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s-4pphics · 2 days ago

Text

the call. I (sevika + vi)

SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny [college au] WORD COUNT: 9.5K WARNINGS: this was supposed to be dark but its very crack-ish, sevika and vi play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(fingering + phone sex + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk, tensionnnn) brief mentions of grief and loss bc me, recreational drug use, JUST TOXIC, abby makes an appearance later A/N: WROTE THIS WITH MY BABY!!! @trackinglessons art by lottie my love my light my everything this is a product of #OVULATIONWEEK and the #ARCANETAKEOVER

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3y

no one likes me.

i [f18] don’t have any friends. at all. i don’t have anyone that’s not family that likes me and sometimes im convinced my family regrets keeping me adound. i just moved cities for uni and haven’t been able to have a valuable conversation with anyone and im starting to think i’m the reason why. to be honest i’ve always been the “weird” one or whatever ppl at school called me. but i don’t think im weird at all. I think i’m nice but ppl treat me like a germ lol they just stare and whisper to each other but i know they’re talking about me

does anyone have any advice on being more approachable? or whatever i’m not even sure what to call it tbh.

kewlio313 • 3y

Everybody’s weird in college! You’re young and finding yourself. Join some organizations and put yourself out there! It’ll work out kid

artkiller OP • 3y

i wish there was a chess club lol

Margie • 3y

how do you go about approaching people?

artkiller OP • 3y

i just walk up and start talking about myself

Margie • 3y

Okay… and what’s their reaction?

artkiller OP • 3y

it’s different every time. sometimes they just leave, sometimes they laugh then leave, other times they’re outwardly mean. one guy told me to ‘shut the hell up bitch’ and i immediately wanted to commit a federal crime(not murder)

Margie • 3y

Goddamn lol. Maybe u r weird

miKrophone • 3y

shut up hoe

artkiller OP • 2y

?? :/

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

how do you know if you’re mentally ill?

hello fellow redditors. lol. i’m finally back… very odd first term i think i got ghosted or whatever it’s called by some dude on the hockey team but yeah i plotted homicide. i’m pretty sure that situation sent me into a spiral. i think im sick.

i’m not sure what’s going on with me but my thoughts have been really dark recently. not necessarily suicidal or harm inflicting(on myself) but… yeah… prettyyyy dark. idk. it’s weird what my brain conjures up sometimes. i guess im curious why my brain thinks the way it does. i’m not a bad person and i know that, but my brain makes me believe that i am. idk what to do at this point. i’ve never been to a professional and tbh i don’t think i should because i don’t wanna be admitted somewhere lol

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome back kid. It’s often better to seek help even though it can be fucking horrifying, especially in adulthood. Get help and you’ll be fine

artkiller OP • 2y

and if i’m not fine? what do i do then?

kewlio313 • 2y

To be frank, I'm not sure. I’ve been through alot and even I don’t have clear direction on life. I’ve been allowing my intuition to guide me for some time. Just try it and see what happens. Rooting for you

artkiller OP • 2y

thank you

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

am i a lesbian?

i [f19] think im attracted to females. i can’t stop staring at their tits. i always assumed my middle school peeping was from jealousy or whatever the hell twitter said but now that i’m grown i think i wanna fuck girls. or like. girl adjacents??? idk the terminology or whatever.

PetersJoker • 2y

go eat some pussy and find out

artkiller OP • 2y

no fuckhead

kewlio313 • 2y

… Girl adjacents? Females? Are you actually 40?

artkiller OP • 2y

is this a dig

kewlio313 • 2y

You crack me up. Have you experimented before?

artkiller OP • 2y

i never passed a science class

kewlio313 • 2y

… Alright.

I meant hooking up. Have u kissed a girl before? Slept with one? Or whatever you youngins say these days?

artkiller OP • 2y

no. i’m not a slut lol i hardly go outside

kewlio313 • 2y

Finding out what you like isn’t being a slut. You’re in college for fucks sake. Find you someone to lay with, ya loser.

artkiller OP • 2y

or i should just shoot myself. less complicated then sex

kewlio313 • 2y

Maybe so, but they’re equally as messy.

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Questioning is usually the first sign. Lol

artkiller OP • 2y

fuck me

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Well

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

what does sex feel like? (wlw)

[f19] just watched scissor porn for the first time. what the fuck was that. (i need it)

MisandristInTraining • 2y

the work of demons aka men

artkiller OP • 2y

i drink their blood

MisandristInTraining • 2y

Lmao

OnHorseback • 2y

Feels like dying but emotionally • 2y

artkiller OP • 2y

i wanna die physically

OnHorseback • 2y

I’m sure some dirty fuck can set that up for you

artkiller OP • 2y

lit

kewlio313 • 2y

Welcome to the dark side.

artkiller OP • 2y

flirt a little harder oldhead

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Ready to come out?

artkiller OP • 2y

of where

ButchesForChrist • 2y

Bitch…..

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

home sweet home.

hello found family. been mia bc fuck school but i’m back… and i think im a sadist.

does anyone know where rugby originated from? i like watching large women be physical w each other and i wish they would harm me in similar ways. pls push me to the floor and stomp me out(specifically directed to one pink head) i’ve been thinking dirty things all day i need her so fucking bad. is this why ppl r so obsessed with sex? bc of hot people? i get it now. i need her to bend me over and put her cleat on my neck

lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

good morning to u too bitch

artkiller OP • 2y

big muscly girls pls rail me from da bck

lezziesthatembezzle • 2y

someone muzzle this thot

Accuntress • 2y

A dyke’s pride and joy: large women.

kewlio313 • 2y

This is crazily your most normal post. Missed ya. Do well in school

artkiller OP • 2y

:3 🩷

[deleted] • 2y

The cards are in my favor

artkiller OP • 2y

would you like to sex through private message?

[deleted] • 2y

What the fuck you crackhead

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 2y

Advice Needed

sex addiction while a virgin?

is this possible? i shouldn’t have watched ppl with big clits trib. quite criminal. even more criminal when i’ve imagined the girl i’ve been following around for the past 2 weeks doing it to me

[deleted] • 2y

is this who we are….

artkiller OP • 2y

obviously.

kewlio313 • 2y

This is my last straw.

artkiller OP • 2y

hugs xD

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 6mo

i’m confessing.

idc anymore. i don’t give a FUCK. i am in love. i [f21] am in love. the deepest kind i think. love at first sight truly. it’s the kind of love that’s painful. it kills and leaves behind trails of misery if betrayed or lost. whenever i see her, i cry from happiness. her joy is my joy. her hurt is my hurt. our hearts are forever intertwined no matter the distance. i’m writing this for her. if you ever see this: i love you, darling. there’s not a second that goes by where you’re not at the forefront of my mind. i’ll treasure everything we’ve built thus far, and promise to never take it for granted. i hope to die by your side.

i love you. i love you so much.

even if we’ve never spoken.

kewlio313 • 6mo

Yup… she’s lost it, folks. Very deep sigh.

ButchesForChrist • 5mo

That’s part of being a lesbian. She’ll live. Trust me

—

“Violet! … VIOLET!”

Why’s Sev always so loud in the goddamn library? The receptionist already has tacks on her behavior chart like some kindergartener. “I heard you! Jesus Christ, I’m sitting right fucking next to you—“

“I wouldn’t haveta fucking scream if you woulda answered me when I asked 3 days ago! Are you coming on Saturday?”

How does she tell Sev fuck no bitch I don’t wanna go in a polite manner? It’s the first weekend after Christmas break and quite frankly, she's already sick of being on campus. Vi loves her friend to death but holy fuck does she wish she had an off button.

“Just come the hell on and stop—“

“Dude, I—“

“You know it’s not gonna be fun if you’re not there! Half the bitches are comin’ for you! Plus… I think you could use a fun time after… y’know.” Sevika softens — only a bit, she's still Sevika. Hard ass.

She does know. At this point, who doesn’t? Her last year of university started on a bad foot when her family home caught aflame with her little sister and father still inside, but the icing on the cake was when her long term, blue-haired girlfriend sent her the can we talk? important text. Now she’s single with corpses for relatives(she thinks her sister would’ve found that funny). Her teammates returned to campus with her; eyes mournful and hearts sunk to the bottom of their stomachs, so prepared to shield and coddle when needed. Sev was one of them: through every breakdown and anxiety attack and hungry but nauseating night.

“I’m not tryna bring up old shit. You been through a lot and deserve some fun. That’s all I’m sayin’. Get your last bit of jitters out before the season starts.”

Vi nods. She gets it. Losing her sister was just as much of a loss for Sev as it was for her, but somehow, she was able to ease back into herself. Become… normal again. Socializing takes so much energy outta Violet, now. She’d rather go lift or go sock the shit outta rich person. In some ways, she wishes she had as much willpower as her friend.

She knows why Sev wants her to go. New pussy, new me, her and Abby once told her, but she’s not in the mood to smash right now. She’ll probably start crying if they don’t kiss both her cheeks before her nose like… Ugh. She shivers in disgust… and extreme longing. She misses her ex like crazy.

“I know. I’ll, uh, think about it.”

“M’kay… now what the fuck is epitactic theory.”

“Girl…”

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 12mi

Advice Needed

how crazy is it to ask for a threesome from two ppl that don’t know you?

[f21] i’m currently in my campus library watching my girlfriend study with her teammate from my stiff ass beanbag and i need them both like crack. how do i bring intercourse up without making it awkward or uncomfortable? help asap pls

also i might c her this weeknd she’s going out and i wanna go

CreamTeam • 5mi

Wait … so is she your girlfriend or not?? 😭😭

artkiller OP • 2mi

we have a complicated relationship🩷

ButchesForChrist • 1mi

Aka she’s stalking her. Scroll down a little

artkiller OP • 30s

stay out my business

CreamTeam • 1s

What the fuck

kewlio313 • 2mi

I thought we were better than this, honey.

artkiller OP • 30s

you prob are. im not

kewlio313 • 4s

Deep sigh.

Your phone drops from your jittery hands and into your lap, screen glowing with every disappointed reply from fucking Kewlio who you’ve grown to love. You like to call them a friend. A faceless, emotionally intelligent, oddly attractive friend who you’ve never met.

The love of your life is right there, as always. Exactly 34 steps away, past the shelves littered with history novels and biographies, sat at the table surrounded by Liberal Arts textbooks and her star-littered laptop. Black jacket, black shirt, ripped black jeans, hair dyed black: that’s new. Still streaked with pink and somehow you’re even more hungry for her. She’s looked a mess recently: beaten and bruised, coming to class with black eyes and bandages across her pretty nose. It makes you wanna burn down the entire Arts and Sciences building with everyone inside of it.

She’s annoyed with Sevika, you can tell. They’re talking about something. Maybe her sister, rest in peace. Or piss if she sucked. Whatever. A small part wishes you listened a little closer when she talked about Jinx(weird ass nickname, but okay) so you’d know exactly what to ask. She can take out any aggression or sadness on you anytime. In here, outside. You’d drop ‘em for her wherever.

Kewlio is a dirty liar. You’re not a stalker. You’re a fan, an admirer, a lover. Your girl’s simply unassuming… How the fuck is that your fault?

She won’t be like that for long, though.

Vi lost her cleats a few days ago. Her black and blue ones that are worn the hell down and hanging at the seams, but she loves them. Wears them almost every match despite how unsteady they make her on the field. They’re her lucky charm, besides you, of course.

Her lucky charm found her lucky charms.

And by found, you mean broke into her gym locker with the code you memorized 2 years ago and snagged ‘em. She should really get those locks changed before someone takes something important.

The explanation of how you found her cleats exactly? You’re not sure and you’re not dwelling. She’ll be so relieved that you found them that it won’t even matter. Might even drop to her knees and praise you like a God. Is she religious? One of the minor details you don’t know about her.

But you’ll find out soon enough. No worries at all.

You wonder how Caitlyn is doing.

—

Rabbit holes are either your best friend or worst enemy. Today, they’re straddling the fence. Your brain never shuts off when you're in a crisis. You’re ovulating, overstimulated, and searching for a cure from someone you’ve never said hello to.

The internet can solve your problems though. Especially if they’re sex-deprived millennials. Their long-term lack of human contact makes for some hilarious stories and useful what-not-to-dos.

how to finger a vagina

vagina g spot where is it

where is clit vagina

vagina map

scissoring hacks positions

lesbian sex how to

can lesbians do anal

is mommy kink a trauma response

Reddit searches are always on your side. All answers to the world at the tip of your fingers. You love the media! Squirting is not pee evidently. PornHub comments are not a reliable source. You should ask your girlfriend if she squirts.

Caitlyn would know. Fucking BITCH!

how to make girlfriend come

Mansplainer misogynists geeking about making their wives do housework while they sit on their asses and flirt with young Discordians. ‘I clap and she appears’

…

You should craft a bomb that only targets cis-het men because what the fuck is going on right now.

how to make girlfriend cum

‘[M48] I’ve never made my wife climax and we’ve been together for 15 years and have 2 children’

Your eyes are fucking burning. Is it bad to wish death on a person? Cursed imagery. Your fingers attempt to salvage the last bits of your sanity.

how to make girlfriend orgasm wlw

date ideas lesbian

am i crazy quiz

insanity quiz

You’re normal you’re okay you’re literally fine.

mental illness signs for lesbians

what does dying feel lik

“Ma’am.”

You gasp sharply. Librarian. Fuck oh shit

“Hi. We’re, uh, lockin’ up, so…”

You’re still at the library. How much time has passed? How many rabbit holes have you fallen into? Where’s your girlfriend? Her and Sev are gone…

But you know where to find your g-spot! Hooplah!

“Oh ye— Yeah! Uhh… bye.” You stand so fast you get whiplash. Your backpack beats against your back when you adjust the straps on your shoulders. Headphones on, music blasting, and just like that, the world is off and you’re on. Right into the darkness of the city.

You love a stripper’s playlist in times like this.

You love Reddit in times like this.

You walk and walk with an extra skip in your step. Time to drive Kewlio crazy.

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

guys im happy

the joy that i feel rn is unmatched. i love my life. im so excited for the future. thank you god and or universe for these blessings

And post. Nothing could wipe the smile off your face. Nothing nothing nothing you love it here! You love school. You love your girlfriend and her friends and her sport.

“Oof—“

“AH—“

You back connects with the angles of your hardcovers and fuck you hope your laptop survived that drop. Not enough cushion in your bag to cover that fall fuck your life you hate everyone—

“YOU FU—“

“Holy fuckin’ shit I’m so sorry are you ok—“

And your mouth zips. Oh…

Oh.

Your girl’s in running shorts. Squeezing her thighs good ‘n tight and she glistens with sweat, brows pulled down in concern as she eyes you from above. If the fun was still out, the rays would dress her head like a halo. A heavenly sight. You’d die here… but not before a drop of her sweat falls on your face. You need that at least once. Zooweeema—

“Are you oka— fuck, gimme your hands, up ya go, c’mon—“

Oh she’s talking. And grabbing you.

Your hands are warmed by skin and your spine tickles when you’re pulled to your feet like a feather. The pain in your back and shoulders don’t fucking matter anymore. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?

“Hi, Vi.”

“I’m— hey, uh… do we know each other?”

We love each other actually!

“No— I uh, sorry! I go to watch your matches and all that. Kinda a fan… Sorry if that’s weird—“

“No no no no, not weird at all. Uh, very flattering actually. ‘Preciate it.”

You’re gonna fucking pass out.

“Are you okay though? Nothing hurts, right?” And your knees wobble when a squeezing hand lands on your shoulder, gauging you for pain. No pain. Just deprived. Needy. Desperate. Touch me some more.

“M good.”

“Cool…” Her hand drops and you nearly screech like a banshee, “And your name? Sorry bout t—“

You interrupt with yours and she smiles. Nice to meet you, she says with gravel and your heart grows another heart inside of another heart. Holy fucking you’re boutta

“I like rugby.”

Kill yourself. You’re boutta kill yourself.

Vi’s eyes widened before nodding in agreement, “Yeah… me too. If it wasn’t obvious enough. It’s a great… stress reliever.”

So is sex, according to Sexcopedia.edu. Do me.

“Really? It looks painful sometimes.”

She sighs with tension, “It is. We gotta lot of aggressive people playing against us so we have to always… do more. I guess, I dunno. But whenever I’m mad it’s great. Very useful.”

“Are you mad often?”

“Are you studying psychology?” She pins with an arched, slit brow, but her eyes remain light and friendly. It’s funny, she doesn’t appear to be this approachable with her grunge-ness.

“Nah. I need to, though. Could do me some good.”

Her laugh is hearty. Genuine. “Shit, me too. Help me out.”

“Do you wanna be my friend?”

She seems stunned and you don’t know why. Doesn’t banter create friendship? Whatever. Fuck it. She can say no. You don’t care. You still got her shoe—

“Gimme your phone—”

Your heart drops to the floor, through the concrete, right into the center of the Earth’s crust waiting to burn and cease to exist. She’s got you figured out. You’ve been exposed and she’s gonna fry you in the middle of the damn street

“—I’ll put my number in.”

… Oh.

You meticulously make sure your notis are deleted and OFF before handing her your device with the keypad on display. Her fingers are pretty and nimble. Flexible with how slender they are. Pretty hands. Pretty, blue veins and you're instantly reminded of her ex. You hate the color blue.

She hands your phone back, “That’s me. Hit me up when you get… wherever you’re going. And lemme know if I need to cover your medical expenses for spinal cord surgery.”

You laugh. Really fucking loudly and she flinches, but smiles after. She’s so fucking cute! Is this flirting?

“Y-Yeah, I will.”

Her head tilts fondly, “Cool.”

“Cool.”

She gives you one last look before plugging her earbud in to continue her jog. You check her contact to make sure it’s real and fuck you have her fucking number! Fuck fuck fuck fuck

You leap like the happiest frog in the pond when she’s out of your line of view and a sharp pain whips through your shoulder blades.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3mi

lads i just got proposed to. spring wedding in sweden

number collected. so it begins.

kewlio313 • 48s

Christ help us all.

CreamTeam • 10s

Ring pics.

artkiller OP • 3s

cawk ring pics***

CreamTeam • 1s

Should’ve fuckin known. I hate you genuinely

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 30s

when’s a good time to text the girl you’re obsessed with?

[f21] soooo i’m laying in bed lookignat her contact and idk what to do. i’ve fantasized about this so many times and now its in my lap… im so used to shit going wrong that idk how to react to it going right. it’s kinda late but i really wanna talk to her but idk she might be sleep or whatever.

should i scale her building and check if she’s awake? :(

—

Vi doesn’t know why there’s a pit in her stomach. She sits on her teammate’s fluffy rug with a smoked out Sevika who patiently waits for her green light, but it hasn’t come. She feels an oncoming breakdown and she needs a babysitter just in case.

