fashion is a declaration

His First (SasuSaku Wedding Night One-shot)

Sasuke and Sakura’s wedding night. Contains smut. Please also note that Sasuke’s left arm has been replaced by Tsunade here, and this takes place after ‘The Last’ movie.

This is my first time writing a love-scene, so no flames, please. Also keep in mind this is both Sasuke and Sakura’s first time, as I’d like to think Sasuke is from a very traditional Clan and would wait until marriage to sleep with her.

Disclaimer: Sasuke Uchiha and Sakura Haruno/Uchiha belong to Masashi Kishimoto.


His First


He leads her quietly through the dim, candle-lit corridors of his ancestral family home, his bare feet treading routes that are still acutely ingrained within the deepest catacombs of his mind. The polished wooden pathways he navigates are all too familiar, and the memory is enough to tug on the old strings of nostalgia slumbering somewhere inside his chest – but there are no more ghosts or past demons, here. The compound has been fully restored to its former glory, and is ready once more for life.

Ready, once again, for love.

She follows him, her small, slender fingers tightly entwined between his longer, larger ones, and beneath the flickering glow of flame, she glimpses it once again; the telling glint of lustrous diamond that reminds her of her new status and title.

Uchiha Sakura.

The name is a musical serenade inside her head. She feels giddy, breathless, still caught in a state of star-struck awe and disbelief. She had waited and dreamt of this day, of this moment, since childhood, and it had been everything she had ever wanted and so much more. Ino and her friends had decorated the venue to perfection, and the festivities had been loud and joyous, lasting late into the evening. A little too boisterous, perhaps, for the innately private Sasuke’s tastes, and an anxious Sakura had half-feared that her handsome groom would lunge at Naruto at several points during the speeches and attempt to throttle him, when Konoha’s Seventh Hokage had launched into grossly exaggerated and thoroughly embarrassing tales of their genin-team adventures – oh so long ago.

Tales that had all suspiciously ended with them stuck in a disastrous fix - only to be miraculously rescued at the last moment by the loveable knucklehead.

Sasuke – whose ego always absolutely demanded that he outdo his rival and best friend in every single department - had scowled murderously at the insulting inaccuracy of the accounts. Sakura had gaped in appalled dismay. Kakashi, scratching his head, had looked as bemused as one could with their features secretively concealed behind a mask.

It had gotten to a point where even Sakura had been left red-faced and twitching, ready to pummel the blond to a pulp for daring to mortify her on her special day - were it not for Sasuke’s firm, restraining grip on her knee beneath the table – but then the blond had suddenly looked straight at them, and with tears shining in his eyes, had raised his glass in toast and spoken words that had stunned them both.

“We might not really be related, but these two were my family when I had nothing, when I was nobody, and they mean everything to me. Without you guys, I… I would’ve been lost. I wouldn’t have made it. Thank you, Sasuke. Sakura-chan.”

Then, in typical Naruto fashion, he had ruined the emotional moment entirely by cheekily declaring that they name their firstborn in his honour.

The smile of recollection on Sakura’s lips widens as she focuses on their joined fingers. Biting her lower lip, she releases an internal squeal of glee. Cha! All her fantasies had come true! Sasuke’s grip on her is secure, and he guides her with a certainty and confidence that makes apparent the commanding man he has become, no longer the frightened boy who had sought to sever all bonds and fled from responsibility and accountability in the past.

She then lifts her eyes to his broad back, setting them onto the red and white Uchiha emblem stitched proudly onto his traditional robes - an emblem that matches the one on her own. He is the last of a noble, prestigious line that has all but dwindled out. Sakura shyly hopes that it won’t be the case for long; that soon, there will be tiny feet padding along the wide halls, feet belonging to little cherubs who share their family name.

It is her job, she tells herself with conviction, to please him now, to meet every one of his needs – just as it is his to provide for hers. She sincerely hopes she can make him happy – but as he finally draws to a stop before a pair of sliding screen doors, Sakura feels the first flutters of apprehension replace the senseless excitement that had, up until that point, made her wedding day pass in an exhilarated rush.

Her smile falters. Suddenly she is nervous and overcome with all sorts of confidence-diminishing worries.

It is her first time. Of course she had saved herself for Sasuke – it had always only ever been him – but what if this is not his? The thought weighs heavily upon her mind, but what troubles her even more greatly is the prospect of him having high expectations – of her disappointing him.

What if I don’t satisfy him? What if I can’t relax and it hurts too much? I can’t seem to remember anything Ino or my mother told me about how to please a man, she thinks frantically to herself.

But she manages to plaster a smile onto her lips regardless as Sasuke directs a brief glance back at her, before releasing her hand to slide the doors to their new bedroom open.

They step inside, and as Sasuke quietly slides the screens shut behind them again and gives her a few minutes to settle in and adjust, Sakura’s eyes nervously bypass the low-framed, king-sized bed resting against the centre of the northern wall, to take in the sheer size of the impressive space. It is tidy, of course; she expects nothing less from a man as meticulous and orderly as Sasuke – with sturdy wooden wardrobes and shelves and carefully tended plant pots placed beside a larger set of screen doors to their right, leading out to what she assumes are the private compound’s gardens.

She is correct, for the doors slide smoothly apart as Sasuke pushes them open, and moonlight spills into the room, bathing it in an almost ethereal glow. Outside, beyond the wooden patio that provides access to other areas of their home, she glimpses an unexpected string of trees that share her name, lined against a high concrete wall bearing the Uchiha crest.

They are suitably in full bloom, in time with the early spring season.

She laughs softly in surprise, joining him by the open doors.

Sakura trees?” Her tone is light and teasing as she admires the pretty blossoms. She desperately hopes she disguises how anxious she feels on the inside. “Have you planned this all along, Sasuke-kun?”

“Hn,” her new husband – husband, her inner self screeches ecstatically – grunts, in that endearing manner of his, when he doesn’t quite feel entirely comfortable with openly admitting a truth – but isn’t inclined to lie about it, either.

Sakura distractedly fingers the Uchiha pendant he had gifted to her on her nineteenth birthday, as she watches the dusky pink petals, appearing lavender under the starry night sky’s milky illumination, flutter noiselessly to the ground.

The cool, pleasant fresh air that drifts into the room helps Sakura to clear her head for a moment. But when she feels Sasuke’s warm breath against the back of her exposed neck, she barely manages to suppress the shudder that shoots down along her spine, sending goose-pimples surfacing along her skin.

At some point, while they had been watching the peaceful, idyllic scene, he had slipped behind her. He had always had the knack, from a remarkably young age, of moving as gracefully and silently as a shadow.

“Sakura,” he exhales, as he draws back the white bridal hood that rests over her head. His voice is low. A near whisper as he takes in the significance of this situation.

Sakura closes her eyes, and takes the moment to really feel his presence behind her; his warmth, his reassuring strength and power and the undeniable masculinity he radiates. She senses his formidable, potent chakra signature, and it crackles like a rolling thundercloud in the air around them, all static, thrumming electricity that makes her cantering heart beat a little faster. His chakra flow at that moment is curiously unstable - conflicted, almost. His usual, iron-like command of it seems to have temporarily faltered.

That is wholly uncharacteristic of him, Sakura thinks to herself, and then it hits her. It hits her that perhaps the ever-composed, unshakeable Uchiha Sasuke is a little nervous, too.

Sasuke begins to lift his right hand. He is standing close behind her – close enough for her back to brush the front of his body. Close enough to smell the delectable sweetness of her fragrance, to touch her. But he is suddenly hesitant. Reluctant, almost, even when he knows that this is their long-awaited wedding night and it is to be expected that they consummate their union now.

He hesitates, but it isn’t because he doesn’t want her; Sasuke is suddenly unsettled by just how much he desires his new bride – every part of her. But he is apprehensive, too, and is trying his best not to show it. And that- that weakness of body and mind- it disturbs him.

Because he knows, if they proceed, that he will be vulnerable tonight. And he had promised himself vehemently, so many times in the past, that he would never allow himself to be unguarded ever again.

Yet he has always had a weakness in Sakura. This breath-taking woman, one he has watched bloom into the most resilient and beautiful of flowers, who has loved him for so long, and who stirs such turmoil within his heart; he is not worthy of her, he knows. But she has chosen to give herself to him in marriage, anyway. And he worries, as he notes the palpable tension in her shoulders, betraying her own jangling nerves, that he will not be enough for her. There is a lingering sense of self-doubt; that despite his best efforts to atone for his past, he cannot make her happy in the manner she truly deserves.

But he also knows that it could not have possibly ended any other way. He could not have suffered seeing Sakura with another man far less wretched than he was, content in the arms of someone else. The mere thought of anyone other than him touching her makes Sasuke’s chest burn with possessive jealousy. She is his light, the light he had thought he had lost long ago. Her gentleness in his presence, her sweetness, her care and her touch bring him to life in ways that had startled him at first – but now fuelled a terrible, ravenous need.

He was gluttonous, really, for Sakura’s affections. This unnerving reality had hit him hard, after the war, after he had travelled the world on a path of redemption and self-discovery. He had known it when he had finally returned to Konoha after two years and sought her out, like he had promised to do before he’d left her. And perhaps it makes him selfish, but he wants to take every last ounce of love Sakura has to offer, to fill his starved self to the brim with her devotion, until he never again feels the torturous pain and agony of hollow emptiness.

