#anyway more words I have not read in ages

[kikiutau]

RYOMEN SUKUNA: How to Get With Your Boss 8 Days Before New Years

CEO!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Synopsis You're a chronic overtimer at work and a chronic virgin at home. On night of Christmas Eve, you have the lucky unfortunate pleasure of stumbling across a huge fight between your hot boss and his wife. Safe to say their relationship is over. But as fate (and your ever-reliable right hand man, the elevator) would have it, being in the right place at the right time might just lead to a New Year’s resolution you've been yearning for for years: the overdue expiration of your v-card. Genre Modern au, Office Romance, 18+, Smut, Fluff  Content/TW fem! reader, cheating, unprotected sex, voyeurism, things going up into cooch that shouldn’t be in the coochie in the first place, virgin! reader, thigh fucking, food play, rough sex, slight misogyny, degradation, dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation, ooc sukuna because this is an au without trauma (we I stan), spanking, unprotected sex, manhandling, cum eating, squirting, pissing, age gap Word Count 17.4k

Author’s Note: Happy New Years guys! Consider this my gift to you all for the new year! I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it Divider by @/cafekitsune

Tuesday, December 24

Christmas Eve

Fuck. Rubbing your swollen eyes, you glared at the circled number on the calendar. A few more days until New Years. And more specifically, 8 more grueling days of a lonely holiday season. A tired groan escaped past your lips. 

Feeling the growing tension in your back from being hunched over for hours on end, you leaned back on your chair hoping to release the pressure. Disregarding the mountain of paperwork on your desk, you haphazardly moved them aside to reach for your cell phone. 

“Ah!” The universe seemingly out to get you, the screen brightness blinds you for a moment. 

You heard a slight thud, signaling to you that the phone you dropped ended up on the floor. Still recovering from eye assault, you don’t grab it right away. Through slight squints, you glanced down at your fallen device. 

12:01 

Wednesday, December 25

Christmas Day 

You let out a quiet “yay.” If there’s one date you were looking forward to, it would be this one. It’s a well-deserved and long awaited break for a distressed and tired office worker like yourself. Working overtime frequently is starting to take a toll on your mental and physical well being— if it hasn't already. 

Acknowledging the time, you tell yourself that now would be a good time to start packing up and heading back home. You quickly put on your coat and grabbed your bag, leaving the heaps of files, binders, and loose papers on the desk as a fuck you, capitalism! You don’t get paid enough to care anyways. On a more important note, your sweet, soft bed is beckoning for your arrival.  

Right as you headed out of the building, you dug through your bag looking for your phone. “Where,” you dug further, “is it?!” 

A frown graced your lips. ‘I… left it in the office, didn’t I?’ you thought to yourself. ‘What an idiot.’

Begrudgingly, you picked your foot off from the ground, and started to slowly make your way back to the Gates of Hell, disguised as those intimidating, tall, glass doors you see more often than the doors of your own home. 

As you walk through the lobby, only the clicks of your heels against the cold marble floors can be heard. The lack of human presence sends a small shiver down your spine. During normal working hours, the lobby is usually filled with the sounds of similarly disgruntled employees complaining to their fellow co-workers. 

But now, the only thing gracing the place was you. Even the janitors and security are nowhere to be seen. Well, it makes sense considering the time. You were the anomaly here. Only a masochist gets off of work at 12AM when everyone else who works the normal 9 to 5 gets off of work at 4:59. 

Well no, you wouldn’t say you're a masochist. You don’t get off to pain. But you were a perfectionist. And you had a tendency to care almost too much about how your co-workers perceived you. So if it meant getting off of work late, you didn’t mind as long as you can get all your tasks done in a timely manner. Besides, you didn’t have anyone to go home to. So why not just stay at work where the heaps of paperwork can accompany you instead.

All your coworkers were sane enough to head home the moment the clock strikes at 5. They’ll stay an hour more if they have to. And for those working overtime, the latest they’ll stay is 8. But, they’ll all shuffle out by the time the sun fully sets, leaving you all alone at your desk. 

Honestly, the only other workaholic besides you would be your boss. Your mind lingers at the thought of his muscular frame, pink slicked back hair, tattoos, and the very apparent large bulge—

Hold on. Stop. He’s your boss. 

And isn’t he a married man? 

You chastise yourself. 

Once you stepped in, your hand instinctively reached for the button with a clear “48” inscribed besides it. Standing in the well-lit elevator, you waited for the doors to close. 

One second passes. Two seconds passed. Then three seconds. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Seven— 

“Oh come on!” you rolled your eyes. Tapping your foot, you reached for the button to close the doors and started spamming it like you would when it comes to pressing the attack button on Genshin. “If you don’t close this second, then I’m going to pluck out your buttons and cut your walls with my box cutter!”

The moment that threat left your mouth, the elevator doors closed with a small ding. Ah, even the elevator knew better than to incur the wrath of a stressed out office worker. 

You watched the small panel in front of you change numbers in chronological order second by second. 

1

2

3

4

…

Is it just you or is the elevator slower than usual? 

After what seems to be a long time, you arrived on your floor. Coming to a full stop almost aggressively, the elevator shakes momentarily giving you a heart attack before opening its doors in a slow manner.  

Clenching onto your chest, you make your way out of the wretched box of metal, holding a middle finger up towards the horrid man made product. 

The elevator closes its doors with a ding as if it were responding to your obscene hand gesture. 

You quickly made your way to your usual area, bending down on your knees to grab your missing phone. 

A new message!

You opened the message app to see who texted you. 

Friend

Heyyyyyy girlie! So 😏There’s this guy at my workplace. 

Single. And he doesn’t look half bad. 

And you’re single and mingling. 

Sooooo I was wonderinggggg

If I could set you guys up?  

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

You typed out “sure.” Although, you contemplated hitting Send. Too distracted with your thoughts, you failed to hear the ding in the background as well as the angry clicks of heels marching past you. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!” 

The sudden scream caused you to flinch. What the hell? 

A male voice interjected. “If I’m such an asshole, sign the goddamn papers.” 

Oh, you recognized that voice. And you hoped you were fucking wrong. 

Curiosity got the best of you and from your position, you slowly peaked up from underneath your desk, to check if you're wrong. God you hope you were. 

Nope. Congratulations! You win a front row seat to watch this couple dispute— against your own will!

At the other end of the room stood your boss in all his glory; his hair was disheveled and the buttons of his dress shirt were unraveled, revealing a window of opportunity for you to see his well defined pecs. Furrowed brows and an annoyed frown decorated his tattooed face. In front of him, there was a woman dressed in a bodycon type dress, hugging all the right curves, revealing her hourglass figure. Although her face was turned away, you could probably guess that her expression was one far from happiness. 

Ok, now you are sure the universe has a personal vendetta against you. First the phone, then the elevator, now this. Not wanting to get caught by any means, you quietly stayed underneath your desk, waiting for the opportunity to leave once the bickering couple finishes their quarreling. 

“You know… None of this would happen if you would just…” the woman’s voice cracked. “Sukuna… You’re so cold-hearted. This wasn’t the marriage I wanted for us.” 

Sukuna scoffed, starting to feel an onset of a headache. He glared at her momentarily, taking a second to decide whether to rip her to shreds with his words or to let the matter go gracefully. If anything, he wanted to be home right this second—not arguing with his wife at his workplace in the middle of the night. Yet, he decided on the former. He spat out, “At least I didn’t cheat.” 

“At least he loves me! With him, I know what love feels like. Unlike you!” his wife exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the man. 

One of Sukuna’s eyebrows quirks up. “Loves you?” He takes a few steps towards the woman. “He has a wife and two children, Silvia. If he loves you, then why hasn’t he left them for you.” 

The tears Silvia tried to hold in the whole time finally spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t give him an answer because deep down, she knew her husband’s words were true. His words washed over her like someone threw a bucket of ice water to her head. 

Looking up at her husband, she crashed her lips into his. She could no longer bear the ice cold feeling that had enveloped her heart. But at the very least, she could comfort herself with the warm body of the man she currently abhors. 

Unexpectedly, Sukuna did not push her away. Their lips remained interlaced as he pushed her down onto one of the desks, leaving scattered papers on the ground. Your heart sobs for the poor unsuspecting owner of that very desk. 

Sukuna impatiently tore her dress off as she clumsily worked on the rest of the buttons of his dress shirt. A needy whine escaped her throat when he ripped her panties off. “T-those were expensive,” she mumbled. 

In response, he spun her around onto her stomach, forcefully bending her top-half down until she felt her pebbled nipples against the cold, hard desk. He spanked her left ass cheek, chuckling at the slight bounce. Another smack. And another. 

Much to Silvia’s displeasure, she couldn’t hold in her unabashed moans. Even if Sukuna’s indifference towards her made him absolutely terrible at daily affection, she had to admit: This man is a literal sex God. Not once has she left the bed unsatisfied. 

Silvia wiggled her hips, trying to get away from her husband’s abusive onslaught. In which Sukuna responded with a spank on her bare pussy. “You know,” he bent down to her ear, “I should really punish you for being such a disobedient little slut, whoring yourself out like that.” 

Seems like the man relishes in degrading both his employees and his wife.

“Please,” she begged. She pushed her ass towards Sukuna’s bulge, tempting him to punish him even more by rubbing against him. 

Now that’s a real masochist right there. Your thoughts come to a full pause when you hear Silvia moan, “Oooh FUCK!”

Sukuna, not one to respond well to taunts, pinches her clit. Happy with her reaction, he gives her slight reprieve, massaging the sensitive area with his thumb. She jerked at the sensation, her body trembling against his. 

A laugh echoes within the room. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” Sukuna mocks. He toys with the wetness on his fingers, tapping his pointer and thumb together, watching the way the wet strands stretch every time he pulls them apart. “This is supposed to be a punishment. And you still find pleasure in this?” 

Spank. 

“I must have trained you really well, haven’t I? I hope Mr. Nakamura enjoyed my cum dump while it lasted.” Silvia whimpered in response. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes glared at her reddened ass. “Speak.” 

“Y-yes!” 

Sukuna let out a little hum, circling around Silvia’s poor, abused clit. Tears—whether it was because of pleasure or pain—dripped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I–” 

“But even your lover wasn’t enough for you, huh? Here you are, desperate running back to me like a cockdrunk slut,” the tattooed man mocked. “This is a little pathetic, even for you.” 

No longer able to deal with the edging, Silvia disregarded his insults, letting go of whatever pride she had left as she pleaded her husband for more. She turned head back towards Sukuna, panting for just something, looking at him with glazed eyes. 

Sukuna huffed, stopping his ministrations. He examined her face; her skin was unblemished with hues of blush red, decorating the area around her eyes, nose, and lips. Her lips were slightly swollen as were her eyes. But even then, it did not take away from her apparent beauty. 

He married her two years ago. Not out of love but rather out of obligation. In spite of his appearance adorned with numerous tattoos, Sukuna was quite conservative when it came to relationships. The old fucks at those board meetings suggested—no, pressured— the then, 29 year old man to get married as fast as possible. Tired of their constant prodding and pushing, he ended up marrying one of the girls that was introduced by one of the board members he was on good terms with: Silvia. 

Sukuna was a person who held great belief in his morals. He found cheaters lousy. And he found those who criticized cheaters but then proceeded to cheat even lousier. If there’s one thing he hates in the world, it’s hypocrites. And he was not about to become one himself. Perhaps it was due to such morals that he remained a faithful husband even if he never felt an ounce of love for this woman— any woman. 

Lust, sure. But love? Love was something so vulnerable, so unpredictable. He lived with Silvia and slept beside her for all those years. Not once did Sukuna’s heart waver in the slightest. At most, he could admit that the relationship was comfortable. Silvia was a good wife during their time together. So, at the very least, he treated their marriage as a duty and gave her the utmost respect. 

Right. Respect. That’s why he was so angry at his wife who he did not love. She disrespected him. Thinking about it, Sukuna could feel his suppressed rage beginning to simmer. And looking at his Silvia’s horny expression, it gave him enough of a will not to submit to her pleas so easily. 

Reaching towards the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out his beloved Caran d'Ache Léman fountain pen. He pressed the cool metal towards her slit, causing her to flinch. Slowly, he inserts the rounded point of the pen into her wet cavern. 

“Sukuna!” Silvia pouted, unhappy with her current position. Licking his lips, Sukuna rolled his eyes at his wife. 

Leaning down towards her, he smirked. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he sarcastically replied. “I thought you wanted more. Was I mistaken?” Feeling his wounded pride swell with glee, he continued moving the pen in and out in slow motions. 

“I– This wasn’t what I meant!” she stammered. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Manners.” 

Silvia groaned, burying her face into her arms. Picking her head back up for one last ditch effort, she pleaded once more. “Please please plea– FUCK! Pleaseeee, can you fuck me? I- I can’t get off.” 

Sukuna shrugged, a playful smirk gracing his lips once more. “I don’t need to fuck you for you to get off. You sure found other alternatives during our time apart, didn’t you? I’m certain Mr. Nakamura’s cock was smaller than this pen. And yet you went back to him, again and again. So…” 

Heart pounding, Silvia shook her head needlessly. She wanted to refute him but with how overstimulated she felt, she could not even muster a single coherent thought. Sukuna continued on with his ministrations, moving the pen further into her in a downwards motion. “I’m pretty sure you can get off to this.” 

Feeling the slight nudge of the pen towards her g-spot, Silvia unwillingly slips into pure bliss. Blood rushed to her head as she was brought to pure ecstasy. Sukuna sounded out her moans, purely focusing on her pussy fluttering witlessly around his fountain pen. Consumed by momentary pettiness, he slipped his pen out of her, refusing to fuck her through her orgasm. However, he waited for her to catch her breath.

Silvia went limp after the shockwaves of her orgasm had subsided. Using the strength that’s left in her arms, she shakily turned around towards her husband. There, he stood with the same indifferent expression she despised. She reached out to him, hoping to continue. Much to her dismay, he stopped her, holding onto her wrists. Before she could even say anything, he placed the christened pen into her hands. 

“My lawyer will come to your residency tomorrow. Make sure to sign the divorce papers by then,” he stated, showing his soon to be ex-wife the same poker face he’d show to his company’s board members. 

Almost robotically, Sukuna made his way towards the elevators. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait for it to come as it was already on the floor. If this elevator was sentient, then at this moment, it recognized that this man was the very man that could scrap it from its existence in just one word. Feeling scared—if it could even feel—the elevator quickly opened and shut its door at an unbeatable speed to prevent incurring Sukuna’s wrath. 

A few minutes later, Silvia followed suit. Finally alone, you crawled out from your hiding spot. Your brain short circuited for a while, slowly trying to wrap your head around what happened. When it did…

“What the fuck.” Your mouth fell wide open. “What the fuck.” You put both your hands on your head. “What the fuck.” You paced around in a circle. “What the fuck.” Your head whipped towards the desk the two lovers were previously copulating on. Underneath, you see the sheets of paper haphazardly decorating the floor. In the corner of your eye, you could also spot the lacy black panties Sukuna’s wife left on top of said papers. 

Oh. Hell. No. 

So that WASN’T a hallucination? An audible groan echoed throughout the office floor. At this point, there was no doubt about it: The universe wants to murder you. 

You gave a silent apology towards the elevator who was trying to save your sanity earlier. Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to recognize its efforts. Looking back down at the device that has caused you misfortune, you swiped upwards reaching the home screen. After experiencing your boss' intimate moments with his wife against your will, you suddenly lost the will to continue living, muchless go on a double date. In fact, you don’t feel like going anywhere at all with the amount of bad luck you have at the moment. 

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

Sureygyciwbcuibiwcleboi

Friend 

Great! 

I confirmed with the guy. 

Is the 26th okay for you? 

Well, crap. Did you incur the wrath of some God out there? You must have mistakenly sent the text message while you were struggling to crawl to the dark ends of your desk. Giving up on your current situation, you decided to submit to whatever fate has decided for you. You quickly sent a “ok” before moving on to clean up the stacks of documents on your desk since you were already back where you started. 

Finishing up, you proceeded to put on your coat, preparing to leave. In the corner of your eye, however, you were once again reminded of the intimate scene. Your chest stirred with an uncomfortable feeling. If the employees came back to work days later with papers on the ground AND a pair of black panties, these nosy folks will surely start talking. 

Feeling a sense of pity for the about-to-be-divorced man, you feel your humanity telling you to help Sukuna out. As stern as he was, he was a fair and competent employer who treated his employees well (as long as you didn't get on his bad side). Besides, everyone has days where life simply falls to shit. Sukuna’s just happens to be on Christmas Day (and so is yours). 

Grumbling, you open one of the pull-out cabinets below your desk to grab tissues and disposable chopsticks. You then slowly made your way towards the hazard zone. Quickly, you clipped the panties with the chopsticks, throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. As for the papers, you quickly shuffled it into one pile, not caring if they were out of order. For the unfortunate pieces of papers that were tainted with what’s possibly Silvia’s bodily fluids, you threw those out. You assumed your coworkers would much rather face the problem of a few pieces of their paperwork being missing than have to touch the ones christened by cum. 

Not all heroes come with capes. In this case, it came in the form of a traumatized overtimer. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you made your way towards the elevator. Somehow, the elevator seemed to be working as normal the second time you used it. Making your way towards the exit, you let out a breath of relief. That relief of yours ended when a familiar voice called out to you. 

Slowly, you turned your head to the source. Ah, it’s the devil’s work at play. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you quickly graced the man with your customer service smile. “Hello, Mr. Ryomen. Heading home?” 

He responded with a curt nod. “It’s late. I’m surprised you’re still here. I didn’t see you by your desk.” From how close he was to you, you could have sworn he narrowed his eyes for about a millisecond. 

The hairs on your neck became stick soldiers; your smile faltered slightly. Running through your mind for excuses, you finally landed on: “I was occupied in the printer room.” You pray to your ancestors that he didn't catch on to your lie. 

You assumed your excuse was enough, considering he no longer lingered on the topic. You’re caught off by what he says next though. 

“Since it’s so late, let me give you a ride home.” 

Your customer service smile dropped as you’re now fumbling to make another excuse. Feeling flustered you blurt out, “Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much for the offer though. I actually live nearby so I’ll be–” 

Rrrrrrrumble

“You’re going to walk home in this weather?” A teasing smile appears on Sukuna’s face. 

Feeling defeated, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I suppose not.” 

In Sukuna’s expensive-looking car that probably cost more than your yearly salary, you curse whatever deity is out there for your current position. It was probably 2AM right now, yet why the fuck was there still traffic at this time in the middle of the highway. 

“It seems a lot of people are trying to head back to their families for Christmas,” Sukuna blankly stated out of nowhere. You slightly jumped at his sudden comment, not expecting him to speak after sitting in awkward silence for a good 20 minutes. 

You hummed in agreement. You also assumed that the sudden snowstorm had something to do with the onslaught of traffic. You kept that thought to yourself though, not wanting to entrench yourself into further awkward small talk with Sukuna. Bringing your attention back to the traffic, you wondered if the insistent begging in your head would get the cars to move any quicker. Unfortunately for you, it was to no avail. 

Glancing to the window on your right, you tried to distract yourself with the scenery of cityscapes. Your plan was foiled when you noticed Sukuna’s reflection in the mirror. Pretending to look outside, your gaze centered on the enticing image. Sukuna seemed to have fixed his unkempt hair, keeping it in the usual slicked back hairstyle he usually adorned. The same went for his white dress shirt that he seemed to have buttoned up, leaving the top two unbuttoned. 

You focused on his hands. One on the steering wheel, impatiently tapping against the leather; the other hand on the gear shift. You wondered how it would feel if he fingered you–

Stop. 

You could feel your ears burn with embarrassment. Save your horny thoughts when you’re not a foot away from him. ‘Not now,’ you tell yourself. Trying to move on from your thoughts, your eyes focused on something else. You slowly made your way up to his face where now you could see him looking right at you. You jerked your head downwards, avoiding looking at his reflection staring right into your skull. 

Wait, does that mean…? You slowly cranked your head towards the direction where the man was sitting, only to be faced with him looking straight at you. 

“Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite employee?” he drawled, emphasizing the favorite.  

You got caught off guard. Luckily, you recovered fairly quickly. “Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite boss?” you quipped back. 

He barked out a laugh, “I’m your only boss, princess.” .

Chuckling, you shrugged. “Still stands.”  

“You got any plans for Christmas? You must be looking forward to spending time with your family and friends,” he comments. 

You swallowed the imaginary ball in your throat. “Ah, well. They’re all overseas. So, I probably won’t be seeing them this year. The plane tickets are horrendously expensive this time of year.” 

“At least you have that boyfriend of yours from the sales department.” 

“Pardon?” 

A bewildered look occupies your face. What boyfriend? You’ve been alive for a good 23 years and you have yet to even hold hands with a boy. At this point, you’ve gotten your PhD degree in singleness. Flustered, you shook your head. “I-uh. I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

He smirked. “Good to know.” 

Did he just play you? 

“Mr. Ryomen!” His deep laughter fills the small space. When it subsided, he gave you a cocky grin.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you.” He reached one of his hands towards your face, brushing a strand of stray hair behind your ears. Before you could say anything, that hand is right back on the gear shift. 

Thankfully, the traffic in front started to clear up. During the drive, you probably learned more about him than you did working 4 years at his company when you started as an intern at 19 years old. For one, he has a younger brother. He also has a hobby of tinkering with motorcycles. And if you didn’t already assume earlier on in your career, he clearly had a fondness for fucking with people (and fucking his wife, but you keep that to yourself). Thankfully, the apprehension you felt earlier was completely dispelled by the casual conversation he started.

Before you knew it, he reached your apartment complex. You promptly thanked him for the car ride, making your way out of the vehicle. “Have a Merry Christmas, y/n.” 

“You as well,” you responded. Your tongue immediately sour when you remembered the fact that Sukuna was getting divorced during the holidays (not that he knew that you knew). Oh crap. Why did you have to say that? It felt as embarrassing as telling the movie theater employees “you too” when they tell you to enjoy the movie. Luckily, Sukuna didn’t seem phased, as if he didn’t serve his wife divorce papers on Christmas day. He simply smiled, nodding in your direction before driving off. 

Thursday, December 26

You sipped on your cocktail, staring endlessly at the shiny chandelier hoping it would cure your boredom. A part of you also hoped the shiny thing would fall right on top of your date.  

“So I’m looking for someone who would…” Blah blah blah. 

You drowned out the sounds of your date’s rambling. This self-absorbed piece of shit. All he would talk about was himself. His next favorite topic being the type of girls who turned him on and the type of girls who turned him off. Then all you could remember was his ramblings about how “women nowadays are not the same anymore…” Something along the lines of that. Fed up, you have half a mind to just straight up tell him to date his own mother rather than trying to find a poor girl to be his in-home maid and incubator. You held your tongue, knowing nothing good would occur from initiating a fight with this guy. 

My god. Where did your friend even find this narcissistic bastard? You start to question HER taste in men. Purely based on appearance, the blabbermouth looks decent. But even his face card couldn’t fix his trash personality. It’s like covering yourself with perfume when you haven’t taken a shower in a month. 

You pray to your ancestors, hoping for someone to get you out of this blind date. It was as if your prayers were answered when a familiar pink-haired man walked out of the restaurant’s private rooms with another man who you could only infer to be a client. You didn’t know if it was your ancestors working some magic or if it was simply pure coincidence. If it was the latter, then it seemed too improbable to be mere chance.  

You didn’t even need to yell out a “help” when Sukuna excuses himself from his current conversation, making his way towards you. You jutted out lips, pouting almost dramatically. You only hope Sukuna could decipher the desperate energy leaking out of your eyes. 

“Ms. y/l/n, did you forget you had an appointment with me?” Sukuna looked down at his watch. “In fact, you’re late.” 

“Wait, you can’t just–” 

A menacing glare shuts up the good-for-nothing. Taking this opportunity, you quickly grab your belongings, interlocking your arm with Sukuna’s, not even giving your date a chance to say goodbye. 

Once again, you're in Sukuna’s vehicle once again. Although this time it’s red instead of the usual black you noted to yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend,” Sukuna teasingly comments.

You grumbled, “He isn’t my boyfriend. My friend just happened to set us up on a blind date. Well, you know how it went. Anyways, how did you know I needed help getting out of there?” 

“You were never good at hiding your emotions,” Sukuna answered. “Not now. And certainly not then.”

“Really? I didn’t even get slightly better?” you prodded. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.” To him. Although he wasn’t one to linger on office rumors, he couldn’t help but notice the comments in regards to you. People said you were a vivacious one; that’s one rumor he could agree with. Some said that you were dating someone from the sales department; he thought that was true, until you debunked it yesterday. Many of your co-workers called you hardworking; he agrees. Quite frankly, you had a clean reputation. Almost too clean. So clean and perfect, in fact, he almost forgot about the 19-year-old, hot-headed intern who possessed an ego so inflated it rivaled a 10-foot pole. 

Flashback

Sukuna (28) grumbled, impatiently pressing on the elevator buttons. Fuck, one day he’s going to completely replace this box of metal with a more efficient elevator. Just as the elevator doors were about to close… 

“Wait! Bro! Can you hold the elevator doors for me?!”  

Although he certainly looks like the type to close the elevator doors on someone, he’s not completely heartless. Besides, he wondered which employee was brave enough to casually call him “bro.” Quickly, Sukuna clicked the button to open the doors. 

Unfortunately for the desperate girl on the other side, she watched in distress as the space between the two doors got closer and closer together until… closed. 

“Fuck!” She kicked the elevator doors. “You nincompoop!” 

Just as the insult left her mouth, the elevator immediately opened its door, leaving a wide- mouth country girl staring right back at red-piercing eyes.

‘Oh. A new face.’ Sukuna thought. 

The girl gulped, deciding whether or not she should ditch the elevators for the flight of stairs instead. Essentially, would she rather face humiliation or kill herself walking up 40 flights of stairs before her interview. Suddenly she remembered the wise words her mother told her before she walked through the TSA gates: You must walk through life as if you have the balls of a cis-gendered male tiger. 

Whatever that meant. So, the elevator it was! 

She stepped into the confined space shared by the other remaining person staring bullets into her head. Cold sweat adorned her back as the elevator doors closed. 

“So who’s a nincompoop?” 

