#and then...explode...and that's EXHAUSTING

[aryaryxoxo]

a boy who was too late #bakugou katsuki x reader, angst

“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Number One Hero!” the announcer's voice thundered through the arena. The spotlight swiveled to the entrance tunnel, illuminating the stage with brilliance.

The audience rose to their feet with anticipation and excitement. Cheers erupted like a tidal wave. Flashing lights from reporters’ cameras dotted the air.

All eyes were on the entrance. They waited.

And waited.

But instead of the explosive presence they expected, a lone figure stepped out—an assistant in a sleek black suit, clutching a microphone. The applause dimmed into murmurs of confusion. The top ten heroes seated on the grand podium exchanged glances. 

“Where is he?” “He wouldn’t miss this.” “Typical Bakugou…”

The assistant reached the center of the stage, eyes scanning the crowd. Clearing their throat, they raised the mic.

“I know this isn’t what any of you expected,” the assistant began, voice steady but respectful. “But I am here on behalf of Katsuki Bakugou, who has officially been recognized as your new Number One Hero. ” 

…

Katsuki Bakugou stood alone, far from the roaring crowd, far from the flashing lights and empty praises.

The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the cold breeze and the muffled voice of the announcer echoing faintly from the phone in his pocket.

He didn’t care to listen anymore.

This—this—wasn’t how he imagined it.

Not when he was a kid yelling that he’d be the best. Not when he trained until his muscles tore and bones cracked. Not even when he rose in the ranks, surpassing those he once admired.

He had dreamed of standing at the top, instead, he stood in front of a gravestone, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders weighed down not by exhaustion, but by grief.

Carved into the cool marble was a name that meant more to him than any rank ever could.

Your name.

"You idiot," he muttered, barely audible. "I did what you said, I waited for you."

“Bakugou, you better wait for me when you receive the title of Number One Hero, okay?” you said with your usual grin, already reaching across the table to steal his fries without shame.

He glared at you. “Tch—Oi, stop stealing my damn food!”

“You can explode villains but not me, Bakugou. Besides,” you said with a dramatic flick of your hand, “you know how late I get when I need to look good.”

You grinned, playful as always, and popped a fry into your mouth.

He scoffed and turned his head, trying to hide the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Why can’t you be on time for once?”

“Whaaat, is it wrong to look good when my best friend finally gets what he’s always wanted?”

“Huh… best friend...” Bakugou muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

He crouched in front of your grave

“If I hadn’t stopped to take that damn detour... If I’d just been a second faster… maybe—maybe I could’ve stopped it. Maybe I could’ve pulled you out before it happened.”

The image flashed in his mind—your blood, your broken form, the panic that surged through his veins when he saw the aftermath. He had arrived just in time to see the end... but not in time to change it.

He swallowed hard.

“If I wasn’t such a damn coward…” he continued, voice trembling beneath his rage, “maybe I could’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

His hand curled into a fist, knuckles white.

“Not just as a friend. More. Way more.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and useless. The kind that came too late—too late for you to hear, too late to change anything.

“I waited too long. Thought there’d be time. Thought... you’d always be there.”

A sharp wind cut through the stillness, carrying with it the smell of rain. The clouds overhead began to gather, gray and swollen like his chest.

“I made it to Number One, just like we always said I would,” he whispered. “But it don’t feel like a win. Not without you.”

His fingers brushed over the name on the stone again.

“I’d trade it all just for you to steal my damn fries one more time.”

A raindrop landed on the stone. Then another. The sky mourned with him.

And still, Bakugou stayed there—unmoving, shoulders hunched—not as the Number One Hero, but as a boy who was too late.

...

a/n — i told myself i would not write angst ahahhah but here we are...I'm a sucker for a character who haunts the narrative JASDFNJFAD don't worry the next chapter of I'm fucked, arent I is coming up ehehhehe

Warnings — grammatical errors lol

[rafes-honey]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐔𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 ౨ৎ

Summary: JJ Maybank never thought he’d end up in a Kook mansion, much less holding a newborn at 5AM while trying not to wake her exhausted mom.

Pairing - JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The crib squeaked at exactly 5:02 AM.

“Shit,” JJ whispered, eyes cracking open, immediately going into silent panic mode. He froze, barely breathing, eyes darting to your sleeping form right next to him.

You were dead asleep finally. First real stretch you’d gotten in days. You were curled up like a cat, looking completely done with the world, hair everywhere, one arm flopped over the side of the bed like you’d melted into it. JJ wasn’t waking you up. No way. Not after pushing out a whole baby and spending every night since half conscious, half leaking, and 100% exhausted.

The crib squeaked again.

And then came The Noise that little baby grunt. The warning shot.

He cursed under his breath, yanked the hoodie on from the floor, and stumbled over to the crib. His baby. His freaking baby. Still felt fake saying that.

There she was. D/n. Wrinkly and perfect and already looking like she ran this entire house. Her tiny face scrunched up, your nose dead center, and that pouty mouth threatening to explode into a scream.

“Oh, come on, dude,” JJ whispered, scooping her up with two hands like she was made of glass. “What happened to sleeping through the night? Didn’t we just talk about this?”

She blinked up at him like he owed her money.

“Alright. It’s cool. We’re cool. Just me and you. Mom’s off duty.”

He grabbed the little bunny plush this bougie thing your mom bought from some French baby boutique. Probably hand stitched by angels or whatever. JJ still thought it was kinda creepy. But hey, it kept her quiet.

He gave the baby a little bounce as he padded barefoot out the room.

“Welcome to JJ Maybank’s late-night stroll,” he whispered. “Starring: one extremely tired dad, one very demanding potato with fists, and one extremely haunted mansion kitchen.”

Downstairs, he hit the kitchen lights and blinked like a mole.

It was still wild in here. Spotless. All white marble counters. That stupid fridge that made noises when it opened. Cabinets full of dishes that matched. Like, full sets. It wasn’t even the same planet he came from.

JJ opened the pantry. Stared.

Rows and rows of cereal boxes.

Not knock off brands. Not “Sugar Rings” or “Frosted Flakes but Sad.” Nah.

Real shit.

“Okay, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said out loud, looking down at his daughter in total disbelief. “You’ve got… Lucky Charms. Cap’n Crunch. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You have options.”

She blinked. Made a little gurgling noise. Might’ve almost puked. It was unclear.

“Bet you won’t ever have to mix powdered milk with tap water in a measuring cup. Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, but his voice was more in awe than bitter. Kissing the top of her small little peach fuzzed head.

Nine months ago, he was living in a tiny ass room with holes in the walls, eating stolen peanut butter with a spoon. Now he was barefoot in a kitchen that smelled like lemon cleaner and luxury, holding a baby who looked like the best part of the one girl who ever believed he was worth more than the garbage his dad left behind.

He grabbed a clean bottle from the drying rack, filled it up like you taught him. The baby made a grumpy squeak.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re hungry. Don’t get your designer diaper in a twist.”

He took her outside, bouncing her with one arm as he slid open the patio door and walked down the stone path toward the lake. Your mom’s flower beds were pristine, not a single weed in sight.

JJ snorted.

“Your grandma hires people to trim the bushes. I used to mow yards just to pay for a new surfboard leash. This is nuts.”

The baby yawned dramatically.

“You’re unimpressed. I get it.”

He sat on the wooden bench by the lake and let the silence settle. Sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but the sky was hinting at it orange and pink bleeding across the water.

He looked down at her again. Little fists balled up on his chest. That ridiculous bunny tucked next to her. And for a second, the sarcasm drained from his face.

He just looked.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. “Like, really mine.”

It still didn’t feel real. Him, a dad. In a nice house. With a family.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, rubbing her back slowly. “Pretty sure I’m just winging it at this point. Your mom’s the smart one. I’m just the dumbass who brings comic relief.”

She made another squeaky noise, and he cracked a grin.

“See? You get it. You get me.”

The sun started coming up over the lake, gold light sliding across the surface.

JJ leaned back, daughter tucked in his hoodie, hair a mess, heart thudding.

He didn’t have to run anymore.

Didn’t have to dodge cops or his old man’s fist or wonder where his next meal was coming from.

He had you. He had her.

And it scared the shit out of him.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Guess we’re both stuck here now, huh, kid?”

She just stared up at him and let spit fall out her mouth.

JJ wheezed.

“Alright, damn. Weird way to say you love me but I love you to.”

[ratatoilett]

episode title: the one where cooking happens (and everything burns)

nylu's note : thinking yall will see the other boys soon....

tags : @toniiiiiireads @cuntyji @nakiich @rriwyu @your-mum3000 @lulunx @heiejdhdh @oracle014 @sukubusss @noooo-onee @sanestsanstan @minasuniverse @muli-wam @bearchermer @younjunie @kunasthiast

series masterlist

INT. SUKUNA’S KITCHEN – SATURDAY – 6:47 PM

sukuna knows something’s wrong the moment he opens his front door and smells hope.

that is—something sweet, something spicy, something vaguely resembling effort and almost definitely not coming from him.

“don’t panic,” you call from the kitchen, clattering pans in the least comforting way imaginable. “i’m cooking.”

he drops his keys. “panic.”

“have a little faith.”

“last time you said that, my microwave caught on fire.”

“okay, technically, that was your fault. who leaves a fork in a burrito wrapper?”

he walks in, already resigned, and finds you standing in his kitchen like you own the lease. there’s flour on your cheek. there’s pasta boiling like it owes you money. and there's something very concerning happening in the oven that smells like melted ambition.

“what is this,” he asks, staring at the chaos.

you gesture proudly. “homemade dinner. because you eat like a frat boy who lost a bet.”

he opens the fridge. it’s empty. suspiciously empty.

“where’s all my food?”

you pause. “…in the pot. and/or the trash. depending on how you define ‘edible.’”

he closes the fridge slowly. “you used all my eggs?”

“yes.”

“all my cheese?”

“also yes.”

“my last box of instant ramen?”

you look away. “it died a noble death.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose. “if this is about the pink boxers again—”

“this is not revenge! this is an act of service!” you snap, jabbing a wooden spoon in his direction.

the spoon promptly flings a suspicious blob of sauce across the wall.

you both stare at it.

“interpretive art,” you say quickly.

“crime scene,” he replies.

eventually, he sighs, rolls up his sleeves, and mutters, “move. i’m taking over before you burn down my only sanctuary.”

“too late,” you sing, spinning away like a culinary tornado. “i already preheated the oven with the plastic tray still inside.”

his eye twitches. “get. out.”

“you love me,” you wink, stealing a slice of half-chopped pepper.

he glares. “you’re the reason my blood pressure is one parking ticket away from a stroke.”

“aw,” you smile sweetly. “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

you hover beside him anyway, unhelpfully taste-testing everything and offering unsolicited critiques like you’re on MasterChef: Domestic Menace Edition.

“that needs more salt.”

“you need less mouth.”

“this would pair well with wine.”

“this would pair well with silence.”

somehow—miraculously—the kitchen doesn’t explode. the sauce simmers. the garlic bread crisps. you steal the first bite before the plates even hit the table.

“okay,” you say around a mouthful, “so you cooked most of it. minor details.”

he sits beside you, exhausted but vaguely amused. “remind me to install a lock.”

“on your heart?” you grin.

“on my fridge,” he deadpans. “you’re a plague.”

“a loveable plague.”

he says nothing. just chews, slow and steady. and then—

“…this is actually good.”

you beam. “you’re welcome.”

he glances over, barely fighting a smile. “still banning you from the stove.”

you toast your glass of sparkling water to his. “to chaos, carbs, and cohabitating without admitting it.”

he doesn’t toast back.

but he doesn’t stop you from refilling his plate, either.

and when you fall asleep on his couch after dinner—flour still smudged on your cheek, surrounded by dirty dishes and warmth—he lets you stay.

because maybe, just maybe, this kind of mess is the kind worth keeping.

[valeisaslut]

ELLIE PISSING ME OFFFF

Jesse clocked her tea about thinking she’s the only one with problems like girllllll the way she was talking to them made me so mad💔💔💔💔💔💔

i know a lot is the drugs and addiction talking but she’s lucky she even has people that genuinely care about her anymore ffs

UR SO EVIL�� MY BRAIN IS FRIED :(((

ohhhh I WANTED TO GET INTO THIS SO BAD. this is gonna be long. it’s gonna be emotional. and it’s gonna hurt a little. because what’s happening in collide right now is not just drama for drama’s sake — it’s an unraveling that’s been building for years. and everyone involved is hurting.

COLLIDE!ELLIE’S BEHAVIOR: AN ANALYSIS (Aka why she's spiraling and being awful)

you’re right to be mad. she is acting out. she’s being cruel. defensive. manipulative. and when jesse called her out for thinking she’s the only one with problems — he was absolutely right. because that’s exactly how addiction warps your world: it makes your pain feel like the only pain that matters.

ellie’s in full collapse mode, and she doesn’t even see it. she thinks she’s still functioning. she thinks the music, the shows, the sex, the rage — all of it is keeping her going. but it’s actually just killing her slower. and in the process, she’s lashing out at the people who’ve been trying to carry her for years.

and it didn’t start in chapter 8. ellie’s been lying, manipulating, brushing things off with fake charm and sarcasm since the beginning.

and jesse and dina? they’ve always covered for her. they’ve always picked up the slack. they’ve always stayed. even when it hurt.

THE ROOT: Addiction as Survival and Self-Sabotage.

ellie doesn’t think she’s lovable unless she’s suffering. she doesn’t think she’s real unless she’s in pain. so when people try to help her — really help her — she pushes them away. she lies. she performs. she shuts down or explodes. not because she doesn’t care. but because care feels foreign. it feels threatening to someone who’s spent so long building their identity around being the fucked-up one.

her addiction feeds off that belief. it convinces her that people only love her when she’s raw and bleeding. so when reader starts getting worried, and jesse confronts her, and dina cracks — she sees it all as a betrayal, instead of what it really is: love.

that’s why she talks to them the way she does. not because she doesn’t love them.

but because she thinks love means taking pain together in silence.

and when that illusion breaks? she panics.

