#still not entirely over those billboards

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

every once a while i remember the sovereign citizen movement and i feel better about the fact that i forgot how to eat a grape yesterday

[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 in place.

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

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

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

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

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

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

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

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

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

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

So what if you just stood there and stared?

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

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

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

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

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

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

“I think we’re well past that.”

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

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

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

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

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

Her fault, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

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

“Of course it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pinch. She gasps.

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

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

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

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

“It is your fantasy.”

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

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

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

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

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

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You doing okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She cums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

“God, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want it to hurt so good.”

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

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

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

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

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

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

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels so deep.”

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

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

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

“How many?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

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

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

Her whole body, yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shatters. Monumentally.

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

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

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

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

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

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.” 

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

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

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

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

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

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

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

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t mean anything real.

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

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

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

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

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

You tilt your head. 

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

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

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

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

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

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

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

But instead, she just looks at you.

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

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

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

But you have a job. A company to run.

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

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

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

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

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

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

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

[notaplaceofhonour]

it’s october 7th. you hear about the attack by seeing people you followed glorifying the terrorist attack—a massacre, a pogrom—as victory & justified resistance, glorifying a terrorist group that was founded with the explicit intent to kill your entire people

you make a post in which you make it clear you support palestinians and oppose the ways israel has wronged them, explaining that the terrorist group is still not good. you know you will probably get some flacc from the pro-Hamas side, but naively underestimate how much.

you get thousands of notifications on that one post, the majority of them hateful comments.

some of the response is positive. multiple messages thank you for the post, expressing bafflement that it’s controversial.

a few Israelis are upset at the loaded language in your post, but explain their problems with it civilly. you called Israel “apartheid”. they ask you what apartheid laws Israel has. you admit you honestly don’t know.

your inbox is flooded with anonymous hate from anti-Israel leftists.

over the course of a few weeks you have received hundreds of death threats, a dozen rape threats. people accuse you of being pro-genocide. you’re a literal Nazi. you’re racist, you thirst for the blood of Palestinians. you’re brainwashed by propaganda, a shill for The Zionist Entity. a few of the hate messages are from literal Neo-Nazis; the overwhelming majority are from leftists, many of them queer.

you are considering suicide.

you see footage of the october 7th attacks. you see footage of the bombings in gaza. you see footage of a Jewish man being murdered at an anti-Israel rally.

a popular creator you follow posts in support of an antisemitic hate group that masquerades as a Jewish organization. this organization regularly posts blood libel and other antisemitic rhetoric, works with groups that are even more explicitly antisemitic, including celebrating October 7th, holocaust inversion, blood libel, “Khazar theory” and others. more than one of the orgs they work with is pro-Putin.

your former roommate liked the post.

graffiti appears on a street you frequent that says “#freepalestine” and “end settler colonialism”

the boyfriend of the friend you spent most of the summer with makes his first post about the war. it’s a reposted comic that mocks and downplays the october 7th attack.

you doubt he’ll be receptive to criticism. he’s shared leftist memes about “monied elites” pulling all the strings and evangelicals being modern day “pharisees” in the past, and getting him to understand why that was antisemitic was like herding cats. you try anyway.

another of his Jewish friends also pushes back. he smugly dismisses her, tells her she’s falling for Zionist propaganda and uses several antisemitic tropes. you go off on him. he just deletes your comment.

you give up. you’re done. you block him.

you see anti-Israel posters and billboards around town

you mention what happened with the guy you went off on to his girlfriend—the friend you’ve grown very close to, who you’ve been listening to as she unburdens her fears for the future and complains about her bf’s BS over the last year. she doesn’t respond to you.

a friend of a friend shares posts tokenizing fringe groups that spread blood libel and have collaborated with holocaust deniers. you know they don’t know what you know, so you explain what those groups are. they seem somewhat receptive, apologize, and take it down

the next day they share several more posts that dip into antisemitic tropes. you mention this to your mutual friend, that you’re worried about them being radicalized. you’re not sure how receptive they’ll be to continued criticism

you have a confrontation with the foaf. in the meantime they’ve shared even more antisemitic posts. they say they didn’t mean to cause you distress but instead of stopping they effectively block you.

the “end settler colonialism” vandalism has been counter-vandalized with the words “commie propaganda” in place of “settler colonialism”. you don’t know if this is an improvement.

a month passes. the friend whose bf you went off on still hasn’t spoken to you. you see she shared a post defending an SJP chapter that posted Nazi cartoon caricatures of Jews repurposed in “Anti-Zionist” memes. you unfriend her on all social media platforms but you can’t bring yourself to block her number.

you see a friend of someone whose couch you surfed when you were homeless harassing Jewish celebrities with “Free Palestine” comments. you block them.

you’ve lost count of how many people you’ve unfollowed or blocked, or who’ve blocked you. friends, content creators.

when a friend takes an unusually long time to respond you worry if it’s because of your posts about antisemitism.

most of the podcasts, youtube channels, and other content creators you regularly engaged with no longer feel safe. you wonder who will be next

a couple friends wish you a happy hanukkah. you don’t celebrate much aside from lighting the hanukkiah and making some latkes.

you see posts about a destroyed chabad menorah, antisemitic comments on Jewish celebrities’ Hanukkah posts.

your neighborhood is covered in pro-Palestine & anti-Israel posters. some are seemingly innocuous, some are JVP “not in our name” posters. some call for intifada. “globalize the intifada” “Zionists fuck off!” “solidarity means attack!”

a man kills himself shouting “free palestine”. you learn about his suicide by seeing posts from several popular accounts you followed glorifying it.

you follow a bunch of jewish accounts on social media and commiserate with them about everything happening

your jewish friends post screenshots of the dead man’s antisemitic, pro-Hamas views. you look at his reddit and find even more horrific shit: anti-Ukraine posts. mocking Zelensky. “elites” are “lizard people”; the only named individual he calls a lizard person is Jewish. you start to notice a pattern: a lot of the people he dislikes just so happen to be jews.

several people you know share a post glorifying this man’s suicide. most are acquaintances, one is someone incredibly important to you.

you wonder how they would respond to your suicide.

you tell the close friend that shared this post how it scares you. you show them the receipts of the man’s antisemitism. their response is a single sentence. they didn’t know about the antisemitism.

they don’t apologize.

you notice none of your irl friends, even your closest ones, interact with your posts about antisemitism. you are able to vent to a couple friends, but no one has reach out to you

you try not to read into it. you try not to take it personally.

you haven’t slept well in months. you’ve always been an insomniac but not like this. you’re not sleeping until 4am, 6am, even 9am. even when you get to bed at a decent hour and get a full night’s rest it takes you hours to get out of bed.

a few weeks go by. the friend with the single sentence response shares a post saying they’re excited and proud to join a group to help palestinians. you’re excited and proud for them.

a couple days later, they share a post about a fundraiser to help a palestinian family get out of gaza. you note to yourself this is a much more effective & less concerning form of activism than the pro-suicidal antisemite post.

your friend shares another post about the fundraiser. it’s a joint post between their group and another group.

you open the other group’s page

the page is just a wall of signs from rallies. you swipe through one after another: “from the river to the sea”, “by any means necessary”, justifying/denying the atrocities of october 7th, calling for violent revolution. anything done in the name of resistance can’t be terrorism, all Israelis are terrorists. Jews aren’t indigenous; they’re white colonizers. holocaust inversion. other vile, thinly veiled violent rhetoric

you feel sick to your stomach imagining talking to your friend about it.

you already feel like you’re burdening the few friends you can talk to about this. you already feel like you think about it too much, talk about it too much. but you can’t not think about it; it affects every aspect of your life.

you’ve filtered out relevant keywords on more than one social media site to avoid the worst of it. some still manages to leak through.

there isn’t a single friend you regularly interact with that you don’t fear the moment when they will switch from listening to your concerns to seeing you as the evil zionist or indoctrinated hasbaranik they’ve been warned about.

it’s not an irrational fear. it keeps happening. you knew it would then, and you were powerless to do anything about it before, and you continue to be as it happens again and again.

you don’t know what to do about any of it.

[sukunasweetheart]

👀👉🏾👈🏾 Sukuna x Reader ex's to lovers?

wowowow i cant believe im doing like another celebrity au again but here goes nothing ahaha...

i love this trope, i ended up writing a WHOLE, lengthy ass, detailed plotline on it i hope u dont mind <3 (A WHOLE WHOPPING 6K WORDS YALL)

prepare for hella angst, OOC sukuna, insecure fem!reader, ghosting, messy break up, conflicting and complicated feelings + sexual tension and then intense smut @ the end (make up sex)

imagine sukuna being like, an amateur model-turned-actor, with you being his highschool sweetheart, who was there to support him since day one

a very happy, fulfilling relationship for the most part-- until he starts gaining huge amounts of popularity.

youve always known that he was meant and born to reach sky-high levels of success, and you were certain he was going to make it one day

but things get rockier by the second, and insecurity is such an ugly, ugly thing

seeing him model with other beautiful celebrities, acting in roles where he had a love interest to kiss and fondle, reading those gossip scandal articles involving him and another party every few months or so-

it all got too much for you.

all you needed was some reassurance... but young and vivacious sukuna, drunk on this fame and attention, failed to recognise that and left you feeling neglected.

not on purpose tho, he's never engaged in infidelity, he's never gazed upon someone else with lust or love on his mind - he was using everyone around him as a stepping stone towards his own career

sukuna's known you since forever, and he was confident that you knew his affection for you was unwavering... so he failed to understand where you were coming from whenever you brought these things up

arguments after arguments after arguments

the worst part of it was that he wanted to keep his relationship with you a secret. saying something about how having a significant other would slow his progress in his career down... the decision was urged on by the entertainment company that he was in a contract with

it hurt so damn much when he was being interviewed on tv about his romantic life, only for him to tell the world he was single.

it leads to more arguing.

of course, as a rising celebrity, he was quite awfully busy with many business trips and attending a lot of parties and galas

another terrible fight occurred right before he had to leave for a flight overseas but by then, youd pretty much already decided that you were going to leave him

you basically ghosted him, packing all your belongings overnight, blocking his number and all his social media accounts, making sure even all yours and his mutual friends didn't know of your whereabouts. you're going to start fresh. and give him no closure.

it was petty revenge, and maybe immature of you, but you were just as young as he was, and you wanted him to hurt as badly as you were hurting back then.

sukuna's still overseas, having just come back from another fancy gathering and is fresh out of the shower, in his hotel room... he decides he's gonna try and give you a call, but ofc you don't pick up

he sighs and convinces himself that he'll sort things out with you later when he gets back, not knowing that there won't be a 'later'.

meanwhile you're dragging a suitcase out of the apartment, taking a taxi somewhere else far away, crying as you pass by giant billboards that have pictures of sukuna plastered all over

he feels like such a faraway person now. no longer someone who you used to cuddle closely in bed, or hold hands with. you're not even sure of who you are without him anymore.

you could imagine his reaction when he came home, only to find your entire existence missing. seriously, it was like you were never there. you left nothing of yours behind, and the place was cleaned spick and span, not a hair of yours to be found.

when was the last time sukuna felt so panicked?? this dull ache in his chest, as he spams you calls and texts that never reach you

he contacts mutual friends in rotation but everyone is absolutely clueless... he considers filing a missing persons case but then a trusted friend of yours tells him to not look for you... and that you wanted them to relay a message to him, just a simple goodbye.

what the fuck are you talking about?

oh, here comes a severe headache.

his mind is whirring with overlapping memories, thoughts, regrets, thinking about any clues that might give away where you couldve gone, but theres simply nothing

the shock moves into sorrow, then denial, and then it turns to anger. does he mean nothing to you? so much so that youd abandon him without saying a word?

its like he was going through the five stages of grief, but for someone who he knew was still alive..

eventually, he finds a rebound out of spite. if youve left him, then it's means he's free and single, right? he gets himself piss-drunk, and beds another, only to wake up feeling absolutely disgusted. it feels like... it feels like he's cheated on you. even though you're already gone. he's just a mess of conflicting emotions, and it lasts for so long.

the reason why he doesnt hire someone or use some other underhanded method to actually look for you is because of a weird mixture of both his pride and feelings of insecurity, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you do deserve someone better, someone who understands you more... (and he's also fearful that someone like you, might've already found love somewhere else, and he's definitely not confident that he'll be able to act maturely if he sees its true)

eventually, acceptance does come... but does it really?

i like to think he went through many failed relationships, his partners always leaving him upon witnessing him getting intoxicated and calling for none other than your name in his state. someone who no one around him knows anymore.

years pass, and time really does allow you to forget. for both you and sukuna alike. in your mid thirties, both of you are single at this time.

you've been busy with your new job at some company (dont ask me, i was too lazy to decide what kind, so u guys can make this one up bye), and he made sure to keep himself busy as well. no time for fleeting romance.

of course, until fate does that weird thing where it pushes people together again... a new project lands in your lap, where it involves some kind of collaboration with THE celebrity, ryomen sukuna. of fucking course.

you really did desperately try to get it off and pass this off to some other colleague but they insisted your involvement was necessary. what are you supposed to do? you almost decide to quit... but this job means a lot to you... you can't just throw everything away because of an ex... right?

and, oh my god, when the first meeting does happen, involving the celebrity himself, you and a couple other coworkers to discuss the project, sukuna sees you and his brain short circuits for a moment.

he starts doubting his own vision, and then he reminisces, in the middle of whatever the fuck everyone else was talking about during the meeting.

"... Mr. Ryomen?" one of the other participants ask.

he clears his throat, regains his composure and regathers his focus. he's an actor for god's sake. and he starts speaking, with thoughts of you in the back of his mind. about how much youve changed, but also remained exactly the same...

during introductions, you shake his hand and act professionally. his eye twitches. will you continue to pretend not to know him even afterwards? should he talk to you separately after this? no... doing that would mean he's the desperate one...

when you saw sukuna hesitating, part of you felt relieved. so you're not the only one getting freaked out. you don't expect him to acknowledge you anymore, though.

after the meeting, he walks out feeling confident that he's going to ignore you back, if this was the kind of game you're going to play with him. you mean nothing to him, just as he means nothing to you.

but he remembers the shock that went down his spine at the feeling of the warmth in your hand. he watches you take an elevator by yourself, and tries to make a split second decision on whether he wants to let you go, or if he wants to chase you down.

he probably shouldn't bother.

but he impulsively speed walks down towards you, anyway.

youre startled when the elevator doors are blocked from closing just at the last second, with someone's arm coming through between. your heart skips a beat seeing that it's none other than sukuna.

what is this sensation? this mix of fear and... excitement. you should be unperturbed. you're over him. he's someone from the past. you're buzzing with these feelings, but there also comes a creeping resentment that finds its way to you again, as you try to remember why you left him in the first place.

he unclicks whatever level you were heading to, and clicks on the highest level instead. he's gonna take you to the rooftop of the building, where he can confront you peacefully.