Still, the uncharacteristic uncertainty lingers. His throat suddenly feels peculiarly parched. Unbidden and unwanted, words spoken to him the previous night whilst he’d been out drinking with Kakashi and Naruto drifted through his head – words he hadn’t particularly wanted to hear, but had found himself foolishly listening to, anyway.

Leave it to his old, perverted sensei to provide him with some last minute, emergency advice in the bedroom department.

“The Uchiha have quite the reputation as passionate lovers, Sasuke.”

Well, that casual opener, which had caused him to almost choke on his cup of sake, hadn’t been helpful at all.

Naruto, just slightly intoxicated, had roared with laughter and dug an elbow into a coughing Sasuke’s ribs. “BWAHAHA! Really?! No pressure then, eh Sasukeee?!”

“Your wedding night is your entry into manhood.” Kakashi had gone on, to Sasuke’s dismay. “It’s a battle ground in its own right – but you can’t simply just attack your opponent as you do in ordinary battle circumstances.”

Sasuke’s ears had burned and he had frowned at this ridiculous piece of advice. Of course he hadn’t been planning on outright ambushing Sakura! What did they think he was - some kind of uncultured animal?!

Although… the fleeting thought of tackling her completely off-guard had certainly seemed appealing for a brief moment…

“Yeah,” Naruto had sniggered. “Can you imagine that? Sakura-chan’ll beat ya senseless, dattebayo!”

“I’m certain that your bride wouldn’t appreciate it,’ the former Hokage had agreed, chuckling in amusement. “You must instead be gentle, Sasuke. Sensitive. I… ah… realise this may be difficult for you; but take it slowly. Make sure she is comfortable first. You wouldn’t want to do anything to frighten her off or make her tense.”

“I’ll kick your ass if you ever hurt Sakura-chan!” Naruto had chipped in threateningly. “You know I will, bastard! I’ll kick it so hard you’ll lose all your limbs this time!”

“Shut up, usuratonkachi,” Sasuke had snapped back venomously.

“Just admit it, you asshole. You’re nervous.” His best friend had slapped him heartily on the back. “Quit trying to act all cool! We can see right through you, right, Kakashi-sensei?”

Kakashi, who was far wiser than the reckless blond, scratched the back of his head and prudently chose not to tease the last Uchiha.

“I am not,” Sasuke had hissed furiously. A blatant lie.

“HAHAHA!” Naruto had pointed with his bandaged right hand, and made Sasuke’s eyebrows twitch in mortification when one of the bar staff had glanced nosily in their direction. “You ARE! Sasuke-teme is totally nervous! Too nervous to do it with-”

Sasuke had then proceeded to gracefully kick Naruto’s stool out from underneath him, sending the loud-mouthed blond tumbling to the ground, and prompting the absolute moron of a Hokage to howl in protest.

“SASUKEEE! You piece of shit! How dare you treat your Hokage like that? I’ll have your sorry ass thrown into jail, you stupid bastard!” 

Sasuke had hastily terminated the awkward conversation at that point. He hadn’t exactly felt comfortable discussing the topic of love-making to Sakura with Naruto and their perverted old teacher. Kakashi had sighed – and as Sasuke had risen from his stool, he’d nudged a small book toward him.

“Consider it a pre-wedding gift,” his childhood sensei had stated, winking mischievously at him as Naruto had quickly forgotten his ire and started to slur nonsensically about how much he loved Team Seven. Thinking only of the need to make a speedy retreat, Sasuke had grabbed the book and left Kakashi to deal with the whinging Hokage – only to return home and almost choke when he’d realised what it was his old teacher had apparently gifted to him.

A copy of Icha Icha Make-Out Tactics. Face burning, Sasuke had decided to get rid of it right there and then – he didn’t need sex advice from such a controversial and notorious love guide - only to shamefully give into temptation and end up flicking cautiously through it.

He hadn’t taken in much. Most of it had been stupid and downright outrageous. He’d scoffed and sneered in disgust – and he might have gotten somewhat flustered in places – but one thing had stood out in all the crammed pages of rambling, raunchy nonsense.

The stressed, male-ego boosting importance of pleasing a woman first.

Sasuke’s thoughts return to the present and he swallows, and orders himself to man up. He is an Uchiha. And he must take the lead, here. He fiercely tells himself that as much as it is his wife’s duty to satisfy him physically, it is also his responsibility to tend to her needs, also.

His hands, which had hesitated before, slide up to her covered elbows. He takes the first step, and bends his head forward.

Sakura releases a disjointed breath at the feel of the tip of his aristocratic nose following the graceful curve between her neck and left shoulder. He nuzzles her, inhaling her scent deeply, but the innocence of the touch is enough to elicit tiny tingles regardless.

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispers, as he quickly grows bolder, and his arms slip around her midriff, to draw her snugly back against him.

His lips brush over the sensitive skin of her throat. Sasuke has discovered that he has a strange affinity for her creamy neck; that he likes to pay it particular attention. He thinks that surely it has something to do with the desperate need to permanently erase the haunting image of his past self’s treacherous fingers squeezing crushingly around her windpipe. He wishes to kiss her there, until he somehow forgets the nightmarish memory of his insanity-induced attempt to kill her, back then. Even when he knows that he never can – despite her already forgiving him long ago.

Sakura sighs, closing her eyes, willing her wild pulse to settle as Sasuke’s lips caress her skin with a tenderness that he hides from the rest of the world – a tenderness that is disarming, as he leaves a trail of cool little raindrop kisses that summon blazing heat in their wake. This is it, she tells herself; this is the start of her initiation into womanhood. She still somehow half expects to awaken from this dream-like fantasy; has to fight to regulate her breathing.

This is the night her heart has been yearning for - spent in the arms of the man she loves more than anything else in the world.  

But she fears for the intensity of her emotions, already so overcome, when they are both still fully clothed. Her heart pounds harder still, when Sasuke’s hands move to tug demandingly at the sash around her waist and remove the first, heavy layer of her elaborately-layered wedding kimono. His unsteady fingers fumble sometimes, and Sakura has to help him, giggling with coy, girlish embarrassment. Before she knows it, however, she is left only in the final silk under layer.

Sasuke then turns her around to face him. He handles her with painstaking caution – as if fearful that applying any pressure will break her, like she is made of the very same glass he knows she can effortlessly shatter. Their eyes meet, and Sakura feels breathless as his piercing charcoal irises smoulder into her, catching the silver of the moonlight behind them. There is clear intent in his heavy gaze – yet she thinks she can perhaps see the same flicker of uncertainty that plagues her, also, as he takes her hands in his and reels her slowly away from the patio view and back toward their marital bed, his eyes never once leaving hers.

Biting her lower lip shyly, Sakura reaches out to him, proceeding to undress him also. Her hands are visibly shaking, and he has to help her in places, too. When the top of his formal attire is finally cast aside, and he stands before her, all rippling, taut muscles and steely masculinity, she swallows thickly, her lips suddenly oddly dry. Her work in the hospital means she is no stranger to topless men – but this is Sasuke, and now they are alone.

Her eyes wander admiringly over his broad shoulders, his lean, smoothly muscled arms, the strongly sculpted plains of his bare chest and the defined ridges of his abdomen. She sees the many battle scars, some faded more than others, and she thinks their imperfections only make him even more beautiful, like artistic maps carved upon his skin, each mark representing a different struggle, its own unique story.

To think, that this glorious body is now all hers and hers alone…

Sakura licks her lips. “Sasuke-kun,” her voice wobbles precariously to her horror, and she can feel the inferno raging in her cheeks. She has the urge to slide her palms all over those mouth-watering pectorals, but she is all at once pitifully flustered, and frozen by the sight of him. “Ah- I-”

He can see her nervousness all too clearly. This simply will not do, he tells himself, his eyebrows furrowing marginally, for her to be so tense. Trust Sakura to be so annoying. Clearly she requires some additional encouragement. Deciding to do something about it, he grasps her right wrist in his newly-replaced left hand – still healing and tightly bandaged up to the elbow – and pulls her close. Then, before she can babble anything else incoherent, he bends his head down and presses his parted lips lightly against hers.

Sakura’s eyes widen and the air in her lungs hitches. Of course she has been kissed by Sasuke before – multiple times, in fact – but each time sparks fly and it still feels like the very first. Butterflies break free inside her stomach, wings tickling and fluttering in agitation, and warmth floods through her. His right arm slips around her waist, and tugs her forward so that she is pressed against the nakedness of his upper body. She finally closes her eyes and her heart thunders against her rib-cage, as she tentatively lifts her hands to his bare skin, fingers gliding, seeking, exploring. His heat singes her, and once she has touched him, Sakura seems unable to stop.

The kiss is slow and chaste to begin with, and makes Sakura’s insides quiver. Then it quickly grows into something more volatile, full of frightening desperation and raw, ravenous need. A depth of hunger that leaves them both breathless. Sakura’s arms wrap around his neck and the slanting pressure of his lips on hers increases as the kiss hardens and deepens. Soon it is fiery and bruising, and Sakura’s head is reeling from the lack of oxygen. She can feel Sasuke’s chest heaving as he crushes her against him.

