#god i love both of those couples so much

[kitkatwinchester]

UMMMM

Excuse you?!

So, for the record, my Jackson vibes in the sense that Garrett was bad news were CLEARLY CORRECT. Although he's clearly a LOT worse than Jackson, because Jackson really ultimately wasn't a bad guy, and I sincerely doubt that that's the case with Garrett.

Also, what the f*ck?! His girlfriend's thing is, like, a freaking laser fire choker thingie and I just...the f*ck?!

You know what? I bet you Garrett ordered the keg just so he could get that werewolf on the scene so that his girlfriend could kill him, and that's SMART, which is BAD, because smart villains, are scary villains, and WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THAT RIGHT NOW.

So you're telling me there are MULTIPLE assassins?

That's awesome. That's great. Beautiful. Love that for us.

Anyways.

In some POSITIVE news, those Stalia and Scira scenes were adorable and I LOVE THOSE TWO COUPLES SO MUCH (I CAN SAY COUPLES NOW BECAUSE SCIRA IS CANON! <3)!!

Scott and Kira working together to contain Liam and eventually tie him up was great (though, why didn't Scott just Alpha up? Was that an intentional choice because of the full moon, or...? 'Cause, like, he bit Liam, which already makes him Liam's Alpha by default, but also, he's a freaking TRUE ALPHA, so I really don't see why a good old Alpha roar wouldn't contain Liam all on its own. But yeah, I suppose the full moon maybe could have affected the change and made it hard for him to control it, so...I'll allow it.). I loved Kira's concern after she knocked him out, and then her and Scott's whole little conversation where they're both clearly already so affectionate towards and protective of this kid (though, as an aside, he is literally two years younger than you, Scott. You say "only fifteen" like he's half your age or something. XD). So sweet. <3

And then STILES AND MALIA AHHHH!!!

Stiles being so insistent that he wouldn't leave her, and that he knew she wouldn't hurt him, all while blaming it on the fact that he doesn't like parties, was just the sweetest and most wholesome thing. And Malia being clearly worried and upset that she might hurt Stiles, but also so undeniably Malia with how up front she was about how much she wanted to kill him was adorably hilarious. Also, I just love how calm and collected Stiles is with Malia's struggle with the change. Like, everything he's been through with Scott up to this point ("Surprisingly enough, you're not the first person to ever say something like that." XD) has made this kind of thing pretty normal for him (wow that's kind of a sad thought, ngl), and he's honestly more worried for her than he is scared of her, and I love that. <3 I honestly really do love their relationship so much. I feel like their chemistry is really fun, and while they may not balance each other quite as well as Stiles and Lydia do (in my opinion), they clearly care about each other, and I feel like they can teach each other a lot, and that in itself makes for a really special relationship. <3

Anyways I love our little couples and our little pack and I hate that we have assassins on the loose but let's hope we can get everything with Liam figured out so that that can be next on the docket.

(Neither of these are the scenes I was talking about, but they are both VERY cute scenes with these couples and I can't wait until I actually get to see both of these. <3 <3 <3)

[theshadowrealmitself]

I heard somewhere awhile ago that the LoK writers had no idea if they’d get another season after each season, so that’s why in the show every season gets their stuff wrapped up by the season finale to avoid cliffhangers in case they couldn’t get the show renewed

So I was thinking about that, and my ideal version of LoK if they had been able to have more overarching stuff because I really fucking love the waterbender brothers:

Starts off the same with Amon and the Equalizers, but they aren’t gone by the end of season 1, instead they’re a constant background threat

Season 2 also has the same villain it had, except, Tarrlok is still alive and instead of just getting a sad backstory for him to make him a sympathetic antagonist, he gets to work with Korra against her shitty fucking uncle, and we get to see him react to another waterbender being a corrupt piece of shit and actually see how he tries to be good and different from his dad in his own way

I think this would be fun as I like Tarrlok as a character, I think he’d fucking hate Unalaq and I’d love to see him take out his father issues on the guy, and Korra would have to deal with the fact that she can’t trust her uncle who she’s supposed to be able to trust but apparently she can trust the sleazy councilman who by all rights is untrustworthy??

Season 3/4 also has Kuvira, except for these parts, it’s Amon who’s the unlikely ally Korra occasionally ends up teaming up with, cause there’s no way that nonbenders didn’t end up getting really screwed over under Kuvira’s reign, this would give Amon his chance to show that he’s also trying to be better than his father in his own fucked up way, and again it’d have that delightful thing of Korra ending up teaming up with someone she never would’ve thought she would

Throughout all seasons, we’d see laws and stuff being put in place to help nonbenders, and also I think it’d be cool if throughout all seasons it’s kind of hard to fully tell if Asami is actually trustworthy or not because the entire time she’s being a double agent for Team Avatar

Also I think it’d be cool if the show ended up with Korra facing off against Amon, who wanted to stop the Avatar cycle, as the first Avatar of the new cycle (I’m a firm believer in that theory that she was always meant to become the first avatar of the new cycle, there was only one more space for Aang’s statue in that temple!!), showing him how futile and stupid his stance of getting rid of the Avatar was

[dreamerdrop]

One of my hobbies is taking characters from dating sims and romance games who are all meant to be paired solely with the player character and shipping them with each other instead.

