out, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, a bag slung over his shoulder. You saw him exchange a few words with your mother, who was already standing on the porch, a wide smile on her face as she rushed over to greet him.

You blinked, shaking off the sudden wave of jealousy that washed over you. Stop it, you told yourself. She’s your mother, and he’s with her. You pulled away from the window, trying to steady your breath. But it didn’t help. The pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You couldn’t escape the feeling—the weight of what had happened, the shame that gnawed at you. You had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it easier to face.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. You froze for a second, your heart thudding against your ribs. Your mother called out, “I’ll get it!” But you knew it wasn’t her who he had come for. it was you. so you rushed in front of her, muttering a soft "i got it." When you opened the door, you saw him standing there, looking every bit like the man you had spent the last weeks fantasizing about. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes still shadowed from the exhaustion of travel, but there was something else—something hungry.

He was wearing a simple flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. He looked worn, but somehow more real than before. More him. You could feel your nipples harden at his sight. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there, caught in the gravity of what had happened, what you both knew but weren’t quite ready to speak.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the silence. "Come on in," she called out from the living room. "I was just looking at the pictures from the trip. Joel, why don’t you show her the ones we took from the beach?" Joel glanced at you, his eyes searching your face, but you forced yourself to smile, hiding the turbulence inside. You could already feel it— those pictures, the idea of him sharing his time with her, touching her, laughing and smiling while you were here, waiting, stuck between two worlds.

As you stepped into the living room, Joel followed, and your mother handed him a small photo album that just came in the mail with a beaming smile. "Look at this one, Joel. It’s from the sunset on the beach. I swear, the sky was never so perfect!" she exclaimed before heading to the kitchen to make some drinks for the three of you. Joel opened the album, flipping through the pictures. There they were—Joel and your mother, side by side, arms wrapped around each other, smiling as they stood by the ocean. You could see the joy in your mother’s face—the happiness you had always wanted for her, but it still stung. The sight of them together made your chest tighten with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. were you jealous?

Joel glanced up at you, sensing your discomfort. He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual, as if he was trying to say something that hadn’t quite formed yet. "I missed you," he said quietly, glancing back at the pictures.

You stared at the photo of Joel and your mother standing on the beach, their hands intertwined. The image of them together, so carefree and happy, only deepened the ache inside you. You clenched your jaw, feeling the jealousy flare up—jealous of the way they had spent those days together. Jealous that he had touched her, laughed with her, shared moments you had longed for. He caught the shift in your mood, the way your eyes narrowed at the pictures. You couldn’t hide it. Joel stepped closer, his tone more serious now. "Hey, don’t look at it like that. babyㅡ"

You blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears. "Like what?" You asked, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. "Like I’m..." He paused, his eyes searching yours, his hand hovering, almost as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Like I was with her, and not with you."

"But you were." You blurt it out.

Your heart hammered in your chest. The way he said it made the jealousy bubble up even more, but there was something else in his voice too—something like regret, like he was just starting to feel what had happened between the two of you. "I just..." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can’t do this, Joel. Seeing you with herㅡ it hurts."

Joel’s face softened, and he took a step closer, his hand finally finding yours. His touch was grounding, reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "It wasn’t like that. I’m with her, sure. I promised her, and I’m tryin' to be a good man for her, but it’s not the same. You’re different. You’ve got a hold on me, baby. on my soul and heart. I can’t explain it.." You stared at him, your heart a mess of confusion and desire. His words sent a wave of relief through you, but it didn’t erase the pain. You wanted him, but he was still bound to your mother, and that fact ate at you from the inside out.

"I can’t pretend," Joel said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. "it’s not something I can just ignore. And I won’t let it destroy you or me. It’s just... hard to figure out where to go from here." Your breath caught in your throat. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered. "But I don’t know how to do this—how to live in this space between what’s right and what feels so damn wrong."

Joel’s expression darkened for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I know it’s messy," he murmured. "But it’s not goin' anywhere. I’m not goin' anywhere."

There was no easy answer, no clear path to walk. But in that moment, as you stood in the same room as Joel and your mother, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you knew that whatever happened, you couldn’t walk away from him.

Not now. Not ever.

The early evening sun cast a golden glow across the kitchen as your mom stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one last look before grabbing her purse. She hummed to herself, the excitement of her night out with friends clear in her every movement. She was still glowing from the wedding, from the honeymoon. The happiness on her face felt like a knife in your chest.

"You're sure you'll be alright here?" she asked, her voice light, not really expecting a different answer from you. " I won't be too late." You nodded, trying your best to keep your smile steady. "Yeah, Mom. We'll be fine. You deserve to have fun." Your mom turned to Joel, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And you.." she teased, stepping closer to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know you're not much of a party guy. Try not to be too boring while l'm gone."

Joel chuckled lightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I'Il behave,"' he promised, though his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment. a brief, loaded glance that made your heart flutter.

Your mom laughed, oblivious to the tension in the room, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright, don't wait up for me. I'll be back later." She waved, her heels clickingsoftly against the floor as she headed out the door.

The sound of the car starting up, the engine humming, and the tires rolling down the driveway were the last reminders of her presence before the house fell into silence. The quiet between you and Joel was immediate, heavy, as if the very walls of the house knew something had shifted. You stood there, not sure what to do. "Guess it's just us now," Joel said, his voice low, rough around the edges. He knew what he was doing. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah... just us." You could feel his eyes on you, the same gaze that always seemed to see right through to the heart of you, the gaze that made you feel vulnerable exposed.

Joel pushed off from the counter, taking a few slow steps toward you. His movements were deliberate, careful. "You alright, baby?" You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to pull together some semblance of control, but it was no use. "I thought i could handle it, being here with you..." Joel's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been hard for me too," he said quietly, his voice strained. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your arm, the touch so soft it sent a shiver through you. "This whole thing," he muttered, his eyes dark, intense, "it's not what I thought it would be. Not with you here. It ain't easy for me either."

Your pulse raced as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I don't know how to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. Joel's hand moved to your waist, his grip gentle but firm. His touch was warm, grounding, but the fire between you was undeniable. "I can't stop." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've tried, but..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to your lips. You could feel the pull between you growing stronger, the tension wrapping tighter around you, making it harder to breathe. "Joel.." you gasped, not sure what you were asking for. "I know, baby.." you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. "I need you." you finally muster some courage. Joel's eyes darkened at your words, and before you knew it, his lips were on yoursㅡ soft at first, tentative, but when he felt you respond, the kiss deepened. His hand moved up your back, up into your hair, pulling you closer, his touch igniting something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried.

The kiss was everything you had been wanting, everything you had been denying yourself. It was soft but intense, slow but deliberate, and it left you breathless. But even as you kissed him, even as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him, the reality of it all lingered in the back of your mind.

you pull back for a second. "We shouldn't be doing this." Joel's grip tightened on you, his eyes searching yours. "i know, darli'. we shouldn't." He pulled you in again, his lips finding yours, and this time there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was raw, intense, and everything you had been craving. His hands moved over your back, your arms, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he had been holding back for too long. You let yourself forgef everything. He picks you up and places you on the cold kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his middle. "Need'a taste you, sweet thing." You moan as he undresses you from your flimsy shorts, pulling them down and getting on his knees in front of you. "No panties, baby? filthy little thing." Though it wasn't on purpose, you can't help but blush at his reaction. Joel inched closer, rogh beard rubbing against your plush skin, making you jolt. finally, he sticks his tongue out, dragging it through your dripping folds. you grab onto the counter, leaning back on your hands as you try to bite back moans. "Look at ya, dirtying your moms counter. don't you feel bad?" he teases. you don'tㅡ for anything. it all fades away. the moment he digs into you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. joel circles his tongue around your swollen bud agonizingly slow. you try to push his head further, signal him to go faster, but he's adamant that he takes his time.

it doesn't take long until you feel yourself unraveling, that pit forming into your tummy as your muscles tense up. Just then, Joel pulls away with that, leaving you gasping for air. "Not yet, baby. want you to come on my cock." he was so vile, wiping his face with the shirt he had on before undoing his pants. they fall to his ankles and he scoots closer so that he's between your legs, his lenght resting snug between your puffy lips.

"Please, joel, don't do this to me.." You whine, unable to resist longer. "Pretty desperate thing. 's okay, I'll give it to you." With that, he pulls you closer and aligns himself with you dripping entrance. even if it wasn't the first time with him, it still stings, the stretch deliciously painful. "Fuck, baby, look at that. this pussy was made for me, yeah? say it baby. say this pussy is mine." he grabs you harshly by your face, as he pushes in fully. " 's all y-yours, joel, 'm all yours."

"damn right you are. my little girl, so eager to take my cock.." he deliberately snaps his hips, the tip slipping past your cervix. the pain was taking over your body, and you let yourself sob as joel holds you close while he starts moving. " 's okay, sweet thing. i got you. you're alright, you can take it." you are alright.

Joel leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you faster, harder, and you hiss softly through the kiss. he's moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that was pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Joel, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Joel's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against his hold, one hand slipping under one of your thighs as his lips write kisses from your neck to your pebbled nipples "I'm so closeㅡ" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, baby, shitㅡ 'm gonna come some deep in you. feel me in your little tummy?"

your heart almost stops. he loves you. joel loves you. he said he loves you while he's drilling into you on your mom's countertop. and he's your mom's husband. as he's fucking deeper into you, the words slip out without warning, no second-guessing. "I love yㅡou, Joel!" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains yours as his hips buckle from releasing white ropes of warm liquid inside of your velvet walls, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. You both catch your breath. finally, he breaks the silence, while taking his shaft out of your pulsing cunt.

"fuck, baby... look at the mess you made. you bad girlㅡ lick it up now." you whimper as you try to move your limp body down the counter, bending yourself over to lick up the juices and come that dripped from you. joel licks his lips, watching as his seed trickles down your thighs. he takes two fingers and with no warning sticks them up in you, as you still lick the cold surface. "Want it all in you." you feel his warm, thick fingers swirling around your cunt, pushing back in any come that may have slipped out. "You'll look so pretty with my baby in you."

Joel loves you.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @1-800-sluttysadness @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury

[kooyabooya]

SECRETS & SPELLS

m reader x kazuha ; sakura // 14k words

“Really,” and you’re saying this with the most unimpressed look on your face, knowing Sakura’s bullshit could never get to you that easily, “And here I thought we had something special going on between us,” you tell her with a gesture of a hand, signifying the rapport. 

She laughs at that, because deep down you’ll put up with her antics in the end either way. Whether it would be spilling a few drinks down her throat or splitting her open until the crack of dawn breaks into the horizon, you’ll get the last say before she does. Always. 

“Do tell,” says Sakura, “Besides, you’ve got my number on speed dial.” 

-

It’s actually a pretty funny thing how the sacred law of attraction works in these kinds of scenarios; at least, that’s what you’ve learned when Sakura barged into your life from completely out of nowhere. This might come off as unexpected: you’re the TA for one of the design courses, and Sakura happened to be one of the top students in the class with the highest probability to break through into the fashion industry come post-grad. 

And at every turn since the beginning of the semester, she has managed to impress you amazingly. 

Everything’s all lighthearted at the first meeting - the usual buzz about this stellar connection you have with Sakura - and she feels the same sentiment. The feedback is subtle; the compliments start to pile on one another; you’re noticing features in her appearance that might be falling into the obvious scope of things, but you take note of them either way. 

Wasn’t that long until you’ve mustered up the courage to treat her out after she came to you for additional advice and pointers and such from one of her personal projects. Although the first date was an absolute train wreck to your standards, she was willing enough to come back around for more. 

One meeting happens again, and another. 

Then the next one. 

And the next one. 

The weeks start to mesh together aside from all the usual routines and responsibilities filling up your schedule and calendar. But you’ve managed to set time aside whenever possible because that’s all part of having fun with someone like her. And sure, you’re waiting for that Friday to hit every time because it relieves you of anything for a short period; it’s also safe to say that you’re not the only one. 

So you learn a lot of things about Sakura. More ways than you would like. 

And it’s not even worth blaming the lowered inhibitions due to the alcohol.  A test drive of sorts, the natural course of thoughts coming out from your brain and channeling that to your words and actions whenever you’re around her, there’s that appreciation in the honesty - wondering where has this girl been all your life?

Because Sakura falls in a lot of ways. Ways that you would never have expected:

“For one thing,” you’re telling her while being roped deeper into the club by her hand, “I don’t think the number 1-800-hot-n-fun was a viable one to go with, by the way.” She twists her head around once getting past the foyer, opening up from the inside to scattered crowds spaced away from the dance floor. As expected for a Friday night to no surprise -  the thrumming of your eardrums in response to the overpowering bass proving a clear struggle in terms of discernibility. 

“Do I have to remind you again?” Sakura tells you, loosening the grip as you’ve managed to get in close proximity, unfazed when your body is practically on top of hers, passing through the crowd, “We’re doing that thing with Miss ‘you - know - who’. Unless you’re asking me to just leave your ass back in the apartment, but oh wait - you're already here with me as it is.” 

“Sure.” And that’s how things like these usually go with her: you’ll be doing one thing, then the familiar contact on your phone pops up on your lockscreen. Some days you’d drop whatever you were doing in a heartbeat - if it was willing to kill time or procrastinate, she’d know your answer already. “Drop the code name. You’re not being really inconspicuous with-” 

“Kazuha? But it fits the profile perfectly!” She’s beaming, exchanging a few glances with some regulars hovering outside the dance floor, her face lighting up with wide eyes andan open an open mouth.

“But seriously,” you say, and with as much sarcasm that you could pull out of your ass, “I thought that was a one-time thing with her.” Sakura rolls her eyes, spearheading to one of the booths on the far end of the dance floor, secluded in a suspicious corner where no one else would end up unless being escorted off with enough shots in their system to do so in the first place. 

And you learn - with Sakura, nothing is ever a one time thing with her. Ever. She brought you into a trap, the kind where you couldn’t even get out of if you tried. 

Like all necessary cues for an entrance, this one doesn’t really have a notable introduction since you’re the one that’s interested without actually saying it explicitly. The lone girl sitting in the booth catches your eye, spacing out with the colorful floating lights occasionally hitting her face as she appears to be breaking a sweat despite her stoic expression. 

She looks nervous, probably flustered at the fact that she’s even in the dance club considering how flushed her face looks without the color. You look over to Sakura, to which she smiles with her eyes, already feeling the stage being set for what’s to come.

“You sure you want to leave this as a one - off?” She asks, combing down some of her hair while waving at the girl in the booth. “Think of this as a chance to redeem yourself with her - her - I mean, me.” 

“Not everything has to be about you. Acting as the lynchpin when you also want to join in on the fun as well.” 

Sakura nicks her head, that prying grin coming at the corner where you can’t see it up front. She studies your features, the way your face crinkles at every remark or sly comeback that leaves her lips, priming those synapses ready and raring for how she wants this night to go. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen. It worked last time, and it’ll work again.” 

With all thoughts considered, it all leads to one inevitable conclusion: 

“I’d love for you to work her over again, like you did before,” she husks, lazily placing her lips along the line of your jaw. The nerve ends down your neck and spine tingling at the contact as your feet move along with hers, approaching closer to the lone girl waiting at the table, locking irises and noticing her pulled lip. “And just for your information, she’s so into you.” 

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around with him?” Kazuha butts in, sliding over a subtle appetizer of some casual chips and assorted dips; the duo of Arnold Palmers is also quick to follow soon after. “I mean, you’re the one who likes to kiss everybody, Sakura.” 

“Not true,” she rebukes. “But I-” 

“If you want to test that theory,” you’re telling the both of them, smiling with eyes trained alternating on looks, sipping a bit of the beverage down, “I think both of you would be convinced to take this somewhere that allows more misbehavior to happen.” 

-

It’s not that you’re not able to remember the events of last night. It’s the fact that you can’t remember what took place last night at all. 

Though your memory starts to stir back to normal at the floating pair of lips hovering over and around your face in the late morning going into the afternoon.

You’re squinting from the overbearing light that breaks through the curtains and and the ambient sounds of traffic in the distance from the open window. There’s also the realization that the mobility in your body is severely hammered, and with good reason. 

A look up past the sheets, and it’s a body pressed next to yours, sprawled with an arm and leg thrown over your thigh and stomach, still trying to be mindful in care not to wake you. She looks up at you with doe eyes before fluttering them shut and nestling deeper into the side of your chest, rubbing her hand across the more she gets comfortable. 

“About time you woke up,” she mumbles, giggling at you, plopping your head back onto the pillow. “I was wondering if you were actually dead or something, not that I would be worried of course.” 

“And if I was?” The question alone is alone is rhetorical as it sounds, blinking up towards the ceiling while adjusting your body meshed into the mattress and in between the sheets, “I feel like you could’ve put in a little more effort to, well, bring me back to life.” 

This girl then sits up, lets the comforter trickle down to her waist, exposing her breasts; the marks still apparent from the night prior, serving to be a good kickstarter for your memory now that most of the alcohol should’ve subsided by now. “Maybe I should’ve put more effort into that, the same way that you handled us,” she tells you, “God, you really don’t remember anything from last night, do you?” 

“Sakura,” you say, and you’re calling her out with a soft laugh bubbling beneath your stomach.. “I’d hate to be honest with you, but I can’t even remember the amount of drinks we had at the place. That’s how you know it’s bad if you were in my shoes.” 

“But you were still sober enough to dick me down after a long week?” 

You don’t give an answer to Sakura’s question, but the way her actions do the talking should already say enough: placing kisses on your shoulder, shuffling herself closer to you, hand slithering to a certain spot where it’s also jogging your memory. 

“Sweetie,” you tell her, a dragged - out sigh leaving your lips once Sakura’s practiced fingers start to touch down around your half-hardened cock. “You wouldn’t mind helping me remember what we did last night, right?” 

Well, of course, she’d say, but instead she laces that phrase in the form of a kiss. Knowing her, she’d be willing to assist in whatever it is that you do. A transactional service: you do one thing for her and she’d do the same. And the repayment could really come in a handful of methods, but this one usually takes top of the list. 

“I don’t,” Sakura answers, giggling softly when you’re trying to push for more, leaning your head to meet her lips, her pulling away just to play a little tease. “As much as I would love to help you, I can’t be the only one to do all the work around here. It tarnishes your gentlemanly appearance, but that’s what I think.” 

You pull one of her legs up, shifting her closer to you when she has her lips working you again, hand twisting deliberately around your cock. The pace alone is strategic and slow, but very well practiced and methodical, licking up her palm to ensure she’s soaking up the sensitive surface in every spot possible. 

She also takes the hint with the sliding hand up her waist, straddling over your thighs to where you’re almost pinned against the headboard, grip still apparent around your shaft, keeping steady the more she scooches her hips up beneath your groin. You get lost in the valley of her waist, the defined abs well deserved from the hard work in the gym, the gaze she possesses with those lovely, messy locks in her hair, the pure seductiveness with her hand grazing her breast. You’re being pulled back in with another intoxicating kiss, filled with so much care and and love, and all of that to be replaced with undesirable lust that seems to entrap both of you like the heavenly light breaking through the thin curtains in your room. 

The taste, the scent of her - still present from last night’s tales - are another reminder and trick for your mind to work around against the lingering after effects of the alcohol. 

“Is it working?” She asks, holding herself just above your length with hands fast around your neck, “Or do you still need some help getting your memory up to speed?” 

Sakura then reaches over to the nightstand, a Polaroid captured in between her pointer and middle finger, eyes slanted along with her face, watching you examine the picture in the small snapshot. Another fragment is obtained through this, internalizing the appearance of her marked - up body sprawled up on the same bed you’re lying in, with another body next to her but the face isn’t shown. 

Just as you’re about to say your answer, she catches you by surprise, the press of her lips on you again, hips jumping up in impulse when her pussy settles on top of the underside of your shaft, hands naturally trained to her hips as the slow pecks eventually become more inviting, passionate. 

Maybe the home remedies would’ve been a sufficient option to cure your hangover, but with Sakura, she herself is the best kind of morning after pill that you’ll take the chance over if the opportunity presents itself like it has right now. Her kisses become more intoxicating, hoping that you’ll want her in the same fashion that she’s emitting - a being that’s blessed with a wanting so addicting, it’s impossible to think twice about it. Your mouth makes its way down the fine column of her throat and then to her chest, marking up the same spots as you did the night before, tugging onto one of her stiff nipples with your teeth. 

The grip in your hair with her fingers starts to become tighter, forcing her body onto you more. She holds you there, cheek pressed to the crown of your head, the moans proving to be positive feedback for you, grinding her hips slightly over your cock, making your grasp more protective of her, as if you didn’t want her to leave your presence whatsoever. 

She captures your lips again, hands now on both ends of your face, humming in approval when yours find their way to her ass, clawing your fingertips on the soft skin, setting the tempo of how her pussy lips glide across your cock, bathing it in her slick, and a small feeling of what’s to come in the passing minutes. Her teeth clash with yours on accident, laughing as she scaffolds her kisses down to your cheek, to the pulsepoint, on your trap, biting lightly as a proud badge of honor. Pulling away, she bites her lip, placing another kiss before pressing you back to the wall. 

“Saku,” you sputter, gasping out when her hips slide forward, pressing herself down on your cock that tenses all of the muscles in your legs, straightening them out beneath the sheets for a moment. “Fuck, you–” 

“Shh,” she says, finger on your lips.. “It’s helping a lot, right?” Her hand sliding down your chest, nails grazing across your skin riddled with goosebumps, probably because of how cold the room has gotten but at the same time how the heat between your two continues to build up. “I gave you two hints already, so do what you will with that.” 

“I think it is coming together,” you say, puppy dog eyes in amazement with how Sakura keeps your chin tilted up while the movement of her hips hypnotizes you. “But seriously, holy fuck, I-” 

Sakura pays no attention to your spills of cutoff praise, a moan from her lips and yours let out in unison when she rubs her clit right at the tip, hunching her back over, your face getting caught between the figurative net that is her tits, drawing another mark with your teeth and soothing it after with the flat plane of your tongue. 

If she’s not careful, this right amount of pressure from her pussy over your aching cock might spell disaster for you before even getting started with resuming last night's activities. Her body is already becoming a live wire to feed off on; the taste and how responsive she’s been so far, you’ll play into it for as long as she allows it. 

Luckily, she knows your body well enough as hers, stopping herself as she scooches down. The trail of kisses coming back with the first couple scattering their way down from your lips, cheeks, and neck, now down to the chest. Every touch of her lips across the canvas of your body only sends your mind deeper into that endless barrel of delusion and madness from the fantasies you’ve discovered with Sakura. 

It might also be worth mentioning how she substituted her pussy for her hand again, dainty fingers well placed around your shaft again, pulling it upwards as she buries herself beneath the sheets, lips now planting kisses at the hip and down to the thigh, then turning her attention to your twitching cock. 