“Finish this for me?” A roach floats in front of Vi’s face before she pushes it away.

“No.”

“Buzzkill.”

Sev and Vi sit in silence for 12 seconds before the roach is stolen and hit by the latter. Sevika snickers. Vi drops her head on the couch and exhales her worries through clouds. Stressed, anxious riddled, maybe not the best headspace to get high but fuck it.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

She shrugs, “Everything.”

“Talk ta me. What’s happening.”

Vi’s face burns when her mind plagues with you. Your giant bifocals and smudged mascara and acrylic-stained hoodies. You had a backpack on… Could be a student here. You might be a freshman. Vi hates making assumptions about strangers but you seemed a little…

Immature? Your eyes were too shiny to be a senior.

“You’re gonna laugh…”

“I’ll always laugh at your stupid ass,” She snickers. “What happened, though, seriously.”

Wafts of smoke curl around her words, “I almost bulldozed a girl earlier.”

Sevika scrabbles to her knees with a slack jaw, “WHAT THE—“

“Oh my fucking god can you be normal for—“

“BITCH BULLDOZED? WHAT THE FUCK FREAKY ASS BITCH—“

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Vi scoffs, “I went on a run and bumped into her! Fucking WEIRDO!”

Sevika slumps back on her ass, clearly disappointed, “… Oh.”

Vi tends to the roach until her fingertips burn, stubbing out the burnt paper on Sevika’s ashtray. When she looks up, she finds a very intrigued looking fox. Here she fucking goes.

“She hot?”

Vi’s sigh is littered with agitation at her friend while she laughs, “I hadta fucking ask! Tell me! She smell good?”

“I don’t fuckin’ remember! We talked for like… 2 minutes!”

“2 is enough time to check her out. Show’a hands, how fat were her tits? Like this?” Sevika mimes holding watermelons that are too goddamn heavy and Vi cringes.

“You fucking disgust me.”

Sevika relaxes back onto her elbows, legs extended in front of her. Her brow quirks when she catches Vi’s gaze drop to her waist, “Meh. You like that about me.”

“Sometimes. Not when I’m in a crisis.”

“Meeting a girl is a crisis now?”

“Yes! I don’t fucking know, she was…”

Honestly, Vi’s unsure how to describe you.

“Does she at least go here! You’re not giving me shit to work with.”

“I DON’T KNOW—“

“DON’T FUCKING YELL AT ME—“

Vi groans with her palms in her eyes, “She just asked to be friends. She told me she watches us play and that she’s—“

“Back the fuck up,” Sevika raises up again, “Do you not see what’s happening here!”

“…”

“You’re actually fucking stupid, wow,” She scoffs, “You know she set all that up, right?”

“… What in the fuck are you talking abou—“

“She ran into you on purpose! She’s a fan bitch!” Sev reaches for her phone on the coffee table, “What’s her Instagram?”

Vi whines, “I don’t know—“

Before Sevika can cuss her out for the 40th time, she bursts, “I GAVE HER MY NUMBER!”

“… Did you get hers?”

“…”

“BROTHER—“

“Shut up! I’m not… I don’t flirt! I don’t know how, not anymore! She caught me off guard honestly.”

“What's her name?”

Vi sheepishly mumbles your title; it’s slimy the way it curls on her tongue. You were so nice and now she’s setting you up to be pestered by her best friend.

It’s silent for 3 minutes, only the pittering of Sevika’s fingers on her device while she hunts for you. Another 4 pass before she tosses her phone in annoyance.

“You sure you weren’t hallucinating? Nothing’s poppin’ up.”

“You’re so annoy—“

WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK, WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK

Vi’s phone screen glows gray with an unsaved number across the top… One with their area code… Sevika watches the number scroll like a hawk. The smile that grows on her face is crooked. And knowing.

It’s 11PM. It’s not you. It couldn’t be you.

“That’s your ringtone?” Sevika snorts.

“Shut up.” Why’s she so anxious all of a sudden? Her sweaty palms aren’t enough to stop her from reaching for the device, though.

She answers and puts you on speaker.

“Hello?”

“…Hi. It’s me.”

Sevika’s brow lifts in questioning. Is that her? She mouths and Vi nods. Her eyes roll when her friend whispers, cute voice.

She’ll never say, but Sevika’s presence re-energizes her. Makes her a little more playful, so she teases, “Me who?”

A beat of silence passes before you start mumbling to yourself, “I’m gonna fuckin’ throw up is this the wrong per—“

Sevika’s hand flies over her mouth to smother her laughter while Vi coddles you; laughs that she’s joking and that she was waiting on your call. Her cheeks burn when her teammate throws her an accusatory look.

“Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve been waiting on me?”

Before Vi can answer, Sev raises up onto her knees and mimes fucking somebody from the back, face slack with faux and exaggerated pleasure. She ignores the sinful jolt in her tummy and flings a throw pillow right at her face.

“Yeah, ‘course I was…”

And then it’s silent again. Her muscles freeze with every deep breath you take over the phone. Sevika waits expectantly, talk to her, she says with flapping fingers.

“Whatcha up to?”

“… Uhh… nothing?”

Your laugh is featherlight, “Are you asking me?”

“Maybe?”

Sevika’s had enough of the tomfoolery. She wiggles over and hits the mute button with a heavy slam. Leans in close while she whispers,

“Dude, she’s tryna fuck—“

“No, she isn’t—“

“Yes she is, dodo, did you hear how she was talkin’?” Her tone heightens in pitch, mocks seduction, “You were waiting on me, baby?—“

“H-Hello?” Your mumble is drenched with insecurity. Sevika doesn’t give a fuck.

“See?” She nearly screams, “She’s DJin’ right now—“

Violet shoves her back before unmuting, “Sorry, m’here…”

“… Was it a bad time to call?” You’re quieter now. Ashamed sounding. Embarrassed.

“Not at all! Sorry, I was smoking earlier, makes me lose my train of thought.”

“It’s okay…”

“You make it home safe?”

“Mhm. I was about to fall asleep but then I remembered to call, so…”

Vi catches her smile before her friend can bully her for it, “So, you called…”

“Yes,” said excitedly. She can hear your smile. Very puppy-like. Cute. Vi jolts when Sev starts snoring obnoxiously fucking loud. She flicks her forehead.

“Is someone there with you?”

Both their eyes widen. A sharp hand raises to slap Sevika, but she flinches before it lands, “Sorry. Just my stupid ass roommate.”

“Hi, Sevika.”

You’re oddly calm…. But why wouldn’t you be? You had no other intent for this phone call other than keeping your promise. They still share a look though; a brief flash of intrigue and skepticism. How’d you know…

It’s not pondered on for long by Sevika before she sings, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You sound like the wind has knocked outta you. “H-Hi.”

Sev singles for Vi to pass the phone over to her. She obliges with a hard stare, “I was just passing through, but while I’m here, I gotta couple… questions. That good with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You single?”

“Mhm. For forever, sadly.”

“Great. Are we at the same school?”

“Duh. I’m at every match. We’re, uh… graduating together if everything goes as planned.”

So definitely not a freshman. Just when Vi thought it was impossible to finish college without a chip on your shoulder. You seem to have made it through just fine.

Despite Sevika’s reputation of being cold-hearted and abrasive with wicked flirtation skills, she speaks to you like you’ve been in her life for years. Gentle. Inquiring. She lays flat on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, “What’s your major?”

“Architectural engineering. What’s yours?”

“You’re so smart. ‘M doing mathematics. You should tutor me when you getta chance.”

“Sure. Just lemme know when. I’m always in the library, so.”

“Well, what a fucking coincidence, so are we! You coulda dropped by and said hello if that was the case.”

“I’m trying to do that now… Am I doin’ okay?”

“Just fine actually. Aren’t you sweet.”

“I taste sweeter.”

Sevika drops the phone on the plush rug beneath them. Sits upright with urgency. Gawks at Vi whose jaw is nearly in her lap. There’s hardly any air in her chest. She squabbles for her phone and ensures that the volume is all the way up. Holds the device right in between them.

“… Swear? I don’t think that’s possible.” Sevika hums at you, holding her roommate’s gaze while her tongue traces over the dryness on her lip.

“You could find out… Both of you can if you wanna.”

“‘S that easy?” Sevika rasps, and Vi flinches when her breath hits her mouth. Leans in a bit closer to feel more on her face.

“Why do you sound like that?” Vi huffs at your genuine curiosity. You’re so fucking cute, fuck.

“Because you’re turning me on, hon,” Her gaze washes over Vi and her skin burns with trails. “Both of us.”

“Oh… cool.” You exhale unsteadily. They can’t help but laugh at you. “Cool?” Vi repeats.

“Yeah. Awesome. I’ve never done that to someone before.”

“You a virgin?”

“Yup.”

“FaceTime us.”

“I have a Samsung.”

Both girls explode into laughter, “We’ll call you, then, Jesus—“ Vi sends an eager finger towards the small camera before you mumble,

“Who says I’ll answer?”

Sevika tuts, “You don’t wanna watch us kiss?”

“I’d rather watch in person.”

Sevika throws Vi a look and she’s instantly reminded of Abby. Usually, that glance — filled with an equal amount of tenderness of filth — is shared between her teammates and she’s forced to endure whatever nonsense they plan to take out on somebody together, but now she’s here. Sevika’s including her in such a sacred ritual. She’s suddenly skittish, “You’re killing me, baby. Whatcha doing this weekend?” Sev quiets, timbre amorous.

“Playing Overwatch.”

“Fuck that shit. Come to Kappa on Saturday. Everybody’s goin’.” Sevika snips down at Violet, and she whines while her fingers dig into her roomie’s tank top. A little closer, and they’re kissing. Just an inch—

“What’s Kappa?”

Vi giggles, “House,” Sevika mumbles against Vi’s mouth, “Frat house. Right off 16th. It's bright blue, can’t miss it.”

“‘K, I’ll go. See ya there.”

“Wh—“

Three dial tones break through the smoke in the air before the screen goes dark, both girls left stunned and… very tempted to track your location. Maybe pop a titty for your RA in exchange for your room number. Wouldn’t be the first time…

… Is that too much?

It could be, but you didn’t hesitate to drop bomb after proposition, and the selfish part of her heart can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind two ravenous strangers at your front door. The knowledge that they’d give you everything you needed would be enough for you to allow them entry.

And the way Sevika’s staring at her… Craving, but careful. She’s so patient.

It’s been such a long time — two years since they’ve had any physical connection. Drunken nights, quickies in the locker room showers— the distractions from grief were all put on the back shelf when Vi got into her relationship. Sevika’s a sleaze, not a homewrecker — most times, so she kept her hands to herself out of respect, no matter how many times Violet would catch her staring where she knew was off limits.

Vi can't get to you, but she can get to Sevika.

So she yanks her close, dissolves the space between them as their mouths collide with heat and a newfound ache for you in the middle. Sevika’s just as rough as she remembers — pushes her down so her back molds to the floor, entangles a cinched hand in her hair to pull and expose her neck to the attacks. She’s got blotches and teeth marks on her throat — the unrestrained and possessive and her stomach flips. She gasps at the ceiling when her nightshirt shreds under a forceful hand.

She hasn’t had the heart to have sex in months — propositions were turned down on dozens of occasions because her mind couldn’t focus on enjoying. Every second of euphoria gets overshadowed by hollow, unforgiving guilt.

You sparked something in her with your forwardness, that curiosity that left her aching to read your mind. Her best friend, too, evidently.

Every movement is fast. She crawls down her torso with intent — fangs sharp where they leave blood down her sternum. Vi’s fingers pry Sevika’s shirt off, her tongue separating from her waist for mere seconds before reattaching. An eager hand fondly moves her friend’s hair out of her face.

You want it? Sevika’s eyes read.

Yes, I want it, please. Vi says aloud. Eager with a twisting hand in her scalp.

Sevika sends waves through Vi with every wrestle her tongue devotes to her clit. She can’t think of anything but Sevika and you and both of you at the same time; on top of her — you sat on her face while Sevika’s fingers drove inside her. She wants her tongue inside you; unrelenting and feverish until you scream and soak her tongue in your sweetness.

Sevika eats like she’s hungry. She eats like she misses having her like this and that wounds Vi up tight; it sends shockwaves down her legs. Makes her twitch, but Sevika forces her still with a tight grip on her waist.

Vi curses with fluttery eyes when a finger — then two, circles around the entrance that aches for a stretching.

They’re heaven sent when they push in. She’s getting fucked like she’s hated and she loves it. She deserves to feel like nothing; her walls are selfish where they encase the digits that bring her to the sun, massage against every sensitive ridge just how she needs. Her mouth spills with whatever energy she has left within her; slurred and drooled fuck yes yeses. She can barely conjure a warning when her core locks tight, right before she explodes.

There’s wetness everywhere while she pulses through her pleasure, thighs squeezing around Sevika’s head with every satisfied moan that vibrates on her clit. Tells Violet to give her more and to take it take it take whatever she gives her like she knows she can.

It’s not until Violet starts sobbing and Sevika’s mouth is dripping wet that she pulls out and separates from her completely. She kisses her pussy gently before shifting to help unlock Violet’s knees. She shivers with every peck that’s trailed up her torso to her chest to her neck.

Sevika laughs when Vi does, choked and clogged, but elated and genuine. It’s been so long since her body’s felt this light.

“You needed that. Ya look better already,” Sevika cackles. “Can you stand?”

“Fuck off, gimme a sec.” Vi shoves playfully at her chest.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 3s

guys.

i love being a liar. it makes me feel alive never let a bitch tell you lying is wrong it literally makes life so much easier!! wishing everyone a good night.

everything’s going as planned. just one more tally on the board and we’re set

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 20mi

Advice Needed

it’s been 24 hours and my girl who’s not my girl has been texting me nonstop.

[f21] hello. im in a crisis but a good one? if that’s possible. long story short im in love but not dating the girl im in love with yet. i took some of y’all’s flirting advice and i think it worked. im betting my life that yall do witchcraft. i barely said anything to her and now she won’t me😝😝😝 and tbh… i think her friend won’t me too!!!!! she’s always asking about my day and asking if i ate and if id wanna eat with her but i always decline bc im not ready physically mentally like i’m gonna combust the second she walks up to me i barely survived our first interaction…… but her friend invited me to a party tomorrow night…….. wtf do i wear to that i’ve never been outside before LOL

might get a train ran on me…… WE’LL SEE FRIENDS

adding her undies to the shrine🩷 yaaaay

CreamTeam • 14mi

bro is she your girlfriend or not? It’s been years at this point.

artkiller OP • 12mi

yes i mean no or yes :)

kewlio313 • 7mi

Wear something that you wouldn’t wear to your parents funeral. Good luck dear

artkiller OP • 5mi

i would whore out if my family died

kewlio313 • 2mi

Good God.

—

What does genuine happiness feel like?

You’re unsure how long you’ve been on your beanbag, but Violet and Sevika have been laughing since you sat down. They’re so relaxed around each other, content with silence. Accepting of failure.

You’re not a jealous person at all. Far from, actually, but something furies from within whenever you see them — or people, in general, gleeful; the desperation to feel. You haven’t had the privilege. Maybe that’s why you cling to whatever you have with Vi. She has birthed a wanting inside you. A desire for connection after spending decades comforted by the sound of your own voice. Or comments under your posts.

Violet makes you happy. And Sevika might, too. Just as long as she doesn’t get too close to your light.

You’re standing right behind Sevika. She can’t see you, but Vi can. Her fear is swiftly overshadowed by delight. She greets you with a smile that makes your heart throb.

Sevika’s gaze wanders down to your legs, that remain exposed despite the weather,

“You’re not cold?” She asks. Not exactly the introduction you were expecting, but that makes you giddy. Vi must tell her about you!

“Yes,” You say with ease, “Y'all should come to my room. It’s warmer there.”

Vi nods after gawking, 2 books immediately tucked to her chest with her bag on her back. Sevika just laughs. She gets it. You like that.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

Advice Needed

how do i mentally prepare for sex? (virginity)

literally fucking freezing walking to my room rn with two burly butches that i want to throw me around and i think they’re going to bc they’re not talking to me but the y are very close i don’t want them to see my screen guys im about to have a threesome pls fucking help me

—

“Cute room.” Violet says, inspecting your horror movie posters and stuffed animals.

“Thank you.” You smile.

I hid the 14 polaroids of you that I had taped to my door. Hope that makes you more comfortable!

“It’s just you in here?” Sevika chimes, eyes glued to the small bed up against the wall, right next to your PC setup. You should ask if they game afterwards.

“Yes.”

Violet takes her jacket off and hangs it on your doorknob.

“Already takin’ off your clothes?” You plop down onto your freshly made mattress. Both girls look very stiff in your space; Is that normal? Maybe they’re nervous.

Both girls laugh the same. “Not like that. It is warm in here.” Sevika follows in Vi’s lead, removing her hoodie and her undershirt is squeezing her and yup those arms are still there those muscles are popping out yup yup yup—

“Yeah. I can’t sleep in the cold.” You pat your bedspread for them to sit… and they do. On either side of you. Vi brought her notebook and pencil. Sevika brought her heavily ringed hands.

She scoffs, “Me neither. Immune system is worse than a newborn’s.”

“Do you get sick easily?”

“Yes. I just got over it last week.”

“Damn…”

“Almost got me sick,” Violet pins playfully, skimming through her pages. She erases before rewriting. So so so so smart; too bad both her answers were wrong. You’ll show her the way soon enough.

“Coach would hate me. Her star pupil’s under the weather, what ever shall we do,” Sevika mocks and you both chuckle.

“The season starts next week. Y’all nervous?”

“No—“ “Yes—“

“I’m nervous for games, not practice,” Vi corrects, “I can’t find my fuckin’ shoes.”

“What shoes?”

“My cleats. My sister got ‘em for me a while ago, wear ‘em every match for good luck. I don’t remember where I fucking put them though.”

“Aww, ‘m sorry.”

Sorry for keeping them in my closet.

“S whatever. Just gotta get new ones.”

Small talk is boring as fuck, but it continues between you and Vi. Sevika’s quiet as a mouse; every glance in her direction is met with hooded eyes. She’s very focused on your nightstand drawer. Can she see what’s inside it? You hope so; Maybe your unworn thongs will motivate them to move this along.

“Awww! Wait, you used to play soccer?”

You already know all this. It’s on her fucking Instagram for fucks sake!

