It was supposed to be the day everything changed, and while that’s not strictly incorrect, it’s hardly the heart-made-whole fluffy fanfiction that Sullyoon had authored in her mind. Sana was - still is - the girl from the TV. The woman from the posters, the music videos and the viral social media posts.
Your favourite idol’s favourite idol.
What she became for Sullyoon was comfort, laughter and a guiding hand. What she is now is, well, we’ll get to that.
It’s the hope that really did it. From the first day they met, crossing paths outside a practice room, where Sullyoon bent the full ninety to be met by Sana’s little dip of her head, partnered with her bright smile and greeting, that had her heartstrings tangled. They spoke in brief, barely an introduction, but it was enough.
Then they had her sit in, and Sullyoon danced until her feet grew sore, and Sana grinned and gave her a thumbs up, and in those brief moments, Sullyoon could never regret her career choice. When it was over, somewhere between Sana's muted appreciation and Sullyoon's gushing gratitude, Sana made an offer. Practice together, the two of them.
Sullyoon agreed, of course. She agreed to everything.
The warnings, the advice, the rumours. So what if a younger girl liked an older girl? So what if Sana was her senior? Sullyoon was - is - windswept.
So when the idea of coffee before practice came at Sana's suggestion, Sullyoon was up an hour earlier than usual. She had her hair in rollers, and she sat at her vanity. She tapped the brush across her skin and dotted the concealer. She took her time with everything. From curling her eyelashes to applying her lipstick, it was wholly methodical. She wanted to look good, but that was a given. It was more than that; she wanted to look like Sana's type.
She picked a simple outfit, skin-tight jeans, a cropped camisole and a light cardigan. It wasn’t the first choice, nor was it the second. In fact, it was around the fourth swap that Sullyoon looked at herself in the mirror and began to judge the woman staring back. It’s coffee. Just little beans ground down and brewed into a drink to start the day before practice. Practice that would inevitably require a change of clothes anyway, so why did this matter so much?
Sana - that’s why.
The coffee date (could Sullyoon call it that?) passed by all too quickly, but it opened the metaphorical door. No longer did they only talk about dancing and comebacks and vocal tones and aegyo and… - yeah, you get the picture - but they talked about each other. Favourite snacks, drinks, and places to visit. Sana would appease everything Sullyoon threw out.
That park that Sullyoon loved to visit? They met there the following Monday and walked around for a little while.
The movie that Sullyoon loved? Well, Sana didn’t watch it, but she read the reviews and pretended that she had.
The games that Sullyoon loved to play? Sana bought a switch. Yep, a switch, just to play with Sullyoon.
And look, Sana had absolutely no idea what she was doing. She followed Sullyoon around - once she finally understood the controls - and did everything she said she should do. By the end of the first day, Sana had a hole in the ground, and Sullyoon had a house. They didn’t get a lot of time outside of schedules, but they would play when they could. Sana’s hole in the ground got a little bit nicer as Sullyoon decorated it and built around it to keep it safe.
In the lamp-light-clashing-moonlight glow of her room, Sullyoon pondered it all. Sana took her where she wanted to go, bought her the things she wanted to own, read her favourite books and watched her favourite movies. Sana bought a switch just for her. All these gestures paled in comparison to the little things she noticed.
Like how Sana would accidentally brush her hand and then smile as if nothing happened, how she would make these little jokes that share just a little bit too much detail about her sex life, and how she would constantly invite Sullyoon over to spend the night.
Empty pizza boxes accompanied empty bottles. Flirty jokes accompanied Sullyoon falling head-over-heels. She was falling - faster and harder than anything had ever fallen. Barrelling towards a reality that had begun to form in her head, Sullyoon pictured the future. It would be tough, keeping the secret, but they could do it, Sullyoon was sure.
Sana had experience; Sullyoon would come to learn. Her relationships with her many friends in the industry, from Momo to Miyeon and everyone in between. Not that Sullyoon was jealous, no, not openly. That only reared its head on those nights alone in her room, pondering possibilities.
Then came the day everything changed. The casual-flirty jokes became not-so-casual-flirty jokes, and all of Sullyoon’s favourite things became tools of the evening. Her favourite snacks, drinks, movies, everything - all at once. The longing looks became long looks. Sana flicked a switch, and Sullyoon crumbled. Putty in her hands.
They slept together that night. Sana had all these things she liked to do, and Sullyoon had a body she wanted to do them all too. The kisses never seemed to end, from chaste to an outright dissolution of decorum. The touches trailed to the ends of Sullyoon’s world - all this caressing and grabbing and tugging and fuck -
Yeah, it was perfect. Sullyoon wept after it all. An emotional cooking pot boiled over in the post-coital serenity - in Sana’s arms. She confessed it all to her in that raw state: how she fell in love with her before she ever even met her. How the feelings only became cemented upon seeing that smile in real life, and how every single domino that fell following that had led her to this precipice.
And on that precipice, she stood. She stood still for a long time.
Sullyoon would load up her Minecraft world from time to time, build a little more around that hole, waiting for her to come back. She drank more coffee, wandered around the parks, and practised harder than ever before. Sana would show up again and invite her over. Food. Drinks. Great sex. Precipice. Waiting. Hope.
Sana’s phone would flash with Miyeon’s picture, or someone else’s, all the time. Things would go quiet. No dates. No movies. No feelings. Then she would return to do it all over again.
For Sana, it is a loop, and for Sullyoon, it is a spiral.
When that inevitable text arrives, it is so seemingly harmless - just a half-step away from an invitation to another night together. Another opportunity to touch the clouds, only to plummet back to earth. Falling in love - what a prescient turn of phrase.
Im curious if you’re working on anything at the moment since you’re back to blessing us?
Hello anon,
I'm working on a few things right now! This feels like a good time to plug Prael, Star, Yves & Sullyoon over on fanprose. Not currently posted here as it's part of a two part collab with Star, so check that out over there!
An undisclosed 1k challenge for mysonesecret's challenge on fp
(to be completed by the deadline in 2 days time)
An undisclosed commission
folie a deux part 6
H2H Stella & Jiwoo FxF
The exact order of things is still up in the air. I'm bouncing between all four things right now, but it should be fun!
"This is the fourth time this week I have been working late," you warn as you throw the hotel room keys onto the desk. For almost all of those concerned, the overtime is killer, and if you're keeping track - which Wonyoung almost certainly is - then the hours are tallying up to something bordering unprecedented.
Unprecedented is, for all intents and purposes, an apt descriptor. Take, for example, how you grab Rei's ass: she leans into you, her legs hooking around your hips, her arms wrapping around your neck. The way she kisses you is equally unprecedented, her teeth brushing along your lower lip and her tongue pushing into your mouth like she wants to taste every last inch of you.
It's not, all things considered, a bad way to wind down after a long day. It is, however, entirely unfaithful to the woman waiting at home for you. But then again, that's rather the point. It's all part of the fun: the lies, the locked-office-door sex, the way you eye each other across the bullpen and have to pretend you aren't thinking of the way she feels beneath you, or how she sounds when you're buried inside her. Rei's lips leave yours with a sigh, and you can see in her eyes that she's every bit as hungry as you are.
"Missed you," she breathes, tugging at your tie, loosening the knot.
"Been two days, Rei.”
"Too long."
You kiss her again, and it's hard to argue with that. Her hands are working your shirt free of your trousers, fingertips brushing your skin, while your hands are sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt up with them. You hit the little black garter on her thigh. You knew it was there, you spotted it earlier when she totally-not-for-your benefit dropped her pen under the desk, but it's still a pleasant discovery. You hook your fingers beneath it, snap it against her skin, making her gasp into your mouth.
Rei's fingers are quick at your buttons, and she pulls your shirt open, her hands sliding over your chest, nails scraping lightly. You groan against her lips, and she smiles, smug and satisfied. "You're tense," she observes.
"You try sitting through a four-hour director meeting and see how relaxed you are," you retort, and she laughs, an airy sound that makes you want to hear it again and again.
You back her up against the desk, and she hops up, legs spreading to make room for you between them. You kiss her neck, and she tilts her head back, giving you better access. Your teeth graze her skin, and she shivers, her fingers tangling in your hair. "I have to sit through your budget reviews, too, you know," she whispers. "They're just as boring."
"But you get to look at me the whole time," you point out, and she laughs again, pulling your face up to kiss you.
She hums a little agreement before telling you the worst-kept secret of how difficult it is to be only twenty minutes into the meeting and already dripping wet. "I mean, you're up there, looking all serious and professional," she says, her fingers undoing your belt. "And I'm just thinking about how I want you to bend me over the desk and fuck me right there."
You groan because that is entirely not helpful when you're trying to keep things together for the sake of the shareholders.
"So when you had to step out of the room," Rei continues, "it took everything I had to not just follow you out and drop to my knees and suck your cock right there in the hallway."
You grip her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk, your cock pressing against her through your trousers. "Fuck, Rei," you groan, and she smirks at that.
She reaches between you, palming your length through the fabric, and you hiss, your hips jerking forward. "You're already so hard," she purrs.
"And yet, you're still so well-dressed." You start at her top shirt button, popping it open. Then the next. "I think we need to remedy that."
She bites her lip, eyes bright with anticipation, and you work your way down the line of buttons, revealing the black lace of her lingerie. You're not sure what's sexier: the underwear itself, or the fact that she's been wearing it under her work clothes all day. A body like that, you just have to taste, so you’re leaning down, kissing the swell of her breasts just above the fabric, and she hums in appreciation.
"All these hotel rooms cost a pretty penny." She’s probably right, but it’s not like you would know - the company is footing the bill for these little trysts. You’re going to argue that it’s all worth it for the look in her eyes, for the way she feels against you, for the way she's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters right now.
"I think it's a sound investment," you tell her before kissing her again, and then argue, "Good for morale."
"Mhm, I would say so. My morale is definitely up."
Then your hands are sliding up her sides, reaching her bra and pushing it up to expose her tits. You take one in your hand and just play with it so casually. Even that has her letting out deep breaths. You have to taste her. Your mouth finds her nipple, and you tease it with your tongue, making her continue those sweet sighs.
In response, her hand tightens on your cock, stroking you a little harder. "Feels so good.”
You move to her other breast, giving it an equal share of love, while your free hand slides down her stomach and slips under her skirt. You find her panties. Fuck, she’s wet. You press your fingers against her, and she whimpers, her hips rolling against your hand.
"Already so wet for me.”
"Always wet for you," she says, and fuck, that does something to you. You growl a little, nipping at her breast, making her cry out. Your fingers push her panties aside, sliding through her folds. You find her clit. You circle it lightly, and the response comes in a shudder and the clench of her thighs on your sides.
"I love how easy you are."
"Calling me a slut?" Rei asks as she unfastens your trousers, and you laugh into the valley of her breasts.
"Is that what you want me to call you?" You kiss up her chest now before nipping at her collarbone. You want to hear her say it - want to hear her admit how much she loves it when you call her a needy little thing.
"Maybe." Her hand slips into your boxers, wrapping around your cock, and you groan, your hips thrusting into her grip. "Maybe I just want you to fuck me like one."
Yeah, that’s the point here, Rei. Accompanied by a kiss, you push your fingers inside her so easily. You curl them, and before long, she breaks the kiss, her forehead against yours as she moans.
"I'm the best hour of your day," Rei teases, and it’s not entirely true, if not entirely false.
"Second best," you say with a little bite. "It's not like Wonyoung doesn't keep me pretty happy at home."
And that, right there, is the thing - the line that makes this so fucking hot. The way she knows you have someone else, and she doesn't care. She likes it, even. It gets her off just as much as it gets you off. You can feel her clench around your fingers, and you know she's thinking about it, about how she's the other woman, the side piece, the dirty little secret.
"Lucky her," Rei groans. "Getting you all to herself at night."
"Evening, night, morning - every chance we get."
You pull your fingers out of her, and she whines, but it doesn’t last long because you're already pushing her skirt up higher. Then go her panties in the other direction. She lifts her hips to help you, and soon you toss them aside. You spread her thighs. She places one hand behind her on the wood, keeping herself propped up, and with the other, she guides the head of your cock to her entrance. It all seems so rehearsed, which is a testament to the number of times you’ve had her like this.
"Where do you get the energy -"
She doesn't finish the sentence, too busy gasping as you push into her, slow and steady. She's so wet and so warm around your tip. There is a moment where you just look at each other, both breathing heavily, and then you start to move, your hips rolling as you fuck her on the desk, and you tell her, "Proper motivation."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Something about knowing someone else is waiting for me at home," you say, and she moans, her head falling back. "Makes me want to fuck you even harder."
"Fuck," she gasps, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "That's so fucked up."
"Knowing that ‘the someone at home’ is going to suck your cum off my cock when I get home." You start to thrust a little faster, a little harder. It always goes like this, as you both descend into cheating madness. "And she has no idea."
Rei's eyes are glazed over, her lips parted as she pants, and you take the chance to capture her soft lips again. She kisses back just as hard.
Her nail scrape down your back as she pulls off your shirt. You can feel the sting, but it just spurs you on, your hips snapping against hers over and over.
You want to mess her up. You want to ruin her, to mark her, to make her forget her own name. It’s all primal thoughts when you’re alone with her. You want to fuck her so good she can't think straight, can't remember anything but your cock and the way you feel inside her.
So you do just that. You fuck her hard and deep. Your hands are on her hips, and you pull her into every thrust. She's making the most delicious sounds - little whimpers and moans that go straight to your cock.
There's this thing about Rei - call it a habit or call it an addiction - she's got this need to be a little bit mean, to be a little bit cruel, even when she's getting her brains fucked out. You can feel it in the way she's digging her nails into your skin, in the way she's clenching around you, trying to milk you for all you're worth. So you give her a little of what she wants, and you whisper in her ear, "Wonyoung would hate you, you know."
Rei barely manages a few expletives in response.
"She'd scratch your eyes out if she knew what we were doing." You punctuate your words with a particularly hard thrust, and she cries out. "But I guess that's part of the fun, isn't it? The thought of her finding out?"
"Yes," Rei hisses. "Fuck, yes."
"You love it, don't you? You love being the dirty little secret, the one I come to when I need a little extra."
With that, she's got a hand on the back of your head, pulling you hard against her, into the crook of her neck. Her lips are right at your ear, and between the moans and the ragged breaths, she's throwing out these little fragments of self-degradation. "I'm just a quick fuck to you," she says. "Just a warm hole to stick your cock in when you're bored of her."
She's not wrong, but you love hearing her say it, love the way she's getting off on her own humiliation. So you tell her she's right, and you kiss her neck. You’re all teeth - it’s a little aggressive. "But you're so fucking good at it," you growl. "You're such a good little slut for me."
"Fuck, yes," she whines, and you can feel her getting close, her body tensing up, her nails digging into your scalp. "I'm your little slut, I'm your dirty little secret, I'm—fuck, I'm gonna cum."
You can feel it too, that telltale tightening around your cock and hear it in the way her breath hitches. So you push her right over the edge. Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles as you keep pounding into her. She screams, her whole body convulsing, and you feel her gush around your cock as her juices soak both of you.
"See, you're always so easy." She's nodding along, or at least doing her best to; some form of vague agreement is hidden in the way she's falling apart. There's this signature way Rei cums, something you know well enough now that you could pick it out in a lineup of orgasmic faces, where she gets a bit teary-eyed, and her bottom lip quivers, and then she breaks into this giggle - it's fucking adorable. "And so messy."
You slow down, letting her ride it out, and then you pull out, her body going limp against the desk. You take a moment to admire her - the way her chest is heaving, the flush on her cheeks, the dazed look in her eyes. You could look at her for hours, memorise every detail, but you've still got work to do.
So you're picking her up, but not heading for the bed.
Something about sliding balcony doors sings to the voyeur in you, as if you needed the city lights as an audience to the little spectacle you're making of her. So that's where you're taking her. That's where you'll pound her next.
"You know, there is a budget issue," Rei slurs out as she is pushed up against the glass.
"Oh yeah?"
"Overspending."
You're near tearing that skirt from her hips, and as she steps out of it, she turns and bends over, pushing her ass out for you. "And it can't wait?"
Rei shakes her head, looking back over her shoulder. "Actually, it's very relevant." She dips a little deeper. "You see, overtime costs are up a few points this quarter, and accommodation expenses have ballooned."
"Sounds like something we need to crack down on. Maybe you can find one of your creative approaches?"
"Asking me to get creative?"
"Always."
“I can do creative." It's an understatement for a woman like her, who seems to have an infinite number of ways to make you lose your mind. Case in point: she reaches out to pull a chair over to her side, and then she puts one foot on it and bends over a little further, giving you an even better view of her pussy, still wet and glistening from her last orgasm.
And just like that, you're kneeling, hands on her ass, spreading her open. Your tongue slides through her folds. Rei presses against the glass. "With the right motivation, I can hide any deficit," she's telling you, and you chuckle against her, the vibration making her shiver.
You lick her clit, and she whimpers. Rei pushes her hips back against your tongue. "I can make it work," she continues, her words breathy. "I'll just have to get very hands-on with the numbers."
You're not really listening anymore, too focused on the way she tastes, the way she feels against your tongue. You don’t have to see her to know she’s smirking. "I'll just have to bend over backwards for the company."
You groan at that, your cock twitching at the idea, and you pull back, standing up. You slap her ass, making her yelp and the flesh wobble. Now, you're lining up again and then pushing into her in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the glass where she can’t find any.
"Corporate loyalty," she gasps out. "It's all about giving your all."
"I think you're more than giving your all, Rei," you tell her. You reach around her to cup her breasts. "I think you're going above and beyond."
She laughs, breathless and a little wild, and it's the sexiest sound you've ever heard. "Just doing my job."
"And you're so good at it." You roll her nipples between your fingers. "I should give you a raise."
"I'd rather you just shut up and keep fucking me."
You can't argue with that. You straighten up, one hand on her hip, the other hooking the thigh of the leg she has propped up in the air. You're pressing her against the glass, the city lights blurring behind her. You're fucking her hard and fast. She's taking it, loving it, begging for more. You give it to her, you give her everything, until you can feel yourself getting close, your balls tightening, your thrusts becoming a little erratic.
"Fuck, Rei, where?" you manage to grit out. Not that this is a knowledge thing, you just need to hear her say it before you do it.
"Anywhere. On me. In me."
In her.
She's cumming and laughing, and it's all so overwhelming, you can't help but follow her over the edge. Your vision goes white, your body tensing as you empty yourself inside her, filling her up with your cum. You stay like that for a moment, both of you breathing heavily, and then you pull out, watching your cum drip out of her, down her thighs.
It's fucking obscene, and you love it. You love the way she looks, all dishevelled and well-fucked. Rei turns to face you, and there's a satisfied smirk on her lips. There’s a gleam in her eye that says she knows exactly what she's doing to you.
She's standing, hands against your chest as she leans close, and suddenly she's all delicate. Plump lips give pillowy kisses. She keeps pulling back before you can engage her in liplock, a playful tease that has you chasing her kisses as she tilts her head this way and that.
"You're a bad habit," she whispers, and you can feel her smile against your lips.
"You're worse.”
"I know," she smirks, and just when you think you might make out with her, she's gone. One quick drop to her knees with cat-like precision. She's taking your cock in her mouth, cleaning you off, her tongue swirling around the head, lapping up the mixture of your cum and hers. You groan, and your hands tangle in her hair.
You've seen that look before - many times over the months you've been sneaking around with her. You're sure you'll see it again, and again, and again. As much as you both know this is wrong, as much as you both know it can't last, you can't seem to stop. She's your addiction, your guilty pleasure, your favourite fucking sin.
"Fuck, Rei." You're already half-hard again inside her mouth, and that has the corners of it upturned a little.
Then comes the buzzing - your phone. You swear under your breath, reach for it, and see Wonyoung's name flashing on the screen.
Rei pulls off your cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your head, and then - as if it's the most normal thing - tells you, "Better answer that.”
A shake of your head and a resigned sigh. You’re supposed to be in the office, and that leaves no excuse for ignoring her call. You swipe and answer. "Hey, baby.”
"Hey," Wonyoung says, and you can practically hear her pout. "You're working late again, aren't you?"
"Yeah, sorry. Meeting ran over, and I just need to… finish up."
She sighs, a little over-dramatically to make her point. You’ve heard it before, and you’ll hear it again. "Again? This is the fourth time this week. I'm starting to feel neglected…"
You have to bite back a groan and swallow it as Rei takes you back into her mouth. She caresses the tip of your cock with her tongue. "I know, baby, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"I'm holding you to that," Wonyoung warns. And sure, she's not really mad, just playfully annoyed, but there’s this pang of guilt that quickly passes. Her tone shifts to something a little more serious and a little more seductive. "You know, I've been thinking about you all day. I'm wearing that new lingerie you bought me."
It’s an enticing thought that will only fuel you further.
Oh, fuck. Rei's eyes flick up to yours as she takes you deeper. That fucking smirk around your cock. Ugh, she’s so clearly enjoying the predicament she's putting you in. You clear your throat. "Yeah? The red one?"
"Mm-hmm," Wonyoung purrs. "It's so soft against my skin, and it makes me feel so sexy. I wish you were here to see it."
You drop your tone a little and tell her, "Wish I was too." It's not entirely a lie - you do want to be there and to see her in that lingerie. You just also happen to want to fuck Rei's throat while you're thinking about it, but you can’t exactly say it out loud.
You can just picture Wonyoung lying on your shared bed, her hand trailing down her stomach, slipping inside the red lace. "I've been touching myself," she confesses, and your hips jerk forward, making Rei gag a little. "Just thinking about you. About your hands on me, your mouth on me, your cock inside me."
Jesus Christ. This is too much. Rei's still working you over, her head bobbing in your lap, and Wonyoung's moaning in your ear. You're pretty sure you're going to hell for this, but fuck, does it feel so good.
"I want you to come home and fuck me," Wonyoung near-pleads. "I want you to bend me over the bed and take me hard. I want to scream your name until the neighbours complain."
You tangle your fingers into Rei's hair and hold her in place as you start to thrust into her mouth. "I'll be home as soon as I can, baby.”
"Promise?" Wonyoung asks, and you can hear the pout again.
"I promise." It's a lie, but what's one more on top of all the others?
"Are you alone?" Rei looks up at you, her eyes wide, but she doesn't stop sucking you, doesn't even slow down. If anything, she doubles her efforts, taking you deeper, her nose pressing against your stomach - the last thing you need.
"N-no," you stutter out. "I mean, yes. Yes, I'm alone. Just me and the spreadsheets."
"Right, right. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine," you grit out, as Rei starts to hum around your cock. You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. "Just tired. Long day."
"Mm," Wonyoung’s not entirely convinced, that much is sure, but she buys any lie you try to sell her. "Well, hurry up and finish your work so you can come home and finish me off."
"Believe me, I'm trying," you say, and it's the truth, for once. You need to fuck Rei again - need to finish your work.
Wonyoung laughs, a bright, happy sound that makes your chest ache. "I love you," she says, and the words hit you like a series of little punches to the gut.
"I love you too," you reply, and you mean it - even as Rei's swallowing around you, even as your hips are thrusting into her mouth, even as you're trying not to bust a nut down your mistress's throat. You love Wonyoung, and that's what makes this so fucked up.
"See you soon." Wonyoung hangs up and leaves you with the dial tone and a girl on her knees who's still looking up at you with a fire in her eyes.
You toss your phone aside. You grip Rei's hair as you start to really fuck her face in punishment. She takes it - just lets you use her. Her eyes water, and spit drips down her chin. "That was so fucking bad," you scold. "Doing that while I'm on the phone with her."
Rei pulls off, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock, and then catches it as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Punish me then."
At that, you're throwing her onto the bed. Wonyoung can wait. For just a little while longer, at least. You're going to give Rei exactly what she wants, and then you're going to go home to your girlfriend, and you're going to fuck her, too. Because you're greedy, and you want it all - the sweet girlfriend who loves you, and the dirty mistress who lets you use her.
Read it on Fanprose! Follow me on Fanprose!(and send me pocas)
The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s a culmination of the inevitable. It’s because of genetics - in both the weird way that you get rigid and sensitive every time she wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, and the way the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly).
That’s not in any way a fault of either of you. You’re both as bad as the other, and the argument is that two wrongs make a right. So, while you may have been ogling those legs every time she passes by your door, she’s been standing in the kitchen, watching as you cross in little more than your briefs.
So, you’re not exactly, entirely sure how it got from that to this. Asa is standing close, in a living room of friends, and she smiles at you. Her eyes go hooded and sleepy - all pupils - and you can hear the party counting down the minutes to midnight.
Your heart beats faster when she lifts up on her toes.
Maybe you meet her half of the way. Either way, her lips are on yours. It’s easy - because fuck if this girl can’t kiss - it's a sensation unlike any you've ever felt before. It's electric. The kind of chemistry that belongs in a lab where some sort of experiment has gone spectacularly right. The way you slot together, open your mouth, and taste her. And then she parts her lips to welcome you more, the tip of her tongue is teasing over your lips and then meeting yours, and somewhere between hello and goodbye, you grab her hips and hold her against your front because you need more.
Fuck, you think, all the girls you've met in your life, so help you fucking god - you never knew what you were missing before. "Fuck, Asa," you whisper into the kiss when it gets so deep, you think your lungs may give in.
Then she moans into the kiss, her fingers combing up the back of your neck and threading through your hair. "Mm," she hums to you, breathless and soft, "what?" She pulls back to check you’re still with her, the both of you breathing hard.
You swear you were drunk five minutes ago, but now you’re stone-cold sober, staring down at this girl you’ve known for most of your college years, and all you want is for this moment to last forever. You want her everywhere, want to feel more of her skin, and taste more of her lips, and have her pull on your hair until you spill out everything you can give her.
For a split second, you hesitate. And you can see Asa realising the same thing.
"Asa," you say again, only there's something else in your voice now - a different set of intentions. It hangs in the air between you; it might be fear or caution, and a hint of something darker. Desire, something urges you to admit. You don't. You don't want to say it out loud.
And because Asa is Asa and has never known a single moment of restraint, she doesn't give you time to think twice. Her fingers twist harder in your hair, and when she pulls you down to meet her - holy fuck - the kiss turns ravenous.
"Tell me I can do more than just kiss you," she whispers onto your mouth, and if you hadn't already lost the ability to breathe, you do then.
You're nodding, and thinking you'd let her choke the life out of you if she asked. The kisses continue. It's wet and messy, filthy in the best kind of way that leaves you wanting so much more.
So, with hands on her tiny waist, and your mouth hot against hers, you lead her backwards toward your bedroom. There's a quick moment when she fumbles for the doorknob, and you help without even giving it a thought. Then the two of you are stumbling inside, and you're praying that you left your bed in a half-decent condition.
You get her down onto the sheets with the lights off, your hand already travelling up the side of her body; you barely feel the way she shifts to kick her shoes off. Asa sits up as you kiss down her neck, licking and biting and savouring the soft noises she makes into your ear. She tugs her shirt over her head while you're working the button and zipper on her pants. These clothes will be gone in near record time.
You will drink that body in. Drink it until you choke on it.
You barely have a moment to kiss over the tops of her breasts, or to dip your tongue between the valley and wonder what she might taste like there, when Asa is moving you. Her fingers wrap tight again into your hair, and she doesn't so much as force, as urge you down her torso, helping you push her jeans down and off. Then your mouth is trailing down her bare skin, your lips mapping out the shape of her abs - and fuck, your tongue is so close to the spot that you really want to bury your face in between her legs, but she just whines, impatient.
“Lower, please -” The words barely make it out among her shaky gasps and moans. You look up over the planes of her body, all those enchanting contours that almost capture your attention so wholly that you don’t notice her dark eyes. They’re looking right down at you with intent. Her hand lowers and her thumb meets your jaw. “Come on, aren’t you curious?”
"Like you wouldn't believe," is the only reply you give before you drag her underwear down her legs and are met with the most incredible view you'll ever witness.
"Is that what we're calling it?" You trace your thumb through her folds, spreading them wide to take in every pretty inch of her glistening cunt. You feel her shudder at the touch - good - you want to test her patience first, see just how much she needs it. More touches follow, your fingers following the seam of her cunt, and a shudder courses through her.
"Hey," she groans, and arches up. You have to push your hand flat to her lower stomach just to keep her from lifting off the bed completely.
"You're impatient," you accuse with a slight laugh, and she cracks one eye open to glare down at you.
"If you weren't down there with your mouth so close to where I need it, I-"
"Where do you need it?" you ask, keeping your words quiet and mouth so close to her that your breath fans over her most sensitive parts.
Asa sucks in a sharp gasp at the tease. "My clit," she breathes out, "please, please -"
Yeah, alright, you think. You're a pretty weak man at the best of times; any hope of making this last has already been shot to shit. You lean in, planting a soft kiss against the little bundle of nerves, and Asa's entire body goes rigid in shock.
"Oh, god -" she whimpers when you lick up her cunt, settling into it like this is something you've been starving for - like she's oxygen, and you've been drowning for years. "Jesus fucking Christ-"
"Hmm?" Your tongue swirls over her clit, and your fingers pinch her thigh. "Did you just compare me to a deity?"
"The way you're using your mouth," Asa has the audacity to laugh, "I'll get on my fucking knees for you."
Every thought in your brain goes a little haywire. You hum and the vibrations go straight through her, making her whine and grab at your hair. She pulls you back in close, and her thighs tighten to your ears. You don't think she's ever really been that religious, but her sudden appreciation for the things above? Fair enough, you'll take it. "Careful," you rasp out onto her pussy, and without warning, you drop your mouth over her clit and suck.
"Ohhh -" Asa throws her head back. "Ah, fuck -" she sighs, canting her hips forward like she wants to bury your face right into her cunt. And far be it from you to refuse such a pretty invitation.
You groan into her folds, lapping at her wetness. You can feel the tension building in her legs, how she's starting to tremble. "Almost," Asa gets out, breathless and stuttering. "Like that," she directs, angling your head a little to the left, grinding your nose into the space just above her clit as your tongue flickers over it. "Right there," she pants, holding you in place. "Yes - oh! Fuck!"
And you're used to praise, but when Asa's thighs close tight around your head, when she has to stifle a scream in the pillow, you think you've just found a brand new favourite form of it.
You kiss her soft thighs when she finally lets you up for air, and then slide back up her body to look down at her. Her eyes have gone glassy, and she's gazing at you with complete, undiluted want. Your cock is aching for some relief, but damn if this isn't the best sight you'll ever see.
"I have plans for that cock," Asa warns with a lazy smile, tracing her finger down your chest and then lower. It stops at the band of your jeans, and you swallow at the brush of her knuckles against your hips. Her eyes turn dark again as she looks at your lips; she licks her own. "Want you to fuck me so hard I can't even think straight."
"Shit, Asa." Your fingers ghost along her neck, along her jaw, and you tilt her head up. "Think we've gone a little too far this time. Can't go back."
"Hmm, good." She lifts up, and all the air leaves your lungs as she pushes you over, back to the bed, her leg tossed over your lap. Your hands come to her thighs out of sheer instinct, and you realise Asa is already trying to undo your pants. "Finally get to see if you're as hung as I imagined."
"And just how often have -"
"Not enough," she tells you with her focus set on freeing your cock from the constraints of your underwear. "All the goddamn time." Asa watches your dick hit against your stomach with a grin that's absolutely diabolical. "Fuck, yes," she whispers. "Perfect."
There's this freeze frame of this little thing perched across your thighs, bottom lip between her teeth, and one hand around the base of your cock, and if you die tonight, that'll be fine. You'll take that memory with you anywhere and everywhere for the rest of your existence. Because then she looks up at you through her lashes, smiles, and leans forward to let a stream of her saliva spill over the head. Her hand pumps you once, spreading the wetness, and the moan that drops from your mouth is beyond your comprehension.
She bites her lip again, eyes watching your face. "Just like I imagined," she says and twists her wrist, "big and thick. Perfect for fucking me full."
"You little -" you start to say, and Asa just winks, like she already knows what she does to you, what you think of her, and what you need to happen next.
The way she looks at it, it's worship - eyes never leaving the sight of you, biting her lip and rolling her hips at how she thinks you'll feel inside of her.
"Fuck," she breathes, and her pussy slides right up the length of your cock. "So fucking big." The first stroke of her along you, and your mouth falls open; she just holds your shoulders for balance, tilting her hips to grind her clit against you, and fuck. "You feel that, don't you," she whispers, "dripping all over you. I'm so fucking wet - you're making me lose my mind."
You wrap your arms around her waist, flattening a palm over the base of her spine. With the low groan in your chest, you pull her closer, lifting her up. "Then let me inside," you growl. "Let me feel you."
"Yeah," Asa nods quickly. The head of your cock slips a little and catches on her entrance, "You want in?"
"Fuck, yes.”
She dips down, and you see the exact moment she takes you inside of her cunt - how her eyes go black and hooded, and her lips part. There's this long groan that trembles out of her - all honey-sweet and so perfect. "Oh fuck," she cries, "oh my god."
She's tighter than you could ever have imagined - your whole body shakes with the effort not to blow your load right then. But somehow you manage, and Asa rests her forehead against yours, breathing in short, heavy pants. She takes a moment, and you give it to her. But then she pushes back and rolls her hips, working her tight cunt down your length. You're about to lose your goddamn mind at how soft she feels. "Asa…"
"Mmm?" She hums, and the motion sends a shiver through the two of you.
"You're so ti -"
"I know. Can feel you. Stretching." She laughs a little, just one short huff. "Fuck, you're huge."
You fist the sheets, your knuckles turning white, and you're struggling with every breath to not grab hold and pound into her like an animal. Like your body is fucking begging for you to do. Like maybe if you weren't so desperately into this girl that you've lost any and all rationale - and you might, just for this, tell her how you feel.
But then she rises up your cock, gripping your shoulders for leverage, and your brain just fizzles. You're left completely and utterly fucking addicted to her, unable to do anything but feel.
Every drop back down, she takes you further in, every shift of her thighs to bring you deeper, has her head tipped back in pleasure. You love seeing her like this - all fucked-out and loud and messy. You love every fucking second of it.
"Am I taking all of you?" Asa asks eventually, head forward again, the words punched out as she begins to circle her hips once she's flush against you.
You're gripping her thighs as you tell her, "No. Almost." And she gasps at the knowledge.