They stumble sightlessly backwards, toppling onto the bed, and somehow she lands on top of him. Sasuke is certain that his heart has never before drummed this hard or fast, and there is an aching, heavy throb developing between his legs. Sakura is straddling his waist, and it is peculiarly starting to become increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else but her, as he looks up at her charmingly flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

He thinks that he maybe likes the sight of her, on top of him.

Instinct and desire seem to override Sakura’s nerves, then, as she gazes down at him, as if entranced. Her palms slide slowly, experimentally, over his rock-hard abdomen, to the steely pectoral muscles she had been itching to caress just minutes earlier, and with the tantalising, teasing motion, the throb inside him intensifies. When she leans forward to trail sweet butterfly kisses along his collarbone, he swallows thickly. Sakura’s mouth continues to explore his chest, and she giggles a little against his skin, with the shyness of touching him in newfound, bold places.

When she finally draws back, her hands flat against his toned stomach, she smiles down at him.

“Am I heavy, Sasuke-kun?” she teases, referencing a long ago, childhood memory.   

Sasuke blinks at her; he remembers it immediately.

“Hn,” he scoffs, smirking; for all her famed strength, she is now a mere feather when he holds her in his arms. Then he reaches out to yank her eagerly forward, capturing her lips hungrily once again. His hands wade into her prettily arranged, pale rose hair, and he starts to pull out the decorative pins and blasted accessories that keep her silky locks prisoner from his seeking touch. He feels them snag in resistance in his haste, and this causes Sakura to whimper in half-hearted protest against his mouth, but soon he can feel no more obstructions, and her fine tresses tumble free between his fingers – though only his bare right hand can fully appreciate their softness.

Her hands cup his face, stroking tenderly, and suddenly the remaining clothes between them seem to be an awful hindrance. She wants to feel the scorching heat of his skin, to experience those coiled muscles tensing against her.

“Sasuke-kun,” she gasps into the dimness, as she briefly draws back for a breath. “I-”

“Be quiet,” he mutters back, too distracted by the sweet curve of her jawline to concentrate on what she wants to say or waste precious air on words. Before she can respond, he moves lightning fast and effortlessly flips their positions, pinning her down beneath him. Then his lips are on her throat again - and so is his hot tongue. It devours the column of her neck, and he clamps his lips over her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He wants to brand her all over her. He alternates between this and directing a sizzling trail of impassioned kisses that prompt Sakura to release the sort of sound that would surely make even Ino blush.

A pleading, soft moan. And it is like a detonation exploding inside Sasuke’s ears – an enticing musical symphony that makes his heart gallop faster still. He wants to hear it again. He wants her to say his name like that. Sakura bites her lower lip, as if ashamed of the noise – but he simply smirks down at her, letting her know that he likes it. Very much.

She wriggles beneath his weight, and he succeeds in removing the final layer of her wedding kimono, leaving his bride in only her lacy undergarments. His hands quickly make short work of discarding those too, as his lips continue to distract her, hovering over her jawline, to her face, where he proceeds to kiss her burning cheeks, her little button nose, her forehead, her right earlobe. Sakura protests at this teasing and pulls his mouth back demandingly to hers. His weight crushes down upon her, and the increased skin to skin contact causes a foreign tingling sensation to kindle inside her lower belly.

Sasuke draws briefly back to allow them both the chance to fill their deprived lungs with much needed oxygen. She is already breathless and flushed; her eyes are heavy-lidded with passion and desire. He doesn’t think he has ever seen anything more beautiful in his life, and he feels a sense of masculine pride and accomplishment, knowing that he is the one getting her all flustered.

His dark eyes lower to appreciatively take in the soft swell of her breasts. It then strikes Sakura that she is completely naked; she had been so diverted by his kisses before, and he had removed her underwear so swiftly, that she hadn’t even really paid it much thought. Almost instinctively, she begins to raise her arms self-consciously over her chest, fearful that he will think her not ample enough or up to his standards.

Her husband, however, stops her, gripping her wrists firmly to prevent her from concealing his view.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. He does not want her to hide any part of her from his eyes.

Shyly, she allows him to press her arms back down against the mattress. He is silent, baffled by how she could possibly be ashamed of her beautiful body, as he greedily drinks up the sight of her petite, feminine form, his gaze roaming over her creamy breasts, her flat, toned stomach – and finally settling on the triangle of soft pink curls between her legs.

His breath hitches. The desire inside him now is near crippling, the heat unbearable as he feels his manhood stir beneath the lower robes he has still yet to remove.

Sasuke knows what he wants. Natural instinct dictates it to him - the need to claim her at last as his, to bury himself deep inside her hot core, to empty himself into her until they are both breathless and spent.

“S-Sasuke-kun,” her voice shakes, and this catches him off guard. His eyes dart back to her face, to find unexpected tears shining in her verdant irises. She suddenly looks so vulnerable. So slight. Unsettled and put out by this, he raises his right hand to her flushed left cheek, where she can feel his fingertips brushing over her skin.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, silently worrying that he is maybe moving too fast for her, or somehow doing something incorrectly.

She bites her quivering lower lip. Swallows back the thickness in her throat, before she chokes out emotionally, unable to hold back her insecurities any longer, “I- I love you, Sasuke-kun! I love you so much! And I want to make you happy, but-” she squeezes her eyes shut, and confesses, “I don’t want to disappoint you. I-!” She breaks off, when he abruptly taps the diamond yin seal on her forehead with his index and middle fingers, a familiar gesture of affection between them that seeks to calm her down.

He meets her gaze, holds it steady.

“Just relax,” he attempts to reassure her – only for one corner of his mouth to turn down at the sight of her eyes welling with tears. Then they are spilling, and Sasuke curses himself internally.

Always, he makes her cry. Even now. He never knows the right thing to say-

Frustrated, he lowers his lips to her cheeks, kissing away the tears. The unexpected gentleness of this touch only makes their volume increase. Sakura wraps her arms around his neck in happiness, yanks him down to her, and silences her sobs against his shoulder.

Misinterpreting this as genuine upset and even more disturbed by the feel of her trembling beneath him, Sasuke realises that she must be afraid, and suggests, with great restraint, “Sakura, I-” he swallows. “We can stop.”

“No,” her muffled voice answers. “No, Sasuke-kun- it’s just-” in a barely audible whisper, she admits, “This is my first time. I…” she laughs a little in embarrassment. “I waited for you.”

He exhales in understanding. Then he pulls back, stares at her. He wants to tell her this is his first time, too, but she is already reaching out to him again. He bends his head to kiss her more gently. And like a flower, he feels her open up beneath him, her lips parting, her body gradually relaxing once again.

He had always imagined that Sakura would remain faithful to him, but to hear her openly confirm it fills him with a rush of warmth that is almost overwhelming. Sasuke tells himself that he will not give himself relief before he pleasures her – before she is ready to receive him. His mouth moves from hers, to her throat once again, before lowering to explore the valley between her breasts. But he falters before he touches her there, suddenly strangely hesitant again.

He glances up at her. She seems to understand, too, for she takes his right hand, and shyly guides it to where she wants him to touch her. He cups her left breast, marvelling at its silky softness and weight. Then he begins to massage it, prompting a little whimper to escape Sakura’s lips as he kneads it gently, before rolling her nipple experimentally between his index finger and thumb.

This causes her to stiffen in surprise. He looks up at her again, to find her eyes are closed. The air escaping her mouth is growing shallow and quick. She enjoys being touched like this, he notes with satisfaction, storing it in mind for future reference, and does it again, prompting the same pleasurable reaction. Her moan is even louder, when he lowers his parted lips to the mound, swirling his rough tongue around its sensitive, aroused bud before taking it completely into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Ohhh,” her back arches, as his left hand moves to stimulate the unoccupied breast that is not receiving worship from his tongue. “Sasuke-kun…” she groans, as she reaches out to his head with a hand, fisting her fingers through his fine raven hair.

These new, unfamiliar sensations - they feel so good. Her inner self boasts that of course they do; Sasuke-kun had always been remarkably proficient with his hands. Who could have known, however, that his tongue would turn out equally as delightful? But she can’t think coherently enough to communicate this to him, while his mouth is doing such tantalising things to her.

The sound of his name falling so huskily from her lips spurns him onwards, encourages him to continue, sends him on a quest to elicit even more. He wants her to be more vocal. Because surely the louder she becomes, the better he is performing.

And as with everything else he does, Sasuke has to be the very best.

He then turns his focus to the other breast, sucking and fondling and caressing, before growing even bolder, directing a trail of feather-light kisses along her abdomen. Sakura is now almost panting with need and the heat in her lower belly intensifies. It is radiating to the unchartered territory between her legs, centralising as a throbbing ache that demands urgent attention. She squeaks in alarm as he ventures lower, his hair tickling her skin as he teases her pelvic bone, before brushing his lips over her inner thighs.

She gulps, jerking in startled surprise, when they drift a little too close to her womanly core. She does not expect Sasuke to be this daring during their first time – but clearly he has no issues with intimacy of this degree, for his bandaged left hand presses firmly down against her abdomen to keep her in place, while his right parts her thighs to allow him better access.

“Sasuke-kun!” she yelps, her cheeks burning as she scrambles to push herself up onto her elbows. “No- wait. Please!” 