[coffeeaddictandinsomniac]

The urge to write a 200k+ medieval fantasy book with slow burn enemies to lovers is very strong.

But then I remember I have to think of an actual plot that happens and not just little scenarios to throw them in ;-;

[animationismycomfort]

I hate them so much I swear to god

(waste of material honestly)

[jackass-jones]

The way akishinji and ashbella both have dramatic coma scenes and dramatic shot through the heart scenes like we’ve gotta stop meeting like this 😩

[milkbreadtoast]

exactly this...🥹😭❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Oh my god.......

[nanaslutt]

roommates!gojo & geto jerking each other off while thinking abt their cute neighbor they both want soooo bad

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

“do it harder.” geto groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he laid back against satoru’s pillows. said man currently had his hand wrapped around his cock, albeit poorly. his hand was soft as fuck, but he was touching him like he had never touched a dick before. “jerk me off how you jerk yourself off.”

gojo snorted, his words breathy as he spoke, “what if i like it soft?” geto shook his head and curled his toes when gojo wrapped his hand around him tighter. “these walls are thin, i’ve heard you having sex and i know you don’t like it soft. those poor girls.”

gojo laughed, “they love it, i think she would love it too.” he said. geto licked his lips, starting to paint an image in his head. “what would you do to her?” he asked tentatively, his eyebrows furrowing together when gojo focused on his cock head like the bastard he was.

“mmm i think id start with fingering her.” gojo said. “i’ve seen her a couple times in the laundry room bend over in those tiny shorts—you know the ones. and her-“ he stopped talking to groan when geto stroked over a particularly sensitive vein. “they don’t cover much.”

geto nodded, seeing you bent over in his head. “you think she’s sensitive?” geto asked, cracking his eyes open to peek at gojo. his eyes were lidded and focused on the hand around his cock. geto tried not to shy away when he felt his pre cum drip into his hand. he’d never jerked anyone off before—besides himself.

“oh yeah,” gojo responded, biting his plush lip. for some reason it made geto’s mouth water. “i think… fuck, i think i could make her squirt with just my fingers.” gojo’s face was getting flushed now. it made geto want to tease him. “yeah?” he asked, squeezing his hand tighter around his shaft and relishing in his reaction when he sucked in a breath through his teeth and arched his back. “would you make her squirt all over our couch?”

gojo moaned at his filthy words and nodded, his head tipping back against the headboard. “yeah.” geto nodded, looking at his roommate even though his eyes were closed. “what would you do if i walked in when you were making her cum?” he asked, paying attention to the head of his cock.

“i-id let you suck my fingers clean.” he groaned, making geto’s balls throb at the visual. “god, she’d probably get so hot… trying to press her thighs together watching me suck your fingers.” gojo nodded, his mouth falling open in a small O.

“would you want her pussy or her ass?” geto asked, his breath coming more quickly. “ass, i know it’s so tight and warm. god. would you want her at the same time?” geto nodded despite him being unable to see. “yeah, just think about how good she would look with tears down her face trying to take us both.”

suddenly, a hand way being wrapped around his wrist. geto opened his eyes fully and watched with rapt attention as gojo cursed before his back arched. he continued stroking him, despite knowing what was gonna happen. he cringed when hot ropes of cum spilled from his dick, coating his hand and his cock and making a lewd sound from the stroking.

gojo gripped geto’s wrist to stop him, and geto pulled it away and made a face at the mess on his hand. gojo also had stopped jerking him off, just weakly holding his throbbing cock. “that did it for you huh?” he teased. gojo laughed before removing his hand from geto’s cock.

gojo crawled off the edge of the bed and bent down to grab a towel to wipe his cock clean with. geto gripped his cock and languidly started stroking, waiting for gojo to help him get off. “your turn, one minute man. come keep this fantasy going so i can blow all over your hand and pretend it’s hers.”

a cruel smile twisted on gojo’s face before he dropped the towel and zipped his pants back up. “i’m sure you can finish yourself off.” getos mouth opened in disbelief. “if you need some help, i have porn from last night still up on my laptop, feel free to check it out. it’s really good stuff.” with a wink, he left geto gaping and alone in HIS room with his stiff cock in his hand.

fucking biiiitch.

[norrisainz33]

ski trip || ln4

☆ summary: annual ski trip with lando, max and p! ft. down bad bf lando

☆ pairing: lando norris x private!nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none and suggestive and minor bad language- you are responsible for the content you consume

☆ requested: nope!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by landonorris, ln4, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, yourbff and 1,238 others

ynuser: and that’s a wrap on the 2024 season! congrats again to the mclaren team and my little gremlin boy 🧡

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landonorris: AWOOOGGAAAAA

ynuser: 😘🤍🫶🏻😔👏🏻🫣🥹

oscarpiastri: i was so scared he was going to drop it

ynuser: you and me both osco

muppet4: AWOOGA THATS MY GIRL

ynuser: not the priv too 😭

muppet4: had to make sure you knew i thought you looked hot

carlossainz55: simp 🫵🏻

ynuser: that’s him your honor

maxfewtrell: did you swipe me one of those ornaments

ynuser: yes multiple dw

lilyzneimer: prettiest girl at the party

ynuser: no baby that was you

oscarpiastri: 🫣

ynuser has posted to their story 🔒

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landonorris: thanks for not posting the strip poker pic 🫣

ynuser: HA i didn’t but i wouldn’t put it past max

maxfewtrell: let’s gooooooo

yourbff: yeeeeee i’m so excited for you

ynuser: eeek me toooooo

pietra.pilao: huge agree 🤍⛷️

ynuser: missed you sm bestie

carlossainz55: where was my invite amiga?