You could feel the muscles in your ass clench underneath her body, watching with the comforter raised up to hide her from the open doorway, focused on how her breath grazes along your underside, carefully working her way up to place a chaste kiss to your tip, her tongue getting the first tastes of her favorite snack, swallowing the head first. 

She then inches down a bit, pulling herself up and out, tongue swirling and well trained. The feeling settles in static breaths, watching her be grateful for the reward she’s worked hard for in the short span of time. Her head lowers for another second, you lift your hips up to meet in the middle for her, and she stares at you with glossy eyes. 

The comforter gets lowered as your hands find themselves onon Sakura’s wrists. 

“Saku,” you groan automatically. Sakura’s eyes flutter in approval when she slides her puckered lips further down your length. The tiny press of her perfect lips, her tongue again slathering up the underside again, tracing a vein. 

Her hand finds itself at the base, building up a rhythm in her bobs that you’re all too familiar with. Tongue and the opening past her mouth and into the throat, moving in every move imaginable that she knows that you love and like. 

And it’s also this double-edged sword - a blessing or curse on her terms, how the vibrations coming from her vocal cords wrap around your cock whilst in her mouth, letting you know how ravishing you are for her cravings. 

“Keep the comforter over me.” Sakura commands, purring. Mixing in the swiping of her tongue as well as the erotic kisses she’s spoiling your cock with. Her head goes sideways, treating to one side of the base, dipping down to take one of your balls in her mouth. She’s also aware of how much you like your blowjobs to be wet, so it’s no surprise when she spits all over your cock, ensuring that no spot was left untouched with her saliva. 

You do as she says, letting your hands rest beneath the sheets along with Sakura; the view of the room now opened up past the obstruction, watching as the small bump between your legs indicated Sakura’s head, slowly feeling her head working her way down your cock, gasping when you feel the tip of her nose meet your stomach. 

She laughs with a mouthful of cock in her mouth still when she hears the sound of the back of your head hitting the wall, gripping the fuck out of her wrist on your leg to let her know that she’s doing wonders - in addition to the tension in your hips, bucking as she’s putting enough effort to take all of you down her throat, shifting her head side by side with the small chokes minimized with the comforter over her. 

The pace comes back, but this time with more variety. A hand is wrapped around your shaft, holding it in one spot while her mouth takes you right at the half, gagging as the suction deepens. She’s managed to have your cock slicked up enough to where her fingers are easy to swivel around, doubling down on the stimulation. 

Sakura isn’t one to really be forward when it comes to 'relieving your stress��, but with the amount of practice that she’s had from past experiences,, that thread of thoughts continues to open different avenues to sit on a balcony and ponder on. Earlier this week she felt compelled to have you bust all over her face because of how hot you looked while doing a virtual meeting on the couch; you’re picturing the image in your head - how she looks so good with your lips on you, so practiced, mouth pressuring all the right spots and tongue slicing through a vein and maybe lower. 

“Baby, baby, holy shit,” you’re moaning out again, getting a response from Sakura’s filled-up mouth, picturing the furrowed eyebrows and half-lidded eyes beneath the sheets. She moves your hands up from her wrists and into her hair, prompting you to shove the best inches down into her throat, much to the point where you’re nearly sitting upright to do so. 

This isn’t something to think too hard about: thrusting your hips into Sakura’s face in the morning - into that sweet heat of her mouth, how her nails are creating crevices in your skin, relaxing her mouth and throat enough to stuff nearly all of your length to that one hole of hers. You know that she could go on with this for as long as you’d like, instinctively helping her part a few stray fringes in her hair without even being able to see it. She’s sometimes worried if you’re hurting yourself with every deepthroat she does to you, assuring that having no gag reflex makes these bits in the whole experience a whole lot more pleasurable. 

“Mmph.” 

“This fucking mouth of yours, Saku,” you mumble, not paying any care to the increased volume of gags or the purring vibration of her open mouth creating this vacuum within your stomach - since the addicting suction and clench were about to send you into oblivion. 

“Mmmmph…” 

“God,“ you choke out. One thing you don’t want to accept to yourself or to anyone, for that matter: this was the best fucking way to wake up. 

“So fucking good,” she mumbles.

Another thing you’d hate to admit sometimes is the fact that even though you've been restricted from seeing Sakura take in your cock so well underneath the sheets, that’s traded in for how fast you could feel yourself coming undone again. That sense of pride also put you in jeopardy because every lick, plunge, and slip of your length into her mouth was another step in the pattern in transition to holding herself steady. It also doesn’t help that she tilts her head up, poking the head of your cock on the inside of her cheek, swiping the tongue at the underside, and seriously, this woman. 

The eerie ringing between your ears starts to pop up randomly, your body getting riddled with every overstimulating feeling being thrown right at it. The slickness in her mouth, the grip around the root becoming too tight, the gags becoming intense - your mouth is hanging low as your eyes begin to roll up to the back of your head. She doesn’t plan on playing it safe, and the edge is rapidly getting to you; it’s too fast, too soon, okay, oh fuck, oh fuck. 

“Saki!” a voice calls out past the open door leading into the hallway. “Where the fuck are you?” Shit, the tone sounds awfully familiar, and you also notice the trail of clothes along the floor. Another fragment from last night flashes in your brain; though, you’re trying to keep focus while Sakura’s heat surrounds your cock as you hear the sound of feet scraping along the hardwood floor. 

“Saki, I-” The second girl stops short past the door, phone in her hand and hair tousled, but still presentable. She’s wearing your dress shirt from the night before, unbuttoned and parted perfectly enough to where you could see the inner curve of her tits - her long, creamy thighs stand out to you, making your lowered jaw salivate when she cocks her head to the right out of curiosity, hands behind her back with her tongue buried behind her bottom lip. “Well, what do we have here?” 

How could you forget? The additional set of clothes on the floor? The lady next to Sakura’s ruined body covered with cum on the Polaroid photo?

Kazuha. Who else but Kazuha? 

“Good morning,” you greet, paying no attention to your hands as they appear to be all over the place before settling themselves above the sheets, just adjacent to the subtle bump where Sakura’s bobbing head was located. “I was wondering where you went off to.” 

“I couldn’t really sleep, so I thought it would be a good idea to whip up some food to kill time,” says Kazuha, biting her lip at the sight of your hand resting above the oddly shaped form between your legs and underneath the sheets. “You wouldn’t mind if I asked: Where the heck is Saki?” 

“Well,” you try to say, pretending to be oblivious while the heat of Sakura’s mouth trails your mind off into dreamland. “I’ll give it to you straight; she’s not here.” 

“Uh huh,” Kazuha breathes, unamused. “Really though, where did she go?” She asks, raising herself up on her tiptoes, slowly migrating closer to the edge of the mattress, noticing the heels hanging out of the edge. “I could’ve sworn she was next to you when I woke up.” 

“She was,” you reply, keeping that sly smile from breaking out in the frame of your face. “I don’t know if you checked the bathroom if she’s there, but that’s one place to start looking if you ask me.” 

Kazuha pays no attention to your answer, only keeping her eyes fixed on the pair of feet at the edge of the matter, palming an area for what appears to be Sakura’s calf, which makes her stop her controlled bobbing around your cock for a moment, stunned at the sudden press of Kazuha’s hand pulling her head back off of your soaked shaft, gulping because she knows that she got caught. 

A look under the sheets, and Kazuha laughs, locking eyes with you while the offering of a sheepish grin is all that you could give her. “Really?” she asks, examining beneath the white layer to only see Sakura laying on her stomach, bare ass between your legs while you eventually call the act off, lifting off the sheets to give Kazuha a better look at Sakura’s head buried between your thighs, hand still well gripped into the threads of her hair. “If you guys are going to start the fun without me, then don’t even bother hiding it.” 

“We weren't hiding anything at all,” teases Sakura, dipping her head down your cock again that makes you clench at the feeling of her throat. 

“Pretty much seems that way to me.” Kazuha retorts. 

“Who was the one who woke up early again?” 

“Don’t I have a say in this?” You inquire, combing Sakura’s messy hair down while she moves her wrist around your length to occupy herself, causing you to shudder at the delicate touch. “I mean, Jesus, I guess Saku here couldn’t really help herself to me.” 

“She’s the worst.” Kazuha declares, slipping out of your dress shirt, now left with nothing but those lacy black pants she slipped on. 

“He worked you over; let me remind you,” Sakura replies, bearing a smug grin when she looks over towards you. “You finished on her back, and before that, you finished on me twice.” 

The corner of your eye picks up on Kazuha getting back on the bed, shuffling with her knees as she approaches closer to you. You remember again that she’s relatively well known in your circle of friends, considering the fact that she’s one of the four girls that you’re relatively affiliated with around campus. She’s only a year younger than you, but good friends with Sakura (obviously); and there’s also the duo of Chaewon and Yunjin, the pair of them also crazy in their own rights, respectively. 

“Your point being?” The question gets both of their attention, exchanging looks when Kazuha finally reaches to you, guiding your hand to her waist and around her back, Sakura placing neat kisses across your obliques, cock still welded to her hand and stroking gently. 

“I guess the golden question should be asked again,” says Sakura, bending her neck down to lightly tap the tip of your cock to her pouty lips. “Where do you think you’ll finish today? On our face? Down our throats? Our backs? Or maybe…”

“Maybe…” Kazuha teases, lifting her hands with yours up to her face, rubbing the pad of your thumb across her bottom lips, lightly sucking on it that’s insanely hypnotic. “Maybe he could finish inside us?” 

(Sakura and Kazuha: birds of a feather. You can’t fathom with the fact sometimes that they’ll act like angels, dress like crazy, and only have you around to tug the clothes off of them, as they’re babbling listlessly about how you’ll pin one of them down (or both) on the carpet, make paintings with your tongue all over their bodies; the taste of each more exquisite in every round you take them on, fucking them on any article of furniture within reach. )

Kazuha’s not even remotely close to you. You and her are just surface-level friends at best. Heck, she’s only a mere acquaintance in the swing of things, if you want to read deeper into the personal analysis of each other. The only line of connection you have with her is through Sakura. And from the last outing being a solid first impression for all parties involved, you’d laugh to yourself at times because Kazuha could never have enough of you and Sakura. 

“Kazuha, sweetie,” Sakura purrs, pulling her head up with a string of spit still attached to her chin. “You’ve had your fill with him already, literally.” And as she says that, you feel all of the muscles and bones in your body practically melt through the mattress beneath you from the overall presence and weight that these two women have. These two perfect dolls - imagining how their bodies will bend and crumple when you bury your cock inside both of them, shutting one up with the other’s cunt over their mouth. Sakura’s mouth has already made you want to test that edge, and with Kazuha’s? 

“I think we should let him decide who to dump his cum into, no?” Sakura suggests soon after pulling Kazuha’s body next to hers, allowing you to admire the live Renaissance painting taking place before you. She then pats Kazuha’s shoulders twice, much like something straight out of practice: Kazuha quick to get on top of your waist while Sakura scooches down to hold your cock tried and true back into her mouth, the pleasure instantaneous as Kazuha’s lips find yours for the first time today. 

Kazuha’s arms slither over the bridge of your collarbones, letting you indulge in her perky tits, trying to keep your focus on her while Sakura begins to up the ante again in scarfing up your cock. 

“I wanted you all to myself when I woke up first,” Kazuha says, tangling her fingers in your hair, softly moaning when you’re leaving sporadic marks all over her tits, capturing your lips again as you involuntary groan into her mouth, to which she receives it incredibly well. “But you were sleeping so soundly, I decided to leave you be.” 

You’re also wondering about the different things you had on your to-do list in your phone. Out of all times, why in the hell were you thinking about that now? You’ve got your personal love interest inhaling your cock by the second, with another friend in your arms who’s willing to be your personal fuckbuddy just for the sake of it. 

Kazuha’s features break a bit when you’ve got your lips catered to the stiff buts of her nipples, hands wandering across that toned back of hers, tracing the shoulder blades while the grasp in your fingers starts to crunch at the fine skin. 

“I think,” she husks, listening to the occasional gags Sakura’s doing on your cock continuously. “Maybe you’ve been wanting my mouth for a bit too now, huh?” 

(Well, yeah. I mean-) 

Kazuha quickly takes the hint right out of your mind, mirroring the same pathway of kisses that Sakura did not long ago, the same waves of pleasure mixed in with the return of goosebumps spreading across your body, hands still unsure where they play as they’re suspended in the air, giving way as Sakura slips your cock out of her mouth, twisting at the crown once Kazuha meets in the middle. 

The gaze they give you, from the both of them, exchanging glances with each other because these two share a brain cell together - that’s the simple assessment to observe when you’re left speechless. 

Thank God you cleared your morning from whatever schedule that was initially planned, because it wouldn’t have led to having these two in your bed wanting all of you. 

“Do I still have a say in this?’ You attempt to ask, studying how their eyes are full of infectious lust, the creeping grin spreading across their lips. “To be fair, I think I also need to get some morning stretching in before getting on with the morning.” 

“Oh, you’ll get your stretching in.” Sakura muses. 

“You won’t be saying anything from this point on,” declares Kazuha. 

No point in arguing against the pair; the verdict has already been decided. 

Sakura slides her hands up across your chest, laying you back down while Kazuha shuffles down to the original spot where Sakura was occupying, eyes drawn to the peek of Kazuha’s tongue on your cock, switching in between kisses and licks. 

A difference between Kazuha and Sakura when it came to blowing you: Sakura knew the different kinds of tricks from experimenting in the past couple months - what worked and what didn’t. Kazuha, on the other hand, was just yearning for the taste of you in her mouth, sealing her lips with the right press, eager to pick up where Sakura left off. It shouldn’t be making you feel like putty, but that’s exactly the case when she bottoms your cock out, clenching her throat that makes you twitch at the hip joints. 

Sakura gets a hand around your length, tethering you to one angle, Kazuha dipping down with just her mouth, with every bob up being met with a palm twisting around your shaft. The sounds that rumble from deep within your chest are enough proof that the thin walls surrounding you three won’t be quiet for any longer. 

Though your muscles could only stay tense for so long due to the fascinating clench, with Sakura joining back in on the fun that makes you fall slack to the mattress. She’s picking back up with kisses in certain areas of your groin where Kazuha has only glossed over, tongue well working up the seam of your balls, popping on in her mouth while Kazuha’s face is perpendicular, shifting up the side as if she’s playing the flute. 

Her brows furrow for a bit when she puts the head of your cock past her pretty lips, hollowing her cheeks for a moment, swirling the tongue right underneath the tip, enough for you to tense up your length in her mouth, and you’re met with wide eyes, feeling the small release of cum onto her tongue. Kazuha then slips you out for a second, licking her lips as you’re putting everything into your body to not bust this early. 

“I think he’s had enough of me, Saki. What do you think?” Kazuha observes, “Do you want more of him again?” 

“Is that even supposed to be a question? Let me remind you who’s the sluttiest between the two of us.” Sakura grits, voice laced with a firm determination, as her eyes are now filled with fire building deep within the corneas. 

You might be fucked here. But hey, that’s all part of the fun with these two. Remember? 

Not that it was any sort of competition, so to speak, but with how they synergize together, the movements of their mouths all over their shaft, guiding one’s mouth over your cock, taking turns, whispering these sweet instructions of ‘hold here’ and ‘right there, baby,’ and even ‘god, spit all over his cock, baby. You know he likes it wet,’ it’s impossible for you to stand tall, the assault on your shaft turning into a monumental task from here on out. 

Sakura asserts herself over Kazuha, fingers fast around the base, lowering her jaw enough so that the speed of the bobbing can be much quicker, and it is. Judging from how loudly you ground for the both of them to hear, Kazuha’s hands find themselves on the back of Sakura’s head, grabbing handfuls of hair as she guides her down again, making her swallow you. All of you. Until you could feel the vibrations of her hums rattling down your length and into your lower body. 

Kazuha whispers into Sakura’s ear, too difficult to hear since the whines drown out the continuous gagging she’s proffering over your cock, putting her at the base for what feels like an eternity. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. She’s still holding you down with the tightness of her throat, the urge to put your hand over Kazuha’s, prolonging the unbelievable sensation, and three taps to your hip signal that Kazuha’s had enough. 

She pulls her head back up, coughing; these destroyed attempts at sobs breaking through the air. You’re left gasping, pressing the back of your head into the pillow beneath you as they both tend to your soaked cock, looking back up as they move in unison for a moment, then switching off different places around the underside while the moans just keep on coming. Hands are also fast to comb back the light obsidian and honey golden locks, not wanting to ruin their flow when they meet to kiss with your cock caught in between the crossfire. 

“You girls are something else,” you husk, ears filled with the sounds of their giggles as they both continue with their makeout session, alternating with mouths and occasionally your cock still in both of their hands. The wet kisses being shared were an absolutely wonderful sight to see, and though you forget that you could also have fun for yourself, taking the liberty to press both of their lovely lips on the sides of your shaft, laughing and moaning up and over the length while you just watch. And you keep watching, feeling the puffed-up chest of yours almost rise to where your chin’s at, sucking your gut inwards as your hips do the familiar motion of raising themselves upwards to the both of them. 

“He’s ready for us, hmm?” Sakura asks, wiping a patch of drool away from her chin. “Kazu, you get to ride him first. I’ve got to make sure he’s well rewarded for his patience, okay?” 

Kazuha nods, watching as she primes herself, touching her slick folds as Sakura shuffles herself up past your chest, getting her thighs buried into your armpits, her pussy hovering right over your face, not wanting to wait another second as you pull her hips down, moaning into her core as Kazuha teases her walls with the head of your cock just for good measure. 

“Don’t, fuck, please." Sakura pleads, taken by shock when your tongue swipes up her pussy lips, taking in the sweetness while making note of how slick she’s gotten for you. The pads of your fingers grip on her legs a bit tighter, her nose shifted up to rub her clit slightly, and she yelps. Kazuha laughs right behind her, sinking her warmth over your shaft, eliciting a moan that gets transferred into Sakura’s leaking hole, licking up the folds when Kazuha finally settles your cock into her. 

“Shit!” 

Sakura clutches her fingers into your hair, moaning to no avail as you quench that thirst you’ve been searching for this entire morning, and she starts to grind her pussy lips across your face, rolling slowly as your mouth hangs open, letting the sounds of rapture spill out of her mouth with every lick you do to her. 

“You’re so good,” Sakura moans out, feeling the latch of your lips onto the nub, flattening out your tongue again across her folds, earning another moan in approval. You smile against her hips when your ears are filled with the endless phrases of cursing that you’ve heard way too often, but it never gets old. Ever. “Why are you so... so fucking good at this?” 

So you try to speak, but all that’s said is buried underneath the drain of her pussy, moaning out as a proper response as Kazuha picks up her pace in riding your cock, feeling the clash of her hips with yours, bottoming out your length that makes you lock your knees to ensure that the lower half of your body is stable enough for her frame. 

Kazuha increases the chances, setting her legs up in a squatting position, keeping herself upright with just her hands on your waist, letting her face onto Sakura’s sweaty back. She lets herself float over you for a minute, taking the chance to catch her breath while you begin to piston her pussy, thrusting upwards. You’re met with a low groan spilled out of Kazuha’s lips in response to your action, only to be drowned out when she lowers her hips to meet with yours, the primal slaps filling up the room and bouncing around the walls. 

The inevitability of cumming a full-fledged broken dam into Kazuha’s cunt was a thought filling your mind, but you try to not think too much about it; Sakura’s pussy was still a thing to deal with, maintaining your pace with every lick you do to her clit.

Effort was everything; that was something to keep in mind when it comes to fucking Sakura. She loves it when you get so into it just like her, because you too can’t get enough of ruining this perfect girl every chance you get. Kazuha was also on the same boat, and by how your thighs continue to shake at the weight of her hips coming down on you again and again, it’s impossible to ignore how good she is too - keep it coming, Sakura’s telling you, in the lovely sounds filling up your ears coming from her and Kauhza. You’re fucking me so good, baby. I love it when your cock throbs inside me. Please give it to me. I know you want to. 

Kazuha knows you’re close, and Sakura’s not far off in the lost rails of rhythm. Her pussy is flooding on your face, the please becoming more erratic and desparte.

“God, I’m going - I'm going.” 

The words coming out of you are buried underneath Sakura’s thighs. 

"Fuck, I can’t with your fucking-ah!” 

Kazuha does one drive back down your length, and then one more for good measure. Sakura’s hips tremble over your face, quivering and hips trembling as you drag her pussy right across your tongue. Your arms latch somewhere above Sakura’s ass, matching her clutches with the digits buried in your locks, a fire lit under your chest as Kazuha’s cunt grips you like a knot - the heat from their bodies and yours submerging you as if you were in lava. Kazuha bucks forward, face hitting Sakura’s back, holding herself up with her hands as the pounds from thrusting upwards become increasingly unstable, her ravine of a pussy getting you closer and closer to that edge while you can’t even think straight. 

A swipe up the tongue on Sakura’s folds. Then three more, nibbling on her clitoral area as her thighs start to press inward from both sides of your head. She keeps grinding, dragging her swollen lips across the ridges of your face, mewling with a hand on the headboard, giggling as she mirrors the movements from grinding on your cock earlier. 

Kazuha slams her hips down, and not in a nice fashion since, well, fuck, legitimately, her cunt seizes your cock, smearing her sweet juices all over the rough bits, a vein that’s concealed with her walls, keening when she feels the swollen head shoved up inside her twitch that really makes her feel like mash. Her nails are ripping apart the skin on your stomach, searching for a hold to grab on to. It’s all futile when your body’s elevated to a temperature where there’s glistening sweat all over - her hands slip off and land on the cushions, priming the angle where you’ve hit before, fucking her deeper. She hisses when your balls lightly tap the pucker of her ass, just a bit, but that turns her on so much more. 

“This cunt,” you mumble out, mouth still full of Sakura’s pussy, “Kazu, I can’t, babe. Your pussy is unreal.” 

“Okay,” Sakura flatly says, “fuck.” And Kazuha just laughs, fluttering her eyes shut when you’ve latched onto the lower part of her thighs. “Keep working on him, Zu. You know he loves your pussy that much, right?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, God.” 

“Cum inside her.” Sakura instructs, and it’s a bid that you had no second thought of doing. “How nice of her to be your little personal fuckdoll, hm? To just handle her in ways that you want her to, nice and sticky and all fucked out, because you know she’ll come back for more, baby.” 

The next move she does is so calculated, you can’t even tell or determine if she did it on the fly: placing Kazuha’s chin on the small divot in her collarbone, the image of her closed eyes, the frizzes in her wavy hair slightly covering part of her face, shaken because of how your hips drive upwards into her. And Sakura just does the simple motion of putting her palm on the side of her face, parting her mouth open while you can only watch with your eyes since the lower half of your face is still attached to Sakura’s pussy. 

“Saku,” a frail call in the last seconds, “She feels so good.” 