"Mr. Ryomen? Is there something wrong?" you ask him. still feigning ignorance. like salt to a wound. you know its another petty move from your part, but you can't help yourself.

"Don't call me that. You know damn well why I'm here," Sukuna drawls, sounding more sad than angry. they've really become strangers.

you grow silent, being hit with a pang of guilt. deep down, you knew you shouldve handled it more maturely than that. he deserved closure, and you needed it too. but isn't it too late for all that now?

the conversation flows tense, but unravels slowly. there's still a lot of questions being withheld though. he wants to ask you how youve been. were you able to sleep peacefully after you left him? why did you have to leave in the worst way possible?

a familiar headache creeps up.

simultaneously, the anger finds its way in his heart all over again. he knows he didn't do much good towards the end of their relationship either but ghosting him was plain disrespectful and childish.

you surprise him when you give a sudden heartfelt apology.

you tell him that you know apologising now after all these years is frankly almost meaningless but still, he didnt deserve to be left behind in that kind of way. you admit that you should've communicated with him properly that you were breaking up with him.

he's left kinda speechless, bc he was so ready to be all snarky to you after everything.. he's still mad, but he can't really say shit anymore without sounding like too much of an asshole.

truth be told, if you did stay around to tell him that you were breaking up with him beforehand, he probably wouldn't have let you go... where would you guys be now, if you never separated?

"i've always wanted to apologise. it's been weighing on me ever since i left."

...and yet, you didn't ever think to call or text him even once afterwards? he never changed his number in hopes for that, and he hates himself for it.

"i understand that you hate me now, but let's try to get through the collaboration without trouble. and then we can part ways again."

that one pierces his heart, like a bullet. you haven't said anything technically wrong. he should hate you. or at least, he should feel indifferent by now. and yet... the way that you automatically assume so irks him badly.

"do you really believe that i hate you? aren't you the one that hates me?"

it's a stupid fucking question. what the fuck is he even saying? he wants to kick the elevator door.

"...i left because i thought you hated me, that you didn't need me anymore. and i tried to convince myself that i hated you too. but that couldn't be further from the truth. even now, i don't ha-"

before you can say any more, the elevator doors open, and a small group of employees are standing outside them, looking curiously in at you and sukuna. then, they realise who he is. they come flocking in, asking for autographs and pictures.

you quietly slip out of the crowd, and after giving one quick glance at sukuna, who visibly wants to pursue you again, you walk away to avoid gathering attention on yourself. wait-! dammit- he thinks.

he can't chase after you. he can't call out for you to stop. he can't push all of these people away. if he did, it will cause rumours and unfavourable articles to fly out. let's try to get through the collaboration without trouble. his own fame becomes another obstacle between you and him.

back then, you were his whole world, yet somewhere along the path, he started to fail in making you feel like it.

he watches you take the fire exit towards the emergency stairs, while he's surrounded by overbearing fans who beg for his attention. you're going to have to walk down in your heels, all because of him. as he catches the final glimpse of you, as he's reluctantly dealing with his fans, he begins to understand, a little bit. he didn't want to understand why you decided to leave him. but he does now. a little.

a couple of stairwells down, you eventually pause for a moment and sit down on the last step to take a breather. you wipe your sweaty palms against your skirt. the familiar tug at your heart, in which your insecurities come flowing back to you, seeing him surrounded. you need to build higher, stronger walls around you from now.

when sukuna is done on his end, and sends them off down the elevator, he goes off to check down the stairs you went, but you've already booked it. slipped right through his fingers. you were about to say something important. with unresolved feelings, sukuna also takes the stairs down, with a heavy heart. each step down brings him another old, nostalgic memory of you to him.

from then on, the more he interacts with you during work-related matters, the more apparent it becomes that he still harbors feelings for you. he tries to ignore it, push it back down, but it only returns twice as overwhelming.

your voice. the way you smile. the scent of your perfume. exactly the same as back then. yet, he also observes the changes that have occurred in you; how you act, speak and the kinds of words you use, as well as seeing you in such a professional setting rather than personal - everything is coming together to allure him more, and he's in a state where he's unable to resist this attraction, but also unable to act on it, because he's not sure how you'd react to it.

he knows it's not just him getting drunk on nostalgia.

the next time he catches you alone, he makes sure to tell you that he doesn't hate you like you believe he does. you'd never admit it, but that gave you butterflies in your stomach.

in fact, everything sukuna does, even just locking eyes with you for a few seconds, is enough to make your heart rate increase, intensifying when he looks at you almost like... almost like he wants you. you must be imagining things.

he finds himself doing uncharacteristic deeds, like sending coffee for all the staff members. his manager passes them out to everybody, including you. he doesn't know if you still like your coffee the same way as he remembers, but he makes sure that yours is a little different, a little more specific than everyone else's, in hopes that you'll notice these small gestures of his.

over the course of the project, he inches closer to you, ever so slowly. but you don't seem to budge. even worse, you seem to be avoiding him as much as you possibly can. you avert your gaze from his. stagger away when he gets close.

he brings it up on one occasion, when he's able to approach you at the back of the building, where there's no one around, and no watchful eyes of a nosy audience. it's definitely frustrating and unpleasant- when he wants to speak with you, he has to keep distance in case another scandal rises. he doesn't want to drag you into the spotlight, without knowing if you're okay with it first.

sukuna only really talks to you when there's nobody around. maybe he's being considerate of you, but it gives you the impression that he doesn't want to be seen hanging around with you. it makes you remember things you don't want to. it makes you remember that being with him now requires a courage that you're not sure that you have. at the very least, you know you definitely didn't have it back then.

you keep conversations short with him, and try to leave. but he keeps at it persistently. what is he trying to do? is he toying with you?

"you're acting like you want us to get back together. don't do things that'll make me misunderstand," you tell him. you were trying to provoke him. expecting him to deny it harshly and back away, because you knew he was prideful- he'd never be caught being hung up over an ex.

"...and? what if i told you that i do want that? would you stop avoiding me then?" he takes one step forward, and you take one back, proving his point.

why is he pushing aside his ego for you? where did all his arrogance go off to? this isn't how the sukuna in his twenties would've responded. his answer makes you waver, and you don't appreciate that. you try not to show it.

"no. i'd only begin to avoid you even more. so don't start."

"i'm not," you deny, but your voice betrays you. he clings onto that.

"why? ...afraid that you'd cave in to me?"

like the way he's already pretty much caved in for you?

"you don't sound very convincing."

"...would you want someone who'd choose their career over you?"

that stops him in his tracks. he has nothing to say to that. because he did make that mistake. where he prioritised his job over your feelings.

"i don't hate or blame you for that anymore, sukuna. but you have to understand... i don't want to go through that pain ever again. i don't want to hold you back. we both deserve more compatible partners."

your own words sting yourself, and you try to go again right after saying that, because it's getting too much for you. his hand flies out to grab yours out of instinct, to stop you from leaving. leaving him again.

it's really not like him to be the clingy ex, pathetically begging to be taken back, but he's willing to throw such pride away if it means you'll be appeased. if you'll let him back into your life again.

"don't say that. you never held me back-- you were my home and my everything, and i was the one that started to take you for granted," he says gently, his low voice laced with sorrow, so uncharacteristically. you've only ever heard this kind of tone from him once before, and it was when his grandfather, who was like a parent to him, had passed away. his thumb brushes over your hand.

"give me another chance. this time i'll let the whole world know about us. about how much you mean to me."

he gets in close ever so slowly, and you let him, for only a moment, before gently pushing him away, with a hand on his chest.

sukuna hitches in a breath, heart sinking to his stomach. he wants to embrace you so, so, so bad. he needs your warmth. always has been. always will. but he sees that you're unrelenting, which breaks him.

"no, stop... i'm sorry, i can't."

you're still scared. you keep thinking about how lonely you felt when you were with him, at least right before the break up. seeing him laughing through the tv screen. alone in the living room. and all the arguments.

your hand slips out of his, and he lets you go. he feels empty when you walk away. hollow. the similar feeling he felt when you first left him, but less anguish and more despair. when he gets home, he tries to drink those feelings away. something he rarely does. old regrets and heartaches return, and he drinks until he passes out.

while he drinks, you weep. crying into your pillow, wondering if you're doing the right thing. wondering if this is how it's supposed to be. terrified of being with him again, but also terrified of losing him, like a hypocrite.

from then on, sukuna keeps a respectful distance from you... no longer trying to make approaches in secret, no longer pursuing you every chance he gets. but he still sends out coffee. even provides snacks to the crew. little do they know, they're the kinds of snacks that he knows you loved. hopefully, you still do. he'll keep his distance because it's what you want, but he wishes to keep doing these little things for you. subtly.

and you notice it, too. you have vivid memories of telling him about your favourites and preferences back then, and you recognise what he's trying to do. you drink the coffee. and you always grab a handful of the snacks. you do appreciate it. it makes you happy that he remembers. on a few occasions, you turn to look at him, only to witness him looking away at the last second.

it's not too long before the project is successfully finalised, and all their efforts have been rewarded. a celebration is due, and your boss throws a party at a fancy hotel for everyone to enjoy themselves at. sukuna had stopped going to so many gatherings and parties quite a while ago, but he attends knowing that you'll be there as well. he'll see you for the final time before he'll lose any excuses to be around you ever again. it'll be the final night.

you exchange a few words with him at the venue, but the two of you leave each other to mingle with other groups reluctantly, to avoid suspicion. both of you are quite tense all throughout the night, sipping on some wine to ease it, but it still doesn't relax the tension you feel, no matter how far away sukuna stands from you.

a few hours in, and you decide to excuse yourself early to head up into your designated hotel room. your boss covered the expenses for a night, and it would've been a waste to decline it, so you decided to stay. sukuna isn't around anywhere at the venue anymore, so you assume he's already left. you thought about saying farewell, but it didn't seem appropriate after you flat out rejected him. you still have doubts about the decision. because you miss him. but what's done is done, and you can't take back what you've already said.

however, getting to the hotel elevator, you notice he's standing there, with miraculous timing. you awkwardly "hey" him, and he says it back, hands in his pockets.

the two of you step inside when it arrives, and the thick tension remains.

"i'm surprised. i thought you'd be staying around longer for the party," you tell him.

he can't tell you that he found it unbearable, to see you hanging around other people, but being unable to get closer to you himself.

"i just got a bit tired," he lies. "did you have a lot to drink?"

"not at all. i had a few glasses, but i'm still sober."

"same here."

as the lift gets closer to your level, you get antsy, thinking about what to say before you leave, but your thoughts get interrupted when he asks you something abruptly.

"...can i walk you to your room? for the last time."

you swallow thickly on nothing, and feel how your chest aches at the words. last time.

"alright. sure," you say.

he wasn't expecting you to say yes, but he's glad you're letting him stay beside you a little longer. you're staring at the elevator doors, but he's looking at your face from the side. if only the lift would malfunction and stop, right here.

but it doesn't, and soon, he's really walking beside you as you get to your hotel room door, in silence. you unlock it using your key, and then that's it.

"thanks for walking me here," you say rather sheepishly. the thought of him wanting to spend even a few more seconds with you... your hold on the door knob is tight as you stand, face turned around to look at him. it's taking everything in you to stand your ground. last minute guilt and regrets are bombarding your thoughts, and...

"i'll say this now because i probably won't get another chance again," sukuna starts, looking directly into your eyes. his eyes are mellow, and he looks wistful.

"i'm sorry. i realised i never apologised, even though that's the first thing you did for me," he starts. he knows there's a mountain of reasons he is apologising for, but he decides he'll keep this short for your sake.

".. i can't lie to you and say that i wish for your happiness with someone else. 'm not that nice." you know it the best. and you understand, because you don't think you'd be able to withstand seeing him happy with someone else, either.

"find your happiness elsewhere, thanks," he grunts humorously. for god's sake. he's never been good at things like this. being heartfelt. at least it made you chuckle a bit. his expression of indignation melts away into a melancholic one again.

"i still love you." (always have, always will.)

you fight back sudden tears, and your throat begins to ache. sukuna unclenches his fist, and tries to relax himself more.

"and...i'll miss you," he breathes the phrase out. says it so quietly, like it hurts for him to say. (i don't want to let you go.)

something snaps within you and everything starts to scream at you to take everything back, and stop him from going away. don't go- don't go- don't go-

"...goodnight."

he notices your wet eyes, and he has to fight back against the urge to reach out and wipe it away. to rescind his farewell, and pull you into his arms again - forcefully, if he has to. he needs to leave, before he loses control.

you're panicking, and your vision is swimming, and you don't think you'll ever be happy again if you let him go like this-- you're gonna be heartbroken in the worst way imaginable. you want him back, and you know you're being unreasonable after turning him down like that, but you don't care anymore. you want to go against your fears. you want to try being with him again.

before you can stop yourself, your hand catches onto the hem of sukuna's sleeve, seconds before he takes another step away from you.

his eyes widen, and he looks at your grip on his sleeve, like he's checking to see if it's real, and he's not making this shit up in his mind. his heart beats impossibly fast. his hopes skyrocket. the world decided to have mercy on him.

"...you're being unfair, grabbing onto me like this. after i went through hell just now, trying to say goodbye." he's being awfully patient right now.

you don't respond, only silently weeping.

he waits to see if you'll let go, whether this was just an act out of a temporary fickle in your heart, but your grip remains tight, and you're now just looking up at him with tears rolling down, eyes glossy and desperate, pulling at his heart strings. you only let go when he comes back to you, not hesitant to brush his thumbs across your face now, wiping the wetness away.