“On the junior team when I was like… 10! I was—“

Trash. I kept tripping over the fuckin’ ball—

“—And forgetting to tie my shoes. It was a hot fucking mess!”

Yup. Same as the caption.

The laughter between you finally quiets. You count 12 seconds in your head. You raise a hand to place it on the Hello Kitty bandage directly under her eye.

“What happened here?”

Sevika’s breathing is very calming.

“Got in a fight,” Vi mumbles. Poor things embarrassed! “Got socked in the eye.”

“Sorry,” Your hand rests in your lap, “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re good… still stings though. They gotta good one in.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Don’t remember honestly.”

“Oh okay.”

The conversation ends. Another 12 seconds.

“So… Did you guys fuck after I hung up?”

Sevika smiles and Vi chokes in shock. They’re so different. No wonder they’re so close.

“I— sorry, thought we were studying—“

“Who said we were gonna study?” You stare at Vi quizzingly.

“No one did. We mighta fucked.” Sevika shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh… was it fun? Whatever it was.”

“Ask her.” She nods in direction of the girl whose face is beet fucking red. How cute!

“Vi… was it fun?”

Her eyes droop to the pencil in her hand before flicking it nervously.

“… I guess.”

“You guess?”

“That’s what I said.”

“… Okay.”

Vi sets her book and pencil on your nightstand before releasing a stuttered sigh.

“Tell me what happened if ya wanna,” Softness wafts off your tongue.

Vi swallows, “I… uh…”

“Mhm?”

“We… I didn’t…”

“I gave her head til she cried.” Sevika whispers right in your ear; tickling against your lobe and you’re suddenly winded. Vi’s legs twist until one crosses over the other.

Gave… Oh…

This isn’t new information. You’re 79% sure Sevika was Vi’s first kiss… or you heard something like that in passing, so why does the sudden confirmation make you wanna hide? Curl into your blankets and shield yourself from both of them?

“Oh… fun.” Your face burns underneath the skin.

“Very.”

“Yup…”

“You’re shy now? After all that?” Sevika almost laughs when your eyes drop to the floor.

“It’s uh, easier to talk when no one’s actually there.”

“We coulda been if you’d answered the fucking phone.”

“… Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Sevika’s captain of the team for a reason; a leader by nature and Vi allows her to despite her anticipation. She's much closer now, the respectful distance she kept up upon arrival now completely shut, her shoulder touching yours, nearly straddling your leg.

There’s a light tickle on your thigh; Sevika’s index finger barely grazes the skin exposed beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re so stiff,” She whiffs tender against your neck and you choke a noise.

“I’m … ‘mscaredtobreathe—“

“Don’t be scared,” Sevika’s whole hand caresses your knee, eases you into her, all while Vi mouths at your neck. “Here, wanna know a secret?”

You release the air in your lungs, “Sure…”

She’ll never tell, so I will. Your head bobs so encouragingly.

Vi told me something after she showered that night.

With every buttery brustle against your shoulder, Vi’s hands gently attack wherever they can reach; the plush of your hips, on your thighs, grabbing at your tummy over your hoodie that takes up too much fucking space for her liking. You can’t stop squirming with every taut pull at the pit of your stomach.

I was sitting on my bed and she came in, and she smelled so good. I was trying to roll up again, but she took my tray and put it on my dresser…

Roll up? Tray? What what what the fuck is she saying—

And she got on her knees in front of me… and she looked so fucking cute just staring up at me like that, like she’d do anything to make me happy… She’s sweet like that if she’s in the mood.

She said ‘may I practice on you, please?’… And I said okay… So she pulls down my underwear and treats me so well. You wanna know who she was practicing for?

Yes, yes, please—

It was you, baby. She kept telling me how good she wanted to make your first time.

A strained noise chokes from your throat, and Vi smiles against your ear before her lips close around your lobe and it’s too much they’re too much—

Uh huh, and her tongue felt so fucking good on me. Almost impressive… and she loved every second of it.

Please… please, I’m—

Listen to that, Violet, she’s so fucking cute, isn’t she?

So sweet, too. Bet she tastes so fucking good.

She’s so hungry for you, baby, Sevika coos at you, Gonna stop teasing and give us what we want?

You agree obediently — desperately, with every thrumming cell you can use at the moment.

Vi’s benign hand rests on your cheek to turn you towards her before kissing you softly. A gentle peck before she pulls away. It’s overstimulating; Vi kissing and touching you like you’re made of glass while Sevika sucks large bruises on the side of your throat. Your nails dig into the muscular thigh that hardly shakes at your grip in attempts to ground yourself, but they fail because you’re about to faint.

Your sun kisses you deeper, holds your face tighter to keep you where she needs to tongue at your lips. You’re trying to keep up with her, to use the muscle like she uses hers, but you’re falling behind. They don’t seem to mind, satisfied with the fact that they’re gonna devour you regardless.

And when Vi lays you back nice and cozy against your pillows while Sevika kisses all over your face, you know you’re fucked.

—

Sevika and Vi take turns kissing you.

It’s a messy and uncoordinated mess of teeth and saliva, mainly because of you, but you like it. You love it. You hope they do, too. The warmth of their bodies beside you resonates deep in your core. Whenever one of them pulls away, the next is more than open to take her place, over and over. Your thighs are already shaking.

Your hoodies raised up thanks to Vi’s wandering hands, tucked right above your rib cage. Your stomach jolts when a feathery finger teases at the band of your skirt.

“You ticklish?” Vi mutters against your cheek.

“… Nope.”

“Yes—” She swipes the same finger against your exposed skin and you jump with a giggle, “you are. Liar.”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah… I really, really want to.”

She doesn’t give you time to think of a response; just kisses you one last time before climbing onto her knees. Meanwhile, Sevika’s struggling to get comfortable in your bed. She’s essentially on top of you, both her legs wrapped around one of yours.

“Fucking — small ass mattress! I forgot how much I hate these!”

“S-Sorry! Couldn’t afford anything else — mmh!”

Sevika reconnects your mouths while the bed dips beside you. Then there’s lips on your tummy.

Laughter explodes outta you; Sevika can’t help but laugh into your mouth while Vi nibbles at your pudge. Her grin glows on your skin before her tongue glides on your hip. Her attention stays there; sloppy noises from above and below, your gasps swallowed with every bite Vi gives you.

You hardly register her pulling your skirt down. You’re just colder. And fuzzier in the head. Sevika breaks away to ask,

“How wet is she?”

Huh— oh she’s not talking to you yup yup—

“Come see.”

Sevika rises from position and you’re even colder. When she whistles at the spot on your underwear, your thighs squeeze shut… for 000.3 seconds before she pries them open again.

“Stop I’ll fucking cry—“

“Cry about what? That’s so fucking hot. You’re so cute, baby.”

“Bro I wanna die—“

Sevika rolls her eyes, “Bust one last time at least, damn.”

“Can we make it quick please I’m already on the verge—“

“Of cumming?” Sevika purrs.

“Of suicide—“

Vi’s in hysterics. You shouldn’t be this fucking funny. She watches you and Sevika go back and forth with tears in her eyes.

You bite, “Wonky ass foreplay—“

“I’ll strangle you—“

“I’ll like it—“

Both of you are fucking stupid. Neither of you notice Vi tugging your panties down. She almost starts drooling at the sight of your pussy. Swallows down the lump of saliva before it can drip down her chin. You’re wet and throbbing and pretty and you smell like heaven.

You gasp when two curious fingers separate your sticky lips; strings of slick cling to Vi’s digits. Sevika watches with an insatiable hunger.

“What do you like?” Vi whispers, and you shrug.

“I dunno, I’m new here.”

She rolls her eyes, “I mean what do you do when you touch yourself?

“I don’t do that.”

“Never?” Both girls exclaim.

You shake your head. “I tried once and nothing happened so I just ate spaghetti and went to bed.”

“Were you wet?”

Vi’s forbearing with her inquiries, but still, you’re on the fucking spot and you might start sneezing from anxiety. They’re too patient with you; Maybe you’ve been misreading how they were in bed this entire time. You were expecting them to be knuckles deep in every available hole by now.

You’ve never been so nervous, and for you, that’s saying a lot. “I don’t remember, it was years ago.”

“You’ve never used toys or anything?”

“I… No.”

Sevika stares at Vi, and Vi at Sevika, and you at the wall.

Your thighs twitch when velvet nuzzles at them, Vi’s voice deep as the ocean. “I’m gonna try something, tell me if you like it and I’ll keep going… okay?”

You can’t formulate a response but your head bounces in approval. A finger applies the gentlest of pressure on your clit and you expel a wheeze.

“Okay?” Sevika hums from above you, a hand easing underneath your hoodie to massage your breast.

“Ye-ah—“

“Sit up for me, honey,” She whispers and you obey so she can creep in behind you, your back resting against her chest. Both her hands rub at your chest this time, her fingers massage your nipples while Vi strokes your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“How’s this feel, babe?”

“G— good! Great… h-hooray?” How do pornstars dirty talk so eloquently? You’re literally fucking dying right now. Sevika laughs to herself in your neck and your chest burns.

“Yeah? And this?” She utters right before pressing in, flicking you from side to side and your core squeezes tight. You’re dripping and she watches so closely.

“Oh fuck—“

“There she is, good girl, just feel what she’s givin’ you.” Sevika rasps against your shoulder.

You are feeling and it’s too much for your body to comprehend. Your brain’s never been this focused on one thing. On one feeling, especially one this enjoyable. It’s so good it’s so good you love your fucking girlfriend—

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum?” Vi says against your soft skin

“Uhh…? I— oh god—“

“Getting there, baby? Feel how tight you’re getting? I can see it.”

2 ragged inhales and your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks and your nose tickles oh shit—

“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, c’mon—“

ACHOO!

Your thigh squeezes shut when euphoria overtakes your entire system; thighs clamping shut around Vi’s wrist while she giggles and rubs out your pleasure with ease because she’s stronger than you. Your initial efforts of staying as silent as possible were in vain because you’re squealing your little head off. Sevika rests back on her hands and watches like a hawk while you thrash and clench and leak all over her roommate’s hand.

“Good job. Felt nice, hm?”

You struggle to nod because you’re still cumming so hard and her fingers won’t cease on you. Your thighs stick together with your wetness.

“I’m still eating you out, you know that, right?”

Your whines of approval sound wounded.

You couldn’t see it, but when Vi finally pulled her hand from you, slurping noises swiftly followed, alongside Sevika’s hums of satisfaction.

Mentally preparing for your burial.

—

Vi might be obsessed with you.

She’s back in her original position between your thighs — with Sevika this time because she’s greedy — and fuck she’s never been so antsy to give head. She loves it and she loves getting it even more… at least she thought so. The aliens could come crashing down from the clouds and her first focus would still be getting you to soak her face.

You’re fully undressed now, minus a sock that slipped off some fucking where but she doesn’t give a fuck. She’s so desperate to touch you again. It plagues her mind; stuffed with everything that she’s learned about you thus far. You sneeze before you orgasm for fucks sake that’s the cutest shit ever —

Can I?

She’s asking you and you’re whispering yes, please and fuck you moan so pretty when she first glides her tongue on you. Sevika allows her to ease you into the feeling, but she stays close enough to see every drop of slick that glides on Vi’s tongue. You’re so noisy and she loves that. All she can think about is how loud you’d be with your face in her pillow and your hands behind your back while she —

Vi! Violet! I’m cumming again!

You’re a fucking dream. An insane fucking freaky ass dream.

If anyone were to walk past your room right now, they’d be appalled at the ruckus that permeates through your space; sloppy sucking noises and encouraging praises and dehumanizing name calling that makes you grind your hips faster. You’re nearly riding her fucking face.

Vi wishes she could see you in entirety; memorize every thrust and wriggle you give into her face, drowning her in your scent and juices and everything she could ever want in this moment. You’re exactly what she needed; a pliant distraction. You turn her mind off so easily.

Sevika’s greedy and selfish as she raises one of your legs up with ease. You fall back onto the mattress with your back arched to the skies, a cracked wail squeezing from your lungs when another tongue smushes against your clit. Sevika sucks hard at your clit when Vi’s tongue swirls down to meet your entrance. The eager muscle wastes no time to shove inside and catch whatever bursts from you.

She moves on autopilot; eases one finger past your pulsing heat and your legs start to shake. The digit curls deep inside, plunges into you with vigor and determination to get you there, hits a spot that almost lands her a kick in the back of her head, but she catches you; curls an arm around your thigh to keep you still.

And the night — or afternoon or morning, none of you remember, continues like that until you’re drained completely dry and your body contracts from memory.

Hours pass when Sevika and Vi finally start tonguing each other down for your viewing pleasure, and it starts all over again.

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller 1s

2 butches are sleeping next to me rn…

never let a hoe tell you to stop following your dreams. i’ve been following mine for almost 3 years and now they’re sleep next to me….

#HAPPYPRIDE

#vi smut #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi league of legends #sevika #sevika smut #sevika arcane #sevika x you #vi x you #lesbian #rugbyplayer!vi #works 𖧧࣪#arcane smut #arcane

498 notes · View notes

spatialwave · 3 days ago

Text

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own.

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect.

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city.

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word.

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like.

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce talis #jayce talis x you #jayce x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jayce arcane #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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cheyisagirlkisser · 3 days ago

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・゜゜Gamer Ellie Headcannons ・．

NSFW CONTENT BELOW, MDNI

✧.* Gamer Ellie wears those plaid boxer-shorts around the house adorned with some random t-shirt she often sleeps in. When she's out and about, she loves her classic flannel or white wife-beaters, sports bra peeking out of the fabric when she moves just ever so slightly. Converse and doc-martins all the way. You'll beg her not to wear it in public, but Ellie's got this one black Call of Duty t-shirt that is she is obsessed with.

✧.* Gamer Ellie ismore introverted than anything. She likes staying inside with you and watching movies with you rather than going on restaurant dates. Speaking of movies, gamer Ellie would be more into comedy and sci-fi than anything. I've mentioned in previous headcannons Ellie would be a huge Jurassic park fan, but some other movie / shows she'd be begging you to watch with her are Airplane, Star Trek, and Pulp Fiction. Anything with action or on her level of dumb humor, and Star Trek for when she's geeking out. It's her guilty pleasure.

✧.* Gamer Ellie's favorite type of physical touch is having your fingers running through her hair. She likes to feels your touch in such a light, vulnerable way. Sometimes when she's playing a game, you'll approach her from behind and massage her scalp with your sweet touch. "Babe, you're distracting me!" She'll complain with a dramatic but playful groan, but her freckled face will melt like ice on a hot day from your touch.

✧.* Gamer Ellie isn't good at multi-tasking. She loves having you all up in her lap while her fingers are punching keys, but she always seems to lose when you're touching her, let alone near her. Why? Her thoughts are filled with the night before when the two of you were about to fall asleep, giggling in bed about some video on your phone, and specifically she's thinking about when you forgot all about sleep and had a late-night make-out session with some 90's movie tuned out on the television. It's so hard to remember to reload her virtual AR when all she's feeling is the way your warm fingers slid down her back and how your breathing turned into soft pants when she got all greedy and latched her filthy mouth onto your neck. Still, she'd never tell you to get off of her lap so she could focus. You were worth every aggravating respawn.

✧.* Gamer Ellie, in bed, isn't some huge dommy-mommy or whatever you're thinking. She's really touchy, sure. But she's honestly just your average lesbian who is absolutely obsessed with her girl, and she blanks at time. You'll be on top of her, and she's got this cave-woman aura going where she's just staring at your pretty face, focused on chasing your lips for a kiss. Her hands are awkwardly perched on her sides because she forgets how to even touch you: you're such a fucking goddess, and she's kind of a loser. You're a savior, though; guiding her hands to your waist with a sweet, patient smile. Ellie will get the cue and her fingers will spread across your waist to the top of your hips, and she remembers how desperate she is. (This one was inspired by me with my gf, you're so real gamer Ellie)

✧.* Gamer Ellie is also a switch! If you want her to be the top, she'll do it, but like I said she's going to be all cute and embarrassed about it. She'll be eating you out and her thoughts will be going at 100 miles per hour: "Am I doing this right?" "She's moaning Ellie, stop overthinking it." And sometimes the only thought she can really be having is "I love pussy." Cute. When she's bottom, which is most of the time, she isn't really all submissive and whiney but more like, defensively flustered like how she got with Dina when Dina threatened to bite her on the couch. Gay panic type of bottom. She does get pretty loud when you use a vibrator on her, though. That's a personal favorite in the bedroom.

✧.* Gamer Ellie did have a Fortnite phase. She hates talking about it but she spent like an ungodly amount on the stupidest skins. She used to make you watch her play at first, and then it was you having to create a whole Epic account so you could be her duo. Ellie's favorite season? Chapter two season seven. Why? Aliens. She got the battle pass and unlocked the alien skins, too. A little after she got super obsessed with it, like yelling at some 12 year old boy telling him his mother wishes she swallowed him, she moved on to a game that wasn't making her yell at at her screen. You were thankful.

✧.* Gamer Ellie is a huge night owl. While your sleep schedule is pretty average, she will blink and it'll be four in the morning. She'll groan and pop her back before stripping down to underwear and a t-shirt and then crash on your shared bed, making you stir from your rest. She sleepily curls her body into yours, peppering the warmest smooches wherever(probably with her eyes closed or half-way, at least) and muttering out apologies for waking you in the most ethereal voice known to woman-kind (it's raspy and the one she uses during sex when she's attempting to be a good top).

A/N: Thank you everyone for over 500 followers! I hope to post some longer fics this week or at least some more arcane fics. I promised some Jinx content, hopefully that'll be soon. Love you all.

#tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie smut #ellie x y/n #the last of us part 2 #ellie x fem reader #lesbian #lesbian sex

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yieldtotemptation · 10 hours ago

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ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.

Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.

Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—

"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."

Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.

If only these walls could talk.

“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”

You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”

A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.

You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?

Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.

You make it easy for her.

A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”

The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:

Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.

“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”

“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.”

Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.

You’re slamming into her.

Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.

And just like that, she’s all yours again.

It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.

“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.

“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.

And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.

Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”

—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:

You're the one that chased her first.

—

(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)

—

Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:

Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.

Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.

The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…

Boring.

The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.

All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.

(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.

That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)

So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.

Something about needing a drink.

Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.

Where you find her.

Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.

You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.

What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.

(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)

You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.

All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.

The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.

“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”

You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”

“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.

There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.

She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”

“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."

Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.

A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.

You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”

Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.

There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.

So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.

You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.

It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.

(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.

You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)

But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.

You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.

Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.

A necklace.

A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.

