#Biggest Peaceful Gathering in the World

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. (coming soon)

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He��d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[endofthelinepal107]

criminal sukuna drabbles

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

criminal sukuna who never hid his life of crime from you. the two of you were friends first, and he refused to ever take it further without you understanding the dangerous life he led. when it didn't scare you off, he made sure to always tell you everything he could, even if he thought it might be a little intense for a normal civilian. he wanted to be honest with you, to make sure you didn't feel like half of him was a secret.

criminal sukuna who occasionally gets arrested. he has a pot of money hidden on top of the kitchen cabinets, reserved for bailing him out. every time, he has the faint concern that you might not bother this time, that you might be fed up of dealing with him. but, every time, you're the first one there in the morning, sliding the cash over the counter and hugging him as soon as the bars slide open.

criminal sukuna who didn't want to meet your parents because he was worried they'd think he was bad for you. he knew he looked exactly like the criminal he was: face tattoos, formidable size, scowling expression. even his clothes. he stalled meeting them for as long as he possibly could, and when he couldn't stall anymore he made sure you were prepared for it to go badly.

criminal sukuna who your parents end up liking. his appearance only made their eyes widen for a moment, and sukuna realised pretty quickly that you had taken measures to make sure this went well (your parents had seen dozens of pictures of your boyfriend, including silly ones to ease any apprehension they had).

criminal sukuna who finds himself manning the barbecue at a family gathering, apron and all. your extended family coming over to him to get their food and greeting him with welcoming smiles instead of fear. your little cousins even spray him with a water guns, unafraid of the huge man flipping burgers.

criminal sukuna who likes to lay in bed with you, one arm around your body to hold you tight. he always holds you protectively, his embrace caging you to his body. he likes to keep one hand free to touch you, usually tracing your features and your hairline.

criminal sukuna who likes when you touch him, too. the two of you have a game of spotting what's different about him after 'jobs', to make the pain of his criminal life a little lesser. the ease with which you spot every new scratch and scrape always makes him want to kiss you. he rarely denies himself the pleasure.

criminal sukuna who is planning for the future. for your future, your future together. he doesn't plan to keep doing crime forever. every job he does is strategic, and the money is going straight into a bank account you don't know about. it's the only secret he keeps from you, and he doesn't plan to keep it for much longer.

criminal sukuna who is going to use the money to buy a ring. he's saved enough for the two of you to move to a nicer area, to buy a nicer home. enough for him to quit this life and take as long as he needs to find a job that will take him with his record. he wants to do something legitimate and prove to you that you were right to stay by his side for all these years.

criminal sukuna who, despite his tough exterior, only really dreams of a peaceful life with you. he thinks about cooking with you when he's in trouble. he thinks about your smile when he's stuck far away.

criminal sukuna who loves you more than anything, and not-so-secretly makes sure to protect you and your peace at any cost.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

{nsfw version up now w/bonus!!! link here}

{i absolutely adore soft!sukuna... i don't care if it's delusion at this point, he's secretly the biggest fattest lover in the world}

ryomen sukuna masterlist

[auragasmics]

WRITHING HEARTS!

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° synopsis! it's marriage for business, pitting you as the engaged bride to one Gojo Satoru, known as a shameless playboy. but when your heart yearns to be with Geto Suguru, the lover behind closed doors, you'll do anything to wind up in his arms!

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° pairings! fem!reader x Geto Suguru

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂  ₒ𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° cw! 4.1k words, arranged marriage au, features Gojo Satoru, mentions of death/suicide, implied infidelity, oral ( m -> f) , missionary, cowgirl, cremepie, Gojo catches you in the act

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° xoxo, chris! sigh, i love this fic </3

A wedding they said, one that would unite the two competing companies into a mass monopoly to control the economic world. You being the poise daughter you were, accepted your parents’ request, relinquishing your chance at finding a pure and true love. It came with not even a bit of resistance, considering that you loved no man except your father.

You even knew the man you’d be wed to within the coming year, one that goes by the name of Gojo Satoru. He was a kind fellow with such charm that any woman could fall for him at the mere wink of his icy blue hues. 

In fact, that’s exactly what he did. What troubled you about the sudden marriage to Gojo was that his reputation was known as a playboy, using women for sexual gratification. It utterly disgusted you, knowing that someone as smug as he would be due to be your groom caused unrest within you. 

When the news had broken on national television, all seemed to be shocked, hailing you as the holy one. You were seen as the one who put an end to Gojo’s promiscuous ways, the photos of you both taking leisure lunches resurfacing from media blogs everywhere. However, that was only a small percent of the truth, something only you kept to yourself.

Those lunches were designed to shield from the public, staging it that you and Goji were such a happy couple. In truth, Gojo’s ways hadn’t changed, only keeping his personal affairs. In the very house purchased for the soon-to-be united by both his and your parents, he brought his mistresses and quick flings to your abode, a separate room reserved for his affairs. 

Even after numerous complaints and teary-eyed woes to your parents, they could not budge. They hated watching as their sweet daughter wailed in agony, sorrow dressing her words in these past few months since announcing the entire ordeal. 

In the darkest hours, that’s when your path just happened to cross with one man in particular, Geto Suguru. Geto was a man of former stature, his family losing their wealth due to extortion charges.

He was left with a small fortune before both his mother and father committed the act of suicide a few days before their prison sentence. From the age of fourteen, Geto was forced to endure the stains left behind by his parents.

He’s been shunned from the corporate world, only being invited to gatherings to dwell in the shadows of those who boasted of their success.

Geto would only linger for a bit before disappearing from sight. He was the biggest mystery, one that had your infatuation written all over it. You were unconsciously embedded in him, the wish to free him from his harrowing loneliness ate at you night and day. It had reached a point where you longer cared for your parents’ wishes, finally placing your desires before their own selfish needs. 

You needed to seek out Geto, for you own sake and at a chance of finally receiving peace of mind. As for how you both met, it was one of sheer coincidence, the both of you entering the lobby of a building your father owned in the city. You were well aware of who he was, his towering physique jutting from the crowd. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him, the rumors and mysteries shroud his name, but not a single person seeking out the answers they desire.

With every step you took towards him, an unsettling coil formed in your belly. Could it have been from the nervous strike attacking your body all of a sudden, or the words from your adolescence that reply at the forefront of your thoughts. A warning from your parents, advising you to stay away from that man, claiming that nothing good ever occurred when involved with him. 

You were refined to believe such an idea, judging the poor man without any pre existing context. You sought to learn the truth of Geto Surguru, especially at the risk of defying your parents. 

Once you had initiated the first words, a bright light was casted onto the darkness that covered Geto’s heart. He clung to you, deeming every intimate moment as rare as the jewels found in caverns. The man became intoxicated with your every fiber, and eventually led to your touch. You both knew it was wrong, but the vines of the budding rose to your romance was something that not even the false engagement to withstand. 

Yet, like the rose, it’s thorn will always come back to prick the one who gave it life, a lesson you would soon learn all too soon. 

“Gojo, could you not flirt while we’re together? It won’t look good for the tabloids,” you suggest, whispering the words of warning along the shell of his ear. He merely shrugs his shoulders, “It’s our engagement party, it’s not my fault there are so many lovely ladies here tonight!” 

You roll your eyes, the veins lining underneath your eye twitching with gall. You had hoped that Gojo would put aside his reprobate methods, even if just for the night.

However, the way he dressed tonight alone told a different story.

He wore a glaucous white silk dress shirt, his chest revealed to the wandering eyes of women who hoped to one day take your place beside him. The black trousers upon his body were tighter than usual, the bulge of his length just teasing the onlookers. His hair was styled neatly, hanging just past his ears with not a strand of the frosted locks out of place. 

Gojo wore a sneering smile, his best accessory by far. You knew that if you even left his side for a second, he’d be out of the room with a woman linked to each arm. Then again, you had nothing tying you to him, the urge to seek out your one true lover hanging above your head similar to the glass chandeliers adorning the ceilings. 

You wore a slim black dress, the neckline ending just below the curve of your ribs. It clung to your figure perfectly, drawing every eye to you. It was a piece that Geto found the most pleasing for the event, his assistance proving itself through all the praise.

Yet, you wished to be with him for the evening, not the snobbish man doomed to marry you within the coming days. It has been almost a year since your engagement to Gojo, but almost a year since meeting Geto. 

“Listen Y/N, you and I aren’t actually married, daring, hell, we can barely tolerate each other. You see, in the public, I’m your loyal husband, changed from his old ways. Yet, in private, I haven’t changed not one bit. I don’t plan to either, I love the way I am. I suggest that you find something that makes you happy too, sweetheart. It’s the only way you’ll survive in this life.” 

You whipped your head away from Gojo, the pestering tone of his suave voice pinched your nerves. Though it was as if the brash message was on demand, the sight of a familiar figure caught your eye, there stood Geto against the door, wearing a black turtleneck with navy blue slacks and a floral patterned suit jacket.

You felt your heart nearly skip a beat, the look of bliss etching onto Geto’s face as he spotted you. You practically ached to join him, your body desperate for the warmth only he could offer. 

Gojo seemed to be interested in socializing, his arm tugging away from the link you both formed an hour prior. He sensed the same urge to leave, to pick his new victim amongst the other beauties. It was only right if you freed him, right?

“Gojo,” you called, “I’ll go get some wine. See you at home later.” 

That was all he needed, ripping away from you to dive headfirst into the bundling crowd. You spun around to face Geto, only to find that he had left his position against the wall. 

A huff seeped from your lips, realizing that it would be near impossible to find a man who wouldn’t allow himself to be found. Gratefully for you, he was already closer than you had expected, just waiting to take you away into his world. 

“Don’t you look absolutely stunning?” A voice hummed, the palm of a large hand slipping along the curve of your shoulder. Just from the subtle peck laid against your skin, you knew who had finally gained their hold of you.

“You know better than to act so boldly like this in public, Geto. I’ll get in so much trouble,” you teased, but you’ve already decided to forego the thought of consequences once the dreamy scent of his cologne flooded your nose.  

“Why, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want the world to know your mine, not that asshole’s.”

Geto slides the pads of his digits down your arm, your skin heating up at his languid touch. You spin around face him properly, a grin gracing both your faces. The urge to kiss Geto ran high, the tension between you both was something that couldn’t be ignored. 

“Can we leave this place? I hate loud parties like these,” you sighed, urging your face near his own.  

“But, it’s your engagement party,” Geto began, “It’d suck to have the bride be missing. Even worse to find her with a man other than her betrothed.”

A shallow pout poked out from your lips, the gloss reflecting the lights from above. “But, I want you, and only you, Geto. Can’t we make that happen?”

From his pocket, Geto pulled out a room key, the silver ridges twinkling before your widening eyes. “It’s the closest we’ll get to having our own space but...it’s better than nothing.”

Without another word, you and Geto took hold of each other’s hand, slipping from the masses and into the darkened hallway of the hotel. You peppered kisses all over his cheeks, the anticipation bubbling within your body. 

In that time that you’ve gotten to know him, Geto was far from all the names and warnings everyone was always so quick to spew. He was kind, gentle with his words and manners. You’ve come to realize that he would never harm a fly, nonetheless, does he live up to a quarter of the rumors surrounding him.

In other words, Geto was the one who had your heart. The marriage would only prove more difficult for the little arrangement you both had. Eventually, the relationship would have to be brought to light, regardless of your attempt to keep it hidden. 

“Are we in the clear?” He whispered, aligning the key with the slot. You nodded, checking the surrounding area for any onlookers for the last time. He pushes the door from its frame, pulling you and himself into the room.

With a slamming shut, you found yourself pinned against the shiny white paint, Geto decorating the pulse of your neck with pecks and bites. Your fingers found way to his hair, the thick ravenous locks latching around your dainty digits, encouraging Geto to proceed with his display of affection.

“I see you’re wearing that dress I like, almost like you wanted to get my attention,” he ventured, pulling away from the freshly laid trail of bites. You bit your bottom lip, the blood rushing to greet each ministration on your skin. It was all too overwhelming, but you fell prey to the amorous aura surrounding Geto, the searing ache amidst your legs leading your every move.

“I have no clue as to what you mean, I just really like the color black against my skin,” you purred, peering up at the impassioned man through your darkened lashes. Geto snaked a hand behind you, his fingers toying with the zipper lining the curve of your spine. With his lips brushing along the shell of your ear, he whispered the teasing words to spur you on.

“If you don’t mind, I happen to love what’s underneath the dress all the more.”

You surround the nape of his neck with your arms, leading Geto into the kiss just waiting on your lips, nodding frantically at his request. Without breaking the kiss, Geto stripped you bare of the silky material, leaving the matching hunter-green bra and thong set to don your body. 

“Aw, no fair. I didn’t wear anything you’d like,” Geto frowned, drawing away from your lips for a moment.

 You trailed your fingers down to the heavy belt buckle at the forefront of his hips, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “Y’know how much I love those tattoos of yours, that’s all I need.”

Geto chuckled at your words, the pair of you working in tandem until he stood with only his briefs. He took a firm hold around your waist, lifting you from the cold floor. “I missed this, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, his teeth pinching at the supple skin of your breasts. You giggled in response, “It’s only been a few days, I don’t see how you miss me so much.”

Geto placed you onto the bed, the white sheets contorting around you as he planted his hands on either side of your head. “When you’ve been as alone as I have, you’d understand. In all of my twenty-four years, I’ve never been so happy,” he gushed into the crook of your neck. You giggled in response, “I can say the same, I’m so glad to call you mine.” Geto pried away, placing himself above you once again. 

“See, you love me and I sure as hell love you, I’m tired of hiding it. I mean, why can’t everyone know that I’m so much better than that Gojo. Do I have to demonstrate that to confirm my case,” he groaned tirelessly. 

You shook your head, “No, but I have a feeling you’re about to prove it to me.” 

“Damn right I will,” Geto boasted as he sank down to his knees, his face filling the spacer between your legs. He glared up at you, laying a trail of kisses along the plush of your inner thigh.

“I’ll prove it to you and I’ll do it well,” he quipped, the animalistic tone intertwined with each word. He hooked onto the sides of your panties, sliding the soaked cloth down your legs and away from sight. The calloused palm of Geto’s hand pressed into your stomach, pinning you down to the bed without choice. 

“Stay there for me, won’t you? I just wanna make this pretty pussy of mine happy,” Geto quipped, his lips placing a soft kiss onto the folds of your puffy cunt. You nod in agreement, all tension melting away from his touch. 

With the pad of his thumb, geto parted the lips of your cunt, the viscid mess of slick glimmering in his eyes. He was quick to attach his mouth to you, the flat of his tongue collecting every drop hungrily. 

A sharp gasp flooded your lungs, your back arching beneath him. There was something in Geto that seemed to have your body just fold at his command. In everything he did, he approached it with benign care. He knew every curve, nerve, and crevice of your body, each arc of your curling silhouette accepting him willingly. 

The earthy brown hues of Geto’s eyes were no longer in view, looking back to his head as he continued to immerse himself in your flavor. He rolled docile circles into your clit, a hum of praise vibrating from his throat. 

“Holy—don’t stop, Geto,” you mewed, biting back the moans that sought to fill the walls of the room. 

You sensed a nod of compliance from him, Geto suckling the pearl between his swollen lips. The heavy pool of nerves churning at the pit of your stomach surfaced, limbs stiffening at once. Your vision grew burry, the patches of white light piercing through.