Her reaction is interesting, and so is the increased tension he detects in her body. Sasuke flicks a heavy-lidded glance up at her, and gives her a smug smirk, so utterly devious and sexy that her heart jumps into her throat. Something tells him that he has her now. She gapes at him – and when he disregards her half-hearted plea and runs an index finger experimentally over her inner folds, he is rewarded with the sight of his wife biting down on her lower lip – hard - as her eyebrows furrow together.

He strokes her tantalisingly again, and she releases a strangled sound. He watches her face curiously, intently, using the cues he is receiving from her body to discover which spots excite her most. Her expression is caught somewhere between the blurred boundaries of embarrassment and eagerness. Sakura clearly likes the feeling – but obviously thinks his mouth shouldn’t be anywhere near down there.

It is almost enough to draw a chuckle of amusement from him. She is his. He can touch her wherever he pleases, using any part of his body he likes. And if this area is what flusters her most, then Sasuke tells himself that he will just have to pay it special, particular attention.

He parts her folds, finding the small bud of her clitoris. Sakura releases another choked sound when he brushes his index finger over it.

“Sasuke-kun-!” she manages through tightly clenched teeth. “Please-!” The sensation his touch is eliciting is positively sinful, a tingling burn that is steadily growing into a force so unstoppable, it leaves Sakura’s head spinning. When his thumb begins to stimulate the sensitive spot further in a slow, steady, circular motion, she rewards him with her loudest moan yet, clutching almost painfully onto the sheets underneath her.

“Ahhn! Sasuke-kun!”

He immediately responds to her vocal feedback, his pace and rhythm quickening. The musky scent of her turns him on, and he can feel her growing moister under his touch. It is the most incredibly arousing sight he has ever seen; Sakura, all hot and bothered and sexually excited before him.

And loving her like this, giving her pleasure; it feels so very right.

Panting, she glances down to watch him through half-lidded eyes, before her elbows give out, sending her collapsing fully onto the bed once again. She turns her head, and tries desperately to muffle the sinful sounds in her throat – sounds she did not even realise she could make – by pressing her mouth against one of the scattered pillows beside her.

Sasuke’s eyes narrow disapprovingly. He will have none of that. Keeping his right hand working in its position, he lifts himself up over her and leans forward, catching her chin with his fingers. Angling her face back toward him, he meets her pleasure hazed gaze directly.

“I want to hear you,” he tells her, and quickens the circular motion of his thumb even further, as if to punish her for even attempting to deny him of the lustful exclamations leaving her lips.

Sakura’s back arches in response, her head falls back, and she rapidly loses the will to swallow back her moans any more. Any previous embarrassment is replaced entirely by pure, selfish lust as the tingles rapidly grow in intensity. “Ahhh!” she whimpers. “Oh! Yes! Right there, Sasuke-kun! Ohhh!”

His eyes fix onto her face in wonder. Suddenly, he cannot look away. When she lifts her hands to clutch frantically at her breasts, his breathing becomes more laborious. He can feel the searing heat between his legs growing underneath his robes, throbbing for the same attentions he is giving to her. And suddenly his thumb against her growing slickness is not enough. He wants to taste her. Sakura gasps when, without warning, he replaces his hand with his tongue, swirling hotly around her bundle of nerves.

“Ahhnn!” she cries out, the tension in her lower belly, tightening and coiling until it becomes near unbearable, verging on the sweet agony that accompanies pre-release. Sasuke is ruthless, and does not relent. The blood rushes in his ears and each and every one of Sakura’s throaty, sexy moans urge him to quicken his movements, to bring her to the very edge of the explosive summit she is rapidly climbing.

“Ahhhh! Sasuke-kun! Oh, God! Yes. Yes! I’m-! I- ahhhh!” Her hips begin to buck on instinct, pushing her clit more firmly up against his ravenous mouth.

Sasuke holds her down more firmly, and rewards her yearning pleas by applying more pressure and sucking harder, and she momentarily stiffens, then cries out his name as the constricting coil inside her abruptly snaps, sending wave after wave of rhythmic pleasure coursing through her.


It is a feeling unlike anything she has ever experienced, and Sakura’s head falls back as her entire body arches upwards, arms splaying as the euphoric sensation washes over her. Her heart is thundering at an unnatural pace that will surely induce some form of cardiac arrest, but she can’t focus on that, can only feel the pure ecstasy he has given to her.

He presses her abdomen down, preventing her from trying to jerk her hips away, forcing her to ride out the remainder of her climax before his eyes as he finally pulls back to find a trail of liquid leaking from the opening of her virginal entrance. She has loosened up and relaxed completely, is wet and ready for him.

Self-satisfaction and masculine pride swell inside his chest once more, as a smug Sasuke acknowledges that he has given Sakura her first orgasm. And she seems to have thoroughly enjoyed it, too.

And suddenly, now that he has given his wife her release, Sasuke finds that he can no longer hold back the need for his own.

She remains there for a minute, heart racing, trying to gulp down air, stares dizzily up at the high ceiling above them as she struggles to catch her breath, the after-glow of her first climax lingering deliciously. Her mind is blown, and her entire body feels warm and wonderful.

Tsunade-shishou had slyly teased her about the Uchiha being famed lovers, possessing a stamina that was uncommon. She begins to think she might understand the reputation, for she and Sasuke have not really even begun, and for him to pleasure her already like this first, even before he had entered her-

“Sakura-” he utters thickly, his own heart hammering against his rib-cage. It is all at once senseless and consuming, how terribly his body desires their union. He cannot fathom how he has gone so long without this physical closeness with her. Still panting, Sakura understands, and reaches for him, nodding. He has melted away her tension, made her feel at ease. It is now her turn.

She wants to give him the same pleasure he has given to her.

She lifts herself off the bed and leans forward, pressing a palm to his strong chest to push him back down onto the mattress. Sasuke is internally pleased by her increased boldness, and complies. Then she climbs onto him and straddles his hips. She bites her lip and experimentally begins to rub her wet core against the growing hardness she can feel underneath his lower robes.

“Sasuke-kun,” she breathes. “Is this- is this okay?”

It is more than that. Sasuke only manages a terse nod. He is too diverted by the pleasurable feeling of her gyrating down on him to verbally respond.

Just as he had watched her responses before, Sakura now watches him closely also, using every visible cue her eyes can detect to pleasure him. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees the way his jaw clenches tightly as he watches her, and his features contort slightly, as if in pain. Sakura’s heart soars at this encouragement and she is eager to bring out more new expressions. She soon finds a steady rhythm, and grinds backwards and forwards against him, breasts bouncing, which drives Sasuke near wild. He reaches out, runs his hands over her silky upper thighs. She is driving him crazy. He needs to be inside her soon. The ache in his groin is near agonising, now, and Sasuke isn’t sure how much longer he can hold back.

The friction begins to stimulate Sakura once more, too, and she throws her head back as she rocks against him, eager to reach the heights of ecstasy again.

“Haah…” she exhales, closing her eyes as she quickens her movements.

But Sasuke, now fully aroused, can wait no more. In one swift, predatory movement that knocks a surprised Sakura off her newfound perch, he shoves her off him.

“…!” She barely manages to snag a breath before his lips crash down against hers, while his hands move to hastily unfasten and discard his lower garments.

“Sakura,” he whispers; the strain inside him all too evident in the creases on his forehead. “I can’t,” he speaks through clenched teeth, “-hold back- anymore-!”

She nods breathlessly, and as he places his elbows on either side of her head and lowers his body to position himself between her parted legs, she laces her fingers with his.

She squeezes tightly, her eyes wide and brimming with tears of another kind. Happiness, he realises, and is so moved by the pure and ardent love shining in her eyes as she gazes up at him in that moment, that it is enough to render him speechless. He lowers his head, touching his forehead to hers as he exercises every last shred of restraint he possesses to wait for her signal, his heart a frantic drum.

She seems to understand how much this means to him, for it is she who whispers to him lovingly, “I’m ready now, Sasuke-kun.”

The hardness of his length prods her slick opening. Sakura gulps as she anticipates the inevitable discomfort that will accompany their two bodies becoming one at last. But this time, she is fully prepared for it.

Sasuke bites his lower lip – and then nature takes its course.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he penetrates her in one swift, forceful thrust and drowns his groan into the crook of her neck. Then she is gasping at the sheer, unexpected fullness of him, of his agonising thickness and length - the way he seems to stretch her walls so completely, to way beyond their limits.

“Ah!” she cannot help but cry out, overcome by the sharp, stinging, burning pain, but Sasuke is quick to silence her with bruising kisses, as he pins her arms above her head. They help to distract Sakura enough as he fights against his raging desire, and remains completely still within her, waiting for her to acclimatise to him. It is a few minutes before he dares to move again, sliding slowly out of her, gritting his teeth as he does so.

His eyes briefly close, eyebrows furrowing. Fuck. She is so incredibly tight. Her heat surrounds him to his hilt like a molten sheath, and he does not think he can stand the delicious friction. The sensation is divine, like no other he has ever known, and he worries that he cannot hold back, that he will hurt her if he goes too hard and too fast, in the way his body is urging and begging him to do.