(It doesn’t.)

“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”

Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”

“Just the important ones.”

“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”

“I see.”

And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting.

“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”

“Careful.”

“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”

That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”

To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."

“So, no sex at all, then.”

Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”

“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”

Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”

You take another drink. She watches.

And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.

The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”

“How so?”

“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—

“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”

“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”

She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”

And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.

The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."

"Rumours."

"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."

Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—

(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?

You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.

“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”

You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.

And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.

She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.

“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”

The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”

Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”

“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.

“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"

You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"

You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you need?”

Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”

There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:

“You don’t have the time for me.”

Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.

“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”

—

This is how you end up:

Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.

You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.

A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.

But you both know better.

So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.

(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)

Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.

Indulge yourself.

Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.

Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.

You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.

“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”

You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue.

You smile, look up. “This?”

Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"

She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.

The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.

Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”

Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.

"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."

Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"

"First tonight."

Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.

You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.

Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.

A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.

“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."

You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”

“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.

“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.

A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.

Her hands shoot to your chest.

“Please, kiss me again.”

You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?

Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.

You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.

The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.

It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.

(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.

It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)

“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”

“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:

It’s been a while.

“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”

“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”

“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.

She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.

“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."

“As you wish, darling.”

And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.

But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.

Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.

That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.

“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.

Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.

Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.

“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”

You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.

Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.

“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”

She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.

But one thing at a time.

“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”

Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.

“Good.”

And so, you drop to your knees.

You glance up at her. She looks down at you.

Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.

Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.

The kind that’s not you.

And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)

“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.

You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."

Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.

“Wait, why—”

“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.

Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.

How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.

You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.

You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.

Shivers under your breath.

And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.

The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.

Mina goes still.

Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.

But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.

You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.

“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.

“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.

“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.

Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.

You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.

"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”

"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"

You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.

"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."

But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.

Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.

"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."

You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."

A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.

It’s all for you.

And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.

You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.

“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.

You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.

“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.

Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.

That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.

"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."

It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.

“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”

She needs you to never stop.

You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.

The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—

“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"

The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.

And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.

Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.

It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”

A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.

And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.

It takes a moment, two.

And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.

Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.

And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.

She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.

You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”

You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”

Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.

She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.

“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”

Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.

She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”

Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”

You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.

“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”

It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back in place.

You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.

But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you tuck your shirt back in and slick your hair down.

She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.

“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”

You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.

And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.

While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.

You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:

(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.

A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.

A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)

Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.

‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.

She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.

But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.

So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.

Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.

But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.

You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.

The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.

You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.

Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.

—

“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.

Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.

But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.

So what if you just stood there and stared?

Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.

You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"

You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”

She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”

“I think we’re well past that.”

There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:

“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”

But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.

Her fault, really.

Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.

Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.

“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."

You’re never going to make it to the top.

Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.

You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.

Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.

“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”

“Of course it is.”

Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.

They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.

You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.

Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.

Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.

You pinch. She gasps.

You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”

Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.

You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.

“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”

“It is your fantasy.”

Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.

Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.

Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.

You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.

Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.

Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.

It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.

And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.

“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.

Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.

It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."

“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.

“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.

You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.

“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.

“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes.

You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.

God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.

It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.

These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.

And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.

She cums.

Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.

Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.

Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.

Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:

“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”

A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.

Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.

“Good girl.”

Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.

Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.

“God, I—”

You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.

“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.

It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.

Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”

“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.

“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.

But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.

“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”

Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.

“I want it to hurt so good.”

No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.

It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.

Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.

Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”

Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.

“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.

It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.

A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.

You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.

“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”

And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.

“It feels so deep.”

Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.

Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.

You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.

“How many?”

Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”

You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”

“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”

“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”

“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”

“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”

“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”

She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.

“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.

Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.

Her whole body, yours.

Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.

You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”

“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.

Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”

“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”

Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.

"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"

Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.

You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.

The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy.

She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.

You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.

“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”

She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.

So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.

“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”

She shatters. Monumentally.

Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.

Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—

“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.

“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.

You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.

You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.

“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.

Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.

You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.

It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.

Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.

“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”

You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.

Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.

You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.

It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.

But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.

You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.”

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.

Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.

Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.

And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest.

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.

Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.

Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?

Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?

And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.

The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.

They didn’t mean anything real.

Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.

Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.

"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule.

Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.

She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?”

You tilt your head.

“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”

“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”

You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels.

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”

“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”

She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.

But instead, she just looks at you.

Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.

Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.

Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out.

But you have a job. A company to run.

And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.

For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

“Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

#kpop smut #mina smut #twice smut #male reader

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peppermintquartz · 22 hours ago

Text

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #pq writes

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bucketbueckers · 3 days ago

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mess me up - paige bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 6.1k content warnings: language, abuse of italics, grammatically incorrect past tense flashback, smut robbery(?), pretty mature but nothing graphic synopsis: your friends invited you out to a frat party to celebrate the men’s team winning the NCAA tournament where you bump into paige bueckers, the girl who you're in love with and who you ghosted for a month after hooking up with her. a much-needed conversation at the party forces you to revisit difficult memories and give her the closure she’s been seeking. notes: idk what this is! based loosely off of 'friends' and 'mess me up' by chase atlantic. unfortunately the smut robbery line is for real, like it's smut in the way lacroix tastes like real fruit (which is to say it's not smut, but like concepts of smut... 😝 (i've never had lacroix idk if this is accurate)) side note i hate writing in past tense but doing a traditional flashback scene is corny as hell! idk if it matters but this is set april 2024 (w/ a february 2024 flashback); doesn't really affect anything, so... anyway, second post on tumblr, lmk if we're rocking w it 🙂‍↕️

For the record, you didn’t want to come to this party.

It’s hot, sweaty, loud, and all you can smell is the same brand of men’s cologne and weed. The air is both stale and somehow feels wet and all you can think about is getting back to your apartment so you can shower and go to bed. You had a mock trial bright and early the next morning and your law professor was a stickler for punctuality and presentability – showing up with wrinkled clothes and smelling like a frat party was a sure-fire way to fail, and you had too much riding on your grades to let that happen.

The frat (whose name you’ve already forgotten) was celebrating the NCAA tournament win for the UCONN men’s basketball team. They’d apparently gone back to back, which you guess is cool, but you swore off basketball a long time ago. If you had your way, you’d be at home, three steps into your skincare routine, but you let peer pressure get the best of you and allowed your friends to drag you out.

It’d be fun, they said. You never come out with us! You’re spending all this tuition money and you’re not even taking advantage of it. How can you say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?

You only remember that your friends are law students, too, in the most unfortunate of moments when they put their persuasiveness to the test. In the most unfortunate of moments, you’re also reminded of the fact that they’re college students, too, because they’re leaving you at the door and rushing off to find something to drink. You weren’t upset they dragged you out. Not necessarily. You were grown enough to say no. Perhaps you’d simply set your expectations too high when they begged you to come out and you thought they would spend at least a little bit of time with you before doing their own thing. But sure. It’s whatever.

So, here you are – standing alone in the corner of a frat party, watching as drunk college students grind against each other, laugh, and have a good time. A part of you feels like you’re missing out, but as you watch somebody throw up into a plant, you feel like you’re just fine where you are.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a man wearing a backwards cap suddenly shows up next to you. “Yo, you thirsty?” he yells over the music, thrusting a red solo cup into your empty hands. You don’t have the time to say anything to him before he’s grinning at you, eyes red and hooded. “Come dance with me. You’re too pretty to be standin’ here all alone.”

You hear her before you see her.

“She’s good, bro, trust,” Paige interrupts smoothly, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders. You feel too much like a damsel in distress, but sensing the gravity of the situation, you flash the guy a light smile and lean into Paige slightly. Her grip tightens. You try to not let it bother you.

He raises his hands, surrendering. “My bad. You got it.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you wrench yourself out of her grip. “Thank you, but not necessary,” you tell her sharply, red solo cup still in your hand. If this was how your night was going to go, then you need to be a little tipsy to survive it. You barely have it halfway to your mouth before Paige is pulling it out of your grasp, pouring its contents into a potted plant and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “What the fu–”

“First of all,” she begins, arms crossing protectively, “never accept a drink at a party that you didn’t pour, didn’t see someone else pour, or a drink that’s already open; matter fact, don’t accept a drink unless you opened it or brought it in yourself.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “This is Storrs, Paige. Do the frats really get down like that here?”

Her gaze is unimpressed. “You’re the law student, ma, you tell me the numbers. Second of all, you’re welcome. That was Kylin. He doesn’t take no for an answer in the first place but he’s all kinds of fucked up right now. I’d say I did you a favor but I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“Funny,” you deadpan. “Here? Now?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks you, ignoring your snippy words. “Thought this wasn’t your scene.”

You pause. “It’s not,” you confirm. “Jos and Chelsea wanted me to come out. Figured I should be a good friend once in a while.”

Paige raises a brow. “Jos and Chelsea are too busy playing strip poker with dudes from Kappa Phi to keep an eye on you, and you’re worried about having to be a good friend?”

“First of all,” you say in the know-it-all tone that Paige had used on you, “I don’t need them to keep an eye on me.” The blonde hums again, not entirely convinced, and the heat of her gaze makes you stumble over your words slightly. “Second of all, why do you even care?”

“We’re friends,” she states.

“We were once,” you correct, voice softening. It’s no secret that you and Paige had fucked up whatever you had going on. It’s never been clear whose fault your fallout was (it was yours), nor could the two of you ever agree on what destroyed you (you would argue that you shouldn’t hook up with your friends, especially not the ones you were in love with). It was a messy situation that you were sure the two of you couldn’t recover from (you didn’t want to be friends with someone you couldn’t have; Paige just wants you to give her the chance to prove you otherwise).

“Sure,” she agrees half-heartedly, knowing your spiel by heart now. “Kinda fucked up you think I need a reason to care.” You don’t dignify that with a proper response, feeling something strangely like guilt corroding your heart. “Come outside and get some air with me? Please? Just wanna talk, no funny shit, I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself fall back into all too familiar routines. You had a near inability to say no to Paige most times – it was the reason why you had to put a stop to your friendship. And here you are now, undoing all of the progress you’ve made since you’ve been apart (a small part of you knows better; you’re moving forward but you’re not really doing any better. You’re not progressing. You’re just stuck now, only this time, you have less than you did before). “Jos and Chelsea–”

“–made their choice,” she finishes for you. “And their choice was strip poker with a guy named Anthony,” she adds solemnly. You can’t help but quirk a smile at the absurdity of your life right now. “C’mon, please? It fucking reeks in here. They’ve got a porch swing outside and it’s all quiet and shit.”

“You’ve always had a way with words,” you tease.

“You comin’ or nah?” she asks, but you shove her forward (she lets you) and she leads you through the crowd to the door. They part like the Red Sea and you can’t help but admire the way she silently commands the room, feeling a flutter in your chest you try desperately to stomp out. It’s like a fire; all it takes is a small spark before it eventually grows out of proportion. You know better now.

The door shuts behind the two of you and you sit on the porch swing. You can still hear the music’s pounding bass, but it’s muted. You feel like you can hear your thoughts now. The tension in your shoulders eases as you take in the crisp night air, the crickets’ chirps, the occasional owl’s hoot. For a moment, you forget all of the complicated history between you and Paige; the way she held your hand as she kissed up your thigh, the way she stayed afterwards, cleaning you up and bringing you water. It almost seems as Paige is reliving all of it, too, as she looks at you, and that thought is sobering enough to bring you back to the moment.

You finally get a good look at what she’s wearing. It’s nothing outstanding; a gray Nike tech suit and a pair of dunks, although she’s opted to leave her jacket unzipped, revealing the crop top underneath. She’s dressed for comfort, though the most unfair part of it all is how good she looks when she’s not trying. Her cheekbones are sharp, eyes blue and wide and alert, and you can’t help but notice how fitting a slick-back bun is on her.

This was precisely why you needed your space. You couldn’t control your thoughts or feelings. It was manageable when you minded your business – the phrase out of sight, out of mind did wonders for you and you were usually busy enough that she only crossed your mind once or twice a week when the student population was buzzing about a recent game. But now? Now you’re fucked. You’re inches away from her and you’ve allowed her to pull you back into her orbit. She’s the Earth and you’re a meteor – any closer and you won’t be able to come back from the damage you would do to each other. She would survive, you’re sure, but you’d be destroyed in the process.

“So,” she says slowly. You avert your eyes, staring at anything but her. “How you been?”

“Good,” you lie. “Keeping busy.” That part was less of a lie, but it wasn’t her business to know.

Paige has always been good at reading you, so she gazes at you like she’s not convinced. “I think we’re overdue a conversation,” she says, surprising you. “A real one. No more of this running in circles bullshit.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. You finally meet her eyes. They’re strikingly blue, disarming, and you feel an odd mixture of guilt and longing eat away at your insides. She looks like she’s drinking you in, like she’s trying to understand why you did what you did; her eyes soften in the dim glow of the porchlight and you can’t help but flush under her gaze. She always understands you in spite of how often you push her away – she seems to understand why you keep her at arm’s length, too, and it’s then that you fully understand how overwhelming it is to be known.

“Why did you leave?” she asks finally. You have to swallow back the bile in your throat. “The morning after.” Her clarification does nothing to soothe the turmoil in your stomach. “I thought…” Paige’s throat bobs as she tries to find the words. “It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me. So why did you leave like that shit ain’t matter to you?”

That night in February comes back to you in the blur of a memory. You’ve thought about it so often that you could write a play-by-play of it; every single unremarkable detail comes back to you in a flourish of vibrant color – the way the floor felt beneath your feet as Paige guided you into her room, the slight scratch of her nail against the base of your neck as her hands found purchase in your hair. Paige was wrong. It meant something to you, too much to you. You often remind yourself, if it meant that much, why was it easier to run away? Jumping off of a diving board into a pool conceptually means the same thing as jumping off of a cliffside into beach waves; the jump isn’t the hard part, it’s the reminder of the distance between your feet and the surface. Your feelings for Paige are too consuming. It’s easier to not make the jump at all than it is to worry if you’ll be able to come up for air.

She was in high spirits, drunk off of their win against Villanova. They weren’t an opponent you’d typically call home for, but the Huskies were having a tough season with several injured players and a lot of underclassmen. It was close, 67-46; Paige had contributed to a little less than half of their points overall with a solid 31. She was happy, the rest of her team was happy, and she’d begged you to come over to her apartment for the post-game festivities – which was usually games and snacks as they weren’t big on drinking during the season. You’d nearly refused at first. It was supposed to be a small team get-together and you had some work to catch up on. You eventually gave in, like you always do. Paige had flashed her typical, charming smile, looping an arm around your waist, and you were a goner.

The team accepted you like you were one of their own, too. That was new. You didn’t spend as much time with them as you did with Jos and Chelsea, but it felt like you knew them better than you knew Jos and Chelsea, anyway. Ice and KK were two menacing peas in a pod – they were like sisters separated at birth and whenever they were together, something chaotic was bound to happen, but they loved and protected fiercely despite the way they teased each other and the team. Caroline was like the team mother and many of the girls called her such. Nika was intense on the court, but off of it, she was Paige’s twin through and through – they always had something to say to each other and their banter often brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Azzi was sweet and well-loved by the team (and the student population in general). She introduced you to her and Paige’s son Ines, which confused you at first, but Paige threw her arm over your shoulder and assured you that they’re only co-parenting because Carol has enough children and they didn’t want Ines to be a ward of the court. You couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into Paige – something about the team’s dynamic healed you a little, and Ines joked that Paige went out and got her a stepmom.

You felt the blush creep up your neck as Paige tightened her grip around you slightly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, son,” Paige had said somberly, pretending to look sad as Azzi rolled her eyes. “Your mother was havin’ an affair–”

“Oh, bullshit!” Azzi cried. The entire room broke out into fits of giggles.

“Now I understand why Paige wifed up a lawyer,” KK said in between laughter. “Tryna get a discount on that divorce, huh?”

The team had tears in their eyes from their excitement – you didn’t have the heart to tell them you were hoping to specialize in civil litigation, so you just laughed along. The conversation continued to flow as games were played. Nika was exceptionally bad at UNO and Paige never let her hear the end of it. You guys only managed to play a couple of rounds before Nika suddenly got good and played a +4, prompting Ice and KK to stack +4s of their own onto it – Paige stared in disbelief for a solid thirty seconds before picking up 12 cards and rage-quitting one turn later when KK skipped her.

“There, there,” you’d said, lips trembling as you tried not to laugh at the look on Paige’s face. You rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and she pushed you off her gently, her own lips quirking in amusement. “Show this card game who’s boss.”

“Bro,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she leaned back into the couch, her arm finding home over the back of your shoulders once more. You remember wondering if this is what normal felt like, what finally finding a community was like – you fit in too well with Paige’s teammates and they made you feel at home. Being near Paige made you feel at home. She was talented that way. She had an uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, regaling them with jokes and an endless supply of charm. When you realized you were in love with Paige Bueckers, you weren’t surprised about it. If anything, you might have been a little upset with yourself – you were sure you weren’t the only person she’d drawn in unintentionally, ensnared in a web whose latticework was meticulously shaped like basketball netting.

As the night went on, more and more laughs were shared until the clock reached midnight and many of Paige’s teammates got up to leave. Everyone shared hugs and affectionate goodnights. All of them even looped around to hug you – which was… nice. Paige shared her apartment with Azzi and Aubrey, so they retired to their own rooms after curious glances to you and Paige, still curled up together on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. You could hear the ring of silence as it enveloped the two of you, Paige’s gentle breathing, and the tick of the clock. It was oddly comforting; normally, it would have lulled you into a drowsy state, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Paige’s body next to yours, the brush of her thumb against your shoulder. Feeling both unmoored and tethered, you shift next to Paige, gathering her attention. “I should go,” you’d whispered. Her thumb halted.

“Stay,” she requested. She tilted her head. Her gaze met yours. You expected her eyes to be half-closed, dim with sleep. The rasp of her voice was attributed to a tone you knew she’d adopt when she was exhausted, but her eyes were wide, alert, dilated, a blue so dark you were sure you almost mistook the sheer want for something else. “Stay,” she murmured again. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you agreed almost breathlessly, feeling her hand squeeze your shoulder gently. “Sure.” She untangles from you and stands from the couch, offering you her hand, and you take it. She led you seamlessly through the dark of her apartment into her bedroom, where she released you long enough to rifle through her drawers, having found you a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt for you to wear to bed. Paige pointed you towards the bathroom. You changed into her clothes. Your fingers had shook with anticipation at the sheer domesticity of it all as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your – her – t-shirt read HOPKINS GIRLS BASKETBALL. It had all felt so different now. You hadn’t been sure at the moment if it terrified you or excited you.