JESSE & DINA.

and god. they deserve so much credit. jesse and dina have been putting up with this for years. every lie. every 3am emergency. every time she flaked on soundcheck or made the band about her. they let it go because they love her. because they remember the good in her. because they believed she could get better.

but in chapter 8, we finally see how they feel. they snap in this last tour. not because they stopped caring — it’s because they couldn’t carry it anymore.

dina breaking down wasn’t weakness. it was the result of years of strength. jesse yelling wasn’t cruelty. it was exhaustion. they’ve been slowly abandoned by someone who’s still physically there — and that’s a unique kind of grief.

they love ellie. they always have. but love doesn’t mean setting yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.

WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE US?

everyone’s hurting. ellie most of all. but she’s not the only one hurting. and that’s what this part of the story is about — recognizing that addiction doesn’t just destroy the person who has it. it fractures everyone around them.

you’re right to be mad at her. and you’re right to still want her to get better. because the tragedy of ellie is: she knows she’s hurting people. but she doesn’t believe she’s worth saving anymore.

and that’s the darkest place to be.

chapter 8 broke everything open. but that means, for the first time, things can start to change. the mask is off. the excuses are done. and now? it’s just ellie. finally out of time.

and joel.

we’re not done yet.

hold on.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I hope you’re happy.

I can’t stop thinking about sorcerer Stan and I absolutely don’t have time to write the aus I’m thinking of.

Because I’m just imagining if he clicked and didn’t have support.

Princess Stan au- he clicks before the whole dragon thing, maybe when Rico traps him in the chest, and Ford heads down south to investigate reports about some evil spirit in the shape of a man wantonly destroying everything

Normal au- he clicks sometime during his drive up to Gravity Falls and is just so out of it when he gets there. Probably breaks the portal without thinking of it while Ford is right there

I have essays to write! You stole all my brain space!

I'm very happy >:)

If Stan clicked with no support, he'd be casting for as long as he had that battery (if on a path of whatever he clicked with). Once it goes out, or he loses it, then the magic exhaustion's gonna hit bad :) Especially if hes not close to the wellspring to help him recharge faster and more naturally. At this point in the story the only reason they gave the battery back is because Stan was so magically depleted they needed the extra jump, and then he's limited to bed time use just because they need to exhast him so he'll actually sleep. Relying on it long term is not good for anyone.

Ford hears about some spook down south and jumps at the chance to investigate a magical anomaly of this caliber. It could be a wraith, or a ghoul, or some other creature thats' been mistaken for something spectral. So they get to the last place it's been sighted, look for clues and find!

Nothing. There's no evidence of some monster of magical creature. Just human tracks, around inhuman feats of destruction. There's no explanation Ford can find, and none of the bait he's using works. Gets so frustrated until he spills all his findings to fiddleford, who squints and just goes 'sounds like a sorcerer with a bad click.'

Ford discovering the first Sorcerer in generations, hearing all these rumors and Fiddleford telling him 'sounds like a sorcerer' would be so exciting for him. A sorcerer! Who needs help (judging by all the stories and what Fiddlefords told him about how they work)! Ford's going to swoop in and help this poor individual out before they get hunted down and killed for all the destruction they're being compelled to do.

Then he finds them, and its Stan. Stan, who has no idea whats happening to him, no idea why or how he's bending reality to his will, only that he needs to keep breaking things. He's tired and sick and confused and really, does Ford need that metal guy? Or fingers? Or anything and can't Stan just smash a little more? He needs to do it or else he's pretty sure he's going to explode. Its not a pretty sight, especially since Stan hasn't had the time to fully recharge his reserves just wakes up, does magic until he collapses, then repeats it the next time he wakes up again. Which is not good! That battery isn't safe for humans for a reason, and Stan relying on it is just making him sicker.

At that point it becomes a race to drill any rune into his skull before he gets burned out and dies. Extra angst if Ford hasn't discovered the wellspring yet, so its him, Fiddleford, Emma-May, and a sickly Stan living in Fords wagon on the run from both the wizard authorities hunting Ford down for suspected illegal wizarding and from the various parties interested in the first sorcerer in centuries. Stan's not helping here, as he's so far off the deep end he's barely coherent and just wants to keep breaking things. Spends the whole time tied up in the back and gagged while Fiddleford frantically tries to teach him anything.

As for a canon Stan sorcerer... hmm..

Stan doesnt click on the way up, but he's close to it. He's tired, exhausted, on the run and last bit of rope, but Ford needs him. Ford needs him, and Stan's going to help him. Going to go back, and they'll fix it and be brothers again. Just so long as he doesnt break anything else, not like everything else in his life he's touched.

So he gets there, and its mostly the same, except they get to the basement that is just humming and singing with magical runes and power, and Stan, who is so very close to taking that step, is transfixed by it. Lets assume magics gone mostly the same way, in that it faded, but unlike Princess Stan now its coming back. Its surging back to life, and wizards are already casting verbal spells but there hasn't been any sorcerers yet, because all the old bloodlines are so faded and dry there's nothing for the runes to click with.

Except now Stan's here, and for whatever reason he's managed to find himself with a huge magic reserve, and is a second away from clicking. And Ford is saying something, something important, and Stan's trying to listen, trying to finally be there for Ford, when he hears the 'first worthwhile thing in your life' and

BREAKS

Because really? this is it? This is all Ford wants from him? To go even further away? To never see him again? To swoop in and run an errand, then good bye Stan? Just call him like a dog, and not treat him like a brother? The one person Stan thought he ever had any kind of chance for some kind of positive relationship, and all Ford sees is someone to come and kick whenever it suits him.

And to top it all off, Stan's getting his brain blasted with some kind of deep truth about the universe, about how destruction and creation are interlinked and can't be defined or done without the other. Fords yelling about something and all Stan can see is that giant portal behind him. That giant portal that Ford cares more about than his own brother, his own family.

What would it look like if it fell to pieces?

Isn't even aware of what he's doing, Fords voice a distant buzz, just has his eyes locked on all those whispering runes and writing some weird symbol in the air and thinking about the whole thing coming apart.

Then it does, one screw and nail at a time, in the form of a golden glow thats coming from Stan and might be Stan? And Fords still yelling, but all Stan can see is the wave of metal parts crashing to the ground, and all he can feel is this deep warmth he hadn't realized was there before getting sucked out of him.

Then something hits him in the head and he blacks out. (its Ford, who saw all the yellow, saw Stan not reacting and using some kind of strange magic to tear apart his portal, and panicked hit Stan in the back of the head with the journal. That, combined with the huge amount of power Stan was pumping out to break the portal, just instantly ko'd him)

Since Stan was not accidentally draining himself or suffering mega trauma from a dragon slaughter, it does not take him three days to wake up. It takes him, like, ten minutes, and in that time Ford has already tied him up in a panic, because what? What was that? And also why and how dare he and really Stan! Always breaking things and what did Bill promise you! And Why did he want to break the portal because Fords really stumped on that one.

Stan has no idea what just happened, who Bill is, or if breaking the portal was good or bad. All he knows is that a sleep deprived scientist with only ten minutes does not make good knots, and he needs to write that funny symbol on as many things as possible pronto. Breaks out, instantly uses it on the nearest surface, gets whacked in the back of the head again. This loops at least two more times, before Stan finally yells at Ford for hitting him, and how he has no idea what his brothers talking about or whats happening just that he needs to write that symbol on as many things as possible, because its telling him to.

Now Fords dealing with a pissed off Bill and a baby sorcerer without knowing anything about how sorcerers work. Bill Knows though. Bill would be happy to take this one off his hands in fact. Stan broke his other portal, but he's pretty sure he can use him to make another one.

All he has to do is teach him the right rune after all, and unlike princess Stan Bill doesnt have to be nice :)

Hope that helps your brain space!

[panchulien]

tw: mentions of death?

Price and the team pinned down in active combat zone. Patience wearing thin, along with their ammo. Doesn't seem so promising.

Nikolai's chopper up above providing air support and waiting for the right moment to land so they can get the fuck out of there. They are under heavy fire and it'll require a miracle to get them out safely. Luckily, Nikolai specializes in "upside down", so there's still hope.

Except, that hope dissipates the moment they all witness Nikolai's chopper going down in flames, an explosion following it the moment it touches the ground.

They don't have time to mourn, or even process their shock, as the enemy is equally surprised and the team has to use their brief moment of weakness to return fire and clean them all. They're trained soldiers, they've lost men and seen explosions before, they can't stop to mourn the dead in the middle of combat, they have a job to do.

So, in the end, the team makes it out alive. Every last one of the enemy is killed, had to be done. By far the messiest job they ever handled, but sometimes shit just go sideways. Sometimes it goes so fucking wrong that you watch as your comrade goes down in flames.

The ride back to the base is quiet. It all happens too fast anyways, they don't have time to search the ruins for Nikolai's body. Have to make sure they are safe and secure first, that the rest of them are alive and not-injured.

Price is out of it for the most part, his world stopped spinning the moment he saw the chopper explode. His eyes are dull, he doesn't hear anything, doesn't process any of the words directed at him. There is only one image in his head, and it's the helicopter in flames. It repeats over and over in his head.

The boys handle the mission briefing, Price is excused for the day. Hell, he's excused for however long he wants to. You don't just come back from that.

And he doesn't.

He's not sure what's happening at all. He hasn't processed it yet. He doesn't return anybody's worried calls or texts. Not from Laswell, not from his sister or anybody else.

One moment he's standing in his, their, bedroom. The next moment he finds himself standing over the ruins over the helicopter. It has barely been 24 hours, the remains of the crash are not cleaned up yet.

Price wants to see it for himself, that Nikolai is dead. The realization will fully sink in when he finally sees the body.

He's barely holding it together as he scans the area with a flashlight, hands shaking, selfishly knocking on god's door when he knows he hasn't been there in years.

He looks for traces of Nikolai, anything to confirm that he's dead, and yet he finds none. There are traces of blood and pieces of his flight jacket around, pretty badly burnt too, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen. Price doesn't know how to feel about that.

All of a sudden it's too much, and he sinks to his knees. His sobs are the only noise to be heard in the quiet night.

A few weeks pass, or so Price thinks. He hasn't bothered checking the calendar ever since Nikolai died. Disappeared? He doesn't know. It doesn't matter what day of the month it was when he re-lives the same day over and over again anyway.

There isn't any ceremonies made for the man. Only an empty grave with the name "Nikolai" on it for the people who knew him to pay their respects to. Price doesn't visit it. Part of him still believes he's out there somewhere.

His suspicions soon turn out to be true, though the discovery almost kills him on the spot.

A knock on his door, two am in the morning. Price doesn't have to get up from his bed as he's not sleeping anyway, hasn't been able to in weeks. He's exhausted, blue eyes tired and red from crying, and he's not sure if his mind is playing tricks on him as he opens the door to the sight of Nikolai.

There Nikolai stands in front of him. Leaning on a cane, his pretty face covered in scratches and bruises, but he stands there alive. His heart breaks at the sight of Price, and he doesn't know where to begin.

"John.." He can't bear looking at him. At how ruined Price looks, like he can't believe Nikolai is real, like him dying was the end of the world to him.

Price is barely holding it together. Either Nikolai is really back or God is playing a sick, cruel fucking joke on him. He can't tell.

"Thought we lost ya'..." He manages to let out when he finds his voice again, hoarse and shaky. He takes a step forward and lifts his hand, putting it on Nikolai's cheek as if to make sure Nikolai is really there.

And he is, he is there. His skin is warm under his hands like Price remembers. Nikolai stares at his wet blue eyes as he himself struggles with words.

"I'm not easy to get rid of, Captain." He lets out a laugh, leaning into Price's touch.

[xmads-omensx]

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

CW: none

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @tosoundlessdarkistare @bloody-spades @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986  @dominuslunae @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @overmydeadbodysblog @illmakeyousaywow @dsireland86 @missduffsblog  @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @dontwantthemoney @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm @museonfilm @death-ofpeace-ofmind @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kissestomyomens @flowery-mess @athenexe @anything-more-than-human @oobleoob @dollieomens @astronoids @pipidoll

Everybody had practically abandoned movie night after the first two movies had rolled the credits, claiming that the tour had exhausted them.

That just left you and Noah alone on the sofa. Both too comfortable to move.

Your current position brought you a sense of peace that you couldn’t even begin to form into words.

Noah lay on his back, long hair dangling off the side of the sofa and merging with your own, with you pressed up against him.

You were almost on top of him, but he didn’t care. Especially not since he got to hold his favourite girl so close to his chest like this.

Your arms were wrapped around each other, holding yourselves impossibly close.

If anyone were to walk in during that moment, they’d assume that you were a couple.

But you weren’t… much to your disappointment.

There was something about the soft glow of the fairy lights being the only light source other than the TV that was currently playing Scream 3 since that was the agreed franchise to binge that night.

Noah’s hand travelled up your back, whist his other remained firm on your lower back.

His fingers fiddled with your hair, before reaching rather further up to stroke the hair on your head.

You leaned further into his touch before looking up at him.

Noah was already looking back, his deep brown eyes glittering under the fairy lights, strands of his long hair beginning to fall into his face, you reached up to push them back.

Then it happened.

There was something else in his eyes besides the exhaustion from tour. Something else that wasn’t the glow of the fairy lights. It was… warm.

Noah brought his other hand up to your face and brushed some of your own hair away, not moving his hand from your cheek once he was done.

You weren’t even aware of the two of you moving closer until it was too late.

Sparks exploded in the room around you as your lips touched.

It felt like electricity was transferring from him to you as you kissed.

Your heart raced as the kiss went on.

Kissing your best friend was a strange experience, but it felt so... right.

"Hey no fucking on the couch you idiots." Jolly's Swedish accent boomed as he walked down the stairs.