ynuser: mi amigo it was sent but someone said they were busy 🙄

lilyzneimer: wish we were there with you!!! next time 🤍

ynuser: next time pleaseee!! i know i just saw you at the holiday party but my god i already miss you

pietra.pilao has posted to her story

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maxfewtrell: what about me???

pietra.pilao: what about you?

maxfewtrell: 🙄

ynuser: my girl 🫶🏻🥹😍😘

pietra.pilao: i love you long time

pietra.pilao: can you just move to london with max and i

ynuser: i love you more 🤍 ill work on getting lan to move to london asap 😍

user2: serving so hard it criminal

landonorris: NO!!! that’s the love of MY life!!!!!

pietra.pilao: get in line

landonorris: god dammit i knew i should never have introduced you two

pietra.pilao: bc she likes me more?

landonorris: yes 😔

user1: omg mothers are mothering

yourbff: god i’m so in love with you both

muppet4 posted to their story

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elmatador55: this angle makes you look tall

muppet4: thanks mate! i grew a few inches 🙂‍↔️

maxfewtrell: can’t believe you made me take this to only post it on the priv ?!

ynuser: i wish we could stay like this in our little snow bubble forever

muppet4: same darling. id love to be able to spend every single second of all my time with you but it makes the time we do have that much sweeter 🤍

ynuser: very true sweet boy

muppet4: plusssss you’re coming to more races next season so it wont be as bad i promise

ynuser: starting my full time wag duties 🫡

oscinha: keepin it pg i see

muppet4: always

m4xlol: my eyes 😭

muppet4: close em 😘

landonorris has posted to his story

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iamrebeccad: as you SHOULD!

user4: any day that we get y/n crumbs is a good day

ynuser: thanks for the bag baby 😍

landonorris: anything for my world 😘

ynuser: i love you 🤍

landonorris: god say it again

ynuser: i love you forever

landonorris: mm yeah you do

landonorris: i love you too ❤️

maxverstappen1: she deserves it 😩

landonorris: you right 😔

user18: lando can you fight?

yourbff: this is the richest and bougiest thing i’ve ever seen

landonorris: lv in snow is next level

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, iamrebeccad, yourbff, muppet4, maxverstappen1, and 989 others

ynuser: how lucky i am to live this life with you 🤍

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yourbff: cutie patootie

ynuser: 🥹🤍

carmenmundt: the perfect couple

ynuser: says you and georgie

landonorris: man don’t make me cry

ynuser: ur a cute crier

landonorris: it’s just bc i love you sm

maxverstappen1: he’s the lucky one y/n/n

muppet4: unbelievably lucky mate

maxverstappen1: 👏🏻

pietra.pilao: snow angel 🫶🏻

landonorris has made a post

liked by carlossainz55, mclarenf1, oscarpiastri, lancestroll, georgerussell63, and 657,235 others

landonorris: would give anything for break to never end

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maxfewtrell: heard the real estate prices are cheaper here than monaco

pietra.pilao: no it’s better in london pls

ynuser: yes lando london is quite nice this time of year i hear

landonorris: yeah no it’s not y/n

maxfewtrell: it’s actually horrible this time of year

user12: god you two are perfect

user23: Y/N CRUMBS YEEEEEE

ynuser: you and that puppy makes me want a puppy

landonorris: i can make that happen

ynuser: 👀🫵🏻🐶

mclarenf1: going to pretend we didn’t see this! you gotta get back on track soon!

user24: y/n is literally so gorgeous how did he bag such a baddie

user19: if my man don’t post me like this i don’t want him

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[yieldtotemptation]

ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

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

If only these walls could talk.

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

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

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

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

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

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

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

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

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

You make it easy for her.

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

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re slamming into her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

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

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

You're the one that chased her first.

—

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

—

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

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

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

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

Boring.

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

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

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

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

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

Something about needing a drink.

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

Where you find her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A necklace.

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

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

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

(It doesn’t.)

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

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

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

“Just the important ones.”

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

“I see.”

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

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

“Careful.”

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

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

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

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

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

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

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

“So, no sex at all, then.”

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

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

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

You take another drink. She watches.

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

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

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

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

"Rumours."

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

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

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

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

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

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

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

“Then what do you need?”

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

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

“You don’t have the time for me.”

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

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

—

This is how you end up:

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

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

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

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

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

But you both know better.

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

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

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

Indulge yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, look up. “This?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"First tonight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hands shoot to your chest.

“Please, kiss me again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been a while.

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish, darling.”

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

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

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

That’s a problem for future you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But one thing at a time.

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

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

“Good.”   

And so, you drop to your knees.

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

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

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

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

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

The kind that’s not you.

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

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

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

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

You don’t need to be told twice.

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

“Wait, why—”

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

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

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

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

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

Shivers under your breath.

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

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

Mina goes still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

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

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

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

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

She needs you to never stop.