You exited the bathroom to find Paige’s back to you, adjusting the band of a pair of basketball shorts around her hips. Her hair was out of her bun and it cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands; you’d felt an inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it, to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a dark black sports bra. The two of you were friends. Granted, you were in love with her, but the sight of her wearing nothing but ball shorts and her Nike bra shouldn’t have done the things it did to you.

“Which side is yours?” you’d asked, mostly to break the silence. You ignored the crack in your voice. Paige paid it no mind as she turned, which forced you to avert your eyes, trying not to glance at her abdominals.

“Don’t matter,” she responded. You watched the way she moved, sitting low on the bed, legs long and stark against the purple of her comfort. “You gettin’ in or what?” You hoped she couldn’t see the flush on your neck. You slid into bed next to her, hoping to maintain some sort of distance, but she refused to let you get too far. She slung her arm over your waist, fingers brushing against your skin where your shirt rode up. Her breath was even against your neck and the heat of her body nearly turned your brain into mush. “This okay?” she asked, tone softer.

“Mhm,” you hummed, afraid to speak or you might fuck up and tell her just how okay it actually was. Paige was just a touchy person, you tried to remind yourself as you felt the tickle of her hair against the nape of your neck. This doesn’t mean anything to her. It was all for naught. It did little to quell the way your heart raced, the way the heat pooled low in your belly.

“You looked good tonight,” she said casually. You tried to stop the goosebumps as they rose on your flesh. “You always do.”

Unable to think of something smart to say, you shifted your body slightly, your fingers splaying over the arm she held tight around your midsection. “Oh, yeah?” Her fingers brushed a little lower on your stomach, grazing the waistband of your shorts.

She hummed an affirmative, pulling you tighter against herself, and you could barely breathe. It was overwhelming in the best way – she was all around you. Physically, you felt as though you were in her skin as she greedily pulled you in. The scent of her was everywhere; the shampoo that seeped into her pillows, the cologne on her neck. Your hair stood on end as her lips brushed almost imperceptibly against the shell of your ear. “‘M glad you came tonight,” she whispered.

You flipped on your side, face-to-face with Paige. Her arm moved enough for you to get situated and once you were, her hand found the small of your back, her palm warm against your skin. You can’t help the way your breath hitched, even as Paige’s eyes seemed to take in the stuttering rise and fall of your chest. Having found some courage, you poked her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to yours. “What are we doing?” you asked finally, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her brow raised slightly, the dark blue of her gaze illuminated by the streaks of moonlight through her window. “No funny shit, Paige. You touch me like you want me, claim me in front of your friends.” You searched her eyes as she fell silent. “What are we doing?” you repeated, voice firmer.

“I want you,” she confessed after a few heartbeats of contemplation. She leaned in closer to you, your noses nearly brushing, and she continued, “I want you so fucking bad. Don’t wanna do anything you’ont want, but–”

Your lips were on hers before she had the chance to finish. She responded eagerly, one hand firm around your waist as she flipped the both of you over, pulling you to straddle her waist. You leaned down, your chest against hers, hands on each side of her neck. You felt the thundering of her pulse under your fingers. It was stabilizing in a sense – words were one thing, but to feel how badly you’d been able to affect her, too, did wonders for your growing ego. Paige’s hands had found your hips, keeping you pressed against her body.

You parted briefly to catch your breath. Paige’s chest heaved, her lips shiny and swollen. She was hard to look away from. For a moment, you’d wondered if this was worth it. Your heart had raced, beating uncontrollably; it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything would change between the two of you. Was one night with Paige worth the risk of losing your friendship? You feel too strongly, too much, overwhelmingly. You’ve been told by an ex or two that you were simply too much. You wouldn’t want to subject Paige to that.

Her right hand met your face, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “You want this?” she asked. Her eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris, but something about it entranced you. The desire in her eyes had brought fresh heat to your stomach, but coupled with the fact she’d be willing to stop made your heart beat a little faster. She was enough to quell your worries, settling the irregularity of your thoughts. You nodded, leaning down to connect your lips again, but her hand was insistent against your jaw as she held you back. “Words,” she commanded.

You’d barely resisted an eyeroll. “Yes, Paige,” you affirmed. Her hand loosened, eyes searching yours. “Want you.”

Her smile turned smug. “Yeah? How bad?”

The tease sent white-hot desire straight through your body as your hips rolled against hers, trying to find some relief. Her hands fall back down to your waist, helping you rut against her thigh as a shared flush creeped up both of your necks. “You gonna touch me?” you breathed against her lips. Her breath came out a disjointed stutter when you guided her hand to the swell of your ass. It was unnatural – Paige was so sure, so confident. To have her nearly at your mercy was like a drug through your veins, but you didn’t want her there. You wanted Paige fully in control; you wanted her to take care of you, to give you everything you’d fantasized about for months on end. You wanted her so bad it rewired the coding in your brain. There was something about her that broke down all of the walls you spent years building.

Your actions and words had been the only permission she needed. One of her hands gripped the flesh of your ass as the other one cupped the back of your neck. Her nail scratched you inadvertently as she dragged you back down to connect your lips – the slight echo of pain caused you to whine against her lips, a sound she swallowed greedily before she flipped the two of you over once more. Your head fell back against her pillows as she rucked up your shirt, finding that you’d opted to not wear a bra. She groaned indulgently, one large hand coming up to squeeze one of your breasts and her mouth finding the other one.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gripping it tight as she lavished you with attention. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she murmured against you, voice dripping with want. She pressed her knee against your core as she found her way back to your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing another whimper from your parted lips. It sent a jolt through your body. “You gon’ let me do what I want, huh? Get you right?”

“Paige, please,” you begged, all of the shame having left your body as you ground down against her knee, feeling the pleasure and relief simultaneously. “Fuck, do what you want, I don’t care – just please fucking touch me.”

She shushed you, lips back on yours, tongue brushing against your lips like she was trying to take whatever you’d give her. And at that point, you would have given her anything if it meant she’d stop teasing you. “I got you, ma, jus’ relax,” she whispered against your lips. She trailed a blazing path down your chest, leaving hickies as she went. Paige reached the waistband of your shorts; she pressed a sloppy kiss to your navel before bunching her fingers in and pulling them off, throwing them haphazardly into the room.

The air was cold against you. You were breathing heavily by then, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Her hand untwisted yours from the bedsheets, linking your fingers together, and that touch alone was enough to bring you back down to earth. “I got you,” she promised again, reminding you, pressing diligent kisses against the inside of your thigh. You relaxed ever so slightly against her, feeling as though you could breathe a little easier, but your body was still incredibly high strung. Paige squeezed your hand. Then her mouth was on you, and you were done for.

She held your hand as she went down on you, talking you through it until your orgasm reached its peak and you sunk into the bed bonelessly. She didn’t release you when she came back up, her smile a mix of smugness, pride, and quiet adoration. Paige kissed your knuckles, your cheeks, your lips, drawing a contented sigh out of you. “You good?” she asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, hand cradling your jaw.

Exhausted, all you could do was hum an affirmative. Paige flashed a small smile again, pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling off the bed, much to your surprise. “Lemme get you some water,” she said. “‘M coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded wordlessly, closing your eyes and sinking back into the pillows as your breathing evens out. She left her room, the door shutting with a silent click. In the silence of Paige’s bedroom, curled up in her purple comforter, all you can think about is how the future of your friendship has inexplicably changed forever. She said she wanted you. Did she just mean sexually? Paige was always intentional in her communication, a byproduct of her media training. Tears brimmed your eyes when you considered the idea that you might have just been another Wednesday night fling for her. Here you are again, feeling stupid about the overwhelming feelings you harbored for Paige despite your better judgment. The worst part was that it wasn’t her fault. You got your hopes up.

You wiped your eyes when you heard the door open again. Paige crossed the room, cracking open a cold bottle of water for you and pressing it to your lips. You nearly forgot about your inner turmoil when she smiled at you again, having thrown her hair back up into its bun. “Gonna clean you up, okay?” she informed you. At your nod, she runs a warm washcloth between your thighs, getting rid of the lingering stickiness. She carefully redressed you, squeezing your hips gently, and you’re left feeling so incredibly conflicted that you’re breathless with the anxiety. Paige disposed of the washcloth and curled up next to you in bed once more, an arm wrapping around your midsection. You’d told each other goodnight, but as her breath evens out against your neck, your mind races.

You slept fitfully through the night. And when morning light rolled around, you extracted yourself from Paige’s grip, sliding a pillow into her arms. The nervousness and all of your overthinking thoughts made you queasy with grief. You were in love with Paige Bueckers. That much was true. You were too head over heels for her to return to normalcy; you couldn’t. At that point, it would be easier for you to not be friends with her at all than to pretend like she wasn’t everything you’d ever wanted.

As she slept, you casted one last guilty look over your shoulder and you ran.

But that night in February has long since passed, and on the porch swing on a much warmer night in April, Paige stares at you in desperation, seeking answers to the questions you’ve withheld for over a month. “Why did you leave?” she asks you again. “Fuck, tell me the truth, lie to me, whatever, just please give me something to work with.”

“It was overwhelming,” you finally admit, twisting the rings on your fingers. You feel terrible as you glance at Paige, whose eyes soften when she takes in your expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shoulda seen that something was wrong.”

You close your eyes, lips trembling. You’re touched at how she instantly takes responsibility for your fuck ups, thinking she’s done something wrong. “No, Paige,” you correct her. “Fuck. It wasn’t you. It was never you.” You pick at a loose string on your shorts. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “You were so gentle. That night meant everything to me, and that was the problem. I wanted you so bad – Jesus Christ, I was in love with you for months. I don’t do casual. I always feel too strongly and I loved you so much that it was fucking overwhelming. I woke up and nearly lost it because I couldn’t handle the idea of having you like that and having to pretend like I didn’t want you like that forever. It was so much easier to run and not face the possibility of having to be your friend when all I’ve wanted was more.”

When you finally look back to Paige, her eyes are wide with something that looks strangely like grief, like you’ve pulled the rug from under her feet and watched as she fell. As you think about it, that’s probably what you’ve done, anyway. She spent so long thinking that your fallout was her fault, that it was something she’d done, but the ugly truth of the matter was that you were too scared of the way you felt for her that you ran from it instead. Paige runs a frustrated hand over her jaw, her expression nearly unreadable. You frown. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing that your apology is long overdue. You fucked up so incredibly bad with her. Your brain remembers her prior words, the ‘It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me,’ and you suddenly feel like an idiot. God, it was mutual this entire time and you were too caught up in yourself to realize it.

“You think too fucking much,” Paige says finally, and you hardly have the time to react before she’s kissing you, her hands gripping your hips. You nearly gasp against her lips before you fully register what’s happening. Sinking into it, you wrap your arms around her neck, feeling suddenly like everything is finally aligning, that all of your blurred focal points sharpen. When she pulls away, her eyes are alight with understanding. “So, lemme get this straight. You pushed me away ‘cause you’re in love with me, then we fucked, and you thought I wouldn’t wife you up?”

You frown, feeling stupid all over again. “Well, when you put it like that…yeah?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. Look at my lawyer – you’d send dudes to jail left and fucking right ‘cause you jump to conclusions too early. Thank God you’re not going into criminal defense.”

You shove her away from you, feeling the embarrassment bloom on your cheeks. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re an asshole.”

She guffaws, reaching for your hands, intertwining your fingers. “Says you! You ghosted me for a month and let me think I fucked us up. Jesus Christ.” She twists the ring on your finger mindlessly as she searches for the right words. “Okay, lemme be really fucking clear. I’m in love with you, too. Like, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. There is nobody but you. You aren’t too much for me – I love you for you, no ifs, ands, buts, whys, hows, nothing. I know you thought you were protecting us by pushin’ me away, but you gotta let me make that choice, too. I want this with you, alright? Will you gimme that chance?”

Her words leave the two of you in silence. You can still hear the chirp of the crickets, the thrumming from the party indoors. You can feel the way her thumb brushes over your knuckles, the way her eyes bore into yours, patiently waiting for your decision. But distinctly, you can see the plea, the desperation for you to just give into what she knows the both of you are feeling. Your anxiety and constant overthinking never ruined the two of you. It may have set you back, but you and Paige found your way back to each other. Maybe you’re not a meteor, dangerously crashing into her and disintegrating on impact. Maybe the two of you are something simpler – the moon and the tide. She was never going to let you get hurt if only you’d give her the opportunity to show you that.

So, you take that leap – whether it’s off the diving board into the pool or the cliffside into beach waves, you don’t care. You know now that Paige is waiting for you at the surface. “I want this, too,” you affirm, watching the smile bloom on her face like springtime flowers, and you seal the deal by pressing your lips to hers. She responds eagerly, her arms tight around you. You loathe that it took the two of you this long, that it was your fault for not trusting Paige with your heart when she’s given you no real reason to doubt her; despite this, her lips taste like forgiveness and yours like atonement. In spite of everything, you made it here in the end, and it was worth it.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #uconn #uconn wbb #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb

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annasellheim · 15 hours ago

Photo

So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

#autobio #the books are by lynda barry btw

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faebled-stories · 3 days ago

Text

The Book of Forbidden Pleasures

Kinkvember Day 24: Tentacles/DubCon

Billlie's Fukutomi Tsuki

AN: the story is tagged tentacles but they are described more as appendages/limbs.

Also this story takes place in the same universe as the Karina story. While you don’t need to have read that one to enjoy this, there are a few references and cameos from the previous story. Enjoy 😉 💖

The rain drummed softly against the windowpane, a rhythmic lullaby that mirrored the exhaustion weighing on Tsuki’s every step as she pushed open the door to her shared dorm. Her shoulders sagged under the relentless pressure of hours spent perfecting choreography, each muscle in her body throbbing with the dull ache of overuse. Her mind felt clouded, worn thin by endless repetitions and sharp corrections that still echoed in her head.

With a tired sigh, Tsuki kicked off her sneakers, the soft thud of rubber against the floor blending seamlessly with the faint hum of quiet conversation drifting from one of the bedrooms. The voices were low and soothing, a distant reminder of her roommates’ presence. Yet the dorm itself felt still, untouched, offering Tsuki the comforting illusion of solitude.

She dropped her bag unceremoniously by the door, glancing around the dimly lit living space. The golden glow of late evening filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The couch called to her, its soft embrace promising a reprieve from the day’s demands. She was just about to collapse into it, letting her exhaustion take over, when a buzz in her pocket startled her.

Her phone.

Suppressing a faint flicker of irritation, Tsuki fumbled for the device, her fingers sluggish from fatigue. The brightness of the screen made her squint as she opened her notifications.

It was from Ningning, one of her closest friends.

“Hey Tsuki! Are you free to do me a huuuuge favor?”

Tsuki frowned, her thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. After the day she’d had, the last thing she wanted was to be roped into something she couldn’t say no to.

“Depends… what kind of favor?”

The reply came almost immediately, as if Ningning had been waiting, bubbles flickering on the screen before her next message popped up:

“Karina unnie asked me to house-sit for her while she’s away with her boyfriend, but I totally forgot my parents are coming to visit! Can you take over for a couple of days? pleeeaaasse.”

Tsuki exhaled a long, heavy sigh, letting her head fall back against the couch. Her rare free moments were precious, a reprieve from her relentless schedule that she guarded fiercely. Spending them house-sitting for someone else didn’t exactly sound like her idea of rest.

“I don’t know…”

She hadn’t even put her phone down when another message appeared, almost as if Ningning had anticipated her hesitation.

“Come ooon it's totally your vibe. It’s a really cool old house. You’d love it. Super aesthetic. I’ll buy you a meal for every day you stay. Please?”

Tsuki stared at the screen, the faint ache in her limbs tempting her to refuse outright. But the phrase “super aesthetic” sparked a small flicker of curiosity in her otherwise exhausted mind. She imagined it already—a house with charming quirks and old-world beauty, the kind of place she might dream about escaping to in her quieter moments.

With a resigned sigh, she typed back:

“Fine. Just for a couple of days, though.”

Almost instantly, her screen flooded with heart emojis, the animated reactions filling the chat with Ningning’s uncontainable excitement. Despite herself, Tsuki’s lips quirked upward into a faint smile, the warmth of her friend’s enthusiasm momentarily softening the fatigue clinging to her.

A few days later, Tsuki arrived at Karina’s house just as the morning rain began to subside. The heavy clouds lingered stubbornly in the sky, only partially allowing pale beams of sunlight to filter through. Her footsteps echoed softly as she stepped onto the wide porch, the wood beneath her shoes aged and weathered but polished by years of care. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked ivy and faint traces of varnish, remnants of the house’s enduring upkeep.

She paused, taking in the sight of the house before her. It was even more striking than she had imagined. The red-brick façade was cloaked in ivy that twisted and curled with deliberate elegance, framing the arched windows like a living picture frame. Ornate wrought-iron railings lined the balcony above, their intricate patterns reminiscent of an older, more graceful time. The wide wooden door, its surface darkened with age and wear, stood as an imposing yet inviting gateway into a space that seemed steeped in history.

“This place is amazing,” Tsuki murmured to herself, her voice nearly lost in the soft rustle of ivy in the breeze.

The sound of the door creaking open startled her, and Ningning appeared, waving her inside with a bright grin. “Right?” Ningning said, stepping aside to let Tsuki in. “Unnie and her boyfriend are obsessed with it. It’s basically their dream house.” She adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder, gesturing for Tsuki to follow her.

As soon as Tsuki stepped inside, the house seemed to come alive around her. The distinct scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the sharper aroma of wood polish, like a memory etched into the house itself. Her gaze swept over the interior, taking in the dark wood railings of the staircase and the antique furniture arranged with effortless charm. The floors, polished to a muted shine, creaked gently underfoot, each sound a subtle reminder of the home’s age and character.

The house felt expansive yet intimate, its design inviting exploration while maintaining an air of quiet mystery. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, bathing the space in a golden haze that seemed to soften the edges of the walls and furniture. The intricate carvings on the staircase bannister and the subtle wear on the doorframes whispered of the countless lives and stories the house had witnessed over the years.

Ningning led her on a brisk tour, her voice light and cheerful as she pointed out the key areas of the house. “Here’s the kitchen—you probably won’t need it much, but everything’s labeled. Over there’s the sitting room, super cozy in the evenings. And down this hall is the guest bedroom. You’ll love it; it gets the best light in the mornings.”

Every room exuded a distinct personality, from the heavy curtains in the sitting room that softened the outside light to the mismatched yet harmonious furniture pieces that seemed carefully curated over time. The faint hum of the house settled around them, a low, almost imperceptible sound that only added to its allure.