“Fuck your cum into her, baby,” Sakura growls again, clawing the sides of your head as she ruts her hips deeper into your mouth. “That’s the only thing that matters. Until she’s full with the fucking thickness of it.” 

You managed to fuck Kazuha through her climax a minute or two ago, and now she’s repaying you by fiddling through yours. 

It’s an unraveling feeling when you push past that brink, filling up her tiny cunt with cum, molding her fuckhole to every detail of your member. And she’s mouthing, Sakura’s expression filled with glee, saying, Aw baby, god, yes, would you look at her? She loves it when you fuck a nice load into her, fresh and hot, and-

“Christ,” you grit out, hoarsely, letting the pulses channel out of your body, Dick still grinding the deepest parts of her stomach, cum splattering every spot to be left untouched inside. The throbs are still happening, but with every hold you have, your cock starts to die out in the heat of her hips. 

The senses are all over the place when Kazuha slips her pussy off of your cum-soaked cock, Sakura’s hips now hovering above your face, shifting off when you still see the constellations flash in your eyes, vision blurring and deblurring to the image of Kazuha paying no attention to Sakura’s state, sloppily placing her lips with hers again, rough. 

These two kiss like friends, maybe friends who have had a little bit too much to drink in order for them to act like this. They’ve done this with Yunjin and Chaewon for sure, based on the stories that you’ve heard. With or without the alcohol, they both show this kind of affection because it's natural, watching as Sakuraa’s hands find Kazuha’s head, Kazuha slithering her arms behind Sakura’s back, letting the passion take over both of their bodies. They both take the time to indulge in each other's features: hands wandering, mouths on nipples, gripping necks and pulling waists closer, Sakura teasing Kazuha’s well-worked cunt, a fingertip soaked with a bit of your cum, licking it cleanly off her fingers. 

And the hums. The fucking hums that these two are spilling out. You’re basically drooling when they pick up where they left off with the kissing, paying no attention to you as your hand starts to slowly slide over your cock, palming it before your fingers start to wrap around the length one by one. You’re equally fucked just like them, but there’s no problem with that. 

Both of them take as much time as they needed - tender lips and tongues canvassing every part of their exposed bodies, eyes recording every second of this account - in hopes that you can play this back in your mind as Kazuha smiles with full delight to match your expression, drinking in the sight of the show presented right on your lap. 

“I think Saku’s ready for you,” Kazuha hushes, lightly dragging her fingertips across the taut line of Sakura’s abs, resting on the underside of her breast, like a showoman who is trying to entice like she’s selling the latest model of a car. Her hand then goes down to Sakura’s clitoral area, rubbing it in circles when the mountains of pillows and sheets are unearthed from the mattress, ruffling and crumpling with the movements of their legs and feet, being pulled by your hand to the edge of the bed. “She made a mess all over your face, didn’t she? Now you’ve got to pay her back.” 

You’ve gotten out of bed in a heartbeat multiple times before. One morning was because you were late to class; the other time was to follow the view of Sakura’s bare ass tiptoeing into the kitchen for another meal before starting the day - and here you were, with a rearranged order in what probably feels like slow motion but one constant movement throughout, hand never leaving the meat and bone of Sakura’s ankle, assisting Kazuha by reeling Sakura, who’s shying away, but this is exactly what she wants. 

“Our little baby of a whore is deprived of a thick cock filling up her guts,” Kazuha sighs, expression a bit fatigued with the way she’s still coming down from her high. “So do you think you can do me a favor? Stuff up her cunt nice and tuck first, then ruin her after. How does that sound?” 

You try to answer, at least, taken aback when Kazuha’s got her long fingers along the line of your hardening shaft and Sakura’s spreading her legs wider and wider. She’s holding you close. Closer. Aiming - tried and practiced - towards the heat of Sakura’s. It’s a hook, line, and sinker when the head of your cockparts her walls, slippery and still leaking, feeling every nerve ending in her hips trickle a thousand volts inside. 

“Make her beg for it. I think you’ll be able to fuck her filthy with how she’s wanting to cum for you.” Kazuha’s tone drops down low, almost agitated. “This is payback for what she did to me last time, so I’ll let you be the judge.” 

And when the opportunity presents itself for you to determine that said call, it’s never a clear answer from the start if you’re willing to be honest with yourself. The one of many tricks Sakura has on her exposed sleeve, enchanting you with a heavy desire - the kind of want that could never be fully fulfilled. And, even in the days where it does feel like that, it doesn’t even come close to satisfying you. 

When you lock eyes with her, wide open to match with her parted mouth, bottoming her all the way with your cock tapping to that spot that has her keening, holding back her sigh as your groin meets the underside of her thighs. 

“Feel good, baby?” You ask Sakura, relieved at how she’s come to grips around your shaft burying inside her, head tilting back, clutching on to Kazuha’s forearm as your fingers find their place along her thighs. “Hm,” you assess soon after, inching your cock past the halfway point, “sure looks like it does.” 

Sakura’s mouth wobbles, gasping, her eyes draw shut, and her face flushes pink. She takes in your cock so well, the slipping slick of her thighs sounding off this noise of pure squelching; her whole upper body moves up in reaction; stomach bucking, chest puffing up to the open air, pushing in the deep area that has you speechless. 

The bottom palm of her hand grazes your groin, adjusting to how your cock molds around her cunt, hands shifting to the underside of the knees, using the rising octaves in her moans to indicate that she’s receptive and expressive in approval. Amidst the growing chaos the lower half of your body is going through, Kazuha takes liberty in massaging Sakura’s breasts, rubbing her stomach as it bloats from the air being exhaled in whines and expletives. 

“Ugh, fuck, you." She’s blabbering at this point. 

And there’s you, finding your rhythm, your groove, enjoying the way her soft skin maps out across your rough and grainy fingers, how it sinks in so smoothly - much closer to melting, it seems - something of that degree. 

“-mhm,” and there’s the “can’t baby, ah, ngh-” with more of, “-dick feels so good.” It’ll fall between the cracks, piercing deep, pulling out and sliding it across her folds just to play as a tease, because she deserves it without any reason, penetrating back in to pick up right where you left off. 

Sakura’s body is that one journey that you can never get tired of looking at. How her thighs are just immaculately perfect, that waist offering up those sets of abs on a pedestal, the way her tits rebound on the upstroke when you’ve got past the spot of bottoming her out - where your cockhead grips at the soft spot where it’s been at multiple times, squeezing and swallowing and resting where it should belong in every case with her. 

Kazuha shifts her body from the side of Sakura, getting lower to rest her head right above her waist, a trail of kisses circling over her stomach and belly button, getting caught in the throes of pleasure when you realize that Sakura’s got two fingers inside Kazuha, helping her treat herself and assisting the self-induced action. 

“God, Saki, look at him all fucked out in your pussy, huh?” Kazuha bites down in an area on her waist just above her cunt, nose brushing down lower to her clit, hand curling around to the bottom of her inner thighs, keeping it out of your way. “She wraps you so well, doesn’t she? Finally getting fucked again after last night?” 

“Don’t you know it,” you answer, and there’s no other need to spiel something that’s already been known; Sakura can make you shut the fuck up with her mouth, her cunt, and the way that she talks pure sex. You love how she’s nothing more than mush and warmth. A fine tapestry that’s meant to stay untouched, but you’ll tear all the edges down where the seams have already been shredded. 

You get thrown off when Sakura’s pussycle clenches at the hilt, where the contraction captures the air bubbling in your lungs, turning the legs into jelly, and the bobble forward into her lying body on the mattress only punctuates without saying a word. Kazuha laughs at the sudden change in weight on her head, causing you to stand back up with your knees to the bed holding you up, drawing away as Kazuha gazes at your silken cock, soaked with Sakura, lightly teasing when you’re pushing the tip in and out for good measure. 

Kazuha rises from her bent state, lazily putting her lips on yours as the pace slows a bit in the lower half of you - darting your cock in with one firm stroke. Hard. The strokes themselves are now more impactful, and ripping, the snap is becoming more assertive. “Fuck, sir, fucking,” Sakura cries out, the coil of her cunt tying you in. Kazuha sets herself back to where she was, resting her cheek on her waist as every entry with your cock, body bouncing on the soaked sheets from all the sweat and leaking slick coming out. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, ah.” 

Sakura’s hands hold at her thighs, gyrating upwards at every point where your cock buries at the deepest depth, swelling at the unimaginable clench to where she mewls, wailing but cute at how she’s tuckered out. 

“Goodness gracious,’ You spit out, in a half-sob, the moans and utterances and simple replies to Kazuha’s endless mumbling, repeating in one same fashion or the other. “You’re so-so fucking wet, and for what? God-” 

“Look at what you did to her,” Kazuha tuts, biting on the inside of her thigh, and Sakura basically yelps. A mix of pain and pleasure, the best of both worlds. You tug yourself out of her cunt, slapping the swollen cockhead on the nub of her clit, sighing at the way she shudders. “Do you think she deserves to finally let go?’

The responses that pass through your lips are just staggered breaths, tumbling down as the slaps start to line up with your heartbeat. A fine point in pace, your internal metronome that only leads to the dwindling doom of your thick cock thrusting Sakura’s tight pussy. 

“Love it,” Sakura mutters, head fallen to the provided pillow courtesy of Kazuha; she’s sobbing. “Love your cock, so fucking much.” 

“Mhm honey,” and the pet names in themselves are just the ad-libs thrown into the mix, with the right touch of pheromones and increase of dopamine being shot up to the brain. “Get it in there nice and deep; I want her to own it, feel it, because this cock is all hers.” 

“-god.” 

The riled-up exhale comes in reflection of the ecstasy, every bit of praise coming from Kazuha’s lips playing hand-in-hand with Sakura’s moans filling your ears. 

“Think you can hold out a bit longer, Saki? Kazuha croons, head turned the opposite way as she admires the sucked-out gaze Sakura wears on her face, meeting your eyes again. “I’m doing you a favor since he fucked my brains out last time, so be thankful. You greedy bitch.” 

“Shut your fucking-ugh.” 

“Don’t even think about keeping it in,” Kazuha doubles down, dragging her nails across Sakura’s inner thigh, forcing her legs wide open once more, almost as if she’s doing the splits across the length of the mattress. “He’s so perfect for you, hitting all of the right spots and all the right places? In that creaming pussy of yours? How his fucking fat cock splits you up into oblivion? Come on now, just-” 

“My fucking god,” you blurt out, in complete shock at the words that were spilling out of Kazuha’s mouth like emptying an open bucket full of water. “You are a piece of work.” 

Kazuha just laughs, taking the compliment to heart, with some mischief still showing with her closed eyelids. Sakura whines, going silent, shaking as your fingers bruise the same spots where the grip on her waist was first. 

The lust starts to boil to a point where nothing else is given a second though, and it’s been that way for a while now, fueled with a hunger that could replace the morning cup of coffee with ease, watching as your cock vanishes into Sakura’s pussy, the moans hitting similar notes that are now just echoes of the night prior. 

“Ah, uh, almost there." Sakura, once forward in her advances, now reduced to simple begs and pleads, the gaze half-lidded, back arching off the rumples in the sheets. She’s so fucking wet for you, and that’s another mental note that’s circling back in your head for probably the tenth time this morning so far, and might worth mentioning that it’s still in the fucking morning. 

“Oh? Make her do it, babe.” Kazuha orders the go-ahead, a hand - well, actually, both hands full of Sakura’s breasts, claiming it as hers. “I think she’s willing to be killed while being split open.” 

You’re paying zero attention to the words - grunting and passing air - as the piledriving only seems to be the sole constant that your mind and body seem to be focusing on. 

It’s a bit disorienting how your vision blacks out before coming back with color, the mind playing tricks as if you were getting your head dunked underwater and pulled back up, gasping for air. The thrusting never stops, with every fiber in your body, pooling it into fucking Sakura’s open cunt in the best way possible. Her hips are past the breaking point, grinding up against yours. She’s wailing, towards hyperventilation, eyes rolling upward to the back of her head, mouthing, close. You can easily tell, I’m so fucking close for you. Keep ramming your dick into me. 

“Saki,” now you’re saying the other nickname, and Kazuha grins, finally having her moment. “Fuck, baby-” 

Sakura looks away as Kazuha looks up, chin lightly tapping your hips - the devilish smile she possesses - it’s a rare occurrence, but that look could haunt you in your dreams: “Use her pussy, fuck everything up inside of her, I don’t care. Get her creaming all over you. I want to hear her screaming.” 

And Sakura fucking screeches. The better sound to wake up to rather than the annoying alarms on your phone. 

She holds still, every part of her body tensing - knees locking, toes curling, back arching and unarching - as Kazuha holds her down. The noises she’s making are loud enough to slip through the thin walls, and you can guess another complaint from the neighbors would be on the cards. Kazuha takes liberty into treating a barrage of kisses across Sakura’s body, you trying to drag your cock a little bit in, barely managing to drag yourself out. A brief effect from the aftershocks: her midsection freezing as the clamp around your cock starts to subside. 

Sakura whimpers with closed lips, shuddering when you finally slide out of her properly-fucked cunt, leaning down to kiss and kiss and kiss, dick taking the fresh, cold air as it rests along the bottom portion of her waist. Your hands get on her neck, helping her up with the arch in her back, hot and slicked and sweaty. Kazuha gives you two some space, playing as the makeshift crane to pull Sakura away from the clutches of your hands and lips, face racked in disappointment when Kazuha looks at you, smiling, tending to the mess that’s reforming in her arms. 

Kazuha then moves across the bed with her knees, a change in guard from Sakura to her when her body crashes into yours, the press of her lips good enough for you to fall on your back as the arms and chest eventually come into their own, molding with the canvas of your skin to mesh. She’s literally perfect for you - the way she wants more of you - in the taste of your lips, how your fingers explore every area of the framework that’s tensing and relaxing, reaching for spots that get her riled up in every way imaginable. 

You kiss and lick and grab wherever you can. A hand palming the firm skin of her ass, soft and plump. The hickeys and other various bite marks are an earned badge of honor for Kazuha to be proud of, her nails digging into the skin where your shoulders are as the grip on her ass-cheeks starts to become more and more possessive, slapping it as her forehead accidentally clatters yours. 

“Such a klutz,” she assesses, landing a loose kiss on the bottom of your chin. “Still able to think straight after fucking Saki relentlessly?” 

“What do you think?” You rebuke, dazed, as Kazuha gets a finger on a strand of your hair at the front, mimicking her messy bedhead bangs. 

“I mean,” she slips her tongue across your bottom lip, biting along the patch of few hairs, pulling her head back when she notices that your hands have never left the curve of her ass. “I think you’ve got more to offer, and here’s a bonus: there’s one hole that you haven’t filled yet.” 

It’s the most simple movement she could do, with any intent that she wanted to fabricate behind it. She turns around, swaying her ass from the left side as she’s on her hands and knees on the bed, stretching as far as she could possibly get them to reach. The arch starts to form along the fine lines of muscle displayed on her back, arms out straight as her legs find a proper foothold, spreading themselves for you to fill in the space. 

Your hands have never been quick to get themselves on something that you want, and this was the only exception; it��s appalling how easy the soft skin wraps around the underside of your fingers, picturing the look on her hidden face where you can only see the back of her head: in her lidded eyes, the swollen lip being captured between her teeth, the mumbling of insistence when all you’re just doing is feeling her out, resting your dick above her unfathomable cheeks, grazing the underside in the small divot at the middle, pressing them closer together, her hips reeling back and into your thighs, the listless moan spilling out of your mouth when the friction tightens at the belly of your cock. 

In fact, that’s the only thing you keep your focus on, not paying any sort of attention to Sakura when she shuffles out from beneath Kazuha’s lowered and bent body, doing this sort of army crawl to the nightstand for a certain thing. You’ve seen the arsenal that she has in that drawer, and some of the items were actually put to use in the last outing with Sakura and Kazuha. The instinctual thing that you do also is lean over to Kazuha’s backside and get one side of your face nestled into her as your hands wrap their way around her stomach, holding her close. 

Not much is said aside from the shaky exhales and whines, filled in with the occasional smacks of your lips across skin. Until-

“My turn to watch,” announces Sakura, a slim bottle in her hand, wrapped with those long, dainty fingers of hers. 

You blink once, and she’s on the edge where the nightstand is. You blink again, and she’s already made her way back to you, cap opened with the noise similar to an obvious crack of a stick, like breaking the silence in a quiet forest. 

Sakura’s hands become slick, as if her hand were made of the smooth liquid itself. The grip she has on you is breathlessly attractive: palm sliding across the length, strategizing the strokes at every curve and pull while she’s kissing you. 

“Do you have any idea how long she’s been wanting this?” Sakura questions, implicating you as she slaps your cock along Kazuha’s ass. “You’ve told me before: she’s made for you.” 

Utterly speechless is what you are, but maybe you should say something to-

“Gotta fuck her sensless,” Sakura suggests, head perpendicular to yours while the cock in her hands starts to graze the surface of her ass, nudging the opening by just a teeny bit, a small preview of what’s to unfold. “That’s what she wants. What she needs. Isn’t that right, Zuha?” 

“Mhm.” Kazuha hums in agreement, a throaty moan to follow after Sakura gets both hands full of her ass, spreading her open. “All of it,” Kazuha murmurs, chest pulled inwards when you start to descend; the more you fall, the more faster the air expels out of her chest, with a shout thrown in - a last resort call of your name: “fuck, I, hngh, god.” 

You hold for a moment, pussy leaking by the second as she’s taking you fully, expanding to compensate for the girth. An enchanted feeling washes over your body, grabbing to whatever you can of Kazuha’s ass - holding, a still in this moment of time - and this was the only grace period you’ve given her much more than yourself, head falling back because her hips do this movement in your hands, and 

“For fuck’s sake,” you spit, because the suffocating tightness and heat surrounding your cock is one to be unbearable. The pins and needles of pleasure prick all over your nerves as the fine weight of Kazuha’s ass takes you in and out, until you’ve retreated from the impending chamber, pausing as your cock twitches. 

Then you drop the pin inside her, all the way. 

“Fuck!” Kazuha gasps, sewing her eyes shut. Her hands start to grip the sheets. 

There isn’t much time after for her to get used to this, as you start to drive into her more, fucking out every cry that you could suck out of her lips. Her ass does this little ripple effect with every slam, making her feel the thickness where it hurts, hugging your cock in all directions. It’s a gradual push from here on out, building your sense of rhythm again, just like how she was riding you earlier. 

“Finally,” Sakura breathes, kissing Kazuha’s ass cheek, getting her fingers buried on the curve, kneading, showing, and biting. 

The thrusts keep coming. One stroke and the next. Each one after is harder than the last. Your eyes are locked onto Sakura’s side profile, watching your cock disappear in the valley of Kazuha’s ass with every passing movement. Kazuha herself looks over her shoulder, a hand out reaching for something, maybe her thigh, hoping to spread herself even wider so that it’ll be easier for you to stretch her tight hole out. You could feel that she wants more, throwing her ass back to match her strokes with yours, the slaps becoming louder and louder, similar to the moans. 

“So fucking tight,” you grit, your vision loosing sharpness at the top layers. Sakura’s smiling into Kazuha’s sweaty skin. “Like, nobody else could have this but me. Shit-” 

“It’s not every day that you’re gaping a pretty girl’s ass.” Sakura says it excitedly, her head rocking along with the movement of Kazuha’s body in every slam. “Fucking her hole and opening up just for you. God, Kazu, can you believe this? He’s taking you so fucking well; I love the way he just fucks you, like that’s the only thing he’s meant to do. Just drop your pants whenever, and he’ll just take you right then and there- get you craving - over and over and over again, and it could be everything, if you just let him.” 

Kazuha claws deeper into the bedsheets, nearly tearing the fabric, Sakura’s face on Kazuha’s ass-cheek, closing her eyes to feel the motion more. 

Every inch of her body is washed with bliss, curdling in the layers beneath the skin, a form of want that could only, truly, be achieved by you. 

“Baby,” Sakura’s calling out to you this time, face flustered when you realize that she’s got a hand magnetized to the heat between her legs; fingers in its own cyclone, a paradigm of its own when she’s screwing in two, no-three digits inside her cunt, parting her folds in an identical fashion the way that your cock rips open Kazuha’s ass and fucking the lights out of her since that’s the primary reason why she’s connected to you, and Sakura even sit back and watch this unfold in front of her eyes, bear witness to you fucking her friend with every matching heartbeat to the claps, “She could be a heartbreaker for you, and you could fuck her ego until she finally knows her place, like the motherfucking slut that she is.” 

There’s no sense of control left in your bones anymore. All you just do is let Sakura’s words fill your ears as your fingers dig deeper into the firm cheeks of Kazuha, the warm embrace of oil trickling down the plugged-up, puckered ass as your cock picks up the dripping remnants. 

“I-” is what you make of a poor attempt from Kazuha, the vowel replaced with a flat-out gasp, since the irreplaceable feeling of power goes a little bit over the top of your head, a firm thrust to send the message instead as the fucked-out girl at the front of your thighs tumbles out a voice that’s wheezing and whining in croaks. “Fuck. Yes, fuck, fuck, babe.” 

Sakura doesn’t really say many words to you soon after, just mouthing yours, yours. She’s so yours. And even if you could describe the surreal feeling of bending a beautiful girl over across the canvas of your mattress and sheets, there’d probably be nothing else left to say from you. She’s just urging you to keep on trucking Kazuha’s ass, demanding that you’d fuck her until the wheelchair sitting in the dark corner of your closet proved to be a viable solution for her poor legs - when there’s all but that satiated with the proper fucking you’ve delivered. 

“Aw, you like it when she’s all fucked out for you, huh?” Sakura keeps on talking, smiling her heart away, paying no attention to the obscene sounds that Kazuha keeps letting out. You try to come up with a response to Sakura, but you’re lost at the letters caught in the back of your tongue, watching as Kazuha’s beautiful ass envelops all of your cock, balls lightly tapping her cunt when you’ve got it down to the hilt. The moans hit a hitch at the throat, only for it to be drowned out with the unrelenting thrusts into her tight ass and flushing your thighs with hers. 

A snap from one slow hit. Then another. You keep fucking in, one hand alternating between from the rounded end of Kazuha’s waist to her ass-cheek and the other buried into the messy locks of Sakura’s, holding her head in place as the grip around your cock burns across the surface, not failling to keep the pace consistent as it increases the more Kazuha’s walls smother your cock with ease. 