"Too deep," she's whispering to you, trying to roll again but finding herself way too full. "Babe, oh -" Asa's mouth falls open again as she squirms, and fuck, the look on her face is priceless. There's just so much pleasure written there, you can't help it; your hips start to move to help meet her, and she just falls apart. "That's it," she keens, loud and desperate. "Fuck me full."
There's very little that remains between the two of you - just sweaty bodies and hungry lips and the sound of moaning. You push up into her, watching her cute tits bounce each time she gets more of you in her tight, tight cunt. The little noises of surprise she makes every time your cock brushes something deep inside her drive you crazy.
"Gonna ruin me," she tells you, breathless and honest, and her eyes roll when you drive into her particularly hard.
"You're already ruined," you say, trying to focus and not fuck up the rhythm you've worked into. "Don’t care if you are."
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” She throws her arms over your shoulders, and when you push her down your cock again, she sinks her teeth into the bend of your neck. "Oh, fuck," she moans, "just a little more. Ah!"
You pull her close, and with her legs around your hips, it's only one more rough, needy, snap into her tight, twitching heat that has Asa quaking in your arms. Her mouth is leaving damp kisses across your shoulders, your throat; she mumbles nonsense as she fucks back on you to get herself through her orgasm. The aftershocks have her cunt clenching, squeezing, and you can feel the warning that you're going to pop start to trickle up your spine.
"Asa," you mumble into the crook of her neck, hands under her perfect ass, "I can't hold it, if you keep -"
"It would be so fucked up if you cum inside me," she says, breathless and riding the last waves of her climax, her grin pressing into your collarbone. She nips you with her teeth, grinding down a little harder. "Totally would."
"Asa," you warn.
"Not saying you should, but..." She pulls away, her hands on your jaw, and gazes deep into your eyes. "You're going to feel so fucking good when you're finishing in me."
"I shouldn't."
"You shouldn't," she says, sitting upright again. "But..." She lifts and then she turns, throwing her leg over your body and you get the perfect, pretty view of your cock burying deep inside her from behind. Holy fucking shit - her little heart-shaped ass hits your stomach as she takes you again, watching you the whole time over her shoulder, like she wants to see you fall apart.
"I hate you," you grunt, letting your hips snap up into her. She takes it, again and again.
"You say the sweetest things." She meets you in the middle, and she looks back at your face again, those eyes - it's like she's looking straight into your soul, licking her lips. "Cum in my pussy, c'mon, I know you want to. It's okay."
"No -" But your cock is inside her, hitting her in exactly the right spot to make her mewl. She's fucking gorgeous, and her words are going to be the end of you. She's grabbing her ass, pulling the cheeks apart for you and showing you just how well she takes you. And you can't, you really cannot. "Asa." you warn her, not that it seems to do any good.
"Mhm?" She smiles, innocent and sweet, and you know right then and there that you're already done for.
She can probably feel you swelling inside her, twitching, getting harder, bigger. She doesn't stop riding. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't you?" You’re still not sure if it’s a warning or a dare, but then she seems to make the intention all the more concrete. "I can feel it. You're going to make the biggest mess inside me. Bet if I asked nice enough, I could probably have you do it every night."
"Asa -" It’s all in fucking vain.
"It would be so good," she purrs, leaning back, forcing your cock to the absolute base inside her - you feel the head of it hit home deep, and it's too much for you.
The sound that leaves your lips is probably closer to a death rattle, and it sets Asa right off again. She starts laughing in delight, and the shift of her body makes you jerk up into her - fuck, you've lost the fight. Lost it with her last teasing taunt. Maybe a long time before that. White-hot pleasure shoots up your spine, and you're spilling into the warm, clenching embrace of her cunt - just as requested.
"Oh fuck -" She moans and rolls her hips. "That's so much, holy shit. I can feel it, all warm."
Your fingers dig hard into her waist, trying to hold her there while you fuck up into her and flood her full.
"God, that's so fucking hot. You couldn't even stop yourself - didn't even want to - fuck, look at you."
You have just enough sense of self to slide your eyes up to hers and - damn her, really - to see her watching you with the most satisfied grin, knowing full well she's responsible for your undoing. And hell if she isn't making the best damn view out of it, because she lifts and she leans and she shows that pussy to you. Leaking, dripping, a perfect white mess in between her legs. She plays with it, making a mess of herself.
"I have a New Year's resolution, you know?" she says, almost off-handed. You stare up at her in a daze, your brain spinning, struggling to make sense of anything, when she pushes your cum up with her fingers - playing in it. "Want to do this, like, a lot."
"Most resolutions never make it past January," you warn.
"Yeah," Asa cocks her head, amused, "but I don't think this one's gonna be a problem."
You can't keep coming home to this—close to midnight, front door left swinging open and every light from the entrance to the kitchen switched on. It's fucked up how you're hoping you've been robbed, or that a serial killer is waiting around the corner to put you in the dirt, but instead it's much, much worse.
Ningning, leaning against your fridge, helping herself to a glass of milk.
"You're late," you hear, followed by, "Date went well then?"
Yeah, the best possible thing you could do is ignore her, open your apartment window, and throw yourself out. Or, better yet, pick her up, and toss her instead, or fuck, get your hands around her throat and squeeze—if only you weren't certain that she'd be so happy when you did, that she’d lift an eyebrow, flash that smug grin, all delighted that you've added a new dimension to whatever doomed tangle the two of you are in, and say:
"Didn't know you had it in you."
So you just slump.
Drop your bags, your jacket on the floor—whatever, you'll get to them later. Walk past her, like if you don't acknowledge her existence you can delay the inevitable for a touch longer, stop her from digging any deeper into your brain. But if there's anything you know about Ningning—she has all the patience in the world.
Happy to keep raiding your kitchen, letting the milk sit on her lips, timing it to the exact second you slip up and look her way—then licking it clean with one swipe of her tongue.
You ache more than you'd ever willingly admit.
Not that she'd have any trouble making you.
It’s who she is: Queen of dark corners and thick fucking air that suffocates your lungs. A tiny little nightmare half your size, always one careless glance away from splitting you open like it’s nothing.
She doesn’t even need to try.
Hair a messy shawl down to her shoulders, lips a light pink hue. Traces of eyeshadow, curled lashes, chipped nail polish. She clearly had something far more important to deal with earlier—you're just another box to check off today’s to-do list.
She pushes off your fridge. It’s inhuman. She knows exactly where your eyes will go.
You can’t stop it, you’re staring straight at her tits the moment her body shifts—the tiny crop top clinging snug, doing obscene fucking things to all the soft weight underneath. And below all that, just a scrap of panties. Nothing else. Makes you complicit the second you look.
"Had fun playing hero?" The glass makes a hollow ring when she sets it aside. "Yuha's been blowing up the group chat since you left her—oh, forty minutes ago?"
You freeze when you reach your kitchen island. Lean back, and wait for her to come to you. It’s the only scrap of resistance you can still muster at this point.
"Sounded fun—going to the movies, holding hands in the dark, hugging her close when she got scared. Did you like the outfit she was wearing?"
It only takes one step.
She crowds you against the counter, hands planted on either side of your waist, caging you in. Even her smile is pissing you off. Her top’s cut low, and it hits you like a vision—this exact angle that's been burned behind your eyelids.
One thin strap still clings to that dainty shoulder. The collarbone you’ve licked and sucked and worshipped more times than you can count staring back at you.
And it’s slipping lower still, a small shift and the whole top will give—tits spilling free, nipples begging for your mouth.
She leans in, a whisper sticking against your skin that she stamps in with a kiss. "I helped pick it out for her, you know."
Your breath catches. You groan. You need to move, shove her away, tell her that this needs to end tonight; the guilt, the depravity is a mountain looming over any blackmail she hangs over your head.
But you can't do anything. Not until you have her permission.
Instead your hips twitch towards her, and your cock strains underneath your pants, hitting her belly like a trained dog.
She pushes forward, a shoulder into your sternum, backing you up as far as you can go into the countertop, and reaches down.
Her fingers skate up the inside of your thigh, and the strap of her top drifts down until she's exposed and she doesn't seem to mind at all.
No, she's flawless. Devastating. Pushes her body against yours and her tits are so full and plush and squash against your chest and you need her to fucking stop before—
She squeezes you tight, and you inhale sharp, choking on her scent.
And it fucks you up, because she smells exactly like Yuha.
"Yeah," she says, twisting her wrist, her grip, careless with how she fists your cock, your balls through your slacks. "She let me borrow her perfume as a thank you.”
Ningning leans, grinding the fragrance deeper down your throat.
“Isn't she so nice? Isn't this so nice? You get to think about her while you're with me."
She doesn't expect an answer.
But it drives you mad—she tilts her head so you can see how it clings to her; her throat, her collarbone, her tits. It’s sweet, it’s soft. It’s wrong. It makes your cock throb.
And you'd touch her, reach for her, run your hands over that smooth skin, the soft curves; take a handful of her in your palms and squeeze her right back, twist that nipple and tell her you can dole out the same amount of punishment—but Ningning drives her shoulder into you again, fists clenching around you, and pulls, and it's with deft hands and practiced fingers that your belt clinks open, the button and the zipper fall apart with it.
"Turn around."
For the first time, you manage some small protest. "Yizhuo."
She smiles at that, tricks you into thinking it’s fond. Glances low and yanks down your briefs. Frees your cock and lets it slap against her palm. Hard, throbbing, undeniable evidence of everything she does to you.
And she is—what the fuck is she to you? Your girlfriend's friend. Her senior, her pseudo-older sister.
Your client. Or, your boss.
Or just—she's the person that caught you sneaking around backstage—bored, horny, stupid.
You're the help, security—company’s hired muscle. Already neck-deep in the shit by dating Yuha; and you dug your grave and carved your own tombstone the second Ningning caught you in their dressing room—panties smothered over your face, cock in your fist, chasing a peak you couldn’t quite summit.
That was the first time you gave her everything she wanted.
She was smiling then too. Like she'd been waiting for the excuse.
She looks back up at you, fixated on your lips.
"Yizhuo?" She mocks you, and reaches up with her other hand, pressing it to your lips. You let her in, as easy as you let her into your home, let her force two fingers in until you gag, until she has you choking on her digits when they tickle the back of your throat.
She twists her fingers in your mouth, has you drooling down them, leaving them slick with your own spit.
And then she drags them out, pulls the strings of your saliva down to your cock, and runs her hand over it in one, decisive, torturous pump.
"Yizhuo is what my friends call me," she says, taking you from head to base, and slathering the underside, underneath your balls. "Are we friends now?"
You choke down another breath when she starts to stroke, achingly slow, always patient. You buckle under her gaze and it has you confessing, "No."
"I didn't think so," she tuts. "Don't make me repeat myself again. Turn around."
Ningning steps away, gives you just enough room to move. To show her your back, make yourself vulnerable to her.
Let her know she could do anything at all and you'd just take it.
And it's fucking embarrassing when she reaches around and finds you so humiliatingly hard. You know the look on your face must be even worse, because Ningning's laughing.
"My, my, my," she says, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she gets the full measure of you. Taking her time—she needs it to navigate the length of you—revelling in every second. "So hard already? You look so ridiculous in my hand."
And then:
"This would snap tiny, pretty Yuha in half," and it does its job, provokes you, but every chance of resistance is drained from you when she wrenches her hand tight and takes your cock rough from base to tip. "How nice of me, doing both of you a favour."
Your knuckles go white against the counter, there's plenty you could do, but with Ningning all you can ever manage is brace yourself—ride it out, let her have her way.
She keeps herself busy, crafting slow, deliberate strokes. Getting off on this, her skin so deliriously hot against you, burning, like she knows—knows if she twists her grip like this she can rip out something raw from your throat; knows if she rushes her palm down it'll make you hiss through your teeth.
And she knows if she squeezes and pumps you fast—filling your kitchen with these slick, messy noises, this rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick—you'll call her name again and she'll have to bite into your shoulder and warn you: "What did I say about calling me Yizhuo?"
You close your eyes. It's just a hand—it could be any other girl, you spend your days in proximity of so many of them.
"I'm the only one for you," she tells you, finishing a thought you didn't realise she could hear. "No other girl would know how to use you right."
She pulls a moan out of you when she palms your tip, smearing the beads there, before gliding her hand down—and you hate that it sounds like an affirmation.
"They wouldn’t even know where to start,” she continues on, steady torment. “They’d need you to teach them, guide their small hands, be their first big strong man.”
You open your eyes, catching her other hand tugging your pants down and under your ass; your shirt’s already unbuttoned, dropping down your shoulders and leaving your chest bare, free for her nails to mark up and dig into.
"Yuha sure as hell expects that." She laughs again and it's evil and she's on her toes now, sucking something hard into the line of your throat—and it's going to leave a mark, something you won't be able to hide, will need to explain away to your girlfriend, to the other girls, to the company in the morning, but that's the last thing in your mind when Ningning adds her teeth and makes it hurt.
"Fuck," spills out, and you're seething, seeing red, gripping into the counter so hard you could make a dent.
"You love it." She kisses into your new scar, soothes you, the sick kind of tenderness only she can grant, and it makes you bend into her, lets her fold her body over yours, and her words hit you like a healing balm, the feeling of her body slotting over yours, enveloping warmth, tits slick with sweat squashed against your back, leg hooking around your knee like she's trying to crawl inside you, lips so close to yours and reflex has you turning to meet them.
"Please."
"Just this once," she tells you, and you’re so thankful when the pace of her hand builds, and her nails start to draw a circle around your nipple, and you twist your head far enough that she can breathe in every sigh and pained gasp she drags out of you before swallowing it all in a kiss.
She leads it with her tongue, and you're falling into her, into her grip, into her mouth, into the soft wet of her lips against yours, and there's so much she's doing, forcing on you—pumping, squeezing hard, pinching, twisting your nipple, and there's something in this that you want to deny so much: her control, her promise of where she can take you, it feels so good now, she can make it feel even better later.
Until she bites into your bottom lip, and you’re tasting copper, and she pulls away.
"Baby," she says, with a last, messy peck on your chin, the strands of saliva hanging there, another binding she has on you. "You're so pathetic."
You groan when she gets close, thigh brushing the back of yours, knee splitting between your legs to keep you spread open. Grinding herself into you, forcing you still with a single hand wrapped around you, and you can hear how hot both of you are—the squelch of your spit, your slick making your cock all glossy.
Her fingers tighten—just enough to make your knees buckle. And she builds, this aching pace, she knows the rhythm, knows how to make your skin crawl.
"You're a pervert, a filthy degenerate," she lists off, breath scalding the shell of your ear. "Bet you were sweet and gentle with Yuha on your little date. Calling her baby, telling her how pretty she looks in that dress. Kissed her like a good boyfriend would."
You wouldn’t dare, it’d be fucking audacious, to read anything into it—believe there’s a twinge of jealousy there, envy at her own junior. Pure disaster. Your brain’s already too fried to untangle the implications of that anyway.
"Tell me, tell me how good you were to her," she says, and she twists on your nipple again, pierces you with her nails. "Or were you too distracted counting down the minutes until you could come crawling home to me."
"I was good," you rasp; you're barely keeping it together. There's no hiding anything now—your body, your moans, it all betrays you any time you try to do anything other than what she wants—and if that wasn't enough it's the sound of her stroking you, so goddamn loud it rings in your ears and laughs at your whines. "I am good to her."
She punishes you with these fast, brutal strokes, and snaps, "Liar. How can you say that when you love this so much?"
"I—"
But you can't finish, Ningning gives your nipple one last tug and slides her hand around your body, dragging a nail down your lower back, engraving a path that ends right at your ass, between your cheeks.
"Yizh—"
"That's the third time," she grunts, and pushes her finger against the tight ring of your asshole. "The third time you've tried to call me by my name. But that's not what you get to call me, is it?"
Something raw, something that doesn't belong to you surges from your throat when she pushes, finger tight against your rim, and it's just a fingertip inside but it has your knees banging against the marble in front of you and you're not sure what hurts worse but you're absolutely sure of what feels best.
"Don't say another fucking word, unless it's the one I want to hear," she says, and she's grinding herself harder against your leg, fucking herself on your thigh, soaked panties dragging hot and slippery over your skin. She's so warm, like a sick, twisted embrace and through the corner of your eye you can see her—the delirious grin on her face, the violent delight she's taking from you and you can't help but think it:
She's so gorgeous.
Ningning pushes until she's knuckle-deep inside you, your whole world narrowing to this single point. It’s sharp, burning, before melting into something disgustingly good as she curls it, squeezing that spot that rips the word out of you like it was always waiting underneath your tongue:
"Mommy."
And she chuckles, twists her finger, driving it all the way in, forcing you to fuck yourself deeper into her hand.
"Mommy, it's—"
"I know," she kisses it into your neck, licks it across your cheek, tastes the tears that you can't stop leaking from the corner of your eyes. "Mommy's got you."
She fucks you like this—like there's no time left, like either of you might drop dead any second now so there's only this—fucking your ass like it's the light at the end of the tunnel, having you fuck her hand just the same.
“This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” Her breath hitches, she pants against you, wet, parted lips sliding across your cheek. “Being a good slut, a fucktoy for your Mommy, isn’t that right?”
And you’re already so far gone, air’s going thin, it’s getting worse with every press, and she just keeps pushing deeper, punishing you into this merciless pace.
“All of this—all of you. Your cock, your tight little asshole—mine, mine, mine—say it.”
“Yes—fuck—it’s yours—it’s yours—” You’re whining, exhaling hard with every stroke, there’s nowhere else to go, just do your best to tell her whatever she wants to hear. “Always been yours.”
And it's pressure building, cooking inside of you, the marks she left on you, the pain you'll remember—blood in your mouth, your shoulder, red on your chest, blooming around your asshole, she's fucking banging you into the counter now, and whatever squeeze your ass has on her finger she's matching around your cock.
"Come on, baby, just for me," she coos, and you try to close your eyes but her voice stops you in place—"Don't look away—look me in the eyes, so I can see you. See who you really are—a filthy boy who gets off on getting broken by his Mommy."
So you look, stare, see that glassy wash of pure joy, the hunger there, how she's living for this, dominating, being in control of you, punishing you with this ruthless, this rough, this brutal kind of fucking.
“Nothing will ever make you feel as good as me. You want me to make you feel so good, don’t you? Suck your worthless cock. Fuck every drop of cum out of you—take every single inch,” Ningning tells you so easily, sincerely, like it’s already planned, destined, it’s all in the cards, and—“I can do it for you, baby, I can do it all.”
She shoves her whole body into your back, fucking her finger deeper; it’s insane, all of it—her digit curling inside your ass, stretching you out, finding all sorts of angles to exploit.
“I’ve got a surprise. Mommy’s got a gift for you. A nice, big toy. A brand new cock. I’ll show my cute little slut how to really fuck.”
That makes you cry out something guttural, makes your cock throb painfully in her grip, another thick bead of you sliding over her knuckles.
“You'd love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have Mommy ruin your tight, tiny asshole. Stretch it out wide.” Ningning bites it into your ear, “Greedy.”
“Yes—please—Mommy—fuck—please—” You’re sputtering, it’s all too much, a miracle you’re still somehow coherent, just repeating the same begs, the same pleas, the same prayers because you're feeling it—feeling her everywhere. “Please—my ass—I can’t take it—”
And that's your excuse—your out, this is all just a bodily reaction, inbuilt instinct, natural chemistry, biology, whatever the fuck.
She's stroking every sensitive nerve of your cock; fucking you deep, reaching mind-numbing points you could never dream to find yourself each time she invades your asshole and god, Jesus, fuck, Mommy, she's forcing a second finger inside you, splitting you open raw and—
"Cum for me, cum on my finger, cum all over Mommy’s hand, do it for me—now."
Maybe it's not so bad that it feels so fucking good to not be ashamed, not try to hide, you can embrace who you really are around her.
Maybe it’s right to listen to her—do what she says, tell her you’ll be good and obedient for her; your body’s already ahead of you, so, so close, every nerve of yours in a chorus of agreement with how she’s fucking you.
It's for the best—it's what you need—let her have her way, let her call you her bitch, her slut, her tight, perfect hole, let her get deep in your guts, let her pull every shameful drop of cum from your cock—it's protection, it's your job, that's what it is.
You're protecting Yuha, protecting your relationship, so it's fine, it's okay, it’s okay, she can fuck you like this, make you cum, and later when she swallows your cock whole and rides you until you’re screaming, and rails your ass with her strap until you’re in tears and cumming all over her cock, you’ll be good, it’ll be over, because it's not like you need her, not like you need your—
"Mommy, I’m going to cum!"
“So cum then.”
It's a split second, like a gunshot—hot searing pain firing through your body and tearing a hole right through you—and it must look the same, it's written all over Ningning's face, hanging off the tilt of her plush lips.
All of a sudden: you're gushing, spewing cum all over her hand, shooting past her grip and her fingers go deep inside you and you're hitting the marble, splashing all over, across the bench, serving dessert for Ningning on the same counter you've prepared so many dinners for Yuha on so many nights before.
Ningning’s all over you, her full weight on you, she's been moaning in your ear this whole time, chewing up your lobe, tonguing inside, she's in your ass, she's in your fucking head, flooding your mind, telling you:
"That's it,” she coos, the praise dripping straight into the mess she’s made of you, “Keep going, keep going for Mommy, my good boy—"
And you’re gone.
It's splatter after splatter of cum across the counter, and she's pushing you into it and you would be face-first in your own release but you're somehow able to keep yourself propped up.
You cry for your Mommy one last broken, wrecked time—and everything blurs into a flash of white—painting the counter, your stomach, your open shirt, Ningning's hand.
She doesn't stop. Milks you through every pulse until your thighs shake and you're not sure you can stand on your own anymore—and you're leaning on her for support, whimpering into her shoulder, oversensitive, over-fucking-whelmed, spent dry.
Only then does she ease up.
You sob when her fingers leave your ass. Groan when her hand pulls back from your cock.
She looks at the mess, the art she's made.
Leaves you to collapse in your own heap over the counter next to it. Catch your breath.
And then she takes a small step to the right, leans forward over the counter, bending low—and drags her tongue up the island in one, long scoop. Taking care to collect every single drop, every spurt you had, getting it all on her tongue, slow and thorough, and you just lie there, heaving, cock still twitching, ass still flexing open and close, staring, hooked on her.
She takes her time, tongue dragging slow, savouring it, leaving not a single inch of the counter unclean. Reclaiming every drop you wasted on anything that isn’t her.
Then, she drops to her knees, licks a long stripe up your cock, runs a finger under your balls, over the twitching shaft, wringing out the last pathetic beads that never reached the marble.
Ningning rises, presses her cum-slick lips to your chest, slurps the rest off your skin, and hums the entire time, like it's Sunday cleaning, like you're her furniture she's putting back in order.
And when she finally gets to her feet, towering over you, eyes on yours, lips sealed shut, you realise she’s kept it all, every single drop—hasn’t swallowed once, holding it all just for this. For you.
For a second, you wait.
You open your mouth.
She drools your cum inside.
Globs of it, sticking to the inside of your mouth, salty-sweet, making you cough, gag, filling up your head with the scent of you, but you can't do anything about it because she's taking you by the chin and kissing you before you can breathe.
It's hard, it's full of her tongue, full of your cum, it's—it’s so fucking hot. It’s dirty. Almost loving. She makes you feel it, fastens her body to yours, has you collapsing to the ground and she straddles you so easily, so naturally, and it feels so right and good that it has you swelling angrily against her and you’re finding new ways to hate her all over again.
She takes your hand, fills it with her pretty tits and squeezes your palm against her, mewling into your mouth when you find a nipple and twist.
Rolling her hips against your cock, she's fucking drenched, cunt drooling all over you, and you’re bucking up to meet her, struggling against the lace she's left on but you think if you try hard enough you can rip straight through.
Her hands are in the back of your hair, and she's pulling, tugging, wrenching you closer, breathing all of you in and sucking every drop of cum back into her mouth before pushing it down your throat with her tongue and making you swallow it all.
You know what she's declaring, loud and clear.
She could have you anytime, anywhere, any way she wants.
And when she's done, she slides her lips off yours, down your cheek, to your ear and tells you what you already know.
"You're disgusting."
She breaks away, stands tall. Peels her top off her body, tosses it onto the counter. It never mattered. Steps out of her panties without breaking her stride, rounding the island, hips swaying down the hallway towards your bedroom.
You hear her when she’s out of sight, "Do you need me to say it?"
You’re scrambling to your knees. You’re not sure if you'll make it to your feet.
You'll crawl if you have to.
"I'm coming, Mommy—"
"Crawl faster, baby. Mommy’s cunt isn’t going to fuck itself."
Hello all! I present to you my submission for our server's latest prompt challenge, where my task was to write a story using the time of sunset, and the added challenge of "The story must open with the end of the time duration, then rewind to the beginning and play through again".
Hope you guys like it <3
~~~
"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smirk on her face.
You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.
There are scratches down your back that sting when you shift position, her nails having carved you up badly when you'd finally pinned her against the mattress.
The sheets are ruined—no saving them. Not with the mix of sweat, cum, and whatever's left of Yujin's makeup smeared across the fabric. She's sprawled beside you, chest still heaving, her hair a complete disaster fanned across the pillow. Her sundress is crumpled by the door, one strap torn clean off.
Yujin rolls onto her side to face you, and you can see the aftermath of everything that just happened all over her body. Her lipstick is smeared from her mouth to her jaw, dark bruises already forming on her neck and collarbones. Cum is still leaking from between her thighs, making a mess on skin that's flushed and marked with your fingerprints.
"Worth it though, right?" She traces a finger down your chest, lazy and satisfied, like she's admiring her handiwork.
"You're impossible," you finally manage.
"You love it."
She's not wrong.
~~~
Six hours earlier, you'd been stupid enough to think this would be a normal date.
Yujin had texted you that morning with a simple "pick me up at 2 <3" and you'd thought—fine, easy. Lunch, maybe walk around, watch the sunset over dinner. Standard relationship stuff. You should've known better the second you pulled up and saw what she was wearing.
The sundress is light blue, thin cotton that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she's not wearing a bra. It hugs her waist before flowing down to mid-thigh, and when she bounces over to the car, you can see everything move in ways that make it very clear she planned this outfit specifically to fuck with you.
It's working.
"Hi baby," she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss your cheek. Innocent enough, except her hand lands directly on your thigh and stays there while she buckles her seatbelt.
"You're evil," you tell her.
"I'm adorable." She grins, adjusting the dress that's already riding up her thighs. "Where are we going?"
"That café you wanted to try."
The drive is only ten minutes, but Yujin makes it feel like an hour. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns while she chatters about her week. Every time you glance over, she's doing something designed to distract you—adjusting her hair so the dress pulls tighter across her chest, crossing and uncrossing her legs, biting her bottom lip while she looks out the window.
At the café, she orders an iced vanilla latte and immediately wraps her lips around the straw in a way that's just absolutely not necessary for drinking coffee.
You watch her take a slow sip, eyes locked on yours.
"What?" she asks, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.
"Nothing," you mutter, taking a drink of your own coffee and trying to focus on literally anything else.
She leans forward on her elbows, and the neckline of her dress dips low enough that you can see the curve of her tits. "You seem tense."
"I'm fine."
"Mm." She doesn't believe you, and that little smirk says she knows exactly why you're tense.
You finish your coffees and decide to walk through the nearby park since the weather's nice and you're clearly a masochist. Yujin loops her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body through that thin dress.
"Isn't this romantic?" she says, full of fake innocence as her free hand traces up your arm.
"Very," you say flatly.
She's already sliding that hand down, lacing her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest at her hip where the dress cinches.
The park is busier than you expected—couples on blankets, families with kids, people walking dogs. Yujin doesn't seem to care. She steers you toward a quieter path lined with trees, and the second you're out of immediate sight, she stops and turns to face you.
"I want a picture," she announces, already pulling out her phone.
"You take like fifty pictures a day."
"And I'm going to take fifty-one." She steps close, arm around your waist, phone up for a selfie. You're about to smile when her ass presses back against your crotch—a deliberate roll of her hips.
You grab her waist on reflex.
The camera clicks.
Wow. That is not a graceful expression.
"Perfect," she says, grinning at the photo before tucking the phone away.
She doesn't move away from you. You don't let go of her waist. She leans her head back against your shoulder.
"You're being very well-behaved so far."
"I'm being patient."
"And how long do you think that'll last?" She turns in your arms, and suddenly you're face to face with her, close enough to kiss. Her hands slide up your chest, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. You can smell her perfume, feel her breath against your mouth.
"Yujin—"
"What?" Those big, innocent eyes blink at you, like she's never done a thing wrong her entire life. Her thigh presses between your legs, just enough pressure to make her point. "We're just taking pictures, baby."
Someone walks past on the main path and you step back, mostly to maintain some semblance of dignity in public. Yujin just laughs, bright and delighted, before grabbing your hand and pulling you back toward the park exit.
"Come on, I want to look at the shops before dinner."
The boutique she drags you into is small, full of expensive clothes and a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up when you enter. Yujin immediately starts browsing through racks, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her body.
"What do you think of this one?" A black one that would barely cover her ass.
"It's short."
"That's not a no." She grins and drapes it over her arm, moving to the next rack. You follow behind. Her fingers trail over the different materials, hips swaying just a little more than necessary.
She disappears into the dressing room with three dresses, and you lean against the wall outside to wait. The curtain doesn't close all the way—you can see flashes of movement, the sundress pooling at her feet. Then her hand appears, crooking a finger at you.
"I need a second opinion," she calls out.
You glance at the attendant, who's fully absorbed in her phone, and slip behind the curtain.
Yujin is standing in just her panties. Holding up one of the dresses in front of her body.
Not wearing it.
The dressing room mirror shows everything—the curve of her bare tits, those panties sitting low on her hips, the cheeky smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.
"Well?"
"You're not even wearing it," you point out.
"I wanted to see your reaction first." She drops the dress entirely, closing the small distance between you. Her hands find your belt, fingers tracing the leather. "Are you going to do something about it?"
"There's a person right outside."
"So you'll have to be quiet." She's already popping the button on your jeans, and fuck, her hand sliding into your boxers is not helping your resolve.
You grab her wrist, stopping her before this gets completely out of hand. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations."
The look she gives you is pure frustration, but there's need underneath it. "You're no fun."
"I'm RESPONSIBLE."
"I don't like responsible," she pouts, but she lets you pull her hand away and picks the sundress back up. You slip out before you do something stupid.
She emerges a minute later. Doesn't buy any of the clothes she tried on.
She does, however, grab your ass when you're walking out of the store.
"An Yujin."
"Hand slipped!"
The restaurant is one of those places with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. You'd picked it specifically because Yujin mentioned wanting to watch the sunset over dinner.
Romantic as hell. Seemed like a good idea this morning.
You’re having second thoughts.
The golden light of the sunset coming through the windows catches in Yujin's hair when she sits down, makes her skin glow in a way that's entirely unfair. She's gorgeous in normal lighting, but with a sunset behind her she looks… unreal.
"This place is beautiful," she says, and she actually sounds genuine for once, looking out at the water where the sun is starting to paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.
"Yeah," you manage, trying to focus on your own menu and not the way the light is hitting her.
The waiter comes by and you both order—she gets the salmon, you get the steak, and she requests a wine she definitely can't pronounce but sounds expensive. (She knows you’re paying, after all). She's suspiciously polite, ordering without any funny business.
Then the waiter leaves and you feel her foot slide up your calf.
"Yujin."
"What?" She’s staring at the sunset like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.
"We're in public."
"I'm just getting comfortable." She blinks at you as her foot reaches your thigh and stays there, and you become very aware of how thin her dress is, how the sunset behind her makes it… almost see-through in places…
The wine arrives and she takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, her hand disappears under the table, and a second later you feel her fingers on your knee, sliding up your thigh with clear intent.
"Can't you just wait for the food," you plead, grabbing her wrist under the table.
"I'm not hungry for food." She leans forward, and the neckline of her dress dips dangerously low. The sunset behind her creates this halo effect that would be romantic if she wasn't currently trying to get her hand on your cock in a public restaurant.
You don't let go of her wrist, keeping her hand firmly on your thigh and nowhere else. "Behave."
"Make me," she says, and there's that fucking smirk again.
The food arrives. You let go of her hand so the waiter can set down the plates.
Yujin thanks him sweetly. He's barely gone before her hand is back—making it all the way to your crotch before you can stop her.
She palms you through your jeans, and fuck, you're already half-hard from her teasing all day. Her fingers trace the outline of your cock while she cuts into her salmon with her other hand like nothing's happening.
"How's your food?" she asks conversationally.
"Yujin, I swear to god—"
"You should try the salmon, it's really good." She takes a bite, and her hand squeezes you just enough to make you bite back a groan.
The sun is almost touching the horizon now, the entire sky turning brilliant shades of orange and red. The light hits her face and she looks like a fucking angel.
An evil little cock-teasing angel who’s decided getting you off under the table is way more fun than eating.
"You're so hard already," she murmurs, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. Her hand works you through the denim, and you're trying to keep your expression neutral while she's clearly enjoying watching you struggle.
"Stop," you say, but it comes out strained.
"You don't want me to stop." Her thumb finds the head of your cock through your jeans, rubbing in slow circles. "You've been wanting to fuck me since I got in your car."
She's not wrong, and you're done.
You grab her wrist, pull her hand away. Harder than necessary. "We're leaving."
"But we haven't finished—"
"Now, Yujin."
Pure triumph on her face. This is exactly what she wanted.
She doesn't argue, just grabs her purse while you flag down the waiter and hand him your card without even looking at the bill.
The sun is halfway below the horizon when you walk out, the sky on fire with color, and Yujin is practically skipping to the car.
She beats you to the passenger side, slides in with that pleased smile still on her face.
You're barely in the driver's seat. She's already leaning over the center console, hand on your thigh again.
"That was mean," she says, not sounding very sorry at all.
"You started it." You turn the key and pull out of the parking lot faster than necessary, and the sky is deepening now—brilliant orange fading to pink and purple at the edges.
"So you're admitting I won?"
"I'm admitting I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
The way her breath catches is supremely satisfying, but she recovers quick. "Promises, promises."
Her hand slides higher on your thigh and you grab it, pinning it in place. "You're going to make me crash."
"Then drive faster."
"You… want me to make our crash worse?"
"Just drive, idiot!"
The sunset is in your rearview mirror now, the sky ahead darker where night is already creeping in. You make it maybe two minutes before her other hand finds your belt, and you have to move your grip to catch that one too.