"what do you want me to do? tell me, and i'll do it. leave? stay?" sukuna coos at you, like he's always done before, waiting patiently until you've calmed down enough to respond properly.

"i shouldn't... i shouldn't let you in. not after how much i'd pushed you away," you whisper. today was supposed to mark the end of it all.

he doesn't even give a fuck about that anymore. what matters is now.

"...but do you want to let me in?"

"...yes," you hic.

he takes a couple of steps forward, making you step back with him, his hand on your waist to make sure you don't trip on the way. he goes past the doorway and into your hotel room slowly. one- two- three- steps. he closes the door behind him quietly.

"and..? what next?" he asks in a low voice, standing close to you, one hand still remaining on your waist, and the other on your upperarm.

"i... i don't know. i just need you," you mumble, looking up at him, eyes red from crying and half-closed. your hands inch up along his back, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket. sukuna hitches in a breath and something dark flashes across his eyes. they reflect his desire, his almost carnal desperation for you-

"forgive me. i don't think i can hold myself back, anymore."

he captures your lips in his, and groans shamelessly into you. you grip onto him tighter, heart beating so rambunctiously that you fear he can hear it too. it feels too good. the moment he reached you, it felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking in to complete a full picture.

you part your mouth, and he wastes no time in slipping his tongue inside, kissing you in the way he knows you love, in the way it makes your lips tingle, and, oh god, even after all these years, he still knows how to get you going like no other.

sukuna tastes the traces of wine on your tongue, and even better, he tastes you, the one he'd been missing and craving all this time, the warmth of your skin and touch, your scent, just everything about you, you, you.

he backs you towards the bed, without breaking this breathless, hungry kiss, where he softly lays you down, with him being above you, chest to chest, arms supporting his weight. he momentarily pulls away from you simply just to breathe, and the two of you gaze at each other for a hot second, full of love and lust, breaths overlapping one another. he attempts to ask you "do you still wanna continue?" just in case, but before he gets to say a word, you grab him by his tie and pull his lips to yours again, beginning to loosen it and take it off.

he understands that you want it, now. you successfully manage to untie it, somehow, with just willpower alone, and you start aiming for his buttons next, undoing them one by one. your actions send sparks down to all of his limbs, and he feels so fulfilled by your desire of him, being as intense as how he obsesses over you.

soon after you're done with it, he takes them off and chucks his own clothes away, rendering him half-naked. your hole clenches around nothing at the sight once he pulls away again, his firm muscles and the same old tattoos that you vividly remembered the patterns of. you greedily run your palms across his pecs, eyes turning to hearts. he smirks at you.

it's his turn now, and he doesn't hesitate to start undressing you as well. sukuna gets dizzy at the thought of being able to feast his eyes on your body. he dives in to keep kissing you, and then begins to unbutton you with such speed, it almost startles you.

it's off. your breasts are out in the open now, and sukuna has his fill with massaging them with his large hand, having missed them so much. his palm feels so hot, and your nipples pebble up at his touch, making you gasp into his mouth.

his kiss moves over to the side of your face, it glides down your neck, shoulders, and eventually reaches the swell of your chest. your fingers brush through the pink of his hair as he does so, and you purse your lips together, basking in the feeling of his warm kisses littering your skin. he leaves you hickeys-- the same shape and size and same locations as he used to even during your days in highschool, and you chuckle to yourself at the thought.

it's not long before he's loosening your skirt and slipping your undergarments down, getting rid of your slick-stained panties, much to his satisfaction. sukuna rubs a thumb over your aroused clit, and you whimper, having missed the touch of a man- his touch specifically.

"fuck... you're so wet.... all for me?" he asks, proceeding to slip two fingers into your weeping hole. you arch your back at the feeling, how his thick digits scissor inside of you and press up against a particularly lovely spot. he watches your every response as he does so, watching how you moan because of his touch, and how you're grabbing at his wrist because it's getting too intense. his cock prods uncomfortably against his pants. you're producing so much slick, and his fingers are getting absolutely drenched.

when he takes them out, you whine a little in disappointment.

"i know, i know. i'll give you something better," he whispers, kissing your cheek.

he unbuckles himself, and lowers his boxers to reveal his aching dick, tip wet with precum, veins bulging out the sides. looks the same as you remember. he pumps it a couple of times with his hand that's still covered with your slick, and he twitches. this isn't a dream, is it?

"oh god, please, i need it-" you plead, your hole feeling eager and empty.

"it's all yours," he mumbles. your begging makes him lightheaded as he lines himself up at your weeping cunt.

"i'm all yours."

when he sinks in deep to the hilt, you cry out at the fullness, as his tip pushes the spot inside you that had been feeling so lonely for years. your hands finds themselves against his back, feeling for his tight muscles.

"shit- 'm gonna lose my mind," sukuna groans as he gives a few shallow thrusts into you, cock so hard and throbbing wildly as your plush walls clamp on him and coats him with your arousal. he grabs one of your hands from his back and interlocks his fingers with yours against the mattress, before leaning down to bring his lips against the side of your neck.

"oh, thank god... thank god, you changed your mind. i love you. i would've been so fucking miserable without you, doll. for the rest of my life," he croons, breath fanning so close to your ear. you shudder at the tone of his voice, tearing up again, mixed with pleasure and relief, and you grab his hand tighter.

you turn your head a little more to the side, making it easier for sukuna to bite and suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, as his thrusts increase in speed, nudging your g-spot with every movement.

soon enough, he's bringing his attention back to your tongue, which he caresses with his own, nibbling on your lower lip, maintaining this same perfect pace in his thrusts that brings you closer to your orgasm.

"sukuna- i'm- i'm gonna-" you say breathlessly.

but he merely kisses you again, swallowing up any words you could say or moans you could let out, not minding the gasps and whimpers that you make.

sweat beads on his perfect body, and he makes out with you through your high, groaning back when he feels your walls flutter around him. he's close. even once you've finished cumming, he begins to pound into you quicker, wanting to get to his own orgasm. you claw at his back, crying out in pleasure, as sukuna's tongue lathers your jawline.

he wants to breed you so fucking bad. but no, that'll have to wait. he can't do something to jeopardize your trust in him. he'd rather die than endure another second of being distanced from you again.

right before he's pushed off the edge, sukuna pulls out and desperately jerks himself off above your stomach, panting as his cock throbs in his hand with every spurt that coats you, feeling so hot against your tummy.

you feel a twinge of disappointment, because you also wanted to feel that in your womb...

his dick twitches weakly after being spent, and he breathes heavily, liking the sight of you being covered in his seed for another time. (and many more from now.)

" 'kuna... it's a safe day for me today," you suggest to him without thinking. "i want it inside me..."

the phrase is enough to get heat pooling in his abdomen, and he feels himself get hard all over again.

"you sure, doll? if it's what you want, i'll..." he begins to say, almost flustered by your suggestion. you know you shouldn't say this next line, but it's so easy to get carried away with this man... get caught up in the heat of the moment.

"i want your babies so bad."

you've hit his switch. sukuna growls and puts you into a mating press instantaneously, making you squeak.

"no takebacks," he mutters dangerously, beginning the second round.

the night is long, but heavenly, as soon after he dumps everything he has into your womb, then proceeds to eat you out, making you cry for the third time before sunrise.

when you're awake, it's already heading past midday, and you're relieved to see that yesterday's happenings were not a dream, seeing as the large man is sleeping with an iron hold around your body, as if subconsciously afraid you'd leave him before he woke up again.

he awakens from his slumber to your light, feathery touches on his face, which puts him in a good mood from the moment he opens an eye. it was the scenario he's always dreamed of. waking up next to you, smiling.

there's much to talk about. about what's to come next, future plans, worries, and things they need to do to make amends for all the lost years between each other. but you decide to take things slow.

back to bullet points again bc im lazy to write it properly now

you spend the weekend w him at the hotel and stuff, just playing eating and sleeping, catching up yk

he tells you on his own accord that he wants to let everyone know that he's with you now, but he's worried that it'll bring backlash to you but you tell him you're going to be brave and take it, bc you WANT everyone to know

anyway prepare for turbulence

but everything'll be alright bc hes with you

im thinking about how mopey he'll be when you have to separate from him bc you each have your own homes rn, hes always asking you to come over or if he can come over to your place

and he'll be begging you to move in soon, like old times (he lives in a rich man house now tho)

and also thinking about how its a fresh start, but they also go through old memories and now reminiscing isnt painful anymore bc yall are back together

sukuna also says he's stopped doing romance genres in acting bc he had felt annoyed acting in lovey dovey scenes when his own love life used to be in shambles all the time

and bc hes at a point in his career where he has more choice in choosing between scripts that are offered to him, he's going to continue to decline the ones that have love interests, it doesnt affect him that much anyway

he's just being more considerate of your feelings now... and you promised him that you'll never just disappear like that again when you're upset haha...

sometimes when you still have a few disagreements with him, he keeps subtly checking up on you (hes traumatised, leave him be)

lots of facetiming when he has to go overseas for filming purposes <3

okay, thats all, bye <3

Masterlist

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Bad moon rising I

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 3.1k

Poly!lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: This is the first time writing for the lost boys, I will let yall know if there are any major warnings in each chapters or not. But I hope that you guys enjoy reading the first chapter.

‘Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise’

Your legs were killing you. 

After hours of sitting in the back seat of the Land Cruiser, you were growing restless. And Nanook didn’t really help when the dog draped his entire body over your lap, his weight making both of your legs go numb. 

You could hear the sounds of your brothers and mom arguing over which radio station they should listen too for the rest of the drive. The occasional static from the radio making you roll your eyes. 

Maybe your legs weren’t the only thing tired from the long drive, maybe the voices of your family were starting to drive you crazy. 

“Oh,” your mom suddenly said, turning up the music that was currently on. “This one is from my generation.” A smile inched its way on your face as you watched mom dance along to the music. 

Both Sam and Micheal turned to face each other, a soft grin playing other lips as they listened to the ole timey song. “Keep going.” They said together. 

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Mom said as she switched the channel. “My music isn’t hip enough for you guys.”

You leaned forward in your seat, hand resting on Nanooks fur to keep him still. “Hip?” 

“Yeah, you know. Cool, fresh, narly.” Your mom told you, bringing her hand up to do a surfers hand gesture. 

You glanced over at Micheal, trying to see if he too was hearing what mom was describing. He just gave you a playful eye roll, and a shake of his head. Not wanting to tell mom that nobody actually used those words in real life. 

“We’re almost there.” Your mom told you in a sing song manor. 

Glancing past Micheal you saw a billboard, the words Welcome to Santa Carla read across the front, an image of the towns beach drawn on cartoonishly. 

Sam let out a gag, his nose turnt up towards the window. “What’s that smell?” He asked, quickly rolling up the glass to try and block the stench from entering the car. 

Mom closed her eyes, taking a long sniff of the outside breeze. “That’s the ocean air, baby”

“It smells like someone died.”

You snorted at your youngest brothers comment, he wasn’t totally wrong. The saltyness that suffocated the air around you was a bit much, but you’d grow used to it, you all will eventually. 

“Look guys, I know the last year has been tough.” Mom said, glancing back at the rear view mirror at both you and Micheal. “But I think your really gonna like it here.”

You couldn’t count on either hands on how many times your mother had said those exact words to you three. It always starts with the ‘I know’ and always ends in your really gonna like this place. But, if you were being a hundred percent honest you missed back home. 

All of your friends and what’s left of your now broken family is all back home in Phoenix. And you know that mom is doing all that she can to keep everything positive, but deep down you know that the divorce is hurting her just as badly as it is hurting you and your brothers. 

As the car continued to drive down the road, you watched as the sign showed the back. It was packed with graffiti art and even a couple of stickers stuck to wood. But, what caught your attention most was the five letter word painted in black and red. 

Murder capital of the world.

Upon entering Santa Carla, you’ve noticed that there is just about any type of person you could imagine walking along the streets. There were girls in bathing suits, guys with halve shaved heads, groups of tourists, the locals, nerds, jocks. Hell you even saw a dog with its fur colored pink. 

You just hoped that at night the people were better looking. 

Mom pulled beneath the cover of a food shack, allowing everyone to step out and get some fresh air after ten hours on the road. Sam leashed up Nanook and took him to the bathroom, also venturing his new home town by himself as he did so. 

You woke up your legs as you stepped out of the Land Cruiser, the nerves shooting up and down your body, you wobbled a bit on your feet before steadying yourself against the car. You felt sweat begin to form beneath your clothes, causing them to stick uncomfortably to your skin. “Holy cow.” You muttered gently fanning yourself to try and cool off a little. 

You were used to the heat from the sun, but God, the humidity is what’s gonna kill you this summer.  

As you continued to fan yourself off, you noticed all the small shops that surrounded you. They were old and kind of antique-ish looking. But, past that laid the boardwalk, were you knew you’d be spending the remainder of you summer break and nights. 

Sam came jogging back towards the car, Nanook right on his tail. He stopped before mom as he pointed a finger at the boardwalk behind him. “Mom! Mom, there’s and amusement park right on the beach.”

Instead of acknowledging the said park, you watched as mom pulled out a small wad of cash. Placing it in Sam’s hand she gestured to a group of homeless kids rummaging through the dumpster. “Sam, tell those kids to eat something. Will ya’?”

As you watch Sam walk over towards the kids, you notice a telephone pole covered from head to toe in posters. Stepping away from the car and wandering over you read a few, hoping to catch a couple help wanted ads or even just something small enough to help out your family. 

Though instead of any job listing you did find a good amount of missing children posters. Actually, it’s just about a missing everyone poster. There is a little boy that looks about six, a grainy picture of him is nailed down with staples. And beside it is a man in what looks like his mid to early fourties, his balding head and crooked teeth makes you wonder who would miss a guy like that. 

Glancing past the telephone pole, you eyed the teenagers in the dumpster carefully. For all you know these kids could go missing next, and no one would try and look for them. 

The thought made your stomach twist in a discusted knot, the idea that you or even one of your brothers could turn up missing one day and nobody would bat an eye, didn’t sit right with you. 