“-perfect,” Kazuha manages to say, the syllables tumbling on top of each other as her whines do this staccato format the more your thrusts chop up the sound. You’re driving your hips so up to the frontside that the ripples start to catch Sakura’s cheek, who’s still laughing when she hears Kazuha try to speak, fucked at the cock stabbing inside her for all that it’s worth. “Stretching me so good, baby, you’ve got it, yes, right there,” and that’s when you see her head fall to the pillow, screaming with all her might when you’ve brought her to the point which- 

“Don’t you dare fucking hide from me.” Sakura scowls, fist full of Kazuha’s hair, forcing her up. The arch in her back is deeper than before, giving you a little more space for you to take inside her ass, inching deeper. This wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for the wetness and pulsing throbs your cock emits when you bury yourself in, holding as the grip from her tight ass is something straight out of a mythical creation. “I want him to hear you. Use you. Lower your head again, and I swear to fuck-“

This happens on impulse, or maybe this was the one thought sitting in the back of your mind that couldn’t rest there any longer, pulling your cock out of Kazuha’s ass, finger, and thumb quickly to be wrapped around the base. You’ve got Sakura’s head in your hand still, dragging her across the dune of Kazuha’s cheek, closer to the head of your cock, and she takes the hint fully, lowering her jaw until her teeth pass the head, enveloping you, eyes fluttering shut, and humming out of surprise. 

“You talk too much,” you’re saying to Sakura, mouthful of your cock, tongue slipping and pulling with her head in the ways that she knows you’ve ascended from before. “I thought I had you up on the ropes earlier; guess I didn’t do much, but we can fix that later.” It’s incredibly difficult for you to not lose your insanity, transitioning from Kazuha’s tight ass and into the addicting heat of Sakura’s mouth, taking you past the halfway mark, head dipping past her soft palette and into the hollow of her throat, cheeks puffing and coughing up spit to soak the areas already covered from the wetness in Kazuha’s ass. “Fucking-” 

Sakura’s sharp inhale for air sends you in check, as her welled-up eyes watch your cock sink back into Kazuha’s ass, face crinkling when the tightness is a little hard to break into before you’re sliding back in and out with ease. 

So it just flows the way it goes. A turn-taking kind of structure you’ve established. You thrust inside Kazuha’s tight ass for a few strokes, pull yourself out, and nestle your cock into those pretty lips of Sakura’s. The pair of them humming in approval and giggling under their breaths as you take the fun for yourself, using one hole after the other. Kazuha’s face is riddled with sweat, the hot pink shade running across her cheeks. Sakura’s is also the same, welled-up tears as she holds herself down the hard line of your cock. 

These sluts. Your sluts. Many would’ve wished to be in your shoes. But you’re the lucky pick among the both of them. 

“My good girls,” you mumble, groaning as you up the takes in one tight ass and one pretty fucking mouth. “Could die like this every day, using you two like this. A fucking dream.” 

Sakura guides you back into the rim of Kazuha’s ass, hand posing as the makeshift pipe when your cockhead nudges back into her, groaning like crazy to the added pressure of her fingers and palm. Your body twinges a bit, gradually building up the slaps with every follow-through more quickly than the previous hit. 

“My, fuck- holy fuck-” 

“What’s the matter?” Sakura’s fast to assess the condition as Kazuha’s moans start to bounce around in every wall and corner in the room, watching as you keep fucking yourself into Kazuha and her ass, “Too much to handle? Oh god, you’re about to bust, aren’t you? Kazuha look, he’s going to cum again soon for you, baby.” 

You could probably hear the sirens calling within your head. Kazuha’s hips are moving on their own and not in line with yours. Tensing, tensing, then relaxing, and it flip-flops. You can see in the muscles and how they sort of cramp up per se, how her moans are a lot more vocal as to earlier, when you feel down her cunt and be surprised how she’s oozing in your fingers, her ass clenching around your cock, clinging.

And the brain overload to not blow it makes you pull out, flicking your cock up in the air as you watch the arch in Kazuha’s back deepen. Sakura’s got a palm full of the oil, slathering it nicely - hand coiling you where it feels right. 

“One more push,” Sakura pleads, resting her head down the midline of Kazuha’s back, both hands on her ass, spreading her open for you, “please, just for us.” 

So. 

You do as Sakura says, pressing your cockhead back into the soft coil of muscle, Kazuha’s body greatly accepting you - grabbing and stretching and inviting all of you. She’s buried her head back into the cushion, muffling the pained whines, pulling to the right so that the breathing is a bit easier to tolerate, and the rush soon after is a spell of your own. 

Sakura’s hands hold firm on the plush of her ass, pulling outward and pressing inward when you’ve sheathed yourself, the vice ten times tighter than what it already is. Kazuha’s ass clutches around the head of your cock, and with every pound that you dish out to her, the more audible the clashes of skin are. Your upper body is starting to buck forward, the lower half losing composure in the routine that it built for itself, Kazuha’s mouth is parted open just like Sakura's - mouthing - keep going, yes, fuck my ass, just like that, god, your cock, just need you to-

“Babes, I’m going-” 

That’s really all you say when you’re revealing your cock away from her ass, cumming all over her uncontrollably. 

Shots of white are painted over porcelain. Spent, slick, and messy porcelain. You’re trying to readjust the grip around your cock, pointing your tip inside the open hole of Kazuha, shooting a measly two or three spurts, hips trembling as she gets help from Sakura to hold her ass open for you.

Sakura, unfortunately, gets caught in the crossfire. Earring a few scattered streams of your release all over her face, some in her mouth, and plenty into her hair. 

“Mmmm,” breathes Sakura, tongue running across both upper and lower profiles of her lips, hooking the taste of you on her buds. Kazuha still has her face down, buried in the sheets, ass up, as she could legitimately not move a single muscle in her body after being wrecked for god knows how long. She’s softly sobbing into the pillowcase; bruises spread out across her skin, visible red prints highlighted on her cheeks, but she’s managed to calm down. The breathing is starting to stabilize. “Look at that: two loads from you this morning. You should be proud of yourself.” 

“Should’ve came inside my ass.” Kazuha suggests, finally letting her frame fall to the side as you and Sakura both observe the obvious drip of cum oozing out of her. “This doesn’t technically count, but I want a do-over.” 

You and Sakura both exchange this look with a singular eyebrow, a dragged-out grin soon to follow. “Such a slut for you.” Sakura observes. 

“That isn’t really new news to anyone.” 

-

Some hours later, things get slow. It’s the weekend, or the weekday? You’re too lost to put that setting back in your head, primarily because: 

“Can you guys keep it down?” Sakura asks loudly, not willing to turn her head around away from the TV when you bend your knees a bit and slip inside Kazuha’s cunt against the kitchen counter, hiking up one of your borrowed shirts you gave her to reveal the handprint still apparent on her ass. “I can’t watch the movie if I hear two horny rabbits getting it on behind me.” 

“Fuck you,” Kazuha rasps, mewling when you’ve buried yourself deep to the cornerstone of your cock. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have said no to getting some seconds.” She’s dipping her head down, hiding her face in the wavy locks of her hair, but you can tell her lips are parted when you’ve got a hand to her neck, pulling to flush her backside with your front. “God, yes-” 

“Don’t expect an apology from me,” you’re calling out to Sakura, who took it upon herself to finally twist and see you staring, the pumps inside Kazuha relaxed, and its own thing happening. And Kazuha’s not even moaning yet. “You only have to blame yourself for bringing a physical version of Aphrodite to the place.“ 

Sakura rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the television. “That’s her little secret. I guess. And it’s not my fault that you fall for it every time.” 

The thing is, there isn’t really a secret to be said amongst the three of you. You’ve mapped them out to their little glances - the one quirk that gets them both going for something to follow. Dumb it down to a simple phone call or maybe a cantation laced in the words they whisper into your ear. Sakura’s right: you will fall for it.

Every. Single. Time. 

[hom3landr]

Pain au Chocolat

Bakerverse

18+

Much to Homelander’s surprise, a sleepy morning proves that maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye

CW: mild somnophilia, Stormfront

Homelander’s eyes blink open lazily. Your room is still dark and the glint of orange he’d normally spy on the horizon is hidden by clouds. The bed is toasty from shared heat but the air outside the soft blankets is nippy. The storm is through but Homelander can hear the soft pattering of drizzle against the window. Homelander contemplates rising for a moment but instead he snuggles deeper under the covers and wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer. You make a soft noise in your sleep but otherwise you don’t stir. He gives a tiny squeeze just for good measure. He likes feeling the soft give of you against him.

It had been a true terror of a storm the night before. The lightning split the sky like holy fire and he, god that he was, felt truly divine as he flew through the maze of bolts. He knew exactly where he’d find you when he arrived, waiting for him at your kitchen window. The same way you have for every bad storm that disturbs your peace. You wait for him and he wraps the two of you in blankets while he holds you through your panic. Storms are not as satisfying to watch indoors but he’ll sacrifice the view for the chance to hold you close. He’s willing to indulge in your quirks even if he still thinks you’re being ridiculous.

You hadn’t asked him to stay during storms and ordinarily he wouldn’t because why should he have to? But it feels right to care for you and be your hero. He wants to be your hero so badly.

You’d fallen asleep on him on the couch like you always do. He carried you to your bed like he always does. He slid in after you in the sweatpants you always let him borrow. It didn’t take long for him to follow you into dreams because it never does.

He doesn’t have nightmares when he sleeps with you. Your apartment smells nothing like the tower. It smells like sugar and old brick, earthy and sweet. He can close his eyes and all the worries of Vought just slip from his mind like water off a stone. He could take you to his penthouse when it storms. You wouldn’t even have to commute in the rain. But there’s something sacred about you willingly allowing him in your space. So he comes to you instead. It’s his only break from all the noise in his head. It’s the only time the past doesn’t hang over him like a dark shadow.

You also seem to rest better when he’s here. No more anxious baking into the wee hours of the morning, you practically become Sleeping Beauty the moment he lets you lay against him. You still feel safe with him despite everything…or maybe you’re just stupid.

He likes to think it’s because you’re in love.

He watches you sleep. You look so peaceful and serene in his arms. He nuzzles in close and presses featherlight kisses to your temple. You hum in your sleep but you remain deep in dreams. His hands travel up your sides. His thumb barely brushes against the undersides of your breasts and he’s suddenly extremely aware of the morning wood currently tenting his pants. It’s a lot harder to hide his boners from you when he doesn’t have his cup. But at the moment you’re sound asleep so he indulges himself with a slow grind against your ass. Subconsciously you must be aware of what he’s doing because your hips push back into his even though you don’t wake. His hands roam back down so he can grip your hips and roll them into a rhythm that makes his eyes roll back in his head. He resumes his kisses.

BEEPBEEPBEEP

He growls at the sudden tinny jingle that cuts through the peace, eyes glowing briefly as he barely restrains himself from lasering your phone in half. You groan loudly and blindly swipe around until you grab your phone from the bedside table. You hit the snooze button and ungraciously drop the phone onto the bed beside you. Homelander shifts away subtly, hoping to hide the way he was using you. You bury your face fully in your pillow with a huff and Homelander breathes a sigh of relief that you don’t notice. He rubs your back with a chuckle, ignoring the angry throb of his cock.

“Wakey wakey!” He practically sings to you and you grumpily mumble something unintelligible into the pillow. He loves how much you hate mornings. He’s addicted to these new edges you’ve begun to reveal ever since the fiasco where he tried to take you flying. It’s like there was an invisible wall between you he wasn’t aware of. He remembers how hard you fought in the air. He can respect it now in a way he was unable to then.

You’re practically scrappy.

You don’t make any attempt to move so he chuckles and grabs your hips to flip you like a pancake. You glare at him and your nose scrunches just the tiniest bit. He barely resists the urge to kiss it. He has to try even harder not to kiss your pout.

“I’m not going in. I’m sick.” You cough pathetically and he rolls his eyes. Fat chance he’s going to let you out of work with such a pathetic excuse. He knows you know that he knows you’re perfectly healthy.

“You’re sick?” He hums with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t even know if I have the strength to get out of bed.” You whine. You try to sit up only to collapse pathetically back into the pillows with a sigh and a bat of your eyelashes.

His cock twitches.

He leans over you and presses a firm lingering kiss to your forehead. You jolt and the warm fragrant heat that floods your veins makes him groan. Still so easy to fluster even with all your newfound cheekiness.

“You don’t feel like you’re running a fever.” He replies cockily against your temple. You huff and cross your arms. He’s deeply amused by your petulant act and getting a rare deep sleep has him feeling lazy and mischievous. He shifts to whisper in your ear. “Of course…there’s another place I can use to check your temperature.”

He gives your ass a quick pinch and you shriek as he erupts into laughter.

“That’s not necessary!” You squeak shyly, feathers all ruffled.

Your scandalized gaze isn’t enough to hide from him how excited you got by the suggestion. Maybe that’s something worth circling back around to. His amused giggles taper off as he looks at you fondly.

“If I’m going in then you have to as well. I need you there with me.” His voice softens as he reaches out to cup your cheek. He relishes the heat of you against his bare palm. Your eyes widen at his sincere confession and his vulnerability disarms your previous huffy playfulness. He can hear your heartbeat speed up as you nuzzle into his touch. Briefly an image of him snuggling into Madelyn’s dishonest touch flickers through his mind and he hastily discards it before the turning of his stomach ruins his good mood. He inhales deeply and the scent of you chases her ghost away.

“You need me?” You reply quietly, gazing at him softly as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“Always.” He answers, voice tender. The air crackles with charged energy that’s far from the lighthearted teasing only moments earlier. There’s an unspoken shift in the air as your gaze dips to his lips. He swallows thickly and leans in slightly.

“I guess it would be cruel of me to stay home then.” You whisper.

“I don’t think I could handle it.” He replies with a whisper to match yours.

You hum before shifting to press a sweet tentative kiss to his lips. He groans lowly and his hand on your cheek moves to grip the back of your neck, holding you steady while he deepens the kiss instantly. In the cozy haze of the morning he forgets to behave and keep his kisses gentlemanly. You genuinely surprise him by meeting him with equal passion, slinging one arm around his shoulder and pressing your body eagerly to his. Your breasts press into his chest and he nips at your bottom lip as his cock twitches under the loose fabric of the sweatpants. It’s impossible to hide the tent in the fabric but you’re too busy kissing him to notice. Your mouth opens easily at the press of his tongue. You react so quickly that it’s almost like you’d been waiting desperately for this very moment. This is the boldest he’s ever been with you and he’s relieved that you are bold in return.

The intensity of his kiss causes you to lay back on the bed. Homelander follows without a hitch, tasting as much of you as he can. He licks into your mouth as he crawls over you. You whine at the feeling of his hard cock pressed into your stomach but before he can put together an apology, you hook one leg around his hip to keep him in place. His cock twitches again and you must feel it because you let out a moan that he quickly swallows. The scent of your desire is so thick and heady that it makes him lightheaded. He trails a hand under your oversized sleep t-shirt to grip your hip as he grinds into you. It’s happening so fast that the disciplined part of him doesn’t even have time to react. Besides, you initiated. You want this. He is being good. It’s not his fault that you kissed him while he was half unclothed in the haven of your bed.

Your hand tentatively travels down his chest, scratching lightly at the hair there. He huffs at the tickle of it and when your thumb brushes his hard nipple he shudders. You pause and he can practically hear the gears turn into your head. Your caresses are just as light and careful as he imagined as you intentionally run your thumb over his nipple. He bucks into the soft swell of your stomach.

He shifts only slightly but it’s enough for him to slot a thigh between your legs. You gasp brokenly and your body goes still for a moment. He pauses his kisses, concerned now that he pushed it too far. But before his concern can evolve into anxiety, you slowly start to grind against him. Your breathy little pants make him throb as he watches you establish a rhythm. He uses the hand on your hip to guide you, wanting to feel helpful in your pursuit of pleasure. He can feel the wet heat of you plastering his sweatpants to his thigh. You’re drenched and the brown sugar scent of you has him slavering like a hungry wolf. He nips at your neck where he can hear your pulse beating loudly, intoxicated by the way he can feel the flutter of it against his lips

You sigh his name sweetly and something inside him snaps. He breaks the kiss only to bury his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and makes a mess of his borrowed sweatpants. His hips roll lewdly against you as he rides out his orgasm. Your hand buries in his hair as you press heated kisses against his temple. A combination of satisfied pleasure and intense embarrassment from blowing his load like a teen boy jacking it to porn for the first time floods his body and he mewls softly into your skin. You lightly pet his hair while he shivers

He can already feel the flustered apology on the tip of his tongue but before he can verbalize his shame, your snooze alarm goes off again. He growls and rolls off of you, secretly grateful to avoid the opportunity to address his mess. He gathers the sheets around his waist so you don’t see the dark stain on the front of his pants. Although he wouldn’t mind you seeing the wet spot you left on his thigh. You don’t show any sign you noticed him come just from a little dry humping. You’re too busy angrily poking at your phone as you turn off the alarm. His exhausted cock aches at the way your lips have swelled from his kisses. Your nipples are poking at the thin material of your sleep shirt. He can feel himself already hardening, eager for another round. He shimmies off his sticky sweatpants under the covers and kicks them to the floor. His eagerness is dampened as you climb out of bed.

“You should call in sick and stay with me.” He calls out after you as you start to shuffle through the clothes in your closet. It fills him with a not insignificant amount of pride at the shakiness of your legs, all wobbly like a baby deer. You scoff lightly but there’s no bravado to it. You seem a little bit shell shocked from having your pleasure interrupted so rudely. He wants to push you against the wall and finger you till you’re screaming to balance out the tables a little bit. Now that he’s seen what you look like all flustered and aroused from grinding like a teenager in the back of a car, he just knows you’ll be pretty as a picture when you come.

“I can’t. I’m not running a temperature.” You turn around to grin at him, cheeks still flaming as you peek shyly through your lashes. With how eagerly you pounced on him and rode his thigh, he’s beginning to wonder if your nervous disposition was related to sex at all. Maybe you are just shy. He isn’t sure but he’s excited to find out.

Not right now though.

He can’t take off so easily, not with a grand total of three tv ads he’s contracted to film today along with his normal meeting with The Seven and an appointment with Ashley about the new ads for his campaign. You have to go in earlier than him but he can’t lay around forever. So he reluctantly doesn’t push you to stay although he does take a quick peek when you leave to change (and to rinse off the sloppy mess of arousal between your legs) He only looks long enough for a glimpse. He’s not some pervert.

You emerge dressed in the way he’s used to, sensible shoes, nice dress pants, and a pretty white blouse. You look put together and professional. It’s a far cry from the person who writhed and moaned against him.

“I need to head out but you’re free to stay as long as you want. There’s some pain au chocolat in a covered bowl by the fridge if you want some breakfast.” You tell him breezily although you still fluster when you meet his gaze.

“Can you tell me that in American?” He asks with a relaxed drawl. You roll your eyes but your expression is deeply fond.

“There are some chocolate croissants in a bowl by the fridge. Help yourself.” You reply with a smirk. You pause, sheepish. “Also I’m going to the laundromat after work so if you…need anything washed, just drop it in the hamper over there.”

You scamper over to press a quick chaste kiss to his forehead. He hums at the brush of your lips.

“Bye!” You bid him farewell before scurrying out the door and down the long stairs to the ground floor.

Homelander stretches and reclines back on the pillows. He feels unfulfilled despite his powerful orgasm. You hadn’t come at all and then you just raced off. Sure, you did have a good reason but he had wanted to take his time with you. He’d planned for ages how he wanted to take you for the first time but this surprise makeout session has his plans all discombobulated. He still hasn’t fully processed what happened. He looks down at the dirty sweatpants on the floor.

“If you…need anything washed”

Homelander groans. You did know.

Fuck

Aw well, he reaches down to stroke his cock that has filled out once again. He still has enough time to rub out another quickie. He’s going to more than make up for his indiscretion. You won’t even know what hit you.

————————————————————

Homelander is still dripping from the downpour outside on his flight back to the tower. He took too long entertaining himself with a pair of your underwear so now he doesn’t have time to run back to his penthouse for a dry suit. Luckily, you’re waiting in the conference room as always, humming to yourself as you prep for the meeting. The pleasant scent of you tickles his nose and reminds him again of this morning’s events

You haven’t noticed him yet as you busy yourself with your tasks. Although he can tell by the faint furrow of your brow that you’re keenly aware of his absence. He grins and silently follows behind you like a cat. You remain so adorably oblivious when you look pensievely towards the doorway, unaware that he’s already on your trail. He’s tempted to reach out and cheekily pinch your ass but he doesn’t want to risk giving you a heart attack. Instead, he waits until you’ve slid the last packet in place to grab your waist and spin you against the window. You gasp as he leans in close, boxing you in with one arm perched casually against the glass. You blink owlishly up at him in surprise and he can see your fluttering pulse beat against your skin.

“You’re all wet” is the first thing you manage to stammer through your shock and he grins.

“You’re observant today. I guess I didn’t kiss all the sense out of you” He replies and you give a little huff at his teasing as you hit his chest with an ineffectual slap. He’s so close that the lingering rain on his suit is starting to soak through your white blouse and his stomach flips when he can spy a hint of lace through the fabric. You rest your hands on his chest but don’t make any attempt to push him back.

“Are you cold?” You reach up to brush a dripping strand of hair out of his eyes. He shivers pleasantly at the gentle touch but you seem to interpret it as evidence of a chill. He places a hand on your waist to further box you in against him and your whole body erupts with heat as the blood rushes through your veins. He’s never this bold with you in public but a barrier has been broken. It’s time to be more forward with you.

“I’m freezing, I need someone to warm me up.” He purrs. It’s like you’ve suddenly become aware of how close he’s standing because you drop your gaze shyly. His cock gives a needy throb when he sees the barest shadow of your nipples beginning to stiffen in your bra. All he wants is to settle his warm mouth over them and suck. You’d squirm and pant against him. His tongue flicks against his teeth as he imagines making you come just by teasing your nipples until you can’t stand it anymore.

You sneak a peek up at him through your lashes and he squeezes your waist gently. You open your mouth to respond when…

“Are you two just going to stand there spraying your pheromones all over the conference room or can we get this meeting started?”

Homelander grits his teeth and the bane of his existence waltzes through the door. You startle and this time your hands on his chest do attempt to create some distance at being caught in such a compromising position. He lets you go as he fixes Stormfront with a nasty glare. He’s frustrated with himself for not noticing her as she approached but your fucking nipples were hard so it was difficult to pay attention to anything else. You awkwardly cross your arms over your chest when Stormfront sneers at the sight of your now see-through shirt.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your job?” She remarks coldly. You bite your tongue hard and Homelander catches a whiff of blood when you open your mouth to reply.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be going right away.” The warmth from his proximity has faded and you shiver shamefully in the crisp air of the conference room.

“And put on a jacket, this isn’t a wet t-shirt contest.” She replies and Homelander hates the scent of salt in the air as you tear up in frustrated embarrassment. He wants to step in and defend you but unfortunately you scurry out of the room fuming without even meeting his eyes.

He can feel them start to sizzle.

“Who the fuck pissed in your cheerios this morning?” He snaps at her. The knowledge that the rest of the team is coming is the only thing keeping him from more firm measures of retaliation… Such as popping her head like a ripe melon. He grumpily takes a seat in his chair and taps his fingers against the table to try and calm his nerves.