They stopped near the staircase, where Tsuki’s gaze was immediately drawn to a narrow, unassuming door tucked discreetly into the hallway. It was plain compared to the rest of the house, with a slightly scuffed surface and a handle worn smooth by years of use. A faint draft escaped through the crack at its base, brushing against her legs and sending a chill up her spine.

Ningning adjusted the bag on her shoulder and gestured toward the door with a half-nervous smile. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said, her tone shifting slightly. “Don’t open this door, okay? Like, seriously, just… leave it alone.”

Tsuki tilted her head, her curiosity instantly piqued. “Why not?” she asked, her voice cautious yet intrigued.

Ningning hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the door as if wary it might open on its own. “Jimin unnie told me not to mess with it. She was super firm about it, and honestly? I didn’t ask. She seemed… weird about it. I think it creeps her out or something.” She let out a nervous laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, everything else is fine. Just keep the plants alive and, you know, make sure the place doesn’t burn down. Easy stuff.”

Tsuki nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on the door for a moment longer. The faint draft continued to slip through the gap, cool and insistent, stirring something she couldn’t quite place. But Ningning’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Come on,” Ningning said, her grin brightening as she motioned toward the main part of the house. “Let me show you where Karina keeps all the good snacks.”

With a final glance at the door, Tsuki followed Ningning down the hall. But even as Ningning chatted away, her words breezy and light, Tsuki couldn’t shake the faint, magnetic pull of the small, unassuming door.

Ningning’s voice was light and casual as she led Tsuki on a whirlwind tour, pointing out the essentials: the kitchen, the cozy living room with its well-loved sofa, and the guest bedroom. The house had a lived-in warmth to it, with soft rugs and mismatched furniture that seemed carefully chosen for comfort rather than style. Yet, beneath its charm, Tsuki couldn’t help but notice a subtle weight in the air, a quiet stillness that felt just a little too thick.

“Okay, that’s pretty much it,” Ningning said with a grin as they stopped near the staircase. “It’s an easy gig, really—just make sure the plants don’t die and, you know, no fires or anything.”

Tsuki chuckled softly, nodding as she glanced around the dim hallway. Her gaze flickered briefly to the narrow door tucked near the staircase, but Ningning quickly pulled her attention back.

“Oh, right,” Ningning said as they paused in front of another door. She gestured toward it with her free hand, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “This is the master bedroom. Karina unnie left a checklist on the kitchen counter—watering the plants in here is on it. She’s super into her plants, so don’t skip it, okay?”

“Got it,” Tsuki replied with a small smile, though her curiosity lingered as she glanced at the door.

Ningning gave a playful wink. “Well, that’s everything! Seriously, Tsuki, thanks for doing this. You’re a lifesaver. I owe you big-time.”

Tsuki grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Don’t forget that when we go out to eat. I’m ordering the whole menu.”

Ningning laughed, shaking her head as she adjusted her bag one last time. “Fair enough. Just don’t bankrupt me, okay? See you soon!”

With that, Ningning headed out, the faint sound of the door clicking shut echoing through the house. Silence settled in, broken only by the soft rustle of the curtains as a gentle breeze drifted through the open window.

-----

Later that day, Tsuki stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, the faint light of late afternoon spilling through the sheer curtains. The room was neatly arranged, with an ornate wooden bed frame and matching furniture that gave the space an elegant, timeless feel.

In the corner, a collection of lush green plants thrived on a wooden stand near the window. Their leaves glistened faintly in the sunlight, a watering can sitting beside them like a waiting companion. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the plants, subtle and soothing.

Tsuki stepped inside, the floor creaking softly underfoot as she approached the plants. The quiet was profound, broken only by the sound of her footsteps and the soft clink of the watering can as she picked it up.

She crouched down, pouring water into the pots with careful precision, watching as the soil absorbed the moisture. The faint, earthy scent of damp soil mingled ever-present in the air, creating a soothing, almost hypnotic atmosphere. Her mind wandered absently, the rhythmic flow of water from the can lulling her into a quiet, unfocused state.

It was peaceful—too peaceful, Tsuki realized, as the quiet began to press on her, heavy and unsettling. Straightening up, she turned toward the next plant, her thoughts scattered, when her gaze landed on the far corner of the room—and she froze.

A figure sat in the shadows, perfectly still. Long, dark hair spilled over its slim shoulders, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

A scream tore from Tsuki’s throat, sharp and raw, shattering the fragile silence of the house. She stumbled backward, her foot catching on the edge of the rug, and she crashed to the floor with a jarring thud. The watering can slipped from her hand, clattering loudly as water splashed across the polished floorboards, the sound echoing in the oppressive stillness.

She sat there, chest heaving, her palms pressed against the cool wood for balance as her wide eyes remained locked on the figure. The adrenaline surged through her veins, making her limbs feel heavy and numb all at once.

“Unnie?” she called out instinctively, her voice trembling and hoarse. The word hung in the air, unanswered.

The figure didn’t move. The house remained eerily quiet, broken only by the faint drip of water pooling from the overturned can.

Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as the initial wave of panic ebbed, replaced by an unsettling confusion. She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the rug and pushed herself upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her, the distance between her and the shadowy figure stretching impossibly wide and yet impossibly close.

Step by cautious step, she approached, her movements deliberate, her senses on high alert. The sunlight streaming through the window did little to banish the heavy shadows pooling in the corner, and as she drew nearer, the truth revealed itself.

It wasn’t Karina.

It was a doll.

A life-sized, eerily realistic doll, seated upright in an antique chair as though it had been posed with meticulous care.

Tsuki’s throat tightened as she took in the details. Its face was hauntingly lifelike, the craftsmanship unnervingly perfect. Softly flushed cheeks, delicately curved lips, and closed eyes framed by long, dark lashes gave it an uncanny resemblance to Karina. The resemblance was so striking it sent a shiver down Tsuki’s spine.

The doll wore a pale lavender dress, its fabric faded with age but pristine in condition. The lace trim at the edges was slightly frayed, but it only added to the unsettling authenticity. The faint lavender scent that clung to the house felt stronger now, as though it emanated from the doll itself.

“It looks so real…” Tsuki murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. “Like a wax statue, but…”

She hesitated, leaning closer, her fingers twitching at her sides as she fought the instinct to reach out and touch it. The texture of its skin caught her eye—it didn’t have the rigidity of wax. The surface appeared soft, pliable even, as though it might yield under pressure. The thought made her stomach twist.

The doll’s serene expression was too perfect, too intentional. It felt less like an inanimate object and more like a figure quietly observing her, its stillness unnerving in a way she couldn’t articulate. The longer she stared, the smaller the room seemed to feel, the air thickening with an unseen tension.

A sharp creak from the hallway broke the moment. Tsuki jumped, spinning around so quickly her knee bumped the edge of the chair. Her heart leapt into her throat, her wide eyes darting toward the open doorway.

Nothing. Just the house settling.

Her hand flew to her chest as she exhaled shakily, forcing her nerves to settle. “Get it together,” she muttered, glancing back at the doll.

The oppressive sensation of its presence still lingered. She crouched quickly, grabbing the watering can and finishing her task in rushed, clumsy movements. Each time she glanced over her shoulder, the doll was still there, perfectly posed, perfectly still. But that didn’t stop the irrational sense that it might spring to life at any moment.

When the last pot was watered, Tsuki stood and turned toward the door. She hesitated, the weight of the room pressing on her shoulders as her gaze flickered back to the doll one last time. The quiet lavender-scented air wrapped around her like a whisper, the moment hanging heavy and strange.

Her eyes lingered on the doll’s face. Its resemblance to Karina was so uncanny, so eerily perfect, that a strange reflex stirred within her. Without thinking, she dipped her head in a small, polite bow—a gesture born out of respect, habit, and the unsettling feeling that she was in the presence of someone, rather than something.

Straightening, she let out a faint, self-conscious laugh, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “Why am I bowing to a doll?” she muttered under her breath, the absurdity of the moment making her shake her head.

With a final glance at the serene, unblinking face of the doll, she stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. The faint click of the latch echoed in the quiet hallway, but the weight of the doll’s presence lingered. As she walked down the corridor, its expression, its stillness, its unnerving presence—it was burned into her mind. And with every step, the unease that clung to her chest only grew heavier, like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the house had settled into an eerie quiet. The golden hues of the late afternoon gave way to muted blues and grays, the darkness creeping into every corner as night took hold.

The guest bedroom offered a welcome reprieve, its modest furnishings a comforting contrast to the grandeur of the rest of the house. Tsuki sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft, elongated shadows on the walls. The weight of the day pressed down on her like a heavy blanket, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had built up over hours of unease.

The unique house scent seemed to follow her everywhere, clinging to her like a whisper. It hung in the air as she slipped under the covers, the crisp linens cool against her skin. She shifted restlessly, her thoughts unable to shake the memory of the doll’s lifelike features and the quiet, oppressive atmosphere of the master bedroom.

She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The creaks and groans of the old house kept her awake, their rhythm too deliberate to be random. Each sound seemed to carry meaning, like a whispered message just beyond her comprehension.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, pulling her into a restless sleep. Her dreams were fleeting and fragmented—shadows stretching across long hallways, faint whispers just out of reach, and always that door near the staircase, standing in the periphery of her mind. She woke suddenly in the early hours of the morning, her heart pounding as though she’d been running, though she couldn’t remember why.

For the next few days, she resumed her duties, going through the checklist Karina had left. Watering plants, checking windows, tidying rooms—simple tasks that should have kept her grounded. Yet, no matter how diligently she worked, she couldn’t shake the sensation that something was… watching.

Her steps became slower as she passed the basement door. The plain, unremarkable panel tucked near the staircase seemed to hum with an unspoken energy. She dismissed it at first, chalking it up to her imagination or the creaks of the old house. But as the days went on, the pull became stronger.

Whenever she neared the door, she felt it—a faint tug, like invisible fingers brushing against her chest, guiding her closer. At times, it was barely noticeable, a whisper at the edge of her awareness. Other times, it was almost overwhelming, making her pause mid-step as her hand drifted toward the handle without her realizing.

Then there was the sound.

It started as a faint rhythm, almost too soft to notice. A deep, steady thrum that seemed to rise from the floorboards themselves. At first, she thought it was her own heartbeat, quickened by the tension that gripped her whenever she passed the door. But as she stood there one afternoon, frozen with her ear tilted toward the frame, she realized it didn’t match the rhythm pounding in her chest.

It was something else.

The sound was faint but persistent, a slow and deliberate beat, like the pulse of something alive hidden beneath the house. She stepped back, shaking her head as if to clear it. “It’s just the pipes or something,” she muttered to herself, her voice thin and uncertain.

But the sound didn’t stop.

That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the house pressed in around her. The pull toward the basement door was stronger than ever, an invisible tether pulling at her thoughts, making her skin prickle with unease. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore it.

By the next day, it was unbearable. Every time she passed the door, the thrum seemed louder, the pull more insistent. She found herself standing before it without realizing, her fingers brushing the cold handle. She yanked her hand back, her breath quickening as Ningning’s words rang in her ears: Don’t open this door.

But the warning wasn’t enough to keep her away.

Tsuki hesitated, Ningning’s earlier warning echoing in her mind. But something about the door pulled at her, a quiet insistence that she couldn’t ignore. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped inside.

The stairs creaked beneath her as Tsuki descended into the basement, each step groaning under her weight, the sound sharp against the oppressive silence. The air grew cooler with every step, brushing against her skin like an unseen presence. A faint metallic tang mingled with the musty scent of old, forgotten things, and each breath she took felt heavier than the last.

At the bottom of the stairs, the dim space opened before her, cloaked in shadow and illuminated only by a single, flickering bulb that cast a weak, uneven light. Dust motes danced lazily in the air she’d disturbed, their slow movement amplifying the room’s stillness. The quiet was suffocating, as if the house itself had stopped breathing.

Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of jars filled with murky substances. Some were capped with rusted lids, others empty but for a faint residue clinging to their interiors. The objects scattered among them were strange and unidentifiable—trinkets that seemed as though they belonged to a world just outside her understanding.

In the center of the room stood a large wooden table, its surface surprisingly clean amidst the surrounding layers of dust. The smooth, worn edges hinted at its age, while the faint outline of a rectangular shape in the dust suggested something had been there recently. The table dominated the space, drawing her gaze like a magnet.

The room felt untouched, frozen in time, but the table’s pristine condition made it feel out of place, as if waiting for something—or someone. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wood, and a shiver raced through her as the strange pull she’d felt earlier surged within her, stronger now.

Her gaze wandered back to the shelves, landing on a single book nestled among the clutter. Its dark leather cover seemed to glow faintly, the intricate silver filigree embossed into its surface shimmering as though alive in the flickering light.

She took a step closer, her breath quickening as her hand reached for the book. The leather felt unexpectedly warm under her trembling fingers, and the moment she touched it, a low hum vibrated through her palms, resonating softly in the still air.

Turning slowly, she noticed an old wooden chair tucked into the corner of the room. Dust stirred as she brushed it off, sending a faint puff into the cool air. It creaked softly as she sat, cradling the book in her lap, the hum growing louder with every second.

Tsuki hesitated, her fingers tracing the embossed designs on the cover. Taking a breath to steady herself, she opened it. The first page greeted her with intricate symbols, their swirling shapes shimmering faintly as if they held a life of their own. The text was unfamiliar, yet something about it stirred a flicker of recognition deep within her, as though she’d seen it in a dream she couldn’t quite remember.

As she turned the brittle, crackling pages, the air around her grew colder, pressing against her skin. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the macabre contents: meticulously penned spells and rituals, their elegant strokes intertwining with illustrations that seemed to shift and writhe under the dim light. The drawings were both haunting and mesmerizing—dark figures entangled in rituals of power, surrounded by arcane symbols that shimmered faintly with a sinister allure.

The book felt alive in her hands, the brittle paper exuding an unnatural warmth that prickled against her fingers. The room’s shadows seemed to deepen, pressing closer, as though drawn by the energy radiating from the tome.

“This has to be some kind of elaborate antique—or a stupid movie prop,” Tsuki muttered, her voice barely breaking the oppressive silence. The words sounded hollow to her ears, and the static-like prickle along her arms only heightened her unease. She tried to ignore how the symbols on the page glimmered whenever her eyes shifted, the intricate patterns teasing the edges of her vision.

Her eyes were drawn to ornate runes etched faintly into the margins of the pages, their curling shapes seeming to beg to be spoken. She didn’t know why, but her lips began to move, forming the unfamiliar words before she could stop herself.

The first syllable escaped hesitantly, hanging in the still air like a fragile thread. The second came more easily, flowing into the third, her voice rising in a rhythm that echoed softly against the basement walls.

As the final word slipped from her lips, the house seemed to exhale. Outside, the rain surged, pounding against the brick walls with renewed force. A sudden crash of thunder shook the foundation beneath her feet, and the light from the single bulb flickered violently, casting erratic, jittering shadows that danced across the walls.

The hum from the book intensified, vibrating through her hands and into her chest, as though the very air around her were alive, pulsing with the same energy as the tome in her lap.

The air thickened with an oppressive charge, an energy that seemed to ripple through her very bones. A sickly-sweet scent—like decaying fruit laced with a metallic tang—filled the room, overwhelming her senses. She gagged, her stomach churning as a low, guttural groan reverberated from somewhere deep within the dark corners of the basement.

Tsuki froze, her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes darted toward the shadows just beyond the flickering light. Something was moving. The darkness itself seemed to ripple and writhe, its edges shifting as though it were alive. Her legs trembled, her body screaming for her to flee, but she couldn’t move, rooted in place by a fear so primal it felt as though it had wrapped around her soul.

The book in her lap began to pulse, its vibration growing stronger, more insistent, and a faint glow seeped from its pages, casting eerie patterns onto her hands. Her breath hitched as she saw it—a slick, glistening tendril slowly snaking its way out from between the yellowed pages.

A strangled cry burst from her lips as she flung the book away from her, her hands trembling violently. The tome landed with a heavy thud on the floor, its cover flapping open. For a moment, silence returned, the room holding its breath—but then the glow intensified, and the tendril continued to emerge, undeterred.

Tsuki scrambled back, her wide eyes fixed on the book as more appendages slithered forth, inky black and glistening wetly in the dim light. They moved with a terrible, unnatural grace, twisting and curling as though tasting the air. Their presence was suffocating, an affront to the space itself, and the oppressive energy in the room deepened, vibrating through her chest and setting her teeth on edge.

The air around her grew colder, thickening with a density that made it hard to breathe. She watched in horror as the appendages spilled onto the polished floor, their slick surfaces reflecting the faint glow of the book’s pulsing light.

Her scream caught in her throat a large one lashed out with terrifying speed. It wrapped around her ankle like a living vise, its texture alien—slick yet warm, pulsing faintly against her skin. A shuddering wave of revulsion coursed through her, but to her horror, so did something else: a strange, electric thrill that clashed violently with the primal terror gripping her heart.

“Let me go!” she gasped, her voice trembling as she thrashed against the sinuous limb. But her struggles only seemed to strengthen its grip, pulling her closer to the book.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the shelves and shadows pressing closer as though the space itself had come alive. The light from the flickering bulb dimmed further, replaced by the book’s eerie glow, which had grown impossibly bright.

A crimson sheen materialized at the edges of the doorframe, faintly luminous, as though painted by an unseen hand. It shimmered with a rhythmic pulse, synchronized with the thrumming energy radiating from the book. Tsuki’s eyes darted toward it, her chest tightening as she realized it wasn’t just light—it was a barrier.

The shimmering red aura stretched across the doorframe, sealing her inside. It seemed alive, pulsing and flickering as though aware of her. She screamed again, but the sound was swallowed by the air itself, the barrier promising absolute secrecy. No one would hear her cries, and no one would come.

The appendages tightened their grip, the largest curling upward to brush against her trembling hand. It was as though the book itself was alive, its energy thrumming with hunger, pulling her deeper into its inescapable hold. Tsuki’s mind raced, a storm of emotions churning within her—fear, confusion, and a flickering, inexplicable pull toward the power suffusing the air around her.

“No! Stop!” she cried, her voice raw with desperation as she twisted against the tendrils wrapped around her ankle. The slick surface of it pulsed faintly, their warmth a shocking contrast to the cold fear gripping her chest. Her thrashing only seemed to fuel the energy swirling around her, the room alive with an invisible force that crackled against her skin.

With a sinuous motion, two more appendages slithered from the shadows, their glossy surfaces catching the faint light as they coiled around her wrists. The grip was firm yet unhurried, lifting her effortlessly from the ground and suspending her in the charged air above the glowing tome.