‘Ah fuck,’ the girl cursed in her head. ‘I should’ve just taken the stairs T^T’ She tried to calm herself down by chanting her mom’s advice. ‘Balls of a tiger. Ball of a tiger.’

Finally getting a proper look at the guy, she almost pees her pants. This guy was definitely over 6ft. 6’3? 6’4? 6’5? At her measly 5’0 ft, she couldn’t tell for sure. And the man had very noticeable tattoos adorning both his face and his arms from what she could tell. Did she bump into a gangster? 

No matter. It’s not like she hasn’t come across gangsters in her high school days. In fact, she once chastised a gang member at her school once so confronting them wasn’t an issue— except this time it was a grown adult man two heads taller than her. 

The girl huffed, puffing her chest out, trying to be intimidating (although unknowingly having the opposite effect). “You are,” she plainly stated. 

“Hn?” Sukuna clicked his tongue. Rolling his eyes he flicked the girl’s forehead with his finger, “Are you a child? When I was in grade school, not even the kids would call me that.”

'Yeah, I'd doubt they'd say anything to you with that face of yours,' she thinks to herself, silently. Thankfully. Unfortunately, it would turn out to be her only wise decision from this point on.

Sukuna scanned the girl, starting from her broken heels, to her dress shirt that’s improperly buttoned, finally landing onto a youthful complexion staring right back at him. The audacity of this girl. “Are you lost, brat? The middle school is four blocks away,” he mocked. 

Okay, now that was pushing it. “Rude!”  Looking deeply offended, she pointed a finger towards the man. “Fuckwad! Asshat! Jackass!” Sukuna had never heard so much profanity come out of a girl’s mouth before. Even she had him admitting to himself that her colorful sailor vocabulary probably rivaled his. 

It was hilarious. 

He lets out a loud cackle. Judging by the furrow of the girl’s eyebrows deepening, he probably pissed her off even further. 

Ding 

“Hmph.” Sukuna watched as the girl marched out. Although very quickly, she snapped her head back at Sukuna. “You! I’m going to report you!” 

Sukuna's coy smile widened even further. “Go ahead.” What was HR going to do? Fire him? 

(P.S. At this point in time, Sukuna's small company didn't even have a human resources department. He WAS HR. )

His answer made the girl more frustrated, as she audibly groaned. “Whatever,” she muttered. 

Hearing another ding, Sukuna quickly asked, “What’s your name?” 

The girl’s head perked up. Her annoyed face contorts to one of apprehension. The elevators are close to closing before she yells out–

“y/n”

Flashback Ends 

Sukuna couldn’t contain his grin when remembering the first time they met. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, almost creeped out by his sudden grin. 

“It’s a secret,” he says. Not wanting to pry any further, you let him be. Much to your dismay, he brought you to your apartment complex fairly quickly, meaning your conversation was cut short once again. You could feel your heart throb. Wait… did you feel disappointed? Sad? You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact feeling. You admitted that it was unfortunate these conversations will come to an end though; the two of you will probably go back to the monotonous role of employer and employee who only spoke on matters regarding work. 

Your walk up to your apartment was melancholy at the very least. You thought about how your relationship with Sukuna changed over the four years you knew him for. Your meeting didn’t start off the greatest with the man relentlessly teasing you. Even if you were the one who caused it to occur in the first place. That’s a fault you stubbornly won’t admit to though. 

And then when you got hired as an intern, your spirit was undeniably fucked when you found out the man who teased you in the elevator was the CEO and founder of Ryomen Tech Corporations. 

Thankfully for you, Sukuna wasn’t one to hold deeply held grudges. Although unfortunately for you, the teasing did not stop at all. He’d make those annoying comments to irk you and you’d banter back, unable to hide your apparent dislike for the man. Things like hierarchy was definitely less structured back then when the company only contained a small team of 13 people. 

When you interviewed, the company was still a new tech startup at the time. Before that, Ryomen Sukuna worked as a freelance coder and web developer (and hacker)  after graduating from a small university for a few years. Impressively, despite having nothing to his name, he was able to push his way through. Ryomen Tech Corp. became a million dollar company in a span of a year. Year by year, more investors came shuffling in, and profits continued to rise exponentially. As of right now, Sukuna's net worth is in the billions, an achievement unheard of in four years. 

Stepping back and surveying Sukuna's extraordinary achievements within four years, you couldn't help but acknowledge his competence and admire his success. Despite his teasing nature, you discovered he possessed a charismatic charm when interacting with investors, clients, and other industry leaders.

That Sukuna felt detached, almost unrecognizable. It was hard to believe that the man who mercilessly teased you was the same individual responsible for such remarkable feats. You felt a tinge of selfishness, clinging to the hope that things would remain unchanged, that your relationship could continue as before.

However, his marriage brought an abrupt halt to this illusion. Visits to your desk for lunchtime teasing dwindled, leaving you to eat alone, bereft of the familiar rumble of his cackles and the cacophony of laughter from your colleagues. The teasing text messages, once a constant, gradually decreased, until his name sank to the bottom of your contact list. Soon, he faded from your life as subtly as he had entered it.

You didn't reach out to him, either. Perhaps it was your tendency to put yourself on a moral high ground, or perhaps it was your wounded ego, but you convinced yourself that pursuing a relationship—even a platonic one—with a married man was inappropriate.

Fumbling through your bag, you searched for your keys. Where. Is. It. You dug through your bag more haphazardly, your heart starting to race. Why. Does. This. Keep. Happening. Your search for your keys came to a small pause however when you noticed your phone rang. 

The caller ID on the phone's glowing screen displayed a name you had almost forgotten, buried beneath a haze of forgotten memories. It was as if a sudden gust of wind had swept away the fog, bringing that name back into sharp focus.

Nincompoop

Without giving much thought, you quickly picked up the phone. “Hello?” you answered. 

The familiar voice responds back, one that was deep and reminded you of velvety red wine, one that immediately quells your beating anxiety. “I think you forgot something, princess.” Just from his voice, you can tell he probably has his signature annoying smirk on the other end of his call. Quiet from disbelief, you didn’t answer. "Hello?" he prompted gently, concern lacing his voice. 

Silence.  

Geez. Did you forget how to speak? 

Panicked, you moved from your spot, only to unknowingly stub your toe at one of the trashbags by your neighbor’s bag. “Ow!” you exclaimed. Was there steel in that thing? You let out a pained groan, bending down to pat the outer layers of your shoe, hopefully aiding with the pain. Side note: It did not help. 

Hearing that you were present on the other end, Sukuna mumbled something on his end. You were unable to catch what he said though. By the time the pain subsided, you noticed that the call ended. 

Wait. What did Sukuna say, again? 

​​A sudden jingle broke through your thoughts. You looked up to see Sukuna standing by the elevator. He held up a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. "Found these in my car," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Seems someone forgot something."

Your jaw dropped. So, that's what he meant. He found your keys.

Sukuna bent down to eye level with you, slowly examining you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Uh huh. I just stubbed my toe. I’m alright now.” Your face is burning with shame. “Anyways, you didn’t have to come all the way up here. Thank you though.” You gave him a slight nod, taking your keys from his hand. Grabbing your arm, he helped you up. Feeling the heat spreading to your ears, you thanked him once again. ‘If there’s a merciful God out there, please bury me six feet underground right now,’ you pleaded in your head. 

"No problem," he said. Sukuna paused, his gaze lingering on you. "Besides," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "Wouldn't want you wandering around aimlessly, now would I?"

You felt your cheeks burn even hotter. "Very funny," you muttered, trying to regain your composure. You turned towards him asking, "Would you like some water or snacks? As, uh, thank you." 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. Knowing you were the type of person who didn't like to owe favors, he accepted. Besides, a part of him was curious about what your living space was like. They say someone's home is a reflection of one's personality. Wait... When did he become so nosy?

You led him into your apartment, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. This was definitely not how you expected your evening to unfold. You were about to offer him a seat by the living room couch when you noticed his gaze on the framed photographs on the wall. 

He pointed to one photo. “Your parents?” 

“Yep,” you grinned. “I look like them, don’t I? “ 

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the shape of your eyes, noses, and lips. “You do. Compliments to your mother,” he breathed, a genuine admiration in his voice. 

“T-thanks,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze. “She always said I looked more like my dad.”

Sukuna chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air. "I beg to differ," he said, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the couch. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.” You quickly offered him a seat, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. In the meantime, you went into the kitchen to prepare his snacks. 

The familiar hum of domesticity filled the small apartment as you carefully gathered your items on the counter. You busied yourself with arranging the fruit platter on the kitchen counter — apples, grapes, strawberries, and cherries. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept replaying Sukuna's words. “Compliments to your mother.”

What did that even mean? Was he just being polite? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out, looking relaxed. He was running a hand through his hair, a contemplative expression on his face. Sukuna leaned back against the cushions, gazing at the ceiling. “You know,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “I was thinking... about relationships.”

You, startled by his sudden observation, almost choked on your saliva. “You were?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Seeing your parents' picture got me thinking. How do people... how do they know when they've found the right person?”

You set down your knife, intrigued. “I don't think there's a single answer to that question.”

Sukuna nodded in agreement. “Maybe not. But what do you think?”

You pondered this for a moment, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. "Well I can’t speak for others but for me, I value respect and communication. I think when it comes to finding that person, maybe a little bit of luck comes into play."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"

"Luck and timing," you continued, "meeting the right person at the right time and place. There was a book I read in high school where two of the characters were refugees in war and they ended up falling in love with each other. But by the end of the book, I couldn’t help but wonder: Were they truly in love, or did they simply convince themselves they were in love due to the shared circumstances? If there was never a war in the first place, would they fall in love all over again if they were to meet each other under different circumstances?”

You continued to ramble. “You’ve read the hunger games right? Or at least familiar with the movies?” Sukuna nodded, motioning you to continue. “I’m going to use Katniss and Peta as an example. If they weren't forced to fight for their lives in the arena, would they still have fallen for each other? Would their love story have blossomed under different circumstances? Or was it the shared trauma, the constant fear of death, that forged their bond?"

Sukuna watched you intently, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He thought of his own marriage, a gilded cage built on societal expectations and a desperate need to conform. He paused his thoughts, focusing on the girl in front of him, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. "But you know sometimes…the most profound connections can be born from the most unexpected circumstances,” he confesses quietly. 

“Oh yeah by the way. I got divorced today,” he says out of nowhere, in the most nonchalant manner. 

The cup of water you were sipping on suddenly clattered in the sink. You ended up choking because the water went down the wrong pipe. “What?!” 

“My wife was unhappy with our marriage. She cheated on me. I told her to sign the divorce papers yesterday. And today she signed it,” Sukuna answered as a matter of fact. 

You knew. 

You were there when he had that argument with Silvia, unbeknownst to him. But hearing him tell you is a whole different story. “I’m sorry that happened,” you automatically responded, after recovering from your near death experience. 

He let out a laugh. “Don’t be,” he shrugged, almost too nonchalant for your comfort. 

You carefully laid the fruit platter and an unopened bottle of wine on the living room coffee table. You then positioned yourself beside Sukuna, maintaining a slight distance. He reached for a plump grape, popping it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

"Since I'm letting you in on a secret," Sukuna began, his gaze fixed on the remaining grapes, "let me know one of yours. Like how the breakup with your boyfriend went."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't have a boyfriend?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation in your voice.

Sukuna smirked. "Currently you don't. But surely you had a lousy boyfriend back in college?” 

You shook your head.

“High school?” 

You shook your head once more. 

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "Never?"

"Nope," you confirmed, feeling a strange sense of pride in your solitary existence. Then you remembered the endless ramblings of your mother and aunties about finding a boyfriend, reverting that feeling of pride back to a familiar dejection. 

Feeling a sudden wave of defensiveness you start to ramble making excuses why you weren’t dating—why you have never dated. “I’ve never been sought after romantically in my teenage years. And even when my friends set me up on blind dates, it would never work out. At some point I just assumed I wasn't built out for romantic relationships so… ” 

You practically word-vomited on the spot, your mind unable to keep up with your mouth. From your sexual history (or rather lack of), to the countless of failed blind date stories, to that one boy who rejected you in highschool… all of it came spilling out. 

The more you rambled, the more you wanted to dig yourself into a hole. But even then, you continued to talk, almost against your will as you had a poor habit of avoiding awkward situations by rambling… only to make it more awkward for yourself by the end. 

“A-anyways,” your whole ramble, rant, whatever the fuck that was, finally coming to an end. 

While you were mentally hitting yourself in the head, Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed to revel at your current mental state, the corner of his mouth raised.

“So you’ve never orgasmed before, huh,” he drawled, his smile almost menacing. Ah, fuck. Was he going to now tease you relentlessly with that newfound information? 

“So what?” you exclaimed, your arms and legs now crossed. “ It’s not my fault my body is literally built for failure in both departments of romantic love and self love.” 

Sukuna had an unreadable expression on his face. 

Immediately feeling some sort of regret, you tried to remedy the situation. “O-oh. It’s uhh not a big deal though. I could always go out and find a one night stand to help me with my needs. I-I mean…” Crap. You couldn’t even look the man in the face. 

While your face was turned away from him, you heard the pop of the bottle cork. Curious, you watched as Sukuna poured himself a pretty tall glass of wine. He took a long sip, the red liquid swirling in the glass.

Silence. 

He set the glass down on the coffee table, the sound echoing unnaturally in the sudden silence. You finally dared to look him in the eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes were narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths.

“You know,” he said, his voice stretched out in a long drawl, “If you would like, I can offer myself as a demonstration.” 

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Sukuna, leaning closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do I have to repeat myself?” 

Almost as if your body had a mind of its own, you found your lips millimeters away from his. Just as your lips were about to touch, you pulled away. With a soft thud, you fell back onto the couch, your hand covering the lower half of your face. “I-uh. I don’t know how to…” you paused for a moment before whispering, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Sukuna's gaze, intense and predatory, swept over you. “Well, then,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “it seems like I have my work cut out for me.” He caresses your hand with his thumb before leaning down, his whole body on top of you. 

Bringing his lips to your hands, he teasingly licks it to get a slight reaction out of you. He then gently nips the skin, his teeth grazing your knuckles. Making out with the back of your hand, a rush of warmth flushed throughout your body as you imagined the same sensation on your lips instead. 

You jumped a bit when you felt his tongue once more. Slowly, he traced his tongue towards your fingers, then entwining his hands with yours, pulling it away from your face. Sukuna’s gaze then flickered towards you, watching the rheumatic motions of your chest rising and falling. 

He pulls your hand towards his chest.

“Can I keep going?” 

Your heart pounded in your ears, a quick, rhythmic beat that drowned out the howls of the wind outside. Breathlessly you answer, “Please.”

Sukuna cursed, his warm hands on you almost immediately. His lips parts, closing the space between you two. 

Sweet. With a tinge of bitterness from the red wine. You tell yourself how you could get drunk on his taste; he tastes so much better than the cocktail you were sipping earlier on your blind date.   

Trying to keep up with him, you hesitantly imitate the kisses he gave your hand earlier. You feel a faint smile on his lips which brings flutters to your stomach. Feeling slightly more confidence, you keep going. 

Just as you clench the back of his shirt, Sukuna pulls away from you. “Smart girl,” he whispered. “Are you up for another challenge?” 

Not waiting to hear for your response, Sukuna reaches for the fruit platter, specifically breaking off the stem of one of the cherries. He places it on his tongue before coming back to meet your lips once again. However this time, you find his tongue meeting with yours. 

You involuntarily moan, feeling almost overwhelmed at the moment. Pressed up against him, you could feel his erection pressed against his thighs. 

Even though the two of you were already pressed up against each other, Sukuna somehow manages to deepen the kiss between you two, teasing you with his tongue. You squirm at the sensation.

Feeling Sukuna push the cherry stem towards your tongue, you push back the stem with a competitive vigor. Thus, starting the battle of dominance between the two of you. 

Surprisingly, Sukuna is the first to part from you, sitting straight up on his knees. He stuck his tongue out showing you the knotted cherry stem sitting right on his palate. 

Fuck. 

He places the knotted stem on the coffee table before turning towards you and smirking. “A souvenir for remembrance,” he teases. Sukuna turns his attention back towards you, giving an onslaught of kisses down your neck. In the meanwhile, he hikes your skirt down, leaving you only with a pair of panties left to cover whatever dignity you had left.

“She’s soaked,” he whispers, talking to himself as if you weren’t in the room. Almost by instinct you closed your legs, only for him to spread it apart for his perverted eyes to see. 

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he bluntly stated with absolutely no shame at all. “It’s the least you can do after I gave you such an intricate lesson.” 

You turn immediately red at the memory. 

He pecks your flushed cheeks, before moving to peck your nose. “You’ve done such a good job for me so far,” he praised. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now~” 

“W-Who said I was?” you stubbornly stuttered out loud, trying to hide your nervousness (although failing majorly). 

Sukuna laughed before helping you out of your shirt. And before you know it, your bra is off within seconds, leaving you bare for him to witness. The only piece of clothing you have left is the panties he oh so graciously left on, although you doubt it did anything to hide how naked you felt. 

Sukuna bites his lips, the corners of his mouth raised ever so slightly. ‘She’s going to be the end of me,’ he thinks, watching you as you hesitantly reach for your tender breasts, squeezing your pebbled nipples. 

He snaps the band of your panties, then slowly—almost teasingly—raking it down your thighs. Sukuna licks his lips, staring at your wet, leaking pussy. He almost swears it called his name. 

Moving one hand down, you reach for your clit, softly circling around it. You focused on looking at your hand, almost physically unable to look up at Sukuna, worried your heart would stop if you were to see his face. 

You continue to pleasure yourself, although unable to reach your high. Much to your displeasure, you never had the experience of reaching an orgasm ever since finding out about the wonders of womanhood at the age of 16. Sure you’d watch videos and read tons of articles on how to reach an orgasm, but never once have it worked for you. At some point, you accepted the fact that you were physically incapable of orgasming. 

Under the careful watch of Sukuna’s eyes, he seemed to have noticed you have reached a plateau. “Here, let me help you,” he murmured. Taking your hands in his, he guides you, pressing your fingers down firmer on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

At some point, your hands ended up clenching his wrists, as he directly played with your clit instead. Suddenly feeling a new sensation, you panic. “Haa! Ngh! W-wait. I feel like I’m going to–” 

He keeps going. And in that moment, you lose yourself. Completely. Your body spasmed underneath his watchful gaze, like a predator watching its prey. And underneath that primal gaze was one of sadistic pleasure, just waiting to strike.

Sukuna bites the insides of his mouth, trying to hold himself back from listening to the voices in his head, telling him to pound you down on the couch at this very moment. He clenches his hands into a fight fist, drawing blood. 

Million of thoughts surges through his head. It’s like a tangled mess of desires and reason, pulling him in every direction at once. He wants you. He can’t deny that. 

However, as much as he yearns for you, he reminds himself of the facts. You’re not here for that. He wasn’t here to be your lover, or to play the part of some fairy-tale prince in the background of your life. No. In fact, he’s far from that. If anything, he’s like a starving wolf just waiting to devour you at any moment. 

Sukuna was doing you a favor. That’s all it was. He’s not a romantic interest. It was simply a one night stand— just minus the fucking. And wouldn’t it be so much better if you remember your first time with the person you choose to love rather than an impulsive decision to fuck around with your boss one night. Yeah. He nods to himself internally. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sukuna silently waits as you come down from your high. Labored breathing fills the room. 

“How is it?” he asked smugly. 

You take a few more gulps of air before answering. “Good.” 

“Just good?” 

You pouted at his teasing. “What? Do you want a rating?” 

Sukuna laughed in response. “I wasn’t expecting that but now that you mention it, I’m curious.” 

Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “4.9 out of 5.” 

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “4.9? Where did my missing 0.1 go?” 

From your position, you playfully kicked the side of your abdomen. “It’s for your ego. Someone needs to keep it in check.” 

Sukuna chuckled darkly, clearly entertained by your response. “Is that so?” he mused, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re the one keeping it in check, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He doesn’t answer. His only response was playfully taking a bite on the same leg that kicked him. Feeling the strong urge to respond back to his teasing, you take your other free leg to nudge the prominent bulge in between his legs. 

A low groan escapes his lips. “Fuck. You’re going to end up murdering me in cold blood one day.” 

To your surprise, he slides himself off the couch and stands up. 

“Wait!” You grabbed his wrist before he could walk away from you. “But what about you?” You reach for his erection, only for him to stop you. 

“Don’t worry about me, princess.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “But I want you to feel good too.” 

You watched as Sukuna cursed under his breath. He pushes you back down on the couch, joining you once more. “Safe word is red. Red to stop, yellow to slow down, got it?” 

You nod. Unbuckling his belt, unzipping the zippers of his trousers, he finally gives himself slight relief when he takes out his cock. 

8 inches in all its glory. Hard. Flushed red, with a bead of pre-cum peaking through at the tip. 

In your head, you do a mental backflip. Never mind. You take it back. You don’t think that’ll fit anyways. 

“Close your legs together,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. Although he says that, he’s the one closing the gap between your legs, proceeding to place them on his shoulders. Speechless, you watched as he brought his cock closer and closer to you until he’s placing it between your lips, coating his appendage with your cum. 

“Haah... Oh!” You're surprised when he drags his cock over your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. You could have sworn you got even wetter than you already were. 

Once wet, Sukuna takes his time, slowly sliding his cock between the plush flesh of your thighs. He groans, his head falling back as you watch his Adam's apple throb. 

Sukuna starts out slow. Apart from your labored breathing, you could hear the wet faps everytime he moves his hips, gliding his cock cover your wet cunt. A sob of pleasure washes over you when his cock brushes against your clit. You came, your entire body convulsing with overstimulation. 

By this time, Sukuna had quickened his pace, the couch sliding across the floor with each drag of his hips. With his cock pumping in and out, he gave your thighs the same hue of red as the flush on your cheeks. 

“I’m going to–” With a loud groan, Sukuna came. Thick, hot strands of his cum splattered on your stomach, with a few drops reaching your breasts as well. He continues to half-heartedly thrust until his high faded. Panting heavily, eyelids fluttering, he takes his sweet time memorizing the image of your body rightfully decorated with his seeds. If he were to be hit with a truck right now, he would die a happy man. 

Snapping back to reality, Sukuna gently places your legs down, turning towards the coffee table to grab a few tissues. When he glanced back towards you, his eyes widened. 

You were sat up—prettily so, he might add—licking his cum off your fingers. At the sight, Sukuna Jr. became hard again, ready for round two. Sensing his stare, you looked right back at him, a smirk adorning your lips. Maintaining eye contact, you gathered the rest of his cum on your fingers, licking it once more. 

'What a damn minx,' the man thought, unable to take his eyes off you. His eyes darkened, wanting to revert back to his primal urges to just take you for himself. 

Fuck him. 

Sukuna smashes his lips against yours, tasting the remnants of himself. But no matter, because all he could focus on at the moment was you.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bathroom. 

Once inside, he places you on the vanity. “Let’s not go any further he tells you,” he insisted, nudging his forehead against yours. You cocked your head to the side, confused. “If we go any further, I don’t think I can control myself.” 

‘Then don’t,’ you thought. 

Sukuna was really hanging on his last thread here. Thankfully for him, you just nodded, deciding to not push the matter any further. 

Friday, December 27th 

Cold. 

It was cold. 

The warmth of the blankets is the only thing that keeps the biting chill of the morning from nipping at your cheeks and nose. You snuggle deeper into them, wishing you could just stay there forever. As you shift, you feel the soft, steady pressure of his arm around you. You awaken, heart quickening, not used to another human presence in your bed. 

Noticing who the person was, you immediately relaxed. Although that came to a quick stop, once you noticed the shirtless torso staring right back at you. Glancing down, you realized you were naked too. 

Fully awake now, you race through your memories of last night. Right after your… uhh… Sukuna’s assistance in helping you further understand your womanhood, he brought you to the bathroom. You two then made out on the bathroom vanity. Then, the two of you showered. He was shampooing your hair and then… blank. 

You couldn’t remember anything after that. 

Crap. 

You looked at the man beside you, his face impossibly serene. His hair is adorably messy, strands falling across his forehead, and his lips are slightly parted as soft breaths escape him. The sight makes your heart swell, bringing a grin to your face. 

Carefully, you reach out, feeling mischievous, you gently booped his nose. The contrast between your cold touch and his warmth stirs him. He scrunches his nose, his lashes fluttering as he slowly blinks awake. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and lazily blinks for a few seconds. He then wordlessly nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing in your scent. 

A soft, muffled groan escapes him as his nose brushes against your skin. “Cold,” he mutters groggily, his voice a deep rumble that makes you giggle. Despite his complaint, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, effectively trapping you against his warm, bare chest.

“Good morning,” you greeted, running your fingers through his messy hair.

“Mornin’,” he yawns back. 

For a moment, the two of you linger in the warmth of the blankets, both wordlessly agreeing that you guys would much rather stay in your current positions for the rest of the day. But the sound of your alarm buzzing from the nightstand breaks the spell. He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Nope. I refuse. Let’s just call in sick.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “We can’t do that, Mr. CEO. Come on, get up.” He pouts in response and you can’t help but inwardly squeal at how much he seems to resemble a sulky cat. 

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, and the two of you begin to prepare for the rest of the day. After a quick shower together and a few shared glances in the mirror, you both finish getting ready. 

The two of you step out into the crisp morning air, making your way to his car as frost glimmers like delicate lace on the windows under the pale light. He starts the engine, the heater sputtering to life and gradually filling the cabin with warmth as you settle into the passenger seat.

The drive to work is quiet and peaceful, with soft music playing on the radio. You steal a few glances at him, watching the way his hands grip the wheel and the faint concentration in his expression. It’s then you notice he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday—a subtle reminder that he hadn’t planned to stay the night. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the towering company building, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the soft light of the winter morning. He parks in his usual reserved spot and turns to you with a warm smile. “Alright, don’t miss me too much,” he teases.

You roll your eyes playfully, getting out of his car. “Trust me, I won’t.” 

Inside, the hum of the office quickly pulls you into the rhythm of the workday. Emails flood your inbox, and tasks pile up as you try to focus, but it’s no use. Your thoughts keep drifting back to him—his voice, his annoying smirk, the way his hair was still slightly messed up this morning, and his cock.

Stop. 

You find yourself staring blankly at your computer screen, rereading the same line of text over and over. 