His hands latched onto your wrist, guiding your own hands into the thick strands of his hair. Geto loved whenever you raked through his locks, tugging at the roots whenever the pleasure pooled over the limits you could handle. 

You began to tremble, your legs seeking something to grasp. Geto took notice, the robust strength of his arms clasping the underside of your thigh, He led your legs to drip across onto his broad shoulders, your thighs nuzzling Geto deeper towards you. A rush of thrill sped through his veins, Geto watching his efforts pay off with such pride. 

A harsh arch carved itself into your spine, your walls coming to a steel grip of nothingness as you release the woes of the day all onto Geto’s awaiting tongue. A groan emitted from his throat, the whites of his eyes reverting to the forefront of his visage.  

“Fuck, give it all to me,” he moaned, desperately dragging his tongue across your spasming clit. You rocked your hips against Geto’s slicked muscle, riding out the fleeting moments of your high. Your head tossed back with a final cry, Geto’s name singing from your lips.

He could only chuckle at your state, the pride brewing in his heaving chest. “See, I know Gojo can’t do that, even if he tried,” he jeered, pulling away from you. Geto stood from the ground, a visible spot of precum soaking through his briefs. You reached out to tug at the elastic waistband but Geto tacked your hand down on your stomach, hovering above you.

“Just spread those legs for me, and I’ll take even better care of you,” he hummed, sliding the tips of his fingers to squeeze at the underside of your thigh. You found yourself in the center of the bed, legs pressed into your chest. Geto was swift to strip from his briefs, standing before with eight inches to fill you with, his cock so heavy with the need for relief that it stood upright with no aid, the plushy pink crown of his length just riddled with thick streams of precum drooling from the slit. 

Geto held the base of his dick, gently nudging at your entrance. He studied at how the whole mass of his tip slid inside you, an enticing gasp following suit. 

“Don’t look at anything but me,” he hissed, Geto’s cheeks stricken with heat. He relished in the way you squeezed around him, your walks never fully being able to contort to his size. He would always give you a few minutes filled with kisses and words of encouragement until you adjusted around him, Geto giving you the slowest of thrusts to begin.

 “You’re doing so good, baby, just a little bit more,” he comforted, Geto’s hips driving a bit deeper. You rested your hands atop his broad shoulders, sliding down the expanse of his chest, admiring the way the sleeves of Geto’s tattoos complemented his body’s physique.

With such a strong build of muscles shaping his arms and the cuts of his hardened abdomen, even the patterns of ink that adorned his being were enough to make anyone squirm at a glance.

You were just lucky that person was you.

You eventually found your way to his waist, his hips rutting into you effortlessly. You pulled Geto into you, trapping him in with your legs around his waist. He took in a heavy intake of air, the hull of his chest expanding in compensation. 

“That’s new, something you wanna tell me?” He whispered teasingly. You bit back the onslaught of moans, the want to form an actual sentence gaining the upper hand. 

“Just want y-you closer,” you whined, the girth of Geto’s cock dragging against your walls at a sluggish pace. He stood still for a moment, staring down at you. 

“I’m not going anywhere, promise,” he cooed, pressing a kiss onto your perspired forehead. Geto slid his arm underneath your back, closing the gap between you both. He drew himself from your heat, a spew of curses leaving from his parted mouth. You had no clue as to what Geto had in mind but you knew he was far from done.

“I’ve been dying to have you ride me again, it’s practically all I think about these days,” Geto cooed as he crawled to the top of the bed, his back flush against the wooden headboard. 

You followed behind him, your arms encircling his neck. “Have you now? Is that all you think about?” You grinned, allowing for your legs to plant themselves on either side of Geto. 

“Of course not, but I love it when you do,” he beamed, his hands settling upon the curve of your ass. He kneaded the soft flesh in the palm of your hands, your body jolting in response. 

“Shh, save those chills for when you finally cum, it's a sight that I get to savor all to myself.” 

Geto snaked a hand between your bodies to brace his twitching cock towards crooned as he your entrance. You slid down his shaft with ease, your walls encasing his length snuggly. You lifted your hips, earning a seething hiss from Geto, the pressure already rendering him weak. 

“Why I barely did anything, don’t tell me you’re close already,” you taunted, carding through his locks that dared to cover an ounce of Geto’s lewd look of pleasure.

“Hell no, I just get a little excited, you know that.” 

You swiveled your hips against him, taking Geto in deeper until you felt satisfied to ruin the man beneath you. You couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach, growing tighter with every rise and fall of your hips onto the unalloyed mass of Geto’s thighs. I

t was hard work to bring that prickling rush of ecstasy among Geto, but it was worth it all, the way he’d become drunk off you. His speech, his thoughts, and even the way he’d latch onto your ass to fondle at the mound of flesh all belonged to you, something that brought you more pride than your own family name.

Heavy pants of need leave from Geto’s strained throat, louder than the pornographic rings of skin crashing against another. You painted kisses and nips onto the velvety skin of his chest all the way up to his lips. 

Geto was sensitive, to say the least, between the deepening strides of your hips, the plush of your lips dancing against his own, and your pretty voice singing his name at the top of your lungs were all the ingredients for a disaster in the making. 

“Princess, how do you think Gojo would react if he found out that a degenerate like me fucked a beautiful little baby into his fiance?” Geto pondered between weak bucks into you, trying to gain back some type of control. 

You struggled for a moment, gathering the words around the mushed thoughts of your mind. “H-He wouldn’t care,” you mewled, using the fleeting bits of your energy to clamp down around Geto. 

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,” he moaned, tossing his head back as he came undone, the thick ropes of cum flooding your womb. You released a squeal of glee at the feeling, the sensation being one for the books. 

As you both came down from the high, Geto pulled you into his chest, the expanse of his pecs rising and falling at a staggering pace. “Fuck, you’re so good to me, Y/N.” Geto huffed, nuzzling a kiss onto your parted lips. You remained perched on his lap, back arching into his smothering hold. 

“I love you so much, Geto,” you whimpered, rocking along the thick length still plunged inside you.

“I love you beyond words. I hope that one day soon I’ll be able to m–” he began, only to find his impending sentence being interrupted. 

The sounds of voices rang from behind the door, the clicks of locks echoing around the room. You and Geto had no time to react, only facing who could possibly disrupt the intimate moment. 

“…and I said, "No, who the hell wants chiffon mixing with spandex?" designers are so stupid these days–Oh my! What have we here?!” The voice barreled out, the steps coming to a sudden halt. You shifted around on Geto’s lap, facing the onlooker head-on. 

“Hello…Gojo…” you grinned, staring back at the man, who just happened to have two women strung along with him. You couldn’t find it in you to feel even the slightest bit embarrassed if anything…it felt good to watch Gojo have the dumbest shock displayed on his face.

Geto didn’t budge either, his lips clinging to the corners of your malicious smile. “There seemed to have been a room mix-up…I’ll be on my way then,” he croaked, Gojo’s eyes still pinned on the scene before him.

You and Geto exchanged a quick glance, one filled with disinterest. It also seemed as if Gojo was hurt, hurt to find that his sweet soon-to-be wife had a filthy secret of her own. What a beautiful concept double standard can be, something that can be forgotten once it is done to the doer. 

You turned to Gojo, looking him dead on with an expression of apathy.

“You do that then.”

[youuuimeanmee]

This chapter might be the start of literally the biggest thing ever and I'm SCARED.

I have SHIVERS.

Almost every important characters are gathering in one place.

Our Eden kids are finally playing outside the school.

For a spy like Twillight, this festival is literally a treasure of intels.

(Though, I was surprised when Twillight mention that Glooman Pharmaceuticals has no further connection with the Desmonds. I thought it's gonna be involved in some kind of drugs' development for war, but ig I was wrong.)

Remember how Twillight always look down on Anya because she can't study, she's hard to teach, and she doesn't excell in any sport or any other talents (except classical language)?

Now look at them.

Twillight finally sees just how valuable Anya is. How much Anya, a presumably six-year-old, has accomplished in the span of 6 months. I repeat. 6. months.

He's pleased because it's really convenient for his mission.

And yet, look at what Jeff wished for the kids.

The irony. The sweet, sweet irony.

As much as it pains him to acknowledge how right Jeff's words are, he cannot. He cannot dwell into such sentiments, because he's a spy. A spy must seize every opportunity to gain any information neccesary for his mission. For the sake of his goal; a world peace. For that goal, he will do anything. Even if he has to use his "daughter" and his "wife" for his own convenience.

Because of that, the very least he could to them is protect their well-being and happiness.

Twillight has established that since long ago. But will things change after this arc? That is the big question.

Now we are entering, what I call, "the fortune teller arc." (until we get a better name imma stick to this one.)

Somehow, in every series I've read that has a fortune teller in it, it ended up changes (read: fucks up) the MC's life forever.

I've been predicting the involvement of Crowley in the future; from his name reference, his hairstyle, his excellence in Classical language, everything.

Look whose name Endo uses for the most popular fortune teller.

Heh.

(will Arnold Crowley appear in next chapter? Will he meet Anya in this arc?)

And look at the star of this chapter, who also plays as a fortune teller!

Melinda Desmond.

Who would've thought.

Suddenly, her earrings and ring's design make so much sense.

Is it safe to say now that Crowley and Melinda Desmond are occultists?

Or maybe just one of them?

I know jumping to conclusion is dangerous, but I just can't help it.

I still can't speak if Melinda and Crowley family are related to each other because there's no evidence of their relation (yet). But I can at least tell you this:

Melinda probably uses fortune telling as a way to collect informations. Her ad speaks for poor, desperate people. She doesn't charge her clients for a single cent. Even if she already claimed that her predictions are way off, it doesn't matter for desperate people. Desperate people will use desperate means. Poor people are not poor because they wanted to. There must be a reason, a circumstances; that intel is probably what Melinda aims to get.

Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe Melinda is genuinely a noble person, and she's just trying to help as many people as possible with her "free" fortune telling. Who knows.

Though, it is peculiar to note that Melinda only started recently. How recent, I wonder. Is it before, or after the dinner she had with Donovan, her husband?

Hmmm.

I'm also curious at Endo's reference for Melinda's alias: Lunaluna Selena. Luna, as in, Latin for [the moon]? Selena, as in, Selene [the Greek & Roman's moon goddess]?

The moon, huh. Remember how Anya's power is heavily reliant on the moon? Like, she lost her power when it's a new moon?

Hmmmmm.

TLDR; Anya confessed to Damian that she can read minds. Now Anya enters a fortune teller place. Twillight used to underestimate Anya's ability a lot. Now he sees how valuable she is, yet, he is stuck between his logic (wanting to utilize her to the max) and his heart (wanting to free her from the burden of his mission and let her be a happy normal kid). Melinda and Yor are friends. Now they meet again, when Melinda is doing her side hustle. Arnold Crowley is a kid who excels in Classical Language, and holds a great interest in Anya. Now we see that Crowley family runs a popular fortune-teller. Melinda just had an awful dinner with Donovan. Now we see that she recently run a fortune-telling stall for free. Almost all important characters in SxF are gathering in one place. All build-ups are seemingly leading towards this moment.

Let's give Endo some space & time to cook, shall we.

[the-palelady]

the job was hard. it always was. never got any easier. ghost’s mind would buzz with static after missions. a buzzing so loud he could hardly hear the engines of the plane as it took off, headed home.

he’d sit in a daze for the full extent of the flight, eyes mindlessly flitting across the dark clouds and city lights that sat below.

was it always this loud? the engines, the chatter of the people around him, the gunfire?

the high pitched humming continued even as he stepped off the plane, his large, gruff body slipping in and out of crowds of people as he gathered his luggage. ghost couldn’t even hear the crying of a baby that sat nestled against its mum nearby. didn’t move a muscle when someone began raising their voice at a worker when their flight was delayed.

but he did flinch at the sound of someone’s luggage smacking against the ground, the wheels of the suitcase clicking against the marbled floor far too loud for his liking. an echoing pop that reeled him back into a world of blood and dust, gunshots and screaming.

when had his clothes become so tight?

he turns and grabs his things, the static burrowing further into his mind while he rushes towards home.

home is where he’s safe.

home is where you are.

home is where you’re nestled up on the couch, a throw blanket covering the extent of your soft legs, a book or mug occupying your hands. sometimes he would stand in the doorway of your shared home, watching as you’d giggle softly or smile down at the pages of whatever you were reading, free hand idly kneading the plush fabric of your blanket.

home is where you run out to him while he sits in the living room, a smile spread wide across your face when you do a little twirl, showing him the clothes or shoes you had bought that day asking what he thought. you looked perfect in everything, of course.

home is where you sit in front of him at the dinner table, rambling about your day, even asking about his own. you tell him about the butterfly you saw today that you swear was the “biggest you’d ever seen” and—oh!—you can’t forget to tell him about the sale the store was having so you bought him more of his favorite tea.

home is where the buzzing comes to a full stop.

your quizzical expression is always the first thing he sees. the second is the smile that takes its place, spreading from ear to ear as you come to realize who it could be barging in at such an hour. you turn on your heel from where you stand in the kitchen.

simon’s job was demanding. from the very beginning you had accepted that. you saw the storm that had flashed behind his eyes when he awoke from nightmares, saw the way his mind and body strangled each other when he didn’t think you were looking.

so you gave him the peace war would never offer.

his tired, amber eyes softened when your voice drove out the sounds of radio chatter, explosions, death.

“welcome home, si.”

[wonbriiize]

riize as boyfriends pt. 1

pt 2. is here

✧₊⁺ shotaro

the type of boyfriend who would wake you up with kisses

he yearns for a deep & meaningful relationship

would make you film cute dance tiktoks with him ˃̵ᴗ˂̵

he would notice when you’re feeling sad and would do his best to make you feel better

like, he would buy your favorite flowers and surprise you with them

or he would call you over to his place and surprise you with your favorite movie & snacks

it’s important to him for you guys to talk about your feelings, desires, goals etc. openly

if conflict happens, he’d rather sit down and talk it out because he goes crazy thinking about you guys being on bad terms

he is so so so supportive !! whatever you want to do, he will stand behind you, he will always have your back no matter what ♡ ̆̈

shotaro is usually very happy but when he sees that you‘re having a bad day, his mood goes down too. like, you hate the world right now? good, so does he !! you want to cry a river? well, he will cry along with you !!