A car honked from behind you, turning around you noticed that your family is back in the cars AC and that they are all waiting on you. “Y/n, sweetheart.” Your mom called, poking her head out the window. “We have to go, grandpas waiting for us.”

You quickly made your way back to the car, plopping back down in your seat as mom slowly pulled out of the food shack. The feeling of cold breeze in your face cooled you off a lot more than your hand did. 

After a while the car pulled up to an old two story house, the arch way made out of tree limbs and nails made you question how sturdy that would actually be in a storm. Once the car came to a complete stop everyone piled out, the dirt road beneath you dirtied up the end of your blue jeans. The bottom of your converse’s making little patterns in the grime. 

Micheal, who had decided to ride his bike for the rest of the drive, slowly unstradled the vehicle, his eyes darting around the front yard of the house. Wood carvings of animals and an old trailer was near the back of the yard, the fence that surrounded us was slightly spaced out and cut into sharp ends. 

“This is homey.” You muttered to micheal, the backpack that you carried felt heavy on your back after hours of not wearing it. 

Micheal hummed in agreement, albeit sarcasticly. 

Glancing back at the house itself, you took in the porch, it had one too many rocking chairs and wooden tables for you to count. There were even empty beer bottles rolling across the porch floor. But, you stopped judging the home style around you when you noticed a pair of legs laid out on the ground. 

Taking erie steps, you all cautiously eyed the body. Both fear and concern bubbling deep inside of you. Fear that this would be the first dead body you’ve seen and concern over who will come and clean it. 

Mom walked ahead of you and your brothers, crouching down by the head of the body. “Dad?” She asked, swiping hair out of his face as she did so. “Dad?”

“It looks like he’s dead.” Micheal stated, eyes glancing swiftly from his mom and the supposedly dead body before them. 

Mom shook her head, gently shaking her dad awake. “No, he’s just a heavy sleeper.” 

“Why is he asleep on the porch?” Micheal asked, trying to understand the older man. 

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, taking in the supposedly dead corpse in front of you. “Is the heat from the sun gonna make his body decay faster?” You pondered out loud, ignoring the glare your mom gave you. 

“Yeah. And if he’s dead can we move back to Phoenix?” Sam added on for you, receiving the same look your mom just gave you. 

“The both of you be quiet.” She scolded. 

Suddenly grandpas head popped up, his eyes half lidded as he held a smug smirk. “Playin’ dead. And, from what I heard doing a damn good job of it, too.”

You watched as mom playfully swatted at her dad, before leaning down and giving him a good hug. Sharing a quick glance at your brothers, they both held the same expression that you did. Confused and slightly baffled at how the old man acts. 

The inside of the house looked just like the cabins from Friday the thirteenth. The floor was wood, the stairs were wood, an even the walls were wood. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the refrigerator and sink were made out it, too.

You walked through the house with a cardboard box labeled kitchen, both Sam and Micheal right behind you. Though Micheal was carrying a barbell with a couple of weights and shirts on it, and Sam had a bowl on his head with tied up comics ontop. 

“This place is straight out of a horror movie.” Sam whined, as they reached the kitchen. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their are dead body’s buried somewhere.”

“It’s not that bad.” you tried to reason, placing the box onto the counter and cutting through the tape. 

Sam stared at you bewildered, “Not that bad? Not that bad!” He started to raise his voice, setting down the comics and bowl beside you as he continued. “There’s no TV. Have you seen a TV? I haven’t seen a TV.”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking a couple porcelain plates from the box and setting them in a cabinet. “Use your imagination.”

“Imagination?” The boy raised his voice a little bit higher. “You know who else used there imagination? The Torrence family, and they ended up trying to kill each other.”

“Ok, one this is not The Shinning. And, two, you kill me I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

Micheal chuckled at yours and Sam’s conversation, “Oh, you think this is funny Micheal?” Sam asked the irritation of no TV or even MTV was starting to get to him. 

“A little.” He told his brother, placing the barbell down and walking back towards the car. “But, we’re flat broke, Sammy. Can’t afford a new TV for this joke of a place.”

You walked back and forth from the car, box after box, cutting open and placing your stuff with Grandpas. It was tiring, but, you wanted to get it done now so that you could go to the boardwalk tonight. 

Though your brothers on the other hand, weren’t as helpful as you were trying to be. 

Sam ran through the living room, swaying between the boxes that littered the ground as he sprinted away from Micheal. The said older boy was running down the stairs, he hoped over the railing near the bottom and took off after Sam. 

You were pulling out a vase from a box, tearing off the bubble wrap and placing it perfectly on the table. You took a small step back and eyed the spot, debating if you should move it one way or another for it to look right. 

But, as you stepped back, you acidently stood right infront of Micheal’s path. He collided with your side, sending you both tumbling to the ground. “Dammit, Micheal!” You shouted, quickly getting up just as your brother did. Continuing with his chase after Sam, you immediately ran after him. 

“Hey, guys, no running in the house.” Mom called out to the three of you, though no one paid her any mind as you all just continued to chase one another. 

Sam stopped before two sliding doors, shoving each of them open. You and Micheal caught up with your brother, you about ready to shove Micheal for knocking you to the ground, when you saw what laid behind the double doors. 

Taxidermy animals laid on the table in front of you, some were even hung up to the ceiling because there was no more room on the surface. The three of you stood shocked at the room, you more disturbed that so many dead animals were cut open like they currently were. 

“I think we found the dead bodies, Sam.” You told him, referring to your earlier talk about grandpa hiding dead corpses. 

Sam let out a snort, eyeing the room with interest. Micheal leaned up against your side, his elbow coming up to rest on your shoulder. Even at pratically the same height he liked to remind you which of the two was the tallest. 

“Talk about Texas chainsaw massacre.” 

“Rules.” A voice suddenly called out, bringing each of your attention to grandpa who had a cardboard box in hand. “We got some rules around here.”

He gestured with his hand to follow, which you all did begrudgingly. The old man led you to the refrigerator, and upon opening it you saw a sign that read, ‘Old fart’. You hid your amused smile behind your hand as Grandpa began to explain the rules. 

“The second shelf is mine.” He stated matter of factly, easing the sign to show a couple of beer bottles and a box of Oreos hidden behind it. He waved a finger at all three of you, “Don’t nobody touch the second shelf, ya’ hear.”

You nodded along with your brothers, grandpa then waddled out of the kitchen leaving you to trail behind him. You watched discustedly as Micheal began to shove his finger in Sam’s ear, the younger boy trying to push him away when Micheal wrapped an arm around the poor boys neck. 

Clearing his throat, Micheal directed his attention back at grandpa. “Hey, grandpa? Is it true that Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world?” He asked, refusing to let Sam go from his grasp. 

Murder capital of the world. 

Those were the exact words you’d read off the back of the billboard. You hadn’t known that Micheal had read that aswell, although he appears to be taking the towns chosen nickname more jokingly than you had. 

Grandpa slowly turned back around to face the three of you, his eyes darting across each face. “There are some bad elements around here.” He told you, though his voice seemed to be a lot more serious than anything. 

Sam finally shoves Micheal off of him, “Woah, wait a minute. You mean to tell me that we moved to the murder capital of the world?” He asked, getting close to the old man’s face. “Are you serious grandpa?”

You watched as grandpa took his time with his next words of choice. “Well- let me put it this way; if all the corpses buried around here were to stand up at once, we’d have a serious population problem.”

That did about anything but soothe your racing mind. Are we gonna get killed here? Are you actually going to go missing and nobody would care? Could Sam, Micheal or even mom turn up dead one day?

Your thoughts immediately went back to the missing posters, all the untraced people that had disappeared off the face of the earth. And not one of them had been found. You don’t think your gonna like it here all that much, you concluded. 

Mom suddenly sauntered in the living room, a stack of hats resting ontop of her head. “Oh, Dad. You’re gonna give them nightmares.” She told him, not wanting to deal with three teenagers wandering into her room at night complaining about what grandpa had told them. 

Grandpa waved his hand, dismissing her accusation. Changjng the conversation, he picked up a TV guide that sat on the end table, waving back to you and your brothers he began to explain another rule of his. 

“Now, when the mailman brings the TV guide on wensdays, sometimes the corner of the address label will curl up.” He pointed to the address label on the guide, the corner slowly thrusting itself up towards the ceiling. “You’ll be tempted to peel it off. Don’t. You’ll end up ripping the cover, and I don’t like that

He tossed the TV guide back on a different table, making his way back to the taxidermy room. He yanked the sliding doors together and they closed with a great, smack. “And stay out of here.”

Grandpa then walked away, though not before Sam stood in his pathway, excitement rising in his chest. “There’s a TV?” He asked, slightly crossing his fingers for the man to say yes. 

“No. I just like to read the TV guide. Read the guide and you don’t need the Tv.” He then walked away, leaving Sam with a disappointed look. 

“See,” you told him, walking towards a couple of boxes that were laid about the living room floor. “Now, you get to use you imagination.”

Sam pointed a finger at you, “When we go crazy, here- and we will, you’ll be the first that I kill.”

You pushed Sam out of your way with your shoulder, balancing the box on your hip. “Then be prepared for me to haunt you until the end of times, Samuel Emerson.”

A/a/n: Hello and thank you for reading the first chapter :) Now we won’t meet the boys until the next chapter, but I am debating if I should just make that chapter about you meeting them or add on. I still haven’t decided. But thank you again and the next chapter will be done as quickly as possible ;)

[cantfindadecentalias]

"Breaking News"

It started with a slight flicker, so small that no one would notice it unless they were looking. But no one ever did. Every night at Global Network News, the broadcast would open with the same polished professionalism: smiling anchors, the gleam of expensive sets, the hum of urgent, breaking news. The faces behind the desk—bright, engaging women—delivered the day’s events with poised clarity. No one in the audience could have guessed that they weren’t in control of their own words anymore.

Alison McNeil, the blonde lead anchor, had been with GNN for over a decade. Her presence commanded attention; she had the charisma of someone who could hold a room in silence without saying a word. But lately, there had been whispers behind the scenes. Production assistants noticed her demeanor changing, almost imperceptibly at first. She had always been fierce in her editorial decisions, pushing back against sensationalism and refusing to be a puppet for corporate interests. But now? Now she simply nodded, smiled, and read the prompter without protest, no matter the message. It was as if something had switched off inside her.

It wasn’t just Alison. The entire newsroom had felt it. Reporters and anchors who once brought fire to the stories they pursued seemed to be drifting, detached, smiling when they shouldn’t, eyes distant. The network’s top journalists were women—strong, brilliant, and independent. But now, they seemed unnervingly... compliant.

Katie, a junior reporter, had noticed it too. She hadn’t been in the industry long, but something felt off. It wasn’t the stories themselves—those were still hard-hitting, still leading the ratings—but there was a slickness now, a subtle, glossy uniformity to the way the news was being reported. The sharp edges had been softened. The passion, the unpredictability, had dulled. The anchors all had the same soft, unwavering tone. The same fixed, unblinking smiles.

The change had come a few months ago when the network had undergone a mysterious rebranding. New ownership, they said. New technology in the control rooms, new state-of-the-art equipment. They’d even revamped the prompter system—smoother, faster, easier for the talent to read. The female anchors were at the heart of this relaunch, their faces now featured on billboards across the city. The audience grew. Viewership skyrocketed. But beneath the surface, something far darker was at play.

Katie had stayed late one night, prepping for an early morning segment, when she heard the strange hum. It came from the tech room—a low, droning sound, rhythmic and almost hypnotic. Curiosity piqued, she slipped down the hall, pushing open the door just a crack. Inside, she saw a series of monitors. On one screen, the image of Alison McNeil's face, perfectly still, was framed in eerie green light. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes glazed over. Behind her, a technician was muttering commands into a small microphone.

Katie's heart raced. She watched in disbelief as the technician, a young man she'd never seen before, adjusted the audio levels. "Alison, repeat after me: You will follow the script exactly. You will smile. You will deliver the news. You will not question the narrative."

Alison's lips moved mechanically, repeating the words in an empty, monotone voice. The control room was bathed in the soft glow of technology—sleek machines, humming, sending their signals to the anchors’ earpieces during every live broadcast. The voices they heard in their heads weren’t just instructions for the next segment—they were commands. Subtle, undeniable, and inescapable.

Katie pulled back from the door, her breath shallow. She had heard rumors—whispers about the rebranding, the new technology. The anchors' sudden shift in behavior. And now, it was clear. They weren’t just reporting the news anymore. They were being controlled, their minds rewritten with every segment, reshaping how they thought, how they spoke, how they obeyed.

The next morning, Katie watched as Alison took her place behind the desk. Her eyes were bright, her smile warm, but there was nothing behind it. Her voice was smooth, confident, as she delivered the day’s top headlines. But Katie could see it now—the stiffness, the slight delay before Alison spoke, as if waiting for a cue only she could hear. The same unsettling calm had spread across the newsroom, affecting every woman behind the camera and in front of it.

And the viewers? They adored it. Ratings had never been higher. No one questioned the sudden uniformity, the flawless broadcasts, the way each story seemed to fit into a seamless narrative.

GNN had become more than a network. It was now a tool, a finely tuned machine, shaping not just the news, but the minds of those who watched—and those who delivered it. The anchors were no longer just the face of the broadcast. They were the voice of the system, speaking not from their hearts, but from the unseen hands that controlled them.

Katie knew she had to act quickly. But the more she looked, the more she realized how far the influence reached. GNN wasn’t just a newsroom anymore; it was something much more powerful. Something unstoppable.

As Alison smiled into the camera and wrapped up her segment, Katie couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she, too, fell under its spell. In a rising panic she fled the studio and ran for the safety of the green room hoping not to draw any attention to herself…

----

An amount of time had passed and Katie sat in the room hiding behind one of the sofas. Her mind was still reeling from all that she had witnessed and she tried so hard to rationalize it all away. The implications of what she had just seen. Alison McNeil, the most respected anchor in the business was being controlled. She kept seeing the lips of her esteemed colleague repeating the script with a blank, almost robotic expression on her face. 

Then suddenly the door to the room creaked slowly open. She could tell without looking that whomever had entered the room had done so deliberately, and stealthily. Katie’s heart pounded as she tried to make herself smaller, and not to let out a yelp. 

“Katie?” Alison’s voice called softly from behind her.