Gentle. He has to be gentle, he reminds himself. But the heat is unbearable, and all he wants is to dominate her completely-

Sakura moans, eyes closing as he eases back in carefully, pushing as far as he can, as deeply as her cavern can take.

“Sakura,” his dark eyes check on her, as he struggles to regulate his own breathing.

“I’m fine,” she gasps, and he finally releases her hands to caress her face, wiping at the tears that had spilt when he had initially entered her. She opens her eyes and offers him an unsteady smile. “Really, Sasuke-kun,” she reassures. “I’m- haah,” she huffs, expertly channelling healing chakra to the source of pain. Immediately it helps, reducing the worst of it to a dull ache. “I’m fine,” she says again, encouraging him to continue.

He nods, and gingerly resumes. And being inside her feels so good, he does not understand how he has gone for so long without knowing such intimate pleasure. He senselessly thinks he ought to have married her right after the war, for he does not think he can now ever get enough. Sasuke half-fears for what this will mean - what it will do to them both – for a passion this dangerous will surely set them both aflame – but he cannot bring himself to worry for it, then. For the first time in his life, his body completely overrides the wishes of his mind as it pursues one thing and one thing alone.

He bites down on his tongue, fighting against the groan that begs to fly free from his throat as he plunges in and out of her, his movements slow, inexperienced and disjointed at first, but he has always been a fast learner, and when he is certain that Sakura’s discomfort has waned, he soon gains a steady rhythm.

Their slick bodies slap against each another as he drives into her with increasing force, causing the mattress beneath them to creak against its bedframe.

Sakura’s soft hands are then in his hair, tender and adoring, and she whispers that she loves him again as she wipes the perspiration from his brow. Sasuke knows this truth, has never doubted it since they were twelve, and responds, plunging faster and harder into her until she begins to whimper once again with renewed need. Every thrust drives him closer to the edge, increasing the torturous friction between them until he feels himself rapidly climbing to his peak.

He hisses her name, overwhelmed by the tantalising way her walls clench around his length. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to release, and suddenly she is all he can see, all he can feel, all he can think about. There is only her in the world, and nothing else.


Her fingers are now roaming over his chest, gripping onto his strong shoulders. The dull pain is all but forgotten as the familiar, burning tingle returns and overrides everything else, roaring to life like a furnace blazing into being inside her lower belly. The weight of him above her, the feel of his muscles tightening with strain against her makes Sakura writhe beneath him.

“Unh!” she cries out as he picks up further speed, slamming into her with something akin to near-desperation. “Ah! Sa-su-ke-ku-un!” she moans his name pleadingly, her words punctuated by his forceful thrusts. The tantalising feel of his thick, throbbing cock as it ploughs deeply and relentlessly into her is driving her to disorientation. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” 

The heat and friction are now excruciating. A delirious Sasuke feels like he is losing his mind at the sight and sound of her writhing and moaning under him, and kisses her deeply to swallow back his own groans. Almost angrily, he plunges his tongue ravenously into her mouth, teeth nipping and biting as his hands move to squeeze her breasts. Her tongue dances against his. clashing for dominance, and she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, yanking him closer. Her legs lift to hook around his waist, increasing the slant and friction between them further. Sasuke grunts with effort as he continues to pound almost mercilessly into her, and feels as though he is being swept along by the irrepressible tides of tempestuous passion. He cannot fight against the force, can only drown with her, into her. She is the only thing that anchors him, his only hope of salvation.

He needs her. At that moment, Sasuke needs her so much, so desperately and so wretchedly, that it steals his breath away.

Sakura’s toes curl and her nails claw down the skin of his back with a force that she is certain will leave angry red marks. But he doesn’t care. It simply heightens the exhilarating sensations coursing through him.

“Khh!” he releases an incoherent, strangled sound, informing her that he is close. So, so close. But he does not want to reach his climax alone. He wants her to orgasm before him, again, is absolutely adamant that she will – and shoves a hand down to her clit again. He rubs at it, his rhythm irregular, frantic and distracted – but the extra stimulation is enough to send her crashing over the edge again.

“Ahhhn!” she screams, nails digging into him like sharp talons. “Sasuke-kuuun! Yes! Yes! Yes!

And as her walls contract tightly and rhythmically around him, Sasuke finally reaches his peak right after her. The pressure and tantalising tension coiling inside him overflow to boiling point and erupt as his hot seed empties into her, and pure pleasure unlike anything he could ever have imagined tears like a riptide through every inch of his body. He is unable to stop the guttural groan from escaping his throat, and is carried through the waves of bliss by the delectable sound of Sakura crying out his name, over and over again. It is an extreme adrenaline rush, an incomparable euphoric high that sends his soul soaring, makes his throat close over with a depth of emotion wholly alien to him.

It is enough to leave him quivering inside.

His movements become more disjointed as he rides out the last, lingering remains of his orgasm, panting heavily against Sakura’s sticky neck. She holds him, stroking his hair as he begins to descend from the heavenly heights of pleasure. Sasuke gives her one final, deep, tantalisingly slow thrust – then collapses and grows still against her, remaining deeply embedded inside her heated core.

For a long time, they are quiet, the silence between them broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing. Sasuke feels a sense of warmth, peace and fulfilment that he has never experienced before, lying there in her arms, his ear pressed against her left breast, where he can hear the soothing sound of her heartbeat as it gradually slows to its regular, resting rhythm.

It is not long before his eyelids grow heavy, and he tries to fight it, because there is something he wants to say to her, but his mind seems to have abandoned him entirely, for his thoughts are scattered and clouded, and even speaking seems to require too much energy.

“I love you, Sasuke-kun,” she whispers into the darkness, a lullaby that lulls him into the blissful arms of sleep.

But her voice is enough to trigger a final, valiant fight for remembrance inside his head, and he mumbles her name and what he thinks it was he wanted to say, uncertain whether he really manages to articulate it at all as slumber finally takes him.

Sakura’s eyes pool with tears of contentment and her heart is ready to burst from happiness as she stares up at the ceiling, when his drowsy, but unmistakeable words reach her ears.  

“Sakura. Thank you.”


Cough. Yeah. I hope this didn’t disappoint, guys. Again, please keep in mind this is THE FIRST time I am writing a full on love scene, so obviously there’s room for improvement. Thanks for reading and please LIKE/REBLOG/COMMENT and share so other SasuSaku fans can read!

Another love-scene oneshot, which will happen after Sarada is born when Sasuke returns from a long mission away, will be written when I find the time.

This will be posted on tomorrow.

Stuck on Repeat - Part 3

In case you missed them, here are Part 1 and Part 2 for bar fight! Everlark. Before you ask, there will be one final chapter because there is a smut scene that I feel is a must have before I leave this universe. It’s a dirty job, but for the sake of loose ends, it must be done. ;-)

WARNINGS: RATED E for some filthy smut. Also, Mrs. Mellark is true to form in this one. You’ve been warned. I am not responsible for casualties caused by dining utensils, either real or imagined.

Precise laughter floats on the air in a frighteningly hushed dining room. No clanking of fine porcelain dishes or scraping of silver forks here. No boisterous comments or smashing of empty glass beer bottles as they land in 15 gallon recycle bins. Maybe the odd ring of crystal as someone calls for or finishes a toast. No loud rock and roll or Tom Jones stuck on repeat, just the grating softness of some classic piano concerto that makes her want to scratch out her ear drums right now.

Capitol Country Club is so different from what she’s used to that Katniss keeps shifting in her seat and can’t stop thinking about the sweat stains that are probably now marring the armpits of her bargain rack dress that must be at least five seasons old and came from a one-off designer brand store. Thankfully, Johanna has a secret passion for fashion and was able to magically work the dress into something that looked custom rather than clearance. Then she called in her girlfriend, Madge, to work miracles with Katniss’ hair and even some minor makeup. By the time they were done, Katniss felt confident and gorgeous.

Until she met the discerning, glacial blue eyes of Peeta’s mother, that is…

Keep reading

New Style || Prinxiety Fluff Fic

A/N: Requested by the amazing @babyblue65 that it wont let me tag… heck-

Virgil hummed as he walked through the store with Roman. He’d been on some… interesting first dates, but clothes shopping? That was a new one. Honestly, Roman was different than anyone he’d ever seen, for many reasons, but he loved that. The one thing Roman “Princey” “Romano” Sanders wasn’t, was boring. 

So now here he stood, wandering aimlessly through isles. The only clothes he ever shopped for were black hoodies, My Chemical Romance merch, and black skinny jeans, all of which, they were out of. Then his mind began to wander. Hey, I wonder if…

It happens quickly, your minds train of thought. One moment it’s a dumb idea, the next it’s oddly… intriguing, and the next you’re standing in the middle of a clothing isle with a skirt over your skinny jeans, and enjoying how it looks in the mirror, and the feel of it on your skin. This was… certainly odd and interesting and different and new, but he was up for it. 

He glanced around to be sure Roman wasn’t looking, before taking a few more skirts off the shelf. One black, one purple, one soft yellow, a blue gray one, and even a pale purple long dress. He tried each and every one on, minus the dress, over his clothes, and it was amazing. He really enjoyed how they felt and looked, and how they hugged his body as he moved in the mirror. 

Everything was perfect, and for a while his anxiety seemed to even let up. Was he discovering something here? He would have tried on more things, had he not suddenly been scared silly by a bombastic voice calling through the near empty store at him. “Virgil! I found a hoodie I think you might like!”