✧₊⁺ eunseok

would pull up behind you and put his arm around your waist to hold you close to him

especially in social gatherings, it’s his sign to show everyone that you’re only his

he stares at you for the longest time and when you ask what’s up he just straight up says ‘i love you’ with the most serious tone ever

it makes him smile when you get shy after he does this, he just loves watching your reaction to it

the type of boyfriend who would have a pic of you in his wallet

when people would ask him ‘who‘s this’, he would softly smile and say ‘my favorite person’

likes to try out new things on your dates

for example going to places you’ve never been to, or doing fun activities that both of you haven’t tried yet

loves teasing you, in every way possible

would sneak up next to you in bed and watch you sleep with admiring eyes because he loves how peaceful you appear (*◡*♡)

✧₊⁺ sungchan

the type of boyfriend who would wake you up in the morning to go out for a walk

would make you breakfast as well

like when you’re on your period, he’d want you to rest in your bed and bring the breakfast to you (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

honestly, he’s the type to ask ‘where’s my hug at?’

when you’d hug him, he’d wrap his arms around you so tightly that you fear he’s going to break your bones

he‘d rest his chin on your head and tease you with pushing it down

you like to scare him so sometimes when he does that, you act like he actually hurt you

he would get so concerned, step back and look at you with the most beautiful and apologetic eyes you’d ever seen

sungchan would keep saying sorry even when you tell him you were just joking, because if he’d actually hurt you, he‘d never be able to forgive himself

you‘d have to kiss him to silence him and assure him that everything is fine, and after the kiss, sungchan would have the biggest smile on his face, his eyes looking down at you with the most loving gaze ♡ ´･ᴗ･ `♡

✧₊⁺ wonbin

sends you good morning and good night messages

if he‘s out shopping and sees something that he thinks you’d like or it reminds him of you, he’d buy it right away

he‘s such a scaredy cat but he’d act so tough to look cool in front of you

like, if you guys would go to a horror escape room, he would secretly be shitting his pants everytime your attention wouldn’t be on him

but the second your eyes wander back to him, he’d act like this is the most easiest thing ever

when something creepy would happen in the escape room, he’d try to put all his fear aside and protect you

but you’re a bit better with horror stuff than him, so he actually ends up being the one who needs protection, like he’d hide behind you

also, for your birthday, he’d sing your favorite song for you while playing the guitar

everytime you wouldn’t be looking at him, he would be staring at you, telling himself how lucky he is that he gets to be with you ˃̶̤⌄˂̶̤

when the two of you watch a movie together, he enjoys resting his head on your shoulder and fiddling with your shirt as well as kissing you unexpectedly •ᴗ•♡

[girlactionfigure]

SEPTEMBER 4, 2024

Many anti-Israel protestors claim that the terrorist groups they support are merely anti-Zionist, not antisemitic.

The evidence shows otherwise.

Let’s take a look.

THIS IS A HAMAS FLAG...

…in the middle of New York City. Some Hamas apologists will tell you that Hamas no longer intends to exterminate all Jews, because in 2017, they “replaced their [openly genocidal] charter.” Well, lucky for you, Hamas is here to set the record straight. See, after releasing their “new” charter, Hamas co-founder Mahmoud al-Zahar assured the media that the 2017 document did not replace their original 1988 charter. 

Since 2017, Hamas has made openly genocidal calls toward Jews. In 2018, Hamas’s Al-Aqsa TV media channel predicted “the cleansing of Palestine of the filth of the Jews.”

In 2019, Hamas Political Bureau member Fathi Hammad said, “You seven million Palestinians abroad, enough warming up! There are Jews everywhere! We must attack every Jew on planet Earth –- we must slaughter and kill them, with Allah’s help.” In 2021, Hammad called, via Al-Aqsa TV, for the Palestinians in Jerusalem to “cut off the heads of the Jews.”

BTW, THIS IS ONE OF THE MANY THINGS THAT THE ORIGINAL HAMAS CHARTER SAYS...

"The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him. Only the Gharkad tree, (evidently a certain kind of tree) would not do that because it is one of the trees of the Jews." (related by al-Bukhari and Moslem)."

(Article 7)

Pretty explicitly antisemitic, wouldn’t you agree?

THIS IS A HEZBOLLAH FLAG (AND A HAMAS HEADBAND)..

…in the middle of New York City. Like Hamas, the entire purpose of Hezbollah’s existence is the destruction of the State of Israel. Unlike Hamas, however, Hezbollah, for decades, has carried out violent terrorist attacks against Jews not just in Israel, but also in the Diaspora.

Hezbollah’s most notorious attack was the 1994 bombing of the Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA), the largest Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The attack took 85 innocent lives. Before October 7, the AMIA bombing was the single largest antisemitic massacre since the end of the Holocaust.

Given Hezbollah targets (non-Israeli) Jews worldwide, could it be that their problem is with Jews, not just with Zionism?

THIS, AGAIN, IS THE HEZBOLLAH FLAG...

...at the Princeton University encampment. If you’re still on the fence about Hezbollah’s true antisemitic intentions, fear not: Hezbollah Secretary General Hassan Nasrallah is here to clarify them for you.

“If we searched the entire world for a person more cowardly, despicable, weak and feeble in psyche, mind, ideology and religion, we would not find anyone like the Jew. Notice, I do not say the Israeli,” Nasrallah stated. Just anti-Zionism, huh?

Then there’s his infamous threat: “If [the Jews] all gather in Israel, it will save us the trouble of going after them worldwide.” 

We get the message loud and clear.

THIS IS "JEWISH" VOICE FOR PEACE, GLORIFYING THE HOUTHIS...

...using a photo that very clearly showcases the Houthi banner, which states, “God is the Greatest, Death to America, Death to Israel, A Curse Upon the Jews, Victory to Islam.”

“A Curse Upon the Jews” is pretty straightforward antisemitism, don’t you think? 

The Houthis are also personally responsible for ethnically cleansing the last Jews out of Yemen. Just anti-Zionism, eh?

THIS IS A PALESTINIAN FLAG WITH VARIOUS PORTRAITS, INCLUDING THAT OF YAHYA SINWAR...

…in the middle of New York City. If orchestrating the October 7 massacre, the biggest antisemitic massacre since the end of the Holocaust, is not evidence enough for you, there are other indications that Sinwar is not exactly a friend of the Jews.

In May of 2021, for example, Sinwar led a rally, in which the crowd was encouraged to chant, "We will trample on the heads of the Jews in front of everyone..."

There is also, of course, his infamous threat: “October 7 was just a rehearsal.”

Sinwar is the head of Hamas, which we’ve already established doesn’t really like Jews.

THIS IS A PFLP FLAG (AND A HEZBOLLAH FLAG AND A HAMAS HEADBAND)...

…in the middle of New York City. See that red flag? Yeah, that’s the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. PFLP flags are all the rage at pro-Palestine protests. Marxist Jihad. Super fun.

Yet, while the PFLP claims to advocate for a secular, democratic Palestine, the reality is much darker. When, for example, the PFLP, with the aid of West German terrorists, hijacked Air France Flight 139, en route from Tel Aviv to Paris, they infamously separated the Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers.Yes, you read that right: they separated the Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers. Not the Israeli passengers from the non-Israeli passengers. The Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers.

The non-Jewish passengers were let go. The Jews were kept hostage. That’s a pretty clear message.

THIS IS A PFLP FLAG...

…at the University of Pennsylvania encampment. If you’re still not convinced this is antisemitic, the founder of the PFLP, George Habash, quickly was there to set the record straight: “Killing one Jew far away from the field of battle is more effective than killing a hundred Jews on the field of battle,because it attracts more attention.”

You read that? He said “Jew.” Not Israeli. Not Zionist. “Jew.”

The PFLP live-streamed the October 7 massacre, and, as of several months ago, Israeli intelligence estimated that the PFLP was holding the youngest hostage, one-year-old Kfir Bibas, and his five-year-old brother, Ariel Bibas, hostage.

THIS IS A PALESTINIAN ISLAMIC JIHAD FLAG (AND A PFLP FLAG AND A HAMAS FLAG)...

…in the middle of New York City. Palestinian Islamic Jihad participated in the October 7 massacre. More than that, however, their entire ideology is antisemitic to the core.

See, Palestinian Islamic Jihad believes that a proper reading of the Quran indicates that Muslims are in an eternal struggle with their forever enemies, the Jews, and that the conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians exists because of this eternal struggle. 

To recap: Palestine or no Palestine, Islamic Jihad’s ideology dictates that Jews are the eternal enemies of the Muslims.

Sounds antisemitic to me, but what do I know?

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and  Patreon. 

somehow we’ve normalized weekly antisemitic hate marches in broad daylight

[fandomhcs]

dating frank castle would include:

frank castle doesn’t do anything half assed. that includes a relationship. you may have a hell of a time actually getting him into one, but once he is he’ll never waver.

he would struggle between being the punisher and being frank, the man who loves you. though he fully understands that you can that care of yourself, he wants to keep his life as the punisher far away from you. of course its not always possible, but he wants to keep you as safe he can. rest assured, as long as he’s there nothing can touch you. he’d stop anything, give up anything, to keep you safe. 

losing maria and the kids changed him, broke him apart and forced him to scramble to gather any pieces he could. losing you now, after facing all of that loss and all that pain? no way he could handle that. 

and so he’s overprotective, he’s paranoid, he’ll check and double check the locks on your windows and doors until you drag him to bed. while the two of you don’t leave the house together too often, when you do he makes sure to keep you no more than an arm’s length away at all times.

his paranoia is the biggest source of fights in your relationship. he isn’t one for conflict, despite being the punsiher and all. fighting with you is different, and he doesn’t like it when it happens. often times you’ll have it out with each other only for him to go quiet, swallow his pride and take some time to calm down before he can come talk out the problem with you.

but outside of the danger, when things are quiet and peaceful between the two of you there is no sweeter man than frank castle. he’s head over heels for you, it’s easy to see. in his eyes you are everything he never thought he’d have again. sure, he may not have the whole wife, kids, white fence type of life with you. he may never be ready for that, but being with you feels like coming home. it scares him how good it feels to have a place, a person, he can call home again.

movies nights and television marathons are a must. the second you are both home for the night he’ll wrap you up in his arms and drag you to the couch for cuddles. though he isn’t too big on pda, in the privacy of your home he just can’t help himself. 

he lives for the small touches. holding your hand, forehead kisses, fingers grazing your shoulders as he passes by you. its a reminder, every time he feels your skin under his fingertips. a reminder that you are there, with him, safe and sound and alive.

you make him smile. force him to watch stupid comedies or over dramatic soap operas that you both get waaayy too invested in. he makes you try your coffee black, does the dishes for you before you get up in the mornings, keeps you trapped in his arms whenever you try to get up for food. 

he cooks for you sometimes. a lovely surprise that comes out of nowhere. the big bad punisher? popping out with restaurant quality meals all because you’d had a shitty day at work and needed a pick-me-up? that’s art. he doesn’t cook often, but when he does it is magical.

though as far as your cooking, he’ll eat literally anything. you could burn it to coal and he’ll eat it with a smile. he might make fun of you for it, but you’ll see him finish his plate no matter what. he’s a dork like that.

you both whisper your secrets underneath warm sheets with one of his hands tapping a chaotic rhythm on your shoulder and the other gripping your fingers tight. he tells you their names. maria. lisa. frank jr. he tells you of their laughter, their toys, their lives. and he tells you of their deaths, tears spilling from his eyes as he breaks into your arms. your heart breaks with him, but being able to share them with someone who loves him, and by extension loves and respects them too, is such a weight off his shoulders.

they’re ghosts, but not the kind that haunt. the kind that leave your chest aching but also a soft smile on your face. they don’t plague him anymore, he is finally able to think of them without his world going dark. they’ll always be in his heart, he’ll never allow himself to forget them, but you help him realize that he can have happiness once again. 

life is perfectly boring with frank, something he forgot just how much he’d missed. you bring peace into his life, even though he never wanted you to. but he’ll be forever grateful that you did. this man will love you with a passion and an intensity that you’ll find nowhere else.

that is, if you can handle his snoring.

[vipwinnie]

“ It’s always been you “

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary : you thought he loved you, and ultimately you were right

You always had a big crush on Théodore. And to your greatest happiness, the alchemy happened with him. You quickly became friends sharing the same interests, and your relationship has only evolved over the years. You had become so close that you could easily pass for a couple.

It was a gentle autumn morning; you had accompanied theodore to get ingredients for a potion. You were on your way back, walking near the lake.

“What a lovely place for a walk, isn't it?” he said, looking out over the peaceful lake.

“Yes, it’s really beautiful here. I really appreciate this peace and quiet.” you replied.

“Me too, it’s like time stops. By the way, you look really beautiful today. “he added

"Thank you, you are very kind. You know, I really enjoy our time together.” you said staring at theodore's face with starry eyes.

“I too, really enjoy every moment spent with you. You’re different from other girls, you know?”

"Really ? How so ?"you asked.

“You are unique, special. I feel really good in your presence. I can not help thinking of you."

“Oh, I feel the same way. You knew how to touch a sensitive chord in me. I’m so happy to be with you.”you said, with the biggest smile on your face.

“It’s amazing how much we are on the same page. I feel like I can share anything with you.”

“I feel so close to you too. It’s like we have a special connection.”

You hadn't noticed that he had stopped walking, looking you straight in the eyes. Stopping yourself, you look him in the eyes. Their eyes met, a shy smile appearing on their lips. Their faces moved closer and closer, their breaths mingling delicately. Everything seemed to freeze around them, the entire world disappearing in a suspended moment. You've been waiting for this moment for so long. But when you think that your lips are finally going to touch each other. But suddenly, Theodore stepped back. You didn't understand.

“I have potions class in 5 minutes, I really should go” he said, walking further away without giving you one last look as if you didn’t exist.

You stood there alone, only the sounds of the lake could be heard. You were lost, the more you thought, the more the tears came. What did you do wrong? Did he hate you? You shouldn't lose faith .

The next time you saw him that day, Theodore's last class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. As usual, you were waiting for Theodore to come out, you were waiting for him leaning against a wall. You saw him come out, so you went to meet him. You took a deep breath and gathered all your courage to go to meet him. Your heartbeat speeds up as you get closer to him.

But when you approach Theodore, he seems to completely ignore you. He doesn't even look you in the eye, as if you were invisible. Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces at this very moment. You feel devastated and humiliated. Tears begin to slowly fall down your cheeks as you hurry back to the dorms. You take refuge in your room, closing the door behind you. Sitting on your bed, you lament to yourself, wondering what you did wrong to deserve such rejection. Thoughts swirl in your mind. You remember every moment you spent with Theodore, analyzing every interaction, searching for answers to your pain.

You wonder if you misinterpreted his signals or if you were just naive to believe that he could feel the same attraction as you. Sadness invades you, your sobs turn into a silent cry of despair. You feel alone, misunderstood and hurt. The questions loop through your head, questioning your own worth and attractiveness. That evening you went to bed, with tears in your eyes. Your sister took a really big hit today.

The next morning, you wake up with a rush of excitement in your heart, knowing that you will soon join the others for breakfast. You secretly hope to meet the eyes of your crush, Theodore. Yesterday, he completely ignored you, but you ignore this disappointment and remain optimistic. Entering the common room, you look for him, but he is nowhere in sight. You feel a slight disappointment, but you refuse to let it ruin your day. You greet your friends and sit down at a table, ready to enjoy this friendly moment. As you start to chat with your friend Pansy, you suddenly hear Theodore scratch his throat. Your heart races with hope. Will he finally speak to you? But instead, he announces in an unsteady voice that he must go back to the dormitories.

You are stunned, unable to understand why he is acting this way. A sadness invades your being as you see him walk away without even glancing at you. You feel rejected and hurt, wondering what you could have done wrong to deserve such treatment. Tears threaten to fall, but you hold back, not wanting to show your vulnerability to others.

You feel lost, unable to understand why Theodore treats you like this. You question your actions, looking for answers in the smallest details of your relationship. Maybe it's your fault? Maybe you're not interesting or attractive enough for him? Theodore's strange behavior doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of your friends either.

“What happened with Theodore? We noticed that he completely ignored you. Draco asked you.