Much to his annoyance, Stormfront takes the seat directly next to him. She strategically waits until the rest of the team begins to file in before she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I never took you as the type to fraternize with the help.” She states frankly and his hackles raise at her insinuation. He doesn’t like being reminded that you’re ultimately just a PA. When he’s with you, it’s so easy to forget how little you matter in the grand scheme of things. His pride rankles and his skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t fraternizing. You’re taking things out of context.” He harshly whispers back. He’s not quite sure what that imaginary context could be. He did have you pressed sensually against the wall while you gazed at him with fuck-me eyes and hard nipples.

“Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you’re going to slum it then you need to be a little more discreet.” Her tone is dismissive.

Homelander’s ears start to ring.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He hisses. She knows nothing. She knows nothing about you. Who cares if you're nobody. It means you’re all for him.

“I’m someone who’s trying to give you advice. Get some standards.” She replies.

Homelander stands straight up, eyes burning, teeth bared, and the other members of The Seven meet each other’s gaze nervously. Stormfront just stares back with that infuriatingly smug smirk. He clenches his fists as he imagines how pretty her blood would look painting the conference room. He wants to laser right through her skull, roast her until she’s nothing more than a charred fucking husk. His eyes flare brighter. Then he remembers Edgar. He knows the kind of trouble he’ll be in if he indulges his urges. He shouldn’t care but he fucking does and it’s that which protects Stormfront. But he won’t be so lenient in the future if she keeps talking about you like you’re less.

“Meeting’s over!” He growls before stalking out of the room, steam practically billowing out of his ears. He can hear the confused murmurs of the team but he can’t be fucked to pay attention.

He’ll never give you up. You belong to him, especially now. He’s certainly not less because he’s… His thoughts stutter to a stop. He realizes that he has no clue what the two of you are. You’re not dating yet he sleeps in your bed and kisses you stupid. Things had evolved so naturally that he can’t even pinpoint the exact moment the relationship became more.

He needs to make this official, he decides. It’s time to make sure you’re really his. No more slumming it. He’ll show you off with fucking pride. You’ll love it. You’ll love him.

You’ll never be a nobody again.

[meazalykov]

the critic

lena oberdorf x commentator!reader

summary: when lena gets tagged in a video clip, she approaches you

before the cameras, before the viral clips, before the edits, before your voice became synonymous with women’s soccer commentary, there was your games itself.

you used to play, back in the day. soccer was your life—practices in the morning, matches on weekends, hours spent refining your craft, the feel of the ball at your feet something almost sacred. 

you had dreams, big ones, of playing at the highest level, maybe even for the national team. but that all came crashing down when a spinal injury took you out of the game. 

one bad fall, a rough tackle by three players at once in a crucial match, and suddenly, everything you had worked for was gone. 

the doctors said you were lucky to be walking and running again, but for a long time, it didn’t feel like luck. 

it felt like a curse, like soccer was ripped away from you when you were just starting to get your footing in the world of professional sports. 

lyon was close to signing you from your childhood club. however, that changed. the deal had to fail and so did your dream.

so you had to shift gears. you couldn’t play anymore, but you could talk about the game, share your insights, your passion, your love for it with the world. 

and, as it turned out, people loved listening to you. your analysis was sharp, your delivery honest, your humor was sweet, and soon enough, you became a well-known voice in women’s soccer commentary. 

you poured everything you couldn’t put on the pitch into your work, and it paid off.

now, here you are—2023, world cup, germany vs colombia. the stadium is electric, fans buzzing with anticipation. 

it’s your job to capture all of it, to bring the game to life for those watching at home. 

alongside you in the commentator’s booth is tyrell, your close friend and co-host for one of the biggest sports streaming sites in the world. 

you adjust your headset, eyes scanning the field as the camera pans over the players. 

"alright, tyrell, we’ve got quite the matchup today," you say, your voice carrying across the broadcast. 

"germany is looking to bounce back after their last game, and colombia has been on fire in their latest matches with caicedo. it’s anyone’s game today."

"no doubt," tyrell agrees. 

“but you know i’ve got my eye on germany’s midfield. lena oberdorf, she’s got a lot of weight on her shoulders in this one. one of the best defensive midfielders in the world is on the pitch tonight." he finishes. 

you nod, your gaze locking onto oberdorf as she moves across the pitch. 

she’s been a standout for years—strong, composed, a true force in the midfield. 

you’ve always admired the way she plays, the way she commands respect on the field as she will roughly stop any opponent attack. 

but today, something feels off. you’ve been watching her closely during the first half, and you can’t help but feel like she’s holding back.

"honestly," you start, pausing to gather your thoughts, "i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

there’s a brief silence as tyrell turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

it’s not often that you call out a player like that, especially someone as highly regarded as oberdorf. 

"really?" he asks, curious. "what do you think’s going on with her?"

you lean forward slightly, watching as the replay of germany’s midfield play rolls across your monitor. 

"she’s not playing with her usual aggression. oberdorf is known for her ability to dominate the midfield, to break up play and transition quickly. but today, she’s been hesitant. this can’t continue if they don’t want someone like caicedo to get in their box. oberdorf needs to press harder, get more involved in the attack. if she steps it up in the second half, she can make the difference that germany needs."

your words hang in the air for a moment before tyrell responds, and the conversation shifts back to the overall match. 

but you can’t shake the feeling that your comment will stir something up. 

sure enough, by the time the game is over—colombia managing to scrape by with a fantastic win—your phone is buzzing nonstop. 

social media is ablaze with the clip of you critiquing oberdorf, the internet having latched onto the rare moment where you offered up something negative about a player you so clearly admired.

fans of both you and lena are eating it up, dissecting your analysis, making memes, and some even suggesting you had ulterior motives. 

it doesn’t help that you’ve been vocal in the past about your respect for oberdorf’s game. 

and maybe, if you’re being totally honest, there’s more to it than just respect. 

you’ve followed her career closely, always a little more interested in her games than others. not that you’d ever admit to having a bit of a crush on her—not publicly, anyway.

across the city, at the team hotel, lena oberdorf is stretched out on her bed, headphones in, trying to decompress after the match. 

her body is exhausted, germany didn’t get the result they needed. her phone buzzes with notifications, but she ignores it for now, lost in her thoughts.

that is, until laura freigang walks in, a mischievous grin on her face and her phone in hand. 

"lena," she says, her voice sings, "it looks like someone’s got their eye on you."

lena sits up, raising an eyebrow. "what are you talking about?"

laura tosses her phone onto the bed, and lena catches it, her eyes narrowing as she watches the video that’s already queued up. 

it’s you, sitting in the commentator’s booth, talking about her. her. 

"honestly, i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

lena blinks, her mind processing the words. she’s used to hearing praise, especially from someone like you, who’s usually more positive in your analysis. 

but this? it feels different. not harsh, but… honest. like you know she could do better, and that, in a weird way, feels almost flattering.

"see?" laura says, flopping onto the bed next to her. 

"she noticed you. she expects more from you, lena."

lena rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. 

it’s no secret, at least among her teammates, that she’s always found you attractive. she’s mentioned it once or twice—half-joking, half-serious—how she watches your broadcasts not just for the analysis but because, well, you’re easy on the eyes. 

but she never thought it would go beyond that. you were based in new york city, worlds away from her, and probably didn’t even know she existed outside of your job.

but now? maybe things have changed.

"i don’t want to get your hopes up because it could’ve been a simple analysis but maybe this is your shot," laura adds, nudging lena with her elbow. 

"go for it. what’s the worst that could happen?"

lena hesitates, the idea forming in her mind. it’s bold, sure, but she’s never been one to shy away from taking risks. "yeah… maybe i will."

later that night, you’re sitting in the hotel bar, winding down after a long day of commentary in australia. 

the buzz from the viral clip still lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re half-expecting to get some flak for it. but instead, it seems like people are more entertained by the whole thing than anything else. 

you take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning the room, when you hear a voice behind you.

"hey y/n-- I'm sorry, uh I hope i’m not interrupting."

you turn, and your breath catches in your throat for just a second. it’s lena oberdorf, standing right in front of you, looking a little nervous but still carrying that air of confidence she always has on the pitch.

how did she find you? maybe the german national team stayed nearby? i mean, you were told this was a popular bar in sydney.

however, why would lena go to a bar if she has to prepare for the important match against south korea?

"not at all," you manage, trying to keep your cool despite the sudden rush of nerves.

"what’s up?"

"i, uh, saw the clip," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "the one where you talked about me."

you chuckle softly, feeling a slight flush in your cheeks. "yeah… i didn’t mean to come off too harsh. just being honest, you know?"

you didn’t know how to react, so you smile. no player has confronted you about your comments before. this is a first.

"no, i get it," she smiles, her eyes locking onto yours. 

"honesty’s good. i just… wanted to ask if you’d like to grab dinner sometime. maybe when you’re in germany next? i’d love to take you out." lena speaks in perfect english. 

you blink, surprised by the offer. of all the things you expected tonight, this wasn’t one of them. but looking at her now, her smile genuine and her eyes soft with hope, you can’t help but smile back.

"yeah," you say, heart racing just a little. "i’d like that."

you were a little older than her, older by two years, but she carried herself in a way that pulled you to her.

the world feels a little smaller, the distance between you and lena shrinking with a single conversation. 

you think that maybe you should critic her more often, kidding— of course.

my masterlist is here if you want to read more fics <3

[drabblesbyjubs]

Just Need Time

Astarion x gn! Tav Reader, Astarion is pent up but also wants to please the reader, he makes himself want to have sex with reader but reader stops him and helps him figure out what he really wants. Fluff, smut, a little bit of angst. Minors DNI

Tws// mentions of sexual trauma, Astarion’s backstory stuff, mild disassociation for a few minutes, trauma, mild spoilers for non ascended Astarion’s ending, sexual content and smut

.

I want everyone to know that I got stuck working an 8 hour shift as a cashier on my last day of work so I wrote this between customers, enjoy and here’s to my new job

Time with Astarion is sacred.

After nearly losing him multiple times throughout your journey to rid yourselves of the mind flayer parasite, you’d come to appreciate every second you spent with him. Every moment during the day, snuggling and spending time with one another, and spending the nights running through Faerûn and enjoying the adrenaline of exploration, it was all beyond precious to you both.

But especially to Astarion. For the first time in two centuries, he belonged to himself; he could go where he wanted, do what he wanted, be what he wanted. He was free.

That didn’t mean he was alright, though.

Being with you had helped. You’d shown him freedom, devotion, and everything he’d ever wished he could have had in a partner. But part of his mind was still stuck in that dark, dank crypt, the smell of mildew festering in his lungs, the fear at the sound of every footstep lurking in his heart. The nights he was let out, but not to be free, only to use his body to gain some innocent soul’s trust and bring them back for him to take out his most wretched fantasies on.

Astarion was usually the victim of these fantasies, but if Cazador truly did what he wished with Astarion, well, there would be no more Astarion to take out those fantasies on.

Those memories plagued his mind nearly every night. He often woke from the nightmares feeling utterly emotionless, numb to the world. Fear aches low in his heart, and he would roll over and scoot up to you. You took him in to your arms with no question; you already knew.

Sometimes he would jolt out of bed, too enveloped by the memories to realize it was you next to him. He would become defensive, either scared of you or insisting you leave before he came back. When he snapped back to reality, he was utterly humiliated, but you never shamed him, always made him feel like everything would be okay, and he would forget about the terrors of the night before by the time you two set out for adventure after sunset.

He wanted more than anything to be like a normal person; completely comfortable in his relationship, never a fear that things would go awry, blindly trusting and accepting of everything you did. You understood why he couldn’t be like that, and did your best to make him feel as close to normal as he ever could. And gods, did he love you for that. You were utterly hypnotizing, he would tear out his heart with a stake if you asked him; hell, he would carve the stake himself. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

And even if you assured him he owed you nothing at all, not even a passing glance, he wanted to give you something to make you happy.

He often gave you wildflowers, knowing you always liked the bright colors and soft petals, or smooth, shiny rocks he found down by the creek, or little rings and necklaces he bought with his dwindling gold supply when the two of you went in to town. But he still often felt like the only thing he could do right enough to truly make others happy was sex.

It was practiced, it was routine. Use his body to make someone feel good, make a few pretty faces, and it was done. There was something safe in the familiarity of it, though the sheer gut wrenching disgust that followed after never sit right with him.

You hadn’t hesitated to agree when Astarion had asked if you two could stop having sex for a while. Your sexual activity had dwindled anyways; you’d often told him you were just tired, or wanted to make sure you had plenty of energy for the coming day. Part of him knew you could tell he didn’t really want it, but he chose to believe you just wanted a break, and it was relieving to not have to perform. It was a weight off of his shoulders.

But more recently, he’d been pent up. He found himself craving release; of course he thought of coming to you for help, but the thought of having to perform, to make you feel good and owe you that pleasure after he takes his own, it sent a writhing sensation under his skin. As much as he liked the thought of seeing your eyes filled with arousal, he didn’t want that feeling of perform. Continue. No choice. Earn your life, bring him someone.

But he wanted to make you happy. He had done this so many times before; why not once more, just to see you satisfied? You must be pent up as well after so long of dealing with his unwillingness to give you something so simple. It was the least he could do. He would achieve the release he’d began to crave, you would be happy, and he would know you would stay with him and know he cared for you.

..

Astarion rolled above you, that mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you. You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Someone’s in a playful mood tonight,” you teased, to which Astarion hummed.

“Whoever could that be?” He muttered, leaning down and capturing you in a kiss. You felt his tongue swipe across your lower lip, but before you could grant him entrance, he pulled away, before moving to mouth softly at your neck. You hummed, your chest fluttering as you inhaled. You could feel his lips move against you, his tongue swiping over the scars of old bites, his canines brush dangerously over the delicate skin of your neck.

You put your hands on his chest and muttered, “Mmh, Astarion, what’s going on?”

“Hmm?” He hummed in a questioning tone.

“You don’t normally act like this,” you breathed. “Is everything okay?”

“So sweet for asking,” he murmured. “Just pent up. I want you, if you’ll have me.”

You scanned over his face; nothing seemed off. He seemed genuine. You weren’t sure why he was offering though; this wasn’t like him. Maybe he was actually just pent up?

“You promise you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?”

“Of course, love,” he breathed against your neck, softly nipping at the skin there, threatening to break skin.

You nod, hands running up his sides. “Okay. As long as you promise.”

Astarion gave a pleased sound, his hands snaking under your shirt. Calloused fingertips brushed against your skin, before pulling your shirt up above your head and leaning down to kiss at your shoulders, mouth at your collarbones, and nip at your chest.

You gave a shaky sigh, your hand running over his back, savoring the way he arched against the touch. He was good at this, no doubt, but it always hurt you to think of *why.*

Astarion leaned back, staring down at you almost hungrily. He pulled his own shirt over his head, and you leaned up to run your hands over his chest and his stomach, before leaning in to kiss at the little dimple between his collarbones. He was always finicky about kissing his neck, especially on the side Cazador bit him on, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so you stuck to his shoulders and chest for now.

His hands found your waist, and as you pulled away from him, you saw the slightest flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he pushed you down to the bedroll and pulled your hips up against his, softly grinding against the curve of your ass.

You weren’t worried about that, though; you saw the way his eyes had slowly grown foggy and distant, the loss of expression, and the way his touches became almost rhythmic, nearly robotic; practiced and routine.

“Stop,” you said.

Astarion snapped out of it in an instant, present here and now once more. “Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?”

“Hun,” you leaned up, scooting your hips apart from his and gently cupping his cheek. “You don’t want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I do!” Astarion insisted, “Gods, I want this, please, I’m sorry, just let me-“ he hurriedly began grabbing at your hips, trying to pull you closer,

“Darling, stop.” You said, more assertively this time. His shoulders slumped and the look in his eyes broke your heart; he looked desperate, but not for sex. He looked so disappointed in himself.

“Come here,” you whispered, pulling him in for a hug. “Do you remember when I told you you don’t owe me anything?” He didn’t hug you back, but his forehead rested against your shoulder, and he gave a brisk little nod.

“But I do want it,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to have to give back, or be touched, or just… I don’t know, but I want something, and I-“

You hushed him, sensing his growing stress, running your fingers through his hair. You turned to kiss his temple, and he gave a happy little sound.

“I think I get it. You want to keep your control of your body, but don’t want to have to feel like you owe me pleasure either?” You questioned. He gave a brisk little nod.

“That’s alright. Astarion, we don’t have to do anything like this, I never want your to feel pressured, and-“

“But I do want… something like this.” He rebutted. “I just… want a little. I don’t know. I really am pent up. I’ve tried handling it myself, time and time again… I’ll sneak off into the woods and… and try and rid myself of these desires. But it… just… never works. I cant… I just cant. Not alone.”

You furrowed your brow, feeling just how embarrassed he was with the way he shuffled and squirmed against you, clutching at your sides.

“You mean… you can’t touch yourself, or..?”

“I can’t finish,” he corrected, his words rushed and jumbled.

“Oh,” you said. You kept running your fingers through his hair, taking a moment to think. You could tell how much this embarrassed him, just by how he was acting. “That’s alright, Astarion. What do you want me to do to help?”

“I… don’t know,” he breathed. “I just… I’m frustrated, i need something..”

“Would it be too much for me to touch you like that right now?” You asked him.

He nodded his head, and you pulled back, looking at him as you gently cupped his cheek in your hand. “Use your words, baby boy.”

Red eyes looked up to meet your own, and you couldn’t help but smile at him, if only to comfort him. “Yes, i think that would be too much right now. Maybe… maybe I could… i could touch myself and you can just… be here?”

You flushed a little with his words, but you nodded and kissed the tip of his nose, savoring the way he smiled.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said. “Here,” you began shifting him and yourself.

You moved so he was laying on his side, you laying behind him. Your chest was pressed to his, and you felt the full body shudder that went through him. “This okay?” You asked, and he nodded. You cuddled up to his back, and hummed to him, “Then go ahead, my love. Do what you want.”

Astarion shuddered and you could feel him moving to slip a hand under the hem of his pants. You gently rested a hand on his hip, not sensing anything saying he disliked the touch. His breathing slowly started to pick up, and you could feel him palming himself softly before slipping his cock from his trousers. You hummed your approval, whispering to him, “That’s a good boy.” He whined low in his throat, and you felt his arm start to move as he began stroking himself. You couldn’t see at this angle, but you felt the way his body would slowly start tensing, his chest rising, could see the way he tried to bury his face in the pillow, knowing you were right behind him as he touched himself.

You muttered soft coos of approval to him as he chased his pleasure, each of your words making his breath hitch just a little more.

You hummed, “So good for me, my love, making yourself feel good. Love watching you like this.”

You could so easily ignore your own arousal if it meant you got to witness his. He was beautiful.

Astarion gasped, “D-darling, gods… the way you talk to me, hah, makes me… fuck, I need it…” he trembled and began stroking himself faster, throwing his head back against your shoulder. You smiled against his neck and kissed the pale skin softly, feeling the way it made his entire body shudder. His breathing slowly turned in to whines, desperate and strained.

Your hand ran up to his chest, brushing over the soft skin, savoring the little twitch he gave when your hand ran over his nipples, moving to feel over his rib cage as you whispered how beautiful he was, making himself feel good like this.

You kissed his temple, the saltiness of his sweat clinging to your lips. You caught a glimpse of that beautiful face when he tilted it back to arch himself; brow furrowed, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. “Gods,” you breathed, his red eyes fluttering open. You leaned up to kiss him, not even attempting to look down and see him desperately chasing his release, knowing that catching a glimpse may be too much for him.

You buried your face back in his neck, and he gave a high pitched whine, gasping, “C-can’t… fuck, love, ah, please, I can’t do it, please, help me,” the last words came out as a mere whisper, and you could feel how frantically he was moving in attempting to chase his release. Worried he would hurt himself, you whispered to him, your hand slowly trailing down his hips to rest on his upper thigh.

“May I touch you?” You asked.

“Please,” he nearly sobbed, letting himself go and grabbing your wrist to guide you to his cock. You wrapped your hand around him, heavy and hot in your palm. He was so hard, gods it must have hurt.

You stroked him softly, your thumb swiping over his tip and smearing his precum over himself. He whimpered, still holding your wrist, and you could feel the way his entire body trembled. “Please,” he whispered.

You kissed the back of his neck, mouthing at the flesh there softly as you set your pace, stroking him and smearing his pre over the head, making your hand much slicker to give him a feeling that, if his whimpers and trembles said anything, must be quite lovely.

He jolted and whined, his cock twitching in your hand. You could tell he was close, losing himself to the pleasure, one hand having a death grip on your wrist and the other tangled in the furs of the bedroll. You’d never seen him so lost to himself.

He gasped, “I’m gonna-!” Not even able to get out his warning before your felt his release coating your hand. You stroked him through his orgasm, savoring his gasps, catching the slightest glimpse of a furrowed brow and open mouth, eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill from the corners.

“That’s it, hun,” you breathed to him. “That’s a good boy. Let go for me.”

You kept stroking him until he gave a particularly harsh jolt, with which you withdrew your hand and wiped it on some miscellaneous clothing tossed near your bedroll. You kissed the back of his neck, savoring the silence for a moment.

Astarion was the first to speak. “Thank you,” he said.

“I hope it was to your liking. It wasn’t too much?”

“No, it was wonderful. I… needed that. Do… you want me to take care of you?” He rolled over to face you, glancing down to your trousers. You could see the unease stirring in his eyes at the thought alone

You shook your head. “Tonight was about you. I’m just happy I got to see that pretty face when you came,” you teased, fighting a laugh at Astarion’s shocked and embarrassed expression.

“Gods, you’re truly insufferable sometimes.”

“Same to you, my love,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose and pulling him in close. You pulled a blanket up over his waist to give him some cover, to which he hummed his appreciation and nuzzled in to your chest, sleep catching the both of you and luring you into its embrace.

[elvirable]

Ambrosia (Act 1)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 2k | status: ongoing themes/tags: vaginal sex, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light smut.. for now, and a whole lotta angst, will add more smut tho in the next chapters, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act ———–

Astarion would never tell you, though - it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, starting with the day he met you. *will update description at some point. ———– A/N: i wrote this as a peek into Astarion's mind throughout Act 1. plan to continue as i progress throughout the game. lmk what you think and if you like this style!

-------

Grief had a penchant for wearing different masks.

Phantom faces that slithered through shadows, white-hot wrath that clawed at the throat, an endless gnawing that swallowed one whole: all faces of a primordial monster that had existed before time itself.

Astarion knew all this. 

He had met them all – intimate with its simplest form, a cold polarizing solitude; a loyal companion for two centuries, teaching him to lick his wounds with malice. Others had taken everything from him, or they were too weak to lift a meaningful finger. It took several lifetimes to finally mend his precious pride back together. Why should he practice mercy when no one had shown him any?