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

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

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

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

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

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

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

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

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

It takes a moment, two.

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

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

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

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

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

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

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

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

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

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

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you push your own shirt back in the waistband of your pants and slick your hair down.

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

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

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

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

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

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

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

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

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

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

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

So what if you just stood there and stared?

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

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

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

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

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

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

“I think we’re well past that.”

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

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

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

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

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

Her fault, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

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

“Of course it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pinch. She gasps.

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

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

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

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

“It is your fantasy.”

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

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

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

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

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

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You doing okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She cums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

“God, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want it to hurt so good.”

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

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

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

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

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

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

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels so deep.”

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

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

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

“How many?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

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

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

Her whole body, yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shatters. Monumentally.

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

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

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

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

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

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.” 

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

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

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

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

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

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

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

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t mean anything real.

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

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

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

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

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

You tilt your head. 

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

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

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

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

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

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

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

But instead, she just looks at you.

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

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

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

But you have a job. A company to run.

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

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

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

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

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

 “Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

[thoughtssvt]

O.F. COUPLE

nanami kento x fem! reader

cw: filmed sex, creampies, cunnilingus, vaginal sex (tagged as fem reader because kento refers to you as his wife, but aside from that & genitalia there are no specific fem descriptions), cum eating

It wasn’t like your page blew up over night, but the rise was definitely quick.

Turns out a lot of people were drawn to a couple who played no gimmicks. Didn’t put on a show. Hell, didn’t even do this for money. Nowhere in your eight videos posted to the hub did you splice enough content together to reel in engagement only to direct watchers to another platform hidden behind a paywall.

Not that your viewers wouldn’t use one hand to punch in their credit card information if that was the case.

It was impulsive at first, the filming of it.

A steamy night that started in the living room, lingering touches and hot kisses. Always followed up by grinding that had you both struggling to decide whether or not that’s how you wanted to finish or if those handful of seconds away from each other to undress was worth the high. You two ultimately chose the latter. A trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, Kento fishing his phone out of his pocket before dropping his pants and for some reason it felt oddly heavy in his hands.

He gave you a look, the look. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you, there had been plenty of times in the past where you’d filmed short videos of your intimate moments. Kento’s head between your legs, looking up at you with pussy drunk, half-lidded eyes. Hands flexing around your thighs as he licked his lips. Or awkward overhead angles of a makeout session so hot that it almost left your lips raw. Most videos were the last few seconds of Kento’s orgasm– you already delirious in your high– his breathy grunt cracking through the speakers before the microphone had time to adjust, recording the delicious squelch of your cunt letting him go as he pulled out. A thick glob of cum followed a few seconds after. His thumbnail white as he pulled one of your cheeks to the side to show the camera how you gaped for him.

You didn’t upload those videos, though. Those were a keepsake for your eyes only.

The videos that you posted to your account were always filmed at one of three angles. Atop the dresser that stood right across your bed or propped up on the lamp housed on your bedside table. The third angle was rare. One that was seen in a singular video.

Wife Rides Husband’s Cock, Begging To Be Filled After Two Weeks Apart - Close Up Creampie

The only video that had any cuts in it. Just one cut from the first wide angle, your figures backlit by the window behind you as you sat on his upper thighs, Kento’s head propped up against the headboard. Hot hands smoothing up and down your sides. Just enough light hitting your faces for the viewers to see your whispers, the phone far enough away that the only murmur his phone’s microphone could pick up was the bubbling giggled that had you lurching forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. There was just something so genuine about you two that drew the readers in. How, besides capturing an inherently intimate moment, they could see how much you cared for each other once the cameras were off.

Half the comments always swooned about how sweet the two of you were no matter how rough or intense the content was. The other half of them comments on this video in particular was songs of praises and gratitude for the second angle.

Filmed from Kento's POV everyone got to see how you bounced and grinded, the way your thighs flexed and your hips wiggled. Everyone commenting the timestamp 21:06 when your fingernails dug into Kento's toned stomach, scratching the expanse as you huffed about how close you were. Kento's hand wrapped around your waist tight enough for your flesh to deliciously spill over the edges. god, did he love that. He would've commented on it if he wasn't more concerned about your comfort, asking if you wanted him to take over. You shook your head wanting to do it to the end, knowing you could. Begging Kento to cum with you because you were so, so close. Dragging him practically by the neck to join you as you whispered dirty pleas for him to fill you up. How you felt so empty while he was away.

This second angle was a godsend. Propelling the video to the top rank of verified couples. The way you fell over the edge together in itself already had most of your viewers making a mess on their own end, but the way you leaned back exposing the creamy ring that adorned the base of Kento's cock. Your glistening cunt so puffy and loved. The way you slowly rose up despite the fatigue in your thighs, previewing the mess between your legs as it streaked down Kento's cock. That had your watchers groaning, kicking themselves as the need for their hand to drift back to their crotches grew. The groan that reverberated from Kento's chest and the soft gasp that left your lips as you rose high enough for his heavy length to slip out of you, slapping his pelvis with a thick squelch was what made most, if not all, of them continue through the overstimulation.