Crap! Virgil gasped, beginning to try to unzip the zipper in the back, hurriedly slipping out of it and casting it aside. If Roman asked, it fell off the hook. “I-I’m here!” He called. 

Roman moved through the isles, looking around until he saw him. “Ah! Virge! Check this out!” He beckoned him over. He held up a sweatshirt, a big, baggy My Chemical Romance shirt, with the words “We’ll Carry On” on it. Roman looked thrilled with his find. 

Virgil normally would have been happy to see this, but… right now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the skirts. They felt so wrong, but so right, and they hugged his body comfortably… sure, he wouldn’t wear them all the time. But every once in a while they’d be amazing to wear around the house, especially the long ones that just acted like blankets when you sat down and tucked them around your knees–

“Hello? Earth to Virgil?” Roman waved his arm in front of Virgil’s face, chuckling. “You back from Uranus?”

Virgil gave him an unamused smile at the space joke, before nodding. “It’s- it’s a really cool hoodie, Roman,” he offered with a smile. 

“Wait, that’s it? That’s all I get? I found a gem, and the best I can get is ‘that’s cool, Roman’? Come on!” Roman groaned, nudging him. “Something up? I understand you’re not a very enthusiastic person, but you usually show a bit more excitement in a clothing thing like this than what you’re currently displaying.”

“Yeah! I-I’m good, I just…”

“Virgil? You can tell me if you’re not okay. We can go home and–”
“No! I-I mean… eh… w-we can stay. I’m having fun.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow. “Did you manage to find something more emo back there in the-… women’s section?” Roman blinked. “What were you doing back there?”

“Nothing!” Virgil whimpered. “Nothing, really!”

But Roman could not be stopped. He headed over and looked around the floor at all the discarded skirts and the dress, all colors (except the pastel yellow short skirt, that was a bit of a welcomed shock) he seemed to imagine Virgil liking. For a minute, he was confused, until… “You were trying on skirts?”

Virgil whimpered, heart racing. Here was where he dumped you, where he moved on and laughed at you, where he kicked you and told you you were a feminine Barbie doll; here was where he taunted and jeered and sneered and laughed- only, he wasn’t. 

Was he… smiling?

“Oh, Virgil, I’m so proud of you! You’re doing what you wanna do, you’re making yourself comfortable…! Lemme buy them all for you. Let’s go home so you can model for me, my cute little angel!” Roman smiled, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. 

Virgil smiled softly. He nodded gently and the two boys headed out. 

When they got home, as promised, they went to Virgil’s room so he could try on the clothes in peace. He started with the short skirt (which Roman seemed to be particularly fond of…), and worked to the full dress. Roman gave him encouraging smiles and words with each one, and Virgil felt happy.
“Let’s show the others!”

–Wait. What? Virgil’s face drained and his breathing quickened. The others? Oh, no no no no no, they already casted him out, now they were gonna think he was weird or a freak or- or–

“Virge? Look at me,” Roman said softly. Virgil locked eyes with Roman as he spoke: “The others will love it. Just like they love you.”

Virgil felt his chest settle down, as it always did when Roman soothed him. He nodded shakily, closing his eyes as he felt himself and Roman rise up in the living room. His eyes opened slowly as he saw the others looking at him, and- and staring at him, and-

“Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals~!” He winked at Virgil on the last one as he continued, “Virgil has found his new fashion sense. Isn’t it pretty?” Roman declared, grinning. 

For what seemed like an eternity, nobody said a thing. Until…

“That’s so adorable!” Patton gasped, hands flying to his cheeks. “Virge!!”

“That is… admittedly adorable,” Logan agreed. “Did you buy any blue ones, by chance…?”

“It looks amazing, Virge,” Thomas grinned with a thumbs up. 

“See? They love it, and they love you, too!” Roman smiled widely. “…but I just love you more~.”

From then on, everyone else spent the night eating cookies, watching movies, and complimenting Virgil’s new style, and… he’d never been happier.

Inktober for Writers Day 26

26. Realization

Stiles was not a good person.

It had taken him some time to come to that realization, especially since he preferred referring to himself as morally ambiguous and flexible, but now he was planning a murder, cold blooded murder, and there was really no other way to say it.

He was not a good person, and he sure as hell wasn’t the hero of this story.

That role belonged solely to Scott, who, in true hero fashion, looked disappointed at Stiles.

“We’re not going to kill him,” Scott declared and Stiles sighed.

They had been at it for almost an hour now and Stiles was slowly losing his patience.

“Scott, come on,” Stiles said and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He killed 38 people already. 38. Because he likes it. It’s like sport for him. You don’t reason with someone who considers killing people the highlight of his day.”

“So you want to be like him?”

“I want him to stop. If I have to kill him for that, then I will,” Stiles sighed and quickly looked at Peter, who was leaning against the wall and seemed entirely unconcerned by this whole mess.

But Stiles knew him better than that by now, and he could see him grinding his teeth even from this distance. It was a wonder the Scott hadn’t called him out on it yet.

“Murder is not the right way,” Scott tried to reason with him and Stiles’ gaze snapped back to him.

“But letting people die is?”

“Giving people second chances is,” Scott gave back and Stiles had enough.

“Fine. You try and re-socialize a serial killer. But you know what Scott? Every death from now on will be on your hands. You will be responsible for those too. It will be blood on your hands,” Stiles coldly told him and Scott straightened up.

“When did you become like this? When did you become this cold?” he asked him and Stiles almost laughed.

“I was always like that, Scott.”

“No, you weren’t. I bet it was his idea. He’s corrupting you” Scott said with an accusing look at Peter.

“Actually, it was my idea,” Stiles told him. “I planned the trap and I volunteered to kill him. Because I figured out that I might just be okay with killing someone like him.”

“He’s human,” Scott hissed. “We don’t kill humans.”

Stiles sighed because it wasn’t like they were killing supernatural killers, psychopaths or feral creatures either. Scott was a firm believer of the second chance he granted all of them. “I apparently will if I have to. And especially if the human in question has killed before. But sure, go ahead and tell him that we don’t kill humans. I bet you ten dollars he’s going to laugh in your face and kill two people the next night just to spite you.”

“I don’t even recognize you anymore,” Scott whispered and Stiles just shrugged.

He had known that this could break their friendship and to be honest, he hadn’t expected a different outcome. It was just who Scott was. But it was also who Stiles was and with the almost daily near-death experiences and hard decisions they had to make, their world view just didn’t align all that well anymore.

“I take it that’s a no on the plan,” Stiles said and Scott looked honest to god affronted that Stiles even thought this might be something he approved of.

“We’re not killing anyone,” Scott told him one last time, before he stormed out of the room.

There was a beat of silence before Peter casually walked over to Stiles to press a kiss to his temple.

“It was a good plan,” Peter offered and Stiles scoffed.

“Of course it is.”

Peter raised one eyebrow at him and then a smile took over his face.

“I take it there’s a plan for, let’s say, two people as well?” he asked, even though he damn well knew the answer.

He knew Stiles well enough too, after all.

“Be ready tonight. I want this done. There have been enough dead people.”

“So what does it matter if we add one more, right?” Peter asked smugly.

“It doesn’t, as long as we add the right one to it,” Stiles gave back and Peter actually looked delighted at the cold steel in Stiles’ voice.

Stiles looked down at the map for a few seconds before he locked eyes with Peter.

“Would you love me if I was a better person?” he asked and held his gaze evenly.

“I probably wouldn’t,” Peter answered and he almost sounded apologetic. “Does that bother you?”

Stiles figured the answer shouldn’t be a resounding “No,” but then again, that was also who he was now. And to be honest, being loved by Peter Hale because of his own lacking morals wasn’t as big of a deal as it should have been. It didn’t even make the list of Stiles’ ever-growing concerns.

And he was strangely okay with that.

“Cinderella Castle Mystery Tour” John Drury & Greg Paul, 1986

Today’s Disney castles tend to feature some kind of place of interest within them, whether it be a lavish restaurant, unique shopping or art exhibits. However, for 20 years, Tokyo Disneyland’s Cinderella Castle featured an expansive, (and dark!) walkthrough beneath it. Set up as a guided tour of the castle that is taken over by the forces of evil, guests traversed past Disney villains, dark dungeons, evil brutes and malicious mirrors, concluding with a showdown with the Horned King from The Black Cauldron. In Disney fashion, the villains are defeated and the mantra of “Good Conquers Evil” is declared. Upon its closure in 2006, the attraction was converted to Cinderella’s Fairy Tale Hall.

Art ©️Disney

*This post is decidedly anti-CS. If you don’t want to read that then skip this post.*

Reasons I might consider watching the musical episode: 

1) Emma realising through song that she’s making the wrong choice and finally seeing how terrible her relationship with Hook is. 

2) A song wherein someone *cough* Regina *cough* tries to make Emma open her eyes to the fact that Hook is wrong to her. 

3) Somebody *cough* Regina *cough* interrupts the wedding in grand musical fashion to declare their love for Emma. 

4) Musical showdown between Granny and Regina over who makes the best lasagne. 

5) Big Swan-Mills-Charming family musical number. 