“Mr. Ryomen! How can I…” 

Your ears perk up at his name, and before you can stop yourself, your head turns toward the source of the voice. From your desk, you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the room. He’s speaking with one of the department heads, his expression serious yet calm as he listens. Occasionally, he nods or gestures slightly with his hand. But it’s the subtle quirks you notice—the way his lips twitch as if suppressing a smirk, or how he adjusts his cufflinks absentmindedly. 

For a brief moment, he glances in your direction. You immediately snap your eyes back to your screen, your cheeks burning, praying he didn’t catch you staring.

But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You keep your eyes glued to your monitor, trying to make yourself look busy, but it’s no use. You can feel him before you even see him.

“Daydreaming already?” his voice rumbles softly, a teasing edge to his tone.

Your head snaps up to see him standing beside your desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“N-No, of course not,” you stammer, straightening in your chair. “Just...focused.”

“Focused?” he echoes, raising a brow as his eyes flick to your screen. “On an empty email draft?”

You glance at the monitor and cringe inwardly. “I was...thinking about how to word it,” you say quickly, trying to salvage your pride.

He chuckles, leaning in slightly so only you can hear. “If you’re this distracted, maybe I should’ve kept you in the car a little longer.”

Your face grows impossibly hotter, and you glare up at him. “Aren’t you busy?” You shoo him away with your hand.

“Plenty,” he says smoothly, his grin widening. “But I couldn’t resist checking on my favorite employee.” Before you can respond, he straightens and takes a step back. “Carry on, then.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you flustered and unable to focus for the rest of the day.

Usually, you would take the overtime—but not today. Today, the idea of staying longer just feels unbearable. You left the minute the clock struck 5. You practically race to the elevator, your pulse quickening with every step. The doors close behind you with a soft chime, and as the elevator descends, you feel a small sense of relief wash over you.

By the way, on your walk home, you stopped by an adult store. From there, you quickly bought a dildo (you tried to find one a similar length and girth as you know who) and scurried your way back home. 

Saturday, December 28th 

You came into work on a Saturday, mainly because there’s a pile of leftover paperwork that you didn’t manage to finish before you left yesterday. And you blamed Sukuna for it. 

The quiet hum of the building is quite a stark contrast to the bustling energy it usually has during the weekdays. You manage to finish fairly quickly with no distractions, particularly with the absence of a certain pink haired tattooed man. By the time you’re done, you stretch your arms above your head, the tension in your shoulders easing as you stand and walk around to shake off the stiffness from sitting too long. You glance at the clock—it’s still early enough for lunch.

As you head to pack up your things, you’re startled by the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up to see Sukuna, eyes scanning the room with mild curiosity.

His eyes land on you, widening. “You’re here on a Saturday?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, just wrapping up some stuff,” you answer, grabbing your bag and shrugging. “Had a little bit left from yesterday.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, walking over to you. “Well, since you're done with your ‘extra work,’” he says, “how about joining me for lunch in my office? I could use the company.”

You hesitate for a second. You're not exactly opposed to the idea, but considering the guy who’s asking you out to lunch is the very person driving your head mad, it's not exactly the easiest invitation to accept.

But then again, it’s just lunch, right? 

You offer a half-smile, trying to mask the lingering uncertainty. “Alright, I’ll join you,” you say, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Sukuna smiles back at you, the corners of his lips twitching upward in that signature smirk. He walks towards the elevator with you following suite.The two of you step into the elevator, the soft chime signaling its ascent. For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the machinery. 

Suddenly, the elevator jerks, causing you to stumble slightly. Sukuna grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you as the lights start to flicker. You glance over at Sukuna, who doesn't seem too alarmed, but the furrow of his brow tells you he’s noticed it too.

"Did it just stop?" you ask, voice laced with surprise.

"Seems like it." His voice is calm, though you can detect a hint of frustration in his usually smooth tone.

You both glance at the display, watching as the floor numbers refuse to change. 

Fuck you, elevator. 

Sukuna pulls out his phone, his fingers swiftly tapping away on the screen. “I’ll text maintenance,” his tone is clipped. You watch as his fingers fly over the keys, typing a quick message. He pauses for a moment, then taps send.

Luckily for him, maintenance responded to him immediately. Sukuna scans the text message for a few seconds before raising his head to look at you. “Apparently, the whole building is out of power. It'll take about half an hour before the power starts running again.”

You blink, trying to process the information. "The whole building?" you echo, glancing at the elevator walls as if expecting the entire structure to come crashing down.

He gives a nod, his gaze narrowing as if he’s already over the inconvenience. “Yep. Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” He pauses, checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. Sukuna’s lips twitch into a half-smirk as he takes a step closer, the space between you now noticeably smaller. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, then.”

“Well, you're not exactly the worst company to be stuck with, though,” you admit. You find yourself thinking about that one time you were stuck with Alan from finance and Jeffrey from HR. Alan, bless his soul, stayed silent in a corner the whole fifteen minutes, trembling out of fear. On the other hand, Jeffrey was consistently trying to flirt with you the entire time, probably breaking a few HR protocols here and there. The irony. 

You scoff thinking about it.  

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You got a problem with being stuck in small spaces or something?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that," you quickly reply, trying to brush it off. “Just... thinking about some interesting elevator experiences I’ve had.”

He smirks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, clearly not buying your quick explanation. “Hmm, sure. Sounds like you’ve got some interesting stories,” he muses. 

Closing the space between the two of you, he traps you against the walls of the elevator, leaving you no room to move. “Speaking of interesting stories, I heard from a few little birdies you left early yesterday.”

You stiffen, taken off guard by the sudden proximity. His smirk deepens as he leans in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You can feel the pulse of his presence more than ever now, the space between you thick with tension.

“Did I?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just had things to do.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze intense as he watches you carefully. “Is that so?” His tone is teasing but holds a hint of something more dangerous. He doesn’t move back, instead, his hand gently rests against the railings behind you, trapping you in place. “I find it funny how Ms. Overtimer decided to leave at 5 o’clock sharp. She couldn't have been trying to avoid someone, was she?” 

What was this? An interrogation? 

You swallow, unable to escape the directness of his gaze. “N-no. Like I said, I had stuff to do.” 

His smirk deepened. “And what would that be?”

You flushed, thinking back on your nightly activities yesterday. The voices from the “How To Give A Good Blow Job” video you were watching yesterday echoed through your head. 

What’s important with a blow job is to use lots of saliva to make it really wet. 

When you approach a penis, it’s very important to…

Go all the way, but don’t just lick the tip.

You don’t just lick it like a lollipop or like an ice cream cone, you really put it all in your mouth.

The next thing you thought of was the porn videos you watched right after that, as you tried to imitate the actions of the porn star on the dildo you just bought. 

As you snap back to reality, you’re faced with Sukuna’s arrogant looking face staring right back at you. “I’ll tell you what I did,” he rasps into your ear. “The moment I got back home, I fucked my fists, pretending it was you.” 

His hands reach underneath your shirt from the back, gliding over the hooks of your bra. “I thought of your drenched little pussy, bouncing on my cock, clenching around me, cumming again and again, just begging for more.” 

Your pussy throbs from his words. Before you know it, you wrap your arms around him, kissing him like your life depended on it. 

At some point you parted for air, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. Playing with his trousers, you bend towards his ear, whispering, “Do you know what I did? I bought myself a dildo, the size of your cock.” His hold around you tightens. Teasingly, you bite his ear, causing him to groan. “Do you know how hard I worked yesterday? Trying to suck that piece of plastic because I wanted to surprise you with a good time.” 

You can’t even get another word out when Sukuna’s mouth is back on yours, trying to devour you until there’s nothing left of you but a damn puddle. Just when he’s about to strip you of your shirt, the elevator door gracefully opens as if it wasn’t stuck just moments ago. 

It didn’t even take a second before Sukuna pulled you into his arms, bringing you straight into his office. 

Safe to say, the two of you enjoyed each other for lunch. 

Sunday, December 29

You’re sitting on your couch, eyes glazed over as you skim through another round of work emails, when one subject line catches your attention: "New York Business Trip". Curious, you open it, expecting some mundane update or meeting schedule. 

Surprisingly, your company is sending you and a few others to New York for a new client. The email outlines everything: flight details, accommodations, and a packed itinerary filled with meetings. You blink a few times, rereading the email to make sure you’re not imagining things.

Ah. 

Well, you should probably get to packing. 

Monday, December 30 

The flight to New York was mundane at best. Luckily no crying babies were on the flight. 

By the time you got there, it was already nighttime. Tired and exhausted, you and your colleagues made your way to the hotel.

You quickly fell asleep, your mind rather occupied with work.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had also flown into New York a day prior for his own business engagements. 

Tuesday, December 31

The client offers you a sincere handshake as they prepare to leave. After stepping out, a collective sigh of relief fills the room.

As the door clicks shut, one of your coworkers slouches dramatically in their chair, their voice heavy with complaint. "Ugh, I’m so tired. Do we really have to work so close to the new year?"

Another coworker, ever the optimist, chuckles and leans back in their chair. "At least we're in New York for the new year. I mean, that's gotta be pretty exciting, right?"

A third coworker, always the one with the best ideas, perks up with enthusiasm. "Why don’t we just celebrate tonight? Let’s hit a nice restaurant and make the most of being in New York. Who’s in?"

The idea quickly gains traction, and with a few enthusiastic nods, plans are made. The team agrees to head out together to celebrate.

You all decided on a restaurant by the pier, away from midtown which tended to be one of the busiest parts of the city during the new year. Drinks are poured, toasts are made, and the atmosphere quickly shifts from business to pure enjoyment. The laughter grows louder as more wine flows, the chatter about work now replaced with stories of company drama. 

“Jeffrey from HR got fired!” 

“No way! What happened?” 

“I heard he got caught trying to buy drinks with the company card!” 

“I heard he got caught harassing some of the female staff!”

“I heard…” 

“Classic Jeffrey,” a coworker mutters, shaking their head. “The guy was a walking HR violation. Good riddance.”

You laugh. “Funny, considering he’s HR himself.” 

Another coworker, slightly tipsy, raises their glass. “To Jeffrey’s unemployment!” Everyone laughs, raising their glasses in solidarity.

The conversation shifts as someone notices a familiar pink-haired man, sitting at a table behind you with a relaxed, almost amused expression.

"Wait, isn't that…?" One of the coworkers squints, their eyes widening. "Mr. Ryomen?!"

The room falls quiet for a split second, and all eyes turn toward him. There's a brief, stunned silence as the reality sets in. Sukuna raises a brow, sensing the sudden shift in attention. "No need to act so formal, people," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is a celebration, not a board meeting. Dinner’s on me." At his words, the initial awkwardness disperses, a collective cheer erupting around the table. 

Sukuna's gaze drifts toward you, and for a moment, the chatter around the table fades into the background. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The night continues, the laughter growing louder as more wine flows and the atmosphere grows more relaxed. Your coworkers are clearly enjoying themselves, their inhibitions loosening as they drink and joke.

Somewhere between the third round of drinks and the jokes about Jeffrey, Sukuna leans closer to you, his voice low as he addresses you. "You wanna head out?"

You glance around, noticing that the group is becoming more boisterous, a little too drunk for comfort. You nod, slipping out of your seat quietly, unnoticed in the haze of celebration.

The two of you walk side by side, his hand slipping into yours as he gently tucks it into the warm pocket of his winter jacket. Ending up by the pier where you can enjoy New York City’s cityscape alone, the two of you stood by the railing, the city lights shimmering in the distance, reflecting off the water below. The noise of the city feels distant here, leaving just the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the occasional hum of passing traffic. 

Sukuna stands close, his presence comforting and intense, but there’s an unspoken ease between you now. He watches you looking at the skyline, almost entranced by the city lights. He's entranced by the way your gaze softens, the flicker of wonder in your eyes, as if the city itself holds a kind of magic just for you.

His gaze drifts down to your face, the way the soft glow of the lights highlights your features, and for a moment, he forgets the world around him.

“You like it here?” he asks, his voice low, almost lost in the wind.

You nod, taking in the sight of the towering buildings, the lights that make the city pulse with life. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice quiet, but content.

Sukuna smiles, a rare, almost gentle curve of his lips.“You know,” he begins, his voice a bit more serious now. 

You turn to face him. “I like you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. “More than I should.” 

Your face shifts to one of surprise before a smile spreads across your lips. “And?” you ask, a teasing edge to your voice as you try to coax more out of him.

Sukuna’s expression falters for a moment, a look of surprise crossing his features, as he didn’t expect for you to react so playfully, before his usual confidence returns. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow comforting, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“And…” he murmurs, taking a breath as if steadying himself for something more. He tilts his head slightly, a small, almost playful glint in his eyes now. “This confession has been long overdue.” 

You cock your head to the side. “And?” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. Cradling your face with both his hands, he pulls you gently toward him, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften, the playful glint still present, but there’s a sincerity now that you can’t ignore.

“Goddammit, woman,” he mutters, although there’s no trace of frustration or anger behind it. “And,” he starts again, voice quieter this time, “I want you.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“I need you.” 

Another tender kiss, this time to your nose, as if savoring the simple closeness of you.

“I love you.”

‘I've loved you ever since your stubborn ass appeared in that elevator,’ he thought. 

Without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and full of all the things he hadn’t been able to say. The world around you seems to fade as the moment stretches on, leaving only the two of you, suspended in the quiet of the city night.

Sukuna closes his bedroom door behind you with a soft click, turning towards you once he locks the door. Crossing the short distance between the door and you with a few, casual strides, he helps you out of your coat, carelessly leaving it on the floor once off. Not even moments later, the rest of your clothes soon followed the fate of the discarded coat. 

Your body was bare before Sukuna’s affectionate gaze; vulnerable and utterly exposed to his wandering eyes. “You’re soaked, darling,” his silken cadence carrying a hint of teasing. It’s no surprise though, considering he fingered you in his car on the way to his New York City penthouse. 

“Put it in already,” you whine, tired of waiting. In fact, you’ve waited for exactly a week ever since the man took your first kiss and first orgasm. 

He bites your thighs in response. “Don’t you know patience is a virtue?” 

“Funny, I don’t remember signing up to be virtuous,” you muttered. 

He laughs in return. “Well, it’s not too late to start, but you might want to hurry.” You rolled your eyes. This man is insufferable. You start self-pitying yourself for falling for this man’s charms. 

Sukuna begins to pepper kisses down your thighs, before reaching the wet mess between your legs. He gives your cute cunny a wet, sloppy french kiss, causing you to squirm. Sukuna’s hands, however, found themselves wrapped around your thighs, preventing you from squirming away. 

Just when you’re about to reach your high, he parts from you, a frustrated whine permeates the air. He playfully tsks at you, shaking his head with a smirk. “What did I say about patience?” 

“I don’t want to hear that from you!” you exclaimed. “You’re impatient and far from virtuous, you pervert.”

“Me? Impatient? I held out for 4 years. Just when I could take you for myself, I cockblocked myself for a week.” He taps the head of his cock on your slit. “If anything, I’m the epitome of virtue.” 

“That’s bull– AH!” Your head smothered in the crook of his neck, legs trembling, your upper body falling limp to the dull aching pain in between your legs. 

On Sukuna’s end, he hisses from the way your virgin walls tighten around his length, his eyes half-lidded. “Shitt…” he curses breathily, the tightness of your pussy is almost too much for him. With the addictive way your walls wrap around his cock, he can’t help but yearn for more. He snaps out of his mind-fucked haze when he hears your quiet sniffles. 

Sukuna gently distracts you by petting your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he shushes you softly, the warmth of his hand grounding you. He licks away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eye. 

“You're an animal,” you croaked out. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, the action tender but possessive. 

“Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?” he murmured, silencing your whimpers with a deep kiss. One of his fists, curled so tightly, draws blood, as he holds back a debauched smile from appearing on his face. His breathing is labored, each exhale coming out in sharp bursts, but his eyes—those predatory, crimson eyes—remain locked on you with an intensity that borders on dangerous. The control he’s desperately clinging to is beginning to fray. That debauched smile of his still doesn’t quite break free, but if you were to open your eyes, you can see it lurking, threatening to spill over at any moment. 

Right. This is why he was so hesitant about claiming you as his. Because once he did, his possessiveness would consume him entirely, and no amount of restraint could keep him from acting on the wild urge to mark you, to own every inch of you. It’s why he had kept his distance, why he had let the silence stretch between you for so long. But now, with you so close, with your scent filling his senses, it was clear he had waited too long.

The struggle within him intensifies, the weight of his desires battling with the need to maintain decent dignity, but seeing the frown on your lips tugged on his fucked-up sense of morals. So, he patiently waits until your legs are no longer trembling. Kissing the palm of your hands, he asks, “Can I start moving now?” 

You respond with a breathless yes. As you wished, he started moving with carefully curated, slow thrusts. Your mind fills with confusion, unable to figure out the difference in the waves of twisted pain and pleasure you feel with each drag of his hips. 

Sukuna bends down to your tits, taking your pebbled nipple in his mouth, while teasing the other one with his hands. “So fucking tight,” he rasps, parting from your sensitive bud, leaving only but a string of saliva. 

God, this pussy will be the end of him. You will be the end of him.

‘Aren’t you the most prettiest thing,’ he thinks to himself.  

On the other hand, you feel too overwhelmed to even think. You pant through each tactful thrust of his, your hands clutching onto his bed sheets to ground yourself. Feeling the specific drag against your g-spot, you let yourself go without warning. 

Feeling your pussy clench wildly around his appendage, Sukuna curses, attempting to pull out but ultimately failing when your cunt just sucks him right back in. A choked up laugh bubbles from his throat, as he submits himself to pleasure, releasing his sperm right into your cavern. When he pulls out, he savors the scene of your stretched hole pulsing wildly yet clenching around nothing. 

Sukuna gives you a quick kiss on your lips, symbolizing a job well done, before walking towards his mini fridge to get beverages for the both of you. Disregarding your aching lower half, you sat up from your position, watching your lover—butt naked—tinkering with the items in the fridge. 

You stare into space when you think about how… soft he was with you. You almost wonder if somehow a ghost took over his body the few times he was intimate with you. You knew that man had a penchant for torturing his bed partners with pleasure. It was almost common knowledge with anyone who has interacted with anyone from Silvia’s high society circle. Or any one of the Sukuna’s past flings. You, neither in Silvia’s circle nor friends with any of Sukuna’s past flings, only relied on the words from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a… you get it. 

Anyways, his gentle demeanor with you almost deceptively deceives you of his true nature in bed. As delighted as you were by his ability to approach you with such surprising gentleness, you wanted to know the full extent of Sukuna’s… bedtime habits, so to speak. 

There’s a saying: Curiosity killed the cat. 

So don’t say this narrator didn’t warn you beforehand. 

You snap back from your thoughts when you realize Sukuna was heading back towards you with two bottles of water. He opens the cap for you before handing you one of the bottles, placing the edge of the bottom on your forehead, a gesture that takes you by surprise. The coolness of the bottle against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, sharply contrasting the lingering memory of his body heat pressed so close to yours.

You take the bottle, mumbling a quiet thank you, before taking a few sips. He hums in response, proceeding to take a drink from his bottle himself. You watched his Adam's apple bob with each swallow, the movement oddly captivating. 

“Don’t you think you’ve been holding back?” you stated as a matter of fact. 

He stops drinking, looking at you over the rim of his bottle, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. The silence hangs between you, thick with anticipation. Slowly, he lowers the bottle, twisting the cap back on. His gaze never leaves yours, sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to read the real meaning behind your statement. 

“You’re way too eager to push me,” he murmurs, his lips licking off the excess moisture from the liquid. “You should be more worried about your wellbeing than the rumors floating around about my sexual preferences.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, putting a strand of hair behind your ears. 

You slap that hand away, pouting. “Well, if you’re not going to fuck me properly, I’ll just go find someone else to do it,” you state, preparing to stand from your spot and pretend to leave the room. 

Sukuna clenches the empty plastic bottle in his hand, the sound of crushed plastic permeating in the room. 

“Sit down.” He pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. 

The command is simple, but it cuts through the air with a force that makes your body freeze, your movements halting mid-step. There's no mistaking the tone in his voice—low, dangerous, and absolute. The room feels smaller now, the air in the room somehow thickens.

You hesitate, eyes flickering between his clenched fist and the way his gaze remains locked on you, as though daring you to challenge him. And despite yourself, you do end up sitting on his lap, his arms immediately cradling you against his body. He grazes his teeth on your shoulder, before actually biting, drawing blood. 

Startled, you flinch. However, with Sukuna’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t move nor could you run away. 

“You’re being such a brat,” he slurred, sounding drunk on your smell. He brings his other hand to caress your cheeks, “And here I thought you were my good little girl.”

Your heart quickens with excitement, the pulse in your chest pounding louder than ever. It’s a heady mix of anticipation and the raw thrill, the tension between you both so thick it’s almost suffocating. 

"Am I not being good enough for you?" you asked with a hint of mock innocence, feigning ignorance. You intwine your hands with his, nuzzle your face into the palm of his hands. 

“If you were, we wouldn’t be in this position,” he rasps, his self-control hanging by a thread just waiting to snap at the right moment. Your breath hitched slightly when he runs his large, calloused hands around your sides before stopping by your ass cheeks to fondle it. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, filled with a barely restrained lust. "You're being a dangerous tease right now, love.” 

“Dangerous?” you mused, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Why am I so dangerous?” You began to slowly grind your hips against his, gently rocking in his lap. 

Sukuna's hands clenched tightly on to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he felt your body move against him, creating a torturously good friction. “Precisely because of this,” a hint of a growl escaping from his lips.

You purposefully let out a loud unabashed moan as you continue to rub yourself against his tattooed thighs, hoping to crumble whatever’s left of his self-control. Pushing out his cum from earlier, you smear it all over his thighs. “Oops,” you gasped, faking your astonishment. “Sorry for making such a mess, Kuna. You know I couldn't help myself,” you taunted, unknowingly signing a sealed deal for the absolute annihilation of your body for the next morning come. 

Snap 

The very next second, you’re thrown onto the bed. You look behind you where his large and strong frame hovers over yours. You don’t even get a chance to savor the look on his face when he grabs you by the hair, pushing your head face down into the mattress. 

“That’s it. Shut it, you cock hungry slut.” 

Oh! So there’s that sadistic pervert of a man you know and love. 

Inserting his fingers into you, he starts targeting your g-spot, probing at that one spot on purpose! 

“That’s enough!” you protested, your legs shaking from quite possibly overstimulation.  

He doesn’t stop, pretending as if he didn’t hear. After a while of constant whining on your end and absolutely zero reactions on his, you attempt to crawl away from him, the sensation far too overstimulating for you. Your plan comes to a foul stop however, when he drags you back with a sharp pull by your legs. 

Your head snapped back to look at him, his eyes burning holes into your skull, looking absolutely furious with you. “I thought you wanted to fuck around and find out?” A hand comes down onto your ass cheek. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, so why are you running away?” 

Exactly, why are you running away? You give yourself a mental prayer, before deciding to absolutely stop using your head and to start thinking with your cunt instead. 

Sukuna presses his body up against yours, his weight almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Practically accepting the position you're in, you wholly welcome his cock sliding into your needy pussy. 

“You’re probably the best cock sleeve I’ve come across so far,” he groans. “Probably because of that slobbering pussy of yours.” He forces two fingers into your mouth, a mad grin spreading across his face when he feels your tongue swirl around his digits. “Right,” he thrusts even harder, causing you to gag on his fingers, “and I can't forget about that slutty mouth of yours.” 

Fuck. Was it just you or did his cock just get bigger while inside? 

You can’t even focus for long when he’s prone boning you into the mattress like the pleasure-drunk sadist he is. 

Each time he looks down at you with those glazed eyes.

Each time he pushes into you. 

Your mind goes blank from pleasure. 

The vulgar sounds of flesh on flesh echoes in your ear, filling up your head til you can’t think of anything else. 

Panic arises in you, snapping you out of your euphoric haze when you suddenly feel the need to pee out of nowhere. With a sudden surge of clarity, as if flipping a switch, you quickly inform Sukuna of your urgent matter. Or at least you try to— through the moans, pants, screams, and incoherent ramblings. 

Weirdly enough, even through all that, he surprisingly understands your intended message quite well. Although his response is not one you expect. 

 “Go ahead,” he sneers. “Squirt, cum, piss as many times as you want. The sheets are dirty enough already.” 

“...Ngnhh. It feels… strange… good. O-h fuck!” You squirt—or was it piss, anywho it didn’t matter what it was—for the nth time that night. You're unsure how many times you came so far. But then again, who’s keeping count? 

“Say you love me,” he mutters under his ragged breaths. 

You don’t seem to process his words though. Thoroughly fucked over, the only sounds you make are absolutely obscene. “Ngh oh~ hahhh!” 

“Louder,” he demands, his cock pummeling into your aching cunt. “Say you love me. Come on. Say it feels good.” 

“Haa! Hngh! Oh!” Only unabashed moans escapes your lips, your mind too fucked to comprehend his words. 

“Did I already fuck you dumb?” he mocked, clearly unimpressed with your lack of decorum. That’s a lie. He’s reveling in pure joy 

Suddenly, he changes his pace, going obnoxiously slow.

You writhed in response, whines escaping your mouth. “Nooo,” you protest, missing the fast pace already. 

“No?” Sukuna slowly pulls out until his tip is only part enveloped by your warmth. “Weren’t you begging me to slow down earlier though?” 

You don't even remember if you said that. In fact, you can't recall any of the jumbled words that came out of your mouth. And for all you knew, he could've just made it up.

Fucked as you were, you could only respond with a mumble of incoherent whines.

In response, he spanks you, your pussy clenching in response, making him grin. “Aww, does my pretty little slut like that?” He spanks you one more time, pleased when your walls clenched around him once again. 

Now that he’s got your attention, he repeats his orders to you once more. Through thick tears of pleasure dripping down your face, you whisper, “I love you, Kuna.” 

Fuck. 

Now, you were really going to be the death of him. 

Not giving you a second to breathe, he pulls you towards the edge of the bed. Then, almost effortlessly, he holds you in the full nelson position. You’re surprised when he walks you towards the glass windows of his bedroom. From there, you could see the whole entire city of New York, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars beneath you. The skyline stretches far and wide, towering buildings casting long shadows across the streets, their lights flickering in rhythm with the pulse of the city. But more than that, you see the fucked-up position you're in, reflected in the glass windows. 