No matter how much time had passed since posting that video, you still had comments coming in every day of people on their knees begging, offering ridiculous sums of money to get just a taste of that third angle. Just one more video where they could watch Kento's cum drip out of you and back onto his cock. Hell, even just a split second of your cum soaked cunt before the screen blackened to reflect their pathetic faces as Kento dropped his phone onto the mattress, unable to hold himself back from licking you clean. A lot of your viewers having confessed that they return to this video just to hear him devour you, sloppy smacks of his lips, heated groans and your weak mewls enough for a quick session.

You had devout watchers. People who never even ventured the amateur category had notifications on for your posts. People who longed for the impromptu videos that came according to no schedule or pretext whatsoever. Most of which who couldn't believe you'd give them this content for free. They could tell how much you loved each other and how much fun you had during these moments. Their hearts aching and fluttering for the whispers and smiles and the soft kisses that never managed to interrupt the flow that would lead to the signature plaps just minutes later.

They'd given and continued to give you so much love, the two of you figured it wouldn't hurt to plan a celebratory milestone video and maybe, just maybe you could convince Kento to film that third angle again.

A/N: i kinda wanna write more of this

nanami kento x reader master list

[celestiamour]

pls pls plsss write smth where fem reader and se-mi meet at the games and fall for one another? w the reader having a sort of bubbly and cute personality! tysm 🫶🫶

ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ falling for your cute and bubbly personality┊0.7k words

contains: fluff! reader is a sweetheart, asking you out

➤ author's note: i was so in love with her this entire season like i couldn’t stop giggling every time she showed up on screen

you seem to be able to create friends even in this impossible situation, she notes as she watches you with amused eyes while you flutter around the room from group to group like a pretty butterfly flying from flower to flower. there’s at least one person in the dozens of teams who you know by name and not number, and even if you didn’t, you thought all of them were deserving of a drop of sunshine that was your personality. you made even the most difficult people crack a smile with how infectious your energy was and how sweet you were even in these murder games, and it made her indifferent heartbeat a little faster whenever it was her turn to have your attention. who wouldn’t feel that way when there was such a cute girl who reminded her of the princesses from those cartoons she watched when she was little?

“se-mi unnie!! how are you holding up?”

she hadn’t seen the real light of the sun in days, yet your smile shone even brighter than the morning star and she briefly wondered if she would be blinded if she looked directly at it. you were like a doll in the sense that it seemed to be permanent, but after seeing the look on your face after the first game where dozens died like they meant nothing, she now knows you were simply spreading some much-needed love to others as a way to cope with the traumatic experience like the sweetheart you were.

“i’m doing okay, i just wish the food tasted better— come sit next to me,” she commanded, patting her free hand against the open spot on the mattress because she wanted as much of your time as possible. 

“well, it’s kimbap, so you can’t really go wrong with it!” you obediently climbed onto the bed with her, sitting so close that she could smell the artificial flower-scented soap of the shower you took a couple of hours ago. “when we get out of here, you should come over to my place and i’ll cook you some food! i’m not as good as my grandma, but it’s a lot better than the cold stale stuff they serve here.”

“that would be great.” she liked the idea of coming over to your place, already able to imagine your room full of stuffed animal collections and lace curtains, although she would much prefer it if she came as something more than a friend— but now that she thinks about it, did you even like girls in that way like she does? you didn’t really express romantic interest in girls, but you exactly didn’t show any for guys either, being more of a little sister figure for them all rather than a potential love interest like she saw you as. 

there was only one way to tell, so se-mi did what she did best, and that was flirting with girls. 

“god, i wish this could be over already,” she sighed as she leaned over to your side to rest her head on your shoulder. “i would love to come over to your place, we could have a spa night and watch romance movies until morning.”

as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt heat start to radiate off your face. “l-like a date?”

“well, only if you want it to be a date…” 

“w-well… um… i would… really, really like that… um, mrs kang is calling for me! i’ll talk to you later!” you stuttered as you rushed off in the direction of the old lady and her son, covering your face with your hands and running away like an embarrassed anime girl. she watched carefully as you told them something in a clearly excited tone before smacking the man with the glasses when his head snapped in se-mi’s direction, but they both seemed very happy for you which made her smile knowing you were on board

“goddamn it, why is everyone pulling cute girls except for me?!” an annoyingly familiar voice from a certain purple-haired rapper started. “what am i doing wrong? i’m thanos for crying out loud, i should be getting swarmed!”

“you might want to work on your technique.”

[togament]

suo. sakura. umemiya. togame. pt. 1

"...and the biggest fattest one too. How'd it take him so long to figure it out? What did it take for him to finally realize?"

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, general cute stuff really. There isn't much to warn about :o!!! gn!reader, Togame is tall and awkward and cute and and--, Ume's precious as always!

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

✦ when he’s doting on you way more, putting your wants over everything else.

He's attending to your every need even before you realize you even need it in the first place. Need tissues? He's already pulling them out of his bag. Got a migraine? He's already handing you a water bottle and an ibuprofen. He does it so naturally too like it's second nature to him.

✦ when he uncharacteristically gets heated when someone tries to harm you.

Listen. He's usually so, SO calm even in the most intense situations, always ready to analyze before acting--a real brain over heart typa guy. But when he finds you being cornered at an alleyway? He's sprinting towards you to beat whoever's planning on hurting you without even thinking twice. Someone's bothering you in town? He's shadowing you, protecting and keeping watch.