And by some stroke of luck, he was free – at least for now. Opportunity had fallen before his feet; he could chase after power, clutch revenge in his pale fingers, walk amongst the sun. Red eyes clung to the light glimmering across the water and wavering leaves. A desperate urge pulsed up his spine, insisting he memorize each saturated detail before it faded away like the most ethereal dream. The exhilaration rose wildly before plummeting to the pits of his stomach.

Huh, that was odd. It had never dawned on him that grief could also bloom in the slow, golden sunlight.

Languid beams washed against his flesh and through the faint hem of his shirt. Every fiber of his skin ached, dull and shallow, at the sacred warmth that had been a stranger for so long. He felt this haunted and holy gift – the vigor of life from each ray of light running over his fair face. Reunited once again, like long-lost lovers.

It was the sound of boots thudding against dirt that pulled him back into the world, on the ravaged beachfront. 

With straight posture, a hollow smile painted itself across his lips. ==

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

No, he didn’t know.

Quiet was this small voice that, for some odd reason, had grasped onto his conscience the night he died. It had sung loud in the beginning, but now it was just a whisper. Everything else had reduced to dust, long-buried beneath the cold earth. 

But if he could conjure the ghost of his mother, he couldn’t be bothered to. Astarion envisioned a sharp tsk , a scowl dripping with disgust if she could see the creature he was today: a thrall to his own hedonistic desires, wielding manipulation and seduction as an instrument. A vampire , taking solace amongst the shadows and draining the life around him.

Maybe he was the same, just calloused and rearranged by the fate spun for him. 

However, there was no need to exhume the past. It proved futile anyway; he couldn’t even recall the previous hue of his eyes, much less run his hands over his reflection. The only thing worthy of concern was survival. Memories had been shrouded by the same pivotal virtue, the one that carved the habit to become shapeless – to cater to every impulse and whim of those who could serve useful. Those who could protect him, at least for the time being.

And that was exactly what he tried with you, as his breath was inches from your slender neck and your eyes widened in hazy alarm, catching him by surprise. 

“Shit.”

You scuttered to your feet in the frantic silence, dozens of excuses fluttering to Astarion’s tongue. The fatigue of bloodthirst hindered his wit, but he raised his palms in reservation.

He had already taken note of your misleading presence – you were small, but heavens , would you put up a fight. Other companions had already turned towards you for guidance the past few days, and you were carved with a beauty that could intimidate. Though, there were cracks underneath that facade – ones with darkness in between. 

Peering into these cracks was his only outlet to earn your trust; after all, it was paramount for survival.

“I – I wasn’t going to hurt you,” exasperated breaths pushed from his throat. “I just needed, well.. blood.”

Basked in the dim firelight, your wary gaze studied him for what he really was: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. He caught the stutter in your furrowed brows before they eased. Smug delight settled in his nerves when you, although with apprehension, allowed him to taste you.

Astarion eagerly obliged, immediately losing himself in the euphoria– the sweet vigor of your blood, how silky and rich. A low hum vibrated in his throat, and he barely registered when your palms pushed his broad weight off of you. Lush satisfaction that quenched his blood-thirst still coursed through him like a stimulant, but he still caught the tail-end of your groan.

“I don’t care that you’re a vampire. Just –,” you paused briefly to reel from your daze. “We’re all a team now, so I have to have some trust in you. Just ask next time.”

He felt happy, more alive – not only from the fresh blood still lingering on his tongue, but that you trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but the anchor had already been dropped; one step closer to wrapping you around his finger, even if you weren’t entirely flexible. He could feel it in your gaze, in the little quivers that rolled through you while his fangs sunk into your soft skin.

Once you had returned to sleep and his frenzied nerves quelled, he mulled over your parting words. You weren’t phased’ that he was a vampire, instead placing emphasis on trust. You were full of surprises – especially when the entire world met him with repulse.

Something that had been fossilized inside him tremored, as if it began to thaw. ==

There was a thin chill in the evening air, in the way nature prepares for a new season. And he hated you. 

Well, he didn’t hate you – frankly, he couldn’t get enough of you; that was the issue. 

You plagued his thoughts like a helpless addiction, better yet like a mirror; one he had repeatedly peered into, struggling to find the right angle and when he did – he was left staring at you.

Those careful eyes – a mocking reminder of everything he could have been. So different, so resilient, so disgustingly kind.

Since the day he laid eyes on you, he was the first to glimpse at your secret hidden in plain sight. Your habit of hiding yourself from everyone you came across, retreating behind stone-bared walls and tailoring a facade just enough to avoid drawing attention. Reserved lips were a mere confirmation you sealed away a vault of grief that you didn’t want – or need – clumsy, temporary hands to pry open. 

That discreet resolve particularly made you the sour dagger twisting between his ribs. Grief had been your companion as well, but its mark never trickled from anywhere else – not a warbled voice or frustrated bout. It was only noticeable through a fleeting glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, he had made this medley of rage and anguish his armor. It had fused to skin, and he no longer knew how to scrape it off. Astarion dedicated decades to cursing the Gods. You ignored them.

He knew he should despise you and eagerly await the day he could shatter this mirror you were – but all bitterness dissolved in your presence. You had become his wonderfully terrible affliction; withdrawals could damn near kill him if they were to happen.

Ribbons unraveled from his chest with each conversation, whether it pertained to the graveness of the journey or a simple ‘good morning’ from your lips. Strange yet blissful, he could feel himself surrendering every bitter pang for the peculiar sensation of… comfort .

Once laced with such harshness, his mind eased with familiarity. An interesting chord of harmony, he thought, the two of you. From the start of the journey until now, you shared an enriching balance. He would encourage you to be more outspoken, while you stirred him to be authentic and soft – even if you weren’t aware. 

You were stable like bedrock; never once expecting to be selfless or pious, instead only demanded transparency – at least to the extent he was willing to concede. Aside from the occasional brow-raise or retort, judgment never twisted your face. Respect was a new sensation to him, as you gave him yours.

This dynamic, this balance ; it was irresistibly and invariably warm. 

==

The rendezvous sort of just fell into habit. 

Every night he would savor the ambrosia from your neck, and one evening tension gave way to carnal desire. Whether it was a simple cathartic release or not, he didn’t care; tender moments bathed in amber firelight or the hush of the night had always left him craving more.

“You’re such a tease .”

You’d whisper those words every so often those sacred nights, and a rakish grin would slide across his face without fail. Lust gripped him, but never once weaved with routine; the way your legs parted to invite him in left Astarion with an insatiable urge to indulge in everything you were willing to give him. He could spend the entire evening with his head between your thighs, cold hands steadying your quivering legs as his tongue lured you to new heights of pleasure – giving you exactly what you needed. 

When he was with you – skin pressed together, desperate hums like honey – he began to relish in taking things slow. 

He preferred the nights where your bare body writhed beneath him and melted against his, while he eagerly coaxed wispy whines from your lips. No matter how wet and ready you were, his girth always met resistance as he parted your warm, sensitive walls. Your skin buzzed at the sensation of his cock splitting you open, like every time was the first you’ve been touched.

Desire laced every word he whispered into the curve of your neck, each encouraging and soft. His pace was slow, pushing into the depth of your core, buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Low, guttural grunts left his throat as your body’s natural instinct clenched around his throbbing cock. 

Despite his centuries of experience, he found himself struggling to restrain from succumbing to the all-consuming euphoria of it all: your lashes wet from your tears, precious gasps warm against his skin, the desirous ache to fuck you the way that pretty face beckoned to be fucked. 

The unbridled intimacy – which felt so real and tender was enough to send him over the edge. His veins hummed with yearning as he drank in the vision beneath him; your skin flushed, shaky whines that sung his name as he pushed you to pleasure. And when you wrapped your legs to press him deeper – he surrendered to the white-hot bliss. 

Although Astarion would never tell a soul, his most treasured moments were spent after desperate breaths calmed and the entire world stilled.

It was never long before you lulled into sleep, and your weight slacked against his broad chest. He lingered over each detail with softer eyes; the gentle curl of your lashes, a freckle he had missed the last time. Peace graced such beautiful features, ones that were usually still with resolve. There had never been another face quite like yours in the two centuries he had lurked amongst the earth.

Your chest rose and fell slowly before you would eventually fidget, still deep in slumber, to slink an arm over his waist. His gentle hand grasped the one that rested against his chest, careful not to stir you, as he ran his fingers over your silk skin. Such delicate hands, he mused, that had to grapple their way through life.

He pressed a silent kiss against the back of your palm before laying it back on his chest. 

In the silence, something washed over him – that rousing feeling that he never knew quite what to make of. 

His eyes swept once more to watch the shuffle of your face, buried now against his side. Your hazy sighs warmed his bare skin. Astarion could almost laugh, imagining your face reddening if he ever shared how affectionate you were in your sleep.

Though he would never tell you – it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

[asdfghjklmals]

GRADUATION✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. mentions mental health. WORD COUNT: 3.4k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc. lover girl!oc. high school lovers.

SYNOPSIS: satoru and oc gojo girlfriend finally graduate from tokyo jujutsu high school! AUTHOR'S NOTE: happy easter and graduation season for those who are graduating this year! 💚 i realized that when i was writing this, oc gojo girlfriend loves satoru so much. i used to write that satoru loved her more, but after this fic, i'm not so sure lol. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions, please do!

tokyo jujutsu high library

“who’s most likely to be on the bachelor?” you asked your bestfriend, shoko ieiri.

even though he wasn’t graduating this year, you and shoko both said in unison, “kento nanami.”

you giggled at the thought of how uncomfortable nanami would be as a bachelor contestant, “you know nanami would absolutely hate being on the bachelor though.”

shoko nodded her head in agreement while reading the other high school superlatives. “what about life of the party?”

again in unison, “satoru gojo.”

“how about this one?” shoko asked, “most likely to sleep through an earthquake.”

“if that’s not me, it has to be tsumiki.” you laughed out loud, knowing that your sleep was sacred to you and nothing could wake you up, “—and worst case of senioritis goes to you, shoko.”

shoko couldn’t disagree with that superlative. she grinned and read the next prompt.

“cutest couple obviously goes to you and gojo.” shoko chuckled before sighing. she pursed her lips, “ah—best bromance…”

“you already know who that should’ve went to,” you said with a soft frown, “satoru has been having a hard time this week—he thinks he’s good at hiding his emotions from me, but i know him too well.”

this week was your graduation ceremony for your whopping class of 3 tokyo jujutsu high sorcerers. jujutsu high school graduations weren’t that big of a celebration like most traditional high school graduations, but it was still important for the school to commemorate their young sorcerers on graduating—and also even making it to graduation given the dangers of being a sorcerer.

suguru geto, who was also known as satoru’s other half, his one and only, wasn’t able to be here to graduate with you, shoko, and satoru due to his decision to go his own way. suguru had a different vision in life, and he decided to leave everything behind to achieve it—including leaving behind his bestfriend, satoru. (read ‘to be present’ here)

shoko sighed as you looked back at her. it must’ve also been hard on shoko, who was a part of their trio. sashisu was shoko’s, satoru’s, and suguru’s group name. they were practically inseparable before you came along.

“suguru should’ve been here too.” shoko said quietly.

you patted her back softly, a measly attempt to comfort her, “i know.”

you heard the library door slide open, satoru waltzed through the door with a blue lollipop in his hand.

“you done perfecting your valedictorian speech yet?” satoru asked as he sat down beside you, kicking his feet on top of the library table as you and shoko closed out of the yearbook superlative tab.

you smiled warmly at him, “yeah, it’s been done.”

of course you were the valedictorian of your class. you took your studies very seriously compared to shoko and satoru. not only were you the valedictorian, but you also planned the graduation dinner that followed the very short ceremony. as the student body president, you had a lot to take care of this past month.

“can’t wait to hear it,” satoru said with a grin, “i better be getting a shoutout in your speech.”

“a shoutout for what?” shoko teased, “being (y/n)’s biggest pain in the ass the past three years she’s been here?”

satoru gasped, “more like being the biggest love of her life! if it wasn’t for jujutsu high, she would have never met me, shoko!”

you laughed at the two bantering back and forth before staring out into the distance. it was beautiful sunny day. tomorrow, you'd be graduates.

later that night

you shot a glare at your boyfriend, “satoru, did you iron your uniform for tomorrow like i asked you to?”

he smiled innocently at you, tilting his frosty head to the side in his attempt to look cute—which meant 'whoops, no'.

you sighed and held out your hands while satoru passed you his uniform with a grin, attempting to sneak a kiss on your cheek. you tried your best not to burst out laughing. hell, you were so in love with this man.

you popped off his jujutsu high pins and set them on his nightstand before stepping out of his room to head to the campus laundry room.

you heard satoru call out to you as you walked down the hallway.

“thanks sweetheart! i love you!”

a smile danced across your face. that satoru gojo whom you loved so silly, what were you going to do with him?

as you waited for the iron to heat up, you recited your graduation speech in your head. you were nervous. what if you tripped down the stairs while you grabbed your diploma from principal yaga? what if you messed up your valedictorian speech? or worse, what if you embarrassed yourself in front of the entire jujutsu high faculty and alumni?

"your forehead is going to have lines for days if you don't stop scowling."

you turned around at the familiar voice. satoru had come to find you.

"you can pay for my botox then." you retorted, sighing as you turned around to face him.

"what could your pretty little head be thinking about?" satoru asked. he hated to see anything but a smile on your face. “i know it’s not about how much you love me.”

you scoffed and chewed on your bottom lip before you grabbed the iron, gliding it down satoru's uniform.

"i'm worried i'm going to trip down the stairs, mess up my speech, or just completely embarrass myself in front of the jujutsu high faculty and alumni."

satoru gave you the ‘are you kidding me’ look and took the hot iron from your hands. he set it down on the ironing board and grabbed your shoulders.

"look at me." he commanded before resting his finger under your chin to guide your face to his, "sweetheart, the (y/n) (l/n) i know is perfect in every way. you walk confidently like this world is yours even in the highest heels, so i know for a fact that you won't trip down the stairs. you are a natural born leader and people gravitate towards you, so i know that your speech will grab everyone’s attention. you won't mess up because you've been working on this for the last month, i know that because i've been right by your side while you recited your speech a million times. and lastly, you won't embarrass yourself in front of everyone because you're perfect in almost every way. you're the pride and joy of the jujutsu community."

you pouted your lips and tilted your head to the side, "perfect in almost every way?"

"you're mean to me—" satoru teased before pressing a kiss against your lips, "—you don't kiss me in the mornings. which is a deduction to your perfect score."

you giggled as he peppered kisses on your cheek. one of your love languages was words of affirmation, and satoru gojo sure knew how to make you feel affirmed. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close.

"i guess this meanie will sleep with the kids tonight." you whispered as you bantered back with satoru, knowing he'd rather sleep next to you than sleep alone.

he paused and squeezed you tightly before replying to your retort, "wait, i like you even though you're mean. you can bully me all you want, i don't mind."

yours and satoru's laughter filled the laundry room. he didn't think he could get enough of your precious laugh. he'd say any ridiculous thing to help take your mind off of your worries.

the next day: graduation day

"thank you for coming to the 2010 jujutsu high school gradation ceremony." principal yaga began, "after we hear from both myself and principal gakuganji, we will listen to the speeches from the valedictorians of both high schools."

you sat between satoru and shoko, your legs would not stop bouncing in nervousness. after each speech, your heart started to race even faster as your turn came.

"and lastly, we saved the best for last. the valedictorian of tokyo jujutsu high school, (y/n) (l/n), will be giving her speech."

the crowed filled with jujutsu high faculty, alumni, a large amount of jujutsu clans including the gojo clan and your clan started to clap as their eyes followed you to the stage. satoru gave you an encouraging smile and squeezed your hand. he whispered ‘you'll be amazing.’ to you before he let your hand go. you gave him a soft smile before getting out of your seat.

you walked down the side of the auditorium and up the steps to the microphone.

"thank you for gathering here today to celebrate the 4 long years of training, learning, and dealing with satoru gojo." the crowed erupted in laughter as you winked at satoru. he shot a grin back at you.

“i'd like to start off with a moment of silence to remember our fallen comrades and past alumni who have sacrificed their lives to become sorcerers and to protect our community. they have our gratitude and highest appreciation.”

as you gave yourself and the crowd a moment of silence, your heart raced. you were so nervous, your hands started trembling as you fiddled with your printed speech in front of you.

'you won't mess up because you've been working on this for the last month, i know that because i've been right by your side while you recited your speech a million times.'

memories of satoru's encouraging words from last night filled your head as you took a deep breath to continue on with your speech.

"3 years ago, i joined tokyo jujutsu high because i wanted to get away from being home schooled and i wanted to experience this thing called life." you looked out into the crowd to see your clan, quietly watching you. "i didn't know what i was getting myself into at the time, but i have to say, the past three years have been some of the hardest, but most rewarding." (read 'love at first fight' here)

you thought back on the gruesome hand-to-hand combat trainings with mei mei, the tiring, long, and dangerous missions exorcising curses with satoru, suguru, yu, and nanami, the late night study sessions for exams with shoko. as difficult as it was, you'd do it all over... especially if you could meet satoru again.

"i'd like to give a huge shoutout to yaga-sensei, congratulations on your promotion to principal—and thank you for taking on not only two, but three special grade sorcerers during my time here."

a cheer for your sensei, masamichi yaga, erupted through the auditorium as you, satoru, and shoko clapped alongside the crowd.

"this evening is not only about celebrating our academic achievements as students, but also to celebrate becoming official jujutsu sorcerers. now i know that being a jujutsu sorcerer isn't for the faint of heart, nor is it an easy job. it's gruesome, painful not only physically, but mentally. which is why i'm happy to announce that our very own shoko ieiri is going to be hired on as our official in-house doctor for jujutsu high. she will oversee both tokyo and kyoto locations. congrats, shoko!"

applause began for shoko as she stood up from her seat and waved to the crowd. you smiled brightly at your bestfriend—even though you knew she cheated on a majority of her tests. however, shoko's talent in reversed cursed technique was second to none. she would be an amazing doctor, legit or not.

"one thing that happened during my 3 years here at tokyo jujutsu high school that changed my life for the better was—"

satoru muttered, attempting to finish your sentence, "—meeting satoru gojo."

"—becoming a guardian to megumi and tsumiki fushiguro. courtesy of satoru gojo." you laughed, "which i'm also happy to announce that satoru and i will be returning next year to join the tokyo jujutsu high faculty and staff. satoru will be in charge of training first year students while i will be the administrative secretary for both tokyo and kyoto jujutsu high locations." (read 'learn to love' here)

you cleared your throat, "now that we've shared the fun and exciting plans for your three graduates from tokyo jujutsu high school, i'd like to talk about something on a heavier note. those of you who know, know that there was supposed to be 4 students graduating today..."

you felt a lump in your throat, the thought of suguru geto not being here with you, satoru, and shoko shattered a piece of your heart. you were sure satoru and shoko were thinking of him in this moment as well.

"—because of this loss, as the future administrative secretary, i will be implementing reviews and mental health checks on all of our students every quarter. i believe that we need to check in on our students. my office doors will always be open to those who need a shoulder to lean on."

you understood that the idea of mental health was taboo, especially here in japan—but you knew that if you and satoru were going to be raising the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers, that you both were going to make a difference in the lives of your future students. megumi and tsumiki also encouraged that decision, as you and satoru did not want to see them suffer the same fate as suguru.

a loud applause struck the auditorium. satoru smiled proudly as he knew that you were going to make a positive change in the jujutsu society—and with you by his side, he could take on the impossible. even if that meant butting heads with the higher ups and starting out training first year sorcerers. he was going to make this experience fun and exciting for not only you and him, but for his future students as well.

you heard cheering from the gojo clan and your own clan. you saw touya and his new girlfriend, kana, hooting and hollering from their seats. you continued to shine brightly under the auditorium lights.

"before i end my little speech, there are some personal thank you's that i'd like to give. to megumi and tsumiki—you two are my perfect little angels and i will continue to strive to be a good role model for you both. to my fellow classmates—thank you for all the late night study sessions, the delicious meals in the dining hall, fun-filled sleepovers, and wild class trips. to my loving grandparents, genkei and kanao, and my brother, touya—thank you for believing in me and always pushing me to be the best i can be. to the gojo clan—thank you for always supporting me and for giving me someone like satoru." you smiled at the gojo clan's presence in the crowd and then turned back to face satoru. (read 'meet the gojos' here)

satoru gojo was beaming brightly, just like he always did. his blue eyes shined back at yours, awaiting your next line of thanks. your eyes watered as the love you felt for the white-haired sorcerer overflowed from your heart.

"lastly, thank you satoru—for believing in me and loving me unconditionally every single day since the first day we met on the sparring field."

you took one last deep breath and shouted, "congratulations jujutsu high school class of 2010! we made it!"

a final applaud erupted throughout the auditorium. you laughed in relief as you finished your speech and wiped the almost formed tears from your eyes. you watched as the crowd stood up in a standing ovation.

in a crowd full of people, your eyes could spot satoru gojo in a heartbeat.

later that night

after the graduation dinner, you and satoru sat outside in the courtyard of tokyo jujutsu high. the twinkle lights you ordered for the staff to use as decor danced against the night sky, illuminating the courtyard with a soft warm glow. and behind that warm glow, satoru's cerulean blue eyes glimmered. you could have sworn satoru had a blush on his face, almost as if he was embarrassed about something.

“can you believe we’re finally graduated?” you asked satoru in disbelief.

the last 3 years had flown by. you were officially graduated from tokyo jujutsu high. the next step this summer was to move out of the dorms and find a home to fit you, satoru, megumi, and tsumiki.

“not quite yet,” satoru said as he starting to unpin his buttons from his uniform. you gave him the 'what are you doing' look. he chuckled at your reaction.

satoru took off the second button from his uniform, taking your hand to place his button in your palm.

“now we’re officially graduated.”

in japan, there's a high school tradition for boys to give the second button of their uniform to the girl that they loved. this act has a special meaning that is equal to a heartfelt confession.

“isn’t it a no brainer that i should be receiving this button?” you giggled. you admired the button of his uniform in your palm, a sign of affection that basically said that you were his.

satoru leaned in towards your face, sneaking a kiss on your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you as you melted in his embrace.

“actually, you don't even have to answer, satoru. you’ve loved me for almost 3 years. it's a no brainer.”

“you mean i put up with a mean girlfriend for 3 years?” satoru laughed boisterously. he let go of you and booped your nose playfully. his signature cheshire grin spread across his face.

you grabbed his hand to hold his palm against your cheek, teasing him, "since i'm so mean, will you put up with another 3 years of no good morning kisses?"

the white haired sorcerer continued to grin, "i'll think about it."

you rolled your eyes at how dramatic satoru could be and mumbled under your breath, "you know how i feel about morning breath."

"yeah, yeah." satoru mumbled back at you, "gimme a congratulatory graduation kiss then."

you wrapped your arm around satoru's shoulders and planted a firm kiss on his lips. satoru pulled away from you and smiled, amused with how the night was going.