“Yes, I don’t understand his behavior at all. I thought everything was fine between us, but he avoided me and left without saying a word.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s an explanation. It's not normal for him to ignore you like this. He really cares about you, I know that.” reassured you Blaise who was still swallowing his breakfast”

"Exactly. Theodore is a good person and I am convinced that he would never want to deliberately hurt you. He must have a valid reason for his behavior.” Draco continued.

“But it still hurts me. I feel like I've done something wrong or that I'm insignificant to him.” you say

“No, don't think that. You are an incredible person and you deserve someone who treats you with respect and love. Theodore needs to talk to you and explain to you what's really going on." he continued.

"Exactly. Maybe he's going through something difficult right now and he doesn't know how to tell you. You know how he is. But know that this is in no way your fault.” Draco continued in turn.

"Thanks guys. “ you said even if you weren’t really convinced.

Later in the day you tried to find him so you could finally talk to him. As you headed towards his dorms, you saw him in one of the hallways, sitting on the bench with a girl. They seemed to be laughing and chatting, as if they were best friends .

Reality hit me hard. You felt betrayed, devastated. Tears begin to flow down your cheeks, your legs weaken under the weight of pain. You wanted to run away, to escape this scene that was breaking your heart. Without thinking, you started running, your sobs muffling his cries of despair. You walked through the park, feeling lost, betrayed and abandoned. But to your surprise, you heard footsteps behind you. It was Theodore following you, his eyes full of worry and confusion. He called out to you, trying to catch up with you. You stop, turning your tear-stained face towards him.

He approached you, his voice trembling with emotion. He asked you what was wrong, why you had run away in such a hurry.

But you didn't want to hear these words, so you tried it all, you kissed him. His lips pressed against yours suddenly in a sweet kiss, triggering an explosion of emotions in your heart. His hands squeeze with yours tenderly, your lips moving in perfect harmony. It was a kiss filled with passion.

As your lips slowly part, you keep your eyes closed, trying to hold in this magical moment. You can feel the smile on his face, the happiness shining in his eyes. The world gradually regains its colors, and you open your eyes to look once again into the gaze of the one who has just stolen your breath. Theodore approaches you hesitantly, his heart heavy with remorse.

He kissed you back: it was definitely the best day of your life. But I thought you didn't love me? You pushed me away so many times" you say with tears in your eyes.

He kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I’m so sorry…” he whispers, his voice trembling. "I ignored your feelings because I was afraid of mine. I didn't know how to deal with them, so I thought that by keeping you at a distance, I could bury them."

Tears continue to stream down the girl's face as she listens to his words. "But why? Why be afraid of your feelings?", you asked, trying to understand. Theodore gently wipes away the tears streaming down the girl's cheeks.

"Because I simply love you. I was afraid of what that meant, of the vulnerability that it entailed. I was a coward in ignoring myself and I'm so sorry for making you suffer. "

You stared at Theodore, your eyes red and swollen with tears. Despite his pain, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I...I feel the same way. I have feelings for you too, but I was afraid to tell you. I thought you didn't feel anything for me."you said.

Theodore gently caresses your cheeks, a shy smile appears on your face. "I'm sorry I was so blind...

You didn't let him finish, interrupting him with another fiery kiss showing all your love for him.

[memorabxlia]

The Secret Idol ━ 아이엔

genre: fluff summary: It was a great feeling to know that he felt comfortable enough to share his biggest secret with you warnings: none I can think of pairing: idol!jeongin x fem!reader wc: 1.3k a/n: repost nets: @blossomnet

You strolled through the park, your mind lost in a tangle of thoughts and worries. The gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant murmur of laughter. But amidst the tranquility of the park, a soft melody drifted through the air, beckoning her closer.

Intrigued, you followed the sound until you came upon a secluded bench nestled beneath the shade of a towering oak tree. There, you found a young man with a guitar cradled in his arms, his fingers dancing across the strings with practiced ease. His voice, soft and soulful, filled the air with an enchanting allure, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Mesmerized, you approached cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the serene atmosphere that surrounded him. You settled onto an adjacent bench, content to simply listen and absorb the music that seemed to emanate from his very soul.

As the melody continued to weave its spell, the young man glanced up, his eyes meeting yours with a warm, inviting gaze. Without a word, he continued to play, his voice joining the guitar in perfect harmony. His lyrics were like poetry, painting vivid pictures in your mind and stirring emotions you had long kept buried.

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, lost in the music and the moment. The worries that had weighed so heavily on your mind melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment you hadn't felt in ages.

Eventually, the song came to an end, the final notes hanging in the air like a lingering echo. You found yourself holding your breath, not wanting to break the spell that had enveloped you both.

The young man set aside his guitar and turned to face you fully, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I hope you enjoyed the music," he said, his voice soft and gentle.

You nodded, unable to find your voice just yet. You was still caught up in the magic of the moment, the music still echoing in your ears and your heart.

"I'm glad," the young man replied, his smile widening. "It's not often I find someone who appreciates the beauty of a melody as much as you seem to."

You finally found your voice, though it was little more than a whisper. "Thank you," you said, your words carrying a depth of emotion you hadn't realized was there. "Your music…it touched something deep inside me."

The young man's smile grew even brighter, and he reached out a hand, offering it to you. "I'm glad I could bring a little joy into your day," he said. "My name's Jeongin, by the way."

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm Y/N," you replied, returning his smile with one of your own.

For a moment, you both simply sat there, hands clasped and smiles shared, the world around you fading into the background. It was as if you were the only two people in the park, cocooned in your own little bubble of music and magic.

But eventually, the spell had to be broken. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled your hand away, though you couldn't bring yourself to tear your gaze away from Jeongin's.

"I should probably be going," you said, your voice tinged with regret.

Jeongin nodded, though his smile never faltered. "I understand," he said. "But perhaps we'll meet again someday."

You nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest. "I'd like that," you said, rising from the bench and gathering your things. As you turned to leave, you glanced back at Jeongin one last time, committing the memory of him and his music to your heart.

And as you walked away, the gentle melody of his guitar followed you, a reminder of the fleeting but beautiful encounter you had shared with the mysterious young man in the park.

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself returning to the park more often than you ever had before. Each time, you hoped to catch another glimpse of Jeongin and his mesmerizing music. And more often than not, your wish was granted.

Your encounters became more frequent, and before long, you were spending countless hours together, sharing laughter, secrets, and dreams. You discovered that Jeongin was not just a talented musician, but also a kind-hearted soul with a passion for life.

You talked about everything and nothing, your conversations flowing effortlessly from one topic to the next. From your favorite books and movies to your hopes and aspirations, there was no subject too trivial or too profound for you to explore together.

As you grew closer, you couldn't help but admire Jeongin's gentle nature, his intelligence, and his unwavering determination. He had a way of seeing the beauty in the world, even in the darkest of times, and his optimism was infectious.

One evening, as you sat beneath the twinkling stars, Jeongin turned to you with a hesitant smile. "There's something I need to tell you," he said, his voice tinged with nervousness.

Your heart skipped a beat, sensing the weight of his words before he even spoke them. "What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the ground. "My name isn't actually Jeongin," he confessed. "It's…It's I.N."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I.N?" you repeated, trying to make sense of the sudden revelation.

Jeongin nodded, his eyes shining with vulnerability. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's…a nickname. It's what everyone calls me."

Realization dawned on you, and you felt a rush of understanding flood through you. "Wait," you said, your eyes widening in surprise. "Are you…are you a member of Stray Kids?"

Jeongin's eyes widened in shock, his gaze darting up to meet yours. "How did you…?" he began, but his voice trailed off as he realized the truth was already written on your face.

You couldn't help but smile at his reaction, though you could sense the underlying tension in the air. "I'm a fan," you admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment color your cheeks. "I've followed your group since your debut."

Jeongin seemed to relax slightly at your confession, though the tension didn't completely dissipate. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I wanted to, but…I couldn't risk it."

You reached out a comforting hand, gently squeezing his shoulder. "It's okay," you said softly. "I understand. Your safety comes first."

Jeongin nodded, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "It means a lot to me that you're so understanding."

You sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air between you both. You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the realization that the young musician you had encountered in the park was actually a member of one of the biggest idol groups in the industry.

Eventually, Jeongin broke the silence, his voice hesitant but determined. "I wanted to tell you because…I trust you," he said, his gaze meeting your with unwavering sincerity. "And it feels good to finally be able to share this part of my life with someone outside of my group."

You felt a surge of warmth fill your chest at his words, touched by the depth of trust he was placing in you. "I'm honored," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Truly."

As you both sat there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you couldn't help but marvel at the twist of fate that had brought you together. What had started as a chance encounter in the park had blossomed into something far more meaningful—a bond forged through music, trust, and shared secrets.

And as you sat there, lost in conversation and the quiet beauty of the park, You couldn't help but feel grateful for the serendipitous moment that had brought I.N into your life.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 19 - Filming

Papa Terzo x Reader

The Satanic Church hired a new PR manager to keep the Church afloat during these online times. To establish yourself, and to bring in new people, you suggest a 24 hour charity stream where the Ghouls and Papa complete challenges, play games, and create donation incentives. If they raise $1 million, Papa Terzo joked that he’d start an Only Fans. They didn’t expect to smash that goal so quickly. So who should he fuck online first than the person who suggested this whole ordeal in the first place?

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 10k.

Reading Time: 42 min.

Warnings: clothed man/naked woman, creampie, cunnilingus, filming (with consent), mentions of orgies, PIV sex, this is absolutely 100% a crack!fic, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You didn’t think they’d actually go for it, or that they’d believe it was a good idea. When you stood in the meeting room in front of Sister Imperator, Papa Emeritus III and the other upper clergy members and suggested a 24 hour live stream, you thought their boomer asses would sneer at the thought and turn the idea down. But one minute you were discussing activities to do during the stream, the next they were all nodding and looking at you incredibly impressed.

You’d only been here three months… this was your first major job as a PR manager. You knew what you were doing in theory but the execution could be messy as hell. Yet, there they all were, patting you on the back and taking notes.

Taking notes!

This was either going to make you, or break you - and you could only believe that the latter would come to pass.

Planning took place immediately, people turning Papa Terzo’s office into a streaming zone for that extra peace and quiet, but also to force him to be involved. He just thought he could leave the majority of the hours to his ghouls to entertain the world, but you knew that having him there, the head of the Ministry and the face of the Ghost Project, would make the money roll in. And they needed the money.

The Vatican had wormed their little Catholic tendrils into the Italian government and refused funding for the Ministry on account of mortal enemyship. And, with bribes in hand, the government thanked the Catholic church for “bringing their attention” to “such an evil in the country”, and tried to denounce Satanism as a genuine religion. This was, of course, a few decades ago now, but since then the Ministry never recovered and relied heavily on donations given from Lord Lucifer’s followers around the world - who gave and did so gladly. This live stream and the funds that were generated from it, would fund a huge restoration project and would help bring the facilities up to scratch. There were parts of the Ministry that were crumbling into disrepair, and you had the builders for it in house, but not the materials. It would be the biggest restoration project in the Ministry’s history… and you’d be the one to gather all that money.

No pressure.

The rewards were to be as follows:

€10,000 - First Steps

Reward: Ghouls play a game of “Never Have I Ever” live.

Bonus: Papa Terzo takes a shot of absinthe every time he loses (as suggested by Papa Secondo.)

€50,000 - Peek Behind the Curtain

Reward: A live virtual tour of the restricted parts of the Ministry, including the infamous Chapel of Shadows.

Bonus: Papa Terzo takes a shot of absinthe every time he falls over (as suggested by Papa Primo.)

€100,000 - Ghost Unplugged

Reward: An exclusive acoustic performance of “Cirice” by Papa Terzo and Ifrit.

Bonus: All donors up to this point get access to a downloadable recording of the session.

€250,000 - Makeover Madness

Reward: The audience votes on a ghoul who gets a full drag makeover by Alpha and Omega, live on stream.

€500,000 - Ritual Tease

Reward: A special candlelit ritual performance is conducted by Papa Terzo and the Ghouls.

Bonus: All viewers get early access to a limited-edition Ministry-themed candle collection.

€750,000 - Mystery Caller

Reward: Papa Terzo and the ghouls call random fans live and serenade them.

Bonus: The first person they call will receive signed memorabilia from the band’s archive.

€1,000,000 - Pomona Invitations Unlocked

Reward: Five random donors will receive a VIP invitation to the Ministry’s exclusive Pomona Festival, including an overnight stay in the Ministry’s guest quarters.

Bonus: All donors who contributed over €100 will be entered into a raffle for a personalised blessing from Papa Terzo during the ceremony.

€1,200,000 - Ghouls’ Playground

Reward: The Ghouls will perform a “Ghoul Games” Olympics, complete with ridiculous challenges and hilarious forfeits (e.g., eating the hottest pepper, trying to summon spirits while blindfolded, etc.).

€1,300,000 - One Night Only Concert Announcement

Reward: Terzo announces a one-night-only concert exclusively for the stream’s viewers, with tickets going on sale before the stream ends.

€1,400,000 - The Grand Restoration

Reward: Papa Terzo and the Ghouls reveal the blueprints and restoration plans for the Ministry, with construction to be documented and shared with all donors.

Bonus: Everyone who contributed will have their names included on a commemorative plaque placed inside the restored wing of the Ministry.

The Ministry knew that everyone’s ultimate goal was to be invited to the Festival of Pomona, knowing exactly what went down during the Ministry’s celebrations. The festival may or may not have included eating ripe fruits off of consenting naked bodies, drinking wine and fucking each other stupid (sometimes with the fruits) in the Basilica di Lilith, where the majority of festivities would take place at the Ministry.

Every holiday, a video would emerge on the Hub from the same group of wine ghouls who would all verbally consent to sharing their videos online before taking part in a small orgy in the wine cellars. Honestly, that did more for the Ministry’s applications than anything else, which is why the Papas allowed it to continue. Of course, Papa Terzo relished in the chaos, and would even hold screenings of the videos a few days later, which would then trigger another orgy.

On the days leading up to the livestream you found yourself buried in preparations, hands deep in spreadsheets, schedules, and legal disclaimers (because, unfortunately, someone had to pretend to be responsible). The Ministry was buzzing with activity as the wine ghouls polished off their favourite barrels, giggling over their plans for this year’s video. Every time you passed them in the halls, their smug little grins made it clear they knew exactly what kind of mayhem they’d cause this time around.

And, of course, Terzo was no help. His contribution to the stream planning was strolling into meetings late, lounging in chairs like a cat who knew he was untouchable, and occasionally chiming in with suggestions like, “What if we did a segment where I read fan fiction about myself?”

You thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

The ghouls thought it was hilarious and, before you could veto it, had already spread the idea like wildfire through the Ministry. The next morning, a surprisingly professional-looking flyer had been tacked to your office door:

“Papa Terzo Reads Smut, LIVE: Midnight Madness. BYOB (Bring Your Own Bible).”

You crumpled it up, threw it in the bin, and prayed to whatever deity would listen that it would quietly die off. It didn’t.

By the time the final schedule was drafted, not only was the reading segment officially included, but it was slotted right after the wine ghouls’ “Live from the Cellars” broadcast from last Lupercalia—just late enough in the night that most of the viewers would already be a little too deep into the wine themselves to complain about it.

And that wasn’t even the half of it.