✦ he catches himself being flustered, blushing and folding at the sight of you.

Suo rarely shows any intense emotions. If anything, it's always just a slight smile and a little teasing remark here and there. But around you though? He's smiling widely, cheeks blushing. It's hard to hide sometimes. Goodness. He needs to keep himself in check, he often thinks. He doesn't want you to find out yet. Not yet.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀.

✦ when he looks for you FIRST whenever he achieves something, whenever he's having a bad day--for literally EVERYTHING.

his immediate thought is you. Every time. When he sees the hybrid tomato plant you both grew from seed blooming, he's immediately sending you photos. When he's having one of those nights, tossing and turning in his sleep, thoughts keeping him awake, the only thing that's tethering him down to earth is you.

✦ when he sees you get along with the family that he built for himself.

Ume is never subtle when it comes to this. My god. He's blushing, tripping over his words, movements ever so stiff--it's very unusual to see Ume in this state. He's just so happy to see you interacting with everybody, loving each member as much as he does. He can't just swoop you off your feet and kiss you right? Not right now. Not when he's been silently pining for you for years.

✦ when he realizes his thoughts about his future always has you in it.

He often talks about his future with others, what his plans are after he graduates, where he wants to go, what restaurants to go to. Everyone notices how his thoughts always seem to gravitate towards you, always easing you into his plans with a pensive little, "Hm. Y'think they'd like to go here too? I heard them talking about the spot a couple times!", "Maaaan I wanna go here with them soon. Should I just book the tickets? Surprise them? Yeah I think I should!" Everyone's just waiting for a confession at this point, really.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

✦ when random things remind him of you.

he could be on their daily patrols, passing by some shops and his mind would drift off to you and how you would look in the shirt he passed by, how your face would probably light up at the taste of the anpan they're selling down the street. Goodness you never leave his mind. Day dreams about it sometimes. Suo and Nirei has caught him multiple times doing so. Always ends with an extremely flustered Sakura.

✦ when he thinks he hears your laughter or your voice, his head snaps towards the direction of the sound.

just like the above! But it's your voice. Nirei thinks Sakura's just on guard by how often he looks around quickly but Suo points out Sakura's reddening cheeks and they immediately know he's thinking about you again. Wants to fish his phone out of his pocket with trembling (and blushing) fingers to ask you where you are. Y'know... Just in case you run into trouble.

✦ when he gave you the other half of his food (he hasn't taken a single bite yet)

Sakura sometimes eats for at least 5 people so to have him offer half of his food to you when you're out eating is saying something. His hands are blushing and trembling as he's trying his best to steady them, slicing a portion of his food to place it on your plate. Of course, you give him the other half of your food too. Of course he's a blushing mess.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

✦ finds every excuse possible to be close to you. (Subtly.)

Ever noticed how Togame always seems to bump into you at spots you and your friends frequent? How he so happened to pass by the Furin school after your classes are dismissed? Gosh you're his first real crush so he doesn't know what to do with all these feelings. He wants to see you and see you often. He awkwardly and adorably tries his damndest not to seem too obvious when he's trying to see you more to strike up a conversation but his blushing (and tall frame) doesn't help his case.

✦ when he always talks about you to the old men at the public baths he frequents.

Togame's a quiet guy. He rarely ever yaps, always getting cut off mid-sentence since he talks so.. SO slow. But when it's about you, his normal 0.75x speaking speed goes up to a full 1.0x or even, dare I say, 1.25x. He's smiling ear to ear, voice with an uncharacteristic shine to it while he's playing shogi with one of the old men. They already adore you before they even meet you. They often give Togame advice too--bring you your favorite flowers, they suggest. Take you out for a festival date, they suggest. "Soon," Togame responds, scratching the back of his neck, "M'nervous though. I can pull it off ri--" "Of course you can, kame-kun." he looks at the old men with the softest, most lovestruck eyes they've ever seen. Soon. He'll make his very first move.

✦ has caught himself staring at you from afar, smiling to himself like a damn lovesick puppy.

...on multiple ocassions, might I add. You could be yapping away with the Bofurin members, talking animatedly about the most mundane things, arms flinging to and fro to get your point across, snort laughing and head thrown back. Togame's just sat just outside the group, ever the introvert. Face propped on his hand, heart practically melting. He doesn't realize he's doing this before Choji points it out. Loudly. He's immediately looking in the other direction, blush creeping up his neck as he struggles to keep the smaller Shishitoren member in check. While he's preoccupied, it's your turn to stare back at him, hiding a blush behind your hand. Suo notices this and points it out. Now the both of you are flustered messes.

a/n: tried my hand at a new layout!! eeeee inspired by my favorite perfume house but we're not opening that can of worms right now, lest I yap. ANYWHOSIES thank you, dear reader, for getting this far. I am smooching your forehead tenderly with consent.

[seungfl0wer]

Bangchan As Your Boyfriend

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut 🩵

•He’s such a cute, giggly, bushy mess. He’s so giddy about everything.

•Finds everything you do just so damn cute.

•One of his favorite things is when you get to talking about something you love.

•The way you’re so excited about it just makes him smile while listing.

•The sparkle in your eyes just makes his heart do flips.

•Another thing he absolutely just melts at is you in his clothes.

•He finds it so cute and attractive just seeing you in his shirts/hoodies.