"Yujin."
"What? I'm just sitting here." She's absolutely not just sitting there—she's shifted in her seat so that dress is riding up her thighs, and when you glance over at a red light, you can see the lace edge of her panties.
"You're insane."
"You love it," she says again, and manages to get one hand free to palm you through your jeans. You're fully hard now, have been since the restaurant, and her touch makes you grip the steering wheel hard enough that your knuckles go white.
The light turns green. You have to let go of her to shift gears.
She takes full advantage—gets the button of your jeans open before you can stop her.
"Jesus Christ, Yujin—"
"Keep your eyes on the road, baby." Her hand slips into your boxers, fingers wrapping around your cock, and the feeling of her actually touching you after hours of teasing makes you groan.
You catch her wrist but don't pull her away, too far gone to pretend you don't want this. The sky outside is streaked with the last colors of sunset, deep purple and orange, and her hand is stroking you slowly while you're trying to drive through downtown traffic.
"Let me reiterate. You, me, a semi-truck, all meeting in less than a second if you don't get your stupidly smooth hand off my cock."
She laughs but settles back in her seat, pulling her hand away with clear reluctance. You make it three more blocks before you have to pull over at another red light, and the second the car stops you're hauling her in for a kiss.
It's messy and desperate, her mouth opening for you immediately, and your hand finds her thigh, pushing that dress up until you can feel the heat of her through those thin panties. She's soaked, and when you press against her she makes this needy sound that goes straight to your cock.
Someone honks behind you and you realize the light's green.
"Fuck," you mutter, pulling back and trying to focus on driving. Your hand stays on her thigh though, high enough that your fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties every time you shift.
The sun is gone now, just the afterglow painting the sky, and you can see your building up ahead. Yujin sees it too, and her hand goes right back to your cock, stroking you through your open jeans.
"Almost there," she purrs, and you don't know if she means the building or something else entirely.
You pull into your spot and kill the engine, and then you're both out of the car and you're crowding her against the door, kissing her hard while she fumbles with your keys. She gets the door open and you're inside, kicking it shut behind you, and her back hits the wall in the entryway.
"Now?" she asks breathlessly, and there's triumph in her voice even now.
You don't even dignify her with an answer.
The dress hits the floor before you've even moved away from the door, and Yujin's hands are already pulling at your shirt, yanking it over your head while you work your jeans down. She's in just those lace panties now, and you can see the wet spot where she's been soaked for hours.
"Took you long enough," she breathes, but you shut her up by shoving her harder against the wall and kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole.
Your hand slides between her legs, fingers pressing against the soaked lace, and she gasps into your mouth. "You've been wet all fucking day, haven't you?"
"Since the car," she admits, hips rolling against your hand. "Maybe before."
You hook your fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, and the second they're off you're dropping to your knees. Her eyes go wide.
"Wait, I thought you were going to—oh fuck!"
Your mouth is on her pussy before she can finish the sentence. Tongue dragging through her folds.
She tastes as good as she looks.
Your hands grip her thighs, holding her against the wall while you eat her out like you're starving for it. Maybe you are, after the torture she's put you through today.
"Oh god, oh f-fuck, yes—" Her hands fist in your hair, and she's trying to grind against your face, shameless and desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking it between your lips, and her whole body jerks.
You don't. You work her with your tongue until her thighs are shaking, until she's practically sobbing, and when she cums it's with your name broken on her lips and her pussy clenching against nothing.
She's still trembling when you stand up and kiss her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. "Bedroom. Now."
"Fuck the bedroom," she pants, already reaching for your cock. "Right here."
Her hand wraps around you and strokes, and you're so fucking hard it almost hurts. But you catch her wrist, spin her around so she's facing the wall, and kick her legs apart.
"You wanted this so badly," you growl against her ear, lining yourself up. "So take it."
You push into her in one thrust and she cries out, hands splaying against the wall for balance. She's so wet and tight that you have to pause, breathing hard, trying not to cum immediately like a teenager.
"Move," she demands, pushing her hips back. "Fuck me already."
"Greedy, aren't we?"
You pull out and slam back in, and the sound she makes is perfect—broken and needy and so fucking desperate. You set a brutal pace, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while you fuck up into her.
"Yes, yes, fuck, harder—"
The angle is incredible, and you can feel her getting wetter with every thrust, slick dripping down her thighs. Your grip tightens on her hip, hard enough to leave marks, and she loves it, pushing back to meet you.
"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice rough. "Teasing me all day just so I'd fuck you like this?"
"Yes," she gasps. "Knew you'd—ah!—knew you'd s-snap eventually."
You pull out suddenly. She whines at the loss.
Then you're turning her around, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around your waist automatically. You push back inside her, using the wall for leverage.
"Oh fuck, so deep—" Her nails dig into your shoulders, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, tight and perfect.
You kiss her while you fuck her, messy and hard, and she's moaning into your mouth. The angle has you hitting the spot inside that makes her gasp every time, and her tits are pressed against your chest, nipples hard.
"Gonna cum again," she warns, "don't stop, please—"
"Cum on my cock," you tell her. "Let me feel it."
She does, her whole body tensing and then releasing, pussy spasming around you in a way that almost takes you over the edge. You carry her to the couch—fuck the bedroom—and lay her down, pulling out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach.
"Ass up," you command, and she scrambles to obey, presenting herself to you.
The view is impeccable—her pussy swollen and dripping, cum already leaking out of her. You push back inside and she moans into the cushions, and this angle lets you go even deeper.
You fuck her hard, hands gripping her hips. The wet sounds of your cock driving into her pussy fill the room.
She's babbling now—words barely coherent, just broken pleas and your name and "yes" over and over.
"So fucking perfect," you groan, watching your cock disappear into her. Wet coating your shaft. Dripping down to make a mess on the couch. "Look at you, taking it so well."
"More," she gasps. "Harder, p-please, I need—"
You give her what she wants, slamming into her with enough force that she has to brace herself against the arm of the couch. Her pussy clenches around you, still sensitive from cumming twice already, and you can feel how close you are.
Your hand slides around to find her clit. She practically screams, body jerking. "Can't, too much, I can't—"
"Yes you can." Your fingers rub tight circles. "Cum with me."
She's shaking, thighs trembling, and you can feel her getting tighter. You lean over her, changing the angle, and she sobs out something that might be your name.
"Gonna fill you up," you warn, thrusts getting erratic. "Gonna cum so deep inside you."
"Please," she begs, "please, I want it, want you to—fuck!"
She cums first, pussy spasming around your cock, and that's all it takes to drag you over with her. You slam in one final time and cum hard, spilling deep inside her while she moans. You can feel it flooding her, so much that it starts leaking out around your cock even while you're still inside her.
You stay buried in her for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before finally pulling out. Your cum immediately starts dripping down her thighs, obscene and perfect, and she's so thoroughly fucked that she just stays there, ass in the air, too wrecked to move.
"Bed," you finally manage.
She makes a sound that might be agreement. You both stumble to the bedroom, collapse onto the sheets.
You should probably stop.
You don't stop.
You're on her immediately, pinning her wrists above her head, and she gasps when you push back inside her. She's oversensitive and so fucking wet—cum from earlier mixed with how turned on she still is—and the slide is almost too easy.
"Sure you can handle one more round?" she teases, but her legs are already wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper.
"You started this," you remind her, rolling your hips. "We finish when I say we finish."
She moans, head falling back against the pillow, and you take the opportunity to bite down on her neck, hard enough to leave another mark. Her pussy clenches around you in response, and you can feel how swollen she is, how thoroughly fucked.
You let go of her wrists, brace yourself above her.
Her hands find your back. Nails dig in immediately, dragging down your shoulder blades as you thrust into her.
The sting is perfect.
"Fuck, Yujin—"
"Harder," she demands, and her nails scrape down your back again, definitely breaking skin this time. "Give it to me harder!"
You shift the angle, driving deeper, and she cries out. The bed frame is hitting the wall with every thrust, and the sheets are getting soaked beneath her—sweat and cum and her pussy dripping everywhere.
"Look at me," you tell her, and when her eyes meet yours they're glazed and desperate. "This is what you wanted all day, isn't it? To get fucked until you can't think straight?"
"Yes," she gasps, nails carving new lines down your back. "Yes, god, don't stop—"
You don't. You fuck her hard into the mattress, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up to wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding her there while you fuck her apart.
She's babbling again, that incoherent mix of your name and "fuck" and "please," and you can feel her getting close. Her nails are brutal on your back, scratching hard enough that you know you'll be marked for days.
"Gonna cum again?" you ask, and she nods frantically.
"Can't help it, you're so deep, I can't—"
"Do it," you command. "Cum on my cock one more time."
She does, and it's like her whole body seizes up. Her nails rake down your back viciously as she screams, pussy clamping down so tight around you that it's almost painful. The sensation drags your own orgasm out of you, and you bury yourself as deep as possible, filling her up for the second time.
You can feel it mixing with the first load, so much cum that it's leaking out around your cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. When you finally pull out, the evidence is everywhere—her thighs covered in it, the sheets stained, her pussy absolutely wrecked and dripping.
You collapse beside her, and she immediately sprawls out, chest heaving. Her makeup is completely destroyed now, smeared down her face, and her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, completely fucked.
Perfect.
Your back is on fire where she scratched you, and when you shift, the sting reminds you of every mark she left.
"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smile on her face.
You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.
~~~
Sorry for the wait! I have a big project waiting to go, and also maybe another Twice smut that should be out within the next week or two :)
I lost all my pcs in fanprose do you happen to know how to get more😞💔
Hi Anon, How did you manage to lose them all... what the helly.
Anyway, you get more just by reading stories. The site detects when you're reading a story (not just scrolling through) and can periodically drop pcs as you go, and when you finish a story and like it.
You can also get rolls for drops from things like sending flowers to people, so try sending me one; you get one every day.
So yeah, just use the site as you normally would, and you will get some!
You can scroll down on FP to find the link to the FAQ that explains more, and you can always Dm me if you have any questions.
I will try to keep this as short as possible, but hi, Tumblr.
Yes, I am writing again. I took a little break for personal things, being busy and also lacking in motivation/inspiration. However, things have normalised, and I'm picking this hobby back up again.
folie à deux will return.
I'm about 85% done with part 6, and there's already a teaser on fanprose. Expect it soon.
And that leads me on to... Fanprose.
As you may have seen, I have linked the Fanprose version of my last two fics at the top of my posts. This will continue going forward. I am also porting over my entire library of fics to Fanprose over the coming weeks.
I will still post future fics here on Tumblr for now, however I will be more active on the Fanprose side of things.
So... why the move?
Well, it's cliché, sorry, but fanprose is a site for writers, by writers. It takes all the best parts of Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad. It merges them into a much prettier, user-friendly experience, aaaaand then adds a bunch of cool things on top like flower gifting and photocard rewards for interacting with the site and some actual morals. (See content guidelines.)
Reading is better there, with the ability to bookmark where you are in fics, multi-chapter stories connected together seamlessly and better search filters, etc.
Also, the community is more active there. You'll find readers and writers posting thoughts, interacting in comments, and more.
If that sounds fun, sign up, follow me (and others) and then gift me all the photocards you earn (only me).
Anna Tanaka and a common lawn chair have a striking similarity: they’re both so easily folded in half.
***
"Oh come on, I have been around for so many of your firsts," Anna argued.
"That's beside the point," Sooin countered.
"First meeting, first date, first... other things." Her stare was accusatory, and it switched between the two of you, waiting for a flinch.
"Again, I thought you were asleep."
"It's physics, Sooin. If the bottom bunk moves," she moved her hand side-to-side, then moved the other above it, "the top bunk does too. Newton's first law or something."
You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the pained expression on Sooin's face. You interrupted with a "I'm not sure that's accurate," which, of course, Anna took in stride.
"There was plenty of motion, that's all I'm saying."
"And it's still beside the point," Sooin insisted. "We're not doing that."
How it started isn't terribly relevant, but it's important if you want to understand how this all works. Sooin had actually levied the idea in passing, and that alone is a mistake when Anna is around. She was one of those friends who latches onto every idea and tries to turn it into an event. "So you're saying you don't want a threesome?"
"No, what I said was that if we did it, then it would be awkward with someone we don't know," Sooin continued to explain, this time with her fingers rubbing on her forehead. "I don't want to fuck a stranger."
"So, you do want a threesome?"
"No, I just said—"
"I mean, think about it," Anna interrupted, as she made her way across the room to sit with you. "You don't know any other girl willing to do it." She leaned on you as she said it, and you realised you hadn't been much help in the discussion.
"No, I know," Sooin admitted, and it almost seemed like she wanted to convince herself it was a bad idea. "I just think it's weird."
"Why?"
"Well, it's... you." Sooin's eyes glanced between the two of you, as if she was trying to say it without actually saying it.
"What about me?" Anna asked, pretending to be insulted. She rubbed her hand on your forearm - her fingers are light, soft, delicate - like feathers.
"Anna, I just don't think... - Can you stop touching my boyfriend?" Sooin eventually snapped, and you couldn't blame her, given the way Anna was looking at you.
"No," Anna replied, a smirk taking hold of her face.
Sooin held a cold stare at her.
You had to admit, it felt good. Anna was a pretty girl, with an inviting smile and the type of body that always drew eyes. Your relationship with her had been platonic for years; she had grown up with Sooin, and they had been friends for as long as you could remember. Yet, there was always something there. It was intangible and vague. You never truly explored it, but you always felt like Anna had a soft spot for you. You, in turn, had a soft spot for her - which, you assumed, is why you were still sitting there quietly, watching the mental battle unfold.
"Okay, okay. Fine." Anna removed her hand from your arm and her ass from the arm of your chair. She stood up and leaned back against the desk. "Sooin, you're overthinking this. Just because we're close doesn't mean it can't happen." There was something sly about the way she said it. "I'm not going to start hitting on you every day, or anything weird like that. And," her eyes met yours, "the same goes for you, too."
"Can we stop talking about it?" Sooin asked as she fell back into your shared bed. "It's not happening."
***
Of course, it happened, otherwise that day would have faded to obscurity instead of being the start of something that is beyond simple description.
It's the reason you were now watching Anna in a bathrobe, her hair wet from the shower, as she took a seat at the small dining table. Her robe opened just a crack to reveal the full curve of her breast as she sat down. You cleared your throat to signal her to adjust, and her lips curved to a playful smile. "What?"
"Your robe."
She makes a slow blink, and when her eyes reopen, she's looking down at her chest. "Oh, sorry," she says, with a completely emotionless tone. She leaves it just as it is. "Is there any coffee left?
It's not the first time Anna has done this to you. You stare at her, and her stare is locked right back at you. A quiet moment passes between you. You are thinking about what you could say, and you're also thinking about how her skin looked under that damn robe.
"You know there is, you made sure they restocked it yesterday." You glance briefly at the machine on the dresser, a stack of capsules next to it. "Are you asking me to make it for you?"
"I would never ask you to do that." Her face doesn't change, and you find it slightly unnerving. "I'm perfectly capable of doing things myself."
Again, another silence, a stare down. You are actually enjoying this game far too much, and Anna is too. You sigh, "Fine." You get up from the chair and move over to the coffee machine. "How do you want it?"
"I'm flexible."
You know that all too well.
You hit the button for an americano, and then there's a whir, followed by a quiet hiss. Anna is right behind you, and there's that distinct click of her nails hitting the screen as she scrolls through reels on her phone. "So, you've been up a while?"
You turn back to face her. "Not too long. I assume I missed Sooin?"
"Mhm. Have you eaten?"
"No. I said I just woke -"
"Maybe we should go out for some breakfast. There's a place just around the corner," she says, still scrolling. Black liquid pours into the mug on the tray, slowly filling it up.
Anna can be thoughtful. It isn't her usual character, but it happens often enough, especially when she wants something. It's hard to tell if this is the case right now. "Sure."
Her finger stops scrolling. "Really?"
You turn and approach the table, and you take the only other seat, directly across from her. You place the mug just between the two of you. "Sure. Why not?"
"I mean, are you sure?"
"Anna, it's just breakfast. What's with the twenty questions?"
"It's just a bit weird to be going out with you, just the two of us." She puts down her phone. "I just want to make sure you're comfortable."
"Anna, I can see your tits. I think breakfast together is fine."
She chuckles to herself, and she reaches over for the cup. "Oh, I am so sorry. You should probably know I'm not wearing any panties either."
"Do they do brunch?" you ask.
***
Folded in half is now basically a default state for Anna. There's something about her body that just makes her so... malleable. There's probably a better way to put that, a more poetic description of the sort of filthy positions you've found her in. But in your head, that's what it always comes back to. Her body, folded in half, legs all the way up, knees to the sides of her head, her cunt spread open.
She just came all over your cock, and she's a mess. There's a glazed look in her eyes, and she's panting like she ran a marathon. Her body is covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Give me a second," she says, waving her hand in your general direction. "I need to... I need a minute."
You have to admit you're not in much better shape. Your cock aches; it's still buried inside her, and you just want to fuck her some more. You had barely started, but she came quickly; she always does. You wait a little longer, staring down at her. The things you would like to do to her right now... You can feel your cock throb, and a moan escapes her lips. "I said wait," she half pleads, half demands.
You pull out just a little, putting a hand on the underside of her thigh. You're curious just how much you can move her legs, and it turns out it's a lot. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. The heat of her is incredible, and as you slide back in, she lets out a drawn-out, slow moan. "You're going to ruin me," she tells you, a hint of desperation in her voice.
"That’s the point." You start thrusting slowly, deliberately.
She's so damn tight. It always feels like the first time with Anna. It doesn't matter how many times you fuck her; she has a way of squeezing you that just drives you mad. Your thrusts become a little more intense, and you can feel her whole, folded body shifting against you. Her breathing is heavy, and you can hear the little gasps, the tiny moans she tries to hold back. "I'm serious," she says. "I can't keep doing this."
That's a lie, you both know it is. She loves this. She loves it when you just use her to get off, and then she loves it even more when you finish deep inside her.
"Quiet now," you tell her, moving her legs further, pressing them down against her chest. You start to pick up the pace, and you lean over her body. You can see her eyes widen, and she tries to pull you down for a kiss, but you just keep pounding her, the angle perfect for both of you.
"Quiet? When you're fucking me like this?" she protests, and then she lets out a yelp, and you know you've hit the right spot. Her eyes roll back a bit. "Ah, fuck. Okay. Okay. I get it." A few heavy breaths and then she moans out, "You want me to take it. That's what you want."
You fuck her harder, your hand moves between her knees, reaching for her throat. Her eyes close, her lips part slightly, and you feel a shudder run through her. You squeeze just enough to cut off her air for a moment; her eyes open, they're glazed over, and she's just looking up at you. She nods slightly, and you tighten your grip just a little more. Her body tenses up, and you know she's close again.
Her breathing becomes more ragged, her legs start to tremble, and her eyes are locked on you. You can feel her cunt tightening around you, and then you release your grip. She gasps for air, her body shuddering as she cums, hard.
She can always keep doing this.
***
It was a week after the first mention of it, and well, Anna was being Anna. She insisted on sitting in the middle. "I just feel safe having the two of you on either side," she had reasoned, and Sooin didn't argue.
"If it makes you comfortable," was all Sooin had said.
That started a weird chain of events. The movie was secondary to Anna's antics. About halfway through the movie, right after some scene of violence, her hand reached over to grasp yours. "I'm scared," she whispered, all feigned innocence.
You looked at Sooin, who seemed far too invested in the movie to be bothered, so you just let Anna hold your hand. Her touch was soft, comforting, and her thumb was brushing the back of your hand. It was innocent enough. Then, when there was a lull in the action, she rested her head on your shoulder. "You make me feel safe," she whispered again.
You just cleared your throat and tried to focus back on the theatre screen, but you could feel her fingers tracing patterns on your hand, and her breath was warm on your neck.
Just ten minutes later, she was up against Sooin, who was now being the comforter. The movie was almost over, and you had a feeling that the post-movie chat was going to revolve around Anna's behaviour.
You were right, of course, and Sooin was the one who brought it up. "You were a bit touchy, weren't you?" Sooin asked as the three of you walked back to the car.
"What?" Anna asked. "I was scared. It was a scary movie."
"It was not scary."
Anna turned to you. "Weren't you scared?"
"Not even slightly." Your answer earned a glare from her, but she quickly recovered.
"I was," she said with a shrug, and then she looked back at Sooin. "But it’s okay because I know you two will protect me."
"Well, maybe you should stop holding my boyfriend's hand then, or I will -"
"Sooin...," Anna started, with that little whine that says she's about to act all cute and apologetic. "I didn't mean anything by it. You know I'm an affectionate person."
"Sure," Sooin answered, unimpressed.
Anna threw a look your way. "It's not a big deal, right?"
"It's fine."
Anna smiled. You could feel her relief. "See? It's fine. I was just being a scaredy-cat." She reached for Sooin's hand and squeezed it. "So, are you two going to go home and get a little freaky now?"
"Anna. Don't."
"What? I'm just saying, after a movie like that, I want to release some tension."
"God. Why are you like this?"
"I'm just being honest," Anna shot back.
"Well, keep some of that honesty to yourself."
***
It wasn't exactly freaky, but the implication still carried some weight, because you did go home, and Sooin was quickly on her knees. She was being very enthusiastic, her tongue working you over with desire, her hands gripping your hips. She looked up at you with those big eyes, and she let out a little moan as she took you deeper.
"Perfect," you groaned, and she just hummed in response, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.
You thread your fingers into her hair, just above her ear. There's a nice rhythm to it all. Sooin is always so good at this, and she knows exactly how to get you close without pushing you over the edge. It was she who asked about Anna, though, right in the middle of it. "She was being a bit much, wasn't she?" she said, pulling back for just a second.
"Yeah, maybe a little." You watched as she leaned forward, her tongue making a slow circle around the head of your cock, then she looked up at you.
"Think she was trying to make me jealous?"
"Probably," you said, and it came out a bit strained. Sooin had a way of making you lose your focus. She always looks so damn good when she's down there. "But you don't need to be."
"I'm not. I know you love me." And just like that, she took you back in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her hand moved with her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours.
"Fuck. I do. I really do." She went down further, and you felt the back of her throat. You could see her eyes watering, but she didn't stop. She pushed herself deeper, gagging slightly, and then she pulled back, gasping for air. "Are you trying to kill me?" you groaned.
She giggled. "Maybe," she said with a smirk. "Question. Do you think she would be good at this?"
You stared at her, not sure if you should answer. It felt like a trap. "I don't know."
"She has good lips. I bet she would be good." She leaned in and licked the underside of your cock, from the base to the tip. "But I don't think she would put in the effort."
You interjected. "Pillow princess?" It was a joke, mostly.
"I don't think she's selfish, but she definitely likes being pampered." Her hand wrapped around you, stroking you slowly. "I'm more into making you feel good." She looked up at you, a wicked glint in her eyes.
"And you do."
She smiled and took you back into her mouth, her head bobbing at a steady pace. You could feel the pressure building, your breathing getting heavier. She knew it too, and she sped up, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. The fingers you so carefully threaded into her hair begin to clasp a little tighter. You whispered a warning to her, but she didn't stop; she just kept going, taking you deeper, her throat clenching around you.
You came hard, your hips thrusting forward as you shot your load down her throat. She didn't flinch, just swallowed it all, her eyes closed, and she kept sucking until you were completely spent. She finally pulled back, her lips swollen, and she smiled up at you. "You taste good," she said, licking her lips.
You could barely stand, you felt light-headed, and she just giggled and kissed your stomach. "You okay there?"
"Yeah," you said hoarsely. "Just... wow."
She patted the bed. "Come here, lie down. I want to cuddle."
You took a position behind her, curled in the satin sheets, her back pressed against your chest. You wrapped your arm around her waist, and she rested into you. It was always nice to have Sooin in your arms. She fit perfectly. You held her like that for a while, your breathing finally slowing down, and your heart returning to normal. You were content, happy, and then she spoke up again.
"She's never been with a guy. Doesn't that make it weirder?"
"Hmm?" You mumbled.
"Anna. She's never dated a guy, at least, not seriously. So it's a bit weird that she would want to... You know."
You shifted slightly, adjusting your arm, your hand moving up to cup her breast. "Maybe that makes it less weird? Girl is clearly pent up. She just wants someone she trusts." The words were a bit clunky coming out, but you thought you sounded fairly reasonable.
You could feel Sooin's breath hitch as your hand moved under her shirt, your fingers brushing against her nipple. "That makes sense, I guess. It's still weird to think about. I can't imagine my first time being with two people, one was overwhelming enough."
"I mean, your first time with me was pretty good, right?" You teased her nipple gently, feeling it harden under your touch. You pressed a kiss to her neck, just behind her ear.
"Mmm," she hummed, leaning into your touch. "It was, but you were gentle. I can't see you being gentle with her."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm always gentle."
She giggled, "You're gentle with me because I ask you to be. But with her..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned her head slightly to look at you. "I think you'd be rough. Would you?"
"Haven't given it any thought."
Sooin sighed. "Right." She shifted a little, her ass against your crotch doing things to your brain. "I see her in practice. Flexible. Maybe I'm not better than a man because I can only think about the positions she could be twisted into."
"Sooin," you feigned a little shock. "Is that what goes on in your head?"
Her skin was warm under your hand, and you felt her body respond to your touch. You squeezed her breast a bit more firmly, your thumb brushing over her nipple. She let out a soft moan. "Sometimes. I mean, you've seen her at the gym. Her body... It's made for that kind of thing."
You were more focused on Sooin's body. Your lips were on her neck, kissing her, nipping at her skin. You could feel her heart beating a little faster. Your hand moved down, sliding under the waistband of her panties, and your fingers found her already wet. "You're enjoying this conversation too much," you whispered in her ear.
She gasped as your fingers pressed against her clit. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "But it's not just that. It's the thought of you two together. I can't help but imagine it."
"Imagine what? Me fucking her while you watch?" You moved your fingers in slow circles, feeling her hips start to move.
"Do you have to say it so... directly?" Her tone was shaky.
You kissed her neck again, and then you pushed a finger inside her. She was so damn wet. "Do you want to watch?"
Her breath hitched. "I don't know. Maybe."
Your finger slid in and out, a little faster now. You added a second one, and her back arched against you. You felt her hand move down, covering yours, pushing your fingers deeper. You recall the initial elimination of Anna as a candidate for your little experiment. "We talked about this, remember? She's too close to us. It's too weird."
"I know, but it's hot to think about," Sooin gasped. "Just... keep doing that."
You obliged, curling your fingers inside her, hitting the spot you knew drove her crazy. Her moans were growing louder, and her legs were starting to tremble. "Tell me what you're thinking about."
Sooin's breath was ragged, and she tightened her grip on your hand. "I'm thinking about you," she said. "Thinking about you fucking her, making her cum. She would look so... happy." Sooin sighed softly as she always does when she's a little shy about moaning. "I like to see her happy."
That last bit made you laugh, and you bit down gently on her shoulder. Your fingers moved faster, and you could feel her getting close. "And you would like it if I made her happy?"
"Fuck," she muttered, her hips bucking against your hand. "I hate how pretty she is. She makes everything look so effortless. It's infuriating." She took in a deep breath and held it, her whole body tensing up. "I'd like to see you break that calm exterior. I'd love to see her squirm for you."
"Like you do?"
She let out a little laugh that blended into a moan. She was almost there; you could feel it. She was squeezing your fingers so tightly. "Just like I do, yes. You make it so good for me." Her words were breathy, and her eyes were closed. "Fuck, I'm going to cum."
"Thinking about Anna?" It was almost accusatory, and you couldn't hold back a smile.
"Yeah," she admitted, a little reluctantly. "Yeah, thinking about you and her, and me watching. It's so fucked up, but it's so hot." Her body tensed, and her orgasm hit her hard. She cried out and shuddered against you. You kept moving your fingers, helping her ride it out, and when she finally relaxed, she was panting. "I'm so weird."
"A little. But it's my kind of weird."
She laughed, turning to kiss you. "I love you."
"Love you too." You pulled your hand from her panties, your fingers still slick with her arousal. You wiped them on the sheets and then pulled her closer, just holding her.
***
You weren't sure how it even started, or why, but after that night, the topic of Anna didn't disappear. Every day she was around, there were more subtle hints. Her hand would find yours, her leg would press against yours, she'd catch your eye and smile. The worst part of it all was that it started to become less about making Sooin jealous and more about genuinely turning you on.
"Have you noticed?" Sooin asked one night, as the two of you lay in bed.
"Probably not what you're thinking."
"Really?" She turned to you, her eyebrow raised. "Because I think she's been pretty obvious."
"I mean, yeah, but I think it's mostly to get to you." You reached over and ran your hand down her side. "I don't think she's actually into me."
Sooin let out a skeptical laugh. "Babe. She's definitely into you."
"I mean, maybe a little," you admitted, "But it's about us, not me. It's just another form of attention seeking. It's her way of feeling wanted by both of us. It's kind of cute, in a weird way."
"She was practically sitting in your lap today." Her hand was on your chest now, drawing little patterns with her nails. "I saw how you looked at her."
"I didn't look at her in any particular way."
"You're a terrible liar." She moved closer, her leg sliding over yours. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I know you would never act on it. Not without me." You felt her breath on your neck, her lips just brushing against your skin. "Not without my explicit permission, right?"
"You're not going to give that, are you?"
"Hmm." Her fingers were tracing your abs now, her touch light, teasing. "Not yet. But I like knowing that she wants you."
"That's because you want her."
"Maybe." She kissed your neck, her tongue flicking out just a bit. "And I like the idea of her wanting what's mine."
You let out a low growl, your hand finding her waist and pulling her flush against you. "You're in a mood tonight."
She smirked. "Can you blame me? Watching you two flirt all day is like foreplay."
This was where the seeds were sewn: all these nights where sex was a bystander to your conversations about her best friend. Sooin loved the idea of it, and she loved teasing you about it. She'd watch Anna interact with you, and then she'd bring it up later, always with a sly grin.
"How did she feel in your lap? I know Anna's tiny, but she still has an ass. Did you notice?"
Of course, you did, but you would never admit it. Not then, anyway. "I didn't notice."
"Liar," she would say, and then slip your waistband down and start touching you. Her hand would be wrapped around your cock, stroking you as she talked about her friend's ass.
"You like her little tits, too. I've seen you looking."
It was always like this, and you never really stood a chance. Sooin had this power over you, and she knew exactly how to use it. She would describe how Anna might look riding you, how she might sound, and she'd get off on the thought of it.
And then, when your mind is full of all these indecent images, she would bring it back to herself. "But she doesn't have this." She would sit on you and slide herself down, her words giving way to moans. "She doesn't feel like this."
The lines had well and truly been blurred.
You were in too deep, and it wasn't just Sooin who was to blame. Anna had a way of being around that made it impossible not to notice. The way she laughed, the way she walked, the way she would look at you from under her lashes. It was all too much.
Sooin worked her hips, her cunt taking you little by little, until she was flush against you. She leaned forward, her tits pressed into your chest. "Fuck. She'd never be able to take you like this." She kissed you, hard. "I bet she'd be so tight, so fucking tight. Probably wouldn't even last."
"She is pretty flexible though," you muttered against her lips, your hands gripping her ass, guiding her movements.
"Yeah, she is." Sooin's eyes were heavy-lidded with lust. "I'd love to watch you bend her in half."
"Just watch?"
She smirked and sat up again, her hands resting on your stomach. "No," she said simply, making a show of the way she rides you, her thighs flexing, her body moving beautifully. "I would want to join in. I want to feel her tongue while you fuck her."
"She'd like that, wouldn't she? Just being used."
"Ugh, don't say that." Her breaths are shorter, more laboured now. "She'd love every second of it. She loves being the centre of attention." Sooin let out a whine and ground down on you. "Just like how I'm the centre of your attention right now."
That’s not entirely accurate.
She was riding you with a passion, her hips circling and rolling, each movement hitting all the right spots. You grab her chest, groping her as she moves, and her fingers dig into your stomach.
"Your cock is so... big," she managed between gasps. "You would stretch her out so good."
"I'd rather stretch you out," you answered, pulling her down for a kiss.
She smiled into it, her pace quickening. "I know. You're so good to me." Her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm on your lips. "I'd make her watch. I'd make her see how well you fuck me." Your hands were roaming all over her body, pulling her impossibly closer. She felt incredible, every inch of her. "She'd be so jealous."
You squeezed her ass, making her slow down. "Maybe I'd make her clean up my mess."
She moaned loudly. "Fuck. That's so hot." Her eyes were closed, her mouth hanging open. It all became very hard and purposeful, and it drove Sooin insane. You moved from her ass to her hips, completely in control of the beautiful woman above you. "I'm gonna cum," she whimpered, her thighs shaking.
You thrust up into her and could feel her wetness all over you - a warning. "No. Not yet." You grabbed her hips, holding her still, just feeling the way her body clenched around you. She let out a frustrated whine, her nails digging into your chest.
"Please. Please, I need to."
You love her like that. Begging, desperate, it's a side of her that only you get to see. It's one of the many things you adore about her.
"Ask nicely."
Her eyes snapped open, and there was that look, that perfect mix of desperation and desire. "Please," she begged between gasps. "Please, make me cum. I'll be so good for you. I'll let you do whatever you want."
You smiled, and you let go of her hips, letting her set the pace again. She was frantic, chasing her release, her movements sloppy. You could feel it building, and so could she. She leaned down, her mouth right next to your ear. "I want you to fill me up. I want her to see it dripping out of me." Her teeth grazed your earlobe.
It all got a little hectic. Heat radiated from her, and her skin grew a sheen of sweat. Every time she spoke, her voice cracked, and her body trembled. It was beautiful to witness. It wasn't long before she cried out your name, her body convulsing as she came, her cunt pulsing around you. She collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.
You held her close, feeling her heart racing. You could still feel the need to cum, but you held back, wanting to enjoy the moment. You kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. She looked down at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her lips. "That was intense."
You grinned, "Just what you needed?"
"More than that." She shifted, her body pressing down on you again. "You didn't cum."
"I know. I'm okay."
"You sure?" she asked, moving her hips just a little.
You groaned. "Careful."
She giggled, and she started moving again, slow and deliberate. "I want you to cum inside me."
"And that whole 'I'm ovulating and not on the pill' thing? What about that?"
She placed a finger on your lips, shushing you. "What's life without risk?"