On the days leading up to the livestream, every inch of the Ministry was being scrubbed, polished, and sensually rearranged to fit both the theme of the stream and the aesthetic of the Pomona Festival. The Basilica di Lilith—usually a solemn, shadowed space reserved for the highest rituals—was now being transformed into a bacchanalian paradise. Silk drapes hung from the rafters, embroidered cushions littered the floor, and massive fruit platters were set up along low tables, each piece of produce almost obscenely ripe and glistening.

And the bodies… oh, the bodies.

Ghouls, clergy, and a few familiar outside guests all volunteered to participate in the festival as living platters, lying still beneath the fruits, wine drizzling from lips to thighs as they practiced holding seductive poses in the chapel’s soft candlelight. You’d walked in on a practice session once, seen the trainee ghoul, Cirrus, with her legs spread and an apple resting precariously between them, and immediately backed out before you could make eye contact with anyone. They were committed, that much was certain.

Every time you tried to reign things in, Papa Terzo was already two steps ahead, unravelling your sense of control faster than you could stitch it back together.

“Relax, tesoro,” he’d purr with that infuriating grin, “if things get too wild, we’ll just call it ‘performance art.’ The Vatican loves that stuff.”

You tried to tell yourself it would all come together in the end. Somehow.

But the truth was, it was all spiralling out of your hands, and you were beginning to understand just how the Ministry ran: beautifully chaotic, gleefully immoral, and completely unsupervised.

The livestream kicked off at 10 AM sharp, cameras switching on to capture a shot of Terzo, lounging like a king on one of the deep leather armchairs in his office. His ghouls crowded around him on plush rugs and sofas, bottles of wine and spirits scattered among them. The viewers flooded in—thousands of curious souls watching live from around the world, eager to witness just how far the Ministry would push things. And the Ministry, predictably, wasted no time.

The first stretch of the stream was “Never Have I Ever,” a brilliant icebreaker orchestrated by Terzo, mostly so he could make a mess of his ghouls and drink far more than any of them. The stream chat was exploding—“👀” emojis and donations flying in at an alarming rate. Terzo swirled his wine lazily, the corners of his lips curling as he surveyed his crew.

“Let’s begin, no? Something easy… a little warm-up, sì?” Terzo purred, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Alpha, you start.”

The hulking fire ghoul—Alpha—grinned around the rim of his whiskey glass. “Fine. Never have I ever…” He paused for dramatic effect, his forked tongue flicking between sharp teeth. “Slept with someone in this room.”

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the chat, and almost immediately, Terzo raised his glass with a devilish grin, along with Ifrit and Mist. The others exchanged knowing looks before following suit, with Aether muttering, “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Ember chuckled, leaning into Ifrit. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all guilty on that one.” He raised his glass, and Ifrit gave him a playful nip on the ear as he took her sip.

Mountain, quiet as ever, drank with a casual nonchalance, his enormous form relaxed despite the debauchery in the room. The chat was frothing at this point—donation notifications pinging nonstop.

“€50,000 milestone reached!” the notification flashed across the screen, followed by a flood of comments:

“Omg I KNEW IT”

“These ghouls are feral”

“Terzo already drunk and it’s only 10:30 AM lmfao”

Omega, perched cross-legged on the rug, hummed thoughtfully. “Never have I ever… worn someone else’s clothes during sex.”

Terzo nearly choked on his drink, laughing as he took a sip. Earth grinned and drank as well, along with Air, who added, “It’s called resourcefulness.”

“Resourcefulness?” Aether snorted, downing his wine. “It’s called kinks, my dude.”

Ifrit, already a little tipsy, leaned back and drawled, “What, you’ve never seen Terzo in someone else’s robes? Guy looks like sin incarnate.”

“Shut up,” Terzo smirked, tipping his glass in salute, completely unbothered by the growing chaos. “I wear them better than any of you.”

The conversation spiraled quickly as the questions became increasingly personal—partly to outdo one another, partly because no one in the room could resist poking at old memories.

Mist, looking deceptively innocent, said next: “Never have I ever faked an orgasm.”

The room erupted in laughter. Aether coughed into his wine, Air raised both hands in mock surrender, and Terzo gave an exaggerated scoff before drinking. “Che bastardo,” he muttered, making everyone cackle harder.

Mountain, as usual, simply shrugged, sipping without comment.

The viewers were losing their minds, donations piling up by the second as the room dissolved into drunken, irreverent chaos. Every time someone revealed something incriminating, the chat flooded with emojis and exclamations:

“MOUNTAIN FAKED AN ORGASM????”

“The AUDACITY of Terzo omg”

“MORE STORIES I BEG YOU”

The first hour of the stream passed in a blur of laughter, spilled wine, and wild confessions. They’d already blown past the €100,000 mark, and Terzo, glancing at the tracker on the screen, grinned like a man who knew exactly how this was going to end.

“Ah, we’re just getting started, miei amici,” he purred to the camera, raising his glass. “I hope you’re ready for a long, sinful night.”

The chat exploded again, the stream rolling on without a care in the world—just as the Ministry had planned. One hour down, twenty-three to go.

You made the executive decision—Terzo, with his wine-drunk smirk and half-lidded gaze, was definitely not in a condition to lead a coherent tour of the Ministry. There was no way he’d make it through the halls without getting distracted, lost, or deciding to take a nap on a velvet chaise halfway through. So you shifted it to later in the week, hoping his sobriety would at least slightly improve by then. But keeping things on track for now? That was another challenge altogether.

Ifrit—already three drinks deep—got it in his head that it was the perfect time for a little music. Before you could stop him, he grabbed an acoustic guitar someone had stashed in the corner, strumming out a chaotic, out-of-tune chord.

“Oh no…” you whispered, dread setting in. But it was already too late.

The chat went feral, donations flying in faster than the counter could register.

“LIVE Cirice karaoke??! I CAN’T”

“50€ if Ifrit makes it through without completely botching the chorus”

“Papáaaaaa, serenade us pls 🥺”

“Okay, okay!” Terzo swayed dangerously as he stood, grabbing the mic someone handed him with more enthusiasm than skill. “You want music? I am music!” he declared dramatically, then immediately stumbled into the edge of the coffee table.

The ghouls erupted in drunken laughter, Aether and Mist clutching each other as Terzo tried to recover his dignity, shooting them a lazy glare.

Ifrit fumbled with the guitar for a second, plucking out a hilariously off-key rendition of the opening riff to “Cirice.” The stream chat exploded with emojis—crying-laughing faces, wine glasses, and musical notes flooding the screen.

“What in Lucifer’s name is happening rn?”

“This is the most chaotic version of Cirice I’ve ever heard and I love it.”

“NOTHING is in tune but I’m still crying”

“I feel your presence… among these ghooooouls,” Terzo slurred into the mic, drawing out the notes like some unholy lounge singer. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned too far back, nearly tipping over.

The ghouls cackled—Air doubled over on the floor, slamming his hand into the rug. Mountain kept it together, though his shoulders shook from suppressed laughter, while Omega helpfully chimed in, “That’s definitely not the line, but go off, Papa.”

“Shhh!” Terzo hissed, dramatically pressing a finger to his lips. “Art is fluid, Omega. Fluid!” He turned back to the mic, swaying as Ifrit fought to stay somewhat in rhythm. “I can feel your mother… I can feel your mother, beating in the dark…”

And then came the chorus—oh, the chorus.

Ifrit made a valiant attempt to hit the right chords, but by then, his fingers were as drunk as his brain. He strummed something that might have once resembled music, but now sounded like a cat falling down a flight of stairs.

Terzo launched into the refrain anyway, shamelessly belting out:

“Can you feel the thunder?”

“Ciriiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!” he wailed, voice cracking beautifully.

The chat lost it.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS LMFAO”

“This is camp. This is art.”

“€200 if they finish the song without laughing.”

The laughter in the room reached dangerous levels—Aether and Air wheezing on the floor while Mist buried her face in Omega’s shoulder, her whole body shaking. Ifrit gave up halfway through the next verse, falling back onto the couch in defeat, still cradling the guitar as if it had personally betrayed him.

Terzo powered through, eyes closed, arms spread dramatically wide, like a man possessed by the spirit of the song—or possibly just too much wine. He staggered toward Mountain, shoving the mic in his face.

“Sing with me, amico!” Terzo demanded.

Mountain blinked slowly, stone-faced as ever. “…No.”

That sent the ghouls into another wave of hysterics, and even Terzo couldn’t hold back his own laughter this time. He stumbled back to his seat, collapsing into it with a satisfied grin, cheeks flushed pink from wine and joy.

As he tried to catch his breath, he slurred into the microphone: “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all day.”

The donations ticker shot past €150,000, and the stream chat devolved into chaos:

“This is peak content, nothing will top this.”

“€50 IF THEY DO ANOTHER SONG PLS”

“Terzo’s laugh is the sound of the gods.”

“Terzo autotune confirmed.”

The next ten hours passed in a blur of activities, laughter, and enough chaos to keep the viewers glued to their screens. Terzo had sobered up remarkably quickly—though that may have been aided by an embarrassing amount of pizza consumed during breaks—and the ghouls shifted gears, transitioning from tipsy karaoke to various challenges that had the chat on the edge of their seats.

Challenges ranged from food tastings (courtesy of the Ministry’s kitchen staff) to hilariously bad attempts at crafting—some ghouls were surprisingly talented, while others were definitely not. Mist and Ifrit attempted to decorate a cake, and after a chaotic hour of flour flying and frosting disasters, they presented what looked like a mangled abstract art piece that was more comical than edible.

The stream’s chat exploded with laughter:

“This is the worst cake I’ve ever seen, I LOVE it!”

“Is it a cake or a cursed artifact?”

“I’m convinced Ifrit was trying to summon a demon with that frosting.”

As the hours dragged on, they tackled more physical challenges—like an impromptu round of “Twister” where Terzo quickly found himself tangled with Earth and Ember, both of whom were giggling uncontrollably. Mountain, being the quiet powerhouse he was, nailed his positions, winning the game without breaking a sweat while the others fell into a heap of limbs and laughter.

Then came the 15-hour mark. The energy in the room had shifted, weariness creeping in as they gathered around the coffee table for a much-needed pizza feast. Boxes of steaming hot pizza piled high, and the ghouls dove in with reckless abandon, conversation flowing easily as they rehashed the day’s absurdity.

Terzo plopped down beside Aether, pulling a slice of pepperoni from the box. “I swear if I see another cake like that, I might just lose my mind,” he said between bites, crumbs speckling his robe.

“If you keep eating like that, it’ll be your mind that gets lost in the cheese,” Aether shot back with a cheeky grin.

The laughter was punctuated by the chatter of pizza grease and a chorus of “Ooooh, I love this topping!”

Then, the notification chimed in—the stream hit €1 million raised. It was a monumental milestone, and the chat erupted in celebration, accompanied by a flurry of donations and cheers.

“YESSSS!!!”

“THIS IS WHAT WE CAME FOR!”

“CIRCUS OF HORRORS, MORE PLEASE!”

The ghouls, momentarily distracted from their pizza, erupted into cheers and hugs, Terzo’s laughter ringing out above the rest as he stood to address the camera, waving his arms like a conductor. “We did it! One million! Can you believe it?”

Ifrit, eyes slightly glazed but clearly enthusiastic, lifted his slice of pizza high. “To one million euros! And to our loyal fans—cheers!” he declared, taking a massive bite.

The viewers went wild. Donations poured in as they celebrated the milestone, fueling the ghouls’ energy once more. Terzo, clearly enjoying the attention, began to plan the next segment.

“Okay,” he said clapping his hands, trying to keep his eyes open. “If we reach our goal in the next two hours, eh, tesoro,” he looked at you, “how much more is left?”

“€400,000, Papa,” you replied.

“They won’t do it. €400,000 in the next two hours and I’ll start an Only Fans.”

The chat exploded with a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“NO WAY!”

“THIS IS A THREAT AND A PROMISE.”

“I need to see this!”

You felt your face flush at Terzo’s bold declaration. “Papa, are you sure that’s a good idea?” you blurted, half-laughing, half-worrying about the chaos that would ensue if he followed through.

“Absolutely!” he replied, puffing out his chest as if the prospect thrilled him. “Think of the money! And all the juicy content…” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to the camera, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I could do a series called ‘Cooking with Terzo’—a little bit of spice, a little bit of… you know!”

“I’m dead,” someone typed in the chat.

“This is going to break the internet.”

“We’ll donate if you promise to wear that robe.”

Ifrit nearly choked on his pizza, laughter bubbling up as he pointed at Terzo. “Oh, please do! I want to see how many ghouls will actually pay to watch you cook in that!”

Terzo threw his head back, laughing heartily. “You’re all sick! But fine, if that’s what it takes!” He turned back to you, eyes sparkling with an idea. “And let’s sweeten the deal. If we hit that €400,000 mark, I’ll also do a live reading of my favorite poetry… in the most seductive way possible.”

The chat lit up with renewed enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but shake your head, half-amused and half-concerned about what exactly Terzo was proposing.

“THIS IS A GOLDMINE!”

“I’m about to donate my entire paycheck.”

“Can’t wait to see this sexy poetry reading!”

The only problem was, that goal was reached in less than 30 minutes after Terzo’s suggestion, leaving everyone speechless. Especially Terzo. While he didn’t actually have a problem with going through with what he’d promised, he never expected it to actually happen. He didn’t think anyone would donate multiple times, nor that some would donate such high amounts. He was prepared and so sure that he’d be safe. He was wrong.

When the live stream had ended, over €2 million had been raised for the Ministry’s benefit, and while the clergy were overjoyed with the donation goal exceeding, there was now the concern of Terzo’s Only Fans page. In a feedback meeting with the upper clergy, you were both praised and scolded for allowing Terzo to announce something so stupid, especially as no one could go back on their word.

Sister Imperator put you on content control, whether you liked it or not.

“I do not think,” Papa Secondo began, frowning at Sister Imperator, “we should force ___ to take part in my idiota fratello’s Only Fans. He should be the only one punished, no?”

Sister Imperator sighed. “I didn’t suggest she stars in them.”

Terzo began picking at his nails. “I was thinking she would.”

The entire room looked at him, your mouth agape. “Come again?” you asked, disbelief laced in your words.

“Well,” Terzo donned his famous cheeky expression, “you were the one who suggested we do the live stream in the first place.”

“I didn’t tell you to suggest making porn to reach your goal! You did that all on your own.”

“I would not have suggested it if we didn’t do the live stream in the first place.”

Sister Imperator tried to interrupt but you stopped her. “You were one of the first people on board with the live stream, if I recall.”

“I cannot force you, of course, Sorella,” he began.

“No you fucking can’t!” you exclaimed.

“But, the money made would be… well, a lot. And if I do not have you, I’m going to have to make love to someone else.”

You nodded and stood, straightening your habit. “Perfect, I’m sure the wine ghouls would offer themselves up willingly.”

Terzo leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Ma dai, you know they wouldn’t hold a candle to what we could create together. Besides, it’s not just about the money, tesoro. Think of the divertimento, the thrill of it all.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Immagina the stories we could tell, the cose we could do… and all the fans watching, begging for more.”

You felt your resolve wavering as his words wrapped around you, the promise of adventure tingling in the air. “And who’s to say we couldn’t make it fun for ourselves? Sei d’accordo? Just a little taste of our wild side, and then we can go back to our proper lives.”

He tilted his head, those charming eyes locked onto yours, an irresistible challenge hidden within his gaze. “What do you say? Shall we give them a show they’ll never forget?”