•The day he finds you all curled up in bed in his hoodie snuggling up to his pillow.

•Ugh man feels like his heart is on fire.

•He’s such a sweet Clingy man.

•Wants to always be touching you in some way.

•Is he slightly possessive or is he just doing loving boyfriend things?

•The answer is yes. Yes to both.

•He always has a hand on you. Either on your thigh, holding your hand, touching your arms. Anything.

•He’s very thoughtful.

•Remembers all the things you tell him.

•So when he’s traveling and sees your favorite animal, snack or favorite character in that one show you guys binge watched.

•He’s buying it for you.

•Speaking of buying things.

•Loves buying you both matching clothes.

•Finds it so adorable.

•He’s getting you both a whole wardrobe of couple outfits.

•Just loves showing you off.

•Talks non-stop about you.

•”y/n loves those!” “Omg those are y/ns faves!”

•“Y/n and I come here all the time” “y/n did this funny thing today”

•Plans out time for his schedule to make sure he has time to spend with you.

•Does in fact cry when he’s away from you for too long.

•He gets you to wear one of his hoodies for a while before leaving so he can snuggle it.

•Also cries into that.

•He’s just so head over heels for you it hurts being away for so long.

•When he does eventually come home.

•He’s all over you.

•You’re not leaving his sight for at least a week straight.

•He’s gonna be glued to you.

•Arms wrapped around you.

•Telling you how much he missed you. How much he wants to take you to the places he was.

•Giving you all the things he found for you.

•Also apologizing for leaving you for so long.

•Which you always playfully smack him telling him

•“I don’t mind, I knew when we started dating this would happen. At least at the end of everything you come back to me.”

•Your words always bringing tears to his eyes.

•Mans has a whole folder of songs he’s made for you.

•There’s some he’s shown you but a lot are special.

•For special occasions like birthdays/anniversaries.

•He also has a whole folder of pictures/videos of you.

•A lot. A LOT. Of unflattering ones.

•Has those saved in a special folder so you can’t delete them.

•He thinks they’re cute but you think they’d be perfect blackmail material.

•He really enjoys your input on things.

•Music, style, life. He really likes to hear what you have to say.

•Always checks up on you, just simple “did you eat today?” Or “Did you drink water?”

•Sends the sweetest good morning texts

•And you know something?

•The spark yall have never dies.

•The longer you date, the more he knows he’s gonna marry you.

•He falls more and more in love with you every day.

•Truly heart eyes for you constantly.

•Chan is really just the best, he’s so caring, compassionate and just.. the man you want forever with.

•And nothing would make you happier than to spend that forever with him.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•As loving as he is normally that transfers to love making.

•And that’s what it is.

•Love making.

•He’s so sensational, and passionate.

•You both definitely sit down and talk about what you both like.

•Chan always wants to make sure you’re comfortable.

•But god does he just lose control sometimes.

•His mind goes as he’s fucking you.

•He looks like a dog with his tongue basically hanging out.

•The noises he makes are so hot-

•This man’s vocal on a daily you think he’s not in bed?

•If he’s not making noises he’s talking.

•Big into talking.

•”Baby, you feel so good” “ah you’re taking me so good”

•”My love your milking my cock-“ “you’re so good for me baby”

•Ugh-

•Definitely loves interlocking hands.

•He can get a little rough sometimes.

•Spanking, Choking, hair pulling, probably has a daddy kink.

•I said what I said.

•We all know he does-

•He’s such a softy though.

•Soft dom for sure

•Always. Always makes sure you cum.

•You could have been an absolute brat.

•And yeah he’s gonna punish you but honestly.

•He’s gonna let you cum.

•Even if he says he won’t.

•He will.

•He always does.

•Also listen-

•This man’s going down on you often.

•So often.

•He just can’t get over how you sound.

•Can’t get over how you look when his tongue is lapping at your hole.

•Really just drives him crazy.

•So much aftercare. Ugh dude-

•Cleans you up, cuddles you, gets you a snack and a drink.

•”You did so well baby” “it’s ok baby I’m here I’m not going anywhere ever. I love you”

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[sugudoe]

᭡ ★ ׁ ׅ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐒 ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ᝰ gojo satoru used to be a lonely child, that was until you started to be there for him — to hear his complains, to run away from the clan for a few hours, and to decorate his hair with flowers. you are his most sacred person, he is your most loved one.

ᡴꪫ a/n: bring me back my man, gege!!! this was inspired by the confirmation he would sneak away from home and this, he would’ve been a mama’s boy. @emilyywhyy. using new tag, masterlist.

ᡴꪫ c/w: child!gojo, teen!gojo \\ child!reader, teen!reader \\ fluff and angst \\ bittersweet ending, but happy. \\ gender neutral!reader \\ 1.3k words.

They say the day Gojo Satoru was born, the balance of the world shifted. Everyone would stare at him with reverence, as if he was a a saint and the gift from the gods, when in fact he was a martyr, born to suffer. For you, though, he was just a boy — just your Satoru.

You had been by his side for a long time, being born in a world where his presence was constant, just a couple months older than you. You father was an experienced teacher for the clan, and your mother their most loyal historian. Both of them had been tasked with helping Gojo to understand his powers and control it, and you, always so curious, stayed by their side. Quietly and cautious, staring at him.