“Since you enjoy the view so much…” Sukuna slowly positions his cock to your needy cunt. You squeal the moment he penetrates, his heavy and thick cock mercilessly berating your slutty walls. “Enjoy it while you can!” 

He brings you down on his cock, harder with every pound. Expectedly, your vulgar juices trickle down his 8 inch cock with every drag of your hips, creating a white ring around the base of his cock. 

“Kuna– I- ngh! Tooo-oooo d-deep! It’s too much!” 

Your words cause Sukuna to chuckle. Too much? Too much? Your pussy sure didn’t think so, welcoming each thrust with open arms, even greedy for more. It sucked in his cock so well, getting tighter every time he tried to pull out. 

You interrupt his trance when you start chanting his name over and over again, the only warning he has until you squirt all over his cock, his floor, and his penthouse windows. He follows suit, pulling out his cock, and allowing his cum to join the mess you have already made. 

Feeling light-headed, he thirsts for air, deciding that your lips was the only remedy he wanted—needed, at this moment. 

In the midst of your kiss, fireworks sprung into the night sky, painting the sky with their brilliant lights. The colorful splatter of light shines through the windows of Sukuna’s New York penthouse. 

Wednesday, January 1

Your attention was briefly drawn to them as they sparkled and crackled above, their explosions echoing through the silence of the night.

Sukuna, his breath still coming in warm pants, looked up at the fireworks only momentarily before returning his crimson eyes back towards you, intense and unwavering. 

He places you down, his hand gently cupping your jaw, turning your head to the side. As the fireworks painted the sky with fleeting brilliance, Sukuna's lips found yours again, grounding you in a moment that felt timeless—far more profound than the fleeting lights above.

Author’s note: My apologies for any grammar mistakes in advance 🙇‍♀️ The fic ended up being longer than I expected, so I had to cut/summarize several scenes to ensure everything would fit on Tumblr.  Here are some of the plot points that I skimmed over (that were originally supposed to be stretched out into proper scenes): A shower scene y/n learning how to give a blow job using a sex toy Phone sex between the two the day y/n got the business trip email  And of course, the office sex scene

There’s a few more but that’s a secret for now haha. Anyways if any of you all are interested, please let me know

[jarenka]

tags by @gffa

(sorry for using your tags for that rant about translations, don't feel yourself obligated to answer or something like that)

I don't want to disappoint you, but there are many edits in English translation of The Three-Body problem. I assume you can learn more about them here (I don't have access to an article itself) and also here Ken Liu says that he updated some outdated info. I don't think it's bad itself if done in a tandem with an author, but original and the translation will feel different. The Chinese reader would say that The Three-Body Problem has a natural prose flow, sexist language and uses outdated info from 2006, the English reader would say that The Three-Body Problem has unusual prose (honestly, I don't know, my knowledge of English is not enough to make judgments about qualities of the prose), no sexist language and uses info from 2014.

For me this approach that it's ok to edit the content of the book but the reader should feel that they read a translated book feels very performative to me. Honestly my first thought after reading this post and various tags was "Yes, guys, only 3% of your book market is translated literature, so you want to feel really special while reading Exotic Foreign Literature". But also, what kind of "rhythm of another language" you all are taking about? It's not that I don't know any other languages other than my own (I write this in a foreign language), but there is no specific "rhythm of the X language", literature in any language is very diverse in rhythm and style. Do you feel like Dickens, Sara J. Maas and Hemingway have the same rhythm and cadence because they all write and English? Transporting the style of the prose into another language is a very tricky thing. Ironically, I know one Russian translation that spectacularly failed at it. The Catcher in The Rye was translated in English in USSR and unfortunately was censored, so in 2008 another translator attempted to translate it, and this translation was... controversial. Imo, it was just absolutely horrendous in its tone and style. It sounds like an attempt of a middle aged Russian dude who has never spoke with a teenager in their life to write from POV of the edgy teenager.

Yes, literary translation is a big can of worms, and every translator choses between different strategies of translation what book and for which audience they translate. And some things are untranslatable at all.

For example, regional dialects. For example, German and (British) English has super distinct regional dialects, so people in different cities in Germany and Britain speak very differently, people in different cities of Russia speaks almost identically with very minor quirks in some regions. There are more difference between Russian speakers in rural areas, but even of we use these differences German guy from Bavaria speaks like a guy from the village near Tver. Cockney dialect is absolutely untranslatable to Russian.

Same goes to some artistic effects. The beginning of the War and Peace novel is (in)famous for dialogues in French. They amplify for Russian readers how actually common for Russian aristocracy to speak in French. But when you translate it into French, what are you going to do with them?

(I mean yes, you won't translate it, but the artistic purpose of these paragraphs is lost in French translation)

The same with Russian translation of A Clockwork Orange. It has slang in Russian that is supposed to alienate the reader, but in Russian translation they are just Russian words written in Latin alphabet, and they are completely understandable for Russian readers.

Some jokes are untranslatable. Some set expressions might have significance for the plot/dialogue, so translator need to use a footnote to explain this nuance for the reader.

Anyway as someone who read majority of books and translation (which is normal for avid Russian-speaker reader) and specifically goes out their way to read mystery/thriller and literary fiction translated from different languages, I feel like linguistic aspects of foreign literature is just a miniscule point of my interest. Yes, I find out about Finnish slang word for lesbian, but overall it's more interesting to see what people in other countries are writing about. Of course my experience is severely skewed by the fact that book should be translated into Russian for me to read it, but they are still books that are written for an audience in another country and about things that are interesting and important for them. For example last year I've read three books by French writers of African decent, all with different plots but with similar themes of French colonialism and relationships between France and its (former) colonies. I just don't think that you would be ever able to read from this perspective if you don't read in French or you don't read books translated from French.

"The best translations into English do not, in fact, read as if they were originally written in English. The English words are arranged in such a way that the reader sees a glimpse of another culture’s patterns of thinking, hears an echo of another language’s rhythms and cadences, and feels a tremor of another people’s gestures and movements."

— Ken Liu, Translator’s Postface to The Three-Body Problem

[startaegi]

ON THE RUN, cho hyunju. 【 CHAPTER 01 】

⤑ pairing, cho hyunju x fem!reader

⤑ synopsis, where secret-not so secret lovers, hyunju and yn find each other in the unlikely of places.

⤑ series masterlist, on the run.

⤑ chapter two, coming soon!

⤑ notes, hi welcome to my first fic on here! i haven’t written anything in years but i couldn’t not write something for my girl bcos she deserves all the love. anyways enjoy, i hope it isn’t too bad!! 🫶🏻

⤑ taglist, @etta-huracan (if you would like to be added let me know)

The day seemed to pass slowly. You spent most of it watching the hours tick by. Midnight at Hangang Bridge the robotic voice had said when calling the unknown number two days ago, a number from a card you'd received from a well dressed man in Sinchon station. Your face was still slightly bruised from that interaction, you had never been the best at playing ddakji. It was 30 minutes until 12 and you knew if you didn't leave now, you wouldn't make it on time. As risky as it was you weren't missing out on the opportunity to potentially win life changing money.

You unplugged your phone from the charger and switched off the broken lamp that did nothing to light your room. The apartment was small, all contained in one room minus the bathroom but it was the best you could get with what you have. You slipped on your shoes, eyes scanning the place one last time and eventually landing on the fridge. The note she had left was still there, her messy handwriting followed by little hearts in the corner, you could picture her folded over the kitchen island, a little smile on her face as she doodled her love onto the page. You missed her more than anything.

You quickly pulled yourself together closing the door behind you. A noise to the left startled you, keys almost falling from your hands. The sweet lady who owned the building with her son was hiding herself from view of the streets, the curtains slightly moving from the wind. "Hi, Ajumma" You called.

She turned with a smile on her face, backing away from the window. "Oh hello Y/N love" She replied. 

"Are you okay?" You questioned. It wasn't like her to be roaming around the halls so late in the night especially at her age.

"I don't want to worry you" She said hesitantly. You froze, mind instantly going to Hyunju. Did she finally come by? "Those same men where outside again, no good for nothing they are" She seethed.

Your heart sank. "Oh"

"I've been keeping an eye on them just in case but looks like they're gone now" She said, walking alongside you towards the exit. "You're leaving late? Everything okay?" She asked.

You nodded. "Going to visit a friend for a while, i'll be back in time for rent payments" You assured her, the last thing you needed was to be evicted.

She patted your shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry about that, you go have a nice time" She smiled. "You deserve it"

You paused for a second, words caught in your throat. "If-" You started. "If you see Hyunju can you tell her i'll be back soon? Tell her not to go anywhere, please" You practically begged. It would be just your luck, the moment you leave she would appear again.

Her eyes softened, a look of sympathy flashed across her face. She nodded, caressing your shoulder again. "Of course I will sweetheart. You still haven't heard from her?" She questioned.

You shook your head. It had been 30 days, an entire month since you last seen the one good thing in your life. You were left with a text message, one you'd read more times than you could count, one you could recite by heart if asked. She was leaving but she'd be back soon. At first you were angry, how dare she leave you after everything you'd been through together, with just a message through a screen. Then the days turned to weeks and your anger became worry. Where was she? Why wasn't she returning your calls or texts? You didn't want to expect the worst but in the country you lived as the people you both are, being alone wasn't a good idea. You lost sleep, your headaches not that you thought they could, somehow became worse. Your medication bottles became empty and your pockets just the same. You only hope she'll be back by the time you return and this time you'll have a bank balance enough to get you out of this place.

You finally left the building when another resident entered, distracting the older woman and making your exit, but of course not forgetting to say goodbye. The rain was heavy, bouncing against the cracked pavements. The silence is eerie. The broken street lamps flicker casting shadows on the wet pavements, your jacket doesn't have a hood leaving your hair to get drenched by the midnight drizzle. You scan the roads, no cars or people in sight. An overwhelming feeling of anxiety washes over you, a familiar sensation that mostly greets you in the night.

You don't have time to dwell on it as a beam of headlights approach you. A silver car pulls up beside you, the passenger side window rolls down. You're taken back at the person sat in the driver seat, face concealed by a black mask. They're also wearing a pink suit, their entire body hidden.

"Name?" The masked person questions.

"Y/N L/N" You reply, droplets of rain falling against your open lips.

They don't reply instead the back door clicks open. You quickly slide into the empty seat shielding yourself from the rain. You push the wet hair from your eyes only then noticing other people sat in the seats around you, seemingly asleep.

"Uh, excuse me?" You ask the masked driver. "What's-" You stop mid sentence, suddenly it becomes harder to breathe and a mysterious mist fogs your eyesight. You struggle to move your mouth, your entire body feels heavy. You feel the jolt of the car starting again and before you know it you're being sent into a slumber completely unaware of the hell that awaits you.

[viiennie]

𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

chapter one

Tags and warnings: Zombie Apocalypse, mentions of gore (including blood and death), slight angst (?), spoilers to ‘Happiness’, eventual smut, female reader, p in v sex, fingering, creampie, lovey dovey sex in the midst of a literal lock down, masturbation, slow burn kinda?, fluff, romance, drugs, manipulation, exhibition, gojo is a pervertttttt, mdni — 18+, enemies to lovers word count: 4093

You never thought that at the ripe age of 29, you’d be taking walks for the sole purpose of hoping to find dropped money on the road. 

Hey, You can’t be blamed now, can you? Life is completely unpredictable, and you’re just glad you at least have an apartment to sleep in and a job that pays kinda enough. But what can you do when the bills are still high, and you still got a loan to settle? Your salary barely covers your living expenses, and you’ve got those damn loan sharks to be worrying about to add to the list. 

You always thought life would go well after graduating Criminology and getting a job in the military. To top it all off, you climbed the ranks and secured a respectable position without getting your hands dirty. Back then, you lived on the tallest floor of your dream apartment and bought all your dream cars to drive and wake the neighbors with.

It was the sweetest life had gotten. 

If only you didnt—

Riiiiiing!

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, the lights flashing as the name of your boss along with the picture of a very stern looking pig pops up on screen. You sigh, staring at it and pondering if you should answer the call. Your finger hovers over the green logo, a hesitation in the twitch of your digits as you debate missing the call and getting a handful of scolding when you go to work or answering and getting the same amount of scolding for something stupid you probably did while on the job. 

Another sigh leaves your lips when you decide to answer.

“There’s a job for you. I emailed all the details to you.”

He hangs up, not even bothering to hear a response from you. 

God, he’s always like that. Acting like some VIP, treating everyone else like they were below him. Countless times have you slapped the shit out of him in your dreams, and countless times have you hurled curses at him behind his back. Why’s there always a stick up his ass anyway?

You open the pdf file in your email, groaning at the 42 pages you have to read over. 

You work as a bodyguard now, the only place that didn’t blacklist you being an executive protection services company. Your job was to make sure your clients stayed out of harm's way, and so far, it’s been an absolute piece of cake compared to your previous occupation. You just had to stand behind them, look intimidating, and keep that up for the rest of the day.

As you skim over the file, you realize that this was the typical case of a nepo baby being rebellious whilst getting neglected by their parents. It was always, ‘I just can’t seem to control my teenager’ ‘He gets out of hand and always ends up almost killing himself.’ but they have never considered the fact that they’ve barely present in their child’s life?

Your duties consisted of absurd things, like cooking and making meals for the client, ensuring he does not leave the house, and even doing the laundry. A rise of annoyance boils in you as you continue to read down your responsibilities—things that nannies would do. If they wanted to hire one then they should’ve contacted someone else, not a body guarding company. Besides, why was this task assigned to you and not someone more qualified? You don’t ever remember putting ‘experienced nanny’ in your resume. 

No. You’re not doing this. You had your pride to—

Total Salary: 15,000,000 ₩ per day.

Well, it’s not like taking care of a child is that hard right? Besides, you do these so-called duties everyday for yourself! Not like adding an extra pair of clothes to the washing machine or cooking for two would be that hard. And! you get to sleep in a million dollar penthouse for three whole days, who wouldn’t miss that offer? And the living expenses are covered by your client too? Man, the pros are really outweighing the cons right now. 

You carefully read through the pages, scanning over the personal details of your new beloved client.

Full Name: Gojo Satoru

Birthday: 1994 December 7

Age: 28

Gender: Male

You blink

Once, twice, and then thrice.

Are you seeing this right?

The person you’re going to be babysitting is in fact not a little boy, but a grown ass man at the ripe age of 28? The person you’re going to be cooking and cleaning for is a grown adult capable of doing these daily chores with all of his four limbs intact? This couldn’t possibly be right, could it? You shake your head, scrolling back to look at the delicious view of the 15 million displayed on your phone screen. So what if it was a grown man? That means you wouldn’t have to be too worried about buying toddler food and all that, right? And him being an adult means he’s perfectly capable of doing his own chores, meaning, less work for you! 

Yeah, that’s right.

Things don’t have to be negative.

You inhale, gathering your thoughts and prayers, hoping this wasn’t about to be the worst decision of your life. No way it will be. It’s just for three short days anyway. And what if you actually end up getting along well with the guy?

Day One

Standing before these grand doors bring back memories you never liked. It reminded you of what you used to be—what kind of glory you used to hold. The keys in your palms feel cold, like ice that doesn’t melt despite the warmth your skin radiates. It feels illegal entering someone’s home without knocking— it's like you’re trespassing. But what can you do when those are your instructions?

The door to the penthouse swings open, the sound echoing through the spacious hall. The moment you step inside, the air feels different—cool, fresh, like everything in this space was designed with immaculate precision. You take a second to absorb the layout: sleek, minimalistic furniture, modern art pieces hanging from the walls, soft ambient lighting, and large glass windows that offer a wonderful view of the city. It’s everything you’d expect from a man who has money to burn but little else to do with it. It’s also everything you’ve ever wanted ever since falling into this pit of poverty.

You take another step in, and the door closes behind you with a soft click—a sound that tells you you’ve just sealed your fate. You take a deep breath in, to prepare your beating heart, and exhale, reminding yourself that you’re here now, and that this is really happening. 

“Hello?” you call out, your voice carrying a bit farther than you intended in the vast silence. You wait for a response, but there’s nothing but an eerie stillness. You feel awkward in this large space, your senses used to the small cozy apartment you lived in. You feel like a misplaced object here, like a piece of banana peel in the middle of a diamond sea. 

Then, suddenly, you hear a loud thud from what sounds like the far side of the apartment, followed by a burst of laughter. It’s carefree and youthful, almost too much so for someone who’s supposed to be the CEO’s son. Your eyes narrow as you start walking further into the apartment, your boots clicking sharply against the polished floor.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!" The voice calls out lazily, not even bothering to sound apologetic.

You stop in your tracks as a figure finally appears at the threshold of what you assume is the study. Satoru Gojo strides out, looking like he couldn’t care less about your presence. His white hair is slightly messy, falling carelessly over his forehead, and he’s dressed casually in a loose-fitting white shirt and black pants, the kind of outfit someone of his status might wear to keep things comfortable while still looking polished. You stare at him for a moment, noting how his playful, almost mischievous grin makes him seem like someone who hasn’t taken a single thing seriously in his life. Maybe this is why they told you to just walk in without warning. This guy didn’t even bother standing up the moment he heard someone entering his home.

“So, you’re the new babysitter?” His tone is light, amused, and you can already tell he’s not taking this job seriously at all. He doesn’t even bother to get off the couch, merely reclining with his legs sprawled out in front of him. “I thought they’d send someone with a little more... personality.”

Your lips press into a tight line, frustration rising in your chest. This was the guy you were supposed to be protecting? It was a far cry from what you had imagined. It’s okay! You expected this. I mean, the pay wouldn’t be 15 million for no reason right? All you had to do was endure this asshat for 3 days, and you’d be out, never having to do it again with the amount of money you’ll accumulate by then. 

“I’m not your babysitter, Gojo,” you reply flatly, setting the file down on the coffee table between you. “I’m here to ensure you stay out of trouble for the next three days.”

He doesn’t seem fazed, however. He tilts his head back and stretches his arms over his head with a casual ease that only someone with his kind of wealth and status could pull off. “Oh, come on, you don’t have to be so serious all the time, miss. Relax a little. This doesn’t have to be a hard job, does it?” 

You nod, a small, twitching smile on your lips. Yeah, this doesn’t have to be hard for the two of you, just don’t let yourself be absorbed into his insufferableness, and things will be all fine and dandy.

The smile on his face never fades, though there’s something in his eyes—something that makes you realize he’s enjoying the tension between you more than he should. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regards you with a look that borders on teasing. “Don’t worry miss bodyguard, I’ll make sure to cooperate extra well for you,” he says, his voice oozing with mock sincerity.

Gojo’s eyes flicker with curiosity for a brief moment before his grin turns more knowing. You were far from what he expected. When his father told him he’d be hiring professionals to keep him in check, he was expecting a middle aged old grump with a tragic backstory, not an angry little kitten that was his age. 

You take a deep breath, keeping your cool. You’re a professional. You endured 4 years of brutal training, and spent the next 5 years being an active soldier, one man child isn’t gonna break you. “Where do we start?”

“Start?” Gojo repeats, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “I’ll give you a tour of the place. Get settled in, and we’ll figure things out from there.” All of a sudden, he’s all buddy-buddy and normal, standing from his seat with a groan that tells you it’s the first time in a few long hours he’s standing from that couch.

“Okay,” you mutter, though you know the last thing you need is to be stuck following him around all day. But you have no choice now—this is the job you so happily accepted. Perhaps you just had a bad first impression, right? Maybe this is just his personality and he’s actually a nice guy under all that ego!

Gojo leads you through the penthouse with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, his movements exaggerated for your benefit. The whole time, you feel his eyes on you, like he’s analyzing you as much as you’re analyzing him. He talks non-stop, making sarcastic comments here and there, each one more annoying than the last, and you keep your responses short but interactive. Last thing you wanna hear is him whining about you being a cold person. 

When you finally arrive at the guest room, he gestures dramatically to the sleek, modern decor. “There you go. It’s not much, but it’ll do for the next ten days. I hope you like the view,” he adds, pulling back the heavy curtain to reveal a stunning view of the city skyline, one you’ve seen countless times in your dreams. 

You take a step inside, but before you can say anything, Gojo’s already made his way back to the living room. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

As you stand there, staring at the sprawling apartment, you feel a strange tension in the air. You’ve dealt with dangerous situations, but this—this was something else. This penthouse may be the safest area in the entire apartment complex, but there’s something in here that greatly unsettles you, that what’s dangerous isn’t outside of this place, but inside. Your eyes linger on the door that your manchild is behind and you finally realize how hard your heart is thumping against your chest. 

It’s Gojo.

Gojo’s the dangerous one here. 

Shaking your head, you set down your bags, neatly placing them against the door before you pull out your phone to check if there were any updates from your boss—any additional information or duties perhaps, but your notification bar is empty. (thankfully)

Ding!

Omg, have you heard about the attack at the training center?

You raise an eyebrow at the text you received from a friend that was followed by a 10 second video she sends. The thumbnail sends chills down your spine, the image of an unsettling trainee with bloodshot eyes and protruding veins being the first thing you see. He has blood dripping down his chin, his teeth stained with a deep red. There's no possible way that was real. This is probably a prank, right?

As you play the video, you realize the unmoving body in the background with blood pooling around it isn't a prank. Neither is the way the zombie thing continues to bang its head against the glass part of the door where the cameraman stands behind. You can hear people screaming in the background and the labored breathes of the person holding the camera.

What the fuck?

For this type of thing to happen in a military training center is unheard of. With the amount of security and the amount of trained professionals around, they would shoot at the sight of suspicious movement. Perhaps that trainee was infected in the facility itself?

You sigh, shaking your head. That wasn't for you to worry about. You're sure they've already taken care of the situation, making sure no one else would be harmed after one casualty. Besides, you weren't even in the military anymore, so what business did you have with all this?

You lock your phone and toss it onto the counter with a bit more force than intended, the dull clatter echoing in your quiet apartment. For a moment, you stand there, staring at the blank wall in front of you, the disturbing video replaying itself in your mind despite your best efforts to shake it off. It was none of your business, you remind yourself. You weren't a part of that world anymore—no chain of command, no classified briefings, no need to carry the weight of threats on your shoulders.

Still, the unease lingers like an itch you can't quite scratch. The image of that bloodied trainee and the helpless body in the background refuses to leave your thoughts, clawing its way into the forefront no matter how hard you try to shove it back. The screams and the clattering of rushes footsteps ring in your ears like a broken radio.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter to yourself, dragging a hand through your hair. Standing still wasn’t helping. Maybe you just needed to clear your head, step outside for a bit and distract yourself with something mundane. Groceries. That was the perfect excuse to leave this place. And besides, it would help to restock in the case that a zombie apocalypse would really break out soon.

Opening the door, you’re surprised to see Gojo sitting in the living room, manspread as he switches through the channels with a bored look on his face. His eyes glaze over to you, a grin stretches through his lips. “Out so soon? I know my face is irresistible, but you barely spent 5 minutes in there, miss bodyguard.” As soon as he opens his mouth, it’s like flies are flocking over to him. You push aside the feeling of annoyance, not wanting to waste energy on him. 

“I’m going out to buy groceries. Is there anything you want?” You sigh for the fifth time today, hand resting on the doorknob of the front door. 

“Anything sweet pleaseee” He hums sending you a wink that has you cringing before focusing back on the TV.

Nodding, you make sure the credit card provided to you is safe in your pocket before heading out. You’re greeted by a kind cleaning lady who smiles at you with fondness, “My, I didn’t know such a pretty young lady lived here!” Her voice is soft, reminding you of your grandmother whom you dearly miss. You smile back at her, feeling yourself relax in her presence, “I’m not moving in, auntie. Just staying with a friend for a few days.”

“Oh my, that’s a shame. I would have loved to see you everyday!”

You chuckle at her response, politely saying goodbye before stepping into the empty elevator. 

Whilst you were out on a grocery store run, Gojo shuts off the TV, a serious expression overturning his previously cheerful one. He was getting sick and tired of his father hiring these people to watch over him like he was a child. Being a detective was a step he took to free himself from the chains of being born into his family, a step he took to rebel against his unreasonable father, who was a businessman obsessed with continuing his legacy, he didn't expect the price he had to pay would be getting house arrested by his father in his own home with some stranger.

He hops off of the couch, walking over to your room and opening the door without a care in the world. He snoops through your things, looking through your identification cards, opening all the pockets in your bag. He’s surprised when he discovers an ID tucked away in the deepest depths of your bag, as if you didn't want to see it but kept it with you because you didn't want to let go.

​​Gojo's fingers brush against the smooth, metallic edge of the card as he pulls it out of the hidden pocket in your bag. The ID feels substantial in his hands, heavier than an ordinary card, exuding an air of authority and importance. He almost feels guilty snooping around like this.

The front of the card is dominated by a sleek, black matte finish that absorbs light, giving it a tactical, almost stealth-like appearance. At the top, bold silver letters gleam against the dark background:

“13th Special Mission Brigade”

Below that, a faint watermark of the Decapitation Unit’s insignia—a black panther—catches the light at certain angles, visible only upon close inspection. 

Your photograph occupies the upper-left corner, a stern, no-nonsense expression on your face. You wear your ceremonial full dress uniform, badges of what you've done and where you've been displayed onto the clean cloth. Next to the photo, your name is printed in capital letters, the font crisp and official: 

Y/N L/N

Lieutenant Colonel, Decapitation Unit

Beneath your name, your serial number and rank are listed in smaller, but equally precise text, alongside a QR code that has been scratched out, an occurrence that happens only if you've been discharged from duty.

The right side of the card displays the unit's motto in embossed silver script:  

Silence in Action, Swift in Justice.

Just below the motto is a small holographic seal that shifts between the South Korean flag and the emblem of the Decapitation Unit, further verifying its authenticity that Gojo was most definitely not doubting at this point. Around the edges, faintly visible microtext runs continuously, forming a border of tiny but legible words repeating:  

For honor, for country, for the safety of all.

On the back, the design is equally meticulous. The background is a faint camouflage pattern in shades of gray and black, with a magnetic stripe running across the top. Centered in bold red letters is a warning:  

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY: This card must be presented upon request. Unauthorized use is punishable by law.