You thought for a moment. “Do I get paid?”

Terzo chuckled, the mischievous glint in his eye growing more pronounced. “Certo, tesoro! You will be compensated handsomely. Think of it as your stipendio for the best performance of your life.” He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, a grin playing on his lips. “Besides, it’s not just about the money; it’s about creating something special, something that will make waves for the Ministry.”

He leaned in again, his voice low and inviting. “And who knows? We might even enjoy ourselves along the way. After all, this is a nuova avventura—and I promise, you won’t regret it. Just think about it.”

And, oh boy, did you think about it. Long and hard. On the one hand, you’d be on the internet for the rest of your life as the person who was filmed fucking Papa Emeritus III. On the other hand, you’d be the person who fucked Papa Emeritus III. The people on that list was actually quite long, but still, it was a tempting prospect. You knew people who were on that list, who would sacrifice anyone they could get their hands on if it meant another chance with Terzo. And you were sat there, in the dark, at the witching hour, contemplating whether you should or not. The rest of the Ministry would have your guts for garters.

Ultimately, the choice was yours.

And you took it.

The careful deliberation had landed you to the conclusion that you very much wanted to be the person who fucked Papa Emeritus III for the world to see. There was something undeniably hot about being vulnerable in front of an audience, letting the world into your private realm. The thought of it was exhilarating. It transformed sex into a performance, turning every sigh and gasp into a piece of art, a story shared with countless viewers. You could almost hear the murmurs of anticipation as people tuned in, eagerly awaiting the unfolding drama.

And it wasn’t just about the audience; it was about him. With every glance, every teasing comment he threw your way, you could feel the electric connection sparking between you, the tension building until it became impossible to ignore. To be desired so openly, to have someone like Terzo wanting you—really wanting you—was intoxicating. The allure of exploring that passion on camera, of giving in to your desires while the world watched, sent heat pooling in your core.

What made it even hotter was the thought of pushing boundaries. The idea of sharing an experience so deeply personal and yet so public made your pulse quicken. You could imagine the way his hands would explore your body, the weight of his gaze as he looked at you with hunger while the cameras captured every moment. It was an act of surrender, a dance of dominance and submission that could leave both of you breathless and craving more.

And there was a thrill in knowing that the final product would live on forever, a digital record of your passion. You could already picture the comments flooding in—words of praise, envy, desire from viewers who wished they were in your place. The idea of turning the tables, of being the one who brought Terzo to his knees while being cheered on by fans, was undeniably intoxicating.

Ultimately, the choice you made was about seizing the moment, about embracing the adventure that lay ahead. You wanted to explore the depths of your own desires, and what better way to do that than with someone who exuded confidence and charm, all while the world watched?

With a deep breath, you felt your decision solidify. You were ready to step into that spotlight, to become a part of something that was larger than life. Let the world see you. Let them see what it means to be with Papa Emeritus III. The idea ignited a fire within you, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were ready for whatever came next.

You took charge of the preparations, determined to create an atmosphere that matched the grandeur of the moment. Terzo’s room was the perfect setting—opulent and gothic, adorned with rich purple drapes that cascaded down the walls and a massive four-poster bed draped in velvet. The dim, flickering candlelight cast playful shadows, enhancing the sultry ambiance while adding an air of mystery.

You meticulously arranged the space, making sure every detail was just right. A few strategically placed pillows adorned the bed, their deep colors complementing the purple hues around you. You placed a vintage mirror nearby to capture the angles and reflections, knowing it would only add to the allure of the performance.

As you moved about the room, the thrill of anticipation thrummed through you. You set up the camera, ensuring it was perfectly positioned to catch every moment without obstruction. There was a certain rush in knowing you were about to share something so intimate with the world. You checked the lighting, adjusting it to create a soft glow that would enhance the sultriness of the scene.

You stepped back to admire your handiwork. The room looked stunning—every element came together to create a setting that felt both enchanting and erotic. You could almost feel Terzo’s presence there with you, the energy crackling in the air as you imagined how he would take in the space.

Terzo walked into the room with an effortless swagger, his attire embodying the perfect blend of gothic elegance and seductive flair. He wore a fitted black velvet jacket, the fabric glimmering softly in the candlelight, its high collar framing his face and emphasizing his striking features. Underneath, a deep purple silk shirt peeked out, the material clinging to his form and accentuating the subtle curves of his torso.

His pants were tailored and sleek, hugging his legs perfectly and tapering down to black leather boots that gleamed like polished obsidian. The ensemble was completed with a few silver rings adorning his fingers, catching the light with every gesture he made.

As he moved closer, the rich colors of his outfit contrasted beautifully with the opulent purples of the room, making him the focal point of the scene. The combination of textures—velvet, silk, and leather—added an element of sensuality that was hard to ignore. His presence was magnetic, and the way he carried himself with confidence only heightened the air of seduction in the room. “Che spettacolo!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and admiration. “You’ve outdone yourself, tesoro.”

The way he looked at you—filled with excitement and desire—sent a thrill coursing through your veins. “It’s perfect for what we’re about to do,” you replied, your heart racing.

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I have a feeling this will be a night to remember.” The promise behind his words was undeniable, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

With a deep breath, you stepped over to the camera, your heart pounding in anticipation. You flicked the switch, and the red light glowed ominously, signaling that you were being recorded. The moment the cameras turned on, a rush of adrenaline surged through you. You adjusted the angle slightly, ensuring that Terzo would be perfectly framed in the shot.

“Ciao a tutti!” Terzo called out, flashing a charming smile at the camera, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Welcome to the Ministry’s most scandalous event yet!” His playful tone set the stage, and you could feel the energy in the room shift, becoming electric with the prospect of what was to come.

You moved back to the bed, positioning yourself beside him. “Are you ready to give them a show they won’t forget?” you teased, your heart racing as his gaze locked onto yours.

“Oh, I intend to make it memorable,” he replied, his voice low and sultry. With a playful wink, he leaned in closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, igniting a heat that spread through you. The cameras captured every nuance of your interaction—the chemistry crackling between you, the unspoken promises lingering in the air.

Slowly, he closed the gap, capturing your lips with his in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste of him—sweet with a hint of wine—was intoxicating. As he kissed you, he pulled you closer, his hands finding your waist and drawing you against him, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

With a confident grin, he broke the kiss and looked deep into your eyes, gauging your reaction. “I want them to see how much I enjoy you,” he said, his voice dripping with seduction. He began to explore your body with his hands, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist. The touch was firm yet tender, igniting your skin and heightening your senses.

“Let’s give them a real show,” he murmured, a wicked grin forming on his lips. He leaned back, taking a moment to admire you, and then turned to the camera, making sure to address the viewers. “Are you ready for this? Because I am.”

With that, he directed your body to turn slightly toward the camera, giving the audience a view of you both as he began to slowly undress you, his fingers deftly working the buttons of your attire. Each small reveal felt monumental, the thrill of being watched heightening every sensation as he pulled you deeper into the moment.

With each button he undid, the anticipation built, your heart racing faster as Terzo’s playful yet deliberate touch left a trail of heat across your skin. He took his time, his fingers grazing your sides, lingering just long enough to make you gasp before continuing the slow descent.

“Bellissima,” he breathed, taking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire. “I want everyone to see how stunning you are.” His gaze was intense, locking onto yours as if he were the only one who mattered in that moment.

Finally, he pushed your clothing aside, baring your skin to the dim light of the room and the eager eyes of the audience. You felt exposed yet empowered, knowing that Terzo was right there beside you, guiding you through this exhilarating experience. He leaned in closer, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing and nibbling, making you arch into him as the sensations intensified.

“Let them see how I worship you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. He pressed soft kisses along your collarbone, each one igniting a spark that sent shivers through your body.

As he continued to explore, his hands roamed freely over your curves, and he made sure to play up every soft gasp and moan that escaped your lips. The thrill of being on camera only heightened the pleasure, every touch feeling more electric under the gaze of the viewers.

“Now, let’s give them what they came for,” he said, his voice a sultry promise as he pulled back just enough to position you perfectly in front of the camera, ensuring every tantalizing moment would be caught on film.

He looked at you with that mischievous glint, his eyes flickering between your lips and the camera. “Are you ready for your audience, tesoro?” His tone dripped with playful seduction as he grasped your chin gently, tilting your head back slightly.

You nodded, the thrill of it all making your heart race. “Yes,” you breathed, feeling a rush of excitement as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue teasingly brushing against yours.

With that, he began to take control, guiding your body to move with his as he pulled you down onto the bed, the plush surface cradling you both. He hovered above you for a moment, his presence dominating yet undeniably magnetic.

“Ti mostrerò,” he said with a cheeky grin, “I’ll show you how it’s done.” And with that, he began to explore your body with renewed fervor, kissing a path down your torso, savoring every inch of you as the camera captured it all—every sigh, every movement—immortalizing the moment for his audience and for you both.

Terzo’s kisses trailed lower, his lips leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake as he moved down your body. He paused for a moment, taking the time to admire the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched instinctively towards him, craving more.

“Sei così bella,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked up at you, clearly relishing the moment.

With that, he settled between your legs, a playful glint in his gaze as he teased the hem of your garment. He took his time, pulling it up just enough to reveal the smooth skin of your thighs, pressing soft kisses along the inner seams as he ascended. The sensation was intoxicating, each kiss igniting a fire deep within you, fueling your anticipation.

“Let them see you,” he whispered, glancing up at the camera before continuing his exploration. “Every inch of you deserves to be admired.” His mouth moved closer to your core, but he stopped just short, relishing the way your breath hitched in your throat.

“Dai,” he coaxed playfully, his voice low and teasing. “Let me taste you.”

With that, he finally pressed his lips against you, the warmth and softness of his mouth igniting a spark that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. His tongue flicked and danced, teasing you with gentle strokes as he expertly coaxed you closer to the edge. You could feel the camera capturing every moment, amplifying the intensity of the experience.

He locked eyes with you, ensuring you felt every ounce of pleasure as he brought you closer and closer. “Voglio sentire i tuoi gemiti,” he said, his voice a sultry growl against your sensitive skin. “I want to hear your moans.”

The thrill of being on camera only heightened the sensations, and as he continued to pleasure you, the weight of the moment settled in—this was not just a private encounter, but a spectacle, a performance where every gasp and moan would be immortalized for the world to see.

Terzo knew just how to play the audience, and as he worked his magic, he made sure to encourage you, his voice a steady stream of encouragement. “Sì, così, bella… Let them see how much you enjoy this.” His words were like a balm, igniting a passion within you that couldn’t be contained.

With a sultry silence enveloping the room, Terzo continued his devoted ministrations, his tongue moving in tantalizing patterns that drove you wild. Every flick and swirl of his mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, as if he were orchestrating a symphony of sensations tailored just for you.

He expertly explored every sensitive spot, his lips pressing against your skin in soft, teasing kisses before returning to his focused work. The weight of the moment became more intense as he leaned into his task, his dark hair falling into his eyes, creating an intimate veil between you and the world outside the camera’s gaze.

Your breath quickened, each gasp escaping your lips louder than the last, and the sheer thrill of being recorded made everything feel heightened. The warmth of the room mingled with the heat radiating from your core, every sensation amplified as Terzo’s mouth worked its magic.

As he continued to feast on you, you could see the way he savored the experience—his eyes occasionally glancing up to meet yours, ensuring that he was bringing you the pleasure you craved. The intimate connection shared between you felt electric, even with the cameras rolling, capturing every moment of your shared desire.

You could feel the familiar tightening in your belly, the sensation building within you as Terzo pressed on, his dedication unwavering. It was as if he was lost in the rhythm of it all, completely focused on bringing you to the brink of pleasure.

As he pulled back slightly, just enough to tease you, you felt a surge of frustration mixed with desire. Your body craved more, urging him to take you to that precipice. Yet, Terzo seemed to enjoy the slow build, prolonging the anticipation, the delicious torture that left you breathless and begging for release.

You squirmed beneath him, your hips instinctively grinding against his face as you sought more friction, more contact. He responded with a deep hum, sending vibrations coursing through you that only heightened the pleasure. The noise escaped your lips unbidden—a soft, needy whimper that echoed in the intimate space.

With every passing moment, the pressure inside you intensified, winding tighter and tighter like a coiled spring. Terzo’s skilled mouth was relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge, and you could feel that familiar warmth pooling in your core, the unmistakable sign that release was imminent.

He alternated between gentle kisses and fervent licks, knowing precisely how to keep you on the brink. Just as you thought you might tumble over, he would pull back slightly, letting the waves of pleasure wash over you without allowing you to reach that sweet release.

The thrill of being filmed only added to the excitement, a spicy undercurrent that made everything feel more urgent. You wanted to cry out, to let the world know just how good he was making you feel, but instead, you bit your lip, savoring the delicious tension that hung in the air.

As he shifted slightly, deepening his focus, the intensity rose to an unbearable level. Terzo’s fingers slipped under your thighs, lifting your legs slightly, opening you up even more for him. The change in angle allowed him to explore deeper, his tongue delving into places that made your back arch and your breaths come in gasps.

Terzo seemed to sense the shift in your energy, and with a renewed fervor, he dove back in, his mouth working at an even more fevered pace. You felt the tension build, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and as he locked eyes with you once more, his gaze was filled with that same playful intensity that had drawn you in from the very beginning.

You could feel the coil inside you tightening, ready to snap at any moment. Just as the waves began to crash, Terzo’s movements became more fervent, his tongue flicking faster, more insistently, driving you over the edge. The world erupted in a blur of sensations as your body responded, pleasure flooding through you, making you writhe beneath him.

“Terzo!” you cried out, the name a desperate plea as you surrendered to the waves of ecstasy washing over you. Your body tensed, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as you finally fell, spiraling into that euphoric release that left you breathless and trembling.

Terzo didn’t let up, continuing to work you through it, his mouth still latched onto you, drawing out every last moment of bliss. The camera captured everything—the passion, the pleasure, the pure ecstasy of the moment—and as you came down from the high, you realized you’d just shared something intensely personal and thrilling with the world.

In that heated aftermath, as your body slowly settled, you looked down at him, breathless and dazed, and caught the satisfied grin on his face. He pulled back slightly, his lips glistening and a playful glint in his eye. “Che esperienza incredibile,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

You could taste yourself on him when he kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth and capturing you in a passionate kiss. You forgot the cameras were there until he looked one in the eye, staring down the barrel of the lens with a smug expression on his face that told everyone he knew just how fucking good he was. The arrogance he wore, on another man, would be the most obnoxious thing. But on him? Right now while your cum dripped from his lips and onto his chin, his body weighing yours down into the mattress and eyes wild with lust? This was the hottest thing you had ever seen, and you needed more of that arrogance while he fucked you silly.

“You came so hard, tesoro,” he teased, staring down at you once he finally looked at you. “Who made you come like that?”

“Y-you did,” you replied, breathlessly.

It wasn’t enough for him. “Tell everyone at home, the people who have their hands on themselves and are stroking wildly as they watched you… who made it happen?”

“Terzo!”

He hummed, a pleased rumble coming from him. “Esatto. Such a good girl for her Papa. What do you want next, hm? You have to tell us or we won’t know.”

Us. Including the audience in this as if they had any decision over what was about to happen to you. But the idea, knowing that so many people were watching this happen, and that Terzo was prioritising your pleasure on camera had you clenching around nothing. You wanted him deep inside you, touching all those spots that no one had ever been able to touch before. You wanted him to fuck you until you passed out and had the entire world watching as he did so.