"sweetheart, i'd put up with another lifetime of no good morning kisses if you asked me to. as long as i get to wake up next to you every morning." (read 'sleeping with the enemy' here)

you scoffed at satoru's cheesy comment before kissing him again to shut him up. you were ready to venture into the next step of your life with satoru by your side—no good morning kisses and all.

EXTRA:

“we’re gonna have to find a place to live in after graduation.” you said with apprehensive tone. not only did you and satoru have to find an apartment for the two of you, the apartment had to fit megumi, tsumiki, your spirit birds and the demon dogs too.

“it will be fine,” satoru reassured you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

you bit your lip, lost in thought. you wanted to make sure that the apartment you chose would be a safe haven for megumi and tsumiki. it had to be a home filled with love. ever since you and satoru took them in, you made sure that they grew up with everything they needed. whatever they wanted, you and satoru provided with no hesitation.

“you already know that the two pipsqueaks will be happy wherever we end up.” satoru said softly, “they just want to be with us.”

"you mean tsumiki just wants to be with us." you laughed, "megumi does not want to be next to you."

"i'll win him over, just you wait." satoru said confidently.

you knew deep down that megumi actually really admired satoru, but he would never admit that to his sensei's face.

"since we're on the topic of a place to live, we just need to make sure that our room is on the opposite side of the apartment from the kids' room."

you glared at satoru, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. he held his hands up in the air, feigning innocence.

[barcaatthemoon]

te amo || ona batlle x reader ||

ona gets something off of her chest.

you had not quite grown accustomed to what it meant for ona to be living with you again. there had been quite a bit of time from when you were in manchester together to your transfer to barcelona. once your girlfriend and your best friend both transferred to other teams, you decided that you didn't want to stay in manchester all alone.

barcelona didn't offer you a starting position in their lineup, but you were fine to work your way there. even just through the practices, you felt like you were playing the best football of your life. even some of your harder to impress national team coaches had commented on you being in top form at practice. everything was going great, except for the fact that you had a tendency to forget that wherever you were, ona tended to also be.

cooking had always felt like a sacred practice to you. there was a routine that you liked to follow for every meal you made yourself. it didn't have to be all strict or serious, however. if you were having a good time while you were cooking, you swore that the food tasted better.

"i think i like this little life," you sang to yourself as you moved around the kitchen. you continued on with the little song that had been stuck in your head for the past month. ona liked to tease you about all the time you spent on tiktok, whether that be making videos or watching them. however, you knew that you were doing the people a great service by showing them glimpses into your life at barcelona.

you had gotten so caught up in yourself and your song that you failed to notice ona coming into the kitchen. she quietly sat down at the island your back was facing. she watched as you moved around from one little station to the next. it was too much for her brain to wrap around, especially after the grueling practice the two of you had been through.

"shit! you scared me." you were clutching your chest as you tried to catch your break. ona's face fell as your song came to a stop. you were about to ask if she felt okay when ona spoke up instead.

"no, don't stop. i like the sound of your voice," ona told you. she gave you her best puppy dog eyes and pout, which worked almost instantly. you pressed play on your phone and continued to sing along to whatever songs came up that you knew the words to. ona stared at you dreamily, unable to take her eyes off of you.

"is everything okay?" you asked her. it wasn't like ona to sit there so quietly for so long. the woman was like a puppy, always full of energy and ready to race around whatever room she was in.

"te amo," ona said quietly. for a moment, you were pretty sure that you had misheard her. you had been around enough spanish speaking people to know that it held a higher meaning than just saying that she loved you. the words were impactful, and made to be even more so by the way that ona looked at you.

you had noticed it before, how she'd stare at you sometimes like you personally put the sun in the sky. it was weird to think that she loved you like that, but you were grateful for it. things hadn't always been so easy for the two of you, but now it was effortless to slot into each other's lives.

"can i say it back?" you asked her. ona perked up at it immediately. she moved from behind the island to where you were standing by the other counter. ona reached up to cup your cheeks and gently tugged your face down towards hers. she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. it managed to hold all of the love and passion she felt for you without becoming too raunchy or messy. "te amo."

[sirenmoontarot]

How do you need to nurture yourself? ☁️🕊️

𝑀𝓎 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓅 ~ 𝒫𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒸 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ~ 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

Welcome to the cottage! I am Alla <3 Sit with me in the garden and let’s have some mystic tea as we see what the Oracle has to tell you. Take what resonates and leave the rest!

Pile 1

Okay guys so for this first group i feel that what you actually need to do is to shine on and embrace yourself as how you are and instead of giving into the chaos of uncertainties and your emotions, allowing yourself to gently flow through those emotions in order for you to be fully yourself. We have the moon theme twice, you would benefit from connecting with it, and using the full moon to manifest. I strongly feel you need to expand your energies, you are constrainign yourself a lot of the time, you dont know how to navigate in your own emotions, this pile is encouraged to believe in your power to create, vision, manifest, create the lifeyou want. The power of the yet-not-created is yours. However in your journey this is continuousl affected by pains and shadows of the past, making you sttray away from you power and purpose. I sense many people of this pile have number 11 prominent in their numerology or birthday. Indicating you are called to lead in this lifetime and you also have a strong purpose here that could be related to spirituality, but it often is hard to manage or not fall in the negativity that makes you sabotage everything. The moon reminds you you are in constant fluctuation and you should embrace the ‘’becoming’’ and the feminine principles of flowing, and embracing your emotions. Times of rest and restoration are needed for you to recharge and connect deeper. A new depth of your spiritual practice is calling you. You should aim for ease and stillness, this will help your mind and life overall. The archeptype you have to heal within yourself is ‘’the judge’’ are you using this to be critical ofyourselg, punishimg, unforgiving, building walls around you? This is a powerful energy and it is a gift of discernment, to do the right actions, power, advocacy and compassion but you have to be careful if you are channeling it wrong towards yourself and therefore others…

Pile 2

First of all I am hearing guys you should believe more that you are on ther right paht, because you are. Start walking more confidently in your life, be in presence, strongly with the conviction that you are where you need to be. You need to work on your shame feelings, everything that doesnt let you live as you would wish. You need to meditate more to calm down those thoughts and dissolve those traumas. To find an inner temple inside. Stop hesitating so much, it all comes from childhood wounds. Many people of this group will resonate with the childhood wound of humiliation. You need to feel mothered, some of you in this group need this very strongly, due to mother wound. Connecting to the earth can help you on this, and after that, you will also learn to mother yourself. You also struggle to fully connect to yourself and find yourself a reliable, sacred space. This is normal it also comes with growth, but you are led to do this now, find or create a sacred space within yourself. The feelings of safety are necessary to you as well. sometimes trauma gets embedded in our system, but we are not always in danger. Practicing the mantra ‘’ i am in peace ‘’ can help you a lot. You need to find security in yourself! Also remember to give yourself the space to evolve, change, with ease, grace, and nurturing. Let yourself shed as many skins as you need. Life might have been extra tough for you lately, as if Saturn was lashing you, lol but you are called to breathe and find activities, places that allow you to breathe, expand, release the tention, stress and burden, and this way see the colours of life again. I am seeing lots of green so again, for this group connecting to nature specially trees and rivers will be very nourishing for you.

Pile 3

Okay you guys for this group the energies are very clear, i am getting PRAYING, connecting with the divine; you should hand over your worries, problems and burdens to the Divine. Put your hands on to work, on what you can control and let God do the rest. Hand it over, The thing is, the Divinity wants you to, not put your energies, focus, power in the wrong things. Some things have to end from your life, for actually better things that would be surprising to you will come. Don’t attach yourslef, mainly is out of fear or unawareness of the wonders of the universe. Do not force, let thing run its course, and count on the Divine to help you out, ask God and your angels for an easy path, for the solution, for them to guide you in ease and out of stress. The Divine wants you to start living your soul’s path, and not to focus elsewhere, things that may seem shiny are actually a void, there are other paths that are more aligned to our soul’s nature, abilities and evolution. You are called to go to a temple, you could also create one, or make your house/room a little temple. You are also called to nurture your human vessel, both physical and spiritually and actually embrace this term of Vessel to know more about what it means and might represents for you.