Beneath it, a small, clear rectangular panel reveals an embedded fingerprint that has also been scratched out by a blade. The rest of the back contains rows of text detailing clearance levels, blood type, and emergency contact information.

Gojo turns the card over in his hands, raising an eyebrow. "So, former Lieutenant Colonel, huh?" he murmurs to himself, a mix of admiration and suspicion flickering in his eyes. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he slipped the card back where he found it, making sure to tuck it away with the same care. 

“Guess you’re not as simple as you seem, miss bodyguard,” he mutters, stepping out of your room. The gears in his mind are already turning, trying to piece together just how someone with your past ended up here, protecting him.

The buzzing of your phone on the bedside table catching his attention, the constant dings sending a mix of irritance and curiosity through him. Well, he’s already touched all your things, what more was a phone? He takes the phone in his hands, testing his luck by typing 12345 in. He face palms when your phone opens, wondering why a special forces agent would set a password like that on her phone. He opens the chat that’s been spamming you, skimming over the ‘y/n stop ignoring meee’ ‘i know you’re seeing this’ and the random emojis being sent. 

A video with the thumbnail equivalent to a zombie horror movie garners his attention, his finger tapping the play button without much thought, thinking he’d be watching some kind of trailer to an upcoming film. But he’s met with a gruesome sight, the same thing you had watched before leaving. His eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend the scene.

Then he’s reminded of a recent case he investigated before being locked in this penthouse by his father. It was manslaughter, with the victim being the front desk worker of a motel. The crime scene was gruesome—bite marks and ripped flesh along the neck of the man. They had originally thought the perpetrator fled from the scene, but as he scanned the room, he discovered the motherfucker hiding under the bed, his mouth still dripping with blood. “I don’t remember much of what happened.” He said as they interrogated him on the scene, “I just took this drug, and before I knew it, I kinda blacked out.” 

He had originally thought it was a classic case of reckless manslaughter under the influence of illegal narcotics because the perpetrator seemed perfectly human. No bloodshot eyes and no visible veins like in the video he watched. 

Perhaps they were completely unrelated. 

He’s about to erase all evidence of him snooping around your phone until the last message your friend sends makes him pause.

‘They say he returned to normal when he was transported into the vehicle, that’s so freaky!’ 

Okay, they’re definitely related.

He puts your phone back on the table, rushing to his room where he opens his drawer and removes the hidden compartment that contained a capsule he found in the crime scene of the motel safely sealed in a tiny ziplock bag. It’s clear blue with a shine around the edges. He opens his laptop, entering the police force search engine and encoding his badge number before surfing the net for information about a blue capsule drug. 

The most similar one in appearance is a treatment drug for COVID-19 called, ‘Next’. It had failed due to the fact that it was mutagenic, meaning it had the chance of mutating human DNA. 

It didn’t take a lot of brain cells to conclude that this drug was probably the cause for the odd series of events. Judging from the way an apocalypse hasn’t started and he doesn’t hear people screaming for their lives, then the military probably has this disease under control. Just when he’s about to sigh from relief, he hears a loud thud from the hallway of his apartment building, followed by three more before an eerie silence deafens him. He has half the mind to check outside, but he knows that’s probably the last thing he wants to do. The amount of horror movies he’s binge watched tells him that the first to die is always the one to check whatever’s going on.

Then his front door opens. 

“(y/n)...?” He calls out, goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Gojo, stay in your room.”

He’s not sure why, but he’s relieved it’s you who walked through that door, and not some flesh eating monster.

a/n: first chapter outtt yaaayyyyy!!!! kinda scared for this series bc the premiere didnt get a lot of attention😞 anyway!! hope u guys enjoyed this chapter💖

taglist: @atomicweaselpaperapricot @boothillglazer

[yourscaryboo]

FELLOW LESBIAN COUNCIL

It has come to my attention about the CaitVi with M*n and I have a few words that thou would like the spew.

Yk how hard it is to get rep in this day and age, we’re either sexualized or like censored, the shit is crazy 😭 like you can’t be in a film without being called a dyke or lusted over.

Like It’s insane! But anyways if you see people saying they don’t get it or like why is it such a big deal when characters get HC as gay or something. 1. They’re straight or 2. Their men. There isn’t no in between sorry to say it but it’s true. Not only that but they’re upset over a LITTLE headcannon. like you’ll got all this straight fanart and goon art but when it comes to us.

It’s suddenly No, you’re a dyke, or you’re ruining a character, or even WITCH 🫵

So excuse us for being upset that you’re tying to make lesbian characters straight, like that’s the only type of rep we have while straight people have everything so I have one word for Straight men, Are you done yet??? You get all these bad bitches in Art/Comics/Ect. Is that not enough???

Like you get more bad bitches than Lesbians or Gays do it’s actually insane, y’all know y’all are the main targets of any type of film so why are you mad about Jinx being gay, if they write Jinx eating pussy that’s okay! At the end of the day who do you see her with the most??

A. men B. men C. men or D. men

If you chose Men, you’d Be correct! Now stop being dickheads to lesbian characters by degrading and making them see worthless when you know deep down half of these characters would whoop yo motherfuckin ass and that’s okay. If Canon straight men get shipped with other men, ITS OKAY. Why? because there is more art with them with women than it is with men.

Can I get an Amen?? 🙏

Now Lesbian Council, someone make a community and let’s get posting gay people and our fanfics, make sure you put in like ages and shit. !don’t want to get cancelled! 🤝

Y’all know, I love you fellow Lesbians and you know I cherish you more than anyone could, so look at me when I say this. You’re beautiful and just because a few CIS men are upset about ONE thing we change about a character I want you to know, we still win at the end of the day and Rizz up the lesbian baddies as you please I’ll be in the back cheering you on. Being like “Go get you some coochie girl!” 📢

Now give your little sis/ big sis a hug! 🫂

I love you pumpkin and the men who are reading this or see, yeah I know what you are, don’t have to lie about having a little sugar in your tank. I don’t judge, if that’s what you want more power to you hunny just don’t be a pd or someone weird, that’s all.

[xomakara]

When I Fall [Part 1]

SUMMARY | You're trapped in a loveless and childless marriage to Taeho, a divorced older man that is a friend of your father's. After fifteen years of marriage and no children of your own, Taeho starts to see other women since you're past your prime and can't give him heirs. One night, tired of your husband and his emotional abuse, you go out with some friends, get shit-faced drunk, and meet Jongho, a man fifteen years younger than you, that will change your life forever.

PAIRINGS |  Jongho x Reader

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE |  smut, angst, drama 

CONTENT/WARNINGS | age-gap, step-cest, cheating, mentions of control and emotional abuse, mentions of drinking, profanity/strong language, kissing, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, creampie, multiple orgasms, pregnancy, scandals

LENGTH |  11,110 words

TAGLIST |  @desirehorizon @sweetinsaniiity

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity

@othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety @dove-net

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  This was originally supposed to be a oneshot but thanks @kwanisms for beta-reading  and suggesting to make it a two shot instead. The ending was originally too rushed so having it be a 2-parter will let me be able to flesh the plot for the second half to be just as dramatic and scandalous as this part so I hope you come to read it! Also thank you @kpop---scenarios for beta-reading the original fic and also giving me some suggestions to add as well! Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for the lovely banner! I really appreciate all you folks for helping me with the visual aspect and adding ideas~

The wine glass you held shook in your hand, your drink almost spilling into your lap. You couldn't count how many glasses you’d had tonight. Three? Maybe four? You let out a sigh. It didn't matter anyway. You just wanted to feel nothing. You didn't want to feel Taeho's disdain or the emptiness of a childless, laughterless house.

“Y/N, you okay?” Soojin asked, concerned.

You forced a smile and raised your glass. “Just having fun.” The lie tasted bitter, but you washed it down with more wine.

“You need this,” Jiwoo added. “You’ve been cooped up for ages.”

Ages. Fifteen long years.

Fifteen years of biting your tongue, of forced smiles, and enduring Taeho's cold indifference had chipped away at pieces of yourself you didn't know you could lose. It wasn't always like this at the beginning. Years ago, your family arranged a union between you and Taeho so he could enter the upper echelon of Seoul society. Taeho and his company helped fund your father's political campaign as the mayor. In turn, your father provided Taeho access into a more prestigious social circle. Taeho divorced his wife of nine years at the time, claiming that they fell out of love. But you knew he divorced her since she didn't come from a prominent family such as yours.

You never saw his ex-wife around much after the divorce. You knew he had a son but you only met him once when he was about nine or ten, months after your marriage to Taeho was official. You never saw him again since Taeho sent him abroad for boarding school.

When no children had appeared after five years of trying, Taeho blamed it on you. You tried, oh, you had tried for years. Doctors didn't know why it didn't work and neither did you. You took pills, ate a vegetarian diet, and all sorts of treatments, but Taeho berated you that nothing worked and blamed you for being "barren". He didn't want to divorce you, no you were far too valuable socially, and still could provide him with the perfect home. So while you remained, trapped, he'd fuck other women. You stopped caring, even though the emptiness threatened to consume you whole.

You were exhausted. So exhausted.

“Another round,” you called out, the waiter nodded and disappeared into the crowded bar. The dim lights, the scent of alcohol and perfume, and the sight of bodies pressed together on the dance floor filled you with envy. You longed for their freedom, their carelessness.

Laughter. Yours? Someone else’s? You couldn't care less as you lost yourself in the music, your body moving freely for the first time in years. And then you saw him, taller than you by a few inches, broad-shouldered, with a grin that made your heart skip. He exuded confidence, and his eyes met yours as if he'd been searching for you all night.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth and husky. He was close enough that you could smell the faint hint of cologne mingling with his sweat. Jongho, he introduced himself. All you could focus on was the way his gaze lingered, the way it made heat crawl up your neck.

“Careful,” Soojin whispered in your ear with a teasing tone. “He looks like trouble.”

Good, you thought, your fingers curling around Jongho’s as he pulled you closer. Trouble sounded better than the quiet despair waiting for you at home.

The rest of the night was a blur of touch and sound, of hands roaming and lips brushing against each others. You didn’t think about Taeho. Didn’t think about the consequences. There was only this moment, this man who made you feel wanted in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

When you woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the unfamiliar curtains. Your head throbbed, the taste of last night’s indulgences sour on your tongue. And then you felt it—the warmth of another body beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Jongho.

You panicked and then everything seem to come back to you. Memories of his hands on your waist, his mouth on your neck, the way he’d whispered promises you knew he couldn’t keep. Memories of kissing him nonstop, bouncing on his thick, hardㅡ

You tried to get out of the bedsheets that you were tangled in but his arm tightened around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His breath tickled your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I should go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The guilt was already settling in, heavy and suffocating. What have you done?

Jongho propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. His expression was soft, almost tender, but there was something in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stay,” he said, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Just a little longer.”

You shook your head, pulling away from his touch. “I can’t.” 

The weight of what you’d done pressed down on you, the guilt sharp and unrelenting. You needed to go home, to face whatever was waiting for you there.

Jongho’s hand lingered in the air for a moment before he let it drop, his expression shifting into something more neutral. 

“Alright,” he said simply, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. He didn’t press, didn’t try to convince you to stay, and for that, you were grateful. "Can I at least get your number?"

You exchanged phone numbers without hesitation, a tiny voice inside whispering that it was wrong. Despite being married, you'd given your number to a stranger, pretending it was simply to stay in touch. But his smile as he thanked you and left his contact information was so handsome...  

Scrambling out of bed, you searched for your scattered clothes. Jongho's silent gaze followed you, heavy with unspoken words. Fully dressed, you hesitated at the door, your hand on the knob. This had been a mistake, a lapse in judgment, and you refused to let it define you.

“Take care of yourself,” Jongho said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost kind, but there was a distance in his tone that hadn’t been there last night.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and opened the door. The hallway outside was dimly lit, the early morning light filtering through the windows at the far end. You stepped out, closing the door behind you, and took a deep breath.

The walk home was a blur, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm. What would Taeho say? Would he even notice you’d been gone? The questions gnawed at you, but there were no answers, only the cold reality of what lay ahead.

As you approached your house, the familiar facade loomed like a silent judge. You paused at the gate, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. Time to face the consequences of your actions, whatever they might be.

With a shaky breath, you pushed open the gate and walked inside, steeling yourself for whatever awaited you.

The days after that night with Jongho passed in a haze. Your husband, Taeho, was, as usual, distant and dismissive, barely acknowledging your presence except to criticize or complain. The weight of your guilt pressed down on you, but so did something else—something darker, hungrier, more unsettling. You tried to push it away, bury it under the monotony of your daily routine, but it lingered like a shadow at the edges of your mind.

Then, one evening, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it casually, expecting another mundane notification. But what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. It was a photo from that handsome man.

Jongho and a photo of his hard cock.

Your eyes widened, and your heart began to race. The image was unmistakable: thick, veined, and erect, resting against a backdrop of plain white sheets. Below it, a message: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Want to meet again?”

You stared at the screen, your fingers trembling slightly. Part of you wanted to delete the message instantly, to pretend it never happened. But another part of you—a part that had been dormant for so long—stirred awake. The memory of that night flooded back: his hands on your skin, his lips against yours, the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in years.

Before you could stop yourself, you typed a reply: “Why are you doing this?”

The response came almost immediately: “Because I want you. And I think you want me too.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. He wasn’t wrong. The truth clawed at you, undeniable. You wanted him. Craved him. Even now, just the thought of him sent a flicker of heat through your core.

“This is dangerous,” you replied, your fingers moving almost of their own accord.

“So is staying in a marriage that makes you miserable,” he shot back.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t saying anything you hadn’t already thought, but hearing it laid bare like that—it was jarring. You felt exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a strange relief in it, too. Someone else saw it. Someone else knew.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, your fingers hesitating over the keys.

“You. Just you,” he answered simply. “Meet me tonight. Let me show you how good it can be.”

Your mind raced. This was insane. Reckless. Dangerous. And yet, the idea of seeing him again—of feeling that fire once more—was intoxicating. You glanced toward the living room, where Taeho sat immersed in his work, oblivious to the turmoil roiling inside you.

“Where?” you typed before you could talk yourself out of it.

He sent an address, followed by: “Wear something sexy.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You moved through the motions of dinner and conversation with Taeho, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Later, as you dressed in the dim light of your bedroom, your hands shook as you fastened the clasp of your bra. You chose a simple black dress, one that hugged your curves in all the right places—not too revealing, but enough to make you feel confident. When you added a touch of perfume, your reflection in the mirror looked almost like a stranger.

This is really happening, you thought, your stomach twisting with nerves and anticipation.

You slipped out of the house quietly, leaving Taeho engrossed in his nightly routine. The cool night air brushed against your skin as you walked to the address Jongho had given you. It was a sleek, modern building in a trendy part of town, far removed from the quiet streets you called home.

When you arrived, Jongho was waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “You came,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“I shouldn’t have,” you replied, though the way your body reacted to him—the way your pulse quickened, your skin tingled—said otherwise.

He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over you. “But you did,” he murmured, his hand brushing against yours. “And I’m glad.”

You hesitated, torn between guilt and desire. But when his fingers interlaced with yours, pulling you gently toward the door, you didn’t resist. Inside, the apartment was stylish and minimalist, lit by soft, ambient lighting. He led you to the couch, his touch firm but tender.

“You look amazing,” he said, his eyes lingering on you as you sat down. “Better than I remembered.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that stole your breath. It was deep, hungry, electric. Every nerve in your body came alive, and you found yourself kissing him back with equal fervor.

His hands wandered, exploring your body with a confidence that left you weak. He pulled away just long enough to murmur, “Let me see you,” before slowly unzipping your dress. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling at your waist. His eyes darkened as they roamed over your exposed skin, and his fingers traced the curve of your collarbone.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice raw with desire.

"Wait..." you pushed away from him slightly. "How old are you exactly?"

"Twenty-four. Why do you ask?" Jongho answered in a rasp, eyes wandering. "Does that... bother you? That I'm much younger?"

You pursed your lips. You hadn't expected him to be that young. It should've bothered you—after all, Taeho was twenty years older than you were—but there was something alluring about the youthful vigor Jongho possessed.

"It doesn't bother you that I'm fifteen years older than you? You don't want to be with someone more... your age?" you asked cautiously.

"I don't care about our age differences," Jongho shrugged, lifting his index finger and running it down the edge of your jaw.

"It's different though—"

"How? You told me that you're married to someone twenty years older than yourself and he sees other women besides. Tell me how is that any different," he cuts you off with a frown.

He's right. Your husband had affairs left and right while you were home alone, stuck raising yourself. And each time you tried to end things, Taeho would guilt-trip you and say how your father would be disappointed since his political and social ties benefited both yours and Taeho's families. And after so many years, married to your father's friend, you were resigned to living with your unfaithful spouse and being a trophy wife for his events and parties.

Tears fill your eyes at the realization and you suddenly want to feel something other than loneliness.

Jongho tilts his head and reaches out to run his fingertips along the creases of your jaw. He has a curious expression. "What if I can help you forget him for a few hours...?" Jongho husked. "Help take your mind off your troubles."

"Just for a few hours?" you echo, your gaze darkening as the question dances on the edge of your lips. "What if I wanted more...?"

"All you have to do is say the word," he promises.

His smile grows, and the way its slow curve travels across his face sends shivers down your spine. He trails a hand from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. You feel the warmth radiating from his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, and it makes you dizzy.

“Say it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours “Tell me what you want.”

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your decisions pressing down on you. But then, the memory of Taeho’s cold indifference floods your mind, and something inside you snaps. The guilt, the shame, the years of loneliness—they all dissolve under Jongho’s gaze.

“I want more,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire.

Jongho doesn’t need any further encouragement. In one swift motion, he lifts you off the ground, his arms strong and sure around you. You let out a startled laugh, but it quickly turns into a gasp as he carries you towards his bedroom. The world blurs around you, and all you can focus on is the way his muscles flex beneath his thin shirt and the warmth of his breath against your neck.

He kicks the door open with his foot and sets you down gently on the edge of his bed. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls. You glance around nervously, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of intimacy, and the vulnerability is almost overwhelming.

But Jongho doesn’t give you time to dwell on your fears. He kneels before you, his hands sliding up your thighs and sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, and you can see the hunger burning within them.

“Relax,” he says softly, his voice like velvet. “Let me take care of you.”

His hands move higher, pushing your dress up around your hips. You bite your lip, feeling exposed and yet incredibly alive. His touch is deliberate, every movement calculated to drive you wild. When his fingers finally brush against the lace of your panties, you can’t help but moan.

“So sensitive,” he teases, his breath hot against your skin. “I wonder how much more I can make you squirm.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. The sensation is electric, and you involuntarily arch your back, craving more. He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through your body as he continues to trail kisses along your legs.

When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Is this where you want me?” he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod frantically, unable to form coherent words. The anticipation is driving you mad, and you can feel the heat pooling between your legs. Satisfied with your response, Jongho hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly pulls them down, tossing them aside without a second thought.

The cool air hits your core, making you shiver, but his mouth quickly replaces it, warm and insistent against your most sensitive area. You cry out, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life as his tongue flicks against your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Oh god,” you moan, your hips bucking against him. “Don’t stop…”

He doesn’t. Instead, he takes you deeper, his tongue exploring every inch of you with expert precision. You’re lost in the sensations, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, and you can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, Jongho pulls away, leaving you whimpering in frustration. He stands up, towering over you, and begins to unbutton his shirt. His movements are slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. When the shirt falls to the floor, revealing his toned chest, you can’t help but reach out to trace the lines of his muscles with your fingertips.

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he leans down to kiss you deeply. The taste of yourself on his lips is intoxicating, and you eagerly deepen the kiss, your tongues dancing together in a heated embrace.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both panting, desperate for more. Jongho smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Lie back,” he commands, his voice firm but gentle.

You comply immediately, lying back against the pillows as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you, spread out before him, completely vulnerable and utterly irresistible.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands running up your sides, tracing the curves of your body. “I could spend hours worshipping you.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling a surge of confidence despite your nervousness. Jongho notices your reaction and smiles, leaning down to capture your lips once more. This kiss is softer, more tender, and it makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

As the kiss deepens, his hands continue their exploration, mapping out every inch of your body with a reverence that leaves you breathless. His fingers glide over your breasts, teasing your nipples until they harden under his touch. You gasp into the kiss, your hips instinctively grinding against his.

“Please,” you beg, breaking the kiss to look him in the eye. “I need you… now.”

Jongho groans, his self-control slipping as he positions himself at your entrance. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained.

You nod, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pull him closer. “Yes. Please, Jongho… don’t make me wait any longer.”

With a final, lingering kiss, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. You cry out, your body instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. He starts to move, slow and steady at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. But soon, the pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent. Each one drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder with every passing second.

“You feel incredible,” Jongho growls, his hands gripping your hips as he pounds into you. “So tight… so perfect.”

You can barely think straight, your entire being focused on the sensations coursing through your body. Every nerve feels alight, every movement bringing you closer to the brink. When his fingers find your clit again, rubbing small circles against the sensitive nub, it’s all too much.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure radiate out from your core. Jongho follows close behind, burying his face in your neck as he spills himself inside you, his moans muffled against your skin.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing of two people who have given themselves completely to each other. Then, slowly, Jongho pulls out, collapsing beside you on the bed.

You lie there, your bodies tangled together, basking in the afterglow of your passion. But even as you try to catch your breath, a thought lingers in the back of your mind: What happens next?

Jongho seems to sense your uncertainty. He turns to face you, propping himself up on one elbow as he studies your expression.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Talk to me. What are you thinking about?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should voice your concerns. But the warmth in his eyes encourages you to be honest.

“This… us. What does it mean?” you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability.

Jongho’s gaze softens, and he pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It means whatever you want it to,” he replies, his tone reassuring. “We can take this as slow or as fast as you need. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

You feel a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed by his kindness and understanding. For the first time in years, you feel truly seen and valued.

But before you can formulate a response, Jongho’s phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand. The sound startles you both, and he reluctantly lets go of you to check the message.

His expression changes as he reads it, his brows furrowing in concern. “I’m sorry,” he says apologetically, “but I need to take this. It’s important.”

You nod, though you can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach. As Jongho steps out of the room to answer the call, you’re left alone with your thoughts, wondering if this newfound happiness is too good to last.

"We have that charity gala tonight and it is imperative that you and I are in attendance," Taeho barks at you as he stomps around the living room, pulling items off the end tables and collecting the empty glasses on the coffee table. "We made the commitment months ago and our attendance is required. This is not an optional event."

"I know Taeho," you sipped your coffee and leaned back against the sofa. "Your suit for the gala is hanging in your room and your shoes have been polished. All that's left for you to do is to style your hair and wear the watch and cufflinks that I got you."

"And did you purchase a dress?" Taeho peered at you, placing the empty glasses on the table by the large armchair in front of the fire. "An appropriate one for your status?"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and nodded. "I have it all under control," you sighed, "like I always do."

"What a dutiful wife you are," Taeho scoffed sarcastically, giving a half-assed chuckle, before turning serious. "Your father is coming over today to discuss a campaign that has started up with the opposing party. Make sure lunch is at its usual time and the maid has set the dining room accordingly," he huffed, "I don't need your father to chastise me for having a messy home."

"Yes Taeho," you replied, finishing your mug and moving into the kitchen.

When the doorbell rang, you heard Taeho shout for you and you went to open the door for your father. "Hi, daddy," you smiled warmly and leaned in for a hug.

"My little girl," your father chuckled warmly. "You look tired," he whispered to you as the maid took his coat and hat. "A woman of your caliber should always take care of themselves. If you ever need some money for a spa day, let me know," your father sighed softly. "I can only imagine the burdens of maintaining this house."

"Thank you, but that is what I have the maids for," you muttered politely. "Besides, you're busy and need to be taken care of too, daddy."

"Your mother makes sure I have all my meals prepared for me at the right times," he grinned at you and looked past you as Taeho approached. "Ah, Taeho, you look... aged, no offence."

"You too, my friend," Taeho laughed and the men hugged, clapping each other on the back. "I do hope the mayor's job has treated you well over the years."

"It has! Very busy but fulfilling," your father chuckled.

"Good, that's good!" Taeho nodded and moved towards the door to the kitchen. "Well, why don't we discuss some things over lunch hm? Shall we?"

Your father looked at you with concern etched in his wrinkles and nodded slowly. "Will you be joining us, Y/N?" he inquired. "I would love to catch up with my daughter and see what she's been up to."

"Not today, daddy," you shook your head. "I have a lot to prepare for the gala. You two enjoy your meal and I will see you later, alright?"

"Fine," he muttered and kissed the top of your head before following Taeho towards the dining room. "I'll see you later this evening, sweetheart. We will chat more then."

Once Taeho and your father disappeared into the other room, you let out a loud sigh, massaged your temple and made your way towards your bedroom to get ready for the night's charity gala.

Hours later, you stood in front of the mirror adjusting the straps of your emerald green, sparkling evening dress. It clung to your body in all the right places and revealed just enough skin that would turn a man's gaze your way. Taeho hated when you drew too much attention, but tonight, you needed the escape.

"A little form fitting for my taste," Taeho grunted as he fumbled with the buttons of his cufflinks. "But it will do. Come and assist me with the cufflinks."

You stepped into the bedroom and strode over to him. You slipped the first cufflink in and stared at him. "Did you have a nice afternoon with daddy?" you inquired softly, turning his hand gently and securing the second cufflink in place.

"Yes, it was very informative," Taeho grunted. "Nothing to worry your pretty, little head over," Taeho muttered. "Now let us go, I don't want us to be late."

The venue was a sprawling ballroom filled with the city’s elite. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter echoed off the high ceilings, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume. You clung to Taeho’s arm as he schmoozed with donors, forcing yourself to smile and nod at the right moments. His grip on your elbow was firm, almost possessive, and you felt the familiar weight of suffocation pressing down on you.

And then you saw him.

Jongho.

He stood near the bar, dressed in a sleek black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt on its axis. His eyes met yours, and you could tell from the way his jaw tightened that he was just as shocked to see you as you were to see him.

Taeho didn’t seem to notice your reaction. He steered you towards the bar where Jongho was, his voice booming with false cheer. 

“Ah, there he is! My son,” he said, pulling you closer as if to emphasize the word my. “Jongho, come meet my wife.”

Son. 