***
Risk. To take risks is to embrace possibilities. Possibility manifested at a cafe table on an idle Wednesday, and it looked like Sooin with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Three light lunches and three matcha lattes were just idle bystanders to the conversation.
"So, how was practice last night?"
"It was fine, just drills and conditioning. Same old, same old." Anna took a sip of her drink, with her delicate pinky pointed out, as always."Why do you ask?"
"I always ask how practice is." Sooin was still watching, her expression unreadable.
"Yeah, but you're being weird about it." Anna had always been a bit oblivious, but she wasn't dumb. She could sense something was up.
"Weird? How was that weird?" Sooin played innocent, her eyes darting over to you for just a second.
Anna looked from Sooin to you, and then back again. Her lips tightened, and she put her cup down. "You always do this. You're being cagey. What's going on?"
"We're just enjoying a nice lunch," Sooin replied, taking a long draw from her straw.
"You can't just sit there and look all... like that, without saying anything." Anna was leaning forward now, her arms crossed on the table. "Spit it out."
You couldn't help but interject. "You do realise we see you all the time, right? It's just lunch."
Anna's eyes narrowed. "I've known you two long enough to know when something is up."
Sooin's foot brushed against yours under the table, and you glanced at her. She was giving you that look, the one that said this was your cue. You took a breath, "You want to know what's going on?"
Anna's eyes lit up, her posture straightening. "Yes. Finally."
You leaned back in your chair, trying to appear casual. "We've been talking."
"About?" She was on the edge of her seat.
"About you."
She blinked, her mouth opening and then closing. "What about me?" It's clear now how she was playing dumb, and it probably should have been at the time. Anna has spent weeks, ever since Sooin made that singular, harmless, off-the-cuff comment about one day trying a threesome, trying to insert herself into your relationship. It had been playful at first, but it got very real. You knew she was interested, Sooin knew she was interested, and yet, in this moment, she was playing coy.
"Well, we were thinking maybe you'd be interested in..." You paused, glancing at Sooin for reassurance. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Interested in what?" she was quick to ask, with wide eyes and innocence on her face. After all she has done and said, she was going to make you work for it now. Some people are just like that, and Anna is one of them. She loves the chase, loves to be chased.
Sooin took over. "We were thinking you could join us. You know, for a night."
"Join you?" Anna repeated, her eyes darting between the two of you.
"Yeah, you know..."
"I'm not sure what you mean." She was struggling to hold back the laughter and took another drink to hide her smile. You decided to call her bluff.
"For sex," you said, flatly.
Anna nearly spat her drink out. She coughed, her eyes watering. You couldn't tell if she was acting or genuinely surprised by your bluntness.
"For rough, dirty, 'we're all going to need a shower after' sex," you added, for which you got a kick in the shin.
"Can you keep it down?" Sooin scolded you, half-heartedly.
Anna's face was a mixture of shock and delight. She recovered, setting her cup down carefully. "Are you serious? You two are joking, right?"
"We're serious." Sooin's voice was steady, her eyes on her friend. "But if you're not interested, that's fine too. We just thought..."
Anna's face became a mini panic at the idea of missing out. "No, wait. I didn't say no." She quickly looked at you, a hint of that flirty look returning. "I'm interested. Very interested."
A short-lived game of ‘will they, won't they’ came to an abrupt end. It was a weird mix of excitement and disbelief that danced around the table. Anna was trying to play it cool, but you could see the happiness radiating from her. Sooin was watching her closely, probably trying to gauge if this was a good idea or a terrible mistake. You, well, you were thinking about how the fuck this was actually happening.
"So," Anna said after a moment of silence. "When is this happening?"
Sooin blew on her drink to cool it a little. "Slow it down, Anna. We need to set some ground rules."
She rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. No feelings, no attachments, all that stuff. I can handle it." You laughed, and it earned you a look of mock offence from Anna. "I can," she insisted.
"I'm sure you can, but it's not just about you. It's about all of us." Sooin's tone was firm, but gentle, almost like a mother teaching Anna a lesson in adulthood. "We need to talk about what we're all comfortable with."
Anna nodded, though she looked a little impatient. "Okay, fine. Let's talk. I’m comfortable with anything."
Anything?
"Not here. Not in broad daylight at a cafe where anyone can hear us." Sooin looked around, as if the entire cafe was suddenly interested in your conversation. Of course, they had no notion of the sordid acts being planned out at table three.
"Tonight," you suggested. "We can all meet up at our place, have dinner, talk, and see where it goes."
Anna's eyes lit up. "Dinner and a show."
"Something like that."
She was practically bouncing in her seat, and she was the first to grab her bag. "I need to go do... things."
Sooin chuckled. "Do you even know what things you need to do?"
"Beauty regimen, exfoliating, maybe find something sexy to wear." She was already sliding her arms into her coat, her words tumbling out a little too quickly. "Oh god, I need to shave my legs." She paused, looking between you both. "What time?"
Sooin checked her phone. "Seven? Does that give you enough time to make yourself all pretty?" she teased.
Anna leaned across the table. "I'm always pretty." Sooin laughed lightly with a shake of her head. "I just need to... you know... prep."
You were sure you would find out what that meant soon enough. It was hard to believe this was actually happening. It felt like you'd been playing this game with Anna for so long, and now that it was real, you didn't know how to feel. It was going to be a very interesting night.
"Seven," Sooin affirmed.
Anna left in a hurry, leaving the two of you alone at the table. The tension was thick in the air, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You looked at Sooin. "Are you sure about this?"
She sighed, a small smile on her lips. "I think so. It's just sex, right? Nothing more." She reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "I guess it's too late now. You saw how excited she is about a good dicking down. The poor thing."
"Yeah, she was basically floating." You intertwined your fingers with hers, enjoying the warmth of her skin. "And here I thought you'd be more jealous."
"A little." She shrugged. "But I trust you. And I trust her, to some extent." She chuckled. "Plus, it will be fun. Something new."
"Do you think she's going to back out?"
"No way. Anna is too curious, and she's had her eye on you for ages." She squeezed your hand. "I'm just glad we're doing it on our terms."
***
"I knew this was a bad idea," Sooin said immediately following a sigh and accompanying a shake of the head.
"I just don't see the point."
Sooin snapped, "Don't see the point?" Anna responded with a small recoil and a furrow of her brows. There was a purse of her lips in the mild look of offence, as if the whole suggestion was ridiculous. Sooin thrust out a hand, insisting Anna take it as a gesture of acceptance. "He's wearing a condom, that's final."
"That's ridiculous."
This whole argument was happening right over your erect, exposed cock. Sooin sat to your left, Anna to your right; their postures were a mirror of each other. Legs sprawled to one side, resting on their hips, one hand at their side to keep themselves supported, and then the others had met in the middle to jointly caress your cock.
There is an observation that requires a step back to recall - it was so immediately apparent at the time. Sooin wore her casual stuff, opting for the comfort of her grey sweats and her black tank top. The juxtaposition of Anna was comical. She was in the tiniest of black dresses, her makeup was on point, and her hair was flowing in large waves. She was stunning - very clearly putting on a show - but it all felt so out of place in the simple bedroom apartment.
Sooin made the joke almost immediately, commenting on how Anna was treating this more like a date rather than what it was. Though Anna retorted that she just wanted to "feel sexy", and that she was "not used to this casual thing". Either way, she gave Sooin a silent compliment by making herself up, because without a doubt, it was to make herself feel like she was on the same level as your girlfriend.
In the end, Anna accepted her fate, even if she was a little dejected. "Fine," she mumbled, and grabbed the condom from Sooin's grasp just to drop it on the bed by her side.
Sooin's hand, freed by Anna's acceptance, went straight back to your cock. "Shall we continue then?" There was a little bit of sass in her voice. She gripped your shaft gently, her fingers soft and warm, and you felt a sense of relief knowing that the whole condom argument was over.
Anna's hands remained where they were - one on her side, the other in your lap, grazing your thigh. She watched as your girlfriend pumped your cock with lazy strokes. There was a moment of refocusing for her, but soon she was caressing Sooin's cheek with one finger, right up to her ear. She hooked her finger behind it, her nails dragged along the skin as she pulled her face in for a kiss.
They looked great together, the two of them. Their lips met with a tenderness that didn't match the intensity of the situation, but it was intoxicating to watch. It wasn't a slow, gentle kiss, but it was deliberate and teasing. Anna's tongue slipped into Sooin's mouth, and Sooin responded eagerly.
Your cock pulsed in Sooin's grip, and you watched, entranced. You could hear the wet sounds of their kiss, see the way their bodies were slowly gravitating closer to each other. Anna's hand moved from Sooin's cheek down to her shoulder, then down further, brushing over her breast. Your girlfriend pulled back slightly, her breath coming in short gasps, and her hand tightened around your cock.
"Fuck," you whispered, completely unable to tear your gaze from them.
Anna's eyes flicked over to you, a smirk playing on her lips as she continued to explore Sooin's body. Her hand slipped under the tank top, and you could see it moving, the fabric bulging slightly as she worked her way up your girlfriend's stomach. Sooin let out a soft moan, her hand faltering on your cock for just a second.
"She likes that," you said, feeling a bit like a commentator to the greatest show on earth.
"I can tell," Anna replied, low and seductive. She leaned in again, capturing Sooin's lips in another kiss. This time, it was more heated, more passionate; her hand finally cupping Sooin's breast under the top, her thumb brushing over the nipple.
Sooin gasped against her lips. The hand on your cock got a little tighter and faster, her strokes becoming more purposeful. You could feel the pre-cum leaking out, her thumb smearing it over the tip.
Sooin ended the kiss with her teasing, "This is why I dressed comfortably, so I can do this so easily." She let go of your cock, putting both her hands at the hem of her little black top and lifting it over her head. Her body was a familiar sight for you, beautiful and enticing. Her breasts were perky, her nipples hard, as she tossed the shirt aside.
Anna's eyes roamed over your girlfriend's body, a look of pure desire on her face. "God, you're gorgeous." She leaned in, pressing her lips against Sooin's neck, kissing a trail down to her collarbone. She took a nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it. You watched, your cock throbbing, as Anna leaned over you to lavish your girlfriend.
You reached out, your hand going to Anna's back, feeling the curve of her spine through the thin material of her dress. She didn't react at first, but as you slid your hand down to her ass, she let out a little moan against Sooin's skin. Her body was warm and soft under your touch, and you gave her a light squeeze.
Sooin was watching you, her gaze riddled with lust. She gave an approving nod. She bit her lip, then reached out to grab Anna's chin, pulling her face up for another deep kiss. The sight of their tongues dancing together, their bodies pressed close over you, was almost too much to handle. Your hand slipped under Anna's dress, finding the complex lace number she had worn underneath. Her ass felt amazing, the firm flesh yielding under your grip.
The girls broke their kiss, both of them breathing heavily. Anna looked at you, her eyes dark with desire. She said, "That feels so... good. Please, more." She arched her back, pushing her ass further into your hand.
You obliged, your fingers digging in, pulling her cheeks apart slightly. You could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. She was already wet, and that made you groan.
"Someone's excited," you commented from your reclined position, your eyes locked with hers.
"I think we all are," she retorted, her hand moving back to your cock. She gave it a firm stroke, mirroring what Sooin was doing on the other side.
Sooin smiled and then began to move. She stood and took a few graceful steps around the bed before climbing behind Anna. Her hands went straight to the thin straps of her dress and began pushing them off her shoulders. The fabric was a barrier to her, now removed. Her lips found the nape of Anna's neck, leaving a trail of kisses that led over her shoulder. You couldn't make out the whispered instruction into Anna's ear, but it all became apparent.
Sooin knelt behind Anna, pulling slightly at her hip to reposition her, which had you retracting your hand from her ass. Soon Anna was kneeling and being guided down to a position that put her mouth right over your cock. She turned her head to look you in the eye, her lips so close to your tip.
"If this were porn, I'd be making you beg," she said with a smirk.
Sooin scoffed behind her, "This isn't a porno, Anna, you're in the real thing now. Just get his cock in your mouth." She pressed the back of Anna's head down. "No teasing."
Anna laughed softly before she took you into her mouth, her lips wrapping around your head. You gasped, a shiver running through your body. It felt incredible. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue swirling around you as she took more of your cock into her mouth.
"Fuck," you breathed out, your hands gripping the sheets. You watched her head bob up and down, her hair falling over her face. Then Sooin's hands were in Anna's hair, pulling it back. She held it in a makeshift ponytail, giving you the most perfect profile shot of Anna's pretty lips stretched around your cock.
"So sexy," Sooin mused, watching Anna work. "You look so good like that."
Anna moaned around you, her eyes fluttering closed. She was amazing - a little sloppy, but she was inexperienced in this. It was clear she wanted to impress, though. Her hand moved to the base of your shaft, stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. The combination of her hand and mouth was driving you wild.
You looked up at Sooin, whose eyes were locked on the sight. She was biting her lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her free hand moved between her legs, rubbing herself through her sweatpants.
The room was filled with the wet sounds of Anna's blowjob, her soft moans, and Sooin's heavy breathing. It was the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced. You reached out, your hand finding Sooin's. She took it, intertwining her fingers with yours as she continued to watch. You squeezed her hand, a silent acknowledgement of how incredible this was.
Anna pulled off your cock with a pop, her lips glistening. She looked up at Sooin with a shy smile. "Am I doing okay?"
Sooin laughed softly, her thumb stroking the back of your hand. "You're doing great." Sooin leaned in, and Anna turned her head back to meet her in a kiss. You could see their tongues working together, sharing your taste. It was dirty, hot, and it made your cock twitch.
When they broke apart, Sooin gave Anna a little push. "Let's get you out of this dress, okay?"
There was a small, wordless nod as she let Sooin move her into a straddle of your thighs. It was an odd angle, as your cock was still poised upright and resting against the fabric of her dress right below her stomach. Sooin moved behind her, taking far too much time in sliding the zipper on Anna's dress down.
Sooin disappeared behind Anna, placing a series of kisses over her shoulders and down her back. Anna's head rolled back, the moan coming out was quiet but filled with happiness. As Sooin pulled the dress lower, exposing her back, she murmured into her skin, "You have perfect skin." It was a genuine compliment, which Anna loved, giggling at the soft brush of lips.
"So soft," Sooin went on, pressing kisses down to the centre of her back. "I just want to touch you."
"Please," Anna muttered, her hands limp at her side. The dress begins to slip away. More of her chest became exposed as the small swell of her breasts appeared from the thin fabric. You could see she was wearing that black lingerie of hers, the one you had felt underneath. It cradled her cute little tits perfectly, and she looked delicious. Her body was tight and taut, her skin smooth and creamy. Your hands were itching to touch her.
Sooin let the dress fall further, exposing Anna's toned stomach and the tiny waist. She placed her hands on Anna's hips, her lips continuing to trail kisses over her skin. Anna shivered, her eyes meeting yours. "Touch her," Sooin whispered against her skin.
You didn't need to be told twice. Your hands moved to her narrow waist, which you could almost completely encircle with your fingers. Anna leaned into your touch, her breath hitching as you ran your hands up her sides, your thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.
"You're so fucking hot,” you told her.
Anna smiled, a little shyly, her cheeks flushing. She closed her eyes, soaking in the attention. Your hands moved to her chest, cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra. They were small, but they felt perfect in your hands, the fabric rough against her soft skin. You squeezed gently, your thumbs finding her nipples, teasing them through the lace.
Anna gasped, her body arching into your touch. Sooin's hands were on Anna's hips again, and Anna's dress pooled at her waist. The contrast of skin against the black lingerie was hot. You could see the goosebumps on Anna's skin, the way her chest rose and fell with her laboured breathing. It made you want her even more.
Sooin moved against her back, her bare chest against Anna's almost-bare back. She reached around, cupping her hands over yours, and together you caressed Anna's breasts. Your girlfriend's chin rested on Anna's shoulder, and her lips were close to her ear. "Do you like this? Do you like how he touches you?"
"Yes," Anna breathed out shakily. "It feels so good."
"You've wanted this for so long, haven't you?" Sooin's tone was so seductive. "You've been thinking about this, about us, about him."
Anna could only manage another, "Yes."
"Tell him what you've been thinking about." Sooin's hands were guiding yours, squeezing and kneading Anna's breasts.
Anna's eyes opened, and she looked right at you. "I've thought about this, about your hands on me, your mouth, your..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing deeper.
"My cock?" you offered, your hands slipped from beneath Sooin's, leaving her to work alone on her chest. You traced a path down Anna's stomach, fingertips dancing over her skin.
She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah. I've thought about you fucking me. It made me so wet just thinking about it."
"Naughty," you commented, your hand reaching where her dress bunched, just as her hips flared out. You pulled her closer, shifting her so she now sat right on your cock. It disappeared beneath the heap of fabric. Her wetness had soaked her underwear, and you felt it warm against your shaft. "And right now? What are you thinking about?"
"About you," she started, "and me." A beat, then, "And her. I want you both so badly."
"Good," Sooin chimed in, her hands still busy on Anna's chest. Her lips were on Anna's neck again. "You're going to get what you want."
You started to guide her into a soft grind on your cock. Anna was rocking in your lap, and you were able to feel just how hot and wet she was. You moved your hands to her thighs, lifting her slightly to adjust your angle. The pressure of her soaked panties on your bare skin was intense. "Fuck, you feel amazing," you strained.
She didn't respond, just moaned and closed her eyes, her body moving with yours. Sooin's hands moved to Anna's hair again, pulling it back, exposing her neck further. "Open your eyes, look at him," she instructed, giving a little tug on her hair. "Watch him while you hump his cock."
Anna did as she was told, her eyes opening to lock onto yours. The connection was electric, her gaze filled with lust and need. You could see the moment she felt you throb under her, the way her mouth fell open, a soft gasp escaping. It was a sight that would be burned into your memory forever.
The heat of Anna was not an exaggeration - she was practically glowing with sweat and that lustful flush. It was a pretty picture, and it was a realisation. All those images that Sooin put into your mind with her words and fantasies, those are nothing compared to the real thing. You've got two very sexy women on you, and your girlfriend is about as into this as you are, maybe more.
It's perfect, and it's about to get better.
Your eyes went to Sooin over Anna's shoulder. She smiled, her eyes shining. Her hands left Anna's hair and moved down her back, tracing the lace of her bra strap, her fingers dipping under the fabric to graze her skin. She bent her head, pressing her lips against Anna's shoulder blade, giving her the lightest of bites. Anna gasped, her hips stuttering.
"It's cute that you got all dressed up for us," Sooin said, her hands moving to the clasp of Anna's bra. "But I think we need to get this off."
Anna's face was a picture of anticipation. She lifted her arms, letting Sooin undo the bra with ease. It fell away, revealing her small, perky breasts, her nipples hard and pink. You could feel your mouth water at the sight. You always figured she'd have pretty breasts, and she did not disappoint.
"Oh wow," Sooin said in a little gasp, her hands immediately moving to cup them. "These are perfect."
Anna blushed, her eyes still on you as she continued to grind her hips against your cock. You wanted nothing more than to take one of those nipples into your mouth. As if reading your mind, Sooin whispered into Anna's ear, "Lean forward, let him taste you."
Anna didn't hesitate; she bent her upper body forward, bringing her chest closer to your face. You wasted no time, your mouth wrapping around one of her nipples, your tongue flicking over it. You sucked gently, drawing it in, and Anna cried out, her hands going to your shoulders for support. Her movements on your lap became more frantic, the pressure of her pussy on your cock increasing.
Sooin was still behind her, her hands roaming over Anna's body, her lips kissing and nipping at her shoulders. The three of you were in sync, moving together. You switched to Anna's other nipple, giving it the same treatment, eliciting more gasps and moans from her.
"You like that, don't you?" Sooin asked with a purr. "You like his mouth on you, his cock under you. You look so sexy like this, so fucking hot."
Anna could only nod, her breath coming out in short pants. She was overwhelmed, and you could see it in her eyes. It was a beautiful sight, her body trembling, her back arching, pushing her tits further into your mouth.
You released her nipple with a soft pop, looking up at her face. "You are so beautiful," you told her, your hands moving to her hips again, guiding her movements.
She leaned in, her lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. It was different from kissing Sooin. Anna's kiss was hungry, desperate, her tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. You met her with the same intensity, your hands gripping her hips harder, guiding her to grind faster. It was the kind of kiss that says she needs more.
Your cock was throbbing, the fabric of her panties doing little to dull the sensation of her wetness. You couldn't bear the tease any more.
You broke the kiss, and you started to push her to the side. Sooin was quick to help. Anna was pliant, her body moving as you manoeuvred her onto her back beside you. You sat up, kneeling over her, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly. Sooin clambered to your side, clinging to you and looking down at the horny, quivering mess on the bed.
Anna lay there, propped up slightly by her elbows, her eyes darting between the two of you. You reached out, your hands finding the bunched dress, tugging it down and off her long legs, discarding it to the floor. You finally saw the apex of those long legs, and that pretty, damp black thong that clung to her shape. She looked delicious, a perfect little treat.
You left her there, kissing Sooin instead. You took your girlfriend in your arms, her naked breasts pressing against your chest. She responded eagerly, her tongue meeting yours, her hands roaming over your back. Your kiss became heated, and you found your hand slipping between you both, grazing down her stomach to the band of her sweats. Your fingers dipped below it, finding the top of her underwear. She was as wet as Anna, if not more so, her arousal coating your fingers instantly. She moaned into your mouth, her hips rocking into your touch.
You broke the kiss, a playful smile on your lips. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Sooin giggled, her hands going to the waistband of her sweats, pushing them down, taking her underwear with them. "I am," she admitted, kicking the clothes away. "I love seeing you with her, seeing how much she wants you." Her hand wrapped around your cock again, giving it a firm squeeze. "And I can't wait to see you inside her."
You groaned, her words sending a jolt of lust through you. Your hand left her wetness, moving to the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. It was short, a quick press of lips, before you moved away, turning your attention back to Anna, who was watching you both with wide, lust-filled eyes.
Her legs are spread ever so slightly, and you can see the dark spot on her panties. You looked at her face, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from your kiss. You moved between her legs, your hands on her thighs, pushing them further apart. She looked up at you, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in her eyes. She gave a small nod, her silent consent to go further.
You placed your palm against her core, your fingers pressing against the soaked fabric. She let out a shuddering breath, her hips lifting slightly, seeking more pressure. You rubbed her through her panties, feeling her heat, the material becoming even wetter under your touch. "So fucking wet," you murmured, your eyes locked on her face, watching her reactions.
"Only for you," she replied breathlessly, her hands gripping the sheets. "I've been this way for so long, just thinking about this moment."
Sooin moved up behind you, her hands on your shoulders, her breath warm on your neck. "Pull them to the side, you're so good with your fingers."
You grinned, doing just as she said, your fingers hooking the side of Anna's panties, pulling them aside to reveal her glistening pussy. She was bare, her folds smooth and pink, her clit already swollen with need. The sight of it made your mouth water. You wasted no time, your fingers sliding through her wetness, finding her entrance. She was tight, so fucking tight, and the thought of your cock being in there, stretching her, had you throbbing.
You pushed a finger inside her, and her cry was sharp, her back arching off the bed. "Oh my god," she gasped, her hands scrambling to find your arm, holding on tight. "That feels so fucking good."
Sooin's hands were on your chest now, her body pressed against your back. "Is she tight?" she asked.
"Very," you answered, your eyes still on Anna. You started to move your finger in and out of her, feeling her walls clenching around you. She was so responsive, her body writhing, her cries of pleasure music to your ears.
"Another," Sooin suggested, her lips brushing your ear. "I want to see her take more."
You obliged, adding a second finger, stretching her further. Anna's eyes rolled back, a long, drawn-out moan leaving her lips. "Yes, yes, fuck, more," she chanted, her hips moving to meet your thrusts.
You curled your fingers inside her, searching for that special spot, and when you found it, she choked on a sob, her body trembling violently. You rubbed against it relentlessly, your thumb finding her clit, circling it in time with your fingers. "That's it, let go for me," you urged her, watching as she teetered on the edge.
Anna's head was thrashing side to side, her hair a mess around her, her chest heaving. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm going to—" Her words cut off into a choked scream as she came, her pussy clamping down on your fingers, her body convulsing under you. You continued to fuck her with your fingers, drawing out her orgasm, until she collapsed back on the bed, a panting, whimpering mess.
You pulled your fingers out, coated in her arousal. Sooin immediately grabbed your wrist, bringing your fingers to her mouth. She licked them clean, her eyes fluttering shut as she tasted Anna on your skin. "Fuck, she tastes amazing," she commented, before pulling you in for a deep kiss.
You could taste Anna on her tongue, and the thought of it, of the three of you sharing this, had you groaning into the kiss. Sooin pulled back, her eyes glazed with lust. There was a moment of understanding between the two of you. Words unsaid but communicated nonetheless. A mutual appreciation, for each other, for Anna, for this moment, and the decision to make it happen.
"That was so easy, Anna," you quipped.
Anna just laughed breathlessly, her eyes still closed, a satisfied smile on her lips. "I don't care," she hummed lazily. "That was amazing."
"It's because she doesn't do this stuff," Sooin offered. "Her poor pussy isn't used to this kind of attention."
Anna opened her eyes, a haze to them. "I have done it before. It's not a totally foreign concept to me."
"By yourself," Sooin teased, her hand moving back to your cock, stroking it slowly. "That's not the same thing. This is different."
Anna propped herself up on her elbows again, her eyes following the movement of Sooin's hand on your cock. "It is," she agreed. "And I want more of it."
Sooin smirked. "I thought you might say that. Now where did you... Oh." She picked up the condom she had handed to Anna earlier, and it earned a sigh from the girl on her back.
Anna just watched as your girlfriend rolled the condom onto you. There was a sense of eagerness on her face, but also a bit of a pout as if the barrier between her and you was a crime against her enjoyment. You couldn't help but chuckle at her expression.
"Oh, come on. It won't be that bad," Sooin said, noticing her friend's displeasure. She moved out from behind you, letting you settle between Anna's legs. "In fact, it will be just fine." She lay down beside her best friend, her arm going under Anna's head, cradling her. "It will be worth it."
Anna relaxed slightly, her hand reaching out to brush the hair from Sooin's face. "I know," she whispered, her eyes moving back to you. "I just want to feel him." Her legs shifted, her thighs parting further, inviting you in.
You took the invitation, positioning yourself between her legs. Your cock brushed against her wet pussy, it was not a sensation you were used to feeling, the rubber being the only thing separating your flesh from hers. You pressed forward, the head of your cock catching at her entrance. Anna's breath hitched, her eyes locking with yours.
"Slowly," Sooin reminded you softly, her hand trailing down Anna's stomach, her fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "She's so small, don't hurt her."
You nodded, taking a deep breath. You pushed forward slowly, the head of your cock entering her. The tightness was incredible, her walls stretching to accommodate you. Anna's mouth opened in a silent gasp, her eyes wide.
"Fuck, you're tight," you ground out, the sensation almost overwhelming. You pulled back slightly, then pushed back in again. Just the tip in and out, teasing her, letting her get used to you. "You're doing so well," you encouraged her, your hands on her thighs, keeping them spread.
"She is, isn't she?" Sooin's hand was between you and Anna, her fingers playing with her clit. "But you're big, even I struggled a little the first time."
Anna let out a strained laugh. "I'm fine," she insisted, her hips moving, trying to take more of you. "Just... keep going."
Sooin giggled, her fingers working faster on Anna's clit. "Eager little thing, aren't you?"
You pushed in a bit more, half your cock now inside her. She felt so good, so hot and tight. The way her body was responding, the little noises she was making, it was driving you crazy. You wanted to bury yourself in her, to fuck her senseless, but you held back, taking it slow. You knew you had all night, and you wanted to make this last.
You pulled out again, then pushed in a little further, your eyes glued to where your body met Anna's. It was the sexiest thing you'd ever seen, her pussy stretching around you, her body taking you in, all while your girlfriend's hand was on her. You felt a sense of pride, of power, and it was intoxicating.
Sooin takes Anna's lips in a kiss, silencing her cries as you push further into her. Anna's hands gripped your arms just a little tighter than you held her waist. Her body was trembling, her skin flushed. Sooin's hand left her clit, moving up to her breast, squeezing and teasing her nipple. "You look so fucking hot like this, taking him in," she murmured against Anna's lips.
Anna's reply was a moan, her hips bucking against you. Two of the prettiest girls you have ever seen were just making out while you sheathed yourself in one of them. It's what a dream is made of - an incredibly horny, depraved dream.
"You're doing so well," you told her as you reached a limit inside her. You couldn't get the whole thing in; she was too small for you, but you were pretty fucking close. The feeling of her tight little body around you was mind-blowing. "God, you feel amazing."
Anna's eyes opened, and they were full of tears; her face contorted with pleasure. "More," she begged. "Please, more."
You were fucking her, much to the approval of Sooin, who had taken to verbally encouraging her. "That's it, take it, take all of him." Her hand was back on Anna's clit, rubbing her in tight circles. "He feels so good, doesn't he? So big, so deep."
"Fuck, yes, so good," Anna cried out, her body moving with yours. Her nails were digging into your skin, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. You set a steady rhythm, your hips rocking back and forth, your cock sliding in and out of her tight channel.
Sooin put a hand on Anna's, prying it from one of your wrists and then took control of your hand. She took it away from Anna's waist and slipped it between her legs. Her pussy was dripping wet, your fingers sliding through her folds easily. She moaned into the kiss she shared with Anna, her body shuddering.
"Fuck her and fuck me," she ordered.
You didn't need to be told twice. Your fingers found her entrance, pushing inside her with ease. She was so wet, so warm, and her walls immediately clamped down on your fingers. You matched the rhythm of your cock in Anna with your fingers in Sooin. They exchanged breathy moans, their bodies moving, one to meet your thrusts, the other to meet your hand.
"So fucking hot," you grunted, your body working hard, sweat dripping down your back. The dual sensation, fucking one while fingering the other, was mind-blowing. You couldn't believe this was happening, that you had these two gorgeous women at your mercy, that they wanted this as much as you did.
Anna came first, her body arching off the bed, of course, a writhing mess as she did. Her pussy clenched around your cock like a vice, and she went back into that breathless scream that strained her throat. Her hands gripped the sheets, her legs tightening around you, pulling you as deep as she could take. You didn't stop, fucking her through her orgasm, the feeling of her pulsing around you pushing you closer to the edge.
She collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. You slowed your movements, giving her a chance to recover, but your fingers continued to thrust into Sooin. She was still kissing her friend, softer now, gentler.
You looked down at Anna, her face blissed out, her skin flushed with a sheen of sweat. You felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing you had made her feel that good. You carefully pulled out of her, sitting back on your heels.
Sooin's eyes followed you, her gaze dark with desire. "My turn.”
You nodded, pulling your fingers from her. Sooin climbed over the limp Anna, on all fours and presenting herself to you, but when she noticed you started to unroll the condom so you could fuck your girlfriend right, she stopped you. "You're not done with her yet, so leave it on."
You let out a groan at this, which Sooin ignored and lowered herself so that she was lying on top of Anna, their bodies pressed together, her ass in the air. She reached back, spreading her cheeks with one hand, exposing her pretty, wet cunt.
"Now fuck me," she commanded, looking over her shoulder at you.
You didn't need to be told twice. You lined your cock up with her entrance, and with one smooth thrust, you were buried inside her. The difference between her and Anna was stark. Sooin was wetter, more familiar to you, and so much more receptive. The sounds she made were music to your ears, her body moving back to meet your thrusts.
"That's it, fuck me," she moaned, her head dropping into the crook of Anna's neck, where she was kissing her there while her hands roamed over her body. "You feel so fucking good."
Anna, though a little out of it, was not idle. Her hands found Sooin's cute ass, squeezing and spreading her, giving you a better view of your cock sliding in and out of her. "So hot," she murmured. "So fucking hot."
The sight of the two of them together, so intimate and sexy, was too much. You were pounding into Sooin, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Sooin was being vocal, her moans and cries of pleasure only adding to the experience.
You took one of Anna's hands, holding it as you fucked your girlfriend. Her fingers intertwined with yours, her eyes on yours, a small smile on her lips. "You're so good at that…”
You squeezed her hand, your other hand gripping Sooin's hip, pulling her back onto your cock. "Lot of practice," you replied with a grin on your face.
Sooin's head lifted, her eyes meeting Anna's. "He's got a magic cock," she said between moans. "I don't know how I'm still standing sometimes."
Anna laughed softly, her free hand moving to Sooin's hair, stroking it gently. "Lucky girl."
You looked down, where your shaft disappeared into Sooin, and below that was Anna's cunt, still leaking her arousal onto the sheets. It's a sight that's now committed to memory. You pulled out from Sooin, lowered yourself slightly, and pushed your cock back into Anna.
You split your time between the two of them, alternating your thrusts, fucking them both with deep, steady strokes. Sometimes it was just Sooin, and she was a mess of screaming and dirty talk, but when you found your place back inside Anna, she was the perfect contrast - quiet, intimate, and grateful. Sooin would hold her, whisper in her ear, and tell her how good you feel, how sexy she looks, and how much she loves seeing you like this. Anna would kiss her and softly moan and tremble.
It was the kind of experience that made you wish time would just stop and let you enjoy it forever.
But, like all good things, it had to end. You could feel the familiar tightening in your balls, the pressure building. You were close, so close, and you needed to cum. You were deep inside Sooin, her pussy milking your cock, her body begging for your release.
She could sense it; she always can. "Take it off," she moans.
"But, you said...," you began, slowing down.
"Take it off."
"But, Anna—"
"Please take it off," Anna begged, her hand still holding yours. "I want to feel you."
A unanimous decision, but it required a break in the action. You pulled out, the rubber still on. You sat on your haunches, looking down at the two girls, who turned their heads to look at you. They looked so fucking sexy together, their bodies entwined, their faces flushed, their eyes full of lust. Sooin shifts a little, moving from her full-mounted position and pulling one of Anna's long legs around her waist.
They were eye to eye, and Anna placed a tender kiss on your girlfriend's lips. Sooin pressed herself against Anna's cunt, and a soft sigh came from them both as they began to rub against each other. A beautiful sight to behold.
You gave them this moment.
Sooin fucked her best friend like that. She was a goddamn expert. Her hands were on Anna's hips, grinding her cunt into Anna's as she worked her over. Anna was so responsive, her hands clutching at Sooin's back, her mouth open, her cries growing louder. "Oh fuck, that's... that's..."