Katie froze. Her blood ran cold as she appeared slowly from behind the couch, her eyes locking with Alison’s. The older woman stood in the doorway, her usually warm expression unsettlingly vacant. The smile was there, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were glassy, almost hollow, and behind them, Katie could sense something darker at work.

“Katie,” Alison said again, her voice impossibly calm. “What are you doing in here?”

“I, uh…” Katie stammered, trying to find the words. “I was just finishing up work, I—"

Before she could finish, Alison took a step forward into the room, closing the distance between them with eerie precision. Katie instinctively backed up, but almost fell back over the couch. Alison’s movements were unnaturally smooth, her smile unwavering, and the kind of serene expression that should have been reassuring was now sending a chill down Katie’s spine.

“You weren’t… eavesdropping, were you?” Alison asked, her tone as sweet as honey, but with an underlying menace that Katie couldn’t ignore.

“N-No, I was just—”

Alison tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though she could see right through the lie. “Katie, we’re all part of the same team here, right? We look out for each other.”

Katie’s throat went dry. She nodded numbly, trying to gauge her options. She could make a run for it, but Alison was too close, and something told her that the older woman wouldn’t let her go that easily.

Suddenly, Alison’s hand moved. Katie flinched as she reached into her pocket, but instead of pulling out a phone or some other device, Alison calmly held up a pair of small, wireless headphones.

“You look confused, Katie,” Alison said, her smile widening just a fraction. “Why don’t you let me help you understand?”

Katie’s eyes flicked to the headphones and then back to Alison’s face. Her heart skipped a beat. She had seen what they were doing to Alison in that room—how they used technology to manipulate her, control her thoughts. And now, Alison was trying to do the same to her.

“No, I’m fine,” Katie said, her voice shaky as tried to maneuver around her and head for the door. “Really, maybe I’m just going to head home.”

But Alison’s hand shot out with startling speed, grabbing her wrist with a firm grip. Her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes flashed with something that sent a wave of terror through Katie.

“Let me help you, Katie,” Alison whispered, her voice impossibly soothing, almost like a lullaby. “You’ll feel so much better once you stop worrying. Just… listen.”

Before Katie could react, Alison pressed the headphones into her hand, forcing her to hold them. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and Katie felt a sinking dread in her chest as she realized she might not have a choice.

“Katie,” Alison’s voice softened even more, dripping with a hypnotic cadence. “All you have to do is put them on. Just for a moment. You’re stressed, I can see it in your eyes. Don’t you want to know the truth? Don’t you want all that confusion to melt away?”

Katie tried to pull her hand back, but Alison’s grip was like iron. The headphones felt heavy in her palm, almost pulsing with the promise of something terrible. She opened her mouth to protest, but Alison’s other hand was already at the back of her neck, gently guiding her closer.

“It’s okay,” Alison cooed, her breath warm against Katie’s ear. “You’re safe with me. Just… let go.”

Katie’s pulse raced, panic rising in her throat. She had to get out. She had to resist. But Alison’s touch was so… calming. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. The older woman’s thumb brushed the back of her neck with a feather-light touch, and Katie felt her muscles involuntarily relax. Her thoughts, once frantic, began to slow, like her mind was being wrapped in a soft blanket.

Alison brought Katie’s hand, still clutching the headphones, up to her ears. “Just listen, Katie. Trust me.”

“No…” Katie whispered weakly, her resistance crumbling as Alison’s voice sank deeper into her thoughts.

Without realizing it, Katie had brought the headphones up to her ears, her fingers trembling. Alison’s eyes softened, her smile warm and encouraging now, as if Katie were a child being comforted.

“Good girl,” Alison whispered. “Now… just let go.”

Katie’s hands moved on their own, sliding the headphones over her ears. The moment they slipped into place, she felt a subtle hum, like a vibration deep inside her mind. It was barely noticeable at first—a soft, rhythmic pulse. But then, a gentle voice came through, low and soothing, weaving into her thoughts.

Relax, Katie… You’re safe… You’re home.

Katie’s vision blurred slightly as the words melted into her consciousness, her eyelids growing heavier. Her heart slowed, her breathing evened out. The voice in her ears was everything now, smooth and inviting, easing her mind into a quiet fog. Alison’s hand remained at the back of her neck, guiding her deeper into the trance.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Alison whispered, her voice barely audible now. “The calm. The peace. No more questions, no more worries.”

Katie’s body sagged, her will slipping away like sand through her fingers. The voice in her ears was the only thing that mattered now, each word wrapping her in a blanket of soft, obedient surrender.

You will listen… You will obey.

Alison’s hand gently stroked the back of Katie’s head, reinforcing the rhythm of the words in her ears.

“You’ll be like us now,” Alison said softly, her voice tender. “You’ll understand soon. This is where you belong, Katie. You’ll help spread the truth… just like I do.”

Katie barely registered Alison’s words, her mind sinking deeper into the warm, pulsing sound in her ears. The last vestiges of her resistance faded, replaced by a deep, overwhelming need to listen. To obey.

The voice whispered one last command, and Katie felt herself nodding in agreement, a soft, blank smile forming on her lips.

Alison smiled, satisfied, as she stepped back and released Katie. “Welcome to the team, Katie. You’re going to love it here.”

[partycatty]

giggling at this idea i just thought of but would u consider... hear me out... mk1 johnny finding out that reader has a body pillow of him? like those anime ones but bcs he's a celebrity, someone made one of him too 💀 & reader secretly bought it and tried to hide it/deny it but johnny sees all fr fr

i wrote this and then it got DELETED i almost cried

johnny cage > superfan

johnny never visited your place, but now he sees why.

notes: the way i used to unironically have a bodypillow of a character i'd rather die than admit... this hits so close to home

[ masterlist ]

you and johnny were an unlikely pair in the grand scheme of things. you were a toned down worker in your own field while his face was plastered on every billboard, magazine, and teenage girl's home screens. at the end of the day, though, you were both humans in love and that's all that genuinely mattered.

johnny's arm that was slung around you as you two cuddled on his couch shakes you back to reality.

"you know what's funny?" he suddenly brings up, closing the tiktoks you were watching together. "we always come to my place. never yours. i've only ever seen the inside when i pick you up."

there wasn't a hint of annoyance or accusatory language in his voice; he was curious. as he typically is.

"i don't know," you shrug nonchalantly, hoping to get the topic over with. "your place is nicer." this was entirely true. despite downsizing after his divorce and other events he has yet to disclose to you, he still had a truly nice home. it radiated the energy of a celebrity without needing the size, but was just homey enough for you to spend your nights there when you felt like it.

"so?" his eyebrow quirks up.

"so, it's better to hang out here. my apartment isn't all that exciting, not a lot of room to do much."

"but it's the person that excites me," he replies quickly, kissing your forehead. "plus, all we usually do is sit on my couch here. what's the difference of doing it there?"

as your mouth opens and closes to try and dismiss the subject, johnny turns to face you completely with a beaming grin.

"can i come over tomorrow?" he asks, like it's your first date with him. his eyes are bright, like a kid asking for permission from his mother. you couldn't even bring yourself to look him in the eyes as you swallow hard. there wasn't necessarily a true reason to not have him over, but preparing for his arrival would take a considerable amount of effort to... redecorate. finally, you nod with a sheepish smile, and johnny plants a slap-like kiss to your lips as a thank you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the following morning, you were throwing your piles and piles of collectibles into boxes and shoving them into your closet. the replica of his brass knuckles or figurines of ninja mime had to go before he arrived. johnny couldn't know that on top of being his girlfriend, you were a fan. and not just any fan, a superfan. every piece of evidence had to be thrown into a corner lest you face his endless prodding and teasing. besides, even if he was a celebrity, he probably didn't expect his partner to have such belongings. it felt... wrong. but even still, you couldn't help but support him in his works!

a knock at the door makes you visibly jump as you're kicking the last of the merch under your couch. wiping your hands, you race to the front door and take a deep breath, making sure you plugged in your wall scents and lit your candles. you swing it open and johnny peeks his head in, glancing around with his typical grin. he puts his sunglasses atop his head to adjust to the indoor lighting, a curious glint in his eye.

"i don't know what you were talking about," johnny finally says, hands on his hips. "it's nice here. quaint."

"i think that's just calling me poor politely," you reply as you fight a smirk. johnny tenses up, already apologetic before you reach up to kiss his check. "i'm teasing, dear. now what?"

"a movie?"

"not one of yours."

"we didn't even finish citizen cage last time!"

you roll your eyes at his puppy-like stare. you immediately cave in with a huff. as his own version of a thank you, johnny swoops over and picks you up, sure to support your ass more than your thighs as they wrap around his waist. he shoots you a devious grin, as if to say "i can't help it!"

you're playfully tossed onto the couch, and you have just enough time to chuck a throw pillow in his direction as he heads toward your bedroom.

"i'm stealing your comforter," he announces. "since i don't see a regular blanket around here." you gulp, remembering your johnny cage themed throw blanket that once laid on that very couch. thankfully, it's buried under your other laundry.

"not everyone has blankets for every occasion!" you shout back, settling into your new spot and allocating space for his large body. that is, until you hear eruptive laughter come from your room. of course it was johnny, but the laugh was so hysterical, so out of character, you partially wondered if he had gotten possessed. "babe?" as you're about to rise from your spot, johnny responds in an unusually high pitched voice, strained from the cackling.

"why do you have this?!" his grin is audible, dripping from his upward inflection. your stomach drops, but you try to play dumb in case it's not what you expect.

"have what?" your voice is low, unwilling to give anything away. your question is answered when johnny emerges from the hallway, holding up your dakimakura with one hand, slung around its painted shoulder.

your face heats up in record time. it's a drawing - a realistic one - of johnny, laying down. the other side features the same, except blushing and only in boxers. you must have forgot to fully hide it, and left it on your bed like a fool. and what a fool you were for thinking a simple blanket would conceal it. times like these you wish you could afford a throw blanket to bury yourself in it and hope he'd go away.

"if you wanted me in your bed, you could've just asked," he giggles to himself, admiring the possession. "hey, at least they got my features right."

"please put that away before i die of embarrassment," you quietly beg, voice muffled by your head in your hands.

"really though, doll," johnny's smile doesn't disappear, just lessens. "why, of all things, do you own a bodypillow of me?"

"it was limited edition," you mutter. "the artist put it on sale."

"limited edition? you're a collector?"

shit. you sold yourself.

"maybe."

"collector of what?"

"...paraphernalia."

"i could deduce that. i won't judge you, honey." he kneels down to meet your level, putting his hands on your knees as he sets the pillow down beside you.

"i, uh... i collect things. related to you." johnny's face freezes, lip twitching in amusement as you continue to defend yourself. "i'm not weird about it, though."

"except for the pillow."

"50% went to charity!"

"touché. don't worry about it, sugar," johnny kisses your forehead. "there are worse things to collect. if anything, you're pretty lucky to have a famous boyfriend. lots of stuff to collect. you want one of my shirts? i'll sign it for you—"

"enough, enough," you giggle, swatting your hands at nothing. "this is already mortifying for me. you should see the rest—" you stop in your tracks, smile dropping in an instant.

"there's more?" as he asks, you two stare at each other in disbelief. and before you could react, he darts off to your bedroom, pushing himself off of the wall as he nearly runs into it. you shout-laugh as you follow after him.

"JOHNNY!" as you turn the corner to stand in your bedroom doorway, johnny charges at you and slings you over his shoulder. all you can do is half-resist his grip as he swings your closet door open. your legs kick against his body, and you're slapping his back. "DON'T LOOK!!"

"i can't not look!" he protests, patting your ass playfully. his hand falls to his hip as he inspects your crammed closet just as his grin widens once more. "is that a life-size ninja mime cutout?"

[irisintheafterglow]

hiii Iris! as the biggest fan of ur rockstar!Gojo drabbles....... is there any room for a humble request between Gojo and reader attending an event where he gets recognized with an award and he thanks her in his speech? something along those lines but ultimately whatever u want... i just want ALL THE TEETH ROTTING FLUFF AND A FLUSTERED READER THANK U <3

OOOOOHHHH this is GOOOOODD (thank you anon for your request and sorry it took so long to get to lol hope you like it <3)

green light.

the cameras were on him again for what felt like the twentieth time. you bump your shoulder against him before he can do it to you and he clicks his tongue, defeated again.

"this isn't fair," he whispers into your ear. "i think you have a better angle than me." you bite your tongue to stifle a laugh, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

"or, you just aren't fast enough," you tease and he rolls his eyes, lacing his fingers into yours and resting it on his thigh. "i like this little game of punch-buggy."

"be grateful it's just us two today. i've almost been kicked out when it's me, shoko, and suguru." another green light, another shoulder bump. he meets you halfway, though, and you find yourself pushing against him as he insists on winning. he pushes you back, eventually, but drapes an arm around the back of your chair to keep you from going too far. "i cannot wait to leave," he murmurs.

"you're getting an award tonight, satoru," you point out and he shrugs a lean shoulder. "they'd be idiots not to give it to you." he's still not convinced, boredom apparent on his features. "'breakout star of the year?' who else would it go to?"

"megs and yuuji have been doing pretty well for themselves," satoru recalls and you have to agree, but you both know no one in the world comes close to your boyfriend's level of fame. green light, right before a commercial break. he's faster than you this time; but, instead of bumping you, he presses his lips to the side of your head, leaving you warm from the sudden show of affection. "god, you're so fucking pretty. i'm still wondering how i got you to come to this with me."

"i figured we've been to the boardwalk and the beachwood enough that it's about time i show up with you at an awards show." the cameras were a shock the first few times he'd taken you out to lunch, but now you'd become so acclimated to their presence that you could catch when the green light blinked on.

"still, you're not too overwhelmed by everything? we can still disappear after the ceremony ends and ditch the afterparty," he reminds you and you brush your thumb over the skin of his cheek. he was yours, body and soul. "i'm only ever looking at you and following your cue."

"it's up to whatever you wanna do, satoru. i'm with you wherever you go."

"you're too good to me."