“I w-want your cock, Papa,” you told him, naked hips bucking up to rub against him.

“Davvero? Where would you like it, tesoro?” He ran his index finger over your lips. “In your mouth?” He moved his hand down to in between your breasts. “Against these glorious tits?” He continued his movements, skipping over your sensitive snatch with his hands and rubbing your inner thighs teasingly. “Here? Where do you want my cock?”

“Inside me.”

“Il mia angela, more specific. Do you want me in your mouth?”

You shook your head.

“Words.”

“N-no.”

“Your ass?”

“No, Papa. Please.”

“Then where?”

“M-my cunt. Please fuck my cunt Papa.”

He giggled. He leaned down and bit your neck, playfully. “So polite. Begging so sweetly. Va bene,” he sat up and pulled off his jacket, throwing it over to the other side of the room, “Papa will give you what you want.”

He never undressed much further than that besides him rolling up his sleeves like he meant business. He pulled his cock out from beneath his slacks, teasing the audience with him still being clothed. The entire Ministry had seen this man naked innumerable times, but the rest of the world would have to wait.

From the sides of your body, he lifted your hands and trapped them beneath his own above your head. “Feel me,” he whispered in your ear before sliding himself inside you slowly.

As Terzo slowly pushed inside you, your body arched instinctively, desperate to take all of him. The initial stretch was exquisite, your walls clinging tightly to his cock as he sank in deeper, filling you inch by inch. The weight of his body pressing yours into the mattress was intoxicating, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered sweet nothings in a mix of Italian and English, each word sending shivers down your spine.

“Così stretto,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “So tight for me, tesoro. You feel incredible.”

The cameras were still rolling, capturing every moment of your connection, but in that moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. The sensation of being so completely filled, so utterly claimed, had your heart racing, and the thought that others were watching only added to the intense heat pooling in your core.

Terzo held your hands firmly above your head, his fingers digging deliciously into your wrists as he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each time he pulled out just enough to leave you wanting, only to thrust back in with a firm, measured pace. His cock hit all the right spots, the delicious friction building a heady pressure inside you.

“Fuck, Papa!” you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, urging him to go deeper, harder. But Terzo, ever the tease, kept his pace slow and torturous, drawing out your pleasure until you were trembling beneath him, desperate for more.

“Patience, bella,” he teased, his lips brushing against your jawline. “We have an audience, remember? We want to give them a show they’ll never forget.”

You moaned in response, the heat of his words matching the fire building inside you. The idea that so many eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath Papa Emeritus III, was electrifying. You could practically feel the weight of their gaze, knowing they were all waiting, eagerly anticipating the moment he would finally take you as hard and fast as you craved.

“Pl-please, Terzo,” you begged, your voice breathy and desperate. “I ne… need more.”

He grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the way you were pleading for him. His pace quickened slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more insistent, but still not quite enough to push you over the edge. It was maddening, the way he kept you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, his cock filling you completely with every slow, deliberate movement.

“Look at you,” he purred, his voice dripping with arrogance. “So needy, tesoro. You want Papa to fuck you harder, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you breathed, your hands gripping his tightly as your hips bucked up to meet his. “Please, f-fuck me ha-ah! Harder.”

He chuckled darkly, clearly savoring the power he had over you in this moment. “Brava,” he praised, his lips ghosting over yours. “You ask so sweetly. But I think they want to hear you beg a little more.”

With that, he shifted slightly, adjusting his angle so that his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut as a moan escaped your lips, your body tightening around him in response. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“Tell them,” Terzo commanded, his voice a low growl. “Tell them how much you want it.”

You opened your eyes, glancing at the camera that was focused on your every move, your heart pounding in your chest. “I want it,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “I want Papa to fuck me harder. Please.”

“Perfetto,” he purred, his pace finally picking up as he drove into you harder, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The bed creaked beneath you as he moved faster, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythm that was as punishing as it was perfect.

You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, that familiar pressure building rapidly as he took you harder, deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. The sound of your combined moans filled the room, the lewd slap of skin on skin only adding to the intensity of the moment.

Terzo’s grip on your hands tightened as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come for me, cara,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “Let them see how good I make you feel.”

His words sent you over the edge. Your body tensed as the orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around his cock as you cried out his name. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that left you trembling beneath him, completely undone.

Terzo didn’t let up, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, his thrusts unrelenting as he chased his own release. The look on his face was one of pure ecstasy, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“Buona ragazza,” he growled, his pace becoming erratic as he neared his own climax. “You’re perfect.”

As Terzo’s thrusts became rougher, his focus shifting to his own pleasure, the sight of him above you was utterly mesmerizing. His sharp, angular features were illuminated by the soft, purple glow of the room, casting shadows that only added to his allure. His slicked-back hair was now slightly disheveled from the intensity of the moment, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, rubbing his paints off him with every bead that dripped onto your body. Every movement radiated raw, untamed power, as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own need.

The fabric of his shirt was slightly wrinkled now, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strength in his forearms as he braced himself above you. Every muscle in his body was taut, working in perfect harmony as he plunged into you over and over. He was fully in control, and he knew it. The confidence he exuded was magnetic, the way his body moved with precision and purpose made it impossible to look away.

You could see the tension building in his jaw, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, and the deep, guttural sounds escaping him were enough to send shivers down your spine. His eyes, still dark with lust, never left you, watching intently as you squirmed and gasped beneath him. The combination of his powerful movements and the way his clothes framed his body only added to his allure—this man, still so composed and dignified, was fucking you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The way he thrust into you now, hard and fast, each movement rougher than the last, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you all over again. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you in all the right ways, and the sound of his hips slamming into yours echoed through the room, mixing with your breathy moans and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

Terzo’s head tilted back slightly, his eyes half-lidded as his pleasure began to crest, and the sight of him, still fully dressed, so composed in his authority even while chasing his release, made him look more powerful than ever. He was gorgeous—perfect in his calculated roughness, his eyes locking onto yours as he growled, “Sì, tesoro, I’m close.”

The power he held in this moment, the way he dominated the space around you, both on camera and within the confines of the bed, left you in awe. You could feel the tightening in his body, the way his body tensed as he pushed himself toward the edge, and the sound of his raspy breathing only deepened the sexual haze you were already lost in.

He was fully in control, fucking you with a raw intensity that left no doubt about who was in charge.

As Terzo’s pace grew even more frantic, the pressure within him reached its peak. His grip on your wrists tightened, his body moving with an unrestrained force as he chased his release. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his head thrown back, and a guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came.

You could feel his cock pulse within you as he spilled inside, the heat of his release spreading through your body. His hips stuttered slightly, pushing deeper as his orgasm washed over him, his face contorting in a mix of pleasure and relief. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of his panting and the subtle creak of the bed beneath you.

His body was still pressed firmly against yours, his cock softening but still buried deep inside you, and you could feel his weight resting heavily on you. Slowly, Terzo lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a look of satisfied arrogance that only made the moment hotter. The smirk that curved his lips was smug and lazy, a man fully aware of the power he held over you.

“Perfetto,” he murmured, his voice husky and breathless. He lowered himself slightly, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, heated kiss. You could taste his satisfaction, the faint saltiness of sweat and the lingering traces of your own pleasure on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, he released your wrists, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he sat up, his cock slipping from your body. You felt the cool air hit you, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his release that still dripped from between your thighs.

Terzo leaned back, fixing his gaze on the camera, his signature smirk in place as he casually straightened his clothing. He looked powerful and composed, a stark contrast to your naked, trembling form beneath him. Without even needing to say a word, his eyes conveyed everything—he knew exactly what he’d done, and how many people would watch him do it when this finally got uploaded.

Turning his attention back to you, he offered a hand, helping you sit up with a surprising gentleness, given the ferocity with which he’d just fucked you. His touch was still warm, his thumb brushing your skin as he whispered, “Che bella performance, tesoro.”

Terzo’s eyes glinted with a playful mischief as he reached for the camera, effortlessly lifting it with one hand while the other brushed against your thigh, still slick with the aftermath of your pleasure. He aimed the lens down towards you, and the moment he captured the view, he chuckled, his voice dripping with seductive satisfaction.

“Ecco,” he said, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Look at what I’ve done.” He held the camera steady, ensuring that every detail was perfectly framed—the way your thighs glistened, your pussy swollen and glistening with his cum spilling out, a true canvas to his art, and to the intense pleasure you’d just shared.

“Non è bellissimo?” he purred, clearly enjoying himself as he glanced between you and the camera, making sure his audience soaked in every tantalizing second. “This is what happens when you give yourself to me completely. Who wouldn’t want to see how beautifully you take me?”

With that, he tilted the camera closer, as if to tease the viewers with a closer look at the remnants of your passion. The sight of you, still panting and flushed, made his grin widen. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, pride lacing his tone. “Just look at you—perfectly ravaged and mine.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, the mixture of embarrassment and thrill sending a shiver down your spine. Terzo, ever the showman, basked in the moment, letting the camera linger on your beaten pussy, the remnants of his cum a stark reminder of the wildness that had just unfolded.

Terzo turned the camera back to his face, still beaming with that signature cheekiness, and waved at the viewers. “Ciao, darlings! Until next time!” He flashed a wink before shutting off the feed, the air between you buzzing with the echoes of laughter and satisfaction.

As the last light from the camera dimmed, he leaned over, an earnest expression replacing the playful grin. “Beautiful girl,” he said, brushing a stray hair from your face, “you were incredible. Are you alright, amore?” His voice was soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nodded, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you, but his worried brow made you chuckle. “I’m fine, honestly. Just a bit… well, worn out,” you replied, giving him a teasing smile.

“Worn out?” he echoed, feigning shock. “I’m shocked—absolutely shocked! It’s as if I’ve just put you through a rigorous training regime.” He chuckled, moving down to grab a soft cloth from the bedside table. “Well, allow me to be your humble servant and clean you up, then.”

With a gentle touch, he began to wipe you down, the softness of the cloth contrasting with the heat still radiating from your body. “If I’d known this was part of the gig, I’d have charged more,” you joked, trying to stifle a laugh as he focused intently on his task.

“Ah, ma bella,” he grinned, “I’d pay any amount just for this privilege.” His fingers danced over your skin as he cleaned you with care, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I must admit, though, this isn’t how I expected our little escapade to go. I thought I’d just get to show off my talent.” He winked at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“You certainly did show off,” you replied, giving him a playful nudge. “Who knew you were such a—what did you call it? A ‘humble servant’?”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “I do believe that’s my new title. Papa Emeritus III, Humble Servant of the Ministry of Pleasure. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Very catchy,” you replied, fighting back another laugh. “I’m sure the Ministry will put that on your business cards.”

“Esatto!” he exclaimed, puffing his chest out proudly. “Right next to ‘Professional Heartthrob.’” He finished cleaning you up and tossed the cloth aside with a flourish, as if he’d just completed a masterful performance.

“Now, how do you feel?” he asked, genuine warmth flooding his tone.

“Like I just had the most exhilarating experience of my life,” you replied, smiling widely. “And surprisingly, I’m not complaining about the aftermath either.”

“Good!” he exclaimed, his eyes brightening. “Just don’t forget to tell all the viewers how marvellous their Papa is, alright?” He nudged you playfully, his voice a teasing sing-song. “I wouldn’t want to lose my fanbase just because I’m a bit of a messy lover!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, feeling a rush of affection for this man who could seamlessly blend charm and humour, even in the most intimate of moments. “I promise, I’ll tell them you’re an absolute delight.”

“Delightfully messy, perhaps!” he corrected, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. “But no one can resist a little chaos, can they?”

“Indeed,” you replied, leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you. “Especially when it’s this much fun.”

Translations:

Amico - Male friend.

Ma dai - “Come on” or “Oh, come on.”

Tesoro - “Treasure,” often used as a term of endearment like “darling” or “dear.”

Immagina - “Imagine.”

Cose - “Things.”

Sei d’accordo? - “Do you agree?”

Certo - “Of course.”

Stipendio - “Salary” or “wage.”

Nuova avventura - “New adventure.”

Bellissima - Beautiful

Ti mostrerò - I will show you

Sei così bella - You are so beautiful

Voglio sentire i tuoi gemiti - I want to hear your moans

Sì, così, bella - Yes, like that, beautiful

Che esperienza incredibile - What an incredible experience.

Esatto - That’s right.

Davvero? - Is that so?

Che bella performance - A beautiful performance.

Ecco - here.

Non è bellissimo? - Isn’t it beautiful?

Prev./Next

[probablyasocialecologist]

It’s become a real challenge to keep up with every Palestine protest and action happening in this country, but I am going to round-up some of that have occurred in recent days in case you missed them. Over 75 activists shut down and blocked all entrances to Boeing Building 598 in Saint Charles, Missouri. The facility manufactures the Small Diameter Bombs (SDBs) and Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) bombs that Israel is using Gaza. “We are joining millions of people across the United States and around the world in demanding an end to Israeli’s brutal assault on Gaza and its decades-long occupation of Palestine,” said Ellie Tang, a member of the anti-war organization Dissenters, in a statement. “We urge Congress and Biden to hear the calls of millions of us living in this country, and push for a ceasefire. Until Congress blocks the bombs, we will.” After shutting operations down for 2 hours, the facility canceled its deliveries for the day. 500 protesters with Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) took over the Statue of Liberty’s platform, dropped banners, held a sit-in, and chanted for a ceasefire. “HAPPENING NOW AT THE STATUE OF LIBERTY: Hundreds of Jews and allies are holding an emergency sit-in, taking over the island to demand a ceasefire in Gaza. We refuse to allow a genocide to be carried out in our names. Ceasefire now to save lives! Never again for anyone!,” tweeted the organization. Oakland protesters blocked a ship from leaving its port for hours. The boat was headed to the Port of Tacoma to pick up arms destined for Israel. Hundreds of protesters are currently occupying that port and at least one worker is refusing to take the cargo after learning about its use. At a Get Out the Vote rally, Democratic candidate Senator John Fetterman (D-PA) was confronted by a protester calling for a ceasefire. “4,000 plus dead children in Palestine. 9,000 plus dead civilians, get off the stage. … Get off the stage. I don’t care … get off the stage,” he yelled before being escorted out of the building by police. Tens of thousands gathered in San Francisco to demand a ceasefire. “I can feel the momentum of it and that’s why we had to get out today,” one told the local CBS station. “My son’s in Trafalgar Square right now or he was earlier today. Same deal. People who just feel the injustice of the world.” A speech by Senator Cory Booker (D-NJ) in New Jersey was interrupted by activists calling on him to back a ceasefire. He quickly exited the stage. Rhode Island Senators Jack Reed and Sheldon Whitehouse were disrupted at event by protesters calling for a ceasefire. Rep. Grace Meng was confronted by protesters asking when she will back a ceasefire. She remained silent and her staff told them, “There’s a time and place for this.”

[dc-marvel-life]

These Are My Ladies (Natasha Files) - The Moment

Pairing: Natasha x reader

Summary: The first time you realize that the Black Widow is your soulmate

Word Count: ~1.5K

A/N: Now I made These Are My Ladies awhile ago not thinking many people wanted more, but there was some interested. I am going to writing this series. If you have any ideas, let me know or if you have another

These Are My Ladies Natasha Files Wanda Files Carol Files Kate Files Yelena Files

Deadman’s P.O.V

After enduring a whirlwind of missions over the past month, finally, I found myself on a well-deserved break, returning to my New York apartment with hopes of relaxation. However, upon arrival, relaxation was the last thing I felt. Neglect had turned my once orderly space into chaos, with clothes strewn about and dishes piled high.