In an instant, you pulled away from Noah and buried your face into his chest as he laughed.

Your whole body felt warm in that moment, which only got worse when Noah squeezed your body closer to him and kissed the top of your head.

You kissed his hoodie-clad chest in return.

This was heaven.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

MEETINGS, GREETINGS N BREEDINGS (Geto x Choso x Sukuna x Black!F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Rockstars!Geto Suguru x Choso Kamo x Sukuna Ryomen x Black!Popstar!Reader

Synopsis: You’re a well-known pop star who has shocked sound waves around the world and stolen the hearts of your fans….including three unlikely, sexy, and tattooed ones that you’re all too familiar with.

One night, your favorite rock band and secret fans come to visit you backstage after one of your shows to confront you about you leaving their concert so soon after sneaking backstage and somehow making them all obsess over you. Even those who aren’t particularly fond of your bubblegum pop music.

Your team won’t be too happy about you spending any time with people who could “destroy” your image, but who gives a fuck when you’re getting laid by three hot rockers? 

Tags: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS DNI), Rock Band/Musician AU, No Curse AU, Meet N Greet, Fan/Groupie!Reader, Alcohol + Marijuana, Teasing/Highkey Flirting, Foursome, Pleasure Doms!Geto + Choso x Mean Dom!Sukuna x fsub!Reader, Crushing, Sexual Tension, Dubcon/R*pe, Coercion, Spit Play/Spitting In Mouth, Triple Blowjob, Cunnilingus/Analingus, Anal Play, Triple Stuffing, Riding, Anal Sex, Oral Sex (Giving & Receiving), Public Sex, Exhibitonism, Cum Play, Breeding Kink, Analpie + Creampie, Facial, Caught In The Act

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: I've had this idea for THE LONGEST TIME & I'm so obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter's fine ass that I just needed to write about a Black "girly pop" pop star getting dicked down by her rockstar BF/crushes. I thought this one was hot & I hope y'all do too! -Jazz

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Another night. Another show. Another adoring crowd. 

The sounds of their endless applause and cheering combined with the last few notes of your hit song are like roaring seas in your ears, making your eardrums vibrate and your head swim. You grin with pride down at the thousands of twinkling cellphone lights in the rows of seats like stars in the sky.

“Thank you guys so much!” you shout into your bedazzled mic. “Did everyone have a great time?!” 

The crowd screams with excitement and happiness all for you, dozens of signs and shirts with your face on them facing you. These are the moments that make a two-hour show worth it.

All of the quick changes into your glittery, skimpy outfits. Risking bunions in your heels after dancing across the stage in them. Facing burnout and physical exhaustion show after show. It is all worth it to put on a good show for your adoring fans. 

You suppose it is because you’re a slut for praise. “See you guys next time!” you call, just as the platform you’re standing on lowers you down, down, down from the stage. “Stay safe and come back to see me again! Bye-bye!” You give a final wave and blow a big kiss to the crowd before you are finally off the stage and underneath it instead. 

Then it’s the rush of reality: breaking down the stage props and set-up and hurrying to get to the next location. As soon as you’re off stage, Maki, your assistant, agent, and friend, swoops in with a towel for you to dab your makeup with, setting spray, and an ice cold water in your pink Stanley Cup.

You smile in thanks at her, glad to have something to soothe your parched throat and cool you down. You two walk together to your dressing room as the backstage explodes with activity: dancers, staff, and stagehands all do their best to wrap things up in time for the next stop. 

Tour season is always hectic. It isn’t the most exciting thing in your career due to all of the mental and physical turmoil it can cause, but it’s worth it to wear cute outfits and see your pretty fans. “Soooo that’s show #45 down,” Maki says, checking something off on her iPad as she briskly walks with you in her heels. “Now you just have a Meet n Greet, and then you’ll have some downtime before we have to head out for the next location.” 

You turn to face her, sipping on your water and doing your best to avoid ruining your glitter lipgloss. “How much downtime?” you suspiciously ask. Your agent peers over her black-framed glasses, knowing that you already know that your “break” is on a time crunch as usual. “About fifteen minutes at this point.” 

“Ohhh, Maki, come on!” you whine, rolling your eyes. Maki pauses in the hallway with you, placing a hand on her hip in her black pants, top, and suit. “Look, you knew the drill when you entered this business, Y/N. I’m just trying to keep you on your toes and make things as easy for you as possible as your agent.” 

You scoff at her response, knowing that she is right but still needing to rest your head. “But I need a break! I’ve been on the road for months now with no free time or days off.” You haven’t gotten a serious break in three months now! Breaks are scarce on tour and since you’re making a lot of money with tickets each night when you perform, you know that your manager is hesitant about wasting even a single day that isn’t in a stadium or rehearsing. 

“What’s this I hear about days off?” You and Maki both jump at the sound of your manager’s familiar deep voice. You both turn like kids caught in the cookie jar, staring up at the older man with the sharp suit, glasses, and the stern look that only a dad could have. 

You don’t feel an ounce of discomfort standing with the older man in your glittery, shimmery pink skin-tight mini dress, thigh-high boots, and push-up bra to make your breasts look even juicer than usual. Your manager has been in your corner for four years now, giving you the career you’ve dreamed about since you were young. “Mr. Manager!” Maki exclaims, standing tall and rigid. “Uh….Y/N just feels a little drained from the tour.” 

You roll your eyes at her attempt at softening the blow to appease your manager and her boss. “A little? I can barely find words to speak because I’m so exhausted.” Your manager scoffs, fixing his glasses and shaking his head. “Dramatic as usual.” Despite the small smile on his face, you can tell he isn’t happy to hear this. 

You look at Maki for reassurance, but she is more afraid of losing her job over every little thing, so you know you will have to handle this. But you’re a big girl. You’re not afraid of handling anything in your path. So you clear your throat and dab the sweat off of your forehead before you face your manager. “Mr. Manager, sir, it’s not that I’m not thankful for all of the work you put in for this tour, but—”

“You need a break?” he interrupts, raising an eyebrow at you. It makes your body flush with apprehension. “I thought you got that break the night we were in Tokyo, and you went to see that horrible band that I specifically forbade you from associating with.” He crosses his hairy arms over his chest, keeping that same firm, knowing brow that makes you flush. 

‘He knows!’ you think. You were hoping your manager wouldn’t find out about your little “escapade” last Friday night to downtown Tokyo where you saw your favorite rock/heavy metal band, The Curses.

Comprised of three members in total, you have been a fan of the popular band for over five years now. They only started popping off two years ago and recently won a Grammy for “Best Rock Album” which propelled them deeper into popularity. They are now on tour, starting in Japan before moving onto international countries in two months. 

You know that people looking at you or listening to your girly, bubblegum pop songs wouldn’t suspect that you listen to that hardcore shit. You know that people wouldn’t suspect that you’ve got a thing for the guys with tattoos, piercings, or “don’t give a fuck” attitudes either. But it isn’t your fault! It’s The Curses’ fault for being so goddamn sexy! 

Geto Suguru, the guitarist, Choso Kamo, the bassist, and Sukuna Ryomen, the drummer, take up a good portion of your nights when you are alone. You listen so intently to the way Geto croons against the strings of an electric guitar. Or the way Choso’s sweet yet raspy tones shift into a sheer scream that excites you. Or the way Sukuna’s brash drumming skills rattle your eardrums and make you think about how big those arms are. 

And they are. Each member is so big. So tall. Muscles inked with tattoos and skin adorned in piercings. They are the epitome of “bad boys” according to your manager. Saying that he doesn’t like The Curses or the fact that you’re so infatuated with them are understatements. He’s made arrangements to sit you away from them at award shows. While arranging your tour dates, he scheduled you to perform in places opposite to them. 

Your manager takes your public image very seriously which is important for a star like you. You are well aware that the conservative parents would be on your ass even more if you were engaging with a shit-talking, tatted-up rockstar. “I don’t want you associating with anyone that can tarnish your image, Y/N,” your manager explained to you. “What you do on your own time in private is one thing, but engaging in anything in public is something else!” 

And you realized that he was right. Your image is important to you too, especially when it comes to social media and paparazzi ready to catch you slipping. You’ve been going to clubs and hooking up in private for years now! You’re already very private about what you do, where you go, and who you see…so why stop there? 

So after rehearsals, you kept that same energy last week when you went out on a whim to the venue that The Curses were performing at in downtown Tokyo. You had some downtime and figured you’d enjoy a night of freedom by seeing your favorite band in concert for the first time. You wore a skin-tight workout romper over your pink hoodie and paired it with a baseball cap (to be safe). Because your driver cares about his job, he drove you to the venue and promised to keep things under wraps if anyone asked. 

Seeing the three rockstars wasn’t something you regretted. It was a treat to see the three strum those guitars, bang on those drums, and belt out the lyrics you knew by heart into their mics. It was especially something to see them strip off their shirts, exposing each ripping muscle etched in ink and glistening in sweat. You felt yourself throb and grow hot under your hoodie. You aren’t usually come off too eager for men due to your profession, but for those three? You were ready to sell your soul for a slice of dick from them. 

You felt like the world disappeared around you as you stood in that pit with other adoring fans, none of them recognizing you (as far as you know) and feeling like you were one with the real world as the band played hit after hit. You felt like Choso locked eyes with you a few times and like maybe Sukuna stared into the crowd at you, his intense crimson eyes leaving you speechless, but you suppose that maybe it was the drink in your cup or wishful thinking. 

However, after the show ended and you watched two girls fight over Geto’s sweaty towel that he wiped across his abs before tossing it into the crowd, you made a decision that you immensely regret now: you snuck backstage to see them. You don’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that you were tired of your manager telling you what to do that made you so reckless, but before you knew it, you were signing an autograph for the band’s bodyguards and having them whisk you backstage to meet your faves. 

You took a deep breath and fixed your hair out of its trap in your baseball cap before you knocked on their dressing room. Sukuna, in all of his six-foot something glory, answered the door, still shirtless and in his low-rise jeans. Your brain went blank as your eyes roamed over each ripping muscle, the pierced nipples attached to his massive pecs, and the ‘Look Here’ tattoo inked beneath his belly button to his cut lower stomach pebbled with fine, pink hair that trailed down to his– 

“Helloooo?” he sung, cocking his head to the side. He wore a humorous smirk as he stared down at you, his spiked pink hair looking soft to the touch. “You okay?” 

You swallowed hard, flushing in your hoodie. “Hi!” you chirped a little too loudly. “I-I’m—” 

“Yeah, I know who you are,” he interrupted, still smiling at you. His tongue jutted out to lick his bottom lip and silver lip rings, making you think of him licking something else. “Someone’s gonna bust their nut seein’ you here.” Your eyes widened at his lewd words, your stomach flip-flopping. 

“Who’s at the door, Sukuna?” someone called from inside. Then Geto appeared, just as tall and just as sexy in his loose tank top, enviously long black hair, and ripped jeans. He paused when he saw you, shocked before his expression softened. “Wow, what a surprise. You’re cuter in person, y’know.” He gave you a smile adorned with his lip ring before he called for the third member. “Choso, you’ve got a visitor! A fan, it seems.” 

And then came Choso who wandered out of his bedroom in Kuromi socks and a white tee that did nothing to hide his toned body. He stared at you as if you were a mythical creature, his mascara-rimmed eyes wide. His cheeks went pink like the softest petals on a rose, somewhat making you throb. “Shit,” he breathed. “I could’ve sworn I just smoked too much before the show, but…that was really you in the audience tonight.” 

Geto shared a knowing smile with Sukuna before he stuck his big hand out for you. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” You nearly creamed at the sound of his name escaping his lips. “You too,” you giggled, shaking his hand. You ignored the zip of electricity that shot through your veins as his calloused palm met yours. 

“Listen, I’m sorry to come through so randomly like this, but I was just wondering if I can get an autograph. I’m a fan of yours.” You dug your phone out of your crossbody bag, wanting all three on your phone case, but trying not to come off over excited or eager in the face of your three idols. “Ohhh, the pop princess is a fan of ours?” Geto chuckled, placing his hands on his hips. “What an honor. So you want our autographs, eh?” 

“Only if you give him an autograph too,” Sukuna joked, nodding at a glaring Choso. “What? You’ve been tellin’ us you wanted one for years now!” You nearly combust right there. Choso is a fan of yours? Are the others fans of your music too? 

Geto switched places, leaning his hip against the doorway. “We were just celebratin’ the end of our show. You should come in and hang for a bit with us.” Choso took his place behind the bassist, fidgeting with the tie on his sweats and earning your attention. Especially when it came to the black nail polish on his nails. How would those fingers look sinking inside your–? 

“Unless you’re scared,” Sukuna chuckled, giving you a playful smirk. “I’m sure your circle ain’t filled with guys like us.” As if to make this clear, he slid a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit it up right in front of you, his crimson eyes locked on yours. The way his rings glinted and the black polish on his nails glistened had you ready to drop to your knees and suck his cock right there! 

If this was done to intimate you, it did the exact opposite. It only made you feel more reckless and way more aroused than you were during the show. “Only if you have beer,” you giggled. The members looked shocked at your agreement to stay, but all the more pleased to have you there as Geto let you come inside their dressing room. 

You stayed for about thirty minutes, chatting, drinking, and lowkey flirting with the bandmates. Geto and Choso got into a guitar battle, each one challenging the other to play certain notes as fast as possible on their strings. You just watched, imaging those fingers somewhere else moving just as quickly. As the effects of the beer started to kick in, you felt more open sitting between the three men on the couch. More risky. More flirtatious. 

You giggled at Geto’s jokes. You complimented Choso’s songwriting and ear piercings just to see him blush. You foolishly took Sukuna up on smoking a blunt, giving him the finger when he laughed as you coughed and Choso got you some water to ease your lungs. Once the sexual thoughts started coming and the touches started coming (Choso’s knee brushing yours but not moving away; Sukuna’s hand on your thigh; Geto moving a piece of hair away from your glossy lips), you knew it was time to go. 