6) Henry being allowed to voice his true feelings about Hook rather than being used as a pawn to support this crapfest of a ship. 

7) Some sort of town song wherein we see some of the forgotten characters. 


Reason why I will not and will never watch the musical episode aside from the song clips: 

1) The union of two people who are poorly matched, share no chemistry, bring out the absolute worst in each other and who are outright abusive to one another. I refuse to watch the Captain Swan wedding because it is the absolute opposite of what we should teach people to want for in life. Emma and Hook’s “true love” is a complete farce. Two episodes ago Emma believed that he had walked out on her and was getting rid of his stuff - if somebody is your true love, would you really believe that so quickly? Their relationship has been completely rushed, filled with lies and abuses of trust/power and quite frankly has taken two characters with enormous potential and reduced them to cliched wooden cardboard cut-outs of characters. 

So yeah, I for one will not be watching the musical episode and quite frankly if it does get renewed I can’t see myself sticking around to watch “the decimation of characters in favour of a toxic relationship” show much longer. 

anonymous asked:

would you ever consider writing something about danny sexbang and arin neverbone together? i think itd be really cute in your writing style

goddammit this wasn’t supposed to happen but then i started thinking a lot and i was like wtf why haven’t i written anything about this before??

i’ll admit it was a little bit of a challenge bc danny is such a sexual character (and we all know how great i am at writing sexual characters lmao) but this idea popped into my head and wouldn’t go away until i wrote this

i can’t believe i haven’t written anything about this before.

anyway, enjoy! i listened to samurai abstinence patrol on repeat during this lol


It was pretty common knowledge that the Abstinence Patrol and NS/P didn’t mix very often, if at all.

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this is my first entry for @shippingwithstiles‘s whole week of Stiles-centric fics!! starting off with some Sterek to ease myself into it (promise i’ve got another ship or two coming soon)

April 1st prompt: Fool For Love



(also on AO3)

Stiles waited until the bell rang for lunch before he made his move. He had determined that to be the optimal time, the moment of maximum exposure and emphasis. Everybody would be flooding out of their classrooms and moving toward the cafeteria in one giant horde, and Lydia would be the last one out of her AP Calculus class like she always was because she stayed back to argue with the teacher.

Stiles had been preparing for this for weeks, building himself up to it and memorizing the pièce de résistance. He glanced over his reference sheet one more time just as the bell rang, mouthing the words to himself before folding it up and stuffing it in his pocket. He might’ve been sweaty with nerves, but unless this went far, far better than he was expecting, Lydia wasn’t likely to be close enough to tell so that was fine. Besides, he was allowed to be nervous; he was taking the final leap.

If this didn’t win him Lydia’s favor, nothing ever would.

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Submission: Cave-in Au (or I binge-read all of your KakaObi fics and now I have 5 KakaObi WIPs what have you done?)

Because you became my inspiration for Naruto fanfics after spending two years out of the fandom, I decided to send you a snippet. Basically AU where everything ISN’T completely horrible and instead of Obito getting his body crushed, him and Kakashi survive a cave-in together. They might eventually stumble into Madara ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


Obito doesn’t know what’s possessed him but he knows that everyone who’s ever called him a crybaby or a coward better take it back right now because this feels like the boldest thing he has ever done. His brain doesn’t feel quite on board with this but it’s happening nonetheless; he watches his hand move those last few inches between them as if it belongs to a stranger. Weirder still, Obito thinks nervously, is the fact that Kakashi’s letting him do this, letting him get this close. His single grey eye is watching him warily sure, but he’s making no move to stop Obito.

Dimly, Obito remembers that the last person to try this had been Gai as part of a ‘most youthful’ challenge by Genma and he’d gotten thrown out of a window before declaring that questioning his eternal rival’s fashion choices was an ‘uncool’ thing to do.

Gently, as gently as he dares, Obito’s fingers brush against Kakashi’s cheek, curling around the edge of his mask and Obito swears he can feel the hitch in Kakashi’s breath like it had come from his own chest. He takes a deep breathe in response, holds it in his chest as though it can act as some sort of a counterpoint to the unsteadiness in Kakashi’s.

Well, he thinks wryly. At least there are definitely no windows here. Then he slowly tugs the mask down.

There’s a beat of silence, or maybe a few billion seconds of it, and then-

He can’t help it. Obito laughs.

Kakashi’s face- his face! -morphs from bewilderment to a fierce scowl and- holy shit! Obito can see the bottom half of that familiar scowl now, can see the way pink lips twist in anger. Before Kakashi can pull his mask back up though, Obito grabs him by the wrist.

“Bakashi,” he shakes his head through his chortles, “it’s hard enough to breathe down here as it is.”

Kakashi snatches his hand away. “What’s so funny?” he demands.

“It’s just- you have a face,” Obito replies.

“Of course I have a face!” Kakashi snaps waspishly, confusion warring with anger. Obito can see it. It’s all there for him to read right off Kakashi’s face. His face.  

“No, I mean,” Obito waves his hand over his own. “You have a face. No-no buck teeth or fish lips. No braces. It’s just- it’s a face!”

And he doubles over with laughter once more.

So Hip It Hurts

Peridot falls off a ladder while building a new “meepmorp,” accidentally sending Lapis into a box of random junk arts and crafts supplies. Lapis emerges from the pile with a lampshade glued to her head and before she can remove it, the two are called in to help the Crystal Gems fight off a monster in Beach City. During the fight, Lapis is noticed by a vacationing fashion designer, who declares the lampshade look to be officially “in.” Lapis suddenly finds herself to be the raddest person in all of Delmarva with an adoring public ready to declare every move she makes to be the coolest thing ever. Will all this newfound fame go to her head, or will the constant attention simply be too much to handle?

The English author Kazuo Ishiguro has been named winner of the 2017 Nobel prize in literature, praised by the Swedish Academy for his “novels of great emotional force”, which it said had “uncovered the abyss beneath our illusory sense of connection with the world”.

With names including Margaret Atwood, Ngugi Wa Thiong’o and Haruki Murakami leading the odds at the bookmakers, Ishiguro was a surprise choice. But his blue-chip literary credentials return the award to more familiar territory after last year’s controversial selection of the singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. The author of novels including The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, Ishiguro’s writing, said the Academy, is “marked by a carefully restrained mode of expression, independent of whatever events are taking place”.

Speaking to the BBC, he called the award a “magnificent honour, mainly because it means that I’m in the footsteps of the greatest authors that have lived”.

“The world is in a very uncertain moment and I would hope all the Nobel prizes would be a force for something positive in the world as it is at the moment,” he said. “I’ll be deeply moved if I could in some way be part of some sort of climate this year in contributing to some sort of positive atmosphere at a very uncertain time.”

Ishiguro’s fellow Booker winner Salman Rushdie – who is also regularly named as a potential Nobel laureate – was one of the first to congratulate him. “Many congratulations to my old friend Ish, whose work I’ve loved and admired ever since I first read A Pale View of Hills,” Rushdie told the Guardian. “And he plays the guitar and writes sings too! Roll over Bob Dylan.”

According to the former poet laureate Andrew Motion, “Ishiguro’s imaginative world has the great virtue and value of being simultaneously highly individual and deeply familiar – a world of puzzlement, isolation, watchfulness, threat and wonder”.

“How does he do it?” asked Motion. “Among other means, by resting his stories on founding principles which combine a very fastidious kind of reserve with equally vivid indications of emotional intensity. It’s a remarkable and fascinating combination, and wonderful to see it recognised by the Nobel prize-givers.”

Permanent secretary of the academy Sara Danius described Ishiguro’s writing as a mix of the works of Jane Austen and Franz Kafka, “but you have to add a little bit of Marcel Proust into the mix, and then you stir, but not too much, and then you have his writings.

“He’s a writer of great integrity. He doesn’t look to the side, he’s developed an aesthetic universe all his own,” she said. Danius named her favourite of Ishiguro’s novels as The Buried Giant, but called The Remains of the Day “a true masterpiece [which] starts as a PG Wodehouse novel and ends as something Kafkaesque”.

“He is someone who is very interested in understanding the past, but he is not a Proustian writer, he is not out to redeem the past, he is exploring what you have to forget in order to survive in the first place as an individual or as a society,” she said, adding – in the wake of last year’s uproar – that she hoped the choice would “make the world happy”.

“That’s not for me to judge. We’ve just chosen what we think is an absolutely brilliant novelist,” she said.

Ishiguro’s publisher at Faber & Faber, Stephen Page, said the win was “absolutely extraordinary news”.

“He’s just an absolutely singular writer” said Page, who received news of Ishiguro’s win while waiting for a flight at Dublin airport. “He has an emotional force as well as an intellectual curiosity, that always finds enormous numbers of readers. His work is challenging at times, and stretching, but because of that emotional force, it so often resonates with readers. He’s a literary writer who is very widely read around the world.”

Born in Japan, Ishiguro’s family moved to the UK when he was five. He studied creative writing at the University of East Anglia, going on to publish his first novel, A Pale View of the Hills, in 1982. He has been a full time writer ever since. According to the Academy, the themes of “memory, time and self-delusion” weave through his work, particularly in The Remains of the Day, which won Ishiguro the Booker prize in 1989 and was adapted into a film starring Anthony Hopkins as the “duty-obsessed” butler Stevens.