The word echoed in your head like a cruel joke. Your legs threatened to give out beneath you, but somehow, you managed to stay upright. Jongho approached slowly, his expression unreadable. Up close, you could see the tension in his jaw, the faint tremor in his hand as he extended it to greet you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said smoothly, though his voice held a subtle edge. His fingers brushed against yours, and even that brief contact sent a jolt of electricity through you. You forced yourself to look away, afraid that one more second of eye contact would betray everything.

“Likewise,” you murmured, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. Taeho, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing between you and Jongho, clapped his son on the back.

“Jongho’s been living abroad for the past few years,” Taeho explained, his tone dripping with pride. “He’s finally decided to come home and take over the family business. Isn’t that right, son?”

Jongho nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yes, Father. It’s time I took on more responsibility.”

You felt like you were drowning. The man who had held you in his arms just days ago, the man who had whispered sweet nothings into your ear, was now standing in front of you as your stepson. The irony was almost too much to bear.

The rest of the introductions passed in a haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the heat radiating from Jongho’s body, the way his gaze lingered on you whenever Taeho wasn’t looking. When Taeho excused himself to speak with another donor, you found yourself alone with Jongho.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, charged with unspoken questions and desires. Finally, Jongho broke it, his voice low and urgent. “We need to talk.”

You glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching. “Not here,” you whispered. “It’s too risky.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening again. “Then when? Where?”

You hesitated, torn between fear and longing. “I… I don’t know.”

Jongho stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t shut me out,” he said softly, his eyes pleading. “Not after what we shared.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to reach out to him, to feel his arms around you once more, but the reality of your situation kept you rooted in place. “Jongho, this… this changes everything.”

“It doesn’t have to,” he insisted, his voice firm. “We can figure this out. Together.”

Before you could respond, Taeho reappeared, his loud voice cutting through the tension. “There you two are! Come, let’s get a photo for the press.”

You forced a smile, allowing Taeho to position you between him and Jongho. As the camera flashed, you felt Jongho’s hand brush against yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. The contact was fleeting, but it was enough to reignite the fire burning within you.

As the night wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at Jongho whenever you could. Each time, he seemed to be watching you too, his eyes dark with an intensity that made your heart race. The forbidden nature of your attraction only made it more irresistible, and you knew you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

Finally, as the guests began to leave, you spotted Jongho slipping out onto the balcony. Your pulse quickened. Without thinking, you followed him, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat rising in your chest.

He turned as you approached, his expression a mix of relief and frustration. “I was hoping you’d come,” he admitted, his voice rough.

You stepped closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “Jongho, we can’t… this isn’t…”

He cut you off, closing the distance between you in one swift movement. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you don’t want me as much as I want you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. How could you deny it when every fiber of your being was screaming for him? Without thinking, you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and desperate. The kiss was electric, sending sparks shooting through every nerve in your body. You melted into him, your hands roaming over his shoulders, his chest, anywhere you could reach. His grip on you tightened, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

When you finally pulled away, gasping for air, you realized the gravity of what you’d just done. 

“This… this can’t happen,” you whispered, though your body betrayed your words, leaning into his touch.

Jongho’s eyes burned with determination. “It already has,” he replied, his voice fierce. “And it will again.”

The car ride home was stifling. The silence between you and Taeho was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of the evening pressing down on your chest. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but your mind was elsewhere—on Jongho, on that kiss, on the way his hands had felt against your skin.

Taeho cleared his throat, breaking the silence. 

“Jongho will be moving in with us,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your stomach dropped. 

“What?” you managed to choke out, tearing your gaze from the window to look at him. His face was expressionless, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“He needs a place to stay while he gets settled,” Taeho continued, as if this were some mundane detail about groceries or bills. “And I think it’s time he reconnects with his family.”

The word "family" echoed cruelly in your mind. You wanted to scream, to object, to reveal the truth about that night with Jongho, the message, the balcony. But your throat tightened, silencing you, and you could only swallow hard and nod.

“He’ll start calling you mother,” Taeho added casually, as though he were discussing the weather. “It’s only proper, after all.”

Mother. 

You opened your mouth to argue, to say anything, but the words wouldn’t come. What could you even say? That you couldn’t bear to hear Jongho call you that? That it would remind you of what you’d done, of what you still wanted to do?

You looked away, gripping the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles turned white. The rest of the ride passed in silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional honk of a passing car. When you finally pulled into the driveway, you felt numb, like you were floating outside your body.

Taeho got out first, not waiting for you. You followed slowly, dragging your feet as if delaying the inevitable might somehow change it. Inside, the house was quiet, but there was a new presence in the air—a tension that hadn’t been there before. You hesitated in the foyer, unsure of where to go or what to do.

“Jongho will be here tomorrow,” Taeho said, tossing his keys onto the table. “Make sure his room is ready.”

You nodded quietly, your mind racing. His room. The guest room, the one downstairs, far enough from yours to give the illusion of propriety but close enough to make your heart race. You wondered if Jongho would feel it too—the pull, the magnetism that seemed to draw you together no matter how hard you tried to resist.

That night, sleep was impossible. You tossed and turned, your thoughts consumed by Jongho—his smile, his touch, the way he’d kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered. And now, he’d be living here, under the same roof, calling you mother. It was madness, a cruel twist of fate that you couldn’t escape.

The next morning, you woke up exhausted, your head pounding and your nerves frayed. You dressed quickly, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. You didn’t want to see the guilt etched into your face, the longing you couldn’t hide.

By mid-afternoon, the doorbell rang, and your heart leapt into your throat. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your skirt before answering the door. There he was, standing on the doorstep with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever.

“Mother,” he said, the word slipping off his tongue like honey, sweet and dangerous. His lips curved into a smirk, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Jongho,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. He stepped inside, brushing past you, and the air between you crackled with electricity. You closed the door slowly, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. The moment you turned around, he was right there, closer than he should have been.

“This is going to be… interesting,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. You shivered, your pulse quickening as his hand brushed against yours.

“We can’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a look, his eyes dark with desire.

“Can’t we?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. You glanced nervously toward the stairs, half-expecting Taeho to appear at any moment, but the house was silent.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out, your fingers grazing his. He responded instantly, his hand closing around yours, pulling you closer until your bodies were almost touching. His other hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

Tell me you don’t want this, his eyes seemed to say, and you knew you couldn’t. Because you did. More than anything. But the rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to push him away, to remember who you were and what was at stake.

But then he kissed you, and all those thoughts evaporated. His lips were soft but insistent, demanding a response you couldn’t deny. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, tangling in his hair. His grip tightened, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you.

When he broke the kiss, you were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“This is wrong,” you whispered, though your body betrayed your words, leaning into his touch.

“Is it?” he asked, his voice husky. He pressed another kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. “Or is it just… inevitable?”

The tension between you and Jongho hung thick in the air, unresolved yet undeniable. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands as you moved through the house felt like a spark waiting to ignite. Taeho’s announcement of a family dinner that evening only deepened the unease.

“Jongho,” Taeho called from the study, his voice carrying an authority that made your stomach knot. “You’ll join us for dinner. I want to discuss the future.”

Jongho glanced at you, his eyes dark with unspoken words. This is dangerous, your mind screamed, but your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly as you remembered the way his lips had claimed yours just hours ago. He nodded, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course, Father.”

The day stretched on, each hour crawling by as you tried to keep yourself busy. You straightened the living room, polished the silverware, anything to distract yourself from the storm brewing inside you. And all the while, Jongho lingered, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

By the time dinner rolled around, the table was set immaculately, the aroma of the meal filling the air. Taeho took his place at the head of the table, authoritative as ever, while you sat across from Jongho. The distance felt insurmountable yet too close all at once.

As you passed the dishes, your fingers brushed against Jongho’s, sending a jolt through your system. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, his eyes burning with something primal, something forbidden. You quickly looked away, but the damage was done. 

Taeho cleared his throat, breaking the silence. 

“I’ve been thinking about our family,” he began, his tone serious. “It’s time we start planning for the future. Jongho will be taking on more responsibilities in the company, and you,” he turned to you, his gaze piercing, “will need to support him as his mother.”

You forced a smile, nodding obediently. “Of course, Taeho.”

Jongho’s jaw tightened, his fork clinking softly against his plate. He didn’t look at you, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable. 

“Father,” he said carefully, “I appreciate your confidence in me. But I’m still learning. There’s no need to rush things.”

Taeho waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You’re more than capable. It’s time we solidify our legacy.”

Dinner dragged on, the conversation stilted and formal. You barely tasted the food, your senses hyper-aware of Jongho’s every move. When Taeho finally pushed his chair back and announced he was retiring to his study, relief flooded you, though it was short-lived.

“Don’t forget to clear the table,” he said as he left, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You mechanically gathered the dishes, the clattering of plates and the hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the silent kitchen. 

Jongho rose beside you, his movements measured and slow. “Are you okay?”

You froze, the question hanging heavy between you. No, you wanted to say. None of this is okay. But instead, you nodded, keeping your eyes locked on the sink. “I’m fine.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Your breath caught, your pulse quickening. “We can’t do this,” you whispered, though every fiber of your being screamed otherwise. “He’s your father.”

“And you’re not my mother,” he shot back, his voice firm. He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “You know what this is. What we are.”

You turned to face him, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of his gaze. This is wrong, your rational mind protested, but your body leaned into his touch, craving the connection you couldn’t deny.

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Both of you jumped apart, your hearts racing. Taeho appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed.

“What’s taking so long?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

Jongho straightened, his mask of composure slipping back into place. “Just finishing up, Father.”

Taeho grunted, clearly unconvinced, but he made no further comment. “Don’t dawdle. There’s work to be done.”

He disappeared again, leaving you both standing there, the weight of his suspicion hanging over you.

Once you were certain he was gone, you let out a shaky breath. “This is impossible,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Jongho’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “Nothing worth having is easy.”

His words sent a thrill through you, but the fear of discovery lingered. “We’re playing with fire,” you warned, though you didn’t pull away.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Then let’s burn.”

Heat surged through you, your resolve wavering. This is madness, part of you knew, but the rest of you didn’t care. The pull between you was too strong to resist, the promise of passion too tempting to ignore.

But before either of you could act, the sound of Taeho’s voice calling for Jongho shattered the moment. You stepped back hastily, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing.

Jongho hesitated, his eyes locking with yours one last time. “Later,” he promised, his voice low and full of intent.

Then he was gone, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your thoughts spiraling. Later. The word echoed in your mind, a promise and a threat all at once. You didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was certain: you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and there was no turning back now.

The days following Jongho’s arrival were a strange mix of tension and anticipation. Taeho’s announcement at dinner had only deepened the unease, but it also left you with a lingering sense of curiosity—and dread. Every glance exchanged with Jongho felt charged, every accidental brush of hands sending jolts of electricity through your body. You tried to remind yourself of the consequences, of the chaos this could unleash, but the reckless part of you didn’t care.

It was a quiet afternoon when Taeho dropped the news. He stood in the living room, his suitcase already packed, and announced he would be leaving for a business trip the next morning. 

“I’ll be gone for three days,” he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever. “Jongho will stay here. I expect you both to manage things while I’m away.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral, but inside, your heart raced. Three days alone with Jongho. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

Taeho’s departure the next morning was almost too easy. He gave you a curt nod and reminded Jongho to keep an eye on the household affairs before heading out the door. The moment it clicked shut behind him, the air in the house seemed to shift. It was just you and Jongho now.

For the first hour, you busied yourself with mundane tasks—tidying up, making tea, anything to avoid being alone with him. But fate, or perhaps something else, had other plans. Jongho found you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you stared blankly at the stove.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing.

You turned to face him, your cheeks flushing despite yourself. “Should I be?”

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours. “That depends on you.”

There was a boldness in his eyes that made your breath catch. You knew what he was implying, and though every rational part of your brain screamed at you to walk away, you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that.

“Jongho…” you started, but your voice trailed off as he closed the distance between you.

His hands rested on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to yours. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, you reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. That was all the encouragement he needed.

His lips crashed into yours, fierce and demanding. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his chest pressed against yours, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. Not Taeho, not the consequences, not the guilt that lingered at the edges of your mind.

Jongho’s hands slid down your sides, his touch sending shivers through you. When he lifted you onto the counter, you barely had time to register what was happening before his lips were on your neck, trailing hot kisses along your skin. You arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands explored further.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, his voice husky with desire.

His words sent a thrill through you. Beautiful. How long had it been since someone had said that to you? Since someone had looked at you the way Jongho was looking at you now?

You tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliged, pulling it off in one swift motion, and then his hands were back on you, unbuttoning your blouse with practiced ease. When his fingers brushed against your bare skin, you gasped, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and intense.

You hesitated for just a moment, but then you nodded. “Yes.”

That single word seemed to unleash something in him. He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands roaming freely over your body. When he finally slipped your bra off, you felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with excitement. His mouth found your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, and you let out a whimper.

“Jongho…” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He didn’t respond, too focused on exploring every inch of you. When his hand dipped lower, sliding beneath the waistband of your skirt, you tensed, your hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

“Relax,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And somehow, you believed him. As his fingers found their way between your thighs, you let go, surrendering to the pleasure he was giving you. Each stroke, each caress, built the tension inside you until you were teetering on the edge.

“Jongho, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as he added another finger, pushing you over the edge.

Your body shook with the force of your release, your vision blurring as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Jongho held you steady, his arms strong and reassuring, until the tremors subsided.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found him watching you with a mixture of pride and hunger. “Still nervous?” he asked, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good. Because we’re just getting started.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you towards his bedroom. “Jongho!” you squealed, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Trust me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you did.

He carried you effortlessly and set you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. He undressed the rest of your clothes slowly, peppering your skin with light kisses as he exposed each new part of you. By the time you were fully naked, you were trembling with anticipation.

Jongho ran his hands over your body, worshipping every inch of you. A low hum rumbled deep in his chest, and a smile spread across his face. You shivered, suddenly feeling shy under his scrutiny.

Before you could speak, he kissed you, and any thoughts of embarrassment faded away. He explored every curve, every line, leaving no part of you untouched. You moaned, arching into his touch. Your nails dug into the sheets, grasping at anything to ground you, as his thumb brushed against the most intimate parts of you.

He pulled away only long enough to free himself of his remaining clothes, and your eyes raked down the planes of his toned, muscular body. As he knelt over you, your gaze locked onto his, and you saw the same hunger reflected back at you. You reached for him, and he lowered himself onto you, his chest pressed firmly against yours. His cock was hot and heavy between your thighs, and you instinctively shifted your hips towards him.

"Impatient, aren't you?" Jongho whispered, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

"Jongho, I need..." your words trailed off into a gasp as he rocked his hips, rubbing himself against your clit. "Oh god, I need you."

"How much?" he asked, his eyes burning into yours.

"So much,” you grabbed his ass, trying to pull him closer.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Good, because I need you too."

"Really?" you asked, your heart pounding.

"Always," he whispered as he pushed inside you.

Your nails dug into his back as he filled you up. He waited a moment, letting you adjust to his size, before starting to move. Your head spun with the sensation of it, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

"You feel amazing," he grunted, his lips pressing hot, urgent kisses to your skin. "So wet for me."

Your breath hitched as he hit that sweet spot deep inside you. "Please, Jongho, don't stop."

You had no idea where this was going to go. Part of you, the rational part, screamed at you to end it here, to call a stop and walk away. This was dangerous, it knew, but it felt too good to be wrong.

Your toes curled as the pleasure built, a delicious tightness coiling in the pit of your stomach. Jongho's hand slipped down to rub slow, firm circles over your clit and the combination nearly made you come undone.

"Jongho, I—" you gasped. Your body began to shake as you came.

He gritted his teeth, trying not to cum himself as the feeling of you convulsing around his cock almost tipped him over the edge. As soon as you came down, he slipped out of you.

"Why'd you stop?" you asked.

"Don't want to cum just yet, we're just getting started," he said.

Jongho sat up, shifting so that he was sitting against the headboard and patted his legs. "Want you to ride me," he murmured before claiming your lips again.

You let him guide you, swinging a leg over to straddle him. His lips traveled to your neck as you lowered yourself, grinding your pussy on his thick, hard member, coating him in your slickness.

Jongho nipped at your skin, mumbling praises as he peppered light, gentle kisses. "Need you," he moaned into your neck, sucking on your pulse and letting you know you left your mark.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, picking up your movements and pulling him closer.

He was big, filling you up and stretching you in a way that you'd never experienced. It was hard to believe that he was Taeho's son; you never saw this kind of sexual expertise from your husband, not in a lifetime.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with an openness you weren't familiar with. For the first time, you took a moment to just look at him.

He looked back with a hungry gaze, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other roamed up your sides, then cupped your face as he kissed you. You felt yourself melting into him, into this whole thing that had gotten entirely out of hand. You had always told yourself you weren't the cheating type, yet you were right there doing just that, riding your husband's son in ways you could hardly have imagined doing before tonight.

"You okay?" Jongho asked gently, studying your expression.

"More than okay," you hummed. "I feel perfect."

And it was the truth, no matter how insane it was. You leaned into him, gripping his shoulders as you rode his cock. "I can't remember the last time I felt this happy," you muttered.

It wasn't the sex. Sure, the sex was incredible, but there was something deeper that made you feel so whole. Like something had fallen into place, like something had made the clouds disappear to show the stars. It was dangerous, but you couldn't stop.

"This, us, it's insane but I can't stop," you panted. "I don't want it to end. Ever. I'm scared we'll have to hide once your father returns and—"

Jongho kissed you, tenderly and lovingly.  "Shh, it's okay. We'll figure it out together," he said soothingly. "Forget everything else tonight. Right now, it's just you and me. No one else."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped from your lips. "No one else...just us."

"Just us. I'm yours, and you're mine," Jongho spoke between kisses, trailing his lips down to your collarbone where his teeth scraped your skin lightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "No one else."

"No one else..." you breathed, losing yourself in the feeling of him inside of you.

The conversation paused as he bounced you faster on his length, pulling another long moan from you. Then he took your face in his hand and stroked your cheek.

"God, you're perfect. The most gorgeous thing I've ever laid my eyes on," he mused, bringing your lips to his. He gave you a searing kiss and tugged at your bottom lip before pulling back. "What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me."

You pressed your forehead to his. "Keep fucking me," you begged. "Fuck me so hard and deep."

"I've got you." He flipped the both of you, never slipping out of you. "Gonna take care of you," he growled into your ear. "Going to keep your pussy so stuffed."

God, you weren't used to a younger, virile man treating you like a sex goddess. You were the wife of one of the richest men in the country, and your husband refused to fuck you for years now. And suddenly you were with his son, and god, he was fucking amazing.

With both of his palms holding down your shoulders to the bed, he pounded hard and deep into you. The sound of your skin slapping together sounded down the hallway, but neither of you cared.

"Oh, fuck, sweetheart," Jongho hissed. "Gonna keep your cunt stuffed with my cum. Make you so full, fuck a baby into you..."

"God yes, Jongho," you mewled. 

You couldn't get pregnant, you knew that already. But the idea of being completely ruined by this young man made your heart sing with delight. You wanted nothing more than to be a mother. You always dreamed about a home filled with kids and laughter. You were thirty-nine, far past the ideal time for starting a family, but the thought of having a child with Jongho didn't scare you as it would if Taeho were your baby's father. You'd be far happier having your firstborn with someone who actually gave a shit. Someone loving and attentive, even if he was years younger than you.

"Tell me you want it," Jongho groaned into the crook of your neck, pressing sweet and soft kisses along your heated skin. "Say yes."

You bucked against Jongho's hard thrusts, whimpering from the overstimulation. 

"Yes, fuck, I do. Want it, want you, all of it, all of you," you chanted, words slipping past your tongue, leaving a bittersweet trail of its remnants.

Your words only drove him to be faster, rougher, harder. His pace was maddening, but exactly what you craved. It wasn't long until the familiar buzz started to make itself known in the pit of your belly. Your toes curled and fingers clawed the sheets as the first shock of your release rippled through you, making your pussy clench hard around Jongho's thickness.

"F-fuck, oh god, Jongho," you gasped.

Jongho kept going, his hand cupping one of your bouncing breasts and the other grabbing you by your neck. "That's it, beautiful. Cum all over this fat cock of yours," he grunted, pushing deeper in you.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," you sputtered incoherently, eyes screwing shut as your orgasm wracked you.

As you came, you felt him thrust once, twice before finally bottoming out deep into your cervix and cumming in hot spurts. He stilled, allowing his seed to travel inside you, as deep as he could push. You could feel yourself spasm around him, your orgasm seemingly never ending.

His pace gradually slowed to a stop, both of you just trying to catch your breath. When Jongho lifted his head and glanced down at your limp, sweaty form, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, easing his weight off your smaller body to allow you room to breathe. You couldn't help but giggle weakly.

"God, you're amazing," you complimented. You winced, though, as he slowly slid himself out, the friction against your sensitive walls making you squirm a little. Jongho laid beside you and propped his head on one arm, the other running down your side, holding onto you. 

You hummed, eyes slipping shut, not quite hearing Jongho's soft confession. "I think I love you."

The nausea hit you like a wave, sudden and unrelenting. You’d been feeling off for weeks—fatigue that clung to your bones, a lingering queasiness that no amount of ginger tea could soothe. At first, you dismissed it as stress, the weight of your secret life with Jongho pressing down on your shoulders. But this… this was different.

You leaned against the cool tile wall of the bathroom, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Taeho hadn’t noticed anything amiss, too preoccupied with his business dealings and late-night meetings. But Jongho… he’d caught the faint tremble in your hands, the way you’d pushed your food around your plate during dinner last night. 

“Are you okay?” he’d asked, his voice low with concern. You’d brushed him off, laughed it away, but now, alone in the quiet of the house, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You knew you couldn’t go to your usual doctor. The risk of Taeho finding out was too great. Instead, you made an appointment at your maternal family’s hospital, a place where your name still carried enough weight to ensure discretion. The drive there felt surreal, the city streets blurring past as your mind raced with possibilities. What if it’s just a virus? What if it’s something worse?

The waiting room was sterile and quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights adding to your anxiety. When your name was called, you followed the nurse with robotic steps, barely registering her polite chatter. The exam room was colder than you remembered, the paper gown scratchy against your skin. The doctor, a woman with kind eyes and a calm demeanor, ran through the standard questions. How long have you been feeling this way? Any other symptoms? When was your last period?

That last question made you pause. You couldn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d even thought about it. 

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded, jotting something down on her clipboard before ordering a series of tests.

The wait for the results felt endless. You sat on the edge of the exam table, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, trying to steady your breathing. When the doctor returned, her expression was unreadable. She closed the door softly behind her before turning to face you. 

“Well,” she began, her tone measured, “the good news is, you’re perfectly healthy. The nausea and fatigue are likely due to—”

“Due to what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

The doctor smiled gently. “Due to your pregnancy.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. They hung in the air between you, heavy and impossible. 

“P-pregnancy?” you stammered, your mind reeling. “But… that’s not possible. I was told I couldn’t conceive.”

“Sometimes,” the doctor explained, her tone soothing, “miracles happen. Based on your test results, you’re about eight weeks along. Congratulations.”

A baby. Jongho’s baby. 

The implications crashed over you like a tidal wave—Taeho’s reaction, your family’s expectations, society's judgment. And yet, beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else. Something warm and hopeful. A tiny flame of joy that refused to be extinguished.

You left the hospital in a daze, the doctor’s instructions and prenatal vitamins tucked into your bag. The world outside seemed brighter somehow, the colors more vivid, the sounds sharper. You needed to talk to Jongho. He deserved to know. But how would he react? Would he see this as a blessing or a curse? And how the hell were you going to explain this to Taeho?

When you arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. Taeho was away on another business trip, and Jongho was… well, you weren’t sure where he was. You wandered aimlessly through the rooms, your mind racing with thoughts and fears. Finally, you found yourself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you stared out the window at the garden.

“Hey,” Jongho’s voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. How do you even begin to tell someone something like this? Sensing your hesitation, Jongho crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. 

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I… I went to the doctor today.”

His frown deepened. “Is everything okay? Are you sick?”

You shook your head, your fingers twisting nervously in the hem of your shirt. “No. Not sick. I’m… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a smile so radiant it made your heart ache. 

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Eight weeks.”

He let out a breathless laugh, pulling you into a tight embrace. “This is incredible,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to have a baby.”

His joy was contagious, and you felt yourself relaxing into his arms, the tension in your body melting away. But then, the reality of your situation came rushing back, and you pulled away slightly, looking up at him with worried eyes. “What are we going to do about Taeho? About… everything?”

Jongho cupped your face in his hands, his gaze steady and determined. “We’ll figure it out. Together. No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you mean that?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Every word,” he replied, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “You’re mine. This baby is ours. And nothing,nothing, is going to take that away from us.”

You wanted to believe him, to let yourself get lost in the promise of his words. But the weight of your secret pressed heavily on your chest, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm was only just beginning.

[eye-may]

Do you have any Munkustrap headcanons mayhaps? The people would love to hear it if you do <3

I was waiting for someone to ask about Munkustrap!!! granted I would have yammered about him unprompted eventually anyway but YAY!

pls accept this speedy doodle of Munk having, what I imagine is one of very many, serious conversations (tm) with with his protegee Alonzo <3

"alonzo I told you the kittens could not watch terrifier 3. I say the things I say for a reason. now neither of us will be able to sleep for a week."

all kidding aside, yesss I have a LOT of thoughts about Munkustrap and how he and his story drive a lot of things that happen in my fanverse lol. I'll keep it relatively brief for now because if I don't moderate myself I'll end up writing 100k words worth of incomprehensible diatribe. somewhat abridged yammering beneath the cut!

edit: this mostly ended up being formatted in extensive elucidations on his relationships with other cats, with references to his backstory through that...which I hope isn't baffling lmao hopefully yall can make sense of it

✨Personality

My Munkustrap is pretty heavily based off of 98's Gruberstrap. That is to say, he's a very "warm" version of the character, a softer and more patient leader compared to some other interpretations where he errs on the side of strict and stringent.