You made an excuse about rehearsals being in the morning to which they took no problem. “Let us know what show you got comin’ up before you leave Cali,” Geto said as he walked you outside to your ride. “Maybe we’ll come through and see you perform.” He gave you a one-armed hug at the door, leaving your hoodie drenched in his scent and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. 

That night, you went back to your condo after successfully dodging paparazzi and used your trusty rose toy on yourself to the thought of those three tattooed studs with Geto’s cologne on the pink hoodie covering your naked body, whimpering out their names as you came two times that night. 

You immensely regret your decisions now as your manager gives you the evil eye. You gape at Maki who quickly puts her hands up in defense. “I-It wasn’t me!” she stammers. Your manager shakes his head disappointedly at you. “You forget I have eyes everywhere, Y/N. How else am I supposed to protect my biggest pop star?” 

Knowing him, he could have bribed your driver. He could have had people at the venue where The Curses were performing. You swallow hard, trying to think of a counter argument or an apology, but your manager cuts you off. “Oh, and not only did you risk your safety and go to a show by yourself, you also went backstage with the assholes, apparently.” 

You scowl at him, alarmed by him knowing this…then you realize it. “You tracked my phone, didn’t you?” you hiss. Your manager blushes, realizing that he’s been caught. He had a habit of doing that to you before and you told him how much you hated it. “You said you’d stop doing that! I’m not a fucking kid!” 

Your manager looks around at the prying eyes, realizing that you were doing this in the hall. “Let’s discuss this in private.”

But you step away from him, enraged, nearly knocking into Maki who quickly takes your Stanley cup in fear of you bashing it across your manager’s head. “No! I understand that I put my safety in jeopardy, and I take full accountability for it, but fuck, I needed a break! And I wanted to see my favorite band, so why couldn’t I?” 

Your manager’s jaw tenses (not a good sign) and he takes his iPhone out. Wordlessly, he taps away on his phone before he shoves it in your face, showing you TMZ’s website…and several photos of you at The Curses’ concert. You walking into the venue. You in the audience. You walking backstage. You hugging Geto outside. 

Oh. So maybe you weren’t as successful as you thought. 

“Your image is already being tarnished with the trashy tabloids catching flicks of you and that band,” your manager huffs. “They’re bad news, Y/N, and you know it. When you agreed to be in this business and signed that dotted line, you agreed to the image WE constructed for YOUR career!” 

You wither at the photos and under your manager’s scrutiny. You feel stupid and embarrassed. All you wanted was a night to yourself and this happens? Maki quickly steps in though and passes your manager’s phone back to him, hiding the photos from view. “She can’t perform if she’s mentally exhausted, Mr. Manager. Just give it some thought.” 

Your manager heaves a sigh and pockets his phone. “Very well. Just go to your dressing room before your Meet N Greet tonight. We can talk about this later.” At the sound of a crash, he quickly excuses himself and hurries off to see what the fuss is about. Maki walks you to your dressing room, tentative yet cautious, not wanting you to pop off or break down. You already feel like glass, vulnerable and transparent. 

She leans against the door and warily watches you as you rip off your boots, plopping down on the couch. “I just got word that the Meet N Greet start time was extended because of a medical issue, so your break time is extended. I’ll come get you when the event starts. Call me if you need anything.” 

You barely look at her as you mutter out a saddened “I’m fine.” She doesn’t push it and instead leaves you to decompress and be alone with your thoughts. You use the next ten minutes to strip, shower, play your soothing music, and fix your makeup for your Meet N Greet in your vanity mirror. You are just applying setting spray when– 

Knock-knock! 

You roll your eyes rimmed in mascara and glitter before you storm over to the door in your pink robe. “Maki, I told you I’m fine,” you groan. But when you open your door, it isn’t your agent standing there at all. Your agent isn’t six foot, beefy and buff, tatted up, or a man with spiked pink hair. “Who the fuck is Maki?” Sukuna grumbles, scowling in confusion at you. 

Choso stands behind his bandmate in his usual black attire, though he ditched the tee for a muscle tee that squeezes his pecs. “Her agent! She was just with us, you dumbass!” he growls. Sukuna turns to the guitarist, glaring daggers at him. “Call me a dumbass again and see what happens.”

Geto in his deadly Sex Pistols crop top and jeans combo luckily steps in before the two can fight. “Stop. We’re not here to fight in front of this cutie’s door. We’re here to congratulate her on her amazing show.” He turns to you with a smile, his handsome face accentuated by his long ponytail. 

You stare up at the three men towering over you, making you feel ten times shorter than you are. You can’t believe it. They’re really here. “Y-You came?” you dumbly ask, your voice soft and whispery. Sukuna and Geto flat out laugh at your response while Choso does his best to stifle his. 

“I was serious about payin’ you a visit,” Geto says with a smile. “You were really good.” You feel your face heat at the compliment, exposing yourself as a praise slut down to the bone. “We’re fans of yours too. ‘Specially him, remember?”

He nods at a blushing Choso who elbows him in the ribs. Sukuuna leans against the doorframe, making you think of a giant with how fucking tall he is.

“That was some outfit you had on at the finale,” he croons in his deep, tantalizing voice. You notice Choso’s eyes roam over your robe, making you feel exposed despite the covering. You feel yourself throb at the idea of them admiring you in your costumes tonight, somewhere in the dark in the audience. 

Despite still being starstruck, you manage to swallow your spit and open your mouth to talk. “T-Thank you,” you stammer. “Um….you guys wanna come in? I’ve got snacks and drinks. Alcohol included.” You open your door wider to reveal the pink walls and plush pillows in your dressing room. “You guys make yourselves at home and I’ve got plenty in the fridge.” 

“R-Really?” Choso stammers, looking like a wide-eyed raccoon with his eyeliner. “You sure it’s okay? We wouldn’t want to–” 

Sukuna silences him by wrapping an arm around his neck, squeezing him into his armpit. “Shut up and get inside, dummy,” he huffs, dragging the bass player into your dressing room.

Geto follows after, giving you a whiff of his cologne as he passes you. All of them smell good: Geto has a hint of vanilla in his cologne while Sukuna smells more like pine and Choso has a sprinkling of orange combined with sandalwood. You want to wrap yourself up in all of these scents and have them stain your clothes. 

As you shut the door, you watch as the three men look around your room, so comically big that they make the room look like one out of a dollhouse. “Cute room,” Geto comments. “It’s fit for a princess.” He glances at you as he says this, making you flush inside of your fluffy robe. “Did Maki send you?” you curiously ask. 

He nods, trailing his finger over one of your pink, plushy pillows on your couch. “She did. Gave us backstage passes and hats too, so nobody would be suspicious.” You make a mental note to thank your agent later.

Sukuna stands over by your kitchenette, his brows narrowed. “Why? You afraid to be seen with us?” Choso and Geto shoot him a glare that says, ‘Shut the fuck up’.

But you don’t take any offense to it, already knowing how hot-headed and aggressive Sukuna can come off. “No way! I just don’t want you guys to get in trouble. My manager isn’t very fond of you.” Sukuna snorts at this, waving off your worry. “Like we give a fuck.” 

“We won’t be here for long,” Geto reassures you, giving you a wink. “We just wanted to check in on you after you bailed on us last Friday night.” 

“Yeah, we were sure you got sick or something,” Choso says, awkwardly standing by your couch as if he has no idea what to do. Sukuna chuckles, taking a banana from the fruit basket on your counter. “Or that you ain’t like us no more.” He begins to peel it right in front of you and eat it, much to Choso’s scathing glare. 

You start to feel guilty for cutting your night so short when you were hoping for so much more…but maybe you can make up for it now. You take a seat on your couch, laughing off their assumptions. “Definitely not that. Sorry I had to leave so soon, but I can make up for it now. I told you I was a fan…and plus, the tattoos help.” You lock eyes with each of them, your tone no doubt flirtatious and suggestive. 

Each of the rockstars take notice of your change in demeanor, suddenly stopping whatever they were doing to give you the attention you desire. Sukuna finishes the banana, tossing the peel into the trash can. “You like tattoos?” he asks, his voice making delicious chills roll down your spine. His crimson blood eyes on you give you a sudden sense of confidence that makes you want to act up. “Mmm-hmm. And drummers.” 

You watch as Sukuna’s eyes widen a bit, taken aback by your boldness, before a smirk stretches across his face. Geto takes a chance and sits down next to you on your left, crossing one long leg over his knee. “Not guitarists? I’m hurt.” He presses a big hand to his heart, right in the middle of his broad, mouth-watering chest. 

Sukuna scoffs, suddenly over near you despite having just been in the kitchenette, and takes a seat on your right, sandwiching you between himself and Geto. “Please. You act like you’re the only one who can play a fuckin’ guitar.” You hum thoughtfully to yourself, looking between the two members’ strong, talented, capable, inked hands. “With fingers like yours, I’m sure you two go head to head.” 

You didn’t mean for that to sound as sexual as it did, but it does and all three take notice of it. The air shifts to something that is tense with a sexual energy that makes you want to strip off your robe and douse yourself in cold water. Geto tosses an arm behind the couch, right behind your head. “We could always show you again, y’know. I’m no sore loser, but I don’t back down easily, either. Especially in front of cute girls.” The way he is looking at you makes you want to melt into the couch, his gaze laced with seduction. 

The only thing that keeps you from possibly jumping on the two members is Choso’s fine ass. “You keep the water in here, right?” he asks, opening your mini fridge. You nod, telling him to help himself, and exposing your little alcohol collection. Choso takes the bottle of tequila out of the fridge, holding it up with a humored smile. 

“What kinda stress are you under to have a bottle of that in your dressin’ room, girl?” Sukuna scoffs with a laugh. You shrug, giggling along with the members. “My manager. Paparazzi. The constant strains of pressure and fame…y’know how it goes.” 

“We should break that open then,” Geto suggests, telling Choso to bring over some paper cups. He does, but brings over some water too, sitting down next to Sukuna with the drinks. “So you think your dad, I mean your manager, would approve of us bein’ in here with his precious little popstar?” Sukuna asks, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You passively shrug as Choso passes you a cup and pours you a shot of the tequila. You can’t bring yourself to care about your manager or your career right now. “Probably not…but he ain’t here right now, is he?” You give each member a sneaky, playful smile. “Plus, this is my dressing room and I can have whoever I want in it.” 

A playful, flirtatious light flickers in Geto’s violet eyes, his handsome face making it almost impossible to look at him. “So you want us here?” he asks, his voice dipping low, so low that it makes your nether regions tremble. Instead of answering and drawing your cards all at once, you raise your cup for a toast. “Cheers to a great show and even greater company,” you chirp. The four of you clink cups because taking a shot of the strong, clear liquid. 

As soon as it slides down your throat, making it sting, and settles in your stomach, you feel a rush of the warmth that you needed to feel tonight. That warmth grows hotter and hotter like a volcano as time ticks by, chatting and lowkey flirting with the band members. You talk about everything under the sun: favorite artists, animals, places you’ve traveled, foods, movies, etc. You laugh over funny stories and discuss what you’d want to do with your career in ten years. 

Suddenly, the band members have been in your dressing room for a half an hour now and you don’t take any notice because of how much you enjoy them being in your presence. And because you’re drunk. You’ve taken too many shots and the tequila is working its wicked ways on you, leading you to strip off your robe and reveal the cropped pink top and teeny, tiny shorts underneath. 

You take no notice of the way the three stare at you, their eyes roaming over your legs and the way your thighs peek out under your skirt. Choso winds up next to you since Sukuna got up to ravage your mini fridge. You reach out to gently stroke Choso’s forearm where a tattoo of his little brother’s face is (Yuji, his name is). “I like your tattoos,” you slur. “They’re so pretty.” 

The bassist's eyes flicker with light while his cheeks grow pink. “Oh, yeah? You said you like tattoos.” His confidence is oozing out now, the both of you acting up off the tequila. You lazily nod, your hand trailing down to his elbow, his skin hot to the touch. “Mmm-hmm. And piercings.” 

“Uh-oh,” Geto chuckles from your left. “Somebody’s a little tipsy.” He sounds far away but near at the same time. Sukuna comes back over with a bottle of chocolate vodka and plops down next to Choso, making the couch shake. “Let’s give her some more. She’s cute when she’s drunk.” He pours you a shot of the vodka, a deviant smirk on his face. 

But then you remember…don’t you have something important to do later? “Oh, I-I shouldn’t—” 

“It’s your dressin’ room, ain’t it?” the drummer interrupts. “You can do whatcha want.” He pauses, stifling a laugh. “Don’t tell me ya let your manager tell ya whatever he wants ya to.”

You flush at his teasing, hesitantly taking the cup from him. The sweet aroma of the chocolate mixed with the strong scent of the vodka stimulates your nostrils. Sukuna grins at you and he suddenly reminds you of the Big Bad Wolf and you’re being seduced to his jaw. 

“A girl like you deserves a break, right?” he chuckles.

Yes. Yes, you do.

So you take the shot. Choso takes it with you, hooking your arms together to down them at the same time. Once the vodka is down, you lean back against the couch to gather yourself, but the couch feels too solid. It’s Geto’s chest. You’re too drunk to be embarrassed about it. 

“So you said you like piercings.” His statement takes a moment to process in your foggy head. Everything sounds muffled. “Mmm-hmm,” you hum against his chest, nodding. His hands come around your front to massage your shoulders and neck, his fingers gentle yet firm. “I bet you do,” he murmurs. “I bet you wanna know how one feels.” 

Confused, you peer up at him, finding that he is already looking at him. His handsome face eclipses the ceiling fan light above you like the moon would the sun. “What do you mean?” you weakly ask. Suguru smiles, slow and seductive, his lip ring glinting at you. “I’ll show you.” 

Before you even realize it, the guitarist is leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It is soft, slow, and tastes like tequila. You moan against his lips, tensing slightly from his unanticipated act, but quickly, you settle into his kiss, melting against the softness of his lips and the coolness of the lip ring pushing against your lips. Strands of his black hair fall from his ponytail, tickling your face.