Though cleaning wasn't a chore I minded, I discovered I had exhausted my cleaning supplies. With a resigned sigh, I added a mental note to my list: a trip to the store was imminent. Before venturing out, a pang of hunger reminded me of my empty fridge.

"Great," I muttered, closing the fridge door empty-handed. Grabbing my keys, I headed out, deciding to make a day of it and treat myself to a visit to my favorite café. Nestled in a quiet corner, it was my sanctuary, known only to a few, offering not just excellent food but also solitude.

As I entered the café and placed my order, my mind drifted to the soothing distraction of a Sudoku puzzle. But my moment of peace was disrupted by a familiar figure outside—the Black Widow.

"Shit," I whispered to myself, snapping my book shut. Whether she had spotted me or not was unclear, but I wasn't about to stick around to find out. The Avengers had never caught me, and I had no intention of allowing today to be the first.

Grabbing my food, I hastily exited the café, disappointed that my plans for relaxation had been thwarted once again. Determined to salvage what remained of my day, I made my way to a nearby park, seeking solace amidst the tranquility of nature.

Finding an empty bench, I settled down, exhaling a sigh of relief. With my food in hand and Sudoku book reopened, I lost myself in the challenge of the puzzles. Time slipped away, and before I knew it, I had devoured my meal and completed several Sudoku grids.

Glancing around the park, I spotted Black Widow in the distance, a coffee cup in hand. "Damn," I muttered, slipping away unnoticed, scanning for any other Avengers lurking nearby. Surprisingly, the coast seemed clear, prompting a sense of unease.

Nevertheless, I pressed on, knowing I had one final task ahead—the grocery store. After gathering my necessities and disposing of my trash, I made my way to the nearest store, pushing a cart as I ticked off items on my mental checklist.

Midway through my shopping, a strange sensation washed over me. Glancing around, my eyes met Black Widow's. 

As we look eyes at each other, time seems to stand still, and the whole world around us fades away into a blur of insignificance. At this moment, it was as if the universe conspired this day to happen to bring us together, our souls are bound together to make an unbreakable bond. 

At a single glance, there was a flow of an electric current surge between us, igniting a fire that burns deep within my heart and I know that she feels it too. This sensation is unlike any other feeling I ever felt. Just a second ago, she was one of my biggest enemies and now there is an unwavering certainty that she is my other half. There is a sense of belonging and understanding with us and we haven’t even said a word to each other yet. 

Many people told me about how it felt to meet your soulmate, but this feeling is nothing how they describe it. It is even better. At this moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I just found my soulmate. 

After what felt like an eternity, the world comes back into focus and we are back in the grocery store. 

“Who put out a hit on me?” Black Widow says and drops her basket. Why would that be the first thing she says? Didn’t she feel the connection too?

“Don’t give me that look,” I guess I was making a funny face so I tried to go back to normal, “I have noticed you since this morning in the cafe. I have been trying to get away from you all day, but you are damn too good at your job” Natasha says and makes a face. 

I smirked at her complimenting me on how good I was at my job even though I wasn’t working. 

“I know that you know what is happening here” I say getting closer to her and she takes a few steps back, so I stop. 

"No, this can't be happening! You can't be my soulmate! I don't deserve a soulmate," she murmured, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice.

Her words struck me like a blow to the chest, the weight of her rejection crushing my spirit. Yet, even as my soul ached with the pain of her denial, I couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy. After all, hadn't I too grappled with feelings of unworthiness?

Summoning what remained of my resolve, I sought to reassure her. "I promise you, there's no hit out on you. If there were, you'd already be dead. They call me Deadman for a reason," I quipped, attempting to lighten the mood.

"You wish," she countered with a wry chuckle, the tension between us palpable as we stood in silence, each grappling with our own doubts and insecurities.

"Let me prove you wrong. Let me show you that I am the right soulmate for you, and that you do indeed deserve one," I implored, extending an invitation that hung precariously in the air.

After what felt like an eternity, she relented, her acceptance met with an internal cheer. "Perfect. I'll cook for you. What do you want for dinner?" I inquired eagerly, already envisioning the possibilities.

"I don't know; surprise me," she replied, and with the exchange of numbers, our tentative truce was sealed.

—

With only a few hours until Black Widow's arrival, I threw myself into a frenzy of preparation. Cleaning, cooking, and setting the table consumed my attention, each task executed with meticulous care.

Yet, amid the chaos, I sought to impart a touch of sentimentality, crafting a bouquet of paper roses as a token of my affection. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one imbued with meaning—a symbol of my earnest desire to forge a connection with her.

As the appointed hour drew near, a knock at the door heralded her arrival. I took a moment to compose myself before opening the door, my breath catching at the sight of her.

"Come in, come in. I'm glad you came," I greeted her warmly, taking her jacket and ushering her into my humble abode.

"Wow, nice place. And it smells amazing in here. What did you make?" she remarked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I made homemade chicken pasta with red sauce, Caesar salad, and cheesy garlic bread," I replied, hoping to impress her with my culinary skills.

"That sounds delicious," she murmured, a hint of appreciation evident in her tone.

Seating her at the table, I poured us each a glass of wine, savoring the moment as we embarked on this unexpected journey together. With each bite, I watched her closely, silently gauging her reaction to my cooking.

As we sat in silence, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound in the room, I couldn't help but observe her every move. With bated breath, I awaited her reaction to the meal I had prepared with such care. And when I saw the subtle flicker of pleasure that crossed her features, I couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

Halfway through the meal, our pace slowed, and our gazes locked in a moment of shared understanding. It was then that I felt compelled to break the silence, to address the elephant in the room—the improbable twist of fate that had brought us together as soulmates despite our tumultuous history as adversaries.

"Look, I know this is weird for both of us. After all, we've been enemies for so long," I began, my voice tentative yet determined. "But I want to make this work. I've always dreamed of finding my soulmate, and now that I've found you, I don't want to let this opportunity slip away."

I reached out to take her hand, a gesture of reassurance, only to have it swiftly withdrawn. The sting of rejection pierced my heart, a painful echo of the hurt I had felt earlier in the store.

Undeterred, I rose from my seat, retrieving the bouquet of paper roses I had crafted with such care. "I made these for you," I explained, offering her the delicate blooms. "I know they're not real, but they'll never wither or fade. They'll be a constant reminder of the connection we share, a symbol of the enduring love I have for you."

Taking a moment to steady my nerves, I continued, "I understand that this won't be easy, given our pasts. But I'm willing to put in the work, to prove that we're meant to be together."

As she accepted the flowers, a flicker of emotion crossed her features, and for the first time since our encounter began, I dared to hope that perhaps, against all odds, our love might blossom into something beautiful and enduring.

This is the moment where our relationship starts.

[myceliumsunshine]

i want a minecraft movie where you think its about beating the ender dragon to escape back to the real world, but suspicously, nothing is goinng wrong, and it seems to all be happening rather quickly. about half an hour into the movie, they beat the dragon and the portal in the center of the island opens up. and the one with a child, and a partner at home jumps through. and the one with a good group of friends junps through. and they all jump through except for the one with nothing to go back to. turns out, the movie is a slice of life/comedy where the backround character from the beginning of the movie, the one who really has had no motivation to get home, builds their life up from the ground up, like in regular minecraft. but, the thing is, it's on an already speedrunned world. so they have elytra, and access to the nether, but they don't have a house, or anything. slowly, the character spends years building a city, admittedly, an empty one, but the biggest city they've ever been in nonetheless. every block is gathered by hand. every block is placed by hand. and finally, they sit among their empty city, old and gray, a lifetime of solitude behind them, but a lifetime of peace. and they think of that portal. they wonder if they should have gone through it when they were young, when their friends did. so they visit the portal, as they have done through the movie, and they sit on the edge and contemplate joining their friends. and once more. they turn away. but they are old, and fragile, and clumsy. and they fall in. they hear two voices. they can't exactly make out the gender of the voices, but one sounds green, and the other sounds blue. and the main character listens as they talk about the main character's accomplishments. and then, they wake up. aeound them, their friends wake up. like no time has passed at all. and they realise that the voices were right. and the game was simply just a dream. and the title of the movie suddenly makes sense, just as the movie ends - minecraft:the longest dream

[shitsndgiggs]

Can you write about kenan yildiz x reader where she graduates college and kenan is a supportive partner.?

MY ROCK - KENAN YILDIZ

You graduate and Kenan is your biggest supporter

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The sun shone brightly over the sprawling campus of Harvard University, casting a golden hue on the sea of graduates gathered on the lush green lawn.

The air was filled with excitement and anticipation, a symphony of proud families and friends celebrating the achievements of their loved ones.

Among the crowd, I stood in my cap and gown, heart pounding with a mix of pride and nervousness.

"Y/N!" Kenan's voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see him making his way toward me, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes filled with pride and joy.

He looked effortlessly stylish in his suit, a stark contrast to the sea of black gowns around us.

"You made it!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him in a tight hug. The relief of seeing him there, supporting me on this monumental day, was overwhelming.

"Of course, I did," he said, pulling back to look at me. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. I'm so proud of you, Y/N."

His words brought tears to my eyes. "Thank you, Kenan. It means everything to have you here."

As we made our way to our seats, Kenan pulled out his phone and began snapping pictures of everything.

"Kenan, you don’t have to take so many pictures," I laughed, trying to pull his arm down.

"Yes, I do! This is a huge day, and I want to capture every moment," he insisted, continuing his impromptu photo session.

We found a spot among the throngs of people, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Kenan held my hand, his thumb gently rubbing reassuring circles on my skin.

As the speeches started, I couldn't help but steal glances at him, grateful for his unwavering support throughout my college journey.

When my name was finally called, I took a deep breath and made my way to the stage. The applause was deafening, but all I could focus on was Kenan's beaming face in the crowd.

As I walked across the stage, Kenan's voice rang out above everyone else's.

"That's my girl! Go, Y/N!" he shouted, making the audience laugh and cheer along. I felt my face flush with a mix of embarrassment and pride, but I couldn't help but smile widely.

I accepted my diploma with gratitude, knowing that this achievement was as much his as it was mine.

After the ceremony, we navigated through the jubilant crowd to find a quiet spot.

Kenan wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground in a celebratory spin.

"You did it!" he exclaimed, his joy contagious.

"I did," I replied, laughing. "I really did."

We spent the rest of the day taking pictures, meeting up with friends, and sharing in the collective celebration.

Kenan was by my side the entire time, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

"Kenan, enough with the pictures!" I said, playfully swatting his phone away.

"Just one more, I promise," he grinned, snapping yet another picture of me.

Later, as the sun began to set, we found ourselves on a quiet bench overlooking the campus. The hustle and bustle of the day had finally settled, leaving us in a peaceful moment of reflection.

"Do you remember the first day we met?" Kenan asked, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.

"How could I forget?" I replied, leaning into him. "You were so confident and charming. I was a nervous wreck."

"And look at you now," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Graduating from Harvard, ready to take on the world."

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I couldn't have done it without you, Kenan. You've been my rock."

"And you'll always have me," he promised, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "No matter what comes next, we'll face it together."

[navigatebetweenthelines]

Because a lot of you seem to be conflating intelligence to mean a single thing im going ro spell it out for you

DAZAI!

quick on his feet. He reads body language pretty well. he knows what to expect. His disadvantage is that he tends to project his own expectations onto others and this clouds his judgement. He is "intelligent" in the way thar he has a great capacity to improvise in tricky situations. He doesn't know everything he just always makes sure to have a plan B C D E F and G. Thats it

RANPO!

he knows all the facts about any given situation. His biggest disadvantages are that his judgement is shoddy at best and he doesn't always know what to do with that information. He is used to disregarding information for the sake of peace but that often means he ends up too close to the wrong people. He forgives EVERYONE he gives everyone a second chance. For as much as he sees the bad in a person he sees the good. He is unreliable and inconsistent. The good this about him is that as soon as he realizes his mistake he never makes it again.

POE!

JUSTTT as smart as Ranpo. He can GATHER as much information as Ranpo but it takes more effort. He has a lot of resources and technical know how. He knows technology, he knows politics, international law and most importantly people. His biggest advantage is that he knows exactly how to pressure people into doing what he wants. His mysteries are tailor made so that people can only escape when they realize what he wants them to. It is becuase of this that he saw society as a farce. That's why Ranpo and him are such a good team. Ranpo can see everything and Poe knows what to do with it.

Louisa!!!

She can slow down time when she's focused THAT'S her ability. She is capable of thinking of every possibility and coming up with dependable statistics. She's smarter than Dazai but less of an asset because her analysis relies on what she is aware of. In the world of BSD there is ALWAYS something no one is aware of. She isn't as capable of recovering quickly from a miscalculation so she really only has one shot.

Chuuya!!!

He doesnt need to use his intelligence most of the time because he can pretty much brute force his way out of most things. His intellegence relies on instinct. He has GREAT instincts. He knows when a situation has gone sour. Of course he doesnt usually verbalize it because with Dazai he doesn't need to and when he's alone why would he announce it to an enemy. He knows when he's safe and when he isn't. His biggest disadvantage is that he doesn't always listen to those instincts. In terms of priorities he almost always puts himself last and that leads to a lot of problems.

NIKOLAI!!!

Nikolai is similar to Chuuya except a bit more extreme because no one's life is his priority. His motivations are unclear and he always goes for the most imoral option. He isn't concerned with a specific desired outcome it is the inconsistency of his own actions that drive him.

FYODOR!!!

Kinda like Poe, in that he knows how to work people, but to a lesser extent and a little like the chameleon that Dazai can be but to a greater extent: he KNOWS people. He knows what a person wants more than anything and he promises that to them.

His biggest advantage is that he is smart enough to ally himself with people who have nothing else to live for. Sigma, Nikolai, Bram (before Aya), Nathaniel and Fukuchi are all outsiders. They are alone but desperately want to feel like they belong. Fyodors biggest disadvantage is that if those people find belonging elsewhere his influence on them shatters. He seems to be aware of that? Idk it's too soon to tell.

Mori!!!

He isn't crazy smart. He's just sadistic and cruel. He picks easy targets (children) and slowly takes away their agency. He undoes them until they have nothing to live for and they then become perfectly obedient adults. His biggest disadvantage is that he relies on the chain of abuse and that isn't sustainable as a dynamic for power. Chuuya and Akutagawa have no one above them to preassure them to listen to orders now that Dazai is gone. Also the extreme amounts of abuse he relies on is impossible to ditch out to EVERYONE. That's why he relied on the chain of abuse but that's failing. Mori isn't smart. He's a coward. He takes the shortest path no matter the resistance.

FUKUCHI!!

isn't smart either. He is just THE BEST chameleon. He hid in plain sight. He knows war and war tactics. He's a great spy and facilitating a strong bond with the target is a spy strategy.

They are not all the same stop conflating their perspectives as "knows everything". It leads to a lot of misunderstandings and a lot of misinformation. DAZAI IS NOT RANPO! He doesnt know everything. He's just really good at pretending he does.