Sooin was relentless, her hips moving in a steady, sensual rhythm. Her hair fell around her face, her lips parted, her eyes locked onto Anna's. "I have wanted to do this for so long," she confessed. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this."
You’re rolling the condom off your throbbing cock.
"Me too," Anna gasped. "God, Sooin, I'm going to cum again." She was right on the edge, her body taut, her breath coming in short pants. She reached up, pulling Sooin down for a kiss, their lips crashing together in a clash of desire and need.
You watched them cum together, their bodies shuddering, their cries muffled by each other's mouths. It was the hottest thing you'd ever seen, and it took everything you had not to cum right there, untouched. You waited, your cock throbbing painfully in your hand, as they rode out their shared orgasm.
When they finally broke apart, they looked over at you, both panting, their eyes hazy with post-orgasmic bliss. "Come here," Sooin beckoned you, a lazy smile on her face.
You moved to her, climbing over them, your cock poised at Anna's sensitive cunt. Free of the rubber cage, you pushed into her bare, feeling her walls clench around you. She was so hot, so wet, and so unbelievably tight. You started to move, your strokes deep and measured, savoring the raw feel of her pussy.
Sooin rolled off, lying beside you and watching with a satisfied grin. "That's it, fuck her. Feel her around you."
At this point, Anna was a fucking mess. Her head was thrashing from side to side, her hands gripping the sheets, her body moving with yours. You leaned over her, your hand on her stomach, holding her down. You could feel every inch of her, every twitch and quiver of her pussy, and it was pure heaven.
"So good," you grunted, your hips pistoning, your cock hitting deep inside her. You were so close, your orgasm building like a storm inside you.
"Cover her pretty pussy for me," Sooin commanded, her hand moving between her legs, playing with herself as she watched. "I want to see you paint her, to make her ours."
That was all it took, your orgasm tearing through you with a force that made you see stars. You pulled out at the last second, your cock spurting thick ropes of cum all over Anna's stomach and pussy. You were shaking with the intensity of it, your breath coming in great gulps as you coated her in your seed. She gasped, her eyes wide as she felt the warmth of your cum splatter over her skin.
Sooin moved in, her hand rubbing your cum into Anna's skin, spreading it over her pussy. "Look at that, so fucking pretty." She took some on her fingers, bringing them to her mouth, tasting you. She hummed her approval, her eyes on you. "My favourite."
You fell back, completely spent, your chest heaving. Anna lay there, a beautiful canvas of your shared pleasure, a content smile on her face. It was a sight that would forever be etched in your mind, the culmination of months of flirting, teasing, and wanting.
But it was also the beginning of a whole new dynamic, a new chapter in your relationship with Sooin and your friendship with Anna.
And honestly, you couldn't wait to see where it would lead. Even as Sooin pulled Anna on top of her, begging her to fuck your cum into her, because the night was nowhere near finished, you realised that this was only the start.
***
It would be wrong to say the frequency of Anna's visits became more regular, because it became almost daily right from the off. She no longer knocks; she just barges in and throws herself on your sofa with a groan. It has almost become second nature for you. You are in the kitchen when you hear the door open and slam shut. You are pouring coffee from your French press, and soon you'll be pressing her up against the kitchen counter.
You were dating Sooin, that remained a fact, and yet Anna felt like she was equally yours now. It was a strange thing, this three-way relationship you had cultivated. Soon it wasn't just a group thing; you and Sooin, you and Anna, Anna and Sooin... all of it worked seamlessly. No jealousy, no possessiveness, just three people who couldn't get enough of each other.
So that's the story of how you ended up on the way to brunch, with your girlfriend's best friend, fresh off the back of folding her in half and filling her up.
This was originally posted exclusively on Fanprose. Please follow me there to see my next fic early. (It's also just better than tumblr).
"And this is..."
"Yeah, I know," you interrupt, staring down the woman across from you. Of all the parties in LA, Yuna had to be at this one. You didn't want to see her, fuck, you could go the rest of your life without seeing her again, and it'd be a mercy. But here she is, her hair a little longer, wearing a dress so simple yet expensive.
The stranger who made the introduction, a lanky filmmaker named Ben, looks between the two of you, eyes wide with dawning understanding. He holds a plastic cup halfway to his lips. "Oh. Oh, shit. Okay. I'll... I'll just go. Over there." He makes a hasty, awkward retreat, melting back into the thrumming bodies and thumping bass of the party.
Silence descends on the decking for a beat. Too long. The warm evening air, thick with the smell of jasmine and chlorine, feels suddenly cold. Behind you, the pool lights cast an aquamarine glow on the rippling water. Laughter erupts from inside the house, a distant, alien sound.
"What are you doing here?" she asks. That sweet voice - as fake as fucking ever now, but it still hits you where it hurts.
You give a short, bitter laugh. "I could ask you the same thing."
"I'm here with someone," she says, her chin lifting a fraction, a defensive gesture you remember all too well.
"Aren't you always?" The words slip out, quiet but sharp enough to cut.
A muscle in her jaw tightens. She takes a sip of her own drink, her gaze shifting to the dark, manicured garden behind you. "I didn't know you'd be here. I wouldn't have come."
"Likewise." You can't stand looking at her, but you can't look away either. She's got that haunted look in her eyes, the one she gets when she's been drinking. You hate that you still notice these things.
She takes a step closer, the scent of her perfume - something with gardenia and sandalwood - wafting over, a ghost of intimacy. "Listen, we can't just..."
"Just what? Avoid each other forever? Yes, we absolutely can. In fact, I'd pay good money for that privilege."
"Fine. Be an asshole about it," she snaps, the facade cracking for a second, revealing the rawness underneath. That, too, is familiar.
"I am being an asshole about it. I'm a world-class asshole. You should know that better than anyone."
She scoffs, a small, humourless sound. "You're not a world-class anything. You're just... you. Immature. Same as the last day I saw you."
The last day. You remember the heat of that afternoon, the suffocating humidity that clung to your skin, mirroring the atmosphere in your shared apartment. You remember the shouting, her throwing that ridiculous ceramic cat you hated against the wall. You remember her face, streaked with tears and anger, as she yelled, "He was just a friend! We were at work late!" and the way her voice broke when she screamed, "And Chloe was just a lab partner, right?"
The memory is so vivid that it is a physical blow. It feels like it's happening all over again.
Without a word, you walk away, back to the comparative safety of the party's thrum. The sliding glass door to the main room is slick with condensation. You push through it into a wall of sound and heat and bodies. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the soles of your shoes, a physical heartbeat for the house. The air is hazy, a visible fog of vapes and artificial smoke from a cheap machine, and the sweat of too many people packed into a space not built for it.
You need a drink. Something strong, something to numb the reverberating echo of her. You shove your way through the crowd, past a girl in a sequined top laughing too loudly at something a guy with a man bun is saying, past a couple making out against a wall, their bodies pressed together as if they're trying to merge into one being.
Three quick, strong drinks later, and you're feeling single and seeing double. You find yourself leaning against a makeshift bar set up on the dining room table, the varnished wood sticky with spilt cocktails. You're nursing your fourth. Whiskey. Neat. It burns going down, and you welcome the pain.
"Impressive," a familiar man says next to you. You glance over. It's Ben, the well-meaning idiot who introduced you. He’s holding a beer, looking apologetic. "Sorry about that earlier. Outside. I had no idea."
"Everyone's got a past," you say with a low rasp. The whiskey is starting to do its job, blurring the edges of everything. "I've got several. Mostly bad."
He offers you a small, sympathetic smile. "Yeah. Well, if it's any consolation, I think she was just as thrown as you were."
You scoff, drink, and then reply, "She has a way of looking thrown that's really more of a dramatic flourish. She learned it from a movie, probably."
Ben chuckles, a nice, easy sound. He seems okay, for a stranger. For a reminder. "I see. You guys have, uh... history."
"You could say that." You look at Ben - an utterly forgettable face - and then down at your drink. Finally, to the crowd, where you spot her, ass pressed against the hip of some guy in a tailored jacket. She's laughing, head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. She's giving him that look, the one that says you're the only person in the room, the one that had felt so real when it was aimed at you. Now it's a performance, a cheap trick. It’s a performance you remember every line of. "I think we wrote the first few chapters. Then she started writing in a different book."
Ben winces. "Ouch. End in a storm?" he prods, before pouring you another drink. You almost wave him off, but the bottle of amber liquid is a tempting shield.
"End in a hurricane," you correct, your words slurring just enough to feel deliberate. "Category five. And we both forgot our umbrellas." You wrap your fingers around the cool glass, the condensation slick against your skin. "She was fucking some arsty guy with a man-bun and a typewriter. A 'creative spirit'. I was fucking Chloe from my stats class. Turns out, she had a boyfriend who looked like a quarterback. I think we broke even."
Yuna's grinding on her new guy now, her hips moving in a lazy, hypnotic circle to the beat. You know that move. You taught her that move, one humid Tuesday night in your cramped living room with the curtains drawn and a bottle of cheap tequila on the coffee table. She'd been clumsy at first, self-conscious. You'd laughed, held her hips, guided her. "Just feel the music," you'd whispered against her ear, her shampoo smelling like coconut and summer. "Feel me." And she had. For a while, she had.
"Sounds messy," Ben says, pulling you back to the present. "I hate messy."
"Everyone loves messy. Just not when they're the ones stuck with the cleanup," you say, knocking back the whiskey in one smooth motion. The room tilts, then rights itself. The cheap fog from the smoke machine curls around the strobing lights, turning the writhing bodies into a series of disconnected, jerky images from a damaged film. Someone shoves past you, their elbow digging into your ribs, the jolt a sharp, physical reminder that you're here, now, not then. You're standing in this loud, bright house full of people you don't know, and the woman who broke your heart is giving a private dance to another stranger ten feet away.
"I should..." you start, but you don't know what you should do. Leave? Start a fight? Drink another? The options blur into a single, meaningless impulse: move.
"I get it, man," he says, backing away, sensing the shift in your mood. "Live long and prosper, and all that shit." He gives a little two-fingered salute and disappears into the pulsing crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the ghost of gardenia perfume that still seems to cling to the air around you.
You push off the table. The floor is treacherous, a sticky terrain of spilt drinks and god knows what else. You navigate through the mass of bodies, a ship with a shattered compass. All the faces are a smear of neon and skin. You’re not aiming for anything, not the door, not the bathroom, not the crowd. You're just moving, letting the thumping bass dictate your pace, a frantic, stumbling rhythm that echoes the chaos in your chest.
You're headed right for Yuna when a pair of hands grab your arm, pulling you into a clumsy spin. You nearly lose your balance, stumbling into a girl with bright pink hair.
"Whoa there, mister," she slurs, her grin wide and loose. She's pretty in a way that's loud and unapologetic, all glitter eyeshadow and a crop top. She smells like cheap vodka and artificial strawberry. "Dance with me."
It's not a request. She drags you towards the centre of the makeshift dance floor, the space in the living room cleared of furniture. The lights are frantic here, sweeping across the room in reds and blues, catching the sweat on skin. Pink Hair grinds against you, her back to your chest, her hands on your hips. She's trying to pull you in, to make you move with her.
She moves a little awkwardly, but your hand is on her waist, guiding her, a motion you could do in your sleep. You remember teaching Yuna to salsa in your kitchen, her laughter as you spun her, the way her dress flared out, her bare feet sticking to the linoleum floor.
No words between the two of you, just charged energy. Pink Hair, Yuna, the music, the thrum of the bass—it’s all a blur. When the song ends, there's a sliver of silence before the next track begins, something heavier, angrier. You both pull away from each other, breathing heavily.
"Hey," she says, her breath warm and smelling of vodka, her hands still on you, "you're not half bad."
"Yeah, well," you mumble, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.
"You've got moves," she continues, leaning in close to be heard over the new song. "Who taught you?"
"Just a lot of practice," you say, your eyes already scanning the room. You find her immediately. Yuna. She's stopped dancing, her tongue lodged in the mouth of the tailored jacket guy.
"You could probably teach me a thing or two," Pink Hair says against your ear.
"Something tells me you know more than you let on," you reply, looking back at her.
"Maybe," she giggles. "Maybe you should find out." She pulls you in again, her body flush against yours. You comply for a moment, letting the music, the lights, the cheap vodka and whiskey wash over you. But your eyes, they betray you, and search, but there's no sight of Yuna.
Pink Hair has her hand on your face now, turning it towards her. "Hey," she says, her tone slightly annoyed. "Eyes on me, buddy."
You blink, focusing on her. Her eye makeup is smudged around the corners, her pupils dilated to black pools. "Right," you say, forcing a smile. "Eyes on you."
She buys it, or pretends to, and moves in to kiss you. Her lips are soft, but they taste of nicotine and desperation. It's a hollow gesture, a mechanical act that does nothing to quell the ache in your chest. You're thinking about Yuna's lips, the way they used to part slightly when she was thinking, the way they felt when she whispered your name in the dark.
Don't fucking think about her. The anger fuels a firm grip of Pink Hair's ass, and you kiss back, a little more fiercely than you intended. She melts into it, her hands tangling in your hair. The music thumps, a primitive beat that matches the frantic, useless energy coursing through you.
You're lost in the sensory overload of the party, the cheap warmth of the girl in your arms, the burn of whiskey in your throat, the flashing lights that make everything feel unreal. You're a ghost haunting a stranger's body, a passenger in a stolen car careening towards a cliff. And you don't care. You lean into the kiss, deepening it, trying to pour all the hurt, all the rage, all the regret into this one, meaningless act.
She pulls away and takes you by the wrist. You follow without thinking, stumbling after her as she weaves through the crowd. She leads you down a hallway, the noise of the party receding with each step. The walls are lined with framed photos of the homeowner's family—smiling faces on beaches, at birthday parties, on ski slopes. It's a curated life, a collection of perfect moments that feels a million miles away from the raw, messy reality of your own.
She pulls you into a bedroom and locks the door, before jumping into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist. You stumble back against the door, the wood groaning under your combined weight.
"What's your name?" she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.
You hesitate for a beat. "Does it matter?" you reply, your hands roaming over her body, the cheap fabric of her top a stark contrast to the warm, firm skin beneath.
"No," she giggles, her teeth nibbling at your earlobe. "Not really."
You're moving towards the bed now, a tangled mass of limbs and desperation. You're fumbling with the clasp of her bra, she's tugging at the hem of your shirt. It's a clumsy, urgent dance, a silent, frantic negotiation. One controlled fall into the pile of coats later, and there's a loud yelp from beneath them.
The two of you scramble, half-undressed, back to your feet. A familiar guy rises first, topless and wearing his torn jeans. Then a woman said, "What the fuck?" Yuna sits up, clutching a sheet to her bare chest. Her hair is a mess, her mascara slightly smudged, her face flushed.
"Oh, this is just fucking perfect," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. You feel numb, detached, as if you're watching this whole scene unfold from a great distance. The alcohol is a dull, distant hum in your veins.
Pink Hair looks from you to Yuna and back again, her face a mask of confusion and dawning horror. "Wait, you two...?"
Tailored Jacket, whose name is probably Chad or Brad or something equally insipid, runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Whoa. Uh. I’m into it if you are."
"Get out," Yuna says, her voice dangerously quiet. She's not talking to you. She's talking to the guy. To Chad-or-Brad.
"Honey, come on," he starts, but she cuts him off.
"No. Get out," she repeats, her eyes burning. "Now."
He shrugs, a gesture of casual dismissal that sets your teeth on edge. He starts gathering his clothes, a slow, deliberate process that feels designed to prolong the agony.
"Did this on purpose, didn't you?" Yuna turns to you, her eyes spitting fire. "Saw me with him and just had to follow me in here and ruin it."
You can't help but laugh, a harsh, ugly sound. "Ruin it? As if I care enough to stop you jumping the bones of Ken doll over there."
"Fuck you," she spits.
"Uhhh," Pink Hair girl reminds us she's here. "I'm gonna... yeah." She grabs her shirt, her face burning with embarrassment, and scrambles out of the room.
Well, now it's just the two of you. And Tailored Jacket, who is finally pulling on his shirt. The silence that follows is heavy and thick, suffocating. You can hear the muffled thump of the bass from the party outside, a distant, irrelevant heartbeat. "I'm going, I'm going," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He gives you a look, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes - sympathy? contempt? - before slipping out of the room.
The click of the door latch echoes in the sudden quiet. Now it's just you and Yuna. The air in the room is stale, a cocktail of cheap perfume, spilt liquor, and the sour tang of sweat. You're both half-dressed, a ridiculous, pathetic tableau.
"This is what you've become?" you ask, your voice low and tight, your gaze sweeping over her, taking in the smudged mascara, the sheet clutched to her chest, the raw vulnerability in her eyes that she tries so hard to hide. "Screwing random guys in bedrooms at parties you weren't even invited to?"
"You just tried the same fucking thing," she spits back, defiantly. "With that glittery, pink-haired skank."
"Always been a fucking whore," you scoff, flippant and cruel, even though a small, treacherous part of your brain is screaming at you to stop. But you can't. You want to hurt her, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain you've been carrying around like a lead weight in your gut for months.
"And I'm still the best that you will ever have." Her anger translates into her arms through gestures, letting the sheet fall from her chest to a heap on the bed. Her bare breasts are exposed, a sight that used to make your heart pound in your chest, and now it's just another weapon in this endless, brutal war between you.
You look away, a momentary flicker of discomfort. "Until you get bored and find some other 'creative spirit' to inspire you."
The jab hits its mark. Her face, for a split second, crumples. The facade of anger shatters, and the raw, wounded girl you once loved shines through, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, hard mask of indifference. "Oh, and what about you? Still fucking your lab partners?"
"Well, I don't need a mental escape from you anymore, so no. I'm good."
She's climbing onto her knees to meet you eye-to-eye, the sheet bunched around her waist. The dim light of the bedside lamp, a cheap Tiffany-style thing, casts a colourful, mottled glow across her skin, highlighting the pale lines of her shoulders and the curve of her hips.
"Because you were so damn emotionally distant, I had to look elsewhere for connection," she says with intensity. She's not yelling anymore. She's whispering, and it's somehow more terrifying. "You'd sit there on that ugly brown couch, staring at the TV, not even seeing it. I'd be talking to you, and you'd just... nod. Your body was there, but the rest of you was a million miles away."
"That doesn't give you a free pass," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, "to be a whore."
She slaps you across your left cheek
You're too stunned to react at first. All you can feel is the hot, stinging imprint of her hand on your skin, the sharp, cracking sound of the slap still echoing in the sudden, heavy silence of the room. A thin, red line starts to form on your cheek, the skin already beginning to swell. The pain is sharp, immediate, but it's nothing compared to the raw, searing ache in your chest.
"Say that again," she says, low and dangerous, her eyes blazing with a fury so pure it feels like it could incinerate you where you stand.
"I said, 'You're a whore,'" you repeat, the anger is hot and metallic. "Doesn't matter how you try to justify it, how much you want to blame me for your choices. You cheated. You lied. You snuck around behind my back with some pretentious fuck who probably quotes Baudelaire at you over artisanal coffee." You move closer, invading her space, the air between you crackling with enough electricity to start a fire. "You wanted to be the victim so badly, you forgot you were the one holding the knife."
The accusation hangs in the air between you, a living, breathing thing. She swings another open palm at your face, but this time you're ready. You catch her wrist, fingers digging into her skin, hard enough to leave a constellation of bruises. She tries to pull away, but you hold on.
"Let go of me," she seethes, her face contorted with a mixture of pain and rage.
"You wanted a reaction, Yuna?" you growl. "You got one."
She tries to slap you with her free hand, but you block that too, grabbing her other wrist. Now you have both of them, her arms pinned in front of her. You can feel her pulse, a frantic, fluttering bird beating against your thumbs. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Her breasts are still bare, the nipples hardening in the cool, conditioned air of the room.
It's just silence. A distant party and some deep breaths. A long, drawn-out beat of your own heart thrumming in your ears. Her wrists are fragile in your grip, the skin soft and delicate. You could snap them, if you wanted to. The thought is so ugly, so alien, that it makes you feel sick to your stomach. You've never been this person. She's turned you into this.
And then her lips are on yours, and you're kissing her, a violent, desperate collision of teeth and tongues. It's not a kiss of reconciliation or forgiveness. It's an act of war. You're biting her lower lip, hard enough to taste blood, the coppery tang mixing with the familiar, faint sweetness of her mouth. She's not passive in this. Her hands, still trapped in your grip, twist and writhe, her nails digging into the backs of your hands. She's kissing you back with a ferocity that matches your own, her tongue invading your mouth, a battle for dominance.
You let go of her wrists, and her hands are immediately on you, tearing at your shirt, the buttons popping off and skittering across the hardwood floor. Her nails rake down your back, a line of fire, a claim. You rip the sheet away from her body, the flimsy fabric no match for your brute force. You're both a tangle of limbs and frustration, a mess of anger and a desperate, gnawing hunger. There's no tenderness here, no memory of gentle caresses or whispered endearments. This is raw.
It becomes an immediate battle for dominance. Both of you on the bed, half-rolling off, the bedsheets tangled around your legs, your jeans catching uncomfortably. You manage to push her onto her back, but she uses the momentum to flip you over, straddling your hips, her hands on your chest, her nails digging into your skin. She leans down, her hair a curtain around your face, her breath hot against your ear.
"I hate you," she whispers, the words a puff of air, a promise and a threat all at once.
"I hate you more," you growl, grabbing her hips, pulling her down onto you, the rough denim of your jeans a barrier you can't stand. You buck your hips, trying to throw her off, but she's stronger than she looks, her thighs like a vice, pinning you to the mattress.
She grinds against you, a slow, deliberate motion that's both a taunt and a command. "Is that the best you've got?"
With a grunt, you sit up, wrapping your arms around her waist, and throw her off you, onto the other side of the bed. You're on top of her in a second, your hands pinning her wrists above her head, your body a heavy weight on hers.
"Better?" you growl, your face inches from hers. You take your mouth to her neck, not kissing it, but biting it, marking it. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath, a sound of pain and pleasure that's indistinguishable from the other. You feel her arch against you, her body betraying her. You move your mouth to her collarbone, leaving a trail of red marks, a map of your rage.
You let go of her hands, needing to take off your trousers. Her hands, now free, take control of your head, pulling you to her chest. You take a nipple into your mouth, sucking and biting, and she cries out, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. You taste the salt of her skin. She is a fever.
"Fucking hate you," she pants, as you fumble with your belt, the leather stiff and uncooperative. Your hands are shaking, the combination of adrenaline and alcohol making fine motor skills a distant memory. "Always so clumsy," she scoffs, a flicker of the old contempt in her voice. "Let me."
She pushes you away, you stumble back for a second and then stand. She slides from the bed and onto her knees. Yuna looks up at you, wide-eyed and defiant as she works on your belt and then the button of your jeans. The zipper's teeth part with a metallic rasp. She pushes the denim down your hips, your boxers with them, and you kick them away. Then her hands are on you. Her nails scratch the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you wince.
You look down at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen and slightly parted, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. She looks like a ruin. She looks beautiful. She looks like she hates you, and you love it. You love this. This ugly, terrible thing between you - it's the only thing that feels real anymore.
Those plump lips take hold of the head of your cock, and you gasp. Her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside, her hands massaging your balls with a practised expertise. You remember this. You remember her practising on you, on that same ugly brown couch. Her giggles, her initial shyness, the way she'd look up at you, her eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and adoration.
But this is not that. There's no adoration here. There's a violent, possessive fury in her eyes. She's not trying to please you; she's trying to consume you. She takes you deeper, her throat constricting around you, a gag reflex she used to be so self-conscious about, now wielded like a weapon. Your hands find her hair, your fingers tangling in the long, dark strands, not guiding her, but holding on, anchoring yourself to this maelstrom of sensation and emotion.
She's trying to speak, but at this point you're fucking the words back into her throat, and she's gagging on your cock and your cruelty in equal measure. Tears are welling in her eyes, dark streaks running through her smudged mascara, but she doesn't pull away. She looks up at you with a defiant glare that begs you to break her.
You pull out, a string of saliva connecting your cock to her lips. "What was that?" you demand. "Didn't quite catch it."
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. "I said," she pants, her voice raspy, "has your cock got smaller? It feels... smaller."
The insult is so childish, so out of place in the midst of this brutal intimacy, that for a moment you're just speechless. And then you're laughing. "You're a fucking piece of work, you know that?"
"I try," she says, before you thrust back into her open mouth.
This is the real punishment. This is the penance. Every wet, gagging sound, every tear that stains her cheek, every brutal thrust into the tight heat of her throat. Her tongue is still working, a frantic, desperate rhythm that belies the defiant glare in her eyes. You're watching her face, watching the way her mascara runs in black rivulets down her cheeks, the way her nostrils flare with each desperate breath.
You look down at the sight of your cock disappearing into her mouth, the obscene stretch of her lips around you. Her nails are digging into your thighs now, ten sharp points of pain that only serve to heighten your arousal.
You pull out, just to grab your cock and press it hard against her cheek, smearing her own saliva across her face. "You wanted to connect, Yuna?" you snarl. "Is this connected enough for you?"
A single, perfect tear escapes from the corner of her eye and tracks a clean path through the mess on her face. But her smile, a small, venomous thing, doesn't falter. "If this is all you've got," she says, "then I'm even more disappointed than I thought."
"Put that mouth to better use," you say as you slap her across her wet cheek. "Open."
She does. And you slide back into that blessed, torturous heat. This is different. It's slower. More deliberate. A punishment. You're fucking her face, but it's controlled, even if still forceful. Each thrust is measured, a statement. You're watching her throat work as you push deeper, watching the way she has to fight to breathe. This is control. This is power. This is the antithesis of the disconnected, thousand-yard stare she accused you of because you are here; in this room, in this moment. You are the absolute fucking centre of her world.
Then, you pull out again, leaving her gasping, a string of saliva connecting your cock to her swollen lips. She doesn't move, doesn't wipe her face. She just kneels there, on the hardwood floor, looking up at you, her chest heaving, her defiant, tear-streaked face a masterpiece of ruined fury.
"You always looked so good just like this, on your knees for me."
She smirks. The smirk is a miracle of endurance, a flag planted on a battlefield of her own making. "And you always wanted to be there," she counters. "So desperate to feel needed."
The words hit you, but you don't flinch. You just smile, a slow, cruel stretch of your lips. She rises to meet your gaze as best she can. A stand-off. A silent battle in a strange bedroom. You're both naked, vulnerable, and armed to the teeth.
Without breaking eye contact, she slaps you. Hard. Across the other cheek. A matching set of red handprints blooming on your face. The crack of it echoes. And then she's pushing you, shoving you backwards. You stumble, your feet getting tangled in the discarded jeans on the floor, and you fall onto the bed, the springs groaning in protest.
She's climbing on you, looking entirely different now. Her face is stricken with a wicked kind of lust, and she is now in control. She crawls all the way up you until she sits on your chest, pinning your arms with her knees. Your vision is all her: the sweat-slicked valley between her breasts, the lines of her toned, flat stomach, the wetness of her that glints in the dim light. The scent of her, thick and musky and familiar, fills your lungs.
"Now you're going to be a good boy," she purrs, a low, silken threat. "And you're going to shut the fuck up." She shifts, planting herself firmly on your face. Your world becomes dark.
At the start, it is a punishment. The rough, demanding way she uses you for her own pleasure. But then, your body, traitor that it is, remembers. Your tongue remembers the specific topography of her, the sensitive ridges, the way she shudders when you apply a certain kind of pressure with your lips. You taste her anger and her desperation, a bitter, complex flavour that's both repulsive and intoxicating. Your jaw begins to ache, but you don't stop. You can't. You're a starving man at a feast of poison, and you're going to devour every last drop.
Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your eyes water. She is grinding against your face with a rhythm that is both brutal and needy, her hips undulating in a wave that threatens to drown you. You can feel the muscles in her thighs clenching and releasing against your head. She is a storm, and you are the landmass she is determined to tear apart.
"Fucking look at you," she gasps, a ragged pant that seems to come from a great distance, muffled by her thighs. "You'll do anything, won't you? You always were so weak."
You chase her clit with your tongue and catch it, a hard, desperate press that makes her whole body jolt, her cry sharp and unbidden. A victory, small and fleeting, in this ugly war. You do it again, and again, a relentless, focused assault that is all instinct. You are an automaton of a lover, a perfect, memory-driven machine designed for her destruction. Her movements become less controlled, more frantic. She's losing her composure, losing the battle she started. Her thighs are trembling now, and you know she's close.
A series of high, choked sounds escape her lips, and her entire body goes rigid, her muscles locking in a final, desperate convulsion. A wave of her release washes over your face, hot and sharp and smelling of a war you've already lost. For a long moment, she stays like that, perched on your face, a panting, victorious ruin.
You're smothered while she laughs, a dry, breathless sound that has no humour in it. It's a laugh of pure contempt. "Look at that," she says, finally shifting her weight, lifting herself off you just enough for you to drag in a ragged, desperate breath of air. "Face is a mess."
You can feel the slickness of her on your skin, and you can smell her on your own breath. You feel like you've been marked, branded. Owned. She runs a finger through the mess on your chin, a gesture that's almost tender in its intimacy. Then she shoves the finger into your mouth, forcing you to taste the evidence of her victory.
"Taste that?" she whispers, her eyes burning into yours. "That's what failure tastes like."
You bite down. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to make her yelp and snatch her hand back. "And that," you growl, your voice a raw, wrecked thing, "is what happens when you get too close."
A flicker of something – surprise? respect? – crosses her face, but it's quickly extinguished by a renewed wave of fury. "You're going to regret that," she promises, in a venomous hiss.
"I regret a lot of things about tonight," you say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "This is not one of them."
You lunge, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her down onto the bed with you. The room spins for a second, a kaleidoscope of lurid colour and blurred shapes, and then you're on top of her, your body a heavy, unforgiving weight pinning her to the mattress. Your knee forces its way between her legs, spreading them, and you can feel the heat of her, the yielding wetness that mocks your anger.
Yuna struggles, her hands pushing against your chest, her body writhing beneath yours, but it's a futile effort. You're stronger than her, your rage a tangible force that amplifies your strength, narrows your focus to a single, brutal point of entry. You catch her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head, just like before.
"You always were a fucking bully," she spits, "Using your size to get what you want."
"And you always used your tears," you retort, your free hand fumbling between your bodies, guiding yourself to her entrance. "You think I don't remember? The way you'd cry when you didn't get your way, when you wanted me to stay in and watch your stupid French movies instead of going out with my friends. You think I don't remember how you'd wrap yourself around me, all soft and weepy, until I gave in?"
"That's not how it was," she protests, but her voice is thin, her defiance wavering as you press the head of your cock against her. Her body betrays her, her hips tilting, a silent, desperate invitation that negates her words.
"Isn't it?" you growl, and then you're inside her, one hard, unforgiving thrust that sheathes you to the hilt. Yuna is a scorching, velvet heat that clenches around you, a perfect, agonising fit. A shared, ragged gasp escapes both your lips.
For a beat, you don't move. You just stay there, buried deep inside her, a stillness that is more loaded, more charged than any violent motion. You can feel her heart hammering against your chest, a frantic, desperate drumbeat.
"Maybe if you'd fucked me like this once in a while," Yuna manages to say, her eyes locked on yours, "instead of just... going through the motions, I wouldn't have had to look elsewhere."
The accusation is a splash of gasoline on the fire of your rage. "Don't you dare," you snarl, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into her, a brutal, punishing thrust that makes the bedframe shudder against the wall. "Don't you dare try to make this my fault."
A choked cry escapes her lips, a sound that's half-pain, half-pleasure. "But it is your fault," she gasps, her hips rising to meet you, a contradiction that makes your head spin. "All those nights you'd come home and just... collapse on the couch. You were there, but you weren't. I had to beg for it, for a little bit of attention, for you to just... see me."
You're moving now, a hard, relentless rhythm, each thrust a retort, a denial, an accusation. You're filling her cunt in a way that's both an act of possession and an act of erasure. You're trying to fuck her out of your system, to fuck the memory of her out of your head, to replace every gentle touch, every whispered endearment, with this raw, violent act. It never works.
"See you?" you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her whole body arch off the bed. "I saw you. I saw you every morning when I woke up, with your makeup smudged and your hair a mess. I saw you when you burned the spaghetti, and we ate charred noodles and laughed until we cried. I saw you when you came home from work, so tired you could barely stand, and I'd run you a bath and just sit with you while you soaked. I fucking saw you, Yuna."
"You saw a version of me you wanted to see!" she cries out, her nails raking down your back, a stinging, welcome pain. "You didn't see the parts you didn't like! The parts that were messy, complicated, and scared! The parts that didn't fit into your neat little box of what a relationship should be!"
Her words are a series of cuts, precise and deep. You're a beast now, all instinct and fury. Your hands are everywhere, tangling in her hair, gripping her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, a collection of angry purple blooms that will be a testament to this night. You're trying to leave a mark, to brand her, to make it so she can't forget you, can't move on, can't feel the touch of another man without remembering the feel of you, the brutal, consuming force of you.
"Is this messy enough for you?" you snarl, your breath hot against her ear. "Is this complicated enough?"
Her only response is a choked moan, a raw, ragged sound that's torn from the depths of her. But her body, that treacherous, traitorous body, is still moving with yours, her hips rising to meet each brutal thrust, a desperate, frantic rhythm that's a language all its own. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper, a silent plea for more.
"I hate you," she gasps, the words a prayer and a curse, her head thrown back, the elegant line of her throat exposed, a vulnerable stretch of skin that's an open invitation.
"Liar," you growl, your teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her neck, a sharp, stinging bite that makes her cry out, her whole body convulsing around you. "If you hated me, you wouldn't be so wet."
She shudders, a deep, full-body tremor that has nothing to do with the force of your thrusts. You can feel the subtle shift in her, the way the tight, clenching heat of her becomes even wetter, a slick, yielding response that betrays her, that confirms her lie. The sound of it is obscene, a wet, rhythmic slapping that fills the room, punctuated by your ragged breaths and her desperate, broken cries.
"Hating you is what makes me wet," she manages to retort. "Knowing this makes you sick, knowing you still want me even when you hate me. That's what gets me off."