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Remember, take what resonates, leave the rest. Lots of blessings ☁️🪽🌙🕊️

~~~~~ 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 ~~~~~

[minimujina]

wriothesley is an old lover, i think. he’s tough and strong and oh-so-ruggedly handsome; he’s a gentle handler, a slow mover. it takes knowing someone a long time before he can either fall in love with them or, if he happened to fall fast and hard, get the guts to do something about it.

when he does something about it, it’s so romantic and genuine and sweet that you’ll want to metaphorically throw up. in a time where things move so fast—technology makes strides every day, engineers are speeding along the progress of society, and people become daily entangled in small trysts of passion, leaving fragments of themselves scattered—wriothesley moves deliciously slow.

it makes you feel so special, the way he practically courts you. he’s so god damn respectful of everything about you, it’s disgusting. the simple ways he shows affection for you are so beautiful and veneratingly intimate that it almost feels vulgar. wriothesley naturally creates a space around himself that is so safe and so quiet, you melt into vulnerability before you can even think. he makes it easy to be relaxed, and that can be scary when you are used to being on guard.

he is patient, and he’s kind. he’s certainly not perfect, as no one can be—he has his flaws, and he recognizes his own shortcomings. though easy to talk to, easy to get along with, wriothesley does guard his heart carefully, masking himself and his intentions until he’s gauged the trustworthiness of a companion. it can sometimes be difficult to bring the defenses down, even in the most trusted presence; he is used to being fully performative, fully vigilant. he can struggle to communicate in this stage, because he is uncertain of himself and others and, frankly, everything all at once. but once the wall comes down, he’s all authentic, coming as he is without the pre-painted mask.

i feel as if it takes a lot of mutual comfort and reassurance in that stage of scary vulnerability. it is somewhat grotesque to be seen as you are and then to watch someone choose to see more of you over and over and over. you are dying and you are living and it’s mortifying and really very wonderful.

after the initial knowing, there comes the valley where it feels as if your souls begin to intertwine, and the knowing becomes so much more intimate than you might have prepared yourself for. wriothesley wants to hide, and you might too. there are probably some bumps where he puts off replying to letters, or perhaps you procrastinate scheduling visits to the fortress, and you both act very silly, and you misunderstand and squabble a bit and make up. the silliness, however, is not unwarranted, as you both are very aware of how scary it can be to like someone and to be liked. and to watch and feel as the liking turns to loving, and knowing turns to becoming, and suddenly your hands and hearts are glued like crafts and it would be a dire mistake to unravel the lovely work of two loving souls—but moving forward is still, perhaps, so very uncomfortable. but you will, you will do it.

wriothesley likes you so much that he feels himself fall apart. the entirety of the strength he has built up within himself wavers under your soft gaze; your eyes rip him to shreds, but gently, lovingly. you reduce him to nothing but a lovestruck schmuck.

the depths of his adoration for you are, in a sense, biblical. if you have no religious background, you could call his love something sacred, something reverent. he’d never anticipated feeling this way for someone; now that he’s become so deeply entrenched in everything about you, wriothesley feels a deep need to protect and to provide. he is unsure what the future could look like due to his position as the duke of meropide, but he is certain that everything will fall into place if it is meant to be. whatever the case, he’s an absolute schmuck, hanging off your every word and footstep. 100% would follow you around like a lost puppy were he not duty-bound to his work.

for you, it’s really the fact that you could sit in his presence for hours, safely and peacefully, without having spoken a word. there could be no sound in his office but the time-dusted record playing and tea-crusted pages turning, and all would still be well. no guessing, nothing under the rug for you to worry your silly head about—it is just he and you and his work and your books, and the music and his breathing and your humming and embroidery. nothing has transpired but the work that has been done and the record that has played a dozen times over. you may pick up where you left off with him, only with a lighter chest and clearer mind.

sigewinne would oft find the duke passed out in his big red chair, his sweet little lover over on the couch gone to dreamland all the same. it was picturesque. she sometimes wished she could call her friend mamere to paint it, to capture in art whatever it was she could not with words. sigewinne was still learning about humans—and she could glean a lot just from watching you and the duke. but sometimes, like this domestic scene, she would find herself puzzled, unable to describe the feelings that emerged from seeing two humans so safe and comfortable with each other in this particular manner. sigewinne would tip-toe back down the stairs and out of the duke’s office, much to ponder, and much to ask monsieur neuvillette.

very self indulgent, but i finally wrote something 😵‍💫 it just came out like blaarrggh

[ninyard]

Honestly honestly the most romantic moment of the entire series is when Neil talks about how he'd never gotten to travel for fun before and the Foxes are planning to take him to the mountains, and Kevin starts to protest that they can't go on vacation but stops because Andrew is holding a knife on him 😭🥺😩 like I don't know that's just just a sweet little moment to me, Andrew threatening Kevin if he takes this little chance for happiness from Neil

Uhhhh literally Andrew “I-don’t-care” Minyard is the most romantic of ALL the foxes. My line of work revolves around intimacy and from all my training and studying let me tell you that man is a master at his craft.

Andrew’s touch is beautiful and sacred; this thing he does not take easily, or give out kindly whatsoever. Yet with Neil it’s as if he can’t stop himself. We see it in how gently he tapes the garbage bags around Neil’s injuries, wordlessly, without being asked. THAT’S intimacy. How he holds his neck to inspect his eyes when he removes his contacts, how he hands Neil cigarettes without a request, how he doesn’t say a word while touching Kevin with the point of a blade because Neil deserves a fucking break. Sure, by technicalities, the shower scene from TKM is intimate by definition, but really it’s in the kiss he ghosts across Neil’s hip, in how he pats dry his broken skin afterwards. How can you look at him wordlessly dropping keys into Neil’s palms, and think, yeah there’s no way Andrew could be romantic. Is he soft, is he gentle, as a person? No. But his minuscule actions are, his unmentioned gestures are. You just have to look and find them.

TKM just has some of the most subtly beautiful examples of a different flavour of love and intimacy that is so unusual and heartwarming it’s insane. That shower scene drives me crazy when I think about how caring Andrew is in it. He came in with the tape and bags on his own volition, knowing Neil needed a shower and couldn’t do it unattended. How he didn’t take away Neil’s autonomy by assuming he couldn’t undress himself, instead waiting until he paused and couldn’t go any further before he started to help. How he drapes the blanket over Neil’s shoulders, again giving Neil a chance to struggle before wrapping it around him. They practically don’t speak to each other really in that chapter at all apart from a bit of flirting in the shower. Because they don’t need to, because Andrew knows how to love, how to be caring, how to wrap up the boy he almost lost in bubble wrap because if he loses him again, it won’t be pretty. He washes Neil’s hair! He covers his wounds! He treats him gently when that is possibly the last word that could ever be used to describe Andrew. I feel like that scene was in part of course him just looking after Neil who can use approximately two square inches of his entire body, but in another part proving how serious he is about Neil. Everything changes between the two of them then, suddenly their actions more relaxed than hungry, not yet a given but instead now just a want.

I don’t know. I can’t help but see so much intimacy and romance in subtleties and things you’d barely even notice, regardless of the people/the characters and their circumstances. I wouldn’t use the word sweet to describe Andrew at all, but the things he does for Neil? The way that he loves Neil? The absolutely fucking sweetest.

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

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You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

series masterlist | next chapter >

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[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Inspired by this conversation. I'll be making one that takes place while Reader is alive as well, but the one where you aren't just got finished first. Enjoy.

Warnings: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader, Major character pseudo-death(Reader), Worship, i don't know consider this a sort of writing practice type thing for me

Guilliman finds himself having to hold the vile taste in his throat down, as he looks upon the scene in front of him.

...He remembers you.

He remembers the friendly smiles you gave him, and he remembers the smiles you would reserve just for Sanguinius. He always wondered what Sanguinius found worthwhile in being with you; In managing his legion, the expectations put on him by the entire galaxy, The demands of the Emperor, and a relationship with you. But then he would spot the way Sanguinius would look at you, like you were everything he had ever hoped for, and Guilliman would feel a twinge of something. He never quite figured out what it was.

And now you're here. Dead.

At least Guilliman would've wished as such, but instead you lay in an eternal state of unrest much like he was, not too long ago.

Sanguinius had once voiced to him that he was worried his sons would idolize you much like they did him. They were already beginning to towards the start of the Heresy; You'd become less of a person and more of a ideal, an extension of Sanguinius' own supposed anglicism. Sanguinius had found it distressing. He didn't want them to blindly follow something because of a holiness put on them. Sanguinius could handle that sort of thing, persuade those thoughts away and order them to stop, but you couldn't. You weren't meant to.

Guilliman had appreciated him confiding in him at the time, but hadn't offered much to soothe his worries. Perhaps that had been a mistake. He remembers exactly where they were, how the sky had looked. And each time he remembers it, he wants to yell at his past self to say something; To spurn some sort of action and prevent this.

"She still looks the same,"

The primarch mumbles, remembering your face in the last snapshot of his mind. Your skin had been pallor, you were falling ill, but you still soldiered on. You had to. While you had given most logistical and battlefield duties to Chapter Master Raldoron after Sanguinus' death, you still held significant sway in the chapters rituals and other types of decision-making. They wouldn't allow you to divert those duties, the anglicism they had put on you had begun to grow and grow even back then, wearing down on you like a disease.

Sanguinius' genesons had nothing less than the utmost respect for you, which Guilliman had watched morph into the thing that Sanguinius had feared the most. It wasn't his place to step in, so he never did.

The glass coffin which holds you does nothing to hide a single thing, displaying you and the delicate lace gown you lay in. It was the dress you'd worn when you married Sanguinius, and Guilliman doesn't know how to feel about it. The sleeves do well to hide the tubes and machinery that digs into your wrists, deep into your lifeless veins. They keep your body psudeo-alive, he presumes, to stay off decay.

However it seems it's drawing blood out, which he finds interesting. Though he doesn't have the time nor the desire to dwell on why such a thing would be needed.

"You remember The Mother Angel?"

Dante is more composed than most of the other Blood Angels, but Guilliman can still sense the awe in his voice from the primarch's eyes having touched their Mother Angel in life. He stands across from him, having decided to show Guilliman this sacred place.

"Her name, It was,"

Guilliman can't find himself to say it.

"I remember her, yes. Quite well."

Dante stands in reverence as if he's waiting for Guilliman to continue.

"I remember her voice, her face; I remember her wedding. I remember her putting Sanguinius' fallen feathers in her hair and dancing a fool." He clears his throat before continuing. "She lead the Blood Angels for a decade after Sanguinius. Then she fell ill. I always respected her tenacity and ability to lead a legion of Astartes despite her limitations."

Guilliman feels regret. He wishes he would've said more to Sanguinius when he'd voiced his worries, perhaps it would've spurred more action to prevent this outcome.

Sanguinius was the only one of them to find love, and look what happened; You got desecrated by it. Perhaps Corvus and Fulgrim were right to abandon the prospect all together. It seems to bring nothing but horror in the end. The only one of them to find love and that love got turned into it's own hideous creature, completely removed from what it had stood for.

His brow furrows, and he purses his lips in preparation to speak words that he just ends up swallowing.

"This, this is..."

Guilliman cuts himself off. He knows he shouldn't say these things in these chambers they call hallowed, in front of their Chapter Master. he needs Dante, he needs the Blood Angels more than he needs to protect a promise he never made in the first place.

"What, Lord Guilliman?" Dante urges him on, curiosity on his face.

"With all due respect, Master Dante," Guilliman looks to him, face stoic.

"If I were to say how I truly felt about all of this, I imagine you would no longer be willing to lend even a single man to assist the Ultramarines."

Dante looks at him confused, but doesn't show anger regarding his implications. Guilliman can see his lips twitch, eyes flickering down to your glass coffin for a moment.

But Dante just doesn't see it, and Guilliman knows it.

You've been like this for thousands of years, none of them see this as anything unusual. Generations of Blood Angels have been reared on you being this deity, the wife of an Angel, and there is no possible way to raise them out of that. What is done is done.

Guilliman is the only one seeing it as something wrong, as he is an outsider.

"Now, what is it you wished to discuss with me, Lord Dante?"

Guilliman changes the subject and turns away from the centerpiece of this cathedral, only allowed entry by the most elite of Blood Angels. He attempts to forget your body is even there, as there isn't a single thing he can do about it now.

He hopes Sanguinius will have mercy on him, next they meet.

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Part 3 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - As (Y/s)’s life blends into Art’s, she struggles to keep hold of her sanity with his influence as others continue to test her patience.

Notes - Shit’s getting juicy, y’all 🤌🏻 Let me know if you would like to be part of the tag list or have requests!

Word Count - 3,107

Warning(s) - Violence

Song Inspiration -

The Pretty Wild - Sleepwalker

The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months. As the bond between them grew stronger, so did the resemblance of (Y/n) in the abandoned building the clown called home. And with it, so did she. 

With much convincing, Art allowed her to make the bedroom her own safe space for when she spent her time there. With that being said, it also meant that if anyone other than either of themselves entered that room, there was no telling what that somebody would suffer through. 

Sure, it wasn’t as if it was common for others to wander into the building, and that alone would be a death wish. But anything that invaded what he considered to be her sacred grounds was subject to punishment of the highest degree. 

With countless hours of cleaning and rearranging, she was able to finally get rid of the dust and grime, save for a few particularly stubborn spots. And of course, the floors and walls were still rotted and peeling, but after getting a can of paint, roller brushes, and a pan, she figured it would be close enough to decent. 

With Art’s help, he opened the can of egg-white paint for her and carefully poured it into the pan, happily doing so with a large grin. Once he poured enough for her, he set down the can of paint and straightened himself up. 

“What?” (Y/n) asked him innocently when he looked at her mischievously. Then she noticed the hand behind his back. “No.” She warned him playfully, holding a finger out to him. 

He snatched her wrist and she shrieked as he launched his hand out from behind him, smearing what she assumed was paint onto her face. As the cold substance touched her lips she gagged and kept her lips tightly shut, refusing for it to get into her mouth anymore than it already had.

Meanwhile, the imp that was Art keeled over in silent laughter, slapping his thigh and mocking her gagging as she ran out to the basin in their work area before the paint dried up to clean it off. She dried her face and it flatlined as she glared at Art. He simply shrugged with a half-assed apology written on his face, letting her storm past him back into her room to start painting.  

The experience was peaceful, other than the rocky start and the fumes. Nothing could have prepared her for the fumes. The room wasn’t large and the building had no ventilation or filtering to protect her. The single window was broken and boarded so it wasn’t as if she could open it. 

Her stubbornness was unforgiving as she pushed through hours of work to get everything done, fueled by her excitement to turn the room into her own. 

The effects the smell had on her body didn’t hit her until the tail end of her painting as she finished the second and final coat of the remaining wall. 

(Y/n) practically threw the paint roller into the pan, taking a deep breath when her head began to spin. She was aware enough to mind the wet walls, but couldn’t stop herself from swaying. After a significant wave of disorientation, she leaned - or rather fell - back against the doorframe, her head thumping loudly against it in the process and only worsening her headache. 

With her eyes closed, her head spun as she heard the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps growing nearer, louder before they came to a halt beside her. She felt quick taps on her shoulder, light at first. 

No response. 

The next set nearly shoved her into the wall and her eyes sprung open, looking over at Art who had a panicked expression, his hands motioning around the both of them with haste. 

(Y/n)’s eyes began to close again as she waved him off weakly. “M’fine. Just dizzy.” She slurred and heard him stomp his foot. 

He suddenly bent down and picked her up bridal-style, taking her out of the room and outside to an old bench sat along the side of the building. He sat down and cradled her on his lap, albeit begrudgingly as he huffed and puffed to himself at the minor heart attack she caused him. 

As her head rested against him under his chin, she began to recover enough to know she would be fine to stand. But with equal mischief, she pretended she was still ill just to stay in his arms for a little while longer. 

The days following, Art was generous enough to help her bring in brand new furniture which they transported by a worker’s van - which he still hadn’t disclosed to her its origins - and the room was finally beginning to look decent. 

The process was interesting, to say the least, as far as putting the furniture together went. They both sat on the floor, Art eyeing the new tools that came with the pieces and picking them up in interest while (Y/n) read through the directions. 

What caught her off guard was how handy Art really was. 

After she had finished reading through the first bit, she began to look back and forth between the directions and the pieces in front of her to start the dreadful process. It wasn’t until she was halfway through putting the dresser together that she began to grow frustrated, sighing heavier than usual as she took off another piece that was incorrectly placed. 

Art looked over, sensing her frustration, and shooed her away from it. He took the tools from her and left to grab his own. When he returned, he sat where she had been and began to put everything together with ease while (Y/n)’s jaw dropped in both irritation and awe. 

No directions. No guidance. Just Art doing what Art did. 

Within fifteen minutes, the dresser was perfectly complete and he stood, presenting it to her with a large grin and flare of his hands while (Y/n) deadpanned. 

“You waited.” She accused grumpily and he proudly nodded. 

He then mockingly pouted at her and stepped his way over, squeezed at her cheeks and patted them before kissing her on the nose. 

“Okay, I forgive you.” She mumbled, unable to stay mad at his adorable mannerisms. 

With furniture complete, (Y/n) began to bring over some of her belongings and necessities. Clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, bed sets, a lamp and then some. He helped her without hesitation, mostly because he wanted to snoop around her house and bring back some of what he found for himself, but she accepted and appreciated the help nonetheless. 

After a week, the whole room had completely changed. She could now call it her personal safe space, her home away from home. 

“Art look, it’s finished!” She called to him from the doorway, looking into her room. He practically ran over to her with shared excitement, his face resembling shock. He clapped and jumped up and down, then blew a kiss into the room to compliment their work.

Art then turned to (Y/n) and kissed her cheek, baring a look of mischief before he ran into the room and jumped onto the bed. She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look, but once he star-fished with childlike glee her face softened and she chuckled. 

The hideout was nearly their permanent place of residence once the room was finished. She would stop by her house once or twice a day to check her mail or take a shower to freshen up. Her actual house very well turned out to be her new home away from home, finding an odd sense of comfort in the decaying building knowing that it belonged to the clown she so loved. 

With how busy they had been with their little project, Art had built up a strong urge to wreak havoc. (Y/n) had her own urge, however significantly less violent. She would only ever be found guilty by association. 

Or so she thought.

Following the familiar itch, Art tinkered away at one of his new inventions when they could finally rest after the more chaotic week. (Y/n) sat with him, staring at the latest newspaper that had been delivered earlier that morning to her house. 

The usual sting rose in her abdomen as her eyes skimmed over the words of an article covering her work: disturbingly grotesque, lacking depth, pure shock value. 

Each phrase felt like a hammer striking her soul, chipping away at the confidence in her work while Art was left to pick up the pieces. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, crumpling it slightly. Suddenly, in the back of her mind, something stirred. Something darker than frustration.

She realized that her initial reaction wasn’t just sadness. It was anger. Uncharacteristic of her individuality, it simmered, threatening to boil at any moment. 

She grew antsy with the unfamiliar feeling and stood up, crumpling the newspaper and snatching a match from the workbench. 

Art watched incredulously as she struck the match and lit the article ablaze, dropping it into a nearby steel bucket on the floor and letting it burn. 

Her exterior was eerily calm while her thoughts began to rage and cause turmoil. She looked over at Art who continued to stare and her eyebrow twitched in contained irritation. He simply lifted the new weapon off of his desk and showed it to her with a sadistic expression. 

Over time, (Y/n) began to notice how the fits of frustration became more common. What used to be a simmer had indeed grown into a boil and only became harder and harder to contain, though she did it well. It’s what made her dangerous, and what intrigued Art further. 

No matter what was going on through her head, she somehow always remained calm and collected. Time and time again other’s words and interactions with them made her seethe beneath her facade, yet nothing ever came out of it from her. 

She had always avoided conflict, either by completely disassociating from it or just letting Art handle it in his own way. What they didn’t know was what went through her head in those moments. 

For the past few months, she’d noticed a change. Subtle at first, but soon became impossible to ignore. As she stood silently in her anger, her mind thought up of ways to release that rage. Whether it was ramming a bat into a TV or slapping someone in the face, the images flooded her mind as an initial reaction. Almost as an impulse, coaxing her into giving in and finally acting on it. 

She wasn’t aware of it yet, but the line between her calm, introverted nature and the darkness lurking beneath had already begun to blur. And soon, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference at all.

It was nighttime, as was routine for them, to go on their walk, which Art preferred to call their ‘hunt’. They decided to take a different route to town for a change of scenery, but (Y/n) would be lying if she said it wasn’t more eerie than their typical route. 

There wasn’t nearly as much lighting and the tall trees lining the smaller street casted foreboding shadows over them. But (Y/n) felt calm. Not only because it was an environment she was naturally attracted to, but also because of the figure walking alongside her. She could even go as far as to say she felt almost invincible with him. 

Just ahead of them, a darker figure seemed to have the same idea of having a walk. From the look of it, they grew closer, walking towards them. 

Art stopped in his tracks, staring at the man menacingly with wide eyes and a smile to match. 

The man felt a chill run down his spine at the sight, but decided to stupidly go against his better judgment as he took a sip from the beer bottle in his hand. 

“A little early to be dressing up for Halloween, don’t you think?” He laughed as he resumed his walking towards them. 

“How about you mind your business.” (Y/n) bit back. Art’s head snapped over to look at her with an expression of shock, hand over his mouth as she casually put her hands in her pockets. 

“You’re a snappy one! I like that.” He slurred with a drunken wink and her mouth curled in disgust. Art looked between the two of them with a mischievous grin. 

“Then you’ll love it when I smash that bottle over your head if you don’t keep walking.” 

“He might,” The man pointed at Art. “But I don’t think you will, sweetheart.” 

In the blink of an eye, the bottle was snatched from his hand and broke over his head just as she warned. 

Art bent over in laughter after his initial surprise wore off, pointing at the man now collapsed on the ground and mocking him by pretending to cry, hands twisting by his eyes. 

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’.” (Y/n) spoke flatly as she shook off the beer that spilled onto her hand from the bottle. “Do you have a rag in your bag, Art?” She asked the clown in a softer tone. 

He turned back to her and held up a finger for her to wait while his laughter continued, digging through his bag until he eventually pulled out a rag, albeit a bit dirty, but it would suffice. As (Y/n) dried off her hand, he pulled something else out and she turned away, the man screaming behind her not long after. 

She wasn’t sure what came over her at that moment, and Art wasn’t exactly a good influence. She had made one or two threats in the past couple of months when her intrusive thoughts started to get worse, but never had she acted on them. 

The most unusual part wasn’t that she carried them out, though. It was that she remained frighteningly calm before, during and after. As if it was second nature to her. 

An hour before the sun was set to rise, they made it back to what they called home. Art remained his bloody self, heading to their work  area while (Y/n) wandered into her room without a word, her demeanor just a shell of who she was as she thought of the night’s events. 

She took the camera off from around her neck and set it on her nightstand, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at the rug below her. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been before Art showed up and paused in the doorway. His smile dropped ever so slightly, leaving his eyes as his brow furrowed with concern. He walked over to where she sat and began to reach a hand out, hesitated, then touched her shoulder and quickly pulled away as if she had burned him. 

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet his gaze and using a finger, he motioned up and down at her figure in question. With no response, she only looked back down and he was aghast, flinching back with wide eyes. 

Art quickly looked around in a panic, fingers twitching with an unfamiliar urge and then quickly took a seat beside her. At first, his fingertips caressed her back. Then his arm reached around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, rocking the two of them soothingly. 

After a few minutes, he felt (Y/n)’s arms slowly wrap around his torso, leaning into him as her head nuzzled into his chest. 

“I don’t know what happened…” She mumbled in what sounded like disappointment. “It just came out of nowhere, hardly even any provocation.”

Art tapped at her back and she watched as he stood up in front of her. He mimicked exaggerated anger and pointed at (Y/n), then flared his hands at the empty space beside him, an imaginary person. He pointed at her again and gave her two ‘ok’ symbols, telling her that it was okay and that she did a good job. 

“You don’t think I overreacted, do you…?” Art started to feel relieved when he noticed her usual, gentler side with him begin to show again. 

He aggressively shook his head, slicing his arms over each other to give a firm ‘no’ and (Y/n) sighed.

“I’ve just been becoming more angered with things that used to only cause me pain. Those urges have been in my head more frequently recently and that was the first time I’ve ever acted on it. I feel conflicted after, but in the moment it just felt right .” 

She looked up at Art with pleading eyes, but his smile remained and he lifted his hands to grab her cheeks. He pulled away and balled up his fists, gritting his teeth in feigned anger and motioning to what was around him with a sigh of relief. 

“If I hold it in, will it just get worse?” (Y/n) asked genuinely. 

He nodded his head and pointed at her. She looked off in contemplation as Art eagerly waited, fingers tapping against each other. 

“I guess I could try and see how it goes.” Art clapped and shuffled closer to her, taking her head and leaning into it to kiss the top of it, then patted where he kissed. 

Over the next few weeks, she decided to stick to her word and let the now impulsive thoughts take over. She hesitated at first, but Art nudged her inconspicuously from beside her when he noticed and prompted her to follow through. 

Depending on how much the person had angered her and what was nearby for use, it ranged from ramming their head into a wall to simply kicking them in the groin. But she never went further as that was Art’s part of the fun, and she never wanted to deprive him of such joy. 

It still felt strange at first, to say the least. But the more she gave in, the less she thought about it and just did it . The strange feeling turned into relief, the relief turned into satisfaction, and the satisfaction turned into pure pleasure . 

In doing so, (Y/n) gained a certain level of understanding as to why Art loved what he did. She would never torture as he did, if at all. And she still refused to watch. 

As she embraced the new aspect of herself,  they formed a newfound respect for each other. More than what they had before, which they never believed could be greater than what it was. 

Tag list: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

[divasae]

yandere male manipulator x reader

desc: manipulation, dubious consent, intoxication, sleazy best friend, male yandere, etc.

note: may or may not have realized that the beginning sounds like the start of an essay halfway through but it gets better later TRUST.

word count: 1.2k♡

We can often classify a typical “yandere” into two categories in both fiction and the real world. There’s the yandere that will unabashedly control your life as if they were a puppeteer, hoping the person they dote on will adjust to their needs. Well, there’s about a 50/50 chance this could work in favor of the yandere, depending on the person's mindset.

However, the success rate for the second type of yandere would arguably be significantly higher, due to the sneaky nature of this type of yandere. These are the type of yandere that will conceal their every move, while actively manipulating you to bring you closer to them. This manipulative behavior can stem from financially abusing you to even cutting off close relatives in your life who can see through their facade. 

The reason why their success rate is much higher is due to their skill in manipulating and gaslighting individuals, making them very conniving and shady. However, they tend to be charming as well, keeping a smile on their face while actively engaging in destructive activities that will tend to affect you. 

Unfortunately for you, this was the category a certain admirer of yours happened to fall into as well. He was a very close friend of yours, in fact! You were just such a naive person, practically letting just about anyone into your life, with no warning radars blaring off in your head. When he would place his hands on your shoulder, you wouldn’t even think anything of it! Well, a hand on your friend's shoulder is a pretty normal thing, is it not? What was not normal however was that leering gaze he had while looking at your body, as well as that roaming hand that seemed to be getting a bit too bold as it traveled further below your back. 

Indeed, he was quite a sloppy yandere, but it worked in his favor that you were just so unsuspecting, and so unaware of your surroundings. Well, fear not, he was here to protect you from the sleazy guys that eyed you (never mind him, that's different). However, he knew from the start that you weren’t going to fall into his arms just like that. You were so horrible to him really, giving the most unworthy men a chance, while completely sidelining him. It bruised his ego substantially, but he knew how to get you to come his way. 

You were just so stupid, it made the chase as easy as a cakewalk. All it took was a few drinks at a party for you to stumble into a room and get on top of him. It may seem underwhelming, when there was all that buildup about him being a manipulative yandere, only to do that. Well, he’s quite used to getting underestimated, but unfortunately for you, that was just the tip of the iceberg. 

As you dozed off while clinging onto him, he carefully took your hand off of him, to disappear into the night, leaving you to rest. He felt like a madman just leaving you there, after getting exactly what he had wanted. He wanted to ravish you over and over again so badly, but there was a process to everything, and he needed to stick to it.

When he woke up the next day, he immediately felt giddy all over, just calculating what exact moment he should call you. Once you had picked up his call, he listened to your sobs as you recounted last night, with no clue of who you had slept with. With no shame, he immediately began to say it would be all okay, and how he didn’t even have the slightest hunch, or else he would have stopped you. He consoled you with a sweet voice, saying he should have kept a more watchful eye on you, and that he’d never let it happen again. 

It was only natural for you to be so upset. Despite what it seemed, you were quite inexperienced and considered sleeping with someone to be a sacred act of love. It was so sappy honestly, it could give him a toothache. But he knew exactly how he could twist it to his own advantage. With that, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he cunningly consoled you for what he had caused. 

So you trusted him. You trusted the very guy that got the both of you drunk with the intention to sleep with you. They say that the shame would be on the trickster for tricking you once, but the next time they do it, the shame would be on you for being so gullible. Oh, it played out almost exactly how it did last time. However, you would be in for a sweet surprise once you went back to your own house. 

This time, he made sure to take snapshots of your body, littered with his love bites and grip marks at your waist. As he printed out the photos to leave at your doorstep, he laughed to himself as he thought of how you would react. To say you were terrified was an understatement. The very first thing you did was call your friend in tears, distressed about the nature of these pictures, as well as the person’s intentions. 

He consoled you even further, wiping your tears with his thumb and saying it would all be okay. Oh, if only you had taken a second to take in a good look at his face. He was saying one thing with his mouth, but his facial expressions were saying another thing entirely. He was in glee as you cried into his arms, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. 

Perhaps it was how he was there during your very worst, that made you start to see him in a different light. He was so caring, so engaged with your life, to the point where he would know exactly who in your social circle was not good for you. He even moved in with you when you felt paranoid, and comforted you in the wee hours of the night. 

Slowly, but surely, you did come his way. As he made you cut off absolute nuisances in your life that tried to get in his way of making you his, you began to depend on him much more than you used to. So, when he had finally made a move, you didn’t protest this time and simply let it happen. After all, he was the only person that genuinely wished the best for you, and would never take advantage of you. 

He previously thought that the best way to make you come to him was to entrap you in a cage like you would a bird. However, if you put a bird in a cage, it will always be intent on escaping, running the moment it can seize an opportunity to escape. However, if you clipped that same bird’s wings, it would never be able to escape. You would make it solely dependent on you, as it knows it could never survive without you. 

Genshin Impact - Ayato, Tartaglia, Kaeya

JJK - Gojo, Geto

JJBA - Dio

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (part one)

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: yeah soo... I think I have some kind of obsession with this trope. And I have never ever seen any azriel x reader forced marriage fics, so I decided to write one myself. But I could be wrong and there are fics out there that I haven't seen, in which case, please let me know about them. (Also, because we do not know who azzie's father was and if he was a camp Lord, for the sake of this fic, lets pretend that he was, indeed, a camp lord.)

Tw: Forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so please let me know if I need to add anything.

•○🌑○•

Y/n poured the imaginary tea in the cups set on the low table in front of her, talking to Mister Fluffkins about the weather. He was her daughter's husband, or she pretended that he was. Her daughter, Alisa, was her favourite doll, who was going to be married today.

"I hope there was no troubles while on the way here?" She asked as she set down the teacup and turned towards her other toys.

Before Mister Fluffkins could answer though, Y/n's mother walked in, crouching in front of Y/n, smiling.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just asking Mister Fluffkins about his travels today. Do you want some tea?"

"No dear. I just wanted to tell you that a friend of father is coming here today with his son. I want you to try and become his friend, as he has none. Okay?"

"Okay mother." The little girl turned away and settled down opposite her to be son in law, sipping her imaginary tea. Excited that she'll be making a new friend today. Maybe he can play with her. He could be Alisa's father, and they would be one big and happy family.

As little Y/n was busy musing about her new friend, she lost track of time, and soon they had arrived. The door opened once again and her mother stepped inside, Y/n stood. A small boy, probably her age or older, stepped in behind her, his hands clasped together nervously. His eyes flitted around the room, his hair dishevelled and messy. He looked too thin to be healthy.

Y/n mother nudged him forward, and he hesitantly took a step forward. Then another and another.

"I'm Y/n. What is your name?" She asked when he was standing in front of her.

"Az– Azriel."

"Let's be friends." She said, before practically shoving him in the chair next to Mister Fluffkins and pouring him some tea. "It's tea. Drink, you'll like it."

He blinked. "There's nothing there."

"Obviously. We're playing, I can't use real tea."

Her mother had laughed, walking away. It took some time for Azriel to get accustomed to playing with her, but when he did, he enjoyed it, cherishing this rare moment of happiness. And though he was quite odd, saying he had never played anything in his life, Y/n didn't mind.

But then both of their father's stepped in, as if in a hurry. Azriel's father yelled at him to be quick and clasp her hand, and Y/n decided she didn't like this man. He was too loud.

Y/n's father was looking sadly at her when the bad man told him to make haste. They made Y/n and Azriel hold hands, guiding them through it.

"Listen girl, I want you to say I agree to everything he says, understand?" Y/n nodded, afraid of his father. "Now," he began saying to Azriel, "repeat after me. I will marry you, when I see you after we come of age. Say it." Azriel looked scared, but repeated nonetheless. And she mumbled a I agree after him before a pain shot down her left ring finger and she wrenched it from Azriel's grasp, tears pooling in her eyes. At that exact moment, the door slammed open and her mother stumbled in, gasping and clutching at her head.

"No..." She stared at her husband angrily with tears in her eyes.

Y/n didn't understand, but it wasn't as if she could question the adults. Because, even though her father didn't hate her, he didn't like her very much either, hitting her whenever she got too loud. But he wasn't bad, atleast Y/n didn't think so.

Maybe when her older siblings came home from school, she would ask them about it.

•○🌑○•

As she stared at the rain droplets pelting the window of her room, Y/n couldn't stop thinking about that day. It had been almost five centuries since then.

Asking her siblings about it had yielded no information, after all, they were kids too.

But now she knew.

Azriel's father had fame and control over the camp they had once lived in. Her father wanted to be in the good graces of the Lord and also the recently vacated position of the second most powerful person, the camp Lord's second in command. Azriel's father was giving Y/n's father what he wanted in exchange for her marriage to his bastard son.

Who had run away.

But she couldn't fault him for that, knowing what his father was like. She knew Azriel fairly well, considering she met him a few more times after the day they had been promised to each other. The last time they met, he had finally told Y/n that his father kept him in a dungeon. Then he left. They could have been called friends once, but now, Y/n didn't even know if he was alive or rotting somewhere. But, even after all these centuries, Y/n still cares for that tiny, skinny, timid boy with disheveled hair, who would get extremely happy if provided with one small act of kindness.

But she also couldn't stop the tiny kernel of resentment that bloomed in her, because, after he had run away, his father had decided that he no longer wanted to share the power when he wasn't getting anything out of it, kicking their family out of the camp. Her father had gone nearly crazy.

Her sister, Velda, had been in a similar situation as Y/n, having been forced to marry one of the more prized warriors. But she didn't have to make a promise for it, as the warrior wanted to marry her. Y/n had been forced to promise herself to Azriel because his father somehow knew that he couldn't marry Azriel forcefully.

She would have been married too, if not for the mark on the second last finger of her left hand, encircling it like a ring. Every day she woke up with a pot of dead and hope in her stomach. Dread, for if Azriel came to take her, she would be forced to marry him, but if he didn't, she'd have to ensure her father's taunts, as if it was somehow her fault Azriel escaped. Those taunts, which had increased since her mother's death, haunted her at night.

Hope, for if he came, maybe she'll be able to have the life she always dreamed of, and that Azriel would still be the boy she had befriended. And if he didn't, she won't have to leave.

Her father had waited all these years in hopes that Azriel would come to get his bride. But he was tired of waiting, it seemed. And so, today, she and her father they would be visiting Hewn City, in his hopes that the High Lord could find her husband.

•○🌑○•

The Hewn City was hauntingly beautiful. That's all Y/n could describe it as.

They were waiting on the side, her father conversing with someone named Keir while she stared at everything she could get her sights on in awe.

The doors to the court room suddenly opened, everyone falling silent as the High Lord and the Lady, with the little heir in her arms, walked in, with their Inner Circle, as they were called. Y/n kept her eyes downcast, hiding behind her father. Her neck prickles, as if someone was staring at her, but it wasn't something she was unfamiliar with.

Soon, everyone dropped to their knees, rising when the High Lord commanded. After a few people conversed with him, her father stepped forward, her following, still staring at the ground. He bowed, and she curtsied.

But then, when a shiver wound down her spine, she lifted her eyes.

She had to take a step back, her jaw dropping.

Because, staring at her were wide, hazel eyes.

She stared and stared, hoping she was dreaming and hoping that she wasn't. Because those eyes, she would never forget.

Azriel.

Her father bowed, turning away, and she shook her head at Azriel, slightly. He dipped his chin and looked away.

But when Y/n tried to step away, a sharp pain shot through her chest and left hand, a scream tearing from her throat. She fell to her knees, gasping and clutching her hand to her chest. One glance at the dais told her that Azriel had fallen to his knees as well, and everyone was silent, looking between the two of them.

She looked at her father, the confusion in his eyes clearing and a wicked smile blooming on his face.

"Finally."

•○🌑○•

Part 2