His more recent novels have taken a turn for the fantastical: Never Let Me Go is set in a dystopic version of England, while The Buried Giant, published two years ago, sees an elderly couple on a road trip through a strange and otherworldly English landscape. “This novel explores, in a moving manner, how memory relates to oblivion, history to the present, and fantasy to reality,” said the Swedish Academy. Apart from his eight books, which include the short story collection Nocturnes, Ishiguro has written scripts for film and television.

Awarded since 1901, the 9m Swedish krona (£832,000) Nobel prize is for the writing of an author who, in the words of Alfred Nobel’s bequest, “shall have produced in the field of literature the most outstanding work in an ideal direction”. Ishiguro becomes the 114th winner, following in the footsteps of writers including Seamus Heaney, Toni Morrison, Mo Yan and Pablo Neruda.

The award is judged by the secretive members of the Swedish Academy, who last year plumped for the American musician Dylan “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition”. He proved an elusive winner and was described as “impolite and arrogant” by academy member Per Wastberg after initially failing to acknowledge the honour.

Some members of the literary community were also less than impressed: “This feels like the lamest Nobel win since they gave it to Obama for not being Bush,” said Hari Kunzru at the time. The choice of a writer who has won awards including the Man Booker prize should pour oil on at least some of the troubled waters ruffled by Dylan’s win, though Will Self reacted to Ishiguro’s win in characteristically lugubrious fashion.

“He’s a fairly good writer,” Self declared, “and surely doesn’t deserve the dread ossification and disregard that garnishes such laurels.”

*Also from The NY Times coverage about this award: Mr. Ishiguro said that he was the only Japanese boy in his neighborhood in England. Almost from the start, he said, “I have always been conscious of not being quite like anyone else.” But, he added: “If I’d grown up in Japan, I doubt I would ever have become a writer.”

Did you know? Ishiguro wrote The Remains of the Day in four weeks. Read about that here:

11. “I almost lost you” kiss

This took me a while because I didn’t want to do the first thing that came to mind, your basic A almost died, B runs to the hospital.

I’ve decided to write all these prompt kisses as snapshots of a single story, kind of like 1000 kisses (a great fic series on AO3 if you haven't read it before). I hope you like it!

(Also Avalible on AO3)

Draco stared at the dress robes hanging on the front of his wardrobe. White with silver edging, a green waistcoat, and tie, black slacks. The robe was designed to be worn open, to best compliment the mix of wizarding and muggle fashion. It was Astoria’s idea. What better way to declare a pro-muggle standing. Draco grimaced, privately his father would call it tolerance, and something vague about moving forward and spirit of cooperation to the press.

He ran his finger along the fine silver stitch work. Behind him, the sun was just creeping over the horizon. In few hours- He shuddered.

The door clicked faintly and swung open.

Draco glanced over, expecting to see a house elf or perhaps even his mother, her eyes as shadowed with worry and exhaustion as his, though, neither of them would speak of it. There was no one. He pulled his wand out, as the door swung shut.

Silvery fabric slipped from Harry Potter’s shoulders and pooled on the floor. His hair was the worst Draco had ever seen, his eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Why-” Draco’s voice cracked, “Why are you here?”

Harry smiled humorlessly, “And just let you get married?” He bit his bottom lip so hard it left a line of white, “Why-?” His voice broke, “You just left and then I find out you’re-” He looked down at the floor.

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A Playbutton or This?

You remember how you said you wanted a YouTuber AU for Captive Prince.
I have been thinking.

I can hear the fandom declaring Laurent as a fashion vlogger, beauty guru type person, because he’s got the face for it, and the holier-than-thou attitude that you might expect from a model, and to them I say what book series have you been reading. If anyone is going to be gently judging other people’s clothes for a living, it’s gonna be Damen. 

Therefore, I declare Damen a beauty guru who focuses primarily on clothes (though if you don’t think he has Things To Say on other stuff, you should watch search through his channel for a series he calls The War of Makeups). Everyone assumes that he is, at first glance, some online fitness instructor, or at a stretch maybe a DIY person. Someone who wears a lot of flannel and films himself as he hikes around swinging axes impressively at trees.

Everyone is wrong, and Damen kind of really enjoys the double-take everyone always does when he introduces himself. Because, like, his channel name is pretty recognizable. CaptiveDamnen (he is so proud of that channel name you have no idea) is a big deal in the community, it’s just the person that no one is expecting.

Laurent, on the other hand, is definitely a sketch comedian. Probably writes and performs everything himself, very clinical, very professional. He’s a competent video editor, because he’d never enter into a project without at the very least understanding every aspect of it, but he also probably hires a film major named Jord to help him shoot and edit so that it looks perfect. Whenever he shows up to meet and greets he manages to leave without a hair out of place.

Damen spends like half a live show the night after a big YouTube event trying to answer people’s questions about what products Laurent must use to be able to mingle with literally a thousand fans and still look like he’s ready for a professional photo shoot.

Damen, on the other hand, is very home-grown YouTube. Not that it’s shittily done, not at all, but it doesn’t have the slightly unrealistic veneer that Laurent has all over his videos. He shoots and edits himself ninety nine percent of the time.

While Laurent does excel at playing every single part himself, he also has a common costar by the name of Nicaise. No one quite knows why, because while Nicaise is a good actor and quite frankly stunning to look at, he’s probably the most evil person in the world in real life, and he makes absolutely no attempt to hide it. Fans have spent years trying to figure out the puzzle that is Nicaise and Laurent’s relationship, ever since Nicaise appeared in one of the earliest videos as a tiny, angelic looking, extraordinarily bratty child of nine. He’s not related, Laurent has never made any mention of any sort of deal between them, and Nicaise was there from the beginning so he can’t possibly have been looking to ride on Laurent’s coattails, because that was long before Laurent, and indeed the YouTube platform, had any pull anywhere.

Damen, on the other hand, most often collaborates with a fellow YouTuber, a-


Shit. Dude. Shit. Like, the sketch comedy thing makes sense because Laurent is, like, the king of wearing a different face, but I’ve already written an actor AU, and, like, Laurent would also totally be a gamer.

Like, he doesn’t look the type at all, but he is absolutely 100% the kind of person who would adore the competitive, strategic world of online gaming and he would kill as a cool, sarcastic commentator navigating his way flawlessly through level after level of the most complicated, mind-fucky games.

He still edits everything with surgical precision, his entire setup is always crystal clear and perfect, and he still gets an obvious professional to edit the videos. Nicaise is still his incredibly bratty occasional costar who nobody can figure out the purpose of, other than to look pretty and call Laurent names and purposefully get him killed.



Damen most often collaborates with a DIY YouTuber, Nikandros, who helps Damen out with the more crafty projects that require equipment that Damen doesn’t really want to go out and buy, in exchange for Damen going through Nik’s closet and finding him good date outfits while Nik stares bewilderedly at Damen’s back and very clearly does not absorb a single tip Damen gives him. Their combined audiences apparently adore watching him quietly putting a pillow over his head and giving up in abject defeat while in the background Damen keeps up a light patter of information about how it’s not his closet that’s wrong, it’s the way he’s pairing his clothes.

Damen claims that he’s an expert strategist, which is why he’s able to work the magic that he does. He says that it’s not so much an inborn “girly” knowledge of what colors suit each other as it is understanding the component parts of an outfit and how they all play together.

Damen says this at a YouTube event panel, where he and maybe fifteen other YouTubers with completely different channels have all been herded onto a stage to discuss the common links between them as members of the YouTube platform, rather than as individual creators. Nik is sitting beside him, and makes furious cutting off motions as Damen declares himself a strategist, to the amusement of the whole crowd, leaving Damen to let his sentence trail off in confusion as he looks left at his friend and doesn’t notice the icy glare coming from his right from the probably rightfully proclaimed king of strategy himself, Laurent of the channel PrinceVere.

He keeps on not noticing until Laurent leans into the microphone and says, “Expert strategist?” with enough polite poison in his voice to make the entire audience go OOOooooooooooooo as one.

Damen turns around, still so incredibly confused, and says, “Yes, I am a strategist,” and then, looking rather derisively at Laurent’s clothing choice, “You might not think of clothing as a winnable venture, but I do.”

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#SLBP is celebrating Lord Nobunaga's Birthday with NEW stories!

While the Fires of Honnou-ji blaze in our Battle Event…allow Lord Nobunaga to celebrate your birthday along with his own in a new set of birthday stories all in Nobunaga’s POV!
No respectable lady of the Oda Clan would be seen without their Nobunaga Doll…and we all know how he gets when he doesn’t have his konpeito!

Collect both stories in the Complete Set to save Pearls and get both stories & Fashion Items!

Did you miss Nobunaga & Mitsuhide’s birthday stories last year? Now is your chance to pick them up to read again and again!
With appearances from the whole Oda Clan, a thrilling afternoon and a tender evening, these stories are best enjoyed all together!

Each story comes with a stunning fashion item perfect for declaring your loyalty to either (or both?!) of the Lords of Owari!
Get Nobunaga’s Complete Set and add a lick of fire to your hairstyle, or keep it ashy and classy with the Lady Akechi style available as part of Mitsuhide’s Complete Set!

The time of May has come…but these stories will only be available to add to your Story Album for a very limited time!