Her words undermine your anger. They poke holes in your carefully constructed fortress of rage. But you don't back down. You double down. You fuck her harder, a brutal, punishing rhythm that's a denial of her claim, an attempt to prove her wrong. You're trying to hurt her, to make her feel the gnawing, empty ache that's been your constant companion for months, but every thrust, every bruising grip, every savage bite, only seems to spur her on, to feed the fire of her own masochistic desire.
You shift your weight, pushing one of her knees up towards her chest, changing the angle, driving deeper. You're watching her face, transfixed by the raw, unguarded emotion playing across her features. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her brow furrowed in a mask of what looks like agony, but the sounds she's making, the way her body is responding, tell a different story. This isn't agony. It's ecstasy. It's the two of you, twisted together in a knot of hate and lust and a desperate, pathetic longing for something you can never have again.
Your orgasm builds, a slow, inevitable tide rising in your groin, a tightening in your balls. You try to fight it, to hold back, to prolong this sweet, venomous torture, but her body is a perfect, relentless instrument, and you're a clumsy, desperate fumbler at its mercy. She can feel you getting closer, the subtle change in your rhythm, the way your breath hitches in your throat.
"You going to cum for me?" she taunts, her eyes fluttering open, a cruel, knowing glint in their depths. "I know that look. I always knew. Just before you lost it."
Her words are the final push. You let go, a groan torn from your chest, a ragged, broken sound of release and defeat. You spill into her, a hot, violent rush that feels like a surrender, an offering of the last remnants of your resistance. It's a draining, hollow victory, a pleasure that's so intense it's almost pain. Your body goes rigid, your vision blurring at the edges, the world narrowing to the feeling of her, the tight, clenching heat of her, a final, brutal convulsion.
For a long, stretched-out moment, you don't move. You stay buried deep inside her, your forehead pressed against hers, your breath mingling with hers in the hot, humid space between your faces. You can feel your own heartbeat, a frantic, fading drumbeat, and hers, a slower, more steady rhythm beneath your hand. The room is quiet now, the distant thump of the party outside a muted, irrelevant heartbeat. The only sound is the shared, ragged sound of your breathing, a quiet punctuation to the storm that has just passed.
Then you pull out. A sudden, jarring emptiness. A trickle of your own release follows, a messy, damning evidence of your failure to resist her. You roll off her, landing on the cool sheets beside her, a boneless, sweating wreck.
"God," she whispers, the word a puff of air, a prayer to a deity that has long since abandoned this room, this house, this whole sorry situation.
"Yeah," you manage to say, in a hoarse, unfamiliar croak. You don't look at her. You stare at the ceiling, at the cheap fabric of the lampshade, at the cracks in the plaster that look like a map of a country you've never been to. "God."
You can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The scent of her, a potent cocktail of sweat and sex and gardenia perfume, fills your lungs. It's the scent of a battlefield.
You lay there for a while, two strangers in a strange bed, the silence between you a physical presence, heavy and suffocating. It's a mutual lull, a temporary ceasefire in a war that has no end. The party outside is a distant hum, a world away from the charged, toxic quiet of this room.
"We have to stop doing this," she says finally, now devoid of her earlier venom. She's the one to break the silence. "This isn't... healthy."
You let out a short, harsh laugh. It hurts your throat. "No shit." You finally turn your head to look at her. She's staring up at the same ceiling you were just staring at, her face a pale oval in the dim light. The angry red marks on her neck are already starting to darken. You can feel a satisfying, petty pride in that.
"I'm leaving the city," she says so quietly you almost don't hear her. "Next week."
The words land like a punch to the gut. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Leaving. She's leaving. A jolt of something sharp and painful lances through your chest. It's not relief. It's not indifference. It's something much uglier.
"You think running away is going to fix this?" you scoff, your voice dripping with a contempt you don't entirely feel. "You think you can just pack up your shit and move to some other city and suddenly you're not... you?"
"Got to try something," she says, turning to face you now. Her eyes, in the low light, are dark and fathomless pools. "This isn't a life. This... It's pathetic. We're pathetic."
She's right, and you hate her for it. This whole night, this whole sordid, ugly mess, is the epitome of pathetic. A cycle of violence and sex that you can't seem to break, a toxic feedback loop of hurt and regret. But the thought of her leaving, of putting an ocean, a state, any amount of distance between you, is an even more potent poison.
"Right," you scoff. "I'll see you around, Yuna." She will never go through with it.
just wanted to give my two cents. i personally would love to see another kinktober style run from you. loved the variety.
the IU and Shuhua ones are some of my favorite stories i've read. there's so much AI slop infesting this space so i'm looking forward to any new stories from you.
Hi Anon, thank you for your thoughts. I'm also leaning in this direction too.
Not sure I could commit to putting out a long form fic or series right now, but the idea of putting out a series of smaller fics is nice, I had a lot of fun last time. It led to some really fun fics.
That being said, if anyone is reading this, it's a great chance to help me make it a reality. The idea of doing 30 different kinks is much less interesting a second time around, so I'm looking for suggestions.
If anyone reading this has an idea for a different "Theme" for a collection of short fics, please go ahead and send me it on asks/DMs/discord.
Yo Prael, a Jenna Ortega fic got recently released and it was highly similar to your Jenna Ortega fic entitled Chemistry. Thoughts?
Hello Anon,
I was not aware and have not seen it. If it has been inspired in any way by what I have wrote, then thats great! There exists only a finite number of narrative possibilities and they will be repeated many times, but they will just be executed differently. Chemistry was also inspired by a similar narrative in another fic.
As long as the writing is not stolen word-for-word, then I fully support similarities in stories.
Hey I’m a new reader and have been catching up on your fics, they’re so good! Are you still writing?
Hello anon,
Thank you for taking the time to read fics from an old head like me, I appreciate you.
I suffered a little from being burnt out, uninspired and then life being very busy, but I am planning to come back, I'm just not sure when or in what capacity. I have a couple of commissions to work on, and after that I do have a lot of things I want to share.
I have been writing in small bits here and there, some snippets that I could easy expand upon, maybe I will throw together another kinktober style run, maybe I will post occasionally, maybe I will go back and work on a series.
To be honest I'm not really sure what the readers prefer or what I would prefer, I will give it some thought.
Note: I wasn't even planning to put this out, but I think yall need a fluff after what @limemrys puts out. Also very special thanks to @prael since this was part of the Mega Mystery Mix-up prompts wayy back then <3
(1.3k words)
You two are horrendously bad at relationships.
Like, it’s almost a running joke at this point. You with your naïve, aloof nature—so clueless that you once got asked out and only realized it wasn’t a “study session” two weeks later when the other person stopped talking to you. And Jinsol, who’s just as bad but for entirely different reasons. Where you were oblivious, she was merciless. The moment she broke up with someone, it was like they were on trial and she was both the judge AND the executioner.
“He really thought writing poetry about his car made him interesting,” she once scoffed, sprawled out on your couch, chewing through a bag of chips.
“And?” you asked, not really getting it.
“And that’s fucking pathetic,” she said, eyes sharp like she just witnessed a crime scene.
“...Maybe he just really loved his car. There's nothing wrong with that.”
She stared at you like you were hopeless. “And that’s why you’re single.”
"I'm just empathetic, JIn-sol."
Conversations like that were your bread and butter. Somewhere between insulting each other’s non-existent dating lives and silently agreeing you both were doomed, the years just piled on. From awkward high school classrooms to almost nodding asleep during university lectures, you and Jinsol became this weird constant, like a pair of introverts who couldn’t be bothered to replace each other.
And the out-of-nowhere dumb pact? That was born out of one of those long, aimless summer afternoons when you were on summer break.
You remember it clearly. You were both around fifteen, sitting on the curb outside the corner store with popsicles melting faster than you could eat them. The heat shimmered on the asphalt, cicadas buzzing like they had a personal vendetta against your eardrums.
“What if nobody ever likes me?” you asked suddenly, licking a streak of orange off your wrist.
Jinsol turned to look at you, eyes squinted under the sunlight, and snorted. “What do you mean, what if? No one likes you now.”
“Hey!” you shoved her shoulder, nearly making her drop her grape popsicle.
She caught it and shot you a glare. “Don’t start something you can’t win, dumbass.”
Still, after a moment, she frowned and stared at the sticky pavement. “But… yeah. What if nobody ever likes me either?”
There was a pause. The kind that stretched out uncomfortably, filled only by the sound of cicadas and your slurping. Then, in your infinite fifteen-year-old wisdom, you shrugged. “Then… we can just, I dunno… date each other.”
Her head snapped toward you, disbelief painted across her face. “Excuse me?”
You nodded solemnly, as if you’d just solved world hunger. “Yeah. Like, if we’re both still single at… thirty or something, we’ll just date each other. Problem solved.”
Jinsol let out a laugh so sharp it nearly made you drop your own popsicle. “Are you high? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Who would actually want that?”
“You,” you shot back instantly. “Obviously.”
For a second, her mouth opened like she was ready to destroy you with another insult. But then she just huffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. If we’re both single, or still single at thirty, we’ll date. Happy? Dumbass prick.”
“Very,” you grinned, leaning back on your hands like you’d just made the most bulletproof plan in history.
And that was that. It was stupid, childish, completely unserious… and yet it stuck. Even as the years rolled on, even as crushes came and went, even as Jin-sol rattled off her breakup postmortems and you fumbled your way through misunderstanding people’s signals — you both kept that promise tucked away. Half joke, half safety net.
Not because you were in love. Not then, anyway. But because, in a world where neither of you seemed to quite fit the puzzle, it was nice knowing there was one piece that would always, somehow, click.
Years passed, the pact aged like a dumb inside joke you never threw away. It popped up every now and then—sometimes when Jinsol was ranting about a failed date, sometimes when you were both three drinks in and too tired to censor yourselves. But it was always brushed off with an eye-roll, a laugh, or a “don’t remind me.”
Until one very normal, very soul-crushing Tuesday at the office.
The two of you ended up working at the same company, which was either fate or punishment, you weren’t sure (let's go with punishment, just so that she won't beat you anymore). The open-plan office was a battlefield of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and people pretending they were busier than they actually were. You sat across from Jinsol, which meant that at least once every hour, you’d look up and find her staring deadpan at her monitor like it had personally offended her.
By the third hour of the day, boredom got the better of you. Leaning over your desk, you whispered, “Hey, Jin-sol. Remember our deal?”
Jinsoul didn’t even glance up from her screen. “What deal?”
“You know,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “if we’re still single at thirty…”
She groaned, head tilting back against her chair. “Don’t tell me you’re actually bringing that up here. In the middle of the fucking work hour.”
“I’m just saying,” you grinned, tapping your pen against the desk, “we’ve got a few years left, but maybe I should start booking the wedding hall early.”
You expected the usual. You know, her rolling her eyes, maybe muttering “idiot” under her breath before going back to whatever paperwork she was torturing. But instead, she lifted her head up slowly, eyes narrowing on you with this sharp seriousness that knocked the wind out of your chest.
“Why wait until thirty?” she said flatly. “We can just date now.”
Silence. Absolute silence. Even the humming lights seemed to stop for a second.
You blinked at her, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the smirk, the sarcastic jab, the “just kidding, you moron.” But it never came. She just stood up, grabbed her empty coffee mug, and brushed past your desk.
Huh? Did she say that right?
“Wait—wait, hold up.” You scrambled out of your chair and hurried after her, nearly tripping over the wheel of your chair in your excitement. “Did you just—are you serious right now?”
“I don't know, am I?” she shot back instantly, walking faster.
“That’s not a no!” you grinned, following her down the aisle between cubicles. “That’s a denial-but-that’s-actually-a-yes. I know that tone.”
“Bug off,” she muttered, not even turning around.
“See? You didn’t say no again!” You jogged to catch up, practically bouncing with energy. “Do you realize what you’ve done now? You can’t just casually say, ‘let’s date now,’ and expect me to function normally. My entire system’s fried. I need to take the PTO this instant.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll finally stop being so fucking loud,” she said, but her pace had slowed just slightly, betraying her.
“I’m telling you right now, if you don’t clarify, I’m going to assume we’re dating. Like, immediately. Boyfriend status. Lock screen photo. Couple discounts at cafés. All of it.”
She stopped abruptly at the coffee machine, finally turning just enough to glare at you. “You’re stupid.”
“And yet…” you leaned against the counter, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face, “…you’re not telling me I’m wrong.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing, and you knew she was about to deliver one of her signature cutting remarks. But instead, she suddenly grabbed your collar, yanked you down, and pressed her lips against yours. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t soft either. Just sharp, deliberate, like she was shutting you up in the most efficient way possible.
By the time she pulled away, your brain had completely blue-screened. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out, your grin wiped clean off your face and replaced with wide-eyed shock.
“Finally,” she muttered, brushing past you with her coffee mug. “Some peace and fucking quiet.”
You just stood there, starstruck, heart pounding in your ears like a drumline. It took a solid three seconds before your body remembered how to move. Then you snapped out of it, stumbling after her like an idiot, still reeling.
Because there was no way—no fucking way—you were letting her just walk away after that.
There’s no flaw to this: attempting to dance with Anna yet again.
She says you’re getting better, beaming her smile and acting as if all of this wasn’t a ruse to shield the burgeoning urge to touch each other beneath the underlying veneer of romanticism.
The term ‘Romanticism’ might be a stretch in itself - at least you seem to believe so; who knows, you’re enamored in the classics - the art it presents.
It’s another subject you want to learn more about.
–
“Ready?” Anna asks you, anticipatory.
You nod in compliance; the routine finally begins:
First step: your right foot goes forward, Anna’s goes backwards - she’s one to seek first when you least expect it, falling under introspection-
Step two: left foot goes to the side - Anna, like always, is adamant to introduce a new concept to you she discovers-
Step three: right foot follows same pathing as the left - it’s something new (plausible), plus it’s something you’ll find intriguing (perhaps), and lastly I appreciate you trusting my ideas, a lot-
Step four: left foot backwards, and Anna’s foot does your pathing now - and it adds the suggestion of how she paints these expressions - these stepping stones into her heart-
Step five: right foot goes to the side - and you’re feeding into the curiosity because of the wanting to go beyond the nearness of each other-
Final step: left foot trails behind - then suddenly, once the tension’s thickened to a point where it’s nearly suffocating, inches away from closing the space; you break away from kissing her, and the loop repeats-
Like a neverending record - going on forever and ever; which in itself, is also a dance. You dance with Anna hoping to have the waltz embedded into the learning algorithm. Hope to eclipse the feelings, dangerously calculated to an eventual outcome. Before the new mission parameters were delivered, you browsed through Anna’s tarot cards since most of the checks were already completed by then. Diagnostics and readings were leveled; other amenities were stored properly. You’re coworkers, crewmates, two beings longing for warmth. Your reflection doesn’t see you any different.
You remember the first time Anna offered to dance. Ignorant and dismissive aside, you couldn’t bring yourself to match her gaze. And it’s not often that you would dilute time into anything else outside of protocol, for one thing.
At times, Anna would wander in the ship with her mind clouded with slumber and darkness, wearing her fleet’s blazer or some dusty jacket over her sleepwear - considering the Primrose was cold, and (as you’ve deduced) the nights were colder. It’s especially a rarity to see Anna’s bare shoulders, let alone the chapped lips up close and in detail, or question the thought that it's worrying to study her in a more intimate appearance.
She’s not an object subjected for your pleasure. You know this well enough, and it’s all the more reason to not delve beyond that conclusion.
You’ve exceeded in doing so. Countless cycles lost in the vastness of space until you felt her tongue clash against yours. Mistakes like that are what makes us human.
Passionate. Engulfing. It had those two characteristics and so much more. Why wouldn’t it have more? It’s easy to notice in the exchanges you two share: explain to me how we get ahead of ourselves is one of the many caveats she presents, and soon your composure warbles away from common sense and nothing seems to compute. You have a hard time picking up the semantics and decoding because some of the terms are indiscernible, trying to process and understand. Another slow waltz, maybe. Don’t hide. It’s futile to try. Kiss me.
Once everything eases, and the sweat subsides on the shores of skin faded into the covers of her bed. Your mouth slacks, frozen. Anna’s paintings: with a boat and two figures sitting inside, on the endless ocean, give a close interpretation of the threshold waiting to be passed - the Primrose’s mission, to be exact.
Though Anna’s paintings are her stories - her soul, and you’ve looked there rather than her eyes. Found desperation and desire to escape. Left her quarters riddled with in her taste, and stare deep into the reflection of the mirror and feel the sticky gloss on your cheek.
You’ve processed (and stabilized) the state of elation. Straying away from comfort you deemed as ‘unstable’. Though some aspects were appropriate, change was always an incalculable factor, therefore: unstable. States on the brink of war and terror were unstable. Unstable synapses firing in your brain seeing Anna’s nightgown in its sheer appearance. You have trouble computing the idea of her - how you want her, and quite literally: all of her.
-
(Here’s what you did since the kiss: going through the log of reports and requests that were for her eyes only. Countless days and hours in the mission and Anna’s been far removed in being professional (and luckily, it’s just you and the computer receiving these messages):
> status report, Anna Tanaka, quoting on the screen: "unfortunately ive decided to not care and will not read the attachments sent to me.”
> service inquiry, Anna Tanaka, about the sudden drop in oxygen levels, quoting: “so what if i don’t breathe, one of us will be alive anyway.”
> mission advisory, Anna Tanaka, at approximately 00:00 hours, quoting: “what if we just steer this fucking ship off into the burning sun representing our love, huh?”
You are both idiots. As Anna would allegedly claim.)
–
Thankfully, you’ve disciplined yourself in running through the usual checks, rather than acting like you don’t know what’s going on.
In your discovery, this would’ve been the perfect time to do that order from a few megacycles ago: get in the spacesuit and fix that shitty panel that kept blinking on the monitor while getting tangled with the cable while laughing with Anna about how dense you were about your emotions; say a shitty comeback about Anna’s bedside manner and justify the warning was from a few scrapes of damage left by the small debris when traveling through the rings of Indiga (eloquently summarized in your readings back to mission control): “we had to adjust our course to help compensate for the trajectory of the planet’s ring pathway.”
Once that was done, now you could debug the Primrose’s balance from the cockpit. No way to tell when you might make landfall at the next world nearby. What might happen when Anna steps off the ramp without any protective gear on; finds out the ground is incredibly toxic, and melt right off the face of the planet.
–
Anna insisted on going outside, but you rejected the suggestion and took her place instead.
Venturing into an atmosphere mixing the pressurized gas of the decompression chamber - the sub-zero temperatures acting as a good barrier to start in creating space. New objective: distance yourself ; keep focus and all thoughts rational.
You wander and think while crossing the icky, green fog blending into the hills.
In doing so, you helplessly think about her.
–
When you return. She’s wearing the same nightgown from before.
“You’re back!’ Standing in the middle of the sliding door watching you dust off the collective dirt on your arms. “Do you wanna practice dancing again?”
Twisting your gaze, she leans forward, the strap skating off her shoulder. It’s a brief moment in the dialogue - the one running through your head, frozen at the request. “I think you got it this time.” Anna’s so willing - I know, I’m overbearing, letting you do these things out of tempo as we’re kissing, so please- I beg- and she’s frightfully intentful in making it worse.
Intentful for one thing, yet thrilling for someone like her to be ambitious - making you fold in a game of poker while she held her hand (a pair when you bought her bluff), and it’s simple to deduce all other hypotheticals as well. She’s a bug in your line of code, manifested to to defy all rational calculations. How she easily reads what you tell - even more horrifying to be solved and understood.
She makes you feel like a human being; help defy your maker that much more difficult.
–
So, again-
You’re dancing with her. She praises the improvement, humming. You’re not stepping on her feet as much compared to the first time. Every step and move is carried with precision, sometimes hazy and fritzing the logic; falter one motion, and your hand slides lower to the divots on her back.
“I still have trouble understanding,” you tell her, “The significance of dancing on Toyama.”
Anna slots herself at your arms and middle, blinking. She doesn’t say anything to answer, going through the steps, saying, “it’s an intimate connection with the person you like.”
Swaying left, then right, your feet do the same. Her skin touching feels electric. “Somewhat answers my question,” you drawl, hesitant, “doesn’t help the prolonged eye contact, though.”
“Like what you see?”
“I’d prefer to consider it uncouth.”
Anna shelters her smile. “Here I thought wearing this gown would get you more curious.”
Your foot skates forward on accident. Faltering. Stumbling. This dance, you presume, isn’t entirely subtle - the same could be said for coming up with a lousy alibi, too - but it would be extremely unordinary for either of you to take the long way ‘round in the space with each other. Any flash of impatience simply taints the comforting moments, and you’re not willing to try.
“You still believe I’m not bad news for you?” She asks, pressing closer; your hand holding hers and the warmth so close. A finger brushes her cheek and the touch sensitive, makes you wonder about the adversities her mind and figure has gone through to get to this moment. I could’ve fucked you off if I wanted to, she probably would’ve said, the weight frugal and heavy in her words. You blank out and don’t actually answer, which leads to Anna lecturing another lesson: “In Toyama,” she starts, “dancing has a very special meaning, one that transcends beyond connections. It’s dangerous to the point that the practice had to be prohibited by the nation.”
Though you shake your head at that. The State didn’t have a say in this setting at all. You ponder and get inquisitive. “Why would it pose a threat in the first place?”
“Unity,” answers Anna. “With dance-” lifted into a spin and your raised arm, and the surroundings start to blur in your optics, “it’s not just the bodies joining as one. Your hearts, too. Linking that forms a bond, and binds all of us together. Yet the State seems to think otherwise.”
“Destabilization and discord, yes?”
“Not exactly. I was thinking more of being- intimate,” she chuckles. “Think of it as dissension and intimacy going up against facism. We’d be probed by others because it’s so foreign.”
Here your feet and hers start to mirror. Then the thought of being intimate creeps into your mind, how your build isn’t meant for it - the design is flawed - you can’t help but feel automatically dejected because of it. Being curious about yourself has left you so disappointed that it can’t even be self-pleasure let alone masturbation. Your body is desperately wanting to be something more than just an object at rest - something more, something that can not be at rest.
Tilting your gaze, Anna reflects. “Maybe the Higher One is seething at us making the most of this journey,” you smirk.
“I believe so. They can’t relate to us,” she says. “We’re impossible to punish, and willing to defy; every step in dance is just a symbiosis of angling the bodies together, counting and feeling the music-”
“There you go again, Anna. God, you really can’t help yourself.” You huff, which rewards a hearty laugh out of her.
“What?! Did you hear what you just said?” You notice the twinkle in her brown eyes when she knows she’s unbearably bewitching. “I’ve been teaching you the wrong thing - do you see your feet? Why are they matching mine? They’re both the same?”
“I find the humor to be confusing, still.”
“You’re still stuttering behind me, and listening to my terrible rendition of reciting literature,” says Anna. “I find you to be adorable and want to show my affection by never losing you.”
You agree. Of course I don’t want you to let go of me, but the physical aspect of your body and hands meeting hers is still a work in progress. Which can also be noticed in being gullible to her antics and the ugly handwriting of practicing Kanji she wanted you to try every now and then.
“The letters change the whole meaning of the word,” you say. “Now I know there’s a difference between ‘go’ and ‘ko’ depending on the context.”
Anna’s laugh fills your ears. “I commend you for the effort.” Her heels are above the floor with a chaste kiss to your lips - deliberate, but full of life, she could’ve worn a different garment without being aware of shifting fabric morphing to her figure. It’s that, and how she would’ve done a different activity rather than dancing without welcoming the risk. You try your best to guess her next move before she makes it, which ends up failing every single time.
At the corner of your eyes: memories of a time long past, the blend of thick and thin lines tearing like a faulty television screen. Flickers, you’ve deduced. Visions of a love finally found - a love finally complete.
One step to the side, then back. Your frame bends to her will and you wished it was the ship’s hull instead, because it was pointless to compute. For someone that isn’t really you - it can be discouraging as a clone-
To hell with all of that.
“Do that again,” Anna instructs, requesting a spin.
And you comply.
Her dress slithers off at the shoulders, uncovering skin healed from scratches and bite marks. Holding back was an option you deeply thought about, and might’ve been the right choice the other night. You did hold back and restrain from doing any more damage, but the urge can easily break like glass, and things like that are meant to be destroyed.
The first spin request flows her hair so nicely, and you repeat the same move because it’s enjoyable. Because she’s beautiful. And because this moment might be captured in this floating time capsule across space. Her firm body against fragile threads; the move slips the strap down to her arm. Anna giggles. Tugs it back with two fingers onto her collar.
Aw. You see her eyes dart at the porcelain skin. I meant to do that.
You pull her close. Raise her left hand to your right. “You’re not fooling anyone,” she announces flatly.
“What?”
Anna’s eyes squint, “Staring at what happened. I saw that,” it’s a careless praise.
“Why yes,” you nod proudly. Explaining isn’t a thought when you’re deeply influenced (and to her eyes, she finds you cuter like this). Being irrational is also against your logic, but it’s really nothing but these ideas: pinning Anna to the wall behind you and kissing her, or getting her on your lap (to kiss her) before she drops to her knees (and spreading your legs); the simplicity of yielding to addictive temptation fueled by her intentions, strip her singular garment and watch as the color blossoms on her skin.
It’s all leveled. You’re swaying one side of the room with her. Left foot out, right foot follows. Right foot out, left foot follows. Continuously. There isn’t a reason for you to keep your mouth closed around her, and soon you feel your voice tightening with one end grasping to rational thought, as the other tied between Anna’s fingers.
She sees it in your face; the lump forms in the throat. “Having fun, my love? Happy?”
“Very,” you say. Grinning, drunk on her uplifting gaze. “Not sure how much I can keep myself together.”
Being honest can also be a mistake, too.
To that, Anna smiles: she knows, and it’s horrifying. “Because you want me,” she deduces, guiding your arms down to her hips. You hold them there. It’s awfully cute how she has to get on her tiptoes to try to whisper. “The tension’s rising higher between us, yes?”
“It’s because,” you sigh, “you’re incapable of persuading.”
Your name rings through your ears, every tap of her fingertips is a new surge of electricity. Soon her palm is on your cheek; you keep staring down. “Hey, hey- my eyes are here.”
The fine beauty is all in the details: the gentle blush canvased across her cheeks, the humble glow on her chest; with the cool air running through the hull, her nipples poke through the nightgown. Behind those pretty lashes and eyes is a constellation that’s gentle and inviting. The real fine beauty above everything is the balance of arousing need she exudes that seems to match, well- yours.
Anna taps your cheekbone, giggling. “It’s impressive that you’re failing to realize the effect I have on you.” She makes you feel small - not in fear, but in the rush of reality. “Your gambit rarely succeeds in holding up to mine; with my desires, at least.”
Here - the lingering thoughts of regret are snuffed out. You’ve played her games full of deception and bluffs over the little things, and this wasn’t any different. When you finally speak, your jaw is trembling. “I’ve done my best to- stay composed and professional.”
Despite this, Anna’s face winces; her body seizes as she starts to break. “This again,” her voice seethes, “if you really stopped giving a fuck about control, you would push me down, rip off my skirt, we would both get the same thing in the end.”
You stop her movements, and the dance ends. The grip on her wrist grows steel tight. “Anna,” and her eyes roll back at the hiss passing your teeth. “God- fuck. How can you be so fucking straightforward?”
“Because I am,” she answers, pushing off. Not meeting her in the eyes is equally painful. “Mind you, that wasn’t a request. I’m being vocal about what I want- what I’m begging for.” Memories come flashing back in flickers: you, spent, uncontrollable - this revolving game with Anna; like the main rockets shot the Primrose deep into the unknown corners of space, there wasn’t a way back home to where things were normal - and honestly, why should either of you care?
You and her can’t help yourselves. Unbridally kissing with flung arms over each other.
The only thing you hear above the smacked lips is the occasional beeping of the flight controls. This new abode - now one with the stars.
Her lips push you back and you’re matching it. Two days ago, Anna was ecstatic to discover your tongue; feel the subtle clack of teeth - her lovely laugh when she’s riddled with bite marks after figuring out all the forms your bodies meld together. Even now - it’s an unknown concept in itself, still- that control was still a possible option to consider.
“It’s not fair - how perfect you are,” praises Anna, thumb grazing beneath your eyes. “Why are you so-”
“You’re beautiful, it’s fucking absurd,” you compliment. Simple, for one, but it makes her smile brighter, and the talk is pointless when all you want to do is make out with her.
Anna gets you good with her mouth. How they slot themselves against yours, easy to pass air between them before it’s all suffocated in teeth and tongue. The only thing that splits your being apart is the fact that you can’t sweat and she can. You have an automated pulse, unlike hers which is real. Blood does not rise in your skin compared to Anna’s; you can’t resonate the same electricity flowing through her body at the merest graze of your fingers that makes her shudder-
There’s a reason to be vocal here, to communicate. Actually, you should communicate and speak up; since you haven’t a clue what you’re doing at all.
You pause and pull back. “Wait,” you slip out in a rush, “what are we even doing?” Anna sighs with an inward lip, catching the spit left behind on her chin. “What do you think we’re doing? Being straightforward. Intrusive- shit, when isn’t a time where I wanted to keep kissing you?”
“Maybe we- ugh.” No point in reasoning: you have to shut her up. “I’m not even sure about-”
“So what if we’re overcomplicating it, hm?”
“If we are-” her lips are back smacking in between words, “there wouldn’t be a reason to reflect on it at all.”
“That’s it,” says Anna. Kissing you fervently. “I want this- let me-” It’s impulsive - infectious, even. It doesn’t click in your mind once she’s pinned you to the beam of the cargohold, raising your arms. You let that happen. Are you allowed to want it? Would you be okay to rethink your existence and your place in this life? Giving everything beyond your body? For her? Plus- isn’t she your fucking captain?
The conversation bleeds into physical touches. Perhaps your questions may serve more purpose through your bodies, but you find a pointless question worth asking: “is this okay for me? To do this?”
“Kiss me again. Hard.” Anna commands. You kiss her, she kisses back. “Touch me. Play with my body.” Her mouth presses to yours once more. “Reject this if you want, I’ll keep begging, please-” she stops halfway and meets your eyes, “make me yours, as you never want to let me go-”
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.” Pinching the hem, and all you see is the skin of her exposed thigh. “This is the right way to wear this, for your information.”
She lifts the fabric like it’s the final barrier of your restraint.
Anna’s tongue slips into your mouth sweetly, fingers joining yours. She’s putting everything on the balls of her feet and submitting you to her will. All of your thoughts - your words; hell, you could even include the whole damn ship with it - these pretty, meaningless thoughts quell within your throat. Nothing could ever predict this, the shifting dynamic in the rising power and diminishing submission, just the pure desire and lustful look beneath those eyes.
Her leg slots between yours. Mistake #1: you slip down the wall. Mistake #2: you’ve fallen to the floor where Anna has to kneel (on your lap). Her body has a mind of its own when she settles down and the dress is spread between her thighs and the fabric rises at the crease of her leg. Past the harsh liplocks, the teeth get involved, biting. Accidentally first and soon on purpose. You like to brand her body that way, tug the roots of her hair and hear her gasp into your mouth.
“Bed- I need you in my bed, now.” Anna says with urgency. The catch here is that she doesn’t move nor allow you to move. Judgment is a small choice, but it’s nowhere to be found: neither logical or one to seek an agreement towards. Planning could never happen even if you tried. The same could be said for the ideas since they’re fizzled into kisses once you breathe a single word, laced in the dripping spit on your chins or suffocated in your throats entirely. Your mouths are one way to be inside each other.
The floor remains cold, uncomfortable. Not having Anna’s mouth on yours or the other way around for a few seconds - by your shared preference - is much, much worse that it’s not even sought after.
“-pretty, so pretty,” you praise - and, possibly the only thing you can say to Anna. She shuts you up. Stop- stop talking. I fucking need you.
Finding the breakthrough, and there’s a middle ground: your leg high up the opening where she hunches over to your chest, gasping in reverence. Finally. Her teeth find places on your neck and shoulder to bite. She’ll taste iron and polyethylene, but in the subconscious, you’ll feel it; unlike the other memories in movies and polaroids and the many, many emotional breakdowns you’ve experienced in this spot before - the moment is warm, and very comforting. In its full, real rawness.
“Baby,” Anna groans. She says the pet name in a string of others amongst the actual one. The real name is really the only secret of yours she has some relent towards. You realize Anna’s small frame: how the slopes of her ribs deviate and the vertebrae compressing when she’s tense, the fragility of it is reckless against yours, and your hands are having a fun time in the forward and back movement, grinding.
You keep kissing Anna, kiss her to the point where she can barely breathe and her voice doesn’t go beyond a whimper. Nibble her bottom lip, then the skin around it. Her nails, although chewed, would mark indents of crescent moons into your back or create sketches of red - or you’d wish that’d be the case if you had skin like hers, but she’ll leave her scars elsewhere. Studying her expressions lost in the rapture of you is enough; the grind on your leg is already enough. The desire she exudes is purely authentic, unadulterated, clearly seen in the places she wants to seize- it’s fucking you up. You’re belittled to nothing but a person with disintegrating ideas you once thought about her: how these assumptions may all be a façade, these contradictory wishes, you being too dull, too cold or insensate, too- artificial.
Anna cums. She cums all over your leg. The second it happens surprises you both. Your uttered name is no more than a sound following a seeping moan into your chest. Her head falls forward: shattered, breathless, her body goes loose; her sobbing eyes and cunt wetting you, her delicate fingers, and that dangerous, dangerous mouth - it’s- a lot, too much, unbearable, you hold her, hold her up until-
“Fuck. I-” she sputters, tense at the shoulders. “Why am I-” All of a sudden, she’s- laughing? “I’m the worst. I’m a fucking whore.”
Hesitant to move, you keep your hands to her hips. Blotches of a light purple will blossom in the form of your fingertips. You’re stuck processing the entire occurrence still. “Well that’s-” you barely get out (and your voice is static), “-adorable. Very adorable of you, Anna.”
“Yeah,” says Anna, shaikily. “Sorry, uh- I didn’t mean to do that. On you.”
You purse your lips, smirking. “Just taking care of things.”
Anna lets the rest of the weight fall onto you. She likes to hit your forehead with her own; for affection. Exhaustion is a quiet intimacy, and you breathe her in, observe (omit the interaction) the beads of sweat and little baby hairs on her hairline, the cute blush of pink below her eyes, the tiny hairs she’s missed while shaving. The strings on her dress from behind are tangled in a disorganized web: meticulous, but the former since it was impossible for it to be done by her hand. Before the program, you learned that her mother was a seamstress - pledging to an endeavor of exploration in the Primrose with a blank map into the unknowns. You assume she wanted to feel sexy (sometimes). Like she knew that touching herself would be a surefire way to pass time, and you’re curious enough to find more secrets about her.