Munk has a pretty troubled background (not unlike Tugger and Alonzo), but I place his symbolic age at around 30-35 so that he's still young and has things to learn and growing to do, but still old enough to have already matured and wizened up past a matrix of self-destructive idiosyncrasies he has dealt with in the past. He may not fully realize it, but he wasn't entirely dissimilar to Tugger in his adolescent days (at least, insofar as feeling governed by his emotions). The temporal distance from his early youth has enabled him to mellow out, think more clearly, and capitalize on his better attributes such as decisiveness, a good grasp on strategizing, and being empathetic and caring.

He is, of course, known to be a straight arrow...that is to say, very about rules and order, following traditions, establishing a hierarchy, having respect for authority and elders, etc. However, he is not immune to lightheartedness and joking around. He's a good, gentle playmate with the kittens on occasion. He lives for directing plays (although subversively he might take them a little too seriously sometimes lmao). He definitely lets a Dad Joke slip out every once in a while. He can read and write, and is pretty erudite about a handful of subjects that extend beyond life in the Junkyard. He's a pretty well-rounded chap!

He's not particularly spiritual or mystical, but has always been fascinated by the mysticism inherent in felinity, and has a unique connection to the concept of magic due to his connection with Old Deuteronomy. He's more naturally attuned to felinity in every corporeal sense, and has strong and thoroughly-developed opinions about the meaningfulness of Jelliclehood along with its history and customs.

He's gentlemanly and intelligent, courageous and dignified, so a pretty archetypal 'leader/hero' character. his faults are brought out by adversity with which he is not familiar...as someone who prefers adhering to precedent and keeping everything in order, he feels very challenged by untrodden territory. While he's good at thinking on his feet, he's also prone to overthinking after the action, and letting that repressed sentimental side from yesteryears cloud his approach. When he's feeling menaced by uncertainty, you'll see those cognitions buoy to the surface...overprotectiveness, stubbornness (sometimes he's bad at listening to suggestions!), over-intensity, and over-worry that he tries his darndest to conceal. He may periodically fall into lapses of "work-life imbalance," for turn of phrase (feels weird because we're talking about mystical dancing singing cats but you get it).

Perhaps his biggest fault is difficulty ceding control. There is no bigger control freak in the Junkyard, even though many would probably assume that the title goes to Jenny. Jenny is more ostentatious in her form of leadership, yes, but Munkustrap is far more immoderate when it comes to judging what he can feasibly handle. Bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, after all, does not a healthy habitude make. Munkustrap's elders...namely Jennanydots and Old Deutoronomy...occasionally remind him of that.

He also perpetually Tired (but doesn't show it!) and, despite maintaining his veneer of cool-headedness, does in fact Have Anxiety lol.

🫂 Notes on Relationships

Tugger - They are half-brothers, and symbolically, there's about 10-15 years between them. So the age gap is significant, but Munkustrap isn't exactly old enough to be his father (try as he might to parent him in the frequent absence of Old Deutoronomy). Truly the Annoying Younger Brother Ever, Tugger gets on his nerves faster and more effectively than just about anybody in his life. Granted, their pasts respective of each other aren't the most conducive towards a harmonious, peaceful relationship, but the same circumstances are what make their bond so close and significant. If it weren't for Munkustrap extending the olive branch to a very misled young Tugger, the latter would have never been able to severe himself from Macavity. Meanwhile, Tugger's effects on Munkustrap are less literal and obvious but just as significant. He acts as a looser, more optimistically nihilistic buffer to Munk's razor-sharp edges, and frequently functions as a catalyst for Munkustrap to unearth a bevy of feelings and emotions he's long been in the habit of smothering. They frequently bicker and frustrate each other, yes, but they know how to work with one another when it counts, and they love each other very much.

-

Old Deuteronomy - Munk is one of a few examples of a child of Deuteronomy who was raised primarily by the latter; among cats, it's frankly more common for those born into colonies to have been "raised by the village." Munkustrap has always been very close to his father, has bottomless admiration for him, and abides by his platitudes unquestioningly. Deuteronomy recognized a unique fervor and emotional vulnerability in a young Munkustrap and allowed the latter to attach himself inextricably to him. it's because of this connection, and Munkustrap's unconditional adulation of his father, that Tugger has traduced him as being a rather ideal "little soldier."

After a huge fallout with Macavity (whole thing it's a WHOLE THING), Old Deuteronomy took Munkustrap and his other followers (including Skimble, Jenny, Jelly, Gus, and Asparagus) and splintered away from the colony, going onto to establish the Jellicle colony that inhabits the Junkyard, as seen in the actual musical. For a while, the group focused on rebuilding and recuperating, and succeeded harmoniously. but, after a while when the reconstructed colony was comfortably settled, Deuteronomy became more of an itinerant than Munkustrap had ever known him to be, coming and going patternlessly. Munkustrap knows that he can always attempt to reach out to Old Deutoronomy (there's a postal system cats use...again...whole other thing) in times of need (i.e., when Munkustrap learned about Tugger being in Macavity's possession) but at that point, Munkustrap became established as the de facto Secondary Leader and had to establish himself as capable and independent. He never outwardly questions what Deutoronomy is up to when he's away on his long sojourns to Who Knows Where...but he's never one to question his father. (Tugger, on the other hand...)

Macavity - Macavity is symbolically around five-ish years older than Munkustrap. Closer in age than Tugger and Munk, but the gap is still significant. Munkustrap was born into the same colony as Macavity, and the two did share a portion of their respective childhoods together; Munkustrap being, of course, rather worshipful of Macavity as a kitten. Macavity, for his part, engaged with Munkustrap, and the latter retains fond memories of their interactions...but he also remembers how, with the clarity of hindsight, Macavity seemed to "troubled" back then. He was a bit moody, but that's not wholly unusual for an adolescent cat! More uniquely, he seemed oddly attune to the Jellicle Moon...an evidently Mystical characteristic. He often sought solitude and was reclusive, cagey, secretive, and was obsessed with his developing his mysticism and harvesting magic of Deuteronomy's ilk.

Ultimately, Macavity attempted to persuade Munkustrap to join him in a staged rebellion against Old Deuteronomy; but, even at such a tender age, Munk knew better than to be cajoled, and ultimately sided with his father. He tried in earnest to talk Macavity out of his pursuit of power, but of course...it was fruitless. And the ramifications were abominable. Ultimately, Macavity attempted something of a mutiny that resulted in the deaths of Munkustrap's mother, his two littermates, and the injury or loss of many of his friends and cats he considered to be family. To this day, Munkustrap blames himself for knowing of Macavity's designs, but underestimating him and failing to prevent the disaster. He vowed to never allow such calamity to befall his loved ones again, which manifests in the fiercely protective persona for which he's known. Whatever love existed between the two brothers has been seemingly lost to time; Munkustrap has grown past his bitterness, anger, and desire for retribution...but what's left in the wake are sadness, regret, and wariness.

-

Mistoffelees - The youngest of the protag trifecta of Munkustrap/Tugger/Mistoffelees (for purposes of not getting lost in the sauce, they are, in my mind, the Kirk/Spock/Bones so to speak), Mistoffelees is something of a little brother/son/protegee ??? person??? to Munkustrap. Their relationship is a little hard to compartmentalize, but it's warm and familial all the same. Munkustrap sort of supplies to Mistoffelees what Deuteronomy was to Munkustrap. The magical cat, of course, is far from the first youngun to ever stumble into Jellicle territory in need of reprieve, but usually raising the new arrivals is a village effort. And it still was for Mistoffelees, but Munkustrap zeroed in on him in particular for two major reasons: his inexpendably cathartic effect on Tugger, and the whole Being Magical. Munkustrap remembered, of course, the quixotic fascination his older brother had with magic and the legends surrounding it, and his own proclivities towards harvesting and using it, but Munk was not prejudicial towards Mistoffelees because of that. He knew from the onset that Mistoffelees and Macavity are incomparable, and wanted to make sure that Mistoffelees would never lose touch with the goodness at his core. He also wanted to solidify that Mistoffelees would not be treated differently because of his abilities, but would get to enjoy a normal and secure upbringing. Also...he intuited immediately that it was important for Macavity to Not Find Out about this inexplicably magical cat. (Magical Cats aren't exactly unheard of but they're really not...supposed to be able to exist anymore lmao)

In return for Munkustrap's warmth and extensions of care and friendship, Mistoffelees has always been eager to be helpful and useful, and often functions as a "right-hand man" for the Jellicle Protector in many of the banalities of life in the Junkyard. Despite his aloofness and eccentricities, Mistoffelees has always sought to please and prove himself to Munkustrap, despite the fact Munkustrap has always had confidence in him and never required proof or reassurance that the conjurer was someone he could trust and rely on. hhhhh idk their relationship is cute to me!!! they're cute!!!!

-

Alonzo - Alonzo and Munkustrap have a lot in common...like Munkustrap, Alonzo's early youth was peppered by loss and grief, disasters outside the scope of his control for which he still blames himself. Also like Munkustrap, it is because of these developments that Alonzo has sworn himself to be a protector for all those he holds dear. But, unlike Munkustrap, Alonzo is heavily saddled with endless self-doubt, self-flagellation, and fear. He's around Tugger's age, and Munkustrap recognizes how much learning and growing he needs to do, but also recognizes the drive and intensity propelling him towards becoming either a mess of self-destruction, or a rocksteady protector and friend on whom others can rely. Munkustrap instinctively took Alonzo under his wing, becoming his unofficial mentor, and is pretty much the only cat toward whom Alonzo is open and affectionate. The latter often goes to Munkustrap in times of doubt and fear, but also focuses on impressing and emulating the Jellicle Protector in any way he can. When it comes to being backed up during an altercation, or any matters concerning the security and safety of the colony, Munkustrap knows he can rely on Alonzo above anybody else to back him up. The two are very brotherly and familial with one another, and together make a duo that I, personally, would not fuck with.

Also, importantly, Alonzo supplies a sort of catharsis for Munkustrap as well. While the Protector may not realize it, being able to guide and mentor Alonzo functions as something like reparation for his own past failures; now he's able to pass on the lessons he's learned so that Alonzo won't make the same mistakes he made, and Alonzo being his protegee reassures him that he's capable of positively influence those who are in his care. (which he doesn't often conscientiously doubt, but losing his family instills fear in the back of his head that he'll fuck up in any way with his new family, a fear that's usually surfaced in conjunction with Tugger)

Jenny - She is a surrogate mother figure to Munkustrap, and one of the only cats to whom he yields his absolution of authority in the absence of Deuteronomy. (not unlike the way Kirk often has to cede to McCoy...two star trek references in one post about cats??) He's known her his entire life, and she has always been a source of comfort and guidance towards him that is similar, yet still different, in comparison to Deuteronomy. I like to think Jenny is one of the few cats that Munkustrap would ever go to for advice or consolation, and also one of the few cats who will openly question his approaches or point out his shortcomings. (it comes from a place of love!) Munkustrap also just thinks she's hilarious. A heavily burdened cat like him needs the unique combination of comfort and levity that a cat like Jennyanydots can provide! together they have a lovely rapport <3

-

(here comes the somewhat controversial takes pfffttt. you can flame me if you want idc it's the internet and I know what I signed up for lmao but if you are a demestrap purist who may become emotionally compromised by the suggestion that a romantic connection between the two is Not A Given, feel free to skip this part)

Demeter - listen. I know you're wondering but I'm going to keep it short for now okay. suffice it to say, they have a bit of a back-and-forth, so to speak, mostly stemming from Demeter trying to navigate the residual damage of her troubled past (and.....present) but. my version of Munkustrap is on the aroace spectrum (hides) and so instinctively doesn't move in on Demeter out of an impulse to "rescue" or "fix" her. And for her part, whenever she does indicate an interest in anybody, it's not like she's driven by a long-sufferer's Need For True Love. And even if it were, I'd lampshade that as Not A Good Basis For A Relationship. like idk it's a complicated thing, but regardless, I think she's a fascinating character on her own, far outside the realm of her sensuality and her relationships with the male characters lol.

So continuing, Munkustrap doesn't overstep the fact that she's an adult who can make her own decisions, and also he can see with his own eyeballs that she errs on the side of indecisive regarding her estimation of Macavity, and morality in general, and his mind is not clouded with "I Am A Straight Man In The Presence Of A Beautiful Woman" so as to persuade him to, for some reason, insist that she's not capable of making poor decisions, and trust her judgment above anybody else's in a comparable situation. He, of course, would like to help her, within reason, like he would like to help any cat who expresses interest in being a part of the colony and embracing the mores of Jelliclehood. And he is, of course, kind and helpful towards her because that's the kind of cat he is. and it has nothing to do with an urge to romance her. 😬 or protect her with anomalous fervency because She's Just A Girl (honestly idc about any implications regarding gender roles that have wormed their ways into various versions of CATS bc these are CATS and they lack culturally gendered expectations/roles and also they lack secondary sex characteristics)

because Demeter is rather flighty and cagey, and Munkustrap is a Busy Bee, it takes a while for the two of them to even really become friends, and when they do, there are still some ups and downs granted by a bevy of contrasting opinions/idiosyncrasies endemic to the respective characters. Once he gets to actually know her, Munkustrap does believe in Demeter and encourages her to make progress, but he doesn't hover over her or fuss over her more than he does any other of his adult friends lmao. in the few instances that she behaves in a sensual manner towards him, he's like...ig open to it, but again, he's on the aroace spectrum and navigates those kind of connections within that realm, which To Me means that, in his case, he's never governed by romantic, sensual, or sexual impulses/attractions. bc listen. I just love a male hero who is not ultimately fulfilled by A Woman's Love and Having Children (those things are great for some people!!! pls don't think I am suggesting otherwise lmaooooo)

if it seems like these past few paragraphs have a defensive tone...it may be because I operate in anticipation of being condemned by passionate shippers (and also I too am on the aroace spectrum and thats not for nothing lol) but like I said it's the internet and ik what I signed up for. I have nothing against believers in demestrap. not to mention that yk, hal.........it's about cats.

anyway!!!! Munkustrap has a meaningful relationship with everyone at the Junkyard, but I'm gonna stop here for now lol. I could write a passage for every possible combination of every possible pairing of cats but I have already gone beyond the scope I originally imagined pfft. I hope this gives an adequate enough glimpse into how I construe him and his personality and a little bit of his backstory. sorry if's confusing af, or if I focused too much on other cats. also I alluded to a few things that I'm not even sure I've expanded on before. but if you made it through this whole thing and if you care at all about my fanverse pls don't hesitate to ask for expansion or clarification on anything

ty for the ask!! <3

[jcollinswrites]

Im just popping in to say that I found this story only yesterday but am already soo deep into it. I really love the different origins and how it influences the story. Also you write it in such a funny way while not taking away from things that are more serious and I find your writing style generally very comfortable to read.

I also really like that there is an age-restriction for two characters. It is very uncommon in IF (which is fine) but I really, really like that we can flirt/romance them and they will let us down gently. I am a fan of age gap relationships but, personally, 18-20 is too young for a real age gap relationship in my opinion and I am just soo happy that here are adults who arent interested in such young people and will reject them. It also makes the story more realistic.

I am bad with words (especially in english) but I hope my meaning comes across.

Anyway, I hope you have a great new year and are healthy and happy :)

Thank you for the very nice message! I'm happy you like the game and that I could offer something you find unique and interesting ❤️

I was wondering a lot about how to do the age restrictions, but in the end, I was very much in favor of organic storytelling, so that's why I let you flirt with them in the beginning.

Like this, the characters will still acknowledge that you might be interested in them. They will have that conversation with your character in the game, in real time, instead of just suddenly being locked out completely without anyone ever mentioning it again.

That's why I don't give you specific warnings either during the age choice, because I wanted players to be able to figure out for themselves what happens later. For me, it feels a lot more natural this way, and you will still have plenty of time to start pursuing someone else.

Btw, don't worry about your English, it's really good. I'm not a native English speaker either, but you only get better by practicing :)))

Happy New Year, and have a good day! ✨

[mohnaka]

So, in regards to Hondo in Skeleton Crew since it's something I keep seeing people ask about: it was confirmed that he won't be appearing. Here's the specific bit from the article:

I’ve seen speculation that a live-action Hondo Ohnaka will appear in Star Wars: Skeleton Crew. True or false? –Corey A freighter resembling Hondo’s was spotted in the distance at Port Borgo in Episode 2, but series creators Chris Ford and Jon Watts confirmed for me that we won’t be meeting the Clone Wars pirate. “We’ll rip off that Band-Aid and say no, we don’t have any Hondo,” Ford told TVLine. “Honestly, we love Hondo, but there wasn’t really a part in our story that offered a good enough role for him. Like, if we were trying to cast him in this, he would be like, ‘This part is not big enough for Hondo!'” Which is not to say Skeleton Crew, in success, won’t ever feature the interstellar buccaneer. “We would love to keep doing this,” Ford said, “and keep exploring the whole pirate side of the galaxy, and build up to that.”

There's always the chance they could be lying, but considering the wording, I don't think they are. But! He is coming in the next dlc for Star Wars Outlaws! No exact release date yet, sometime in spring. If you haven't played it yet, I highly recommend it.

Now on a side note, something else I've seen a lot of people ask/say in regards to Hondo showing up in media set after Rebels: isn't he already super old/dead/etc? Long story short, no. Short story long because I'm autistic and don't know when to shut up under the read more:

If you were somehow unaware (hoping that doesn't come off as judgmental, it's more of a surprised thing I swear!), he's actually a part of Galaxy's Edge aka "the Star Wars land" at Disneyland/Disney World, which is supposed to take place in between The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker (so about 34 ABY). Or at least it was initially, they've been kind of loosening it up lately, but the two rides (Rise of the Resistance and Millennium Falcon: Smugglers Run, the latter of which Hondo is basically the star of) are still in that specific time range. So he's not dead nor is he going to die in anything set before the sequels (but then again, "Hondo Ohnaka survives every time", could be the Force keeps bringing him back to life to fuck with everyone).

In Legends, the approximate lifespan for his species (Weequay) was about 90 years of age. There's been no word on whether this is still canon or it's been made longer, but if it is still canon, it does give us an idea of how old he was in the various eras. If we're to assume he's somewhere between 80 to 85 years of age in 34 ABY (Lando, who he's shown to be on good terms with in issue 4 of the Halcyon Legacy comic, is 77/78 years in 34 ABY for reference), that would make him:

Between 25 to 30 years old when he's first introduced in The Clone Wars

Between 42 to 47 years old when he's first introduced in Rebels

And last but not least, between 55 to 60 years old in 9 ABY, which is (supposedly) when The Mandalorian/Skeleton Crew/etc takes place

Somewhere in the middle is most likely, since the younger estimate would put him at only 14 years old in 32 BBY (during The Phantom Menace), but 17 to 19 years old isn't that wild considering what we've seen older kids/teenagers deal with in this franchise. It's not completely unrealistic that someone with a background like his would be just starting off leading a group of pirates in his late teens.

Anyway, what's he been up to since Rebels? He actually founded his own Totally Legitimate Shipping Company, Ohnaka Transport Solutions, sometime in between 1 ABY and 4 ABY prior to the Battle of Endor. It's currently (as in, 34 ABY currently) based in Black Spire Outpost on Batuu, though whether it was always there is unknown. Also at some point he got himself a ship that he named the Katooni...yes, like that Katooni. In fact, it's the one mentioned in the above interview about Hondo appearing in Skeleton Crew, so in a sense, he might have already had a indirect cameo!

Sources for most of this/recommended reading: Pirate's Price, The Secrets of the Bounty Hunters, and Halcyon Legacy #4. If you're looking for Hondo content outside the shows, read these. Especially Pirate's Price if you've always wondered what it'd be like if Han and Hondo met. And as previously mentioned, Halcyon Legacy #4 has him with (the real) Lando.

[oflights]

Bloodweave Inn New Year’s Prompts Day 2: Growing Old Together

written for��@bloodweaveinn’s New Year’s Prompt Challenge! I rolled a 2 this time, which means my prompt was Growing Old Together. i wasn't really feeling it until a little while ago and just kind of knocked this out in 20 minutes lol. i'm a little late but oh well! it was fun.

enjoy just under 1k words of extremely sappy established bloodweave, post-cure for astarion's vampirism. 😌

“Is that a gray hair?”

Astarion’s outraged cry draws Gale out of his reading, and he looks over the top of glasses at him with a slightly distracted “Hm?”

“Look!” Astarion insists, jabbing his finger at both the mirror—where his reflection can now be found, and though it’s been nearly a year since finding Astarion’s cure, Gale still can’t help looking upon it with pride and affection—and at the top of his head. “I’m going gray, Gale.”

Gale blinks at him, then squints. Astarion huffs automatically, an instinctive response to Gale squinting and a result of the Great Glasses War of 1494 DR, which Gale had summarily lost.

Eager to draw Astarion’s attention from his squinting—gods forbid he make Gale get a thicker pair of lenses—Gale hastily says, “Astarion, your hair is already gray. What are you talking about?”

Astarion gasps. His eyes, luminous and green-gold, as pride-inducing as his reflection, go very wide.

“How dare you. My hair is white blond! It’s platinum! It’s not gray, you heathen.”

“My love,” Gale says soothingly, setting his book aside and holding out two placating arms. “Come here. Let me see it.”

Grumbling, and with one more pouting glance into the mirror, Astarion slinks over, as graceful and lithe as ever. He fits himself into Gale’s lap with fluid motions Gale could never hope to replicate, and he butts the crown of his head into Gale’s chin, not unlike a cat. Gale hides a grin over the top of his head.

“Look. It’s awful.”

Gale truly cannot see any bit of what has Astarion so upset, but he kisses the crown of his head anyway, taking off his damnable glasses with some relief. “It’s not awful,” Gale says into Astarion’s beautiful, soft hair. “It’s lovely, because it’s on you, and you are the loveliest elf I’ve ever seen.”

“Just the loveliest elf?”

“Being. Humanoid. Immortal or mortal.” At that, Gale tips Astarion’s face up by the chin, gazing down at him adoringly. “You are as gorgeous as the day I met you. Gray hairs and all.”

“Hairs, plural? Did you see another one?” Astarion scrambles to get up and go for the mirror again, but Gale draws him into a kiss first, sighing as he settles down in his lap again.

“What’s so bad about grays, anyway?” Gale asks when they break apart, smiling when Astarion, eyes closed, chases his mouth a bit. Astarion huffs, the scent of their shared dinner—some nice, bloody red steaks; Astarion still has a taste for it, and he’s as bad as Gale is about eating his vegetables—hitting Gale’s nose and making it wrinkle. “You like my grays, don’t you? You certainly admire them enough.”

As if to prove Gale’s point, Astarion’s hand goes up into Gale’s hair, sifting through what are surely more bountiful gray streaks now. Just as there are more wrinkles in his face, more pronounced crow’s feet and laughter lines, and a softer, chubbier frame as their adventure days have fallen behind them. Astarion has lavished each of these features with so much love and approval that Gale has had barely any room to ever feel self-conscious about them.

“Of course I do; your grays are beautiful,” Astarion says. “You’re aging like a fine wine, my dear, and I’m—well, I’m just aging, aren’t I?” He says it like it’s just occurred to him, a bit wondrous, and also a bit sullen.

“Of course you are, though much, much more slowly than you seem to think,” Gale says. “Slower than I am, naturally. We both know this. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Part of your cure?”

“But I’m no distinguished professor like you; my looks are like your brains,” Astarion tells him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when I start looking like Jaheira, gods.”

“Jaheira is beautiful—oh, stop, you know what I mean,” Gale says as Astarion scowls. “And you are much, much more than your looks. Which are still beautiful.”

“You have to say that. Your opinion is biased.”

“Is my opinion not the most important, after yours?”

Astarion eyes him carefully, as if genuinely judging Gale’s sincerity. Gale tries not to huff back at him—he’d put a garlic sauce over his own steak tonight, which Astarion still doesn’t care for.

“You’re certain you’ll love me even when I look like a withered old crone?”

Gale tips his head back. “Astarion, I’ll love you until the day I die. And not to be depressing, but you must understand that I’ll be a withered old crone long before you will. I probably won’t live to see you that old.” He strokes the back of his hand over Astarion’s face, the lines that are there, and feels a bit of sweet, sad longing over that fact. He sees it reflected on Astarion’s face, in the sudden droop of his ears. “So don’t worry—I’ll be old and wrinkly and gray all over, and you’ll still be my pretty young thing.”

“Gods, you’re right,” Astarion says, aghast. He settles further into Gale’s hold, shaking his head. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

“About what?”

“The whole thing where even though I’m cured of vampirism, you’re still going to die first. I don’t approve of that. That’s our next project. Ugliness notwithstanding—I do want to grow old with you.”

Warmth suffuses Gale at that, and he places another helpless kiss in Astarion’s beautiful, soft, and yes, gray hair.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Gale says, and he picks up his book again and starts squinting down at it, his love in one arm.

“Gale,” Astarion murmurs against his neck, breath ghosting out against the old bite scars.

“Hm?”

“Put your glasses on.”

With a laugh and a sigh, Gale complies; he supposes they both have their vanities.

[kurlik42]

(I reblogged my previous post to clarify a few things. Again, it's about proship, so I've also put it in "read more".)

Thank you for all the activity on this post! I appreciate your clarifications and patience, now I can see that some of the statements and formulations I've made were wrong. I can see that not everything in that text is comprehensible, so I apologize for my English — it isn't my native language. Since censoring words isn't necessary on this site, I won't use the censorship anymore.

I agree that fiction and reality don't work in the same way and I believe it is fine to explore dark themes in fiction for any reason, as long as it doesn't hurt real people. If certain ships make a person happy and bring them comfort, there's likely no harm in it due to the fact that it's only fiction. It's not always used as a way to cope and it's fine to enjoy fiction due to different reasons, as well as it doesn't necessarily reflect a person's morals and beliefs. Also, as I understood, attraction towards anything doesn't make a person bad, since they can't control the feeling of attraction itself; rather, the actions speak volumes: if they decide to act on the urge and consciously hurt someone real, then they should be held responsible for the illegal act. However, if they decide against it, there's no specific action to judge them for. I believe that these people also deserve help and a safe space, because harassment and oppression never made anyone better, but everyone deserves a chance for a happy life. And of course, any sexual act in reality should be solely performed from consent after every party reached the legal age.