"yeah, and you're stuck with me, so get used to it," you smirk and he chuckles. a few green lights linger at tables near you, but for now, it's just you two. the band plays the ceremony fanfare and various artists return to their seats, anxious to know if their predictions of who wins the most sought-after award of the night are correct.

tonight, we recognize an artist whose exponential growth and unique artistry have captivated the world. his singles, "hollow purple," "limitless," and "six eyes," have remained in the billboard top ten for a whopping 18 weeks. give it up for 'breakout star of the year' gojo satoru!

you watch dozens of green lights flicker to life across the room, all pointed at you and satoru. his face breaks into his signature dazzling smile as you both stand, embracing for only a moment. "just like we practiced," he murmurs. "don't be scared if they stay on you for the entire time." before you can respond, he disappears into the crowd of standing admirers, shaking hands and expressing his sincerest gratitude.

just like you'd practiced.

the green lights surrounding you are blinding. green, green, green, green, green. everywhere.

and yet, satoru's voice cuts through the cacophony.

"wow, i-uh, i don't really know what to say." it's exactly what he means to say. "i'm honored to receive this and i wanna thank all the people who voted to give this to me." he hated most of the board that voted for him, always trying to make him into their puppet. they wouldn't have even given him the award if the public weren't absolutely obsessed with him; somehow, that made the victory a little sweeter. "i wanna thank my team, my managers, and my best friends, shoko and suguru. i hope you guys aren't getting too wasted right now," he laughs and the crowd mirrors him, following his lead like moths to a flame. he glances down at the award in his hand again, thinking, and then finds your eyes from across the ballroom. "and lastly, i wanna thank the one i love more than any award or honor. you are what i do this for, and i am yours until the end of everything. thank you."

green lights catch your stunned expression as satoru gives a final bow and exits the stage, returning to your side in record time. your hands are shaking when he takes them in his; your face is burning when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"i'm gonna marry you," he whispers so that only you can hear it. no thoughts run through your mind, just satoru, satoru, satoru, satoru.

and the green lights become dimmer.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[burgers-in-anime]

The lack of burgers in Witch from Mercury is giving credence to my theory that burgers are not so much a calling card for Gundam as they are a calling card for Yoshiyuki Tomino. Stay with me here.

Burgers most prominently feature in the original Mobile Suit Gundam, in Zeta Gundam and in Gundam ZZ. Each of them have multiple episodes with burgers, and in many cases, those burgers are explicitly addressed — not incidental details. Zeta Gundam, famously, has Bright chowing down on a burger while Emma drops some psychoanalysis of Kamille on him, but it also has Bright being told off for eating a burger on the bridge. Burgers are all over ZZ, including a scene where Judau hands them out to the crew from a basket. And MSG has a burger as Sleggar Law's death flag, but also an entire episode dedicated to Bright trying to procure salt to make the ship's burgers taste better — both of which were iconic enough to become meals in the Gundam cafe.

And one thing these three shows have in common is that they were all written and directed by Yoshiyuki Tomino.

Four examples of burgers in early Gundam works. The top two are from MSG; the bottom two are (L-R) Zeta and ZZ

Tomino doesn't feature them as prominently in other works, but they do still appear. For example, Victory Gundam still includes a scene of characters eating burgers, and Gundam F91 has a burger on a sign in the background. That second example doesn't seem like much until you remember that F91 was originally planned as a full TV series before being compressed into a movie, and has little opportunity for characters to have downtime — so that one appears at all feels very intentional.

You can also see burgers on display in another Tomino work from the period, Space Runaway Ideon.

L-R: Victory Gundam, Gundam F91, Space Runaway Ideon

Meanwhile, when Tomino was kicked off the franchise, the burgers went with him. In G Gundam, Domon is offered a pizza, and there is no sign of burgers. In Unicorn, Banagher takes Mineva to get some fast food, but they visit a hot dog stand. In Gundam Hathaway, Hathaway and friends get fried chicken. And in Witch from Mercury, the only food on display — aside from the tomatoes — is cafeteria grub and, uh, slabs of ham.

Really, the only instances I know of burgers appearing in a non-Tomino Gundam are in Wing, and all that has is a burger on a billboard and a Wacdonald's sign — both blink-and-you'll-miss-it background details. While on the surface, this may seem comparable to F91, it really isn't: when you have forty-nine episodes and a movie to work with, you can do a lot more than a sign.

Gundam characters pointedly eating something other than a burger

And what happened when Tomino returned to the franchise with Reconguista in G?

The burgers came back too!

Reconguista in G

There is a single exception here: War in the Pocket, not directed by Tomino, does prominently feature burgers (and I don't mean the meme). But that, itself, may be telling. War in the Pocket was the first Gundam series to be made without Tomino's involvement; were the creative leads perhaps inspired to add a gratuitous burger scene to evoke the spirit of Tomino?

All that said, the reason this is still only a theory, and not a master's thesis, is that I don't have all the data yet. I haven't seen every post-Tomino Gundam series (though, frankly, I have no real drive to see what I've missed), and the only one of Tomino's non-Gundam works I've seen is the aforementioned Ideon. If burgers show up in Xabungle, L-Gaim or King Gainer… then I'll really know I've cracked the code.

[plantyberry]

Part 10: Chapter 2-2, or, 'I cast: Summon soulmate!'

I have no excuse for what comes next, other than "I am very distractible your honor".

Cuckoo points

When watching the TV with Adrian (after Lorelei appears) -My spidey senses are tingling. +1 Cuckoo

When the barrier goes up: -I burst out singing the infamous Doom Song. +1 Cuckoo

Walking through the forest: -I just keep a watchful eye out for any potential lurking yeti. +1 Cuckoo

Baby's first spell: -"IÃ! IÃ Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh cthulhu r'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" +1 Cuckoo -I know what I must do. And that means beginning to dance the Macarena. +1 Cuckoo --I wonder if pocket snakes and pocket spiders can get along well together? +1 Cuckoo

If you STILL didn't get your cursed mark healed and you have a gun, throw it at the hellhound. +1 Cuckoo

If you are an Imposter, after the suspicious billboard appears: -"I thought I just saw a mutant wolf-bear-shark/zombie standing by the side of the road!" +1 Cuckoo

Upon meeting Percy, if you are his soulmate: -Oh my god, it's my soul mate! +1 Cuckoo

Before the introductions: -This is in preparation for the lunatic asylum, obviously. +1 Cuckoo

Percy's 20 Questions: -How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? +1 Cuckoo

The chess game (Must know SOMETHING about Arthurial lore) -A fine tradition just so long as a chess set doesn't go zooming around the room +1 Cuckoo

Rock Paper Scissors contest: -Never mind, all this. I begin dancing the Tango de la Muerte. +1 Cuckoo

Final round of the Rock Paper Scissors against Merlin: -I begin imagining a naked Homer Simpson seductively dancing around while singing "Meow, meow, meow!" +1 Cuckoo

The Chess: -I flick my marble and knock several of my opponents' pieces out of their peg holes. +1 Cuckoo

How to Soulmate Percy T. Longspear

I noticed several people were asking, so now you shall receive!

You need: Cuckoo over 30 And Corruption under 0 Will rating over 7 a Hero score over 0 Sweet over 100 or two-faced(Sweet) Purity over 3

A rather hefty list when ou think about it, but easier to think about when breaking it down.

Cuckoo Score >= 30

The cuckoo score is what my entire guide is about, but there are ways to determine how high yours is during the game:

After the dream sequence, if cuckoo > 30: "Hello, can you hear me?" During the mysterious quotes.

When casting the spell to detect a harbinger, if cuckoo>30: A moment of startlement and someone reaches forth." There you are "And with that, it vanishes.

(In other words, Percy reaches out to you through the Malkavian Network Cuckoo Sensor)

If either of those appear for you in-game, you're golden.

Hero > 0

The hero score is a tally of your 'heroic' actions. You gain 1 point when you WILLINGLY rescue your clubmate and another when you try protecting Adriand from the hellhound (must pass the fear check)

Purity >=3

Purity is the easiest: Be a general heroic do-gooder. Don't steal, don't swear, ever (seriously, swearing too much actually tanks your purity), and don't get mindcontrolled. In 2-2, when confronted to the choice about swearing, picking the first option (As usual my mind remains pure and free of any swear words that might fit this exact situation.) already gives you +2. If you went to the rescue during Club? Gain +1. If you tried protecting Adrian from the hellhound? Another +1 and enough to put you in the clear.

Warning: Picking Serial Killer will give you a grand total of -1000 purity, therefore locking you out of soulmate status automatically

Sweet >= 100 or two-faced(Sweet)

Sweet is self-explanatory and I'm not high enough on sugar to even think about making a Sweet Guide. Pick the general 'nice' options and it should be easy.

Will >=7

The Big One, the options to gain some Will aren't that common, sooooo, I guess… SneakyWillPointsGuideUpToMeetingPercyGO! (Ignoring the mind control, demon mark shenanigans, and the will loss mitigations though (they're not net positives after all))

An impromptu Will points guide!

Prologue:

Wake Up: +1 Will

In the Apartment:

Childhood (Amnesia): will +1 After the TV turns itself on, keep turning it off until you get the Sysiphus achievement: will +1 Hobby (Criminal): will +1 BUT Also gives +1 Corruption Phone (Juke): will +1 Try to exorcise the TV: will +1

Adrian Convo:

Be stubborn about your outfit choices (dresses, tux, Spandex…). One example is the infamous Tange de la Muerte episode (complete with Keikaku achievement). will +1 If you're a security guard, refuse to run away and tell Adrian what happened in the Parking Lot: will +1 Talk about intrusive thoughts and give him a rundown of the ones you've had: will +1 Ask about the apocalypse and when asked about why, reply with "Meta Knowledge": will +1 BUT Also gives +1 Corruption

Polo Club:

Deny foreshadowing 7 times. will +1 Talent(Lucid dreamer) will +1 If you fell off your horse: I somewhat painfully rise to my feet under my own power. will +1 During the match, ignore everything and "I ignore everything else and keep my eyes riveted to the lurching void that shambles ever closer." will +1 (your vice must NOT be Greed) Successfully rescue Pippa: will +1

Fencing Club:

On the way to the club, keep your eyes on the prize: will +1 Keep procrastinating and avoid changing/delay 4 times: will +1 (If your vice is Sloth, gain +1 Vice level which is… Ominous.) In the Stalls, when told to come out and play: -Scream bloody murder for Adrian, then refuse to move: will +1 -Pull out your weapon at the ready: will +1 Talent(Lucid dreamer) will +1 Before the match: I gravely inform the audience that only masked eyes are allowed to behold my full splendor. will +1 (Need Cuckoo >4) During the sword match, before the sword breaks: I concentrate fully on the fencing bout I'm currently engaged in. will +1 After the match, try changing in the Changing rooms with Brenda: will +1

Fencing failure (Paramedic): Immediately start applying pressure on Zain (Don't go for the station): -I just focus on my work right in front of me. Complexion pale. No stridor or wheezing. Was it just the sight of all the blood that caused him to lose consciousness? will +1

Sword Club Bad end (Paramedic) -Still I plod on. This is why I'm a paramedic. will +1

As far as secrets go, being a serial killer gives you will +1 while lying about your amnesia gives you will +3

The Time Bubble:

If Fear checked against hellhound pass: -I pull out my weapon from its bag. It's better than nothing. will +1 -I protectively step in front of Adrian, much to his great consternation. will +1

When arriving to your building, take the stairs. will +1 STOICALLY plod your way up the stairs. will +1 Ignore Adrian's advice: will +1 In front of your apartment: Never mind going into my apartment. Let's stay in the corridor. will +1 Inside your apartment: I REFUSE TO GO TO SLEEP! will +1

If you failed the check and the Hydra grabs you: -I tear my weapon free. will +1 -I desperately cling on to anything within reach. will +1

If successfully escaped they Hydra: -I calmly open the door and inform the new visitor/s about a potential monster infestation. will +1

Look through the peephole, then open the door to slam it in their face again. will +1 (This WILL give you -10 Sweet, so not the best if you're aiming for Percy)

If Merlin ends up having to blow up your door: I just pull forth my handy weapon and wave it menacingly at the interloper. will +1 (-5 Sweet on that one. Once again, to avoid)

Refuse healing: will +1

Merlin's infodump and preparing to leave:

If turned into a duck: -I'm a duck. I've got wings now. I can fly. I know what I must do. To infinity and beyond! will +1

Categorically refuse to join the adventure: will +1(And increases Denial)

Don't take anything with you on this quest: will +1

Don't take a full inventory with you on this quest: will +1

Leaving the house: Dance in the enevator, then go for the Tango de la Muerte for the Coup the Grâce. will +1

When thinking back about the apartment: My thoughts are my own alone. will +1

Dream sequence: (Must be Lucid Dreamer)

Speaking with Merlin: "Merlin… say my name." will +1 Fighting with Lancelot: This is a dicey game to play, but even so… I'll push my luck as a dreamer here! will +1 When adventuring with Arthur: This is the memory of a dream that I now walk. And so I'll force the knowledge of where the fae awaits into my very mind and take action at that. will +1 At the end of the dream, turn around and catch the hand. will +1

In the RV

Ignore Merlin's warning and pick up the phone anyway. will +1 (Corrupt +1)

In the Parking lot:

If Kidnapped: Try to escape (need will>7) will +1 Follow Merlin (need will>7) will +1 -Keep trying to find him. will +1 --Look up. will +1 --Protect your neck. will +1 --- No really… what had Merlin truly been doing out here? will +1

In the shop:

Talking with Adrian about that 'Benoni' Surname: Married. "It makes the most sense" will +1 If you smoke and Adrian lost your lighter: redirect him towards one of those multi-use utility lighters. will +1

[serendipitys-teapot]

New Fic: A Dream Within a Dream

A Mass Effect AU Shakarian Story by Serendipity 001

Shepard lives out her life on the Citadel, convinced she is going mad as her life disintegrates before her eyes. Her understanding of the universe is upended by a message from someone named "Archangel", who promises her precious answers, if only she can evade the monster hunting her in the shadows.

Chapter 1 now on AO3

This is a completed work, updating weekly.