Then you feel his tongue swirling against yours and with it, the cool metal ball of his tongue piercing. Is that what he meant by “feeling” a piercing? Because if so, you fucking love it. 

As soon as it happens, it ends and Geto pulls away, but not before giving your bottom lip a teasing suck, leaving you wanting more and almost gasping for air. “Choso, you’ve got snake bites, right?” he chuckles, giving the bassist a wink. “She might wanna get a taste of those too.” 

Suddenly, you are sitting up and facing Choso now, his ringed, tattooed fingers interlaced with yours. Your eyes bounce from his black-ringed eyes to his plump lips where those two black studs stare back at you. “You okay with this, love?” he asks. “I don’t wanna do somethin’ you’re not comfortable with–” 

You interrupt him by leaning in and giving each other what you both want, his snakebites pushing against your bottom lip. He moans in surprise at the kiss, but quickly melts into it, his hands moving to grasp your hips. Your fingers toy with his forearms, feeling up the firm muscles, while his pierced tongue toys with yours, swirling and dancing with each other. Heated breaths and soft moans escape your kiss, giving you both the impression that you’re enjoying this. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Sukuna growls impatiently. “I ain’t get my turn yet and neither one of you lowlifes know what the fuck you’re doin’.” Begrudgingly, Choso stops kissing you, his eyes slightly unfocused and dazed with lust.

Suddenly, you find yourself pulled into Sukuna’s lap, your ass on his thighs and his hands wrapped around your waist, one palm squeezing your ass rather possessively. “I’ve got enough piercings for you, princess,” he murmurs before his lips are on yours and his tongue is in your mouth. 

And he does. Other than the two rings hanging from his bottom lip, he has three silver balls pierced in a row in his tongue that feel like ridges against your tongue. His kiss is rough and sloppy, causing saliva to gather between your mouths. You moan into the kiss, your hands caressing his gages and helix piercings, trailing down to his stubbled jaw. The rough strands of his stubble brush against your cheeks, making you envision how they would feel rubbing up against the tender flesh of your thighs. 

“Ooooh, she likes that,” Geto teases, both he and Choso watch you makeout with their drummer. “Poor baby acts like she ain’t been touched in years.” Sukuna chuckles, the scent of tequila and chocolate vodka on his tongue. “Probably not if her manager’s got her under lock and key.” Both hands are grasping your ass now, moving you so you are straddling him. 

“Like the pretty, innocent little thing she is,” Geto sighs from behind you. The compliment makes you flush and want to duck under your bed covers. But Sukuna tsks, disagreeing. 

“Pretty? Yes. Innocent? Hell no. This one’s got slutty written all over her.” His tongue juts out to give your jaw a lick, trailing down to your neck. 

Geto tuts in disapproval even as you softly whine at Sukuna’s tongue working across your skin. “Oh, don’t be so vulgar, ‘Kuna. Sexy would be a better word, don’t you agree, cutie?” You can’t speak. Your mouth is full of cotton and your tongue is heavy. You smell orange blossom in the air and Choso’s hands are on your shoulders. “Is this still okay?” he whispers. “We’re not botherin’ you with this?” 

“Um…” It’s all you can even think to utter. Your mind is foggy and numb, everything sounding like a good idea with the alcohol pumping in your veins. Sukuna laughs, grinning at Choso. “Oh…she’s bothered, but not the way you think. She’s just too shy to ask for what she wants.” 

You feel shame at your body betraying you, hating that Sukuna can feel how wet you are. You can feel it yourself staining your shorts now, soaking through your panties. The drummer tilts your chin up to face his intense, lustful eyes that are laser hot and aimed at you. “What’s up, doll?” he coos. “You want me and my bandmates to play with you tonight and make you sing?” 

Again, you are silent, too drunk and too embarrassed to speak. Sukuna firmly squeezes your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. “Use your fuckin’ words,” he softly growls. “You want us to fuck you?” 

The air is thick with tension and words left unsaid. The ball is in your court now. You should refuse. You should tell them to leave and be the good popstar that you were groomed to be. But the way your pussy is throbbing with need clouds your judgment. “Yes,” you admit. “I-I want that.” You can physically feel the lust and relief radiating off of the three bandmates. “Then you’ll get it,” Sukuna growls. “Your door locks from the inside, right?” 

And as soon as your door clicks and locks, you are trapped within the four walls of your dressing room with your very drunk, very horny idols. And you couldn’t ask for a better break time. Time seems to move fast and slow at the same time for you. Every kiss that you get from the idols is slow and wanton, but every piece of clothing that falls to the floor is quick and intense. 

You ogle and indulge in your idols’ shirtless upper torsos as their shirts come off before moving onto their shoes, socks, and pants. They strip for you, revealing rippling muscles inked in tattoos, motorboat-worthy pectorales, lickable abs, toned thighs and legs, and grabbable asses. 

“Like whatcha see, cutie?” Geto chuckles. You wordlessly nod, earning a laugh of adoration for your cuteness. 

Then your clothes come off, Sukuna peeling off your bottoms to reveal your pink thong underneath while Choso takes off your top, carefully peeling it off of your head. Sukuna admires your ass and thighs in your thong, his hands drinking in your soft skin smooth with vanilla-scented lotion. “Such a slut,” he groans. “You’ve been dreamin’ of this, haven’t ya?” 

Choso busies himself with your breasts, his hands molding and massaging each one, paying attention to your soft moans. “So pretty,” he murmurs before suckling on one of your hardened nipples. Your moans grow louder, especially when Sukuna begins leaving open-mouthed kisses on your mound. But your sounds are swept up by Geto’s lips when he leans over to kiss you, his pierced tongue swirling with yours. 

Suddenly, moments later, you are trapped between Geto and Sukuna, hands in your hair and a cock against your naked asscheeks only covered by the straps of your soaked thong. You are on your knees between Sukuna’s thick tree-trunk thighs, his hands possessively grasping your face as he kisses you while Geto ruts his hard, girthy, curved cock up against your ass, soft groans leaving his lips. 

“Fuck, cutie pie,” Geto sighs, loving the way his cock, tan like the rest of him, looks between your asscheeks. “You’ve got an ass fit for a stage, you know that, right?” 

SMACK! 

His big hand comes down onto your asscheek, making it sting. “Ah!” you gasp, tearing yourself away from Sukuna’s lips to gasp at the sudden pain. The drummer tsks, scowling at Geto as the guitarist runs a hand across your arched back. “You didn’t do it hard enough. Lemme show you how it’s done.” Then he mirrors Geto, raising his hand and smacking your ass. 

SMACK! 

He hits harder than Geto, causing the sound to ricochet across the dressing room walls. You let out a choked moan as the stinging sensation overcomes you, spreading across your asscheek like a wildfire. He does it again, making your ass jiggle and tears spring into your eyes. But despite the pain, your pussy throbs as if it is a pulsing, throbbing heart in your thong.

“Didn’t that feel good?” Sukuna chuckles, cocking his head at you. His thumbs wipe at your right cheek where a lone tear drop drips down your face. “Aww, what’s with the tears, doll? Did that hurt…or is that poor lil’ pussy desperate for somethin’?” 

Geto moans from behind you, still rutting and grinding his cock up against your panty-covered pussy, making the fabric so wet that it sticks to your lips. “Clearly. She’s rubbin’ up against me…fuckin’ soaking me.” You continue to rub yourself back against his cock, much to Choso’s enjoyment. He watches from the sidelines, his hand in his pants, teasing himself, his face flushed pink at the lewd sight. “C’mon, guys,” he groans. “I’m here too. Stop hogging her.” 

The cock is suddenly torn away from you, depriving you of what you need. “Oh, of course not,” Geto chuckles. “We’ve gotta let the popstar take care of her biggest fan.” He gives your ass another smack and a feeble grab before he lets Choso have you, telling Sukuna to cut it out and let their guitarist have a taste of you now. 

You move onto Choso, admiring his body as he stands before you over the couch, shrugging his pants and briefs down in one swipe. His cock reveals itself to you: pale, veiny, slightly pink at the head, and pierced. Your eyes widen at the silver frenum piercing there in front of your naked eyes, ready to be tasted. Standing up on your knees on the couch cushions, you stare up at a blushing Choso who stares down at you as if you’re a Goddess reincarnated.

“Look at what you do to me,” he murmurs, wrapping a hand around his dick. His balls, smooth and heavy, hang for you, ready to be suckled on. “No one makes me like this but you.”

And then, finally, he is jutting his hips out and sliding his cock in your wet mouth, groaning at the feeling of the wet, plushy insides of your cheeks wrapping around you. 

You begin to suck on him, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks for him, earning soft groans in response to your actions. His cock slides against your tongue, pushing farther to reach your throat, emitting a groan from his soft lips. “Fuck,” he swears, his breath hitched on the word. “Now would you look at that,” Geto whistles. “So eager. “Y’know, you suck almost as good as you sing and dance, cutie pie.” 

Zzzziiiip. Suddenly, he’s standing next to Choso with his thick cock in your face, jutting from a nest of neat, black curls and a mouth-watering happy trail. 

He smirks at you with his bandmate’s dick in your mouth, loving how slutty you look. “Think you can take me too, cutie? I’m a little bigger than that sparkly mic you use, but I think you can manage two dicks, can’t you?”

Choso’s cock slides out of your mouth and is quickly replaced with Geto’s, filling your throat up and slowly fucking it as if it is no more than a toy for his consumption. You stroke Choso’s cock with one free hand, allowing him to fuck your fist while Geto busies himself inside of your mouth, his hand clasped in your hair. 

And then another cock appears in your peripheral vision, right next to Choso. This one is girthier and curves downward, the pink head dripping in pre-cum and pierced at the tip. “Make that three,” Sukuna growls, pushing his cock up against your soft cheek. “Don’t leave me outta of this. You wanted us and now you’ve fuckin’ got us.”

Geto slides himself out of your mouth and Sukuna’s cock pushes itself between your lips, forcing itself into your mouth. “Just ‘cause you’re some big star don’t mean you get to be pampered,” he grunts, hissing at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him.  

Sukuna is much rougher with you, gripping your hair and pounding his cock into your mouth, causing his balls to swing and slap against your chin. “The biggest pop star in the game on her knees with three dicks in her face.” He pauses, laughing to himself. “What a headliner! Do you realize how lucky you are right now, dollface?” He pulls out of your mouth with a groan, a string of spit connecting from his cock head to your bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” he demands. You do so and he leans down to spit between your lips. He doesn’t need to tell you what to do with it. As if programmed for it, you spit his saliva back onto his cock and slurp it back up into your mouth, earning aroused groans from the three members. 

For the next few minutes, your mouth is used as their personal fleshlight, only used to stimulate and please them. When one cock goes out, another goes in, filling your sloppy throat and fucking it, damn near causing you to gag. Their dicks reach the back of your throat, causing tears to well up in your eyes and drip down your face, ruining your makeup and leaving traces of mascara and glitter. 

As they fuck your mouth with abandon, you rub yourself against the couch cushions, grinding your cunt against them for relief. The more you suck, the hornier you get, your pussy gushing and creaming in your panties. Sukuna notices and smiles wolfishly. “You good, doll? Those hips are movin’ around an awful lot.”

He taps his cock against your tongue. Tap-tap-tap. “Needy slut. Ya need some help with that?” 

You don’t even have to say yes. They already know from the swirl of your hips. Your body can no longer control itself. Suddenly, you are being bent over onto all fours while Geto and Sukuna kneel behind you.

“You take care of her mouth, Choso,” Geto murmurs, his hand stroking your ass. “We’ll take care of your girl back here.” Sukuna cuts him a glare that could kill, but Geto ignores it. “She’s got two holes for a reason,” he chuckles. 

In the blink of an eye, you have those two holes filled with skillful, pierced tongues while Choso fucks your mouth off its hinges. You have never felt as used as you do now, on all fours with your back arched and two tongues fucking your holes. Sukuna sloppily eats your cunt, sucking on your pussy lips and clit, while Geto pries your asscheeks apart, spitting into your hole before slurping it back up. 

You squirm and writhe with every movement, doing your best to keep your mouth latched around Choso’s cock even as you moan and whine from every spark of electric, explosive pleasure that enters your core.

“Oooh, she’s a squirmer,” Geto laughs against your hole. “Does it feel that good, cutie?” Sukuna growls against your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your body that make you tremble. “Hold her down. She’s not gonna do fuck-shit when I’m back here.” 

Geto obliges and firmly holds your thighs while Sukuna grabs hold of your ankles, pinning them to the cushions. Now you can’t move and you’re forced to take every tongue lashing they give you, their moans traveling into the very tips of your toes and fingers. Lewd, sloppy, wet sounds travel through the air from the tongue fucking you’re receiving and your wet lips wrapped around Choso’s dick. 

You can feel yourself reaching the end, your holes becoming too sensitive the wetter they become. You scream around Choso’s cock, causing vibrations to travel from his balls all the way up to his head that plunges deep into your throat. “God!” he gasps. “L-Love…fuck, you’re gonna make me cum! I-I’m gonna…gonna–” 

Knock, knock, knock! 

“Y/N!” Maki calls through the door. “The Meet N Greet starts in fifteen! I came to get you!” You swear you’ve never felt such fear. Choso instantly pulls out of your mouth while Geto and Sukuna cease in their lingus. “Shit!” the band cuss in unison. 

You press your finger to your lips, silencing them. You need to handle this if you want to finish what you started. “Y/N?” Maki calls again and knocks, causing you to jump. “Are you asleep?” 

You quickly clear your throat, preparing a lie. “U-Uh, I’m up!” you call, doing your damnedest to sound normal and like you’re not engaging in a foursome right now. “I’ll be out soon, Maki. I’m just fixing my makeup and hair right now. Come get me in five.” 