There were countless times when the secrets were revealed. There was always a reason behind them; learning how an orgasm was plausible enough for Anna to call herself a whore, for example, and while the term may be loaded, it’s possible to think that there’s more to the word. Reasons for behaviors tend to have thorns, and (complexity aside) it’s the best judgement to never expand on them.
Anna’s second kiss is quick. Heavy. Sensual. Dials back the desperation, lets the intimacy simmer there, separating when she can and joining when she’s ready for more, not closing her eyes all the way. Her hand cradles your face before it drifts down to your chest, the fine muscle at your abs, staying there. Slowly. Graciously. Unintentional.
Her fingers skate over where the sensation of touch is still foreign. Diverted away from how she holds your face, Anna’s presence is a binary yes or no with no nuance or eroticism. She breathes color into aspects where they lack, and it’s the irony in your tragic existence: the cryptic soldier riddled with trauma you’ve adopted would have yearned for the goodness between her thighs, in the same fashion you’ve shared the longing for a dysphoric body like hers, if only you could feel anything.
Unlike that version of you in a past life, you’ll abstain from making the same mistake and leap at the chance to live through your partner, and it’s a choice you won’t regret making.
Anna rejected any kind of that delirious thought. “Join me, on my bed. Please, I need you,” she says. Her voice is spent. It takes nearly the little strength she had left, hobbling and soon crumpling in a way her dress exposes the remaining arousal stained on her legs.
Fuck. You rasp in deprecation. “Anna. Anna?”
No response.
“Anna?” Anna repeats.
Your mouth slacks. Being clinical about sex wasn’t the best case to carry on from committing such an act, but for insurance. “Hey. You have to tell me- and I understand if you’re feeling hesitant, but-” your hands are doing this gesture like you’re explaining complete nonsense, and maybe it is complete nonsense. You can’t talk dirty to the girl for your life- “may I- and how you say, perhaps clean you up with consent?”
Anna laughs, incredulous. She gives an ‘why do you even have to ask so cutely’ face. “Are you kidding?” The eye smile and shattering grin is teetering towards insanity, and her voice trembles. “Look at me.” You blink through it. “Look at what you did to me- honey, I’m fucking dripping-”
Impulse floods your brain like an ocean sinking you to the bottom. Freezing awkwardness creeps in at the same time. There’s no denying it: you want to taste her. Pick her up from the floor and fling her into the mattress and feel her quivering cunt throb over your tongue. Things would be a lot easier to take your cock inside her on the matter - but your fingers will have to do for now - a lazy attempt where the memories of your prior versions have had the same feeling too-
-then it all spins in your head.
Anna’s palm flat on your chest, pushes you upright. “Stop.” Fuck- you didn’t mean to- that wasn’t supposed to happen. Did you fuck up?
“You’ve got something there,” she points. “On your leg.”
You part your legs further as she kneels to lick her own cum off your thigh.
The sound released from your mouth exemplifies the break in composure. You’re sure it echoed into the ship. It’s just the two of you, after all. The overarching notion of subtlety - if any remained - dissipates into the air. Slow, intimate, romantic sex is fun and unattainable until it’s a thing you no longer want - even when your figure is hollow and all you can do is fuck your psychology into her till her body breaks. Sex is another way of communication; to fuck with someone equally as it’s fucking them. The dynamic resets; a passion reignited. You grasp at Anna’s hair. “Look at you, just a fucking-” and whore would be too on the nose, too nice. Slut is a good reach, but the intent is deep in the actions (and embarrassingly so), she grins right back.
“Baby.” Anna calls, playful. She’s pretty when she’s on her knees. “We do it your way. How ‘bout I clean you up and have my own fun-” it stops short with a hum and a bit lip, you’re smiling along with her, absurdly. Someone like her can be embarrassing without bite, but she lets it be known. You’re both idiots; sex is a silly thing to inherit, and that’s exactly how this will go.
“Yes please,” you confirm - it’s improv at this point, fancying a gamble and nervous about what's to come. “Please.”
The script flips. Anna’s tongue laps the spot where her clit would be, but it’s your cock. She lifts back, slightly. Her kisses are wet and real. Now your arousal is the gravity and past the event horizon, succumbing to its merciless pull.
You struggle to believe this is fiction. Watching Anna’s face, when she lets you see it, one full of curiosity that you disregard the deficiencies of your body, leave it as your cap on her nightstand the next morning. You’ll come back to get the insecurities later, when everything’s settled.
Anna peppers a kiss to your underside, her breath canvasing the crown. Some of her slick is still on her chin and now on the shaft (another believable fiction, if you will). She doesn’t use her hands (not yet), and has her way of working you up with just her mouth, like a toy. You stare right at the impasse of her sweet lips past the tip and halfway, and you don’t tense. The more she sinks, the more spit sprinkles down her neck and onto the fabric every time she gags . She knows to keep you here for an eternity, and she might just do that. Hell, the silence you had earlier returns in your throat, harboring a newly refined tension.
“God, do you realize how good you taste right now?” Anna asks (again, believable) - and she’s aware that it’s rhetorical. Fantasizing your being in an actual body with a beating heart (this is a small testament to your dilemma); if Anna truly loved you - she’s yet to say it, but there is no other explanation - if she loves you, she does- she will.
(At the same moment: a gate appears. The point of origin, and you don’t question it. Now wasn’t the time to think back the life before-)
Anna spits on your shaft, her hand coming into play. “Is this okay? You didn’t move.”
You’re not entirely there, and she’s right. The image of the gate goes to the back of your mind, looking at Anna. She has a hand under her gown, fingering herself. Indulgence with her is shameless, and pitifully adorable; she knew it wouldn’t take her that long to resort to such lengths. This is also the first time you’ve seen her where the roles are reversed, where she’s got her head between your legs and not the other way around: purely genuine the way her mouth feels around you.
It’s new. Of course you fucking like it.
“Good?” asks Anna, thumb tapping your slit and a thick bead of precum weeps.
The slight slide of her palm leaves you in a breathless response. “Fuck.” Say something else, goddamit. Sure, it’s unoriginal, for how you’re uncovering these masked emotions. You’re begging- like her, sighing in rapture, humming in this somber swan song. “Anna, god-” Don’t stop. You begged to keep going.
Anna then spreads your thighs wider. Your head hits the wall. Her drool’s coated all over your cock. Moaning is all you basically do underneath her hand.
You don’t feel anything; this doesn't affect you (well; it’s making you shiver - which, in turn - it’s affecting you). Her: spit-stained all over her gown, wearing it in a way that’s more intimate than being naked. In what’s another handiwork well crafted by her standards: the fact she hasn’t revealed much (yet). She’s being cruel, you think. The squelch of her folds parted by her fingers makes you ball your fists, almost to make the polyethylene tear when the purrs from her throat bombard your cock, how she’s only doing this to painfully remind you of how delicately you want to fuck her. You realize, when she cups your balls with her other hand-
“Does this feel good?” She murmurs into your tip, corkscrewing the sensation.
Yes. The nodding is actually pathetic. You’re losing grip between fantasy and reality; it’s incredibly easy how that happens, like jumping off a cliff or setting your body on fire.
“My good baby,” Anna praises, swallowing your tip between her lips. “Should I keep going?”
“Yes, yes,” you’re saying, and she never fails to submit you to her will. There’s a groan and maybe a holy fuck-
Her grip tightens. The shift from friction to slick wriggles your spine, arching in a sense of cumming had you imagined the experience to go this way a few nights ago. You have pieces scattered - between machine and repurposed flesh - not far from their origin; with those parts making you flawed, it motivates you (in that human nature) to seek that.
“My lovely girl,” you compliment Anna, stroking her hair as she bobs down. A surprise on her end, sending vibrations along your shaft. Easy to tell she’s enjoying this as well, but will somehow find an excuse to say otherwise, be in denial-
Tell me, tell me how good this feels, she might say, or have already said. Tell me how much of a fucking slut I am for you.
Anna pops her mouth off, licking her lips. “Don’t be so tense,” she tells you, her tone dazed, “relax, okay? Just- let me have this. Don’t force it further. I want you to fall.”
(You think back to the gate; failing to understand it still, but it’s not the first time you’ve set foot here. Despite its grandeur appearance being unknown, you do know this: it’s a cornerstone to the person (rather, persons) you might’ve been before. At times, the bleeding memories, triggered by chance or in a random instance, and you’ve felt the thought swallow you whole. Love, sadness, and anger, adjacent with a gunshot wound, tattered skin torn from stained metal, leaving you in an anguish so pure it emulates the form of a primrose. It’s always dangerous to stand in this headspace - and the pleasure was always a perilous catalyst.)
Once past that barrier, the separation between you and your previous versions stretch and thin, divided in the conflict of perception and transformation. That too, is a dangerous game, but with Anna she instills you with such confidence; you’ve learned through her, you’re allowed to want, and harness that want. Her, the idea of her, her body, her being- it’s a rope falling short out of your reach, a hope to grasp your mind back from above and onto her hands and lips-
“Anna, god- you’re so good at that,” you moan when she has her lips pressing right at the base, swirling her tongue underneath. An affirmation made true ascending fiction. When she moves her eyes, adoring, proffering, its perfection in all rights. You’ve seen so many expressions from her; here’s one more for you.
Fall for it, Anna’s eyes tell you, fall for me.
Anna gasps off with strings of spit and precum laced on her mouth. “I know you love when I do that, please- keep telling me.” Oh, you’re in love with her, but the conclusion isn’t absolute; an answer to an inevitable question. Fucking is equal as living in the present, dancing with no grace is equal as to not dancing at all.
You are going to be a mess; a mess with her.
You will experience the highest of highs in this endless journey with her, and eventually-
You’re going to gracelessly fall from everything.
–
(Your subconscious slips into a momentary dream again, replaying multiple occurrences:
memory playback #1: (target breaker five seven twelve jack) SOS, danger, achtung, error error error - a phrase called upon the last time you truly wanted to be free. You taste a tinge of gunmetal in the kiss. Amidst the desecrated land where peace hardly rests on the crushed stone. You’ve had ideas of crushes before but they never burned or ripped your heartstrings apart like this.
memory playback #2: water fills the space where the concrete once stood. A haven- the place where all the nightmares have failed to touch. You fall into the ocean, drown in both exhaustion and exhilaration. Soon, you’re cradling Gawon, on her back, watch her hair blossom into a halo over the saltwater, ignore the fact you might be sinking as you both kiss and kiss and kiss recklessly, see the flame beneath her shimmering eyes and when she finally cums you both feel human-
memory playback #3: Gawon leads you to a greenhouse (rather, what’s left of it) near a library; a moment passes, and all of your fractured shards are their own being, in multitudes: your genderbent body next to her female body, the faint hum of the cicadas in the distance subjected to their own repertoire. You wonder if this is what real love feels like-
-but you also think: are you really worthy enough to be cherished for one so filled with such faults?
memory playback #4: her long, dainty fingers carve into your back the same fashion yours did to her waist. These scars are going to last forever and somehow you’re okay with it. It’ll be the same as hers. The claws of war never asked permission to ruin your body but Gawon did it anyway, fueled by lust and worry mixed in her eyes. How desperate they were, as she’ll deliver the killing blow with the singular bullet in the chamber-
memory playback #5: her hand claims your neck as she sinks onto your cock, suffocating you until there’s resistance - like you’re her sacrifice in a ritual. She swipes a line of red on your cheek and the clutch on your heart is nearly lethal-
memory playback #6: smoke fills the air across ruined infrastructures, old base camps, even the bombarded bunkers. Small pebbles of rubble fall from your back until it’s against the concrete, Gawon’s mouth attacking you viciously (plus there’s never been an instance where you two have fucked if it wasn’t laced with an ounce of desperation). Her tongue clashing yours, forcibly hollowing your cheeks with every suck and all you want is to reciprocate the same feeling, please her, share this feeling, to revel in the connection and disparity of your bodies communicate, shove a few fingers deep in her cunt and fuck your cum into it the next, call her everything but sweet- you fucking slut, my good little girl-
“Now now, puppy,” Gawon tells you, palm flat against your mouth, her hot cunt pilfering what’s left for the taking with your cock, caressing her walls over every possible inch she can get, “i’m allowing you, it’s okay. Letting you fill my pussy. How much it wants your fucking cum-”
Oh, it’s twisted. You have to look at her; you’ve got no other choice. She tips your chin up with a finger and it barely does anything with her gyrating hips, grinding the length down until it pokes her womb. Gawon hasn’t even lifted her hips once, yet the edge would be damming had it been the other way around with the thrusts, but you’re close. She pulls a lock of hair over her ear as she sinks for another kiss, and your legs are fucking shaking; most of the sounds coming out of you are inhumane, let alone robotic. “Tell me what you want,” she hushes, whimpering - the blade cuts both ways.
“God-” you say, it’s muffled into Gawon’s hand. “Just do it, please. You want this just as badly as I want it,” and the merciful act she commits is raising her hips and feel the weight of her ass slam back down to your balls.
And the next thing she does which may seem unnecessary (but it rewires your brain chemistry because of how dashing she looks doing it) is with the finger to the corner of her mouth and gazing down with every pleading blink you give her - each time you beg or say please and fight against her pressure, arch your back while the waves of pleasure get more treacherous to handle. You can’t breathe with every impasse and slam of her cunt gliding and grinding until she finally has what she wants inside her womb.)
You blink and suddenly the world shifts again. Anna, oh fuck. Your back arches with hers, then you hunch forward into her chest, pulling her with you to the floor. Soft skin riddled in bruises and clenched fingers. Then there’s the heaving and your voice tearing between breaths, spilling out curses the same rate as Anna would in a normal conversation (but it gets a laugh out of you, adorably) - while all of this may be silly, settling with ease: the accomplishment of diving into your body’s memories without staying in one headspace (a major plus), sharing this pleasure with Anna (an even better plus). To your best judgement, there’s no plausible reasons in your system that could explain cumming mush-fucked brain out on the floor; it’s enticing, fuck- you wonder the indulgence, how long it took to get your cock spent.
A blessing it can be, to have someone like Anna take up your attention for that long. Maintaining that from the very beginning: that first cycle where the Primrose’s hyperdrive was primed and ready, staring into space with the biggest smile imaginable; to be so forward in creating the everlasting loop of you; in this space where it takes two, to become one.
(memory playback #7: “Don’t be surprised by this,” Gawon tells you offhandedly, even though the tears streaming down her face says otherwise. “But I’m an idiot for being in love with you.”)
It’s a lot to handle, for sure. “Anna,” you groan. She’s on you still, with the slightest move of her hips and you can’t stop your legs from shaking, warming up her cold body the only way she knows how (because she really- really, can’t help herself in embedding you inside) and the floor grows colder and “Anna,” with a lot more urgency, since her chest is to yours and her hips are elevated. “Fuck- baby, I’m- I’m gonna cum in you.”
“I know,” says Anna, lips hot to your ear. “I love it when you’re like this: so perfect for me and ready to burst.”
You reach for something, anything to grab - for your hand to clutch on as her hot cunt grinds through your load filling her up, and Anna takes it upon herself to use her own hand to hold yours. Her fingers still slicked from touching her folds, and you’re grinding teeth to keep yourself sane instead of cleaning them dry. All you can do is lay there and feel her fuck herself on your cock like a toy, petting you, praising, calling you these sweet names, tracing the line of your jaw.
“Christ. What have you done to me?” You chuckle, defeatedly. There’s a stutter in the sentence. Almost resonating Anna’s emotions - very cutely, too.
“Refining your brain chemistry,” she suggests. Blowing into your ear to mask the sound of your cock gushing into her pussy. “It’s a long and arduous process. Not as easy as wind passing through the ears.”
“Can you like-” there’s a choke and a laugh, “-shut the fuck up?!” Absurd as it might’ve sounded, you’re aware what she meant: her blowing you on her own bed before falling onto the floor and fucking without a second thought; your coworker, your captain- cumming inside your fucking captain - okay, there’s a lot to unpack, but you sigh tirelessly. “How long has it been since we-”
“Fucked?” Anna looks at you funnily, because your circadian rhythm wasn’t something to be questioned nor talked about. “Give or take an hour or two,” giggling with a finger between her teeth. Adorable. “That was nonstop, by the way.”
“Another round, then?” you say. Rolling your eyes in embarrassment. “Maybe if we have a sliver of self control the break would have come sooner.”
“Ugh, how scandalous,” Anna coos. You realize that she’s got your cock inside her still, unwilling to move. Basking in the light afterglow. Comparing sex to a beaming moonlight or orgasms to waves isn’t remote, but the shores of oblivion aren’t that damning if she’s sharing the same burdens as you.
“Oh please,” you whistle, poking Anna’s belly. “Someone’s a little hungry.”
“Yeah that,” she replies, kissing you. She kisses you again. Both of your bodies are spent and heavy. “Why is it that when I’m this riled up, and I’m having an angry craving because of it. What am I supposed to do?”
You smirk, let your head hit the cool floor, tilting your chin by Anna’s fingers until she slips a thumb between your lips in the hope the taste stays. “A tragedy,” you breathe. “Even Sisyphus or Odessyus can resonate.”
“Swan,” grumbles Anna. “I could hop back on your cock if I wanted to, but I’m doing everything to hold myself back.”
“Commiseations to you for being so highly restrained,” you drawl.
Anna refutes by pecking you on the forehead before she loosely rises to her feet. You admire her responsibilities in not letting lust take over her body - as you remained motionless to not grab an arm and tug her down. From the floor, you see Anna’s legs: her knees, specifically, how they’re tainted red and look battered, impressed at the functionality of them since the recovery would take a while after what you two did. Your cock doesn’t flex, but it does.
“Leave me here,” you then say, as a request, quick to answer Anna’s tilted brow before she messes up in asking it. “You said you were hungry, so if you stay here, one of us is going to break, and you’ll be sad and even more hungry and the next round is gonna be terrible and you’ll get in a more pissy attitude.”
Anna goes motionless, flaring her nostrils but exemplifying the due diligence. “You can kiss your sleep schedule goodbye, then.”
“Fine by me, hehe-” you smile. “Anna, you’re amazingly beautiful. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Little dove,” she answers with a lowered gaze, on one knee - both of you know that one more move or touch would be paramount to disregard basic needs and thrive in the exploration of your bodies. “God- fuck. You really gone and done it-” her hands are on her head, “No, stop. Don’t do this.” It’s taking everything in her brain power to resist. “I need to eat, shower, and clean up the quarters. We have a lot to do tomorrow, and on our next location so why don’t we just go rest-”
“I need my midnight cravings,” you then offer, fingers trembling at the graze of her cheek. “I need- everything that has to do with you, please.”
You watch Anna stumble back and trip on your cap, bracing an arm to the hallway. “I- oh!” she’s smiling with her head to the beam. “I can’t with you - being so fucked beyond belief. I really can’t do this- oh my god, ugh. Why are you like this? Why am I so hungry? I swear I can eat on my own without you spoonfeeding me!?” She’s rambling and the voice fades (thank goodness) down the walkway- “Also I am very capable of keeping myself accountable, babe. I promise!”
“Well, yes.” You call back thinking she’d hear it. “Whatever you think, love.” The pet name teeters off your tongue for the first attempt, but you decide to let it stick. “Whatever you like.”
–
On the occasion you’re not all over Anna and vice versa, the bearings remain with you.
While taking advantage of the ship’s free time, you’ve found yourself theorizing a plethora of questions worth reflection. Maintenance on the vessel can only go so far (guidance controls are repaired too late, or perhaps without enough care, especially with Anna’s cum still warm on your lips). Personas begin to split, what once felt like a first thought now revealing itself as a connection steadily withering with each cycle. The prevailing sexual tension; the constant are-you-or-are-you-not, has passed. What remains is a return to the first square of restraint, stripped of ambiguity. For future reference: productivity is no longer optional; you’re expected to fulfill the subpar tasks left behind when desire stopped pretending it was direction.
The tension being studied: is it viable? compatible? sustainable, even. Whether it's worth conjuring up a label that substitutes romance or solitude or just pure, unadulterated sex because the both of you have literally nobody else? Will there be a moment when this has to be addressed, or the eventual confession that escalates to something more? Anna, sharing her art, for one. Will she carry on curating such pieces or use the art to replace the time in fucking? That would be the case if she did - you love her works. The expression it possesses. Teaches anew.
More on the study: would she sketch or paint you? How would you look in one of her artistic creations? Would it be a gaze from a direct mirror, an interpretation, how evocative could you become, a perfect version she envisions you through her eyes? If you proposed the idea of painting you like a bionic human, would you look like Sooin? Sure, it could compensate for the memories, I suppose. They have little significance, you can’t remember who’s who and what’s real; in the end: you are you and why (no seriously, like- why) is it that there’s a resemblance of Gawon with Anna?
–
(You’ll leave it off as this:
one: you’re fucked in the head.
two: maybe Sooin [or Gawon] is fucked into your frontal lobe.
or three: your brain is fucked.
It’s one of the three, you know that much.)
–
Not long after, Anna’s made it to the dining quarters - your dining quarters, as you’d coin it. Shared spaces and all. Couples have that aspect, usually, you overthink it from time to time.
“Hi,” you greet her, casual, nonchalant, nicking your shoulder into the wall because of how pretty she looked. It’s worth mentioning: “You look good. Like- really good. How is that possible?”
Anna, on the other hand, leans back on the kitchen counter with an egg sandwich, her fair skin shining and glistened with spit, her nightgown in place (despite the annoyance of not being able to rip it off her. She quirks the corner of her mouth before biting. “I didn’t think of myself that much, if we’re honest. Never was the type to stand out over the others.”
“That’s a matter of perspective, ma’am,” you reprimand. A good tip in the personal scale of your deteriorating thoughts. “I’d be an exception, because it’s you; the woman I love? a gravity I fail to escape from? you’re beautiful.
She pouts. “So you’re one to say I was a slut before we did what we did?”
You can’t afford to fall into old habits. Anna nibbles another piece off, and considering how poor you’ve been carrying out orders, it’s critical to maintain her routines and needs. So you carefully continue: “No. Not exactly, but that also means-”
“You and your tangents,” Anna shrugs. You see the opened bag of tangerines, peeled and eaten halfway. That does beg the question, but you don’t address it. Given the travel time in space and with the amenities overstocked with the same kinds of foods that exhibit redundancy, and bland as they are - okay, you decide to let it pass and move on. “You love talking about these things and I love to listen,” she lifts a hand forward, seeing that your face remains unchanged. “Why don’t you indulge me in your thinking?”
Ugh, she’s unbearably cute.
“Okay,” you say. Composure is broken glass beneath your bare feet and you don’t even have feet to begin with. “Right- my point is, and I’m motivated to belittle you in all the ways you like-” Anna tilts her head with curiosity, and you’re failing to keep this deliberate and chaste, but- “words like whore and slut, or-”
“If they fit the mold, and said ‘mold’ being me?” Anna assists in the connection.
“-yeah, and you’re completely fine with it? None of those things affect you in any way, shape, or form?”
Silence falls between the two of you. “Back in Toyama, most of the girls said those kinds of things- to me. Calling me a lowlife, a slut, whore, a pretty pick-me girl - I mean, I was a whore at some point back then,” she says. Ketchup drips down to her breast and she swipes it on a finger, licks it clean. “I may or may have not written about my teachers and classmates - in a sexual manner-” you bite your lip at her stifled laugh, “-until someone found my stuff when I was away.”
“Doesn’t mean you had it coming,” you reply.
“But then I thought: if people who claimed to be not a whore are willing to treat whores as such- what’s so bad about it? It’s not my fault they’re spiteful because they can’t relate. What if I want to be a whore, huh? At least that was until the conversation veered off into the freaking space project-” her arm falls with a scowl on her face, accusatory, and you feign ignorance. “-and that’s just a roundabout way of how you were with me.”
“Finish that sandwich first and then we’ll have another go,” you supply a reminder.
“Why don’t you eat it for me instead?
“Would you rather ache on an empty stomach while I dick you down? Or have enough energy to suck me off while I wrap your hair nicely into my fist? If you don’t take care of that, you're going to be disappointed one way or another, so which one will it be?”
Anna then bites another piece of the sandwich. “Alright. As I was saying: those girls were idiots. Calling me a slut or a whore is a compliment, and whether or not I am one-” she glances again with food in her cheek, “-you should know with the cum on your thigh and my lips on your cock after. It isn’t really all science, just look at me. Look-” and she slips a hand under her gown, showing the soaked fabric, “-well, it’s been a little while since that, yeah.”
You can see her eyes move at a frantic pace, the neurons firing every bit of electricity from her brain, then she lets another drop of ketchup fall on her chest. A few more to follow. “Ah,” she sighs. “Needs more water.”
It makes you consider: the option to surender and push her body down and fuck her over the sink like she deserves it. She’s a mess. You’re the same, but you’re able to make more of a mess with her. How good she could look squirting like a faucet and getting the cabinets wet - another tangent to daydream about, the potential your asymptomatic self could handle. You are both idiots, idiots in love with wants that are albeit predictable. By now you should’ve checked the thrust capacities in the primary boosters, but you couldn’t be bothered with something so boring if it wasn’t for you spending another second with her.
“You- I can’t. You’ve got issues, Anna.”
“I’m an undeserving bitch,” she tells you. “You have the personal account first-hand; I got the evidence. It’s gone through all the checks. My pussy and your cock are going to have a very constructive discussion.”
That turns the gears in your head. “Uhm- fuck. So. I’m just gonna completely ignore what you just said, but this exchange will be brought up in the next debrief.”
“What is that gonna do? Scare me? Fuck if I care. Do it anyway.” Anna laughs, loudly. “Maybe the universe will finally realize how fucked we both are.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” It’s an announcement that goes over her head. “Sane for that matter. I haven’t a clue what you were talking about just now.”
“Sane, my ass. You didn’t act like this when you were breeding my pussy the other time,” she says (it short-circuts your brain a bit, too). “Let’s do this. A litmus test to assess how your brain’s holding up. Take this.”
She tosses you a pack of fruit snacks. Technically speaking, you’re not built to eat most foods, but there’s an exception for a few bites here and there - and thank the maker for understanding that food is fuel, and the acquired tastes for a bionic also gives meaning for a molecular analysis. A part of you wonders whether someone has moved the heavens and earth to grant you as much humanity as possible. On the other hand, you’re torn to be content or deep in thought, but this is natural to think deeply about your personal ethics. None of that mattered, anyway. You nibble down a piece or two. Er- at least make it look like you are. You do get through the package with no problem, but the juices are squished out and required a little bit of tongue and sucking at the bottom-
“Great, I’ve got this to deal with.” You laugh, wiggling the bottom of the plastic.
“Aww, a baby can’t finish their food,” says Anna. “I’ll give you another pack.”
“Why waste your nourishments on me?” You ask. It’s unwarranted. Considering the percentages diluted to your space travel (Anna having a fit because the unit had to be down to an even number ever since she cried - well, ugly cried - about how unfair it was for you two to be shipped off into nowhere, and that you understood perfectly). If anything, you’ll stretch out the rations for another four to five thousand cycles, just before you activate the slate protocol and go into status back into the magnetosphere.
Once that’s all done: it would be a few more cycles after adjusting course to compensate for the dip in starboard trajectory, return to Toyama and spend the first night back in an alleyway making out just right outside the naval base. Anna wouldn’t be hungry, and you’d be reassigned sooner or later.
All of these tangents, broken down like a square root but none show a result of stability. Technical difficulties and maintenance serve a good distraction of fucking her - a mistake on your own part by following her to the mess before she finished her meal, but you didn’t have a subroutine for that in the first place. You’re a fool that’s led into the whimsical panache and desire from your best friend cumming into your mouth and standing across from her talking about groceries while the overarching topic was about being accountable with basic needs. It’s only natural; normal even. Gawon or Sooin would applaud the both of you.
Your name rings through your ears, Anna’s high-haltered tone another hymn to repeat again and again (and it’s delightful when she says it). “Who cares if the spreadsheet for the amenities has my name on it. You’re welcome to take some, too y’know. It’s not like the fleet views you as damaged goods, huh?”
She has a point, it makes you think. “If anything, I wanna gift you nice things, too because-” you pause and look, “-seeing you happy makes me complete. Who knows, I’m only speaking half the truth here.”
“Half the truth like this last piece of grape? Or my breadcrumbs?”
“I was thinking maybe a little of the asparagus-”
“An asparagus eating swan?”
“Now you’re just speaking nonsense,” you sigh. “I’m thinking of one full grape. Even the whole sandwich.”
“All of the crumbs fall off the crust in the sandwich.”
“That’s not- okay. You know, Anna- forget it. A swan is elegant when they have all the attention on them.”
“I told you this!” Anna exclaims, squinting her eyes. “But you deserve all the attention, too! You can’t keep giving me everything. Let me do the same for you.” Her chin dips, a smirk forms. “How good you’d look with a collar- OOH. Even a rope around your neck.”
“Anna-” you choke. Nothing would ever push you over the edge of a mineshaft unless it was pure sex talk. “God. Why do you even- for fuck’s sake, Anna. Holy shit-”
She snorts. “Be a good lapdog and fuck me yourself.”
Forget logic. Impatience triumphs common sense. You bolt across the dining area and press her to the fridge, ready to reign fire with your mouth-
“Now now, sweetie,” says Anna who stops you with a finger to your lips and before you could put your tongue to good use. Her voice is firm, serious, looking you in the eyes through the heavy breaths. “You didn’t let me finish my snack.”
Like a fucking musician, playing you as some instrument, controlling you like a servant pet. “Anna,” you rasp, graveled. “I swear- I’m gonna be insane if you don’t- Let. Me.”
“Hush.” A dismissing command. “Do pets speak? Or do jesters play when they’re not asked to? Sit down, now.”
You take a step back, defeated, shuddering. She’s managed to break you. This part of the script wasn’t in your hypothesis filed in the ‘mess hall scenario’. The fact that she could even act like this despite the lacking ability-
One push of her hand has you stumbling to the chair. Anna walks from the fridge, letting both straps of her dress fall from her shoulders, revealing her tits. She smiles, laughs at you to make the image less obscene (but not by much). “You look tense.” No fucking shit, you’re thinking, of course I look fucking tense. “Be my little songbird, honey. Sing all the sounds you want. I just want to have my fun before I ruin you.”
You stare at her with a parted mouth. “Sure,” you say. Switching to another topic would be a viable option here. “Allow me to add,” and the hint of being a fearful avoidant rises with the sentence, “an idea I’ve been contemplating about you.”
Anna opens another pack of fruit snacks. An impulse spikes deep in your consciousness; it papers over your cracking persona. Having settled in the psychoanalysis of this exchange wouldn’t last another second without the urge to not think but do. “For one to bear such thoughts in this condition,” she tells you. “It intrigues me.”
“Like you, I have my limits when it’s relevant.”
She mumbles the same sentence, probably in annoyance. “As if you weren’t the one in heat and wanted to get on me right away-”
“You don’t have the warrant to make that accusation,” you grit. “I don’t break. Easily. “
“And yet you were,” she retorts and your expression matches against her relent. “Why would I care? This is me taking care of my needs, without your deliberation. Contemplating about what, exactly?”
“A person- a person that I remember-” you stop short. Most conversations like these should be civilized. You are civilized beings having dinner - and the topic that usually returns to the table is often engaging. “It’s-” you breathe again, “with these fragmented memories, they just exist, right?”
So, that washes away the nervousness even Anna has no idea about from earlier, but you add: “It was, and why I had- enjoyed that-”
“My, are you shy from what we did?” asks Anna. “Is the brain reduced to mush during sex? Or how I grinded on your leg and cumming-”
“I’m being serious. If I can’t hold myself back-” you smirk at the thought, “-okay. The whole point I’m trying to make is that while we do that, I realize that my past self was in love with another woman.”
“Really?! Hell yeah! That’s good!” Anna exclaims, undeterred. “I hope they fucked, too.”
“Definitely, and I think with those blips of memories is a chemical reaction waiting to happen. Because whoever I remember-” you wave your hand to your face, “-and I know her name, but it feels invasive from time to time, seeing these memories, and they’re starting to creep in while we fuck.”
“Hang on,” Anna shakes her head, biting down a piece from the fruit pack. “Should I be upset by this?”
“No- not really. You shouldn’t,” and you see Anna’s gaze soften. It’s sobering (for all the sexual tension built between the two of you) she doesn’t let it slide if she’s aware of a problem. You’ll provide the explanation: “That being said, I-”
“-looked into my inner self and found a caveat,” she says.
“And I wanted to forget about that past self, rather to be present, in this body, with you.”
“I appreciate your concern. If it makes you feel better, I’m not mad at you for that. We’re just managing as we go. Rendering how complicated it may be.”
“I feel the same,” you reply. “Believe me- it felt good. And you’re right, there’s a limit how much my body can take, and the sex is good and my previous clone is the same as me- so it makes sense; but at the same time, it isn’t entirely mine - to also add, when we talked about the Ship of Theseus, Anna, I know that look you’re giving. I wanted to hear your- thoughts.”
“Yes,” Anna crumples up the foil in her hand, “We can go through your manual. Maybe run through the directives and experiment what you like?”
You emit a deep breath, keeping composure - as in: you need her on your lap, bind your wrists together - not yet. “Going by the manual isn’t technically sex education. You’re not supposed to fuck your bionic companion,” you cough, clutching your chest. “Things like that are off the books and shouldn’t be addressed in the mission logs.”
“Shit,” says Anna. She laughs at this (and, endearingly): “If there’s someone we know that was experienced at overlooking the black ink and redacted texts-”
“Unprofessional- we’re unprofessional,” you dismiss with a smirk, to which Anna matches. “Prospective, actually. If I can get myself off from these memories, we can also toy with the idea of conducting you into the mix-”
“-this is so hot coming from you-”
Anna hears you out: “Like- it’s a recurring trial, each with a different result at the end. For every time we-” your jaw slightly drops and forms a wicked grin, “-when we continue to practice unsafe sex-”
She puts her hands on your face, forcing you to look up. “Why is it you’re making this sound like it’s a one-off?”