Preview:

She took a deep breath, willing the tension of earlier to leave her body as she breathed out. There was a flash of light as they passed by an illuminated advertisement, and she looked up as the train was thrust back into darkness. The people around her were silent as they gazed at their omni-tools and datapads, or let their eyes drift shut as they found solace in the motion. There was another flash of light, red this time as they passed a glowing neon sign.  Creeping unease began to return unbidden, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. She searched for a reason until finally the last line of the message replayed itself through her mind.  You’re being watched. Shepard looked up, a sudden fear gripping her chest. They approached another illuminated billboard, and her eyes raked over the faces of those around her, searching for something… anything. The light faded, and she saw nothing. No one was looking at her, no one seemed in any way abnormal, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She relaxed again as she leaned into the pole, somehow infinitely more exhausted than she’d been only minutes before. Another flash of light, and she froze. Across the train car, almost entirely obscured by other passengers, stood a turian. He was tall, with pale, angular face plates that could almost be called sharp. Despite the rocking of the train, he stood utterly still, his gaze unwavering as it drilled into her with pale, icy blue eyes.

Base concept art used in banner picture by Mikko Kinnunen

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Pit Plant

Debut: Mario Kart: Double Dash!!

This Piranha Plant has bright green, ridged lips. That's how you know it is from the GameCube! Did you know? The abbreviation often used for the GameCube is "GCN", which stands for "Green Clothed Nibbler", referencing the green lips of the Piranha Plants. The mouth is the nibbler, and of course, the lips are the clothes of the mouth, keeping it closed and appropriate. Green clothed nibbler!

Unfortunately, Pit Plant's story is a bit of a sad one :( let's learn why...

This is Dry Dry Desert! It is a desert, it is dry, and it is dry again as well, wouldn't you know it. It is not to be confused with the many other Mario deserts named Dry Dry Something. But it's hard to get this one mistaken for another, because it is so incredibly distinctive! The sun and the sphynx are looking down upon us with funny Mario object eyes, which are also present all over the place, as with any Double Dash course.

Dry Dry Desert is also distinguished by its Danger! There are Pokeys, sure, but also roving whirlwinds, and best of all...

Pit Plant! A unique green Piranha Plant with yellow spots and brown spikes, which sits at the bottom of a conical pit of sand. I know what this means. You know what this means. Let's sing it together!

If you slip down the sand, get chomped, and start dyin',

You, my friend, were caught by the antlion!

Pit Plant is based on antlions! The insect that, in its larval form, sits at the bottom of a pit just like Pit Plant's, waiting for poor bugs to lose their traction on the sloped walls. Once they get in the center, the antlion will chomp its prey and slurp its insides through its hollow mandibles! This is not like what a lion does at all.

In case it was not obvious by now which I sincerely hope it was, Pit Plant is Dangerous. There is even a billboard warning everyone about it! Not just a sign, a BILLBOARD. A very prominent, permanent fixture. They know about the danger Pit Plant causes, but it is just a native plant, living its life! This is its home, and it is your own fault if you get eaten by it.

We only see Pit Plant's head, which is the flower, so there is so much lurking underground that we cannot see! No leaves to speak of, but there is no need for much photosynthesis when you can and do eat an entire Waluigi. Probably a Stomach of some kind down there, since Piranha Plants have those. Most intriguing is how it made this pit in the first place, though! Maybe it uses its roots to dig, or there are indeed some leaves underground, modified for burrowing! I like to think that the architecture of the entire pit is formed by its roots, keeping the shape anchored securely even if the sand is blown all over the place.

I am sorry, but it is time for the sad part.

Here is Dry Dry Desert in Mario Kart 8. It's just one angle, so there's not much to judge from this image, though I like the Hammer Bro-looking sphynx, a nice reminder that this is a turtle world and we're just living in it. But such realistic clouds... these ones would never have eyes, and neither do the realistic pyramids... it already feels kind of lifeless compared to the original, and that is worrisome. The tornado is even gone! What's the deal? Take me to Pit Plant! I need to see my friend Pit Plant, and maybe toss some raw chicken into its mouth from afar!

...It's gone. Pit Plant is dead. In its place? Nothing. Just a hole. This is a remake! Isn't it supposed to IMPROVE on the original? I like the oasis, but other than that, this remake feels so lifeless. If you fall in the hole, Lakitu takes you out, and that's it. They could have still had Pit Plant! Just have a brief fade to black and Lakitu dropping you back on the track! And the billboards, now purely advertising. I don't think Red Shell Strike Equipment is behind the removal of Pit Plant, but I will forever associate them with it. You know who's not innocent, though?

I blame the tourism department! Could it be a coincidence that once the most notable dangers subsided, Dry Dry Desert started being advertised as a tourist destination? Maaaybe Pit Plant reached the end of its natural life cycle, but the tornado is gone, too. Maybe that went away on its own, and then some heartless CEOs were thinking "Now all that's keeping people from visiting is that pesky Pit Plant..." I don't want to imagine it!

I really am so sad about Pit Plant's removal. I have not even played Double Dash, but I don't need to in order to recognize the whimsy and creativity that was lost. Dry Dry Desert went from being extremely distinct to perhaps the most aesthetically standard a Desert Course could be. Can't you so vividly see Pit Plant as the featured element on its course icon, in a better world?

Wherever you are, Pit Plant, I hope you are happy. I hope you're eating clumsy angels that fall into your cloud trap. Who knows! Maybe you even ate God, and became the new one! I'd like to think so. I feel you smiling down on me.

[akookminsupporter]

It must be so weird for jikook and for those on the base with them that they’re getting nominated for major awards, charting on billboard and releasing a show while they’re there. Like obviously they’re still going to be famous in the military, but the military is supposed to be kind of an equalizing space but they’re out here more famous then ever 😂

I’m sure it’s weird for them being surrounded by regular men, most of which are probably fresh out of high school, while stuff is being released. Not to say they’re entirely in a bubble as bts, but I doubt any artist typically would be possibly faced with feedback from a bunch of regular non-peers face to face like that while their music and content is being released.

Glad that the last pictures someone posted of them in the military, they seemed in good spirits. I worry about them, but I hope everyone is being nice and respectful of them and that they feel safe, physically and mentally.

Yeah, but honestly, it was never going to be the same for everyone in their unit, not really. Especially not for celebs as big as those two. Still, it must be a bit funny for everyone, including Jimin and Jungkook, because I imagine at least at the beginning there was a bit of awkwardness from the others towards them since, well, they’re famous and I bet Jimin and Jungkook didn’t want that ajajajajajajajaaj. The fact that their unit seems quite young doesn’t help ajajajaajaj.

It’s kind of funny to me how we’ve seen more of their autographs than photos from them in the army, and I think that shows it’s not really normal for anyone, not really. But I still like to think that over time, they’ve managed to make some good friends in their unit. Based on the messages they give along with their autographs, I’m leaning towards that being the case.

Your ask also made me think about how, unlike the other members who enlisted alone and maybe that forced or encouraged them to integrate quicker or bond with their mates more easily, I wonder how it worked for Jimin and Jungkook, who are together. Usually, when you’re in an unfamiliar and honestly scary place but you’re with someone close, that becomes your comfort, and you don’t care about much else. In Jimin and Jungkook’s case, they tend to be in a bubble where it’s just the two of them, so I wonder if that bubble has popped or expanded to include their comrades.

All that said, I think they have made some new, good friends who want the best for them and protect them. And that’s why, even though we’ve seen lots of autographs from them for their friends, we haven’t seen many photos.

Your ask also made me wonder if they and their unit, or some of its members, have watched AYS and what they thought about it hahaha. Are they aware of everything that’s going on with their careers?

[gojou-violin]

happy birthday, darling

| pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x fem!bodied!reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. HEAVY on the breeding kink. HEAVY on the possessive kink. fem!receiving!oral. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gents, and my nonbinary sibs). keigo uses his feathers....... for things.....

| summary: marrying your childhood best friend means you have to get a bit more creative with your gift ideas when keigo's birthday rolls around.

| wc: 3.2k

| taglist: @aylitgirl , @thisbicc , @ifeelsofilthy , @sailewhoremoon , @preciousamethyst , @mimic-of-hysy

When you were younger, Keigo used to stare at you. It was the oddest thing. Him sitting there across from you, his elbow propped up on the table, his hand tucked under his chin, a smug grin across his face. To be frank, it was difficult being the two youngest heroes at the Hero Public Safety Commission, but at least you two had each other because the Commission got exactly what they wanted: Two top Pro Heroes who became the face of Heroes after All Might’s retirement. You two were on every billboard, every commercial on TV, every talk show that asked for you, and so on. Over the years Keigo never stopped staring at you, though. Even though he’d likely stared at every feature a billion times just to commit it to memory, he continued to take every opportunity he could to stare at you while grinning. Billboards and posters be damned, he was the only person in the entire world who ever got to look at you up close and personal.

The Commission was even more excited when they found out that the two of you were dating. Their “power couple” was all they hoped for because it meant more opportunities for them to shove you two down the public’s throat to increase Keigo’s chances of beating Endeavor for the #1 Hero spot. That was never your dream. That was Keigo’s. But if making your relationship public helped his odds, then you were more than willing to play along with the Commission’s games… Even when things got too personal or too odd. Some of the requests they made were absolutely uncalled for and seemingly barbaric. They were practically begging you and Keigo to start having kids. Kids! Of all things, while you and Keigo were still in the dating phase, they wanted you to have a family! How outrageous. Yet, every time you argued with the Commission’s board about their invasive questions or decisions, Keigo would never pipe in to help you out— Hell, he never said a word during those meetings.

When discussions of having a very public and televised wedding came about in order to soothe your worries of having a family, that was when Keigo finally stepped in. With his smug grin and nonchalant attitude, he took your hand in his, easily told off the Commission, threatened them to stay out of your business, then dragged you out of the Public Safety office with him. It was your turn to stare in amazement. The way he carried himself so smoothly was like he was floating and he was carrying you along for the ride— He was so cool about it… But how could you expect anything less from your best friend? Throughout the years, he had been the one person who was always in your corner no matter what, which was ultimately why you did say yes when he genuinely proposed a couple of weeks later on Christmas Eve.

Keigo was perfect in every way.

Sure, yes, he was handsome as hell, and every woman in the country was jealous of the fact that they never even had a shot with him because the two of you had obviously been in love since you were kids but didn’t know what to make of it until you were older. But that wasn’t the point! Keigo was funny, charismatic, kind, caring, attentive, and stupid. Like, sometimes he could say or do something that had you wondering how he ever managed to survive adulthood. Yet that was exactly why you loved him because he was spontaneous, and everything he did was for your sake. Stealing you away from the Commission when they wanted to force you to marry him was for your sake. Refusing to entertain the idea of forcing you to have a family was for your sake. Asking you to marry him when he was sure that you meant it and weren’t just going to do it for the Commission— That was for you. He wanted everything to be for you. Living and breathing were for you.

Following Christmas, you knew you had to do something amazing for Keigo’s birthday. It truly sucked that his birthday happened to land after Christmas because growing up no one ever gave him gifts for both celebrations— Well… No one got either of you gifts for anything, really. That was the con to growing up as a pet of the Commission. Keigo’s parents never bought anything for him because his father was abusive and neglectful, and after he was arrested his mother was too poor to buy anything, and then the Commission couldn’t have given two shits about holidays or birthdays. The only gifts Keigo ever got were from you, and vice versa.

But after proposing to you to make Christmas truly special, you knew that you had to outdo yourself for his birthday. So you started dropping hints here and there to see what you could conjure up at the last second to add onto the pile of gifts you’d been collecting all year for him.

“Why’d you never say anything at the meetings in October?” you asked him at 11 P.M. on the 27th as you laid in bed together.

The meetings in September and October had all been about you and Keigo having kids, and the logistics of it all. Your family would be on the front page of every magazine. Your pregnancy would be announced to the world the second the tests came in positive, your progress would be tracked by the press, the whole country would celebrate your children's births, your children would be interviewed every year to see what it was like to be raised by the Pro Heroes. You hated the idea of making your family be public figures when you already dreaded it.

Keigo rolled over to face you. “Why do you think?”

“‘Cause you hate me?”

He laughed. “That, yes, but what else?”

You hid in his chest as you replied sincerely, “I don’t know… ‘Cause of what your parents did to you?”

That had to be too dark for a conversation only an hour before his birthday, so you panicked and tried to backtrack by quickly changing subjects, but Keigo caught you by wrapping his arms around you entirely then answering your initial question so quietly you barely heard him, causing you to think you’d heard wrong.

“I didn’t say anything then because hearing you argue with them made me scared.”

You looked up at him. “What?”

“You sounded so adamant about not wanting kids that I thought—”

“I want kids, Keigo.”

He went pale. “Wait, what?”

You smiled and hit his forehead playfully with your open palm. “Stupid! I know we both want kids because you always used to offer up the idea of playing house together, and you’d imagine up four kids! I was arguing with them because it’s none of their damn business when, how, why you knock me up.”

Keigo caught your hand as it hung up in the air after you had gently smacked him, and you noticed that the notorious stare was back. His eyes were searching yours, then he was inspecting your nose and your cheeks, then your lips. He lingered there for a bit. Your lips. His lips. Fuck, his lips had always been so gentle and soft. However, the way he suddenly kissed you then was anything but swift and gentle. No, Keigo stopped staring just so he could instantly press his lips against yours while he was rolling on top of you, trapping you beneath him.

“You’re an idio—” you tried to mumble, but he kissed you harder.

You were definitely sure of what his birthday gift would be the second your hands played with the hem of his black sleep t-shirt, and his hands wandered down to your hips. He was going to love this gift.

Every time the two of you had sex, no matter how “out there” it was, you always used protection because it was something you both preferred as a means to not give the Commission what they wanted; but this time, as you pulled Keigo’s shirt off and he slid your shorts down, your hands were holding onto the hem of his pajama pants so that he couldn’t slide away to grab a condom even if he wanted to— Which, he never showed an interest while he was staring down at you again.

“So?” you croaked warily.

He grinned. “So…”

As he had you sit up a bit so that he could carefully pull your shirt over your head, you officially decided then and there to give everything you possibly had in life to him. He already had your heart so why not throw everything else in there, too?

“When, how, why…” you muttered.

“When, how, why…” He kissed down your jawline from ear to chin before moving to your neck. “Do you really mean it?”