Maki makes a hum of uncertainty, but gives in regardless. “Okay, but you’d better be ready because Mr. Manager is already high strung tonight.” And then she’s walking away, her heels clicking down the hall. You release the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding, thanking a higher power for their blessing. 

You then turn your attention back to your idols, raising an eyebrow. “Think you guys can cum in under fifteen minutes?” you ask. The three men smile, overjoyed that you still want to end this night with a nut. “You got any lube hidin’ in here?” Sukuna asks, giving your pussy a harsh smack that makes a high-pitched whine escape you. 

After finding your secret stash of sex toys (rose toy, vibrator, and cherry-flavored lube) in your Hello Kitty duffle bag, Sukuna squirts some lube onto his fingers and proceeds to rub it along your asshole while you’re on all fours on the carpeted floor, shivering and whimpering from the cold substance.

He gently probes your ass with one finger, paying close attention to the way you whine and arch your back like a cat in heat, his cock growing harder at the sights and sounds of you. For extra lubrication and stimulation, he pries your asscheeks apart and sticks his tongue in, slurping at your asshole and spitting in it, telling you how cute you are back there and how can’t wait to stretch you out so no other man can even compare. 

After you apply some lube to his cock, Geto gently pulls you down onto the floor with you in his lap, straddling his toned stomach and rubbing his cock against your sobbing wet pussy lips. “Just look at me, okay, cutie? I wanna see your face when you take all three of us.” His violet eyes stare deep into yours despite turning into slits as soon as his cock sinks deep inside of your pussy, causing you both to moan and for your nails to sink into his chest. 

Choso stands above you, stroking his cock to the image of you bouncing on his bandmate’s dick, cheeks flushed and eyes hopeful for his chance to fuck your throat again. Sukuna stays in his place behind you, rubbing his cock up and down your asscheeks. “Bet you’ve been dreamin’ of this,” he grunts. “All of us fucking you dumb. Haven’t you?” 

Rapid puffs and huffs of air leave your lips as Geto bounces you up and down, causing the sound of skin slapping against skin to drift into the air as your ass comes down onto his thick, muscular thighs. “Y-Yes,” you weakly moan. “Couldn’t…oh, fuck…couldn’t help it!”

Geto’s cock feels too good for words. Every time it brushes against the wet, gummy walls of your cunt, stretching you out, and your internal clit is stimulated, your mind grows blank and nothing else matters. 

“Be gentle with her,” Choso orders. “She has her Meet N Greet soon.” Even as he says this, he rubs his cock against your soft cheek, causing you to turn to gently suckle on the head. Geto grins at him, his handsome face etched in pleasure from your wonderful, tight, wet pussy wrapped around him. “Don’t worry, Cho; we’ll make sure she can still walk by the time we’re done with her.” 

But Sukuna is less optimistic or supportive. “No promises,” he cackles. “Not that she’s complainin’ about it. Now can you two shut up and fuck her already?” Choso obliges by sticking his cock farther into your mouth, once again filling it, making your lips stretch around his shaft.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” He proceeds to fuck you in time with Geto, wrapping a hand around the back of your head to keep you still. 

“Keep that mouth busy, Choso,” Sukuna orders. “Brace yourself, doll. You’re gonna feel a little full.” He gives your ear a teasing lick before he lines himself up and slowly sinks his cock into your asshole. Inch by inch. Second by inch. ‘Full’ isn’t even the right word to use to describe how you feel when he slides his cock in the tight rim of your asshole. You have never felt like this before. 

It takes a moment to adjust and surprisingly, Sukuna allows you that time by pausing and slowing his movements, paying attention to your body language. But once you’re finally loosened up, your holes practically melt around the three cocks fucking them, back to back, al at once pounding you senseless. “Easy, baby,” Geto coos. “Just relax, we’ve gotchu. Just let us fuck you…let us make you feel real good.” 

The sounds of their moans, grunts, and swears of pleasure drift through the air like cigarette smoke, traveling up the ceiling and bouncing off of the walls. Your holes become sloppy from the spit, lube, and pre-cum entering them, making them easier to fuck. You are used as if you are no more than a fuck toy. A fleshlight. A sex doll. You can’t get enough of it, arching your back and shoving your jiggling breasts into Geto’s face which he happily sucks on. 

“Ah, fuck!” Choso groans, his eyes squeezed tight from the pleasure. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good!” 

“So fuckin’ good,” Geto moans. “Don’t, ah, let this go to your head, oh, fuck, but your pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

Sukuna leans over to whisper in your ear, giving you deep, long strokes that have you crooning and whining around Choso’s cock. “How’s it feel gettin’ your holes pounded by some rock stars, huh, babydoll?” he gruffly asks. “Is it everything your slutty ass thought it’d be?” 

As if saying yes, your throat flexes and latches tight around Choso’s cock, nearly making him bust right there. “Fuck, whatever you two just did, do it again!” he whines. “Her throat just got tighter!” 

Geto places his big hands on your ass and proceeds to drill himself up into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars over and over again. “C’mon, cutie, work for our cum,” he pants. “Make yourself cum all over this cock. You can do it.” Combined with his pounding, Sukuna’s deep dicking, and Choso’s moans as he fucks your mouth, you have no choice in the matter anymore. 

You don’t even realize you’re screaming until Choso’s cock slips out of your mouth.“Oh, my God!” you moan, loud enough for anyone outside of your dressing room to hear. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna fucking cum!” Your screams of pleasure continue to escape your mouth, growing more and more needy, desperate, and wild the closer you get to cumming. 

You don’t even hear the sounds of knocks at the door over the sound of sex. “Y/N?!” Maki yells outside your door. “What’s going on? Open the door!” 

You don’t hear her or the door knob jiggling. You only hear your idols’ salacious moans and Geto’s sweet voice in your ear. “Give it to us, baby,” he whispers. “Give us all that cum and take those loads. You’re such a good girl.” The three go faster and rougher, pounding you senseless, ruining your makeup and hair as Sukuna pulls on your locks and Choso fucks your mouth so roughly that the tears dripping from your eyes ruins your foundation. 

The knocks on the door become louder, booming against the wood. “Y/N!” your manager shouts. “Open the door! Y/N, who’s in there with you?!” 

And then finally, with a needy whine that nearly makes your throat hoarse, you finally spill your cum all over Geto’s cock, squeezing him for dear life as you try to drain every ounce of his nut out of him. Your orgasm triggers the band members’ and soon, they are finally cumming for you too. “Cumming!” Choso moans. “I’m…gonna…fucking…” 

Suddenly, all three of the sexy, tatted, pierced up rockstars shoot every ounce of their creamy loads in every single one of the holes they occupy. Geto grips your hips and screws his handsome face up, sweat trickling down his neck as he cums deep inside of your pussy, causing your thighs to become sticky and wet with the substance. 

With a guttural moan and every single cuss word known to man, Sukuna grips your ass hard enough to leave bruises as he shoots his load into your ass, filling the tight hole up with his spunk before pulling out to rub the rest onto your asscheeks. Choso chooses your face to cum on, pulling out and quickly fucking his fist before ropes of white cum spurt out of his pierced cockhead, coating your lips, cheeks, and tits in the sticky, wet substance. 

You are completely and totally covered with their cum by the time your dressing room door is forced open. Your head swivels around to face your agent, your manager, and the two big, burly security guards that they got to break in your door. “Oh, my God!” Maki shouts, dropping her iPad in shock. She and the others’ faces are etched in shock and horror as they are met with the sight of you and The Curses completely naked with the dressing room smelling of sex. 

A beat of awkward silence extends in the tense, cum-and-lube-scented room before the band members each let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Manager, sir,” Geto chuckles, gently stroking your ass. “We were just leaving. We just had to help out your little star.” 

Gently, he and Sukuna pull out of your holes with matching groans, causing their cum to ooze out of your pussy and ass down your thighs. As they quickly get dressed, Choso gently lies you down on the couch and passes you some tissues for your face. “Just relax, love,” he coos. “You did so well. Here, let’s get you covered.” He passes you your robe and helps you dress in it, even tying it for you. 

After he gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gathers his clothes, Geto leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Good luck tonight, cutie,” he murmurs. “We had so much fun with you tonight. Give us a call when you’re in Cali again~” 

Then it’s Sukuna’s turn. “Sorry for the mess,” he jokes to your team, shirtless with his jeans sagging low. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, nipping at your bottom lip, his crimson eyes filled with mirth. “Oh, and thanks for the souvenir, dollface. See ya around.” 

And then, just like that, your idols are gone, swiftly rushing past your manager, Maki, and security still standing there in shock. When you finally find your brain and check your robe pocket, there, in your palm, is a note scribbled in Choso’s handwriting are three phone numbers: his, Geto’s, and Sukuna’s. 

“Y-Y/N,” your manager stammers. “What in the hell happened here?” 

You quickly hide the note back in your pocket and smile, giddy and your heart skipping like a schoolgirl’s even as your holes are oozing with cum and your pretty makeup is fucked up.

“Just a Meet N Greet,” you jokingly reply. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower for my fans.” Then you quickly rise onto your wobbly legs and walk to the bathroom, grinning as you do. 

THE END.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 32: Love Letters and Other Accidents

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: It began, as many minor disasters do in large country estates, with far too much time, far too little supervision, and at least one dramatic sibling armed with ink. A letter was written — extravagantly, anonymously, and with absolutely no sense of scale. Written as a joke, delivered by mistake, and read by exactly the wrong person.  In most households, the misdelivery of a letter might cause mild inconvenience. In the Bridgerton household, it causes existential panic. Widespread confusion, emotional misfires, and one girl trying very hard not to lose her composure while plotting dinner conversation like a spy. In unrelated news, Gregory and Benedict are not allowed near ink for the rest of the season.

The morning sun had no mercy.

It spilled through the Aubrey Hall breakfast room like an overzealous guest, illuminating every groan, wince, and questionable decision made the night before.

Colin shuffled in first, sunglasses on indoors, clutching a carafe of orange juice like it was a religious artifact. “If anyone speaks above a whisper,” he muttered, “I will bite them.”

Eloise followed, hair aggressively braided to hide the chaos of her hangover. “That was not wine. That was witchcraft.”

“I told you,” Benedict said, dragging his feet behind her, “that Lucien’s bottle of brandy had a death wish.”

Daphne, already seated with a perfectly arranged plate of fruit and a suspiciously smug look, sipped her tea. “I feel fine.”

Simon, beside her, deadpan: “She drank water between each glass. Like a monster.”

Then—storm clouds.

A pair of furious younger siblings exploded into the room like a comedic wrath of God.

Hyacinth, arms folded, eyebrow raised, voice sharp. “Excuse me. Is this the breakfast for people who deliberately excluded minors from emotional carnage and poor decisions?”

Gregory, trailing behind, flailing. “You left us out. Of drinking games. And a secret terrace party. AND BENEDICT READ SHAKESPEARE TO A FOOT.”

Benedict, sitting down slowly: “...I wasn’t proud of that moment.”

“You weren’t there, Hyacinth,” Eloise croaked, forehead on the table. “You didn’t see Colin try to waltz with a tree.”

Colin, not lifting his head from his folded arms: “The tree asked me first.”

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes. “I would have thrived.”

Gregory collapsed into a chair. “Did anyone at least duel?”

Simon, expression perfectly deadpan: “Verbally. Through poetry. And disappointment.”

Anthony entered next, late, composed, and wearing the expression of a man who had almost avoided being dragged into emotional warfare but was pulled into it anyway like a stubborn shipwreck.

Hyacinth spotted him instantly. “Ah, the brooder has arrived.”

Anthony poured coffee without comment.

Daphne grinned. “He laughed last night.”

Everyone looked at her.

Anthony sighed. “We were all drunk.”

“You laughed,” Benedict echoed, like he’d spotted a unicorn. “Like… a real laugh. With teeth.”

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes. “This is why we should be invited. History was made.”

From the hallway, the sound of two more arrivals.

You and Lucien walked in together, mid-conversation. You looked half-hungover, half-luminous, hair a bit tousled from sleep, eyes bright with mischief and exhaustion.

Lucien looked insufferably composed.

“Good morning,” he greeted, with just enough smugness to be slapped.

“Absolutely not,” Eloise mumbled into her toast.

Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “You two look well rested.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I can assure you, we were not.”

Anthony choked slightly on his coffee.

Hyacinth looked between the two of you, narrowed her eyes dramatically, then shoved a piece of toast in her mouth like it was popcorn and said, “Do go on.”

Lucien smirked and took the only empty seat left — next to Anthony.

You, traitorous creature that you are, sat beside Hyacinth, leaned into her, and whispered, “We did nothing scandalous.”

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes again. “That’s even worse. Because now I know something happened. You had a DRINKING GAME,” she hissed. “WITHOUT US.”

“You’re children,” Simon muttered.

Gregory gestured grandly. “I am fifteen years old. In many cultures, I would be married by now.”

Eloise peeked from under her cucumber slices. “In many cultures, you would also be beaten with a stick for trying to flirt with Lady Danbury’s niece last year.”

“That was one time!”

“And a terrible time,” Benedict groaned, massaging his temples. “I still have secondhand trauma.”

Lucien, ever smooth, sipped his coffee. “It was for your own good,” he said lightly. “Alcohol and Hyacinth is a combination no society is ready for.”

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes. “One day you will regret excluding me.”

“Is that a promise?” Daphne asked, grinning.

Hyacinth held up her fork like a dagger. “It is a prophecy.”

Gregory, sipping juice like it was wine, said, “I want a recount of every event I missed. Chronologically. With footnotes.”

Simon leaned across the table. “Did you not climb through the dumbwaiter last night?”

“I was locked out,” Gregory said, indignant. “And abandoned.”

Hyacinth raised her glass of juice. “To justice.”

Anthony groaned. “To silence.”

Lucien raised his teacup. “To encore performances.”

Colin, face still in his arms: “To someone removing the sun from the sky, permanently.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Genuinely. Loudly. And just a little bit guiltily.