White hair, blue eyes, stoic face and strange ways. Sometimes, too rude, others, too playful. Inside of him there were two personalities in constant crash, one that longed to be just a child and other that was meant to be the strongest.

He envied you for many reasons. You could play with the other children, your tasks seemed less rough than his, and… Oh, he envied how loved you were by your parents. When you would accompany him in one of his classes, arriving in your messy hair and dirty kimono for playing too much, eyes filled with happiness and your parents would beam at you, they lovely child.

Would they have sold you, had you been the strongest of your family? Or would they have fought? How much money, status and power would it take for any good person in this world to be corrupted?

Satoru didn’t want to know the answer to those questions, he likes you and your parents that way — warm hugs and sweet kisses. Never would Satoru trade places with you, for him, you were so pure to deal with what he has been going through.

You were the one to approach him first, finding him hiding between the trees that surrounded the clan’s houses, tears guarded by his hands, and he was betrayed by his trembling shoulders.

“Why are you crying?” You stepped closer very slowly, as if approaching a scared animal.

“I want to go home.” Satoru answers, making your small child mind wander what he meant. Isn’t this the Gojo’s lands? “I want my mommy.”

Oh.

Even naive as you were, you understood right away. You have seen her before, one of the most beautiful woman you have ever met. Quiet, walking around the gardens, her pale skin in contrast with the roses, but everything about her and around seems dull. Maybe it’s the lack of her child that makes her like this. No money in the world could replace it, and she was only a woman in a world controlled by men. Her wishes and demands wouldn’t be heard, never.

“Sometimes, they let us see each other.” You are putting daffodils on Satoru’s hair when he starts talking again. “She pretends she is fine, and tells me how proud she is. Her hugs are longer each time, and the meetings are less as well.”

“And how about your dad?” You ask, when he is the one decorating your hair with trembling fingers.

“He…” Satoru sighs. “He is just there. Tells me to listen to the maesters, to your father. That one day I’ll make everyone proud, and be the strongest.”

“I’m proud of you.” You feel the need to say it, so you do. And maybe, it’s what you had to do, Satoru smiles slightly, before raising to his feet and grabbing you with him. He starts to run in a direction you have never been before. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me.” You do. That moment and every moment forward, you would trust Gojo.

You both arrived in the city after an hour of walking and running, babbling about your favorites everything.

His favorite animal is a dog, but he can’t have one. His favorite food is taiyaki, but he never tasted it. And, his favorite color, he stops to think and stare at you for a while, before going with the one you think looks exactly as your eyes. You tell him yours, and that you both can fix all his curiosities, right now.

With your little purses, coins clicking inside as you run through the streets, buying whatever he needs and has never experienced before, Satoru learns that he doesn’t like taiyaki, rather he finds his favorite being Kikufuku.

Sharing a strawberry ice cream, Gojo halts his movements, and you sense something coming from him — it’s what makes him being called the stronger one, the so long awaited hero. Like gravity has gone away, and the sky is falling on top of you, ready to crush everything.

“They are watching us. Let’s go home.” Had he been alone, that wouldn’t bother him, but you were still innocent, not yet developed your technique.

So, with daffodils still in your heads, you both return home to disapproving looks and a stomach filled with sugar.

Inside the groves, a tradition was born. If the weight of the world became too much to bear, Satoru would find you there. You always knew when he needed you the most, like a calling only you could sense. It burned in your chest until you reached him, and in front of Gojo, you would pick flowers and decorate his wild hair with it, or teach him how to make flower crowns or… rings.

“I wish I could burn this whole place to the ground.” He says once, while admiring the petals on your finger, he proudly made. Anger had been his friend for a while now, when he learned he would go to Jujutsu tech. He was happy and scared, and already missing you. “Except you, of course, and your parents, and my mom and… and this woods. This is ours, right?”

“Yes, ‘Toru. This is ours.” You hold his cold face with your other hand, while smiling calmly. “It will always be ours.” Closing the gap, you rest your head on his. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’m not going away forever. It feels like it, but I’ll be back, every weekend, I promise. And… I could exchange to the Kyoto school.”

“No, Satoru. You need freedom.”

“I need you as well.” He counterparts. “I’ll never be free from the expectations of the world, we could, at least, be stuck together.” He is nearly crying again.

“They won’t accept me, my cursed technique is nothing too special.” You sigh, falling in the grass, and he goes behind.

“I disagree. You will see, they will come begging for you, and you will tell them to go fu…” You raise your hands to his mouth, giggling as if you were seven, and not a nearly fifteen years old girl. “I’ll make them come for you, and if they don’t, I will. I’ll always come to you, and our daffodils.”

And indeed, he does. He comes for you months later, accompanied by two other kids and round sunglasses you’ve never seen before. Gojo Satoru comes for you, to grab your hands, pack your clothes, kiss his mothers cheeks knowing that won’t ever happen again, even if he wants so much.

She tells she is proud of him, his father tell him he is nearly there. Gojo wonders what would be enough to be enough. He tries not to care, inside the car with you, hands interlocked, jokes being shared and daffodils, always them, on both your heads and fingers.

You’re proud of him, and he is nowhere near his freedom, but the responsibilities feel less strong, his sadness less real. You’re here, always will be.

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