Tsuki gasped, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as she writhed in their hold. Her limbs trembled with exertion, her mind screaming for her to fight harder, to escape. Yet with each movement, the tendrils seemed to tighten, cradling her with an unnerving precision that made her struggles feel insignificant.

As the seconds stretched into eternity, a foreign sensation began to spread through her, igniting a strange heat in her core. The tendrils moved with deliberate slowness, their touch almost exploratory as they brushed against her exposed skin.

One of the tendrils slithered closer, its movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator assessing its prey. Tsuki flinched, her breath hitching as it hovered near her face, the faint shimmer of its slick surface catching the dim light. She turned her head away instinctively, her lips pressed tightly together, but the tendril moved with an eerie precision, brushing against her cheek with a warmth that sent her skin tingling.

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling as the tendril’s tip traced the line of her jaw. The scent in the room grew thicker, suffusing the air with its intoxicating sweetness. It seemed to dull her resistance, the tension in her shoulders loosening even as her mind screamed at her to fight.

The tendril pressed lightly against her lips, and for a moment, she held her breath, clenching her mouth shut. But the pulsing warmth and insistent pressure became unbearable, and her resolve wavered. A gasp escaped her, her lips parting slightly, and it slipped inside with unsettling ease.

The texture was slick and alien, its presence invasive yet strangely gentle as it curled against her tongue. Tsuki gagged slightly, her body jerking in reflexive protest, but the appendage didn’t retreat. Instead, a faint warmth spread from where it touched, a strange, electric heat that seeped into her muscles and unfurled through her chest.

A faint hum resonated through her, vibrating softly against her skin as the tendril pulsed, releasing something she couldn’t identify. The effect was immediate—her body grew lighter, the tension in her limbs dissipating as a wave of heat pooled low in her abdomen.

Her head swam, the oppressive sweetness in the air blending with the warmth spreading through her, clouding her thoughts and softening her panic. Her lips tingled where it touched, the sensation lingering even as it withdrew, leaving her mouth empty and her breaths shallow.

Tsuki gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Her fear remained, but it was now tangled with something deeper, something unfamiliar yet impossible to ignore. Her body felt alive in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying, every nerve alight with sensation.

Before she could regain her composure, another tendril brushed against her arm, its slick surface gliding over her skin with a maddening slowness. Her pulse quickened, her body trembling as the warmth within her grew stronger, fanning into an insistent heat.

Her skirt was pushed upwards with an almost sentient deliberateness, the cool air brushing against her exposed thighs. The intimacy of the act sent a flush of mortification through her, her thoughts racing with conflicting emotions. The alien limb seemed to know her body in ways she could not comprehend, their movements unhurried but insistent, exploring her as though tracing a map only they could see.

“No… stop…” Tsuki whispered, her voice shaking with both fear and shame. The words felt powerless, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the room. Her mind screamed at her to fight harder, to resist, but her body betrayed her. A faint, forbidden warmth coiled deep within her, a treacherous response that made her feel as though the book’s influence was seeping into her very soul.

The first appendage, slick and pulsating faintly, brushed against her inner thigh, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left her trembling. It found her center, pressing lightly against her most intimate place with a surreal precision that felt invasive and deeply wrong. Yet, to her growing horror, the contact ignited a spark within her—a sensation she couldn’t explain, one that clashed violently with the revulsion knotting her stomach.

“Please… don’t…” Tsuki’s voice was barely more than a whisper, each word trembling with desperation. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she writhed against the tendrils, her struggles weak and futile. Yet, her protests faltered when an involuntary moan escaped her lips—a low, shameful sound that startled her with its rawness. It betrayed the turmoil within her, a storm she could neither deny nor suppress.

The tendril pressed further, its warmth a mirror of the growing heat coiling deep within her. Her body’s treacherous response filled her with shame, the telltale dampness between her thighs answering the intrusion even as she squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the sensations. But it was impossible. The relentless tide of sensation swelled within her, drowning every rational thought beneath its rising waves.

As it explored with agonizing precision, others joined, their slick movements leaving trails of warmth and wetness along her exposed skin. Two curled around her heaving chest, their sinuous motions too deliberate to be accidental. Tsuki gasped as they wrapped around her breasts, their touch firm yet teasing, as though savoring the curves beneath their grasp.

They squeezed gently at first, testing her with rhythmic pulses that seemed to synchronize with her erratic heartbeat. Her nipples, already sensitive from the cool air, hardened under their touch. She bit her lip as one tendril tightened around a peak, the friction maddening as it tugged and teased with deliberate pressure. The slick texture of the appendage sent jolts of sensation straight to her core, each movement stoking the forbidden fire growing within her.

Tsuki’s body trembled, her breaths shallow and uneven as the sensations pushed her closer to the edge of reason. Shame burned in her chest, a searing reminder of how deeply her body had betrayed her. But beneath the shame was a bloom of arousal that defied her terror, growing stronger with every passing moment.

The appendage probing her most intimate place pressed deeper, its girth stretching her in ways she had never experienced. The sensation was overwhelming, teetering on the edge of pain yet blooming into a twisted pleasure that left her gasping. Her hips twitched involuntarily, her body reacting with a primal abandon that made her heart pound even harder.

The room around her blurred, fading into a whirl of shadows and flickering crimson light. The oppressive energy thickened, cocooning her in an isolating warmth that felt both suffocating and oddly comforting. The tome below her pulsed with an eerie, sickly glow, its pages fluttering as if alive, feeding on the maelstrom of emotion coursing through her.

Tsuki’s mind was a battlefield, torn between the instinct to escape and the dark, insidious allure of the magic enveloping her. Her thoughts fragmented, unable to form coherent resistance against the unrelenting onslaught of sensation. Each wave of pleasure crashed over her, stronger than the last, until the rational part of her mind began to fade.

Her toes curled, her back arching involuntarily as the sensations pushed her further toward the brink. A silent scream built in her throat, a raw sound that was equal parts anguish and ecstasy. Every nerve in her body felt alive, her muscles trembling under the weight of an experience so intense it defied her understanding.

As her consciousness frayed, the monstrous presence above her became clearer. its sinewy appendages glistening with an otherworldly sheen. It moved with a terrifying grace, its power undeniable as it plunged into her with an intensity that left her gasping.

The rhythm of its movements was overwhelming, a carnal dance that blurred the line between dominance and submission. Tsuki’s hips moved instinctively, bucking against the relentless assault as her body betrayed her once again. She couldn’t stop the way her core clenched around the intruding tendrils, her body grasping at them with a desperation that left her mind reeling.

The friction built with maddening precision, each thrust a crescendo of sensation that grew stronger, deeper. The heat in her core spiraled outward, consuming her as the storm within her reaches its peak. Tsuki’s mind splintered, caught between horror and exhilaration as the relentless onslaught pushed her closer to a release that she both dreaded and craved.

The tendrils, acting with a sentience all their own, twisted and writhed within her, exploring the depths of her most intimate places with an unsettling precision. Each movement seemed attuned to her every gasp, moan, and trembling shudder, adjusting their rhythm and pressure as though playing a symphony on her body. Every note resonated with her deepest desires, drawing out the pleasure buried in the darkest corners of her being.

Her body felt like a foreign entity, no longer under her control but an instrument in the hands of a masterful puppeteer. Each thrust, each twist of the tendrils, sent ripples of sensation coursing through her, building a crescendo that pulled her further into a sea of rapture. Tsuki’s thoughts, fragmented and fleeting, were lost amidst the overwhelming tide of sensation. She was helpless, suspended in a reality where time, fear, and reason had ceased to matter.

Her vision blurred, the world around her fading into insignificance as she climbed higher, propelled toward a peak that shimmered just beyond her reach. Every thrust, every deliberate motion of them pushed her closer, sending her spiraling upward into a stratosphere of ecstasy she had never dared imagine.

The monster’s relentless rhythm became her entire existence, a singular, primal focus that consumed her. Her breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps, each one a desperate attempt to ground herself against the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her. Her heart pounded in her chest like a frantic drumbeat, echoing the cadence of the creature’s movements, synchronizing with the primal, unrelenting rhythm.

As if sensing the growing tension within her, the tendrils adjusted their pace, their grip tightening as they moved with an intensity that defied human comprehension. They teased her with unrelenting precision, their slick surfaces sliding against her hypersensitive skin, coaxing her closer to the precipice. The overwhelming sensations threatened to break her apart, pulling at every fiber of her being.

Her body trembled violently, each thrust driving her closer to release. The tendrils pulsed with a heat that seemed to flow directly into her, igniting a fire deep within her core. Tsuki’s hips moved involuntarily, bucking against the onslaught, meeting the relentless force with a desperation that shocked even her.

“Oh, gods,” she panted, her voice a broken whisper lost amidst the wet, rhythmic sounds of their motion. “It’s… it’s so deep… I can’t… I can’t…”

Her words trailed into a strangled cry as the first wave of climax overtook her, shattering her remaining composure. It was as though every nerve in her body had been set aflame, an all-encompassing conflagration of pleasure that consumed her from the inside out. The tendrils, slick with her arousal, plunged into her depths with renewed vigor, their undulations sending shockwaves through her veins.

Her mind shattered into fragments of sensation and sound, each moment eclipsing the last in intensity. “Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Please, don’t ever stop!” she begged, her voice a ragged mixture of delirium and surrender. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the air, seeking purchase on something—anything—tangible, as the unrelenting onslaught overwhelmed her senses.

The creature, whether driven by primal instinct or some malevolent intelligence, seemed to respond to her pleas. Its tendrils moved with a deliberate precision that suggested an endless capacity for this relentless assault, each motion calculated to drive her deeper into a state of unending bliss.

Tsuki’s climax stretched on, a cascade of ecstasy that defied comprehension. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was transcendence, a complete dissolution of self into the pure, unfiltered sensation. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her body trembling as the boundaries between pain and pleasure, fear and desire, dissolved entirely.

“I love it… I love it so much,” she moaned, her voice barely audible yet resonating with a depth that betrayed her total surrender. The words tumbled from her lips unbidden, a raw confession that left her trembling.

Tsuki’s body convulsed, the sheer power of the release unlike anything she had ever known. It felt as though every muscle in her body had been electrified, her nerves alight with a searing, unrelenting pleasure that coursed through her like molten fire. Her back arched violently, her limbs trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, each more overwhelming than the last.

The sensations were a storm, a cacophony of raw, primal bliss that left her gasping for air. Her vision blurred, her eyes fluttering shut as stars exploded behind her eyelids, bright and dazzling against the crimson haze of the room. Time lost meaning, each second stretching into eternity as her body trembled on the edge of unraveling completely.

Her breaths came in frantic, broken bursts, her chest heaving as if she’d been submerged underwater and was only now surfacing for air. The relentless pulsing of the appendage kept her hovering on the brink, her cries blending into the rhythmic thrum of the magic that filled the room. Her hands clawed helplessly at the ground, her fingers digging into the polished wood in search of some anchor, some way to tether herself to reality amidst the torrent of sensation.

The peak of her climax hit like a tidal wave, slamming into her with a force that left her utterly powerless. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her body seizing as a flood of heat coursed through her, radiating outward from her core to every inch of her trembling frame. The pleasure was absolute, consuming her entirely, as though her very essence had been dissolved into the maelstrom.

Her heart thundered in her chest, its frantic rhythm echoing in her ears as the relentless pleasure stretched her to her limits. Her body burned, the heat of the moment fusing with the lingering warmth of the tendrils that held her captive, coaxing her to surrender completely. Every nerve, every cell, seemed to hum with an intoxicating energy, pushing her beyond the confines of physical sensation into something far more profound.

When the final waves began to subside, they left her trembling, her body wracked with aftershocks that rippled through her in diminishing pulses. The edges of the world blurred, her mind floating in a haze of exhaustion and disbelief. Slowly, they released their grip, letting her crumple bonelessly onto the ground.

Her body was slick with sweat, her skin flushed and glistening as she lay there, utterly spent. Her limbs refused to move, trembling faintly as though even the smallest effort was beyond her reach. The air around her was thick with the remnants of the energy that had consumed her, the faint hum of the magic in the tome a distant echo now.

Tsuki’s breaths came in slow, ragged bursts, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to recover. Her mind was blank, emptied of thought save for the echo of what she had just experienced. The pleasure still lingered in her veins, a phantom warmth that pulsed faintly in the aftermath, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

Her voice unfurled into the charged air, cutting through the stillness like a blade honed to perfection. The sound was raw, unrestrained, and so utterly human amidst the otherworldly backdrop. Her breath hitched, each gasp a testament to the shock and disbelief coursing through her. How could it be that, even after the tempest of sensations that had claimed her, she yearned for more?

"More… I need more! Please!" The words tumbled from her lips, unbidden and unfiltered, their weight pressing heavily into the space around her. Each syllable carried a desperation that was startling in its clarity, echoing through the stone walls of the chamber. The cold, unyielding surfaces seemed to absorb her cries, amplifying them into a haunting chorus that reverberated back to her as though the very room shared her longing.

She was consumed—utterly, completely. Her body no longer felt like her own, her mind adrift in a sea of sensations and emotions she could barely comprehend. The intoxicating grip of the creature’s presence had become an addiction, a force that seeped into every corner of her being. What had started as resistance had crumbled beneath the relentless tide of pleasure, leaving only this raw, unquenchable hunger that bound her to it in a pact she couldn’t, wouldn’t break.

It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something primal and profound. With every passing moment, the lines separating her humanity and the creature’s ethereal nature blurred, dissolving into a haze of need and shared satisfaction. She no longer feared the loss of control—she welcomed it, craved it. The sensations transcended the physical, reaching into her very soul and pulling forth a truth she hadn’t dared to face: that this wasn’t just an assault on her body; it was a revelation of her most secret self.

Her voice rose again, filling the cavernous space with a fervor that seemed to draw the room itself into the throes of her transformation. It wasn’t a mere plea now—it was a declaration, an offering, a submission. The creature responded in kind, its movements unhurried yet deliberate, each touch carrying a weight that seemed to acknowledge her surrender.

The tendrils moved with an unsettling grace, their sinewy, cool surfaces coiling around her trembling frame as though choreographed. They encircled her limbs with deliberate precision, leaving no part of her untouched. Her arms were drawn firmly behind her back, her wrists bound together in a grip that was unyielding but not painful.

Her legs, guided with the same calculated care, were lifted and folded gracefully over her head, her knees brushing her shoulders as the tendrils positioned her into an impossibly flexible pose. The deep stretch pressed her body into a posture that felt both exposing and strangely reverent, the creature’s control molding her into a display of total surrender. Every inch of her was held aloft, suspended in midair, her form completely bared to the creature’s touch.

The tension in her body began to dissolve under the tendrils’ firm yet careful guidance. Her initial struggle gave way to a sense of weightless peace, a paradoxical comfort in being so thoroughly restrained. Suspended and bound, the vulnerability of her position was undeniable, but so was the strange intimacy of the creature’s control.

“Please…” she murmured, her voice trembling as her head tilted back, her flushed cheeks brushing against her folded knees. Her lips parted, her breath shallow and uneven as her eyes fluttered shut. “Take me. Use me. I’m yours.”

The words spilled from her unbidden, raw and unfiltered, carrying the weight of her submission. They hung in the air, trembling with an almost sacred longing, and the tendrils seemed to react, tightening around her slightly, as if acknowledging her surrender.

Her body quivered as the creature moved in response, the tendrils gliding along her exposed skin with a purpose that felt both methodical and intimate. The cool, sinewy appendage brushed along her thighs and the curve of her back, exploring her as though she were something fragile yet infinitely valuable.

“I need it,” she whispered, her tone barely audible yet thick with desperation. Each word carried an urgency that echoed in the charged air around her. “All of me… I want you to take everything.”

Her breathing quickened as the tendrils adjusted their hold, their movements becoming more deliberate, more intimate. The sensation of their exploration sent waves of warmth coursing through her bound form, each touch lighting a fire that spread through her in dizzying waves.

“You feel so… so good,” she gasped, her voice breaking as the overwhelming sensations consumed her. “Please… I want more… I need more.”

The tendrils moved with an unnerving awareness, their sinuous forms gliding over her trembling body as though they could sense her every thought, her every unspoken desire. Each caress seemed purposeful, teasing the edges of her mind and coaxing her deeper into the blissful haze that had overtaken her. The cool, slick texture of the tendrils against her heated skin created an intoxicating contrast, heightening her sensitivity with every passing moment.

Tsuki could feel them responding to her, their movements shifting and adjusting as though attuned to the rhythm of her need. Their presence was overwhelming, a constant press of sensations that blurred the line between her body and the creature’s control. Her breath came in shallow, erratic bursts, her chest rising and falling as the tension coiled tighter within her.

One tendril trailed down her inner thigh with a deliberate slowness, its slick surface leaving a cool, wet trail in its wake. The sensation sent shivers racing up her spine, her body arching instinctively to meet the touch. Her thighs quivered, her muscles clenching as it paused just at the entrance of her folds. The anticipation was maddening, her nerves alight with a fiery tension that only grew with every second of waiting.

When it finally slid inside, the sensation was indescribable. A gasp tore from her lips, her head snapping back as a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through her. “Ahhh! Yes… oh yes!” she squealed, her voice trembling with sheer delight as the fullness overwhelmed her. Her hips bucked instinctively, her body greedily welcoming the intrusion as the tendril moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left her gasping.

The pressure within her built with every pulse, the tendril’s movements precise and unrelenting. It teased her inner walls, stroking and exploring with an expertise that felt almost impossible, as though it knew exactly where to touch to unravel her completely.

“It feels… so good,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with unmistakable contentment. Her head lolled to the side, her lips parting as moans spilled from her freely, raw and unfiltered. Her body responded eagerly, her hips rolling in time with the tendril’s rhythm, a silent plea for more.

Her skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, the heat coursing through her body mingling with the cool, slick sensations of the tendrils. Every movement drove her deeper into the haze of bliss, her mind unable to focus on anything but the unrelenting pleasure that consumed her. The world around her faded into insignificance, leaving only the tendrils’ embrace and the exquisite fullness that left her gasping for breath.

As her body adjusted to its rhythm, another tendril rose before her, its glossy surface catching the dim crimson light as it hovered near her lips. She barely had time to register its presence before it pressed gently against her mouth.

A startled gasp escaped her as her lips parted, the tendril slipping inside with surprising ease. The texture was slick and warm, its faint pulse vibrating against her tongue as it explored her. At first, the sensation was overwhelming, but as it moved deeper, her surprise melted into contentment.