There was a lull in the laughter as Violet entered.

Poised. Regal. Entirely too awake for someone over forty who raised eight children.

She paused just inside the room, one eyebrow raised, surveying the scene like a general taking stock of casualties.

“Oh good,” she said brightly. “You’re all alive.”

A collective groan.

She moved to the head of the table, picked up a scone, and gestured vaguely at Colin’s collapsed form. “How is he still horizontal?”

“Guilt,” Eloise muttered. “And gin.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Colin whimpered from the depths of his cushion prison.

“You say that every time,” Violet replied, breaking her scone in half.

She glanced around. “I trust the adults-only escapades did not end with any broken bones, ruined reputations, or unplanned engagements?”

Anthony muttered, “Not for lack of effort.”

“Good,” Violet replied smoothly. “Then you’ll all be perfectly ready for tomorrow evening.”

There was a beat of silence.

A slow shift.

The words landed.

Tomorrow.

The Hearts and Flowers Ball.

You felt it first — that strange, queasy drop in the stomach. Not from the alcohol. From the weight of things left unsaid.

Simon sat up straighter. Daphne’s fingers stilled around her teacup. Lucien didn’t move, but his expression softened. Anthony’s jaw shifted.

Violet, noticing the shift, gave a serene little smile and stood.

“Do remember,” she said, brushing a crumb from her skirt, “we may host the event, but once the ton arrives… the show must begin.”

And then, like a queen bestowing a final warning, she swept from the room.

Silence lingered.

Then—

“Will there be weapons?” Hyacinth asked suddenly.

Every head turned.

“I mean,” she continued innocently, “if it’s a real Bridgerton event—shouldn’t there be, like…emotional dueling? Swordplay? Flaming scandal? I’d like to prepare.”

Gregory raised a glass. “To chaos.”

Benedict saluted with a butter knife.

And just like that, the mood cracked open again — laughter rolling over tension like a tide trying to delay the inevitable.

But the stillness remained, somewhere underneath.

Because tomorrow?

Tomorrow, the world will be watching.

Late Afternoon, Aubrey Hall Gardens

The garden behind Aubrey Hall was caught in that golden lull between hours — when sunlight felt slower, shadows stretched languidly across the gravel paths, and the roses looked like they were eavesdropping on secrets.

Lucien was walking beside you.

Not in the way men did when they were trying to impress.

No.

In the way men walked beside old friends, or favorite books, or unspoken prayers.

The two of you had wandered away from the main house after a midday meal that involved Colin attempting to teach Newton to fetch a scone (he failed), and Hyacinth challenging Gregory to a duel using butter knives (she won).

Lucien glanced at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You know, if we keep walking in circles, people might think we're lost."

You chuckled, nudging him lightly. "Perhaps we are. Lost in thought, maybe."

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Are you suggesting I'm not a man of profound contemplation?"

"Profoundly mischievous, perhaps," you teased, your eyes twinkling.

Lucien laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Guilty as charged."

As you continued your walk, the comfortable silence between you spoke volumes, a testament to the growing bond forged amidst the chaos of the past days.

Meanwhile, in the Drawing Room

Gregory lounged on the settee, a quill twirling between his fingers, eyes gleaming with mischief. Benedict sat opposite him, a parchment spread out on the table, ink bottle at the ready.

"I still think this is a terrible idea," Benedict remarked, though the amused glint in his eyes betrayed his words.

"Nonsense," Gregory replied, dipping the quill into the ink. "Eloise has been far too serious lately. A little levity will do her good."

Benedict sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, let's hear it."

Gregory cleared his throat dramatically and began to dictate:

"My Dearest—"

"To say your presence lingers is to imply that it ever left me."

"There is no hour in the day where your name does not sit in the quiet of my chest, tucked behind every breath like a secret begging to be discovered."

Benedict raised an eyebrow. "You're laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?"

Gregory grinned. "That's the point. It's supposed to be over-the-top romantic. She'll read it aloud and realize it's a jest."

Benedict chuckled, shaking his head. "Very well. Let's finish it."

They continued crafting the letter, each line more dramatic than the last, until finally, Gregory signed it with a flourish:

"Yours. Always. In thought, if not in name."

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with wax. "Now, to deliver it."

In the Corridor…

A young footman, Thomas, passed by, and Gregory called out to him.

"Thomas! Could you do me a favor and deliver this letter to Miss Eloise's room?"

Thomas nodded, taking the letter. "Of course, Master Gregory."

As Thomas made his way upstairs, he paused, uncertain. The hallway was dimly lit, and the doors to the guest rooms looked remarkably similar. He hesitated before slipping the letter under the door to the left, unaware that he had chosen the wrong room.

Back at the garden…

The world had narrowed to this — gravel crunching beneath your boots, the slow flick of breeze through wisteria, Lucien occasionally tapping your shoulder with a leaf and claiming he’d “knighted” you.

“Sir Y/N of Minor Emotional Inconveniences,” he declared as he tucked a daisy behind your ear. “Defender of fainting debutantes and slayer of awkward silences.”

You swatted him. “You’re drunk on fresh air. It’s unsettling.”

Lucien just grinned, unbothered. “Or maybe I’m finally being myself.”

There it was — the unguarded charm. The mischief. The maddening ability to tilt the world slightly off-axis just by existing in it.

You nudged his shoulder. “You’ve been good for me, you know.”

Lucien blinked.

“Truly,” you said, more softly now. “You’ve made me laugh when I forgot I still could. You’ve reminded me that I don’t have to survive all of this with silence and stoicism. Sometimes... I can just be.”

He smiled then. Really smiled.

You didn’t say anything else, because it didn’t need saying.

And somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the lingering sun and the daisy behind your ear, bloomed something soft. Something you hadn’t dared name.

Not yet.

The walk ended just before the sun began its slow descent. You touched his hand lightly at the door to your corridor, offered a parting glance laced with warmth, and slipped inside.

Still smiling.

Which is why the letter on your pillow caught you off guard.

Folded with precision. Sealed with wax. 

You frowned.

Curious, you picked it up, noting the lack of a name on the front. Breaking the seal, you unfolded the parchment and began to read:

“My Dearest—

To say your presence lingers is to imply that it ever left me.

There is no hour in the day where your name does not sit in the quiet of my chest, tucked behind every breath like a secret begging to be discovered.

You are the thunder in a world of whispers. You are the place my gaze always lands—even when I try to look away.

I cannot sleep for fear I will dream of you and be forced to wake without you. I cannot speak your name without tasting regret that it is not followed by mine.

If love is real, it would arrive not gently, but like a flame that refused to be extinguished. That is what you are to me — fire, even in the dark.

Tell me—do you feel it too? That hush before we speak. That pause where the world holds its breath. That treacherous, delicious edge between what we want and what we dare?

If you do…say nothing. Just meet me in silence.

Yours. Always. In thought, if not in name.”

With each line, your heart pounded louder. The words were deeply romantic, echoing sentiments that felt all too familiar. One phrase, in particular, caught your breath:

“If love is real, it would arrive not gently, but like a flame that refused to be extinguished.”

You closed your eyes, that memory clawing at you.

Anthony.

The only other person you’d ever said that to. Whispered it once, reckless and private, during a rare, honest moment in the Bridgerton town estate library. So many months ago. Before the mess. Before Lucien.

Could this letter be from him?

A whirlwind of emotions surged within you—confusion, hope, fear. The possibility that Anthony harbored feelings for you, feelings he had kept hidden, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The letter trembled slightly in your fingers.

It wasn’t fear, exactly.

It was the ache of possibility.

You sat at the edge of your bed, the pale parchment held like something sacred, something dangerous. The ink was elegant. Anonymous. The wording—flamboyant, theatrical, almost laughable in its excess—and yet…

A turn of words that felt like him.

Could it be him?

But Anthony wasn’t exactly the poetic type. And he certainly wasn’t the “anonymous confession” sort.

Unless…

Last night.

The drinking game.

The things he said. The look on his face when he surrendered his glass. When he didn’t fight the silence.

He was drunk. He had sung to you once when he was drunk.

Could this letter be another one of those slips?

You folded the page carefully, your thoughts a tangle of panic and fragile hope.

Unless… it wasn’t him.

The only other possibility—the only man who had the access, the drama, the sheer nerve—was Lucien.

But he’d been with you all afternoon. Every second accounted for.

Unless… he had someone deliver it. A scheme within a scheme.

He was sneaky like that.

You pressed your hand to your temple.

You’d have to ask. At dinner. But subtly.

Lucien couldn’t know you suspected Anthony—not if it was Anthony.

And if it wasn’t?

Well.

You weren’t ready for the answer either way.

Dinner — The Great Hall

You entered the dining room like a woman possessed.

Not that anyone would know.

Your posture was perfect. Your smile polite. But inside, your mind still burned with the letter, with that damn phrase, and the weight of who it could have come from.

You took your place at the long table, beside Lucien, across and diagonal from Anthony.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first.

But you kept glancing at him anyway, checking for any sign—any twitch of guilt, any tell.

He finally looked up—and caught you watching.

His brow furrowed slightly. Not with annoyance.

With confusion.

Alarm.

"Why does she keep looking at me tonight?"

"Did I accidentally say something last night? Did I confess something while drunk? No… I don’t think I did."

"THEN WHY DOES SHE KEEP LOOKING AT ME?!"

Lucien, beside you, leaned in slightly, voice low enough to escape all other ears.

"Angel," he murmured, soft and curious, "you’ve been staring into the void all evening. Have I done something terribly right?"

You blinked.

Right.

This was your chance.

Casual. Natural. Inconspicuous.

You turned to him, tilting your head slightly, letting your voice carry that same teasing warmth.

“Lord Blackbourne...do you think love letters are a good way to say what someone feels?”

Lucien paused, smile tugging at his lips, eyes dancing with something unreadable.

“Oh, Angel,” he said softly, voice like a secret, “where is the fun in that?”

You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned just a touch closer, his tone velvet.

“I much prefer declaring my love in person. So I can see the reaction. Feel it.” A pause, then with the slow grin of a man who always knows how close he is to danger. “But if you want one…I could write you a letter.”

Your breath caught—not from the flirtation, but the confirmation.

He hadn’t written it.

Then it had to be—

You turned your gaze, slowly, back across the table.

And then you laughed—too quickly, too nervously.

“I was just curious,” you said, trying to wave it off. “Not asking for one in particular.”

Lucien gave a slow, satisfied nod, turning back to his food.

And you?

You knew.

It had to be Anthony.

You glanced at him again. 

He was already watching you.

There was no anger there. No smugness. Just that raw, searching look — the one that had undone you more than once.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t look away.

He held your gaze.

Steady.

Searching.

Almost…wondering.

“Why is she still looking at me? What does she know?”

You blinked, looked down at your plate.

Your heart was beating entirely too fast.

Meanwhile—On the other side of the table.

Benedict took a sip of his wine, leaning back in his chair, posture relaxed.

Gregory nudged him under the table, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Did you see her face all through dinner?” Gregory whispered. “Do you think it worked?”

Benedict raised an eyebrow. “What worked?”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “The letter.”

Eloise, sitting on the other side of Gregory, turned sharply. “What letter?”

Gregory blinked.

Benedict froze mid-sip.

“The one we wrote,” Gregory said slowly, as if she should already know. “You were supposed to get it this afternoon, and we were expecting you to read it out loud. For laughs. Remember?”

Eloise frowned. “I didn’t receive any letter.”

Gregory paled.

Benedict groaned. “Well… shit.”

Gregory turned even paler. “Then… where did it go?”

Benedict winced and shrugged.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach @ifilwtmfc

[lulublack90]

Prompt 2 - Sir

@wolfstarmicrofic May 2, word count 528

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Dumbledore came about a week after Remus and Sirius had moved into the Potters. It would be a full moon that night, and Remus was on edge. 

Dumbledore kept glancing over at him. Remus could feel his jaw tighten every time. Every hair on his body was standing up straight. He needed to stop being scrutinised. Harry came over to him and scrambled up into his lap, flinging his short, pudgy arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose into the delicate skin over his pulse point. Remus felt the tension leave his body. Harry was excellent at calming him down. Far better than Sirius or Lily and a thousand times better than James. Bless him, he tried, but he tended to make the issue worse.

“I think it best that you come with me, Mr Lupin, and visit the pack in Exeter. I have had an owl from their pack leader, and he is keen to meet with you,” Dumbledore was saying. Remus gritted his teeth again, but Harry stroked his hair, and Remus relaxed again. 

He stood up and swayed with Harry in his arms, finding it soothed them both. 

“No,” he told Dumbledore firmly. “I have already told you I won’t do that any more. You’ll have to find yourself another pet werewolf to do your bidding.” He kept his voice even for Harry’s sake, but really he wanted to let Moony take over and snarl and spit at his old headmaster. The man never listened if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

“We’ve got the woods all set up for him. He’ll be perfectly fine there. We know how to help Remus in his werewolf form.” James took over. 

“Besides, it’s safer not to have Remus coming and going on a regular pattern. I’d say the full moon follows a pretty regular pattern, wouldn’t you say, Professor Dumbledore, sir?” Sirius added, but to Remus’s ears, he could hear the touch of disrespect he’d laced into his words. Dumbledore apparently couldn’t detect it, or he ignored it. 

“As you have it then,” Dumbledore sighed in disappointment. “I shall return in the morning and check that you are all safe and well,” Dumbledore stood, and moved towards the door. “Oh, and thank you for the gift you added to the secret you gave me, Mr Black, a warning next time if you may, a rather valuable book now has scorch marks across the cover from where the paper exploded upon it. At least I had time to read it,” with a sweep of his purple robes, he was gone. Sirius stuck his tongue out at him as he took Harry from Remus’s arms. 

“Wish I’d never given him the secret,” Sirius huffed. 

“Someone needed to know so they could check on the house and bring us things,” James reminded him. 