And to answer the question of the user miranova23: although I'm currently not pushed into such beliefs by my close social circle, the topic of proship makes me anxious due to confronting my previous beliefs. I'm not officially diagnosed with moral OCD, however, I'm indeed prone to questioning my morality every so often. So all of the questions I asked are hypothetical — I'm strongly against CSEM and no real child deserves to be hurt (the thought itself makes me uneasy). In case that was the case for concern, the question about monetisation of r34 with underage characters was asked because I wasn't sure whether it's appropriate to gain money from such art despite the depicted characters not being real. But I suppose it's fair to say that it depends on the laws of my country; besides, pixels can't consent, which is why being concerned about this in the first place isn't necessary, so it's better to focus on real victims who should have support and help. Even if so, I'm not going to draw sexualised minors at any point. I'm not judging those who do, since they don't harass real children and, again, just draw pixels, and I definitely will not harass and threaten people over it. I'm only saying that this content makes me uncomfortable and I prefer to skip it respectfully, because your kink is not my kink but your kink is okay. I think that not all kinds of content are for everyone, but it's alright. And yes, I suppose I could use therapy 😅 Perhaps I should learn not to give a fuck about others's business. I hope I answered your questions.

Feel free to correct me if I might be wrong somewhere — I simply would like to have a better perspective on the topic, because I strive to be a better person. Anyway, wish you all a great day!

(It's about proship, so I've put it in "read more" in case someone finds the topic uncomfortable. Take care)

Without negativity, I have a few controversial questions which I'd like to see from some different angles. It's curiosity, but not an accusation by any means — I just question my moral beliefs, so I don't want to cause arguments but a discussion. And you aren't obligated to answer all the questions and aren't obliged to answer at all, of course.

With all due respect, what I'd like to ask is:

Can "proship" be considered a bad coping mechanism? Does the media that one enjoys reflects their morals and beliefs? Also, I'm not sure if that's okay to sexualise and fetishize underage people, even if it's fictional. I understand that it's often a way to cope with trauma, I don't mean to invalidate it in any way and I'm not a doctor, though I can't decide whether it's a healthy way to process it. I once heard an argument that it works in a similar way with gambling and p0rn addiction, as in indulging in fantasies and letting urges control one's behaviour, but I'm not sure if it's really so. Isn't it possible to see ped0phile inclinations in a person through the media they consume and produce? Also, is it okay to monetise drawn child p0rn? Because this content is created specifically with the idea to get turned on by drawn kids, which sounds not so far from getting off on real ones (with the difference that in the first case, it's fictional, so no real kid is technically hurt; however, the attraction is still caused by knowing the drawn person is underage, so the mechanism remains the same).

So all in all, I think there are concerning people on both the proship and antis sides. Which doesn't mean that every person in both communities is inherently bad or good, but I think it's important to acknowledge that there can and will be people who do questionable things from both sides. I also would like to clarify that I'm against threats and bullying over fiction, respect should be always prioritised.

Thank you for your patience, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable or understood something wrong.

[disorganizedkitten]

These Hopeless, Helpless, Miraculous-Wielding Romantics Chapter 2

Miraculous Ladybug | 2018 | 4,055 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Prev | Next

“I just need to ask Mlle. Bustier something, I’ll catch up!” Marinette waved Alya to go ahead with Nino and Adrien when the bell rung.

Normally she’d ask Alya for advice on this, but she was A. going to be giving a short lecture about this to Alya in about six hours, and B. not going to give Alya the satisfaction of knowing her lack of stuttering around Adrien was her feelings starting to switch. And if not Alya, she would normally ask her parents, but they were seriously, seriously, too extreme shippers. They would probably figure out she was Ladybug if she came to them with this. And if not any of them, she’d ask Tikki. And Tikki, well, Tikki had said to ask Mlle. Bustier.

“What can I help you with?”

“You’re good at love stuff, right?”

Mlle. Bustier smiled, “I’m not Cupid, but I can give advice. What’s pulling your heartstrings Marinette?”

Marinette pursed her lips. How much should she actually tell Mlle. Bustier? “So there might be a boy, and I might like him, and he might like me too, but my friends might also be being really pushy about starting an actual relationship, and I don’t think I’m ready for that, so I might be trying to distract them while getting his opinions on relationship stuff without him knowing either, and I’m not exactly sure how to do that,” She rushed out eventually. She supposed that was one way to put her situation.

Mlle. Bustier had to think for a moment, and it made Marinette feel a little better knowing that her teacher stopped to think about the problem before giving advice, instead of spouting off some generic answer.

“Well, what do you normally do to let someone know you value them?”

“I make them something,” Marinette didn’t even have to think about the answer, it was just there. It was just what she did.

“Why not talk about that? Giving gifts is a good way to let them know you care, especially something homemade like you do. But you don’t only give those to romantic interests, correct?”

“No.”

“Do you think making him something would be a good way to let him know you like him without being too obvious?”

“It might be. But if I’m talking about it, what if it gives him the wrong idea? Or maybe the right idea, but-” Marinette started waving her hands erratically, activating ‘worse case scenario’™ mode.

Mlle. Bustier patiently waited for Marinette to finish her freakout, as though she knew this was normal for Marinette. She probably did after so long of being her teacher.

Mlle. Bustier had just opened her mouth to reply when a crash sounded from outside. Screams followed within three seconds, and both girls rushed to the window.

“Oh come on!” Marinette hissed, her hand migrating towards her purse without thinking. The courtyard was starting to fill with smoke, but she could see a small Akuma with a brightly colored bodysuit in multiple colors running around, throwing, were those juices? Paint? Sauces? Something.

Mlle. Bustier pursed her lips, worry creasing her face. Marinette glanced up, unsure how she was going to get out to help. Maybe wait until another wall got smashed and then run?

“Hey! Paintballs should be kept in designated areas! My jacket is not one of them!” the outraged shout filtered through the glass. Probably Chloe. She was getting better, but she still needed some help on priorities and personality. The Akuma yelled something back, but Marinette couldn’t make it out over the crash from another attack.

“I’m no designer, but I have to agree with Chloe here. That shade of pink, with her shade of yellow? Almost as bad as your outfit!” Yep, Chloe. And Chat was there too! But probably on his own, and Marinette didn’t like that thought. She needed an escape route, and fast.

“You should get out there soon Marinette.”

Marinette turned to Mlle. Bustier, surprised. “I have no idea what you mean?” Marinette flinched as another crash interrupted the lie. Of course, with a Miraculous out there, the Akuma was getting more violent.

Mlle. Bustier’s hand landed on her shoulder, gentle but firm. “Yes you do. Chat Noir needs his Ladybug, just, please be careful.”

Marinette nodded, eyes wide. When had Mlle. Bustier figured it out? Tikki shot out of Marinette’s purse, flying up to Mlle. Bustier’s face. The teacher jumped, but didn’t yell. “I’ll keep her safe, but you have to too.”

“No one else knows, nor will they,” Mlle. Bustier assured the little being. Tikki nodded, then turned to Marinette.

“Marinette, she’s right. She already knows, we can just go.”

“Okay,” Marinette breathed, still slightly out of it. Another crash snapped her back to reality though. “Tikki, Spots on!”

*****

Adrien was not happy with Hawkmoth. Well, he never was, but he always was extra mad when Hawkmoth akumatized a child.

Someone had insulted the kid’s finger painting, a finger painting, which he was apparently really proud of, and from what Adrien could gather while fighting, the deal was that the kid could destroy all other artists’ works, -starting with teen artists, because it was a teen who did the insulting,- and then his paintings would be the best in the world.

Chat Noir did not enjoy that fight. Eventually Ladybug had to signal for Queen B’s help, just so they could defeat him, and then the poor child had started freaking out, being in an unknown place with strangers. The kid was only three, four at most!

They had gotten him home, but Chat Noir was still stewing hours later, waiting for Ladybug, Queen B and Rena Rouge.

“Can I shove his broach down his throat when we meet him?” Queen B’s voice said from behind him.

“We have to give it back to the Guardian, so I don’t think so. He is going to pay for terrorizing Paris though,” Ladybug added, plopping down beside Chat, her face dark.

“Spots, are we still going to do the Winging lesson? I need a distraction if I’m not allowed to hurt him.” Queen B settled on Chat’s other side, examining her suited fingernails.

“I’m just glad we have the Miracle cure. Otherwise you might be fighting Chloe for first person to get revenge on Hawkmoth,” Rena guessed, joining her teammates.

Ladybug snorted and Queen B scowled. “Do not remind me of that injustice! My eyes are still traumatized!”

“Yeah, his color coordination could have used some help. The whole school would have a lot of work on their hands if we didn’t have the cure. I did see his normal art pieces though, and he’s really good for being three,” Ladybug agreed. “And Queen B, just look up the last fashion week’s photos. Those should help.”

“I’ll try it.”

“He’s like a mini Nathaniel,” Rena interrupted, frowning. “Hawkmoth shouldn’t be able to turn gifts like that into a bad thing.”

“Agreed,” Chat said, whipping his tail unhappily.

“Same.”

“One of these times it’ll backfire, and he’ll get his comeuppance,” Ladybug assured them, pulling out her yo-yo and swinging it up and down like a normal yo-yo. “He better.”

They sat in silence for a little while, and Ladybug even laid her head on his shoulder after putting her yo-yo away! Although that was probably just because she was tired. It was a really late patrol tonight.

Eventually Chat couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He needed something to think about other than what punishment they should give Hawkmoth. He had started thinking of something else to talk about when Queen B beat him too it.

“Hey Rena?”

“What’s up Queenie?”

“When you were talking about that kid’s artistic talent, you called it a gift. Why?”

Ladybug sat straight up at that comment, turning towards Rena and Queen B. Chat’s shoulder felt oddly light without her weight, even if he didn’t notice much weight being put on it. Maybe he just missed the contact?

“What? Oh. It’s just a synonym that’s used, but it means that someone’s a natural at something. I guess at that young of an age, it doesn’t count as a talent because he hasn’t had enough time to develop it? It felt like the right thing to say.”

Queen B hummed, and being so close to her Chat could tell she had practically buzzed. The Bee miraculous must give attributes like his does.

“That’s a really nice way to think about it Rena,” Chat said into the void. He wondered what his gifts had been, or if everything had been programmed into him.

“Why don’t we do that tonight?” Ladybug offered, her voice soft.

“Do what?” Rena asked, leaning forward so she could see Ladybug over the other two.

“Point out what we see as each others’ gifts or talents.”

“Sure!”

“Why not?” Queen B shrugged, leaning back. She muttered something after that, and although Chat didn’t catch all of it, it sounded like ‘a lot to make up for, especially-’

“I’m up for that,” he agreed, deciding to leave Queen B to her bee stuff. She had been acting a little weird here and there recently.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?”

“I can,” Queen B volunteered, before he or Rena could open their mouths. “Ladybug, a gift I can always see with you is your kindness. Even when someone does more bad than good, you point out the good and help them stay on the right path. Chat Noir, one of yours if definitely your perseverance. If you didn’t keep trying, and keep Ladybug going, I don’t even know where we’d be. Rena, yours is your optimism. You keep going along with us, even when we seem crazy, and your smiley attitude is contagious.” Chat could feel Rena’s smile, even as far away from her as he was. He felt really happy about this plan. His father often forgot to tell him when he did well, so hearing such things from his friends lifted his spirits immensely.

“Thank you Queenie! Can I go next?” Rena asked, the ‘smiley attitude’ Queen B had mentioned shining out.

“Any objects Chat?”

“Nope. Go ahead Rena,” Chat wanted to thank Queen B too, but he also didn’t want to interrupt the flow of things.

“Alright. So going down the line, Ladybug, one of your gifts is your leadership skills. It takes a lot to corral us into a working system sometimes, but you find a way. And you use what you’ve got when you do. It kinda reminds me of my best friend really,” Chat was sure he felt Ladybug stiffen at that. He was probably right about them being civilian best friends. He focused back on Rena’s words before he could keep going down that rabbit hole though. “-Makes being on the team and working in tandem so much easier. Queenie, yours is your attitude as well. It’s almost a mix between no nonsense and total drama, and it makes everything so much more interesting when we’re hanging out.”

Queen B didn’t say anything, and neither did Chat. He almost opened his mouth when Ladybug spoke up instead. “Thank you Rena. That’s high praise for all of us.”

Chat nodded fervently, glad Ladybug could turn his feelings into words when he couldn’t. Queen B nodded beside him, and for a moment he thought he heard her sniffle.

“Agreed,” Chat said, when Queen B still hadn’t said anything.

“Can I go next?”

Ladybug hoped her teammates couldn’t hear the break in her voice as she asked. Even she wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness or embarrassment.

“Go ahead LB,” Chat offered, half-shrugging. She was glad he let her. She was a little scared of what he would say on his turn. It’d be nice, of course, but if he went first, she might die of embarrassment before she went herself. When had her minor, backseat crush on him become so major?

Marinette, because she was still Marinette under the suit, took a deep breath before she started. She couldn’t say this wrong. Ladybug started with Rena Rouge, going down the line the opposite way her teammates had.

“Alright, Rena, one of your gifts is definitely trustworthiness. You yearn for truth, but can tell when it needs omitted. That’s a powerful asset here,” She hoped Alya understood how important it was to Marinette that she could be counted on for such. Without Alya, Marinette and Ladybug wouldn’t be the them of today.

“Queen B, one of yours is your yearning to get better. You want to be the best, and although sometimes your means in trying to achieve that aren’t, agreeing to work towards it is a good show of character,” Ladybug wasn’t talking to Queen B either. Just like with Rena, she was talking to the civilian under the mask. It was Chloe who needed to know this, not Queen B.

That left Chat. There was a lot she needed to say, but she couldn’t pour it all out here. The wrong circumstances, the wrong emotions in the air, the wrong people there. She wanted to tell him when it was just the two of them. So she started with what she had always known, always seen in him, even from day one. Way before she starting crushing and noticing every little thing.

“Chat, one of yours is how trusting and encouraging you are. Even from the start, when neither of us knew what we were doing, you trusted me to figure it out, even after I let the Akuma get away. You kept me fighting through that fight, and every one after that. Even now, when we have a better hold on things, and have Queen B and Rena to help-”

A flash of light and a roar from below them cut her off. Ladybug scowled down, yanking her yo-yo off her hip and standing. This was why they patrolled, honestly. At least they could get it over with quickly.

“Looks like we’ll be back. Ready to kick some butt M’lady?” Chat stood up beside her, his baton out quickly enough.

“Yep. If it’s another kid though, Hawkmoth is getting it.” She jumped off the roof, half thankful she had been cut off, and half upset. Why were her emotions being so weird?

Queen B watched as Ladybug and Chat started to fight the Akuma. She couldn’t fully make out the colors or design of the suit, but if she had to guess, she’d say it was probably black and blue. Or maybe purple?

Her Miraculous didn’t enhance eyesight like Chat’s was reported too, so she wasn’t actually sure.

“What did you mean by that?”

Queen B turned to Rena Rouge at her comment. “By what?”

“When Ladybug suggested doing the gifts thing, you said you had a lot to make up for with her. What did that mean?”

Queen B turned away, frowning. Rena didn’t need to know, did she?

“Look, if it’s too personal that’s alright, but if it’s Akuma guilt, which is still personal I guess, you need to remember that your Akuma was Hawkmoth, not you.”

“It’s not that! It’s something else,” Rena thought she was guilty about being an Akuma? Nope. Well, yes, but that wasn’t what she had meant.

“Is it something I can help with?”

Queen B sighed, maybe she should have said Rena’s ‘BFF’ essence was another gift. Was there anyone the girl wasn’t a good friend too?

“Only off the record,” Queen B surprised herself by saying it. Crap. No one was supposed to know they knew! Maybe she could lie? But-

“I can do that.”

But Rena was trustworthy. Ladaybug had said so herself. It couldn’t hurt that much, right?

“No one else should know this, okay? I probably shouldn’t even be telling you, but the only person I can talk about it to is my Kwami. Well, I could talk to Ladybug about it, but that would require actually setting up a civilian meetup, which I don’t think I can do.”

“Civilian meetup?” Rena laughed nervously. “You do know we aren’t allowed to do that, right?”

“Because we can’t know who each other is?”

“Yeah.”

“I know who she is.”

Queen B flinched as Rena punched her in the shoulder. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were. It’s be a ridiculous lie, but I wish it was,” she shook her head. “Everything was so much simpler when I could hate civilian her and love her when she was wearing spots.”

“What?” Rena asked, her brown eyes widening.

“Ridiculous, right? All it took was a boost of confidence, a mask, and a friend who stuck by her side and trusted her enough to let her save my life. and suddenly she was the best thing ever,” Queen B flinched as the something exploded, illuminating Chat Noir being really close to it, but focused back on her and Rena’s talk. They weren’t allowed to help unless called for. “It’s my fault Chat has to be so encouraging to her. For years, years, I told this girl she was worthless and tortured her almost every day. It was fun to make her life miserable, and no one ever stood up for her. It made it easy.

“And then this year started, and suddenly there are people willing to be her friends and raise her confidence, and stand up for her, and then she was standing up for herself and everyone else. I blamed it on the friends and started attacking most of them too. I even got one of them Akumatized. And I almost got Spots Akumatized, even with her Miraculous’ protection.

“And then a few weeks ago, after that crazy actor Akuma that attacked a school, we literally ran into each other as our timers ran out.

“I was horrible to her for years Rena, and she still saw fit to let me be a hero. She gave me this amazing opportunity, and I love it. But I still haven’t made it up to her.”

Rena Rouge seemed broken. After a minute she snapped back to reality, shaking her head. “You sound like Chloe, Queenie.”

Queen B shot straight up and looked her in the eye. “Chloe?”

“One of my classmates, never mind. But I think you left something out. You can’t have been that horrible if she gave you your Miraculous,” Rena’s raised eyebrow pushed Queen B onward, ignoring the fact that she and Rena might also go to school together. Besides, she couldn’t be the only Chloe in Paris, right?

“I’ve been trying to get better for weeks, something both Spots and Civilian her have been encouraging me to do. I guess I got good enough. But I know I’m not actually. Not until I make amends with everyone, and make sure she knows how sorry I am. I was wrong, every single time I said those things, I just couldn’t see it through the haze that was the adrenaline from attacking her.”

Queen B’s trompo started ringing before they could carry on, “Thanks for listening, let’s see what they need,” she flicked it open as the Eiffel tower started to tip.

“Turns out, we really need help with this one. Any chance you could-”

“LB the tower’s coming down!”

“Crap! Both of you, get out of there now!” Ladybug’s feed went dark, but Rena and Queen B were already on their feet.

“Any time Queenie. Have you tried just apologizing?” Rena offered, jumping down. Queen B followed, unsure of how to answer.

Rena Rouge’s focus was torn as she reached the ground, where an Akuma who seemed to be calling herself “Lovekiller” and looked like a female Dark Cupid, minus the wings, -Honestly, couldn’t Hawkmoth find new themes for his Akuma?- was shooting, arrows. Of course. Sadly though, these one’s didn’t seem to absorb into their targets and turn them hateful, instead splitting into multiples and exploding on impact with anything. At least he gave her new powers.

“Geez Hawkmoth! Reusing designs? And I thought you couldn’t get any lower! You didn’t even pick a good one!” Queen B sounded outraged. Just a minute ago she looked like she was hauling a thousand pounds of regret, and now she looked ready to drop that weight onto the Akuma. Or maybe Hawkmoth? Rena didn’t know.

She didn’t know what to think about any of this. Queen B knew who Ladybug was. And was sad about it!

Then again, with the version of backstory Queenie told her, Rena probably would have been a little bit upset in her shoes too.

“Rena watch it!” She was yanked out of the line of fire, Ladybug’s yo-yo wrapped around her middle.

“Sorry, I-”

“Just don’t do it again. Please, I don’t want you hurt.”

Rena nodded, trying to focus back on the task at hand. It had been easier when she was caught up in the thrill of being a hero, not wondering about the secrets of her newest teammate.

Lovekiller’s attacks were mostly random, but seemed to be aimed especially at the few people who hadn’t evacuated and were still in groups. Weird.

“What’s our plan?” Rena asked, watching Ladybug pull Queenie back over to them.

“By ‘Love’ she means social relationships,” Chat started to explain as Ladybug knocked an arrow out of the sky. “We need to scatter, or start acting like we hate each other, and then-” A beeping noise cut him off. “Ladybug?”

“I got it, go recharge.”

Chat nodded and leapt off, staying behind cover.

“Once we’re scattered, we attack. Rena, we need copies of each of us, make it look like they’re getting along. This will distract Lovekiller while Chat and I sneak up on her. Stay out of her sight, if she sees you she’ll realize it’s a trick, and you can’t hold an illusion under fire. B, you need to have sting ready at Rena’s back, in case Lovekiller does figure it out. I’ll call for a Lucky Charm as soon as Chat gets back, and we’ll go on frontal assault. Rena, you’ll need to update our illusions as we go, so she can’t tell the difference. Everything clear?”

“We got it Spots. Rena, meet up over there?” Queen B motioned towards the fallen Eiffel tower.

“Yeah,” Rena confirmed, pulling her flute off her back.

The plan was executed without a hitch, the Lucky Charm being an ice cream. Alya was pretty sure that had been a common one, but it did work.

Concentrating on her illusions had been helpful, but after their usual fistbump there was nothing to distract her from what Queenie had said. Ladybug didn’t seem to be harboring any negative feelings towards her, and yet Queenie was sure she should.

And here Alya thought that all the drama in stories were just spicing it up for fans.

“See you guys next time!” Chat saluted and bounded off, his staff glinting as he left.

“I should go too,” Rena tried to give Queenie a look that said she and Ladybug needed to talk. She wasn’t sure if it worked as she ran away, but she really hoped so.

She landed behind one of the Eiffel tower’s higher support beams to detransform, handing Trixx a snack as she did so.

“Quite a tangle, eh?” The little being asked, her purple eyes bright.

“Totally,” Alya agreed, turning to head home.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry!” The sudden outburst made Alya turn back, surprised by the noise. Queen B’s bright coloring stood out across the open space as she talked to Ladybug.

“Thank you,” Ladybug’s did too, until pink sparkles ran up her body, making the deserted area they must have moved to as well brighter for a moment. “Do you think you’re ready to try and make up with Alya?”

“What?”

“Chloe, I forgive you. But, I’m not the only one you’ve hurt.”

“Alya, we should leave,” Trixx warned, floating into her line of sight. Alya closed her eyes and turned back towards the stairs home. Trixx was right, they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be listening. But, Queenie was Chloe! Chloe. Alya didn’t know how to cope with this.

And the voice she had heard from Ladybug sounded way too similar to someone else she knew. Not that she was going to admit that to anyone, even herself.

[eri-pl]

So with @edennill mentioning isekai recently (a week ago? Idk), I started thinking and realized something: (if we ignore part of meta that's self-contradictory anyway or if we squint hard enough) if we are contemplating the concept of "isekai-ed into ME", landing there as an elf makes just as much sense as landing there as a human. Because the difference between the two kindreds is how they're tied to Arda and since we are getting thrown into a different world anyway (because this is the only way this premise makes any resemblance of sense, because time travel is a total mess) we can as well be more strongly tied to it. It makes just the same amount of sense as being more loosely tied.

(Tolkien said that there is no inherent physical difference between Men and Elves; the only difference is the nature of their bond with Arda and stuff like this, purely spiritual or whatever to call it.)

[arolesbianism]

I'm fucking free babey

[visceralcoma]

So it wasn't explicitly stated in the games, but when I saw these two codex entries, one in base game DAI, and the other in trespasser, I interpreted what the Evanuris/Ancient Elves did as stealing lyrium = theft of their culture and their land. It is what I assume the writers were conveying with it as one helluva foreshadow that no one but a handful of people clued in on. But because it painted the elves negatively, it was never a popular theory in fandom.

This elven writing found in the Arbor Wilds is so old as to be incomprehensible. There are whispers from the Well of Sorrows. It's impossible to understand the entire text, but certain parts suddenly reveal a shadow of their original meaning. "In this place we prepare to hunt the pillars of the earth. Their workers scurry, witless, soulless. This death will be a mercy. We will make the earth blossom with their passing." For one moment there is a vivid image of two overlapping spheres; unknown flowers bloom inside their centers. Then it fades. (Source) (color emphasis my own)

That blue section is what first clued me in. First this is coming from the Ancient Elvhen perspective. And read very much to me like justification for their impending actions at the time. Trying to tell/convince/propaganda themselves and others that what they are doing is right and just. That in the death of the pillars of the earth, the world would blossom. And already such heavy handed language was a red flag for me, but I had nothing else to go on.

Then we had more information revealed in The Descent where we got context from the pillars of the earth and a dwarven perspective, of the sense of loss of culture and identity.

THEN the icing of the cake of what solidified my interpretation was a codex in Trespasser:

In the light of the veilfire, the runes seem to shift, coiling and uncoiling like snakes. A thunderous voice shatters the stillness, shouting: "Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!" For a moment, the scent of blood fills the air, and there is a vivid image of green vines growing and enveloping a sphere of fire. The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic. Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast. A voice whispers: "What the Evanuris in their greed could unleash would end us all. Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger. The People must rise before their false gods destroy them all."

(source)(color emphasis my own)

the use of "their demesne" was the big clue for me. The use of the word demesne specifically. They admit the land was theirs (the titans). And by striking the titans down, they stole it and gave it to the "People", aka the Ancient Elves.

unrelated but sorta: I have a knack for sussing out plot twists and story beats in Bioware games. I sussed out Solas as an antagonist before I even reached Skyhold in DAI. Sadly I never documented this sussing out because I was still new to dragon age and DAI was my first dragon age. I didn't want to say anything without going back and playing DAO or DA2 in case I was horribly wrong and he was like a cameo character or something. My instincts about him ended up being right anyway. For DATV if you ask my discord peeps because we were simul-playing on stream. I was less than ten hours in and I was sniffling/on the verge of tears going "Guys, I think Varric is dead." despite very much not wanting him to be, so when the reveal happened for everyone else, they were like "How did you know?!" and I had to point out all the hints.

Just read the phrase “the evanuris found lyrium” and I’m like. “Like they discovered it?!” Are you kidding me? No the elves *stole* the lyrium from the Dwarves. Removed a part of their culture and killed a major figure/part of their whole life.

Saying the evanuris “found lyrium” is like saying how Americans “found (insert item)” when we really know it’s a thinly veiled cover up of colonization.

[pigeonliker420]

i love wyll but he does say. remarkably stupid things sometimes