“Mmmph… so… deep,” she murmured against it, her voice muffled but filled with an odd sense of satisfaction. Her tongue pressed against its surface instinctively, tasting its slick warmth as her lips closed tightly around it. “More,” she managed to hum softly, her muffled plea a testament to her growing acceptance.

The tendril filled her mouth with a deliberate rhythm, its movements teasing and steady, drawing soft whimpers of satisfaction from her throat. Her moans grew louder, muffled but fervent, as her body surrendered to the dual sensations.

Just as she thought her body couldn’t possibly handle more, another tendril coiled around her waist, its movements slow and deliberate as it slid lower. Her breath quickened as she felt it pressing against the tight, unused ring of her back entrance.

Her muffled moans faltered for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized its intent. “Mmmph! No… wait…” she tried to protest, her words barely audible around the tendril in her mouth. But the creature was unrelenting, its movements firm yet measured as it pressed forward with careful pressure.

The tendril began to slide into her tight ring, the sensation sending a shockwave through her. Her body tensed, her muffled squeal vibrating against the tendril in her mouth as it stretched her in ways she had never experienced. The pressure was intense, a blend of discomfort and startling pleasure that left her gasping.

“Mmhhh!” she cried out, her voice a mix of surprise and arousal. The sensation was overwhelming, but as the tendril moved deeper, her body began to adjust, the discomfort giving way to an intoxicating fullness.

Her hips bucked again, her arousal evident in the way her body responded, even to the new intrusion. The tendril in her mouth pulsed gently, coaxing her into a rhythm that felt strangely natural, while the one in her back moved with slow precision, its every motion sending sparks of heat radiating through her.

Her muffled cries grew softer, their tone shifting as the sensations blended into a symphony of pleasure that consumed her entirely. She moaned around the tendril in her mouth, her tongue moving against its surface as her hips rocked involuntarily, her body giving itself over to the relentless rhythm.

Tsuki’s moans deepened, her muffled cries of pleasure blending into the wet, rhythmic sounds that filled the room. She was lost in the overwhelming intensity, her body trembling as the tendrils brought her to the edge of another release.

Her mind fractured under the weight of the sensations, her thoughts dissolving into the raw, primal pleasure that consumed her. She could feel herself letting go completely, surrendering to the creature’s attentions as it claimed her in ways she had never thought possible.

Tsuki’s muffled cries grew softer, their tone shifting from resistance to surrender, as the sensations enveloped her in a symphony of pleasure that consumed her entirely. Her lips closed tightly around the tendril in her mouth, her tongue moving against its slick surface with a mind of its own. Each pulse, each deliberate motion, seemed to sync with the creature’s rhythm, its movements echoing through her as though it were orchestrating her very being.

She moaned helplessly, her hips rocking involuntarily against the tendril that filled her folds. Its movements were unyielding, stroking her inner walls with a maddening precision that left her trembling. The tendril at her back entrance stretched her relentlessly, its girth and depth pushing her to limits she hadn’t known existed. The fullness was all-consuming, her body stretched and claimed in ways that left her breathless.

Every hole was occupied, her body bound and plugged by the creature’s relentless attentions, and the sheer sensation of being used so completely sent waves of heat coursing through her. Her skin was flushed, a fiery warmth radiating outward from her core, spreading to every inch of her trembling frame. Sweat beaded on her skin, mingling with the slick trails left by the tendrils, and her body felt feverish, as though she were burning from the inside out.

Each time she tried to move, her bound limbs pulled against the sinewy hold of the tendrils encircling her wrists and ankles. The resistance heightened her awareness of her vulnerability, a sharp reminder of how completely she was at the creature’s mercy. But instead of fear, the restraint ignited an even deeper arousal, the inability to move amplifying the sensations that coursed through her. When she flexed her legs or attempted to shift her arms, the tendrils tightened briefly, their grip firm yet careful, sending jolts of heat straight to her core.

The tension in her muscles as she instinctively tested her bonds made her hyper aware of how securely she was held. The feel of the tendrils against her skin—slick, warm, and unyielding—only added to the electric current of arousal that pulsed through her. Her fingers twitched, her toes curled, but every attempt to exert control over her own body was met with the creature’s deliberate, commanding restraint. It wasn’t just physical—it's mental, a complete surrender that left her trembling with need.

Her mind spiraled, her thoughts teetering on the edge of coherence. For a brief moment, an image of Karina flickered through her mind—her friend, calm and composed, standing in this very space. This… this was in her basement? Tsuki’s lips twitched in a half-formed, disbelieving smile around the tendril in her mouth. The absurdity of it struck her even amidst the overwhelming sensations. How could Karina have lived above such a thing, so unaware—or worse, so unbothered?

The thought dissolved as the tendrils’ movements quickened, dragging her back into the maelstrom. Each of them found its rhythm, their synchronized motions intensifying as though responding to her growing need. The tendril in her folds thrust deeper, its strokes faster and more insistent, eliciting muffled moans that vibrated against the tendril in her mouth. The one at her back entrance stretched her further, its deliberate pace giving way to a primal urgency that sent shivers racing up her spine.

Tsuki’s body tensed, her muscles taut as the building pleasure became unbearable. Each movement she attempted, every twist or writhe, was met with the firm but almost loving grip of the tendrils holding her. The inability to move only fueled her arousal further, her body betraying her with each pulse of heat that radiated outward. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her muffled cries rising in pitch as the tendrils drove her higher, their relentless rhythm consuming her entirely.

And then, the dam broke.

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with an intensity that left her gasping and trembling. Every nerve in her body exploded with sensation, a blinding cascade of euphoria that obliterated every thought, every shred of control. Her back arched violently, her toes curling as the pleasure surged through her, wave after wave, unrelenting and overwhelming.

The fullness of the tendrils magnified everything, their pulsing, thrusting movements sending aftershocks rippling through her as her body convulsed in their grasp. She moaned deeply, her voice muffled but filled with raw, unrestrained ecstasy, the sound reverberating through the room.

Her consciousness seemed to splinter, dissolving into the sheer euphoria of the moment. The sensations blurred together, an all-encompassing bliss that left her trembling and breathless. Her body felt weightless, suspended in the haze of her release as the creature’s motions began to slow, guiding her down from the peak with a deliberate tenderness.

She collapsed against the tendrils’ support, her body slick with sweat and quivering from the force of her climax. Her mind was blank, save for the lingering warmth and satisfaction that pulsed through her, a glowing ember of pleasure that refused to fade.

Each breath she took was shaky, her chest heaving as her limbs lay limp in the tendrils’ grasp. The tension she’d felt moments ago was gone, replaced by a languid warmth that wrapped around her like a blanket. She couldn’t move, nor did she want to. The bonds that had held her captive now felt like an embrace, their presence a strange comfort in the aftermath of her release.

When the tendrils finally began to recede, they moved with a grace that belied their earlier fervor. Each one released her slowly, as if savoring the final moments of their connection. Tsuki’s limbs felt weightless as the tendrils carefully lowered her onto the cool floor, their motions deliberate and reverent. Her back met the ground gently, her sweat-slicked body sinking into the cold surface. For a moment, she lay there in suspended stillness, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the creature’s hold began to loosen.

The first tendril to withdraw was the one in her mouth. It slid back with a languid motion, its warmth fading from her lips as it retreated. She could feel its ridges trailing along the inside of her cheeks and the roof of her mouth, each sensation vivid and excruciatingly intimate. Her throat tightened reflexively as it exited the depths of her esophagus, the strange mix of relief and loss making her shudder. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as the slick appendage left her completely, and her tongue flicked out instinctively, as though searching for the lingering trace of its presence.

Next came the tendril from her back entrance. Tsuki whimpered softly as it began to pull free, the stretched, tight ring of muscle quivering in protest. Its girth had molded her, reshaped her in a way that left her painfully aware of the emptiness its absence would bring. The slow withdrawal was almost too much to bear, each inch dragging against her sensitive walls and sending residual shocks through her trembling frame. When it finally slipped out with a wet, obscene sound, she felt a sudden hollowness, the cool air brushing against her gaped entrance a sharp reminder of how thoroughly she had been claimed.

The last tendril lingered the longest, nestled deep within her folds as though reluctant to leave. Tsuki’s breath hitched as she felt it begin to move, every ridge and curve stroking against her inner walls with aching slowness. Her body clenched reflexively, unwilling to let go, and the friction sent jolts of pleasure spiraling through her even as her heart ached with the knowledge that it was ending.

“No… please…” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible, a trembling plea that surprised even her.

When the tendril finally slid free, leaving her folds slick and quivering, the loss hit her like a blow. The emptiness was unbearable, a deep ache blooming in her chest as though her very soul mourned its departure. She felt as though she had been hollowed out, her body and mind suddenly bereft of the connection that had consumed her so completely. A wave of sadness crashed over her, sharp and unexpected, as she realized just how reliant she had become on the tendrils’ touch to feel anything close to happiness.

Tsuki’s eyes fluttered open, and she watched as the tendrils retreated toward the glowing book, their slick, sinuous forms folding into its open pages as if swallowed by the ancient tome itself. The glow from the book dimmed with each passing second, the rhythmic pulse that had filled the room fading into stillness. When the last tendril disappeared, the book’s cover snapped shut with a soft but definitive sound.

The crimson sheen on the doorframe flickered one last time before vanishing, leaving the basement shrouded in darkness save for the weak, flickering light of the single bulb above. The oppressive energy that had suffused the room dissipated, replaced by a deafening silence that pressed against her ears like a physical weight.

Tsuki lay there, her body trembling and spent, her skin slick with sweat and the faint, shimmering residue left by the creature’s touch. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, yet her heart raced, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every muscle ached, her body marked by the intensity of what it had endured, yet it wasn’t pain that lingered—it was the ache of longing.

The ceiling above her seemed impossibly distant, its plaster patterns shifting and distorting as though mocking her attempts to ground herself in reality. Her thoughts whirled in disarray, fragments of exhilaration and shame twisting together until she could no longer separate them. Each ragged breath brought her closer to the memory of the tendrils’ touch, the unrelenting power of the entity that had claimed her so completely.

She closed her eyes, but the shadows behind her lids were no refuge. The sensations replayed in vivid detail, each ghostly caress and probing tendril etched into her mind with painful clarity. Her heart raced as a truth settled over her, cold and certain: she would never again be the same.

The weight of what she had experienced pressed down on her, and yet—shamefully, achingly—she felt a yearning for more. The creature had awakened something inside her, a deep and irrepressible hunger that no mere human touch could ever hope to satisfy. The pleasure it had granted her was beyond comprehension, an experience so profound it left her soul tethered to the ancient, leather-bound tome that rested silently nearby.

The book now sat quietly in the dim light, its symbols no longer glowing. The silence in the room was deafening, and yet Tsuki could feel it—a faint hum, a residual energy that whispered of its dark promise. A shiver ran through her as she gazed at its unassuming cover, her chest tightening with the certainty that she would return.

She sat up slowly, her trembling fingers brushing the shimmering residue that lingered on her skin. Her body still pulsed with the echoes of pleasure, but it was the ache in her heart that she couldn’t ignore—a longing she knew could only be satisfied by the creature she had left behind.

The realization struck her like a blow: she was bound to it now, tied to something greater and darker than she could comprehend.

-----

The rest of Tsuki’s stay in the house passed in a blur of careful routine. Each day, she busied herself with small tasks—tidying the already immaculate rooms, rearranging little details to feel productive, and watering the plants with deliberate focus. Yet she avoided the basement entirely, the weight of what had happened there too much to face. The house, with its subtle creaks and faint whispers, seemed to breathe around her, alive and aware, as if watching her every move.

But no other strange incidents occurred. The silence of the house felt almost accusatory, as though it knew what had happened and was daring her to confront it. Tsuki couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though she was alone. At night, she would lie awake in the guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning with fragmented memories of the tendrils’ touch, the forbidden ecstasy they had drawn from her.

The book’s presence haunted her. Though she left it untouched on its shelf in the basement, her thoughts often drifted to it, the dark leather cover etched into her memory. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye, could feel its pulsing energy even from a distance. Each time her gaze lingered too long on the basement door, her heart quickened, the temptation to retrieve it tugging at her resolve.

Her mind was a battleground, torn between the dark allure of the book and the guilt that gnawed at her. She thought of Karina—so kind, so trusting. Tsuki respected her deeply, admired her quiet grace and the way she carried herself. Stealing the book would be a betrayal, a violation of the trust Karina had placed in her.

But it isn’t just a book, Tsuki thought one night, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as she sat at the kitchen table. The memory of the tendrils’ touch burned in her veins, the intensity of the pleasure they had granted her unlike anything she had ever known. The connection she felt to the book wasn’t mere temptation; it was a need, an ache that refused to fade. It’s mine. It belongs to me. Doesn’t it?

The thought lingered, seductive and insistent. But as the hours ticked by and the house remained still around her, another voice spoke—a quieter, steadier voice. It was Karina’s voice, her warm smile and genuine gratitude echoing in Tsuki’s mind. Stealing the book wasn’t just wrong—it was unthinkable.

The next morning, Tsuki forced herself to make a choice. She stood before the basement door, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle. She could feel the book’s pull even through the wood, its dark promise thrumming in her chest. But she stepped back, shaking her head.

“No,” she whispered to herself, the word barely audible in the empty hallway. Leaving the book behind felt like tearing away a part of herself, and yet, she knew it was the only choice. Respect for Karina, for her trust, outweighed the yearning that clawed at her heart.

By the time Karina and you returned to town, the house had settled into an almost oppressive stillness, as though it had been holding its breath in your absence. The warm sunlight spilled across the porch, highlighting the ivy trailing up the red-brick exterior, and casting a golden glow on Tsuki as she stood awkwardly in the entryway. Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her, her posture composed but betraying a hint of nervous energy.

When Karina stepped inside, her polished appearance and radiant smile instantly eased the lingering tension in the room, filling it with her signature warmth.

“Tsuki!” Karina greeted, setting her bag down with a graceful motion. “Thank you so much for helping out. Seriously, you saved us.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Tsuki replied quickly, her voice soft but earnest. “I actually… really enjoyed my time here. You have such a beautiful house.” Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, and a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

Karina tilted her head, her smile softening. “I’m so glad you think so. This house means a lot to me. There’s just something about it—it stays with you, doesn’t it?” She glanced around as she spoke, as though the familiar details—the carved wooden railings, the faint scent of lavender, and the way the light danced off the polished floors—reassured her.

Tsuki nodded, hesitating briefly before glancing at Karina with a curious smile. “Um… is your boyfriend here? Everyone’s been talking about you two since your news went public. I guess I’ve been wondering about the guy who managed to steal the Karina’s heart.”

Karina laughed lightly, her radiant smile showing as she waved a hand. “He’s out grabbing food. He insisted since I did most of the driving back.” She paused, her eyes brightening. “Next time, we should all go out to eat. My treat. I know he’d love to meet you—you really did us a huge favour.”

Tsuki’s blush deepened, and she ducked her head with a shy smile. “That sounds nice. I’d like that a lot.”

Karina smiled warmly and moved to open the door for her. “Thank you again, Tsuki. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

Tsuki bowed slightly, her movements graceful and instinctive. “Thank you, unnie. Have a good evening.”

With that, Tsuki stepped out into the golden afternoon light, her figure framed briefly by the glow before she disappeared down the walkway. Karina lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching her go with a thoughtful smile. The gentle creak of the closing door seemed to release the tension that had settled in the house.

Once the door clicked shut, the familiar stillness of the home returned, wrapping around Karina like an old, comfortable blanket. She exhaled deeply, the sound quiet and unhurried, as though she was letting the house welcome her back.

-----

You were seated at a small corner table in the restaurant, scrolling through your phone as you waited for the order. The familiar scent of spices and frying oil filled the air, and the hum of nearby conversations blended into a background buzz.

Your phone buzzed, and Karina’s name lit up the screen. Smiling, you picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said lightly, her voice soft and familiar. “Just wondering if you’re still at the restaurant.”

“Still waiting on the food,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m here?”

She hesitated briefly before humming thoughtfully. “Actually, could you grab me some boba? You know the flavors I like.”

“Of course,” you said with a chuckle. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh—actually, I was thinking of testing the security cameras. We should make sure they’re working properly, right?”

“Go for it,” you encouraged. “Check everything out. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay, thanks, babe.” Her voice softened as she ended the call, and you slipped the phone back into your pocket.

A few minutes later, the cashier handed you the food and drinks, the boba cups clinking lightly in the bag as you carried them to the car. The drive home was quiet, the golden hues of sunset stretching over the empty streets. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally relaxing with Karina after the long trip—sharing boba and maybe checking out the security footage together.

The house was dim when you opened the door, the faint scent of lavender and polished wood greeting you like an old friend. “I’m back!” you called out cheerfully, your voice cutting through the stillness as you stepped inside.

There was no reply.

You kicked off your shoes and carried the bags into the living room. The sight stopped you cold.

Karina sat frozen on the couch, her wide, unblinking eyes locked on the laptop screen. The faint glow illuminated her pale face, casting flickering shadows across the room.

“Karina?” you asked, your voice hesitant as unease crept into your chest.

She didn’t respond.

And then you heard it.

Moans—raw, breathless, and haunting—poured from the laptop speakers, filling the room with an intensity that made the air feel stifling. The sound swelled, growing louder with each passing second, an oppressive rhythm that clawed at the edges of your mind.

Amid the moans, a voice broke through, trembling yet fervent: “More… I want more!”

The bags slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a muffled thud that barely registered. The cries reached a deafening crescendo, vibrating through the room as the glow from the laptop screen flickered erratically.

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her face pale and rigid, her wide eyes glassy with shock. Her trembling fingers hovered above the keyboard, frozen mid-air, as if the world around her had stopped. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, but she didn’t blink, didn’t move—she just stared, trapped in the haunting grip of whatever was unfolding on the screen.

You took a hesitant step forward, the sound assaulting your ears as the speakers blasted their relentless, desperate rhythm. The cries, the voice, the echoing moans—it clawed at something primal inside you, something that begged you not to see what she was seeing.

“Karina?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the cacophony.

And then she turned her head.

Her wide eyes met yours, filled with something that sent ice through your veins—fear, disbelief, and something darker, something that made your stomach churn. Her lips moved, trembling as though she was trying to form words, but no sound came.

The moans from the laptop swelled one final time, reaching a crescendo so visceral it felt like the room itself might burst apart. And then it stopped.

Silence.

But Karina’s gaze didn’t waver, and in the suffocating stillness that followed, you knew. Whatever she had just seen, whatever she had uncovered—it had already changed everything.

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