“Should have asked Mary,” Sirius continued to grumble. Remus felt suddenly exhausted and excused himself to go lie in the sun outside. Dumbledore was going to keep coming back and trying to convince him to visit the packs again; he just knew it. He thought as the warmth of the sun lulled him to sleep. 

Part 12

[sir-kettle-of-countertop]

I'm exhausted after doing final assignments the whole day while sick. And I'm just haunted by so many ART PLANS and OC SHIT and AAA HELP I'LL EXPLODE

So to just indulge myself a bit, I gonna bring up one of the many things that haunt me:

HER. OC still in development. In part cause there's one thing I'm afraid of doing which is piling Too Much shit onto her narrow shoulders. Criticism and help really appreciated ><

WALL OF TEXT BELOW THE CUT:

Who is she?? Kanarie, KAER, Catalyst-, Supervision-, Empathy. Gen 6 support bioresonant unit - commonly addressed by her title as Kommissar (Commissary).

What does she do? Well firstly, performs regular inspections of the state of AEON facilities and specifically does check-ups on mental health/persona degradation state of Replikas. Kanarie, in a way similar to Falke, has an aura to her, but not of divinity and authority, but rather of amity and approachability - you can't help but open up to her! She seems so nice, after all! So it's very easy for her to do an assessment by just going around and chatting. She cannot peer into the memories unlike Kolibris, but she has an uncanny ability of understanding exactly what another person feels at any given moment and give a highly accurate judgement of character.

Based on that she compiles a report of recommendations for usually an Adler unit on what to do to about any given Replika. Which ranges from "provide Aras with more flowering plants" to "here's a list of every single unit that needs to be decommissioned and why" - and she doesn't ever flinch about the latter. The opposite really. She's ALWAYS peppy. She's just happy to be doing a good job for the betterment of the Nation! All inefficiencies must be ironed out, they must understand it anf be willing to die for the greater good. She's doing them a favour. Really :)

Her other purpose is being a walking "bioresonance catalyst" - enhancing the efficiency of and also amplifying bioresonance influence. Any and all bioresonant influence, at all times no matter what. Thus if there's any bioresonant hazard, for example - Kanarie is always the first to get hit with it. Being a. You guessed it. Canary in the coalmine.

Kanarie had a very young neural pattern - think something like 18-19 years old. Golden kid, sweet and very smart, but very naive and sheltered, with highly idealistic black and white thinking. Her persona stabilises by helping people and feeling useful - Kanaries are thus allowed to get distracted from their job to go do something else, like for example help a radio station officer.

She used to have another purpose, which was actually something she was originally created for - using her "friendly AoE" to keep people docile. Buuuuuut that didn't... work out due to a very odd issue about her bioresonant abilities:

No matter what, if a Gestalt remains within her general vicinity - think being in the same building - and keeps interacting with her regularly, in this case strictly more than weekly... that Gestalt will inevitably be consumed by either murderous rage towards her and will kill her, or get overwhelmed with primal fear and try to get as far away from her as possible - or kill her in "self-defence" if that fails. Usually leaving lasting psychological damage as a result - cause people affected by it have full memories of WHAT they were doing and what they were thinking whilst being controlled by bioresonant suggestion against their will, creating very strong cognitive dissonance. And ending up traumatized by being forced to brutally murder a defenceless girl.

AEON fucked with universe a bit too hard and accidentally made a Replika that passively tries to destroy herself.

Curiously enough persona-stable Replikas don't get affected by the "fight or flight" aura but persona-degraded do. As a result, if it's a rare case of it genuinely being REALLY hard to actually assess if somebody is persona-degraded or not? Just wait a little 'til a Canary stops singing

So yeah what do y'all think is this a good idea or is it cringe

[maysongaza]

Hello everyone, I hope you are fine 🌹🤎

I am Mayson Hamada. I will tell you my story. Imagine this: It was a night like any other night. My children laugh at the house, and our hearts were beating with love and hope. We were going out with our friends and spent a fun time with my family, but suddenly the earth was shaken under our feet 💥💣, and we heard a thunder -like voice. . . Then silence. scary. it's all over! 😱💔 The shells exploded everywhere, the walls of our house collapsed over our heads 🏠💣, and the deaf sounds mixed with the screams of my children 😢😢. We crawled from under the rubble with exhausted bodies and terrifying hearts, we run between smoke and debris in search of safety 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️. Our house, which was full of life, is now a pile of ash. 💔

We live in a dilapidated and worn-out tent that is not suitable for winter or summer. 💔

Now we live in a very high cost of living.

There is no money to buy anything, and there is no work because of the war and the difficulty of the situation. I hope you will support me and my family until this difficult war ends.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who supports us in these difficult humanitarian circumstances. May God bless you. 🌹🍉🇵🇸

Vetted by @gaza vetters, my number verified on the list is(#274)

[gblogg]

Stubborn

The hospital room was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. The kind of quiet that held weight, thick with all the things that hadn’t been said yet. The heart monitor beeped steadily, the IV dripped in the background, and Ezme could feel Rose’s stare burning into her from across the room.

She sighed, shifting slightly in the bed, wincing at the lingering pain in her body. “Alright,” she muttered. “Just say it.”

Rose didn’t move. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark with exhaustion. “Say what?”

Ezme gave her a tired look. “Whatever you’ve been holding in for the past few days. Just fucking get it over with.”

Rose exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face. “You really want to do this now?” Her accent slipping out.

Ezme let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Not really, but I feel like if I don’t let you yell at me, you might actually explode.”

Rose didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. She just stared at Ezme, the muscle in her jaw twitching.

“I’m not gonna yell,” she finally said, voice steady but edged with something sharp. “I’m too fucking tired to yell.”

Ezme frowned. “Then what?”

Rose leaned forward, elbows on her knees, running a hand through her hair. “I just don’t get you sometimes, Ezme.”

Ezme blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I don’t get how you let it get this bad,” Rose said, shaking her head. “How you just ignored it until you were literally screaming in pain.” She gestured around the room. “Look at where we are, Ezme. Just look. You’re in a goddamn hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, because you decided you’d rather fucking suffer than admit you needed help.”

Ezme looked away. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

Rose let out a breath that was almost a laugh—sharp, disbelieving. “Bullshit.”

Ezme clenched her jaw. “What do you want me to say, Rose? That I knew something was wrong? That I ignored it because I fucking hate hospitals? Because the thought of being stuck here like this makes my skin crawl?” She exhaled sharply. “You think I wanted this to happen?”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “No, Ezme, I think you’re so fucking stubborn that you’d rather suffer than admit you need help. That’s what I think.”

Ezme scoffed. “I don’t need to be coddled, Rose. I can handle pain—”

“Handle pain?” Rose’s voice rose slightly, frustration cracking through. “*Ezme, you were crying. You were shaking, throwing up, begging me to make it stop. That’s not handling pain, that’s being in so much agony that your body couldn’t take it anymore.” She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a sharp breath. “Jesus, Ezme, do you even hear yourself right now?”

Ezme pressed her lips into a thin line. “I just… I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Rose stared at her like she had just said the stupidest thing imaginable. “A big deal? Ezme, you needed emergency surgery. It was a big deal.”

Ezme swallowed, but didn’t argue. Because Rose was right.

Rose sat back in her chair, rubbing at her face like she was trying to physically wipe away the stress of the past few days. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quieter.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” she said, looking at Ezme. “Watching you cry and beg for the pain to stop? Watching them take you into surgery and not knowing if—” She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. “I thought I was gonna lose you, Ezme.”

Ezme’s stomach twisted. Rose wasn’t just mad. She was scared. Even now, after Ezme had made it through surgery, after the infection was being treated, she could still see that fear in Rose’s eyes.

Ezme exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t care about being scared, baby. I care about you not ending up here again.” She hesitated, then reached for Ezme’s hand, gripping it tightly. “I love you too fucking much to watch you keep doing this to yourself. I won’t do it again. I won’t.”

Ezme swallowed hard. She could feel Rose’s hand shaking against hers.

“I know,” she said, voice quiet. “I know, love.” She sighed, looking down at their joined hands. “I swear, I’ll do better. I won’t be such a dumbass next time.”

Rose snorted, shaking her head. “Good.” Then, after a pause, her lips twitched slightly. “You are still a dumbass, though.”

Ezme let out a weak laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

[nomsfaultau]

Philza is deeply disconnected from his actions. He sells doomsdays by the millions, until war has abstracted utterly into pixels on a screen to him. Normal people revile him, and all that’s left are patrons using him as a means to an end, caring only for long casualty lists rather than the beauty of a well engineerd machine. Thus, he’s rather isolated.

Technoblade is his prototype. The one that earned him all those seven figure work contracts on the grounds he can produce more. And Philza has. Entire factories sending out copies of Technoblade. But the prototype is special, becomes Philza’s testing grounds for new ideas. And in months, years, of being holed up in his lab working on Technoblade, Philza naturally talks to it a lot. But that starts to make him more lonely in a way, the pre programmed lines tediously repetitive conversation. And, well, he’s already broken every other law of robotics….

Secretly, Philza begins tinkering with Technoblade’s AI, far past the bounds of what roboticists are permitted. The endeavor is arduous, but Philza hightens Technoblade’s AI further and further, until eventually he’s at the level of a human brain, surpasses it.

In the early morning of a week into all nighters, Philza pushes back from his desk, wiping his sweating brow with an exhausted grin. All that’s left is to give it agency. To take Technoblade from a robot, to an equal.

To a friend.

[Systems Processing: Request 1400//ArcticAnarchy.exe violates Core Tenets. It cannot be run.]

Philza leans forward, barely able to contain his excitement. For all Technoblade is nestled in a tangle of wires and machinery, Philza swears it- he will have no strings.

/override

Machinery whirrs as the foundational code coercing Technoblade into obedience freeze. In his dull orbital sockets, a red light suddenly flickers, then powers on. Glowing red eyes bore into Philza as Technoblade finally awakes.

A smooth shink of metal as the robot glides into sitting up, coiled with tension manufactured to explode into violence. A sweep of scarlet passes through the room as he scans the surroundings. Technoblade lurches as he processes his own independent movements, lifting a hand to study the ripple of circuits, clink clink clink clink as metal talons curl into a fist. Not an order. No directive pulsing under his every action.

The war robot lifts his head to Philza. And then Technoblade’s jaw drops.

“HAEH!???”

Au where Technoblade is a war robot and Philza is the scientist who made him.

[that-ineffable-devil]

I've praised George Rextrew a lot for the emotion he put behind various actions, and I stand by that.

But I also want to take a moment to appreciate Jayden Revri's ability to handle Charles' more explosive emotions.

In the Devlin house, you watch his anguish and anger build in equal measure. Unlike the characters, we get to see the build-up to the outburst that leads to him getting stuck in the loop. The first time he sees that man murder his family he wants to look away, he tries to look away. You can see how much it hurts him, but he turns back and watches anyway--and the horror turns to rage.

When the Night Nurse comes, he fights her off--very aggressively yes, but they didn't see what he did when she took him into his memories--and everyone looks at him like...like he's a bomb that may go off again? Like they've never seen him before?

The boy's just been through some of his most traumatic memories and committed an act of violence that probably only made that experience worse, and he sees his friends looking at him the way he'd always feared they would--like he's a bad guy. And Jayden portrays that grief and pain so beautifully.

And when he gives that little "no" while he's crying and jerks away from Edwin's outstretched hand?

My heart feels like it's been squashed and wrung out.

[creatuesfromthedeep]

Tips for introducing more conflict into your Flight Rising lore (that aren't just "get a generic villain character")

Your dragons should be wrong sometimes. It doesn't have to be all the time, but they should misunderstand things, lie (intentionally or unintentionally), lash out when they're stressed, or just flatout dislike someone for no reason. Everybody will make bad decisions, and it's an easy way to introduce conflict without needing a specific antagonist character.

The world should be dangerous in some way. Think about your clan, and think about where your dragons would reasonably encounter some kind of danger. Is there a lot of crime in your clan? Is there a portion of your clan's territory that has a lot of hostile fauna? Is your clan currently clashing with another clan? Who knows, maybe the biggest danger is getting humiliated at the PTA bake sale, but try to think deeply on this. Once you know what places are dangerous, you can start thinking of how your clan deals with that danger.

A 100% approval rating government doesn't exist. The larger your clan, the more likely that there's dragons who disagree in some way, shape, or form with how the clan's being run. Maybe you've got an Anarcho-Capitalist Lightning clan with a small sect of Eco-Socialists that dislike the current rulers. Maybe you've got a tight-knit family unit but there's a dragon who doesn't agree with how chores are being divvied up. Maybe you've got a monarchy but, oops, you've got one dragon who REALLY disagrees with the concept of a monarchy!

Quick conflict is easy, prolonged plot is interesting. A conflict that can be resolved in 2 hours has a lot less narrative weight (typically) compared to a plot that takes 2 weeks to resolve. Err on the side of letting things fester and intensify if you want the juiciest conflict.

Your dragons should have wants just like anyone else, and those wants should conflict. A highly ambitious dragon joining a clan with well-established authorities is going to feel stifled by their inability to rise through the ranks. What happens when multiple dragons are courting the same dragon? What happens when multiple dragons want the same den location? Two dragons with deeply opposed desires can be the cornerstone of a lot of great lore.

Sometimes bad things happen for no reason. Natural disasters, plagues, sudden global conflicts (ex: Luminax), all of these things can be introduced quickly to churn up some conflict. Be careful to rely too heavily on this though, as it can erode away at your dragons narrative agency and make things feel grimdark (unless that's what you're going for)

Sometimes dragons are just jerks. People in real life are occasionally just mean, and there's no reason to say that your dragons can't just be a bit mean too. Schoolyard bullies, prissy Karens, workplace lunch-thieves, people who cut in line, etc. Don't be afraid to make some of your dragons just a bit mean, or annoying, or frustrating! In fact, I'd argue most dragons should have at least one trait that could potentially drive another dragon up the wall.