“Absolutely not,” you answer, a little too quickly. If anything: i’m helpless here, falling into an admiration i cannot seem to escape, you think - and having that in mind, you carry forward. “I- I can’t really be sure. I want you so bad that it’s fucking up my cognitive functions. Now- can you just finish your fucking food?!”
“Safe to say you’re dying to have me. Push me on the counter with that cock of yours?” Anna tuts. “You can be a good puppy and wait. I know your body likes to suffer.”
Having someone who understood you so well leaves you stripped cold. You’re not the kind to shiver, but the instinct persists. When the night falls, well- the period of your inner circadian rhythm which Anna claimed to be your ‘sleep cycle’ convinced you to call it like hers as ‘bedtime’ - another ritual you’ve attempted to grasp. There’s no reason to create a protocol in the Primrose where the temperature drops enough to suggest mending bodies together to produce warmth, but you have.
(“I’ve always wanted to live in a burning planet,” Anna had said to you one time, shuddering next to you all thanks to your alterations, and even implementing seasons; dancing in the rain, and creating a makeshift nightstand so that the gentle radiance greets her sloping cheeks every morning - a gift that had always left her in tears at times.)
To circle back: you want her, badly. Patience is running a thin line and all it takes is one hasty movement to unravel everything at once. With the benefit of hindsight, you often catch yourself in depreciation (spilling curses in a comical manner) over how the relationship with Anna would never change. Out of the many stories she shared with you, she claimed: “y’know i could never tell when other people were flirting at me” to which you chuckled at that, sitting together in the cockpit and doodling constellations - in all the things of friendship-wise. Who knows. You could’ve kissed her then along with countless other times after.
Time doesn’t dwindle away into a black hole, but the uncertainty sucks the life out of you. Getting older was a guarantee; not just in your bodies, but in the aging metal around you. The Primrose’s missions are an odyssey of their own; so is challenging the antiquated sense of moralities every now and then. How dehumanizing, it must be for all the ‘what if’s’. In the end: you are you and the choices you make are almost calculated, even if Anna was old-fashioned with her arts and books and ideas to understand.
(She asked another time: you know about Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky? Or the Shakespearian tale of Macbeth? And while watching the gray colored screen late into the night through a voice: “But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, and bound into saucy doubts and fears.”)
Anna slants her head - the conversation's gone dry again. “You blanked out,” she assesses. “Did you have another flash of memories just now?”
To play into the question: yes, you did have memories of that past life, remembering her- and maybe it’s tragically romantic. “You finished. And we haven’t gotten to kissing yet. I wonder why.”
“You and I are both messy. A pair of fucked up beings in this universe,” she supplies. Handing you the foil to toss away in the garbage bin behind you. “Luckily it’s something we can fix together.”
“And you mean-”
“Exactly what I mean. Come get me.” Anna commands, acting like you needed a trigger word to not jump on her for over an hour. It comes off as a surprise on her end that you do the opposite: walking over with a gentle push back into the fridge and kissing gently. There isn’t an explanation of the rush in lifting her up the metal with your neck in a figurative leash (a metaphoric tether, but it ties the connection down seamlessly), and she’s hot and light in your fingers, and there’s a reaction bubbling in your emotional cortex.
You kiss her without letting go. From your eyes it’s romantic; in Anna’s - it’s undetermined. Her skin heats up like the sun greets her eons ago. Her body shudders; riddled with goosebumps.
“I like this. You. I like you. I love how fun this has become,” you admit, forehead to forehead. Anna smiles, softly; creasing skin in corners all over her face and eyes. More. Previous impulses course through your mind: her voice drenched with at the need of you on her bed, falling soon after and fucking on the floor the next. Her slick mouth working your cock to the back of her plush throat; touching, grasping, needing the sensation and warmth in each other, for something to hold once everything’s reduced to dust-
Toyama is a long way from you two, a mere dot among the stars. Even if those who knew you, or knew of you could see what you have become, they would look with such judgement. What Anna had as baggage here has either been lost in the blanket of space or hidden with the many other regrets she carries. If this floating asylum is the only place where you could have mutiny. If her longing for home has equaled the distance.
Anna kisses you; much, much more gently. You’re all soft lips and battered hearts. Suffice with another memory: the fear of intruding a sacred ground, letting love succumb you over with all its might, and how you’ve let it die at your hands.
“Baby,” she coos. “Tell me what it is. What do you want?”
Keep her hands on you; kiss me softly, then harder. “Pointless wants, they’re stupid- illogical. One word doesn’t get the point across. “I need your body against mine.” Artificial can’t match authenticity. “Make me go insane and have you feel the same way.” You’re a hopeless romantic. “Make love with me until our arms and legs are aching-” and once more, you hold back on confessing the truth. It hasn’t been that long since the first kiss, so this is a bit of a rush, going into things recklessly.
But when has that ever stopped you from feeling so good about it?
Intent and desire burns deep into your nerves and heart, flashes of your past life bends the perception of what’s real and what isn’t. The thrill of your body being lit on fire from artillery strikes or when you sank to the bottom of the ocean. There was also the time where there was a singular bullet in the chamber, and spinning around the old glock fueled more excitement once the barrel’s to the side of your head, waiting for the hollow, audible ‘click!’ when the gun didn’t go off. Nothing scared you that much and that was the empowering (or frightening) part you miss.
(memory playback #8: Gawon runs ahead of you to an end where there’s no return and a crossroad that alters fate. She’s got a cigarette to her teeth and offers it between her fingers, gazing tenderly. You dance with her and the heart in your chest feels like it’s going to be pierced from your ribs. When you think about her, you fail to cry. The red ribbon around her neck is on your wrist and the scent of her hair is all but ash.
memory playback #9: The grief you carry is unexpressed love, without a receiver. It leaves your body, like a flock of doves creating a constellation into the sunset, greeting the stars for her, searching for their lost companion they wish to love and cherish.)
“I care a lot about you,” Anna rasps into your cheek. “I really do, believe me.” She understood your internal conflict, and perhaps it's this moment where you could finally make peace with it: letting Sooin and Gawon cuddling past the gate now shut in your head. In another life (that past life), your intimacy is the same as theirs, and the kind you’d want to keep close. You’re entranced into another slow dance with Anna, one without music, holding her in a tempo that’s a little too slow, locking lips again and again, and that would be more than enough.
“Your happiness will always matter more to me than my own,” you tell her. Heresy in its true form, but you’re honest, and that isn’t made more obvious than embracing each other in the kitchen. Your hand sinks to her side. Risky. Some of her hair is covering her ear: even more risky. You want to keep charming her.
She looks down to your fingers at her thigh, tensing and giving at the feel. “This is okay, right?” you ask, knowing very well there’s one answer you want to hear; longing (basically yearning) for Anna to say it.
Anna nods in approval. “Mmm, I-” You can tell she wants more - more of you. Yet you play into the teasing. Surrendering isn’t the only way to get power, and pushing her buttons doesn’t always have to be the endgame. Her eyes dart from one end to the next, and the reactions are cute to see up close. She gets pulled closer at her own pace; a loose arm pressuring around her once you settle back on the chair and (finally, at long last) in your lap. Between the short asphyxiations, you know she’s ready, bestowing the responsibility back to you - aware of how this game is being played, and while she’s completely flustered and plastered pink on her face, she goes along with it: “Why don’t you tell me more?”
“Show me more of those old western films you’ve been watching. Paint cute things all you want,” you answer. Right away, these are foolish things. “Cook those meals from home. Look up at the stars and fall face first into the planets that we explore.” Oh, you’ve got the saccharine plot all set up, but it widens the grin on her face while she’s dripping between her legs.
This side of you is the most raw and inescapable version you’ve ever been, and Anna has had her fair share of going through these phases, and while you’re rattled in dread of being more explicitly, you perch on her ear: “and please, I want you to teach me more of these dances,” and you’re sure the answers will come as they go.
“Dancing has a sensual approach to it,” says Anna, seeing through the facade. “Once you see past the veneer, the art transcends to a whole lot more.” This has you smiling like an idiot, and you can’t stop it from happening. The additional, and hilarious fact of you wanting to canvas her body more than what space has to offer - but she’s here on your lap and so close to your heart. The line of her collarbone, the small beauty marks sprinkled on her shoulder and chin and ear, her firm mounds; a small hint of her nipple peeking above the gown and the strap to her arm.
“Anna,” you call out to her; her hand guides yours to her breast before she responds. Forces your fingers to clutch and grasp as she barely does anything to stay still. “Anna. Can- please. I know-” you’re pushing it, it’s driving you insane, circling her nipple and not even giving a pinch.
“You don’t have to fucking ask,” she grits, but it’s mixed into her whimper. “I swear- I’m gonna have to toy with myself if you’re not going to do it for me-”
Pinch.
A press, pull, then a little flick. Soon your tongue will do the same. “Because you’d rather use your hands than mine? I guess my hand will have to do while you take care of that.”
“Oh please. I can touch myself at the thought of you whenever I fucking want,” she groans, shivering when you have a hand to her shoulder keeping her in place. “You don’t even know about the time I laid on the table and fucked myself in the hopes of you seeing and taking care of my problem-”
“Huh-” you drop the act, slightly. “When did you- what?”
“What? No- I mean, I just grinded against the corner. And maybe the chair that you’re sitting on right now. Okay, look- I’m just- fuck!
You laugh into her neck. “When did you even do it? And why’d you keep that from me?”
“A while ago. Probably the first few cycles into our mission period. I even had it journaled in.” Anna beams. “Can you just fucking touch me already?!”
The inner curve of your thumb and finger moves up to the crease of her hip and leg, then her stomach, then the underside of her breasts, all the nooks where you can touch. “Do tell, Anna,” you propose, indulgent. “What was the appeal?”
“That you’d drop to your knees and proclaim the same desperation you have for me,” she answers. “Use me like a toy, and just rail me on the table with a hand to my neck and-” a gasp once your thumb flicks her pretty little clit. “-you just fucked me senseless. God, I beg-”
Your mouths are clashing again. There’s been too much of the talking and less of kissing. The both of you aren’t sure what you’re doing. A finesse of feeling her body, you assume. You also presume there’s an optimal route to explore her body - to hell with going by the book, you’ve no need for it. Anna wants to be touched; she likes to be touched. Her body is going to be pliant and soft and you’ll love nothing more than to lick the sweat of her waist and feel the friction get together - okay, stop fucking overcomplicating it. Worship your lover with all your might. The drunk pleasure will happen regardless.
“Don’t- don’t,” Anna shoves a whine down your throat. “If you think about stopping, I’m going to make you crazy about me-” she begs, and her character finally breaks into impatience. She’s got two fingers deep in her cunt, fucking herself.
“Look at me, honey-” she hisses, pathetically. “You’re only holding yourself back.” The next thing she does is lift the same hand from her legs, slipping those same two fingers into her mouth.
–
Time waits for no one, not even you.
Her hot lips laving yours enough to make you lose it even more. She doesn’t play nice (but she never played nice.) Anna’s face is difficult to read; is it control? rapture? ruin? or perhaps gratification? Too much to tell, and there’s a lot of ground to cover. A winner like her takes it all and the loser - unfortunately, has to fall and suffer. You have your directive, and there’s the added order of acting on whatever she bids you to do. Her puffy lips coat your cock delicately, tongue stroking the roof of your mouth as she lets her hips settle on the length.
“How much do I have to do to make you- ugh!” She grits, grasping your neck soon after. Because the concept of power is somewhat new to her and she’s got her priorities straight. “Do me a favor: get the fuck on the table.”
(You believed it at first of her not having the authority to rest it heavily on your head - but god, you’ve never been proven so wrong.)
Her knees creak the wood once you’re laid on your back, peppering trails of spit from her waist down between her legs. Thank the creator for compensating; being able to respond to the wetness was one thing that couldn’t deliver in terms of granting you the five senses, but you make do. Anna’s leaning forward, bending. Most of her gown’s been discarded, revealing skin. Your optics can’t process all of the new pieces of information all at once-
“I like where you are,” she hushes, the breath alone should’ve made you shiver. “Always willing to submit.”
You’ve never wanted to breathe so desperately in your life. Feeling the weight of her hips crushing your face.
What’s more rewarding than the skullfuck is the constant grazing of Anna’s cunt brushing against your lips. She’s rubbing her clit too, the poor needy thing. As much as you’d love to keep this going, to satisfy your own needs, there’s a bedside rule left unsaid: to return the same subservience.
Anna’s so close to cumming. That, at least, until you bite her inner thigh.
It’s met with: “Ah-!” And Anna’s body convulses, scowling into your eyes. Temporary. This is fun, and you know she doesn’t want to stop.
“Satisifed?” You ask, eyes lidded.
“Love, you- oh. You have no idea.” She’s starting to break. You notice she’s overly strung out on her own confidence; like you, she needs to have her buttons pushed.
“Oh my god. You’ve wanted to do this on me for a while now, haven’t you?”
Anna winces. “Maybe. Who’s to say?”
“You and your fantasies. I love to see you try.”
Her face falls flat, determined. She wonders on something for a moment, disregards the second thought and does it anyway: shoving her whole ass across your face and making you suffocate. Even better: her hand grips the edge, you brush your tongue deeper into her. The wood creaks and the servos in your jaw are trying to accommodate as her makeshift vibrator-
“Anna,” you muffle, then the eyes go back to your head. “Mmmf-”
“Yes, right there- that,” she groans. “God-”
She lifts and you hold her thighs where they are. “You are something,” you praise. “How is that you’re this sexually precious?”
“What about you? Is it too much?”
“Nonsense,” you answer. Her being concerned is thoughtful. “You’re doing just fine. I mean- we did fuck on the floor the other time-”
“And it won’t be the last,” she replies. “We finally have more use of our time now.”
“Slow is steady,” you remind Anna. Unsaid words are carried through expressions. You’re too drunk on Anna’s essence seeping out her legs, so you’ll keep the talking to a minimum and kiss her (other) lips.
“Baby, baby, baby, oh my-” Next her hands dig into your scalp, and judging from the reaction alone it’s only stimulating her mind more, slipping out words and each utterance more incoherent than the last.
Nothing could stop your tracing tongue dancing on her cunt, switching the flick at the slightest pitch change. The mission hasn’t changed. It’s always been the same since the beginning, only now where you and her have come to realize that to truly survive-
You both need each other.
Sensory inputs are overloaded with data: at the graze of your nose to her clit, the nibble of her inner leg, the shimmy of her hips and once she’s had enough, you force her to take more. A tap of her clit when she lets you breathe. Another one earns a whimper. She’s a molten mess in your hands.
She grabs your cock and it throbs. “Tease,” she groans with her head back, biting her bottom lip. You want to test the limits of how much she can handle; where she can keep her head leveled before losing it completely. Once again: she shudders, swiveling your length, and you look up earnestly with your mouth to her folds. Any more forms of contact could legitimately kill her (and there’s another directive to unpack for that matter), suck her dry before she even has the chance to recover. How you could give her that dream of railing her on the table, but you’ll hold back. Anna’s legs shudder when your breath meets her cunt.
“Anna,” you say, and it’s wonderful to say her name while being under, “just let me- relax, babygirl. Give yourself to me. I promise to take care of you.”
You’ve got the intent down to a ‘T’. It’s just you: this model, her lover, her toy. She doesn’t even let you off once she’s moved down to your hips, her hot cunt just within reach of your tip. Which was safe to say: she couldn’t wait or take it anymore. When the thick tip pushes her folds, her body shakes; the expressions are amazing. You want to see more of them.
The pleasure is sharp enough for you to sit upright and in the present. You kiss her, kiss her head, shove your hand deep into her scalp so your mouths stay touched. Her fingers corral your neck, your back - you can do better than that - tensing the line in your bodies to an unknown measure, something that can be learned errorlessly. “Hey,” you shudder, filling the whole length inside her. She doesn’t move. You’ve got your hands to her hips and take up the gaps in her mind; makes her gasp.
“My good girl too fucked out? Need me to get you going since you almost came?”
Her head tilts, she’s cock-drunk. Perfection.
“It’s you,” cupping your head, “this pretty face, and this fucking cock-” she sputters, the grip getting tighter motion picking up in waves. “Please, fuck me. I beg- I’m fucking ordering-”
She knows you can’t be hurt, and only one of you is going to be sore.
“Shh, I know hun,” you coo, hoisting her hips up and yanking them back down with a little more force. You have no regard for the things around you: the wood creaks against the metal flooring; Anna knocks over a cup off the tabletop; your hips thrust upward into her heat. It’s gotten you both delirious. You’re sitting up, licking the beads of sweat off her breast; brush your cock where her cunt’s the hottest.
You know so much but also so little. There’s a nibble here, you might’ve sucked her nipple a little too hard, don’t give her time to breathe as she rides you, and she’s smiling through it. Granted, neither of you are inexperienced with this whole concept of fucking, but there’s so much to learn regardless; there’s you: split between memories and the remorse of a body that was never your own; her, and her intimate experiences in the past she’s never breathed a word about. If anything, the closest you’ve ever approached the topic was one of those conversations where time seems to stand still in the vastness of space - answering the question about her past and all of the events before with ‘look, I had nothing else to lose, so why stick around when there’s nowhere else to go or turn to?’
Even now, there’s a covered painting in this room Anna does while she eats. She never gives you a straight answer about it, and there really isn’t anything you could do to make her budge and open up, but that’s fine. The tension in the air is thick and heavy just like her body as she grinds her hips to yours, and she could be setting aside her emotional baggage to never be spoken about again.
Anna’s face buries into your neck, fingers clenching into your hair. Her pussy is tethered to your cock and each slam down is another pull of reality bringing you back. You could just draw it to simply losing your being to the person you love.
“So deep. It’s so, so deep,” she moans, and you focus on her voice as it makes you remember where you are. You grip her ass the same way hers did around your neck - an unspoken message to share on what feels good and where to keep her keening. Communication here can be fallible: you’re mindful that Anna never answers the questions truthfully or ignores you, and how her past could never be addressed in the corners of darkness; you’re aware that saying nothing oppresses your free will; despite this, it’s just how things are between you and Anna.
But maybe you should focus on this plane of existence. Anna has both the beauty and flaws and the big plus is (you also have your own faults) that you can’t help being in love but feign from the admission. Your skin doesn’t bruise as easily compared to hers, as well as respond to toxic environments since you can’t feel pain. Thanks to her, you’ve learned the aspect of pleasure while stimulating your own learning synapses; with your thumbs to the crease on her legs, keeping her there, flexing your cock deep inside to her walls and focus on her lips clashing to yours. She’s a slick and gushing mess.
You also recall an instance where Anna put a book down and said: “for erotica, why are they doing so much into detailing the feeling of one’s cock inside their lover?” Then she stemmed it off into saying a cock isn’t the only appeal for a woman’s pleasure and all of a sudden you don’t recall much.
The bruises across her legs are starting to bloom in reddish-pink. More decorations to deviate from the usual purple you’ve seen on her that suit her state more or less. She’s leaking on your artificial shaft, insistent for all of it. It earns her another deep thrust upward, a few bites to her neck, hot breaths into her mouth: these things you want to leave as many as you possibly can so that they serve as reminders of an intoxicating poison she’s taken whenever she’s bathing or doing the little makeup. What would be even better: if she got herself off to ease her mind off of this.
It hasn’t even been that long; probably a few weeks since she asked you to dance. Yet the both of you have been forever changed. Who knows what will become of you when this comes to pass: something new - or whole, even. You can be adamant about where you kiss her; you’ll also learn her preferred fragrance, and kiss more of those bitten lips. She might teach you new things: like how to braid her hair, come up with a theory to create a body that can withstand time - and it could be drawn up as a failure, but everyone has their end, right? When you and her cease to exist, this spacecraft will live on possibly through someone else.
Anna’s cunt clenches around your cock. Her tight little hole is the only stimulus keeping you focused. She moans, a little erratically. Keeping your head leveled may be easy, but you don’t fight her clawing hands. You’ve felt like this before, and the memories of that form in waves, encroaching the imaginary sand around the island, but it’s yours to share, and you’re going to sink beautifully.
“Louder,” you say. “Moan for me louder, sweetheart.”
She angles your chin up, devilishly grinning. “Try me,” is where she settles with.
You lift and meet her in the middle with a heavy upstroke. There’s tears seeping from the corner of her eyes - like paint being rubbed down on a palate. She’ll commend her own effort, but there’s the fleeting restraint of ruining her more when she says so.
You fuck her harder once her legs wrap around your hips, incessantly begging. Her moans are mixed with whimpers and whines and you could feel your head go hazy. There’s a memory you recall where the sky flashes white from blue and the world was never the same after that. Your memories of love and yearning are here; pure and impure in ways that make up your existence.
Stiffening and sweating both have their characteristics, those where they grow all the same. It’s preposterous that fucking her would be an experience- let alone, how you’d be wanting to have these feelings again and again within these confines of this home away from home. Anna was always complicated, but you’ve dealt with it.
She mewls into your neck and it's a sound you’re familiar with. “Let me hear you,” you offer, a last gasp for restraint. If her hand were a rope, she knew you’d jump at the first opportunity to tie yourself to it like a collar. Your fragmented self would only thrive with these memories, and not wither down to a selfish being hidden underneath your skin.
I hope my life will matter to you someday, you remember telling her the first few weeks on this expedition - a mere fantasy to delude yourself that she could, but it’s never been more true.
Anna whines when the head of your cock brushes right to her womb. Her fingers claw the polyethylene on your collar, wincing. It’s still a beautiful sight to behold.
(memory playback #10: the spray paint in your hand is tossed from a bombed out wall: “you may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us,” a mantra that speaks high of the future, what might come after death - and you share a kiss, another prayer for what higher being may be observing with the stars, and there’s another kiss, then another, then another, then-)
Your tongue slips out of Anna’s mouth, and the kiss ends. She can taste herself - off of you, with those plush lips, how easy it can really be to fall into her heart. Her toffee eyes are just eyes, but they see you as you are. It’s daunting to be known, how frightening it is to be accepted, alone. You’ve seen terrors before, and so has she. Through it all, it’s love that can transcend for those who can no longer speak.
It’s a funny thing, really.
Maybe one day you’ll watch her fall off the ramp and you’ll run after her on a beach with two sunsets. Make love to her on the sand and learn a little more about her then and there. Simple things like loving her can bring ease; free from all pain, guilt, and shame. There’s no point in thinking twice.
Despite this, Anna tells you to, “please keep fucking me,” and you do. There’s a more dignified approach into how you’ll have sex with her; ideally, a fashion that doesn’t nearly kill her. You’ve memorized every corner and crevice of her body in a short amount of time. It's like a second reflex. Pumping her full of your cock she has to sit up straight by your hand as her limbs try to tangle around where she can cling.
“Gonna cum?” You ask, slowing the pace.
Anna’s face pulls another wince, then relaxes. “You’re-” and she’s laughing through it, settling on your shaft. “You’re going to fucking kill me, maybe,” leaning into shoulder. “I’ve made you cum, so it should be similar, we just have to try-”
You lean forward and lay her back, piercing her womb. She didn’t want you to take it easy - this is what she wants, but the sex was always a form of strategy and compromise. Her cunt makes this unholy noise, and she’s gushing more by the second. Anna gets too ahead of herself, too fast, and she bucks in reflex while your cock slips out and she’s squirting into your hips. You grab your length and wriggle it back on her folds, there’s more. She’s a dripping, leaking mess and her legs are shaking.
“Anna, god. Anna, oh my god-” you gasp. She’s blabbering nonsense, biting into her wrist, spazzing out from the pleasure. Those marks on her arm will be there for a while, and you’ll have to treat those accordingly once all of this is finished. You’ll always submit to the aftercare even if you resign from doing it initially; for no reason - which may be a different case - but it doesn’t stop you from saying: “Oh, my sweet thing. Cum for me. Slut.” Love in this sense can be ferocious. She can’t even breathe with you pilfering her mouth and cunt at the same time.
She mutters your name down your throat, voiced in a way so elegantly that it's like she’s singing in appraisal: cumming over your cock. Her teeth clack against yours and she screams, choking as you hold her down by the neck. For how brutish you may be, it’s justified to how much she’s loving this version of you. You would love to hold her up by the waist and fuck her to the brim on this table; exhaustion isn’t a concept that’s applied to you, but your alternating thrusts from slow to fast makes it all worthwhile. Yet pain is a human feeling and your hips actually hurt and you’re panting and the wrongdoing washes down like a waterfall it hurts-
“Please, please, please-” she pleads, weeping. “Don’t- wait, okay. We need to- I can’t go on like this-”
So you comply once the thrusts have been made. Once the cum settles deep inside her, the romance lingers: you’re cradling her in comfort (unlike those times where life hung on a thread; the many what-ifs), sliding your cock out and seeing a glisten of white seep out of her opening, where she’s warm and you want to keep her that way.
It’s also easy to stay close to her, and never let her go. Easy to be attentive and be accepting of her like she is with you. And it dawns, cruelly: she’s all you have left and- you’ve let it pass. Weathering that in your mind helps you stand stall against the tide.
Anna’s lip wobbles, “Slut. You said ‘slut’ to me.” She hasn’t stopped; seen with a hand to her chest and the other between her legs. “What have you done-”
“Did you like it?”
“I did.” She says while struggling to get up. “In the moment it was-” and the sigh she makes is hellishly pleasing, the devil would be proud. Oh fuck, she mouths repeatedly, pressing her hand to her thighs. “You’re so good.”
“Glad it was- enjoyable,” you say, helping her up and she’s still close to you. Kissing your neck softly. And it connects: exhaustion. You’ve had sex with Anna more frequently in the past few hours since you’ve started dancing, and it’s been a while since you two have relaxed. Utensils have fallen to the floor, there’s a print of sweat on the table from her back and shoulders; her knees a bruised (again), you don’t recall smacking her ass, and the fucking marks-
Anna kisses you again and holds her side, smacking her lips. “I need water,” she pouts.
You thumb one of her bruises. “I can get you a cup if you’d like.”
She meets your eyes, dreamily blinks. Even with her messy hair and blushed skin it doesn't set in on how you and Anna fucked on the table in the dining quarters. You help her down and give her a cup, seeing the water stream down calmly. She looks at the liquid, contemplating. And you realize sex has that effect indeed.
“We need to have more control,” Anna concludes. “This can be a serious problem.”
“The sex of the mess?"
“You wanted me so bad that I can barely walk,” she tells you, trembling so much you swoop in and help her up. “This needs to be addressed later. And we have to make ground rules. Because if not, I’m going to end up dead and you’re gonna fuck a dead corpse-”
She hears you sigh and chuckle, stopping her train of thought. “Before we can acknowledge the other issues, there’s cleaning up and walking back to bed. The list goes on if you want me to continue.”
“I should have you carry me,” says Anna. “Folded me up akimbo and so pretzel-like. My bones are mush. My brain is mush. I’m gonna have an osteo condition now thanks to you-”
Executive decision: “Let’s get you to bed, honey.”
You swoop Anna off her feet. A closer look at her features: the fluttering lashes and small blush she applies when she can make you stare a little longer at her than she liked - considering how it’s a smeared mess and perhaps you did fuck a little too much. Appealing as it is, you like her pampered more than the latter.
“You are okay, yes?” It’s worth the curious inquiry.
“Aside from paralyzed from the waist down,” she jokes, “I guess you can say that I’m in good shape.”
“The offer still stands for treatment, ma’am. A suggestion, after all.”
“I am okay. Thank you for asking,” she smiles brightly at you. “Sweaty, messy. The usual deal. Also you came in me. Twice.”
“We should be more mindful next time,” you say, laying her back on the bed. After all the attempts from earlier, you’ve finally made it. It’s a small win to log in your books. Definitely worth taking.
“Hey,” Anna grabs your wrist, unwilling to let you leave. “You know: we just fucked.”
“Mind I add more than once, too?”
Anna purses her lips. “And you feel, okay?”
You ponder for a second. “Exhilirating, aside from being messy and such.”
“Me too. Not to mention sore-”
“Yep. Even the sore part.”
“God I feel amazing,” Anna huffs. “How long should I wait before we try it again?”
“You’re just asking for another go at me, really? Whatever happened to resting, Anna.”
Anna laughs, slapping your arm. “Could’ve just taken me to the shower, silly. Grab my washcloth and run it through some water. That’ll do for now.”
–
(There’s an afterglow this time around - different from the other times you’ve seen it up close. A calming presence, a little more sensual. And it tugs at your core when you reach the bathroom, keeping the door ajar so she can see you in her peripheral. The washcloth goes warm in your hands - per her request - and the door closes back to her room.
It’ll never be the same from this point on, and it’s something you’ve settled with.)
–
Anna calls you over once she’s recovered, coming out of the bathroom not long after. She slips out of her bath towel, and this is the second time you’ve seen her naked. “You’re not going back to your pod, right?”
“You propose that we are-” and your hands are out to divide the syllables: “sl-eep-ing to-ge-ther.”
“Precisely. Do you want to sleep together?”
“Follow up question: can we sleep together?”
You freeze. “Something I believe we can try.”
“I agree,” Anna concedes. “Now that I think about it, fucking on the bed would’ve been a lot more comfy.”
“Anna, apologies.” You kneel at her feet before the bed. How badly you can crumble at the touch of her hand to your chin. “Promise that we shouldn’t be as rash.”
Anna shakes it off. “Good fucking luck to us. We were always rash to begin with.”
“Change can occur at any time.”
“Customarily, sex has its own ecosystem,” she says, drying the ends of her hair. “When we’re done, we should have all the spots covered in the ship where we haven’t like ‘habitually fucked’ in the next couple cycles.”
“You’re asking for a deathwish if you’re wondering if we fuck in the decompression chamber.” And Anna shares a smile. “Maybe somewhere we can easily relax and don’t have to move as much.”
“The cockpit?” she sighs. “Romantic. But- I suppose that would be nice.”
“Mhm?”
“Yeah.” Anna replies, kissing your shoulder. “For the record: you’d make a fantastic lover. Date worthy.”
While your reaction might be off-putting and bewildered, it’s easy to conclude that you’re blushing over the compliment. Then past the wave of happiness is despair, and here you’ve learned that the emotions boil over to something more solemn, regretful. You sniffle. That in itself is foreign to you, balling your hands into fists and not meeting her eyes. You actually go quiet.
Anna leans over with concern. “Hey- did I mean to make you confused?”
“I’m not even sure myself,” you answer looking over.
“How do you feel right now?”
“Can’t put it to one thing. Reminiscing for no reason- mourning as the other thing, I-” you cough, pinching your forehead. “I shouldn’t be regretful- okay. Anna, can we-”
She doesn’t let you finish and tugs you over further to her bed. A few moments pass with you two figuring out the small arrangement. But then you see the inside of her bunk more and notice the new details about her: a sakura flower drawn to remind her of home, the faded polaroid of her first day in the academy.
“You’re surprisingly warm,” says Anna while nestling to your side. “As if you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve learned a few thing or two.”
Anna hums, unconvinced. “Is that so?”
You kiss her hairline, pull her closer. Safe to assume that she’s comfortable. Her arm goes across to your left. You breathe in relief. “Would be lying if I said I didn’t practice,” you answer. “Emotions are one thing; though, if it weren’t the movies we watched together. I would be lacking in the intimacy category.”
“You’re already exceeding my expectations,” Anna ends off with. “I knew you’d like those movies.”
–
Later, she switches the lights off. Well aware of what you want to keep sacred. You’re her saving grace, a blessing she’d never expect to have.
When you two kiss again, it feels deep into the shrouded darkness.
–
(memory playback #11: When you meet Gawon for the first time, you’re treating a wound to your stomach and have become numb to the medicine spray. Somewhere in a city of Aurelia you kiss her through a rusted blackbox recorder; look up from the wreckage and mark your love with bombs and paint before the waters get too tepid just on the surface. Maybe the roots will grow deep through the water, and you think a slit throat would be the solution for your pierced heart-
final playback: “I love you too. I hope you know that,” you say. Holding each other’s face dear in the chaos of war. Her trauma is equal as yours and it’ll burn you two up like the rest of the world-)
–
You learn again:
Anna’s quarters (along with her bed) is in complete disarray. She’s got the blankets covering the vents; her pillows are smushed into a heap and there’s so many things here that are out of place in the ship. In her case, she never really understood the sleep subroutines you deal with. Despite how smart she is studying astrodynamics, it does not show in engineering. All the more reason to write little post-it notes everywhere on the ship to keep her from not fucking things up.
In the end: it’s really cute.
You place an unfinished canvas on the easel, she hugs you from behind.
There’s a simplicity to this.
“I love the whole idea of you,” she says, pulling your chin to her. “My cute big owl, hm?”
“Take it that you’re okay?”
“Dear, I’m fucking sore.” Anna groans, begrudgingly. “Blame my own arrogance that we won’t be able to do it again for a few days.”
“Pushed your luck and see what happened? How many orgasms did you have?”
“You made me cum four times,” she counts on her fingers. “I made you cum half of those times. But seriously. We need to have an intervention about those dreams of yours. They’re wickedly fucked up.”
To that, you smile. Actually, you laugh. It’s not in your code to elicit such a reaction, and the leniency needs to be reviewed. You’ve kept your guard up, but Anna has managed to melt you down to a puddle of metal. Change isn’t instantaneous - let today be the nexus of a psychoanalysis that may take days- week- or even months to figure out. A relationship doesn’t happen like the big bang, obviously, but it’s good to have a theory about it.
“What else did you see?” You ask. “How fucked up were they?”
“Someone that’s obsessed,” she answers. Finger to her lip. “Issues and things that we need practice on. That’s what I think.”
You square shoulders, crossing arms. “Elaborate.”
“Imagine a parallel world. Where everything is perfect, and we wouldn’t have any baggage to carry, sharing the simple life that we’ve dreamed of having. With the best part being the fact that it never ends.”
It’s worth imagining. “Right,” you say. “Our reality isn’t like that, sadly.”
Anna rolls her eyes, slumping her back. “Ugh, I had a feeling you were gonna say that.” Humbling, for one, yet she flashes a smile nonetheless. “Everyone’s always told me that I dream too much. Dream, dream, dream. Never wondering about the ‘knowns’ of our world. Makes me feel stuck.”
“You can dream with me,” you reassure. ‘that’s one of the reasons why I’m in love with you.’ “I admire these aspirations.”
She hugs you, yawning. “Okay,” she hums. “Promise me you’ll watch?”
And you’ll keep this star closer with the cosmos.
///
a/n: sorry for the mini hiatus. i have one thing to say:
we are so freaking back.
:')