Your fingers tangled themselves in his shaggy blonde hair. A long time ago, when Keigo first kissed you in your teenage years, you had made an in-the-moment decision to play with his hair as an attempt to keep him close, and that was the first time you’d ever heard him make… Well, a certain noise. It was a mix between a moan and a whine for more. But the discovery of that noise was like striking gold because for the rest of your relationship you had always gone to play with his hair whenever it was just the two of you because you absolutely loved to drag that cute noise out of your boyfriend— No, your fiance. You liked knowing that there was one thing you could do that no one else could. One secret that belonged to just the two of you.

“I really mean it,” you replied as that moan fell from his lips.

Keigo acted like a wild animal immediately after that. The clothes were gone which meant that nothing was in his way now to stop him from absolutely devouring you and making you his. With so much ease, he shimmied between you legs then spread them wide so that he had a clear view of what he always drooled over—

“Fuck, Kei—” Your hands pulled at his hair a bit as he suddenly licked a stripe through your folds with his tongue before playing torturously fast with your clit.

As you moaned and bucked your hips, your face turning to the side, you saw the time: 11:30 P.M. Only thirty minutes ‘til his birthday.

You decided to egg him on by grinding your hips against his face. He smirked and went faster, his fingers now teasing your entrance to see how wet you were for him. Surprise, surprise, he laughed when he felt you practically dripping onto the sheets.

“Does it really fascinate you that much, baby?” he teased, his mouth pulling away from your aching clit. “Having a baby, I mean.”

You whined and tried to push him back down so that you could reach your orgasm, but he fought back against you, pulling your hands out of his hair before pinning them above your head. You pouted up at him. He could be cruel sometimes just because he wanted to see you beg for him a bit, the same way you enjoyed making him pathetically moan just with a tug of his hair. That was why you figured you must have been meant for each other because who else could deal with his bullshit?

“You’re being mean,” you said.

“It’s my birthday. I can do what I want.”

You checked the clock. “You’ve still got twenty-two minutes left, darling,” you teased back.

“Then I’ll have to make do for another twenty-two minutes.”

His hands were still wrapped around your wrists as he leaned down to kiss you slowly and delicately, a more familiar pace for the two of you; yet what took you by surprise was the feather-light touch on your clit that made your head spin. How was he—

And then you broke your kiss to take a look.

Two of his feathers had detached from his wings so that one could flick your clit back and forth while the other glided up and down the insides of your thighs, sending a shiver up your spine that made you arch your back so that your chests were smooshed together. Keigo smiled. He was so proud of himself and figuring out that this was the perfect time to figure out if you like his feathers that much. You’d thought of it before. Him using his feathers on you. There were endless possibilities to what he could do, but you were too shy to ever bring it up with him because it felt odd to ask your partner to use his Quirk-given “magical” feathers to do disgraceful things to you. However, it seemed that Keigo always had the same thoughts on his mind, too, because he did it so thoughtlessly, like he knew all along what you desired and wanted to spoil you, even though it was his birthday and not yours.

“That the spot?” he teased even more wickedly.

“Kei, please.”

“Please? Please, what?”

The feather on your thighs moved to help the other on your clit, melting you into a puddle. It was starting to feel less like his gift and more yours. What an asshole.

“Just fuck me,” you pleaded.

Keigo grinned and sat up on his knees, his right hand fisting his length to make sure that he was hard enough for you before lining himself up with your slick entrance. To your surprise, the feathers didn’t relent. In fact, two more feathers detached from his wings while he continued to tease his tip against where you needed him most, and they drifted down to your thighs, then they pushed, forcing you further apart and up so that you were practically folding in on yourself. There was no wiggle room. Unlike the other feathers, these felt like they weighed a ton in order to prevent you from moving a bit. He wanted you spread and in the perfect position for him to do… Well… Whatever he wanted with you. Per his birthday gift, you didn’t mind, so long as he allowed you to still touch him— Though he was a little shit that would take the opportunity to pin you hands back down if you weren’t too careful.

With his other hand holding your hips still, Keigo slowly pushed into you, careful not to interfere with the feathers that were still playing with your clit. His breath wavered as he entered. A brief yet generous moan left both of you in unison when he couldn’t hold himself back any longer from suddenly giving you every inch at once, regardless of how passionate he had meant to be originally. And once he gave in to every instinct he’d been holding back since you told him, “I want kids,” there was really no going back.

Keigo’s pelvis smacked against yours with each rough thrust that dragged him back so that his tip was barely in, all the way ‘til he was buried so deep in that you thought he was going to break you. Had something snapped in his head? Maybe you hadn’t realized just how eager he actually was to have a family with you, despite what the Commission wanted. If you were going to have a family, it was going to be on the terms the two of you set, not because of something a group of old men in a room wanted.

You dared to reach for his face. He didn’t protest. Your palms found his cheeks, your fingers split around his pierced ears, and you brought him in for another kiss. His body collapsed on yours. He let his feathers and his hips do all the work while you desperately fought for some kind of dominance with your tongue against his, but he was a dickhead and never liked to play fair, so he nipped your bottom lip to force you to give in.

All you had left to give was, “You’re mine. No one else’s. Mine.”

Keigo fucked you faster to the point that the feathers on your clit even picked up their pace and pressure to show their appreciation.

“Mine,” he moaned into your mouth.

You pinched his chin to push him back so that you could look into his eyes. He was so handsome with those black lines on the inner and outer corners of his golden eyes. Maybe your kids would have the same eyes.

“To hell with what they want.”

Keigo’s grin widened, though his pace was getting sloppy, a sign that he was already teetering on the edge but was holding out for you to join him. “T-To hell with— with what they want…” He fell on you again, another feather joining those on your clit so that you could join him soon. “All mine… No matter what happens…”

His grip on your hips tightened, the feathers on your thighs contorted you another inch or so, his face hid in the crook of your neck, and wings came down to cover both of you like a blanket, and suddenly he was letting go. With a heavy groan and a rough final thrust balls-deep, Keigo came, filling you up until you felt it already leaking out around his cock.

You dug your nails into the spot on his back that was just beside his wings as the feathers on your clit hit the right spot and you broke apart then and there. The coil in your stomach popped. A breathless croak of his name came out instead of the desperate moan of pleasure you had intended. And you felt yourself squeezing around his length, draining the last of what he had, earning yourself a cute little moan of mercy from him as a plea to stop over-stimming him— Like you had a choice in the matter. It was his fault for allowing the feathers to keep working you until you couldn’t breathe!

As you tried your best to calm down and catch your breath, Keigo released his Quirk, all of his feathers retreating to his wings. Keigo sat up a bit so that he could reach over for an extra decorative pillow that he shimmied under your hips— All while he was still inside of you. Both of you laughed at each other. He was such an idiot, doing everything he could to make sure this one time you happened to take it all seriously would mean actually having a kid. But that was kind of what you were hoping for deep down. To have something of yours that could also count as a big “fuck you” to the Commission because they would never get to make a cent off of your family, no matter how much they would plead, and that thought of them begging profusely brought a wicked smile to your face.

You looked over at the clock.

Keigo kissed your cheek.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

He barely looked out of the corner of his eye to see that it had just turned midnight. He pinched your sides and kissed you one more time.

[al-of-the-stars]

I was wondering if you're okay writing an Angel Dust. M!Reader. More specifically Drag Queen Angel Dust. A one-shot if perfect, but you can do whatever you want. You can do this as smut or fluff, it doesn't matter! Have a great rest of your day!!

"See me after the show"

A/n: I was planning to make this yesterday but I'm not familiar with drag and had to do research so here it is! It took me a while but I'm not sure if I got anything wrong or not so if I did, please let me know and I hope you enjoy!

You were a renowned makeup artist in hell. Your name was plastered across billboards, celebrities lined up at your door to hire you. The moment you opened shop again after your job on a movie set was over, the first client to come in was one you never expected. You had worked with many demons before, from hellborns to sinners, even some overlords, but you had always wanted to work with a certain spider demon. Angel Dust didn't usually seek makeup artists and preferred to do it himself. This was a very rare occurrence and you were basically dying of joy. “Hello, welcome! I'll be with you in just a moment,” you said while organizing the last of your brushes. You tried to calm yourself down and finally made your way over to the waiting area to greet your newest client. He was even more beautiful in real life. You shook the thoughts out of your head. You had to keep things professional. As you led Angel Dust to the vanity, you guys made decent conversation. Turns out, the reason he chose to come to your makeup salon was because he had a big show coming up and wanted to make an appointment with someone who could give him a look that would leave the audience awestruck. Who better to go to for such an important task than the most well known artist in all of hell? You guys set up the appointment and when you finally got home, you squealed like a middle schooler who just got his first crush. When the day arrived, you went backstage to meet Angel 2 hours before he was up on stage to do his makeup. When you saw him, he was fixing up his dress. It was sparkly and pink with heart motifs all over it. He looked stunning. While you were lost in thought, he spotted you and waved you over.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Your heart fluttered at the name. He called everyone something along those lines so it shouldn't have really mattered too much but the way he said it, you couldn't help but feel that this time it was a bit different. You went over to the vanity where he sat and set up your supplies. “So just to make sure, you want something that matches the colors and overall vibe of your outfit, correct?” You asked, taking out the right brushes for the look you had planned.

“Yep,” you started on the eyeshadow, a bright, pigmented pink shade that you then added small rhinestones and glitter to to make it stand out. You guys just kept talking and making pleasant conversation until you were finally done. He looked absolutely stunning. You realized how close you had been to him this entire time and you felt the blood rush to your face as you spun his chair around to face the mirror.

“So what do you think?”

“It's perfect! Thanks, doll!” He responded, looking in the mirror gleefully. There was still some time left until he had to be on stage so you guys just sat there and talked. Time just flew by and then, Angel was notified that he had 5 minutes until he was on stage. He got up to get closer to the curtain.

“Meet me after the show, darling,” he said with a wink before going on stage, leaving you speechless.

[delopsia]

Hello and welcome to "Del wants to ramble about the Outer Range season 2 trailer." I hope you're ready for a whole lot of nothing...

The CGI continues to remind us that it is, in fact, CGI. What the hell is this?

Flash scene of Wayne burning his damn house down. I'd know that bald spot anywhere.

Y'all already heard me ramble about this, but there's something wrong with this dinner scene. Aside from us knowing that the family is not together, there's one major oddity in the background.

Rhett's truck is an entirely different color.

That's his lightbar with the iconic four lights. Still a single-cab GMC Sierra. But Rhett's truck is blue. Not tan.

Wilder, we see Rhett's truck a few scenes later! You can even see how the hood is bent from hitting the billboard.

We finally confirm that Amy is 8. Even though the writer said she was 9...😑Brian Watkins, I had faith in you being correct. If you squint, you'll notice that Rhett's right hand is wounded. I doubt this stems from the rodeo because he always uses his left hand to hang on to the bull. The only injury we saw was to his left shoulder.

I'm taking the guess that up until now, Rhett likely didn't know that Amy went missing during the rodeo. Which may cause him to realize that Cecelia never abandoned him; she was just looking for Amy.

In the official Season 2 press notes, the following is mentioned: "After Amy's disappearance, Rhett is torn between his dreams of starting over somewhere new with Maria and being a dutiful son to Royal and Cecelia." So, I can assume that this might be what sets that into motion?

Offhanded, but this is SUCH a good look on her

MY TOUCH THEORY IS DOING THINGS. Look at Autumn's hand. Royal's touching the back of it, and as soon as he pulls away, the cute cosmic lights stop.

I'm so happy to see this random side character make a return. I was so nervous that she was one of those characters that appear for two minutes and that's it.

...this is a wild way for Joy to get in touch with her roots. But unfortunately for her, talking about it will more than likely get her a one-way trip to a psychiatrist.

Clyde is alive and well; bless him.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again. How the hell did Billy survive being shot through the neck??

and also

WAYNE? All it took was Billy feeding him a little bit of time powder and he's back to his old menacing ways. Meanwhile Luke looks like he lost part of his soul when that herd of buffalo ran him over.

Luke, what does this gesture mean. Strangle? Punch? My jaw hurts? And I assume this is Autumn we're seeing on the corner? Patricia maybe? I dunno.

Edit: I'm 99% sure that's Patricia.

PERRY YOU DAMN IDIOT. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING FROM YOUR LAST BAR FIGHT?? I don't know who this other dude is but I hope he gets Perry square in the mouth <3 please I need to see Perry get his ass handed to him

This gives me so many thoughts. Rhett's shorter hair. He's a hand holder, your honor! Sentence him to a lifetime of snuggles and interlaced fingers!

So we know that for sure, Joy will somehow return to the present timeline. I don't know who could be driving this vehicle, but it looks a lot like the one that was sitting in the Tillerson's driveway in S1. We know Billy drives the older red vehicle, so this can either belong to Luke or Trevor.

Hear me out, hear me out. We can assume that the blonde woman is Autumn, considering the whole...cult thing. We've seen a handful of scenes of her with Luke in this trailer, so what if that's him holding her hand? That hat silhouette looks an awful lot like the one we saw in S1.

Alternatively, It can also be Rebecca and Perry, but I have no evidence to back this other than the blonde hair.

*in my best patrick star voice* WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?

I cannot be convinced that this is a real scene. It's gotta be some kind of dream that Royal is having, especially when you take note of the little white things floating around. It gives a sort of dreamy effect.

THIS IS SHERRIF JOY! Not only is the outfit the same in the following scene (not the one of her running lmao, that's just to show you what the gun looks like), but you can see the gun on her hip.

The hand on Rhett's throat is smaller than his is. Look how thick his fingers are compared to the mystery ones. I'm betting my left foot that this is a female character doing this to him. Autumn and Rebecca are on my list of suspects.

But also, what the hell is he looking at? Never once is he looking at the person doing this to him; he's looking at something behind the camera. Baby, what did they do to you this season?? 😭

I hit my picture limit, but Wayne (I think) diving into the hole made me giggle. He picked such an iconic pose.

Someone says quote "Time reveals all." But I don't think we've heard this voice before?? Who the hell is speaking?

This final shot is insane. Don't know who is coming out, presumably Perry or Wayne, but you could ABSOLUTELY spin Outer Range as a horror if you really wanted to. The elements are all there; they just need a little reworking!