Year 2990, deep space, and you’re basically the kid your teachers warned each other about. Fresh out of school, still smelling like trouble and cheap synth-alcohol, one stupid fight with a pissed-off teacher flips your whole life sideways. His punch doesn’t just send you to the floor, it scrambles your brain in the weirdest way possible. Now your head is glitching with flashes of the future: little clips, seconds ahead, sometimes minutes, sometimes just enough to see someone’s clothes hit the ground before they even start unbuttoning. Not exactly the heroic superpower they write old holo-comics about, but in this universe, that kind of cheat code gets attention fast.
Next thing you know, you’re on a ship pointed at Andromeda. Not a rusty trash hauler, either. This thing is a flying sin palace with a mission attached. Whole crew full of women who look like they stepped out of some NSFW tagged folder you don’t talk about on main Discord. Big curves, tight suits that are clearly not designed for “safety”, and personalities that swing from sweet to absolutely feral depending who you’re talking to. There’s the one who pretends she hates your guts but keeps ending up alone with you in narrow corridors, pressing you into bulkheads and whispering in your ear. The scientist who talks about gene samples for way too long but somehow you both end up naked in a lab chair, her riding you slowly while pretending this is “for research”. And that pilot with the uniform two sizes too small, leaning over the console in front of you so her ass fills your entire view, calmly asking for your “guidance” on a new route like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.
The future flashes mess with everything. You’re flirting and suddenly you see ten seconds ahead: her hand wrapping around your cock under the table in the mess hall. Or you kiss her and your brain jumps forward to the moment you’re buried deep inside her, her nails in your back, legs shaking while you fill her up. Then you snap back and have to pretend you’re not already hard. Sometimes you screw it up completely, say the “right” line too early, and she shuts down on you. Other times you nail it, say exactly what she needs, and it turns into this perfect run where you tease her all evening, then end up on her bunk, hips slamming, her begging you not to pull out while the ship’s engines hum under your feet. Yeah, there’s the whole “build a new world, make contact with aliens” thing going on, lots of big choices, politics, colonies, whatever. But half the time you’re in your cabin DMs, juggling three different girls, trying not to mix up who likes it slow and who wants you to pin her face-first into the mattress and pound her until her voice goes hoarse, leaving her dripping and full of your cum while you get that little flash of tomorrow, where she’s rubbing her belly and wondering if this time you knocked her up.
Everything plays out like a messed up dating sim wired straight into your dick and your bad decisions. You spend breakfast pretending to read mission reports while remembering how last night you had one of them on the bridge console, tits bouncing, your hands full of her ass while she moaned loud enough the ship AI politely raised the music volume. Sometimes you fuck up a choice and end up just getting a quick handjob in a storage room instead of the long, slow fuck you saw in your vision, and it actually stings a bit, like you missed a secret route. Other times you turn a small moment into a full-on harem scene: a future flash of two girls kneeling between your legs, swapping your cock between their mouths, one stroking your balls while the other begs you to cum in her mouth first, and you spend the whole day quietly pushing all the right buttons to make it happen. When it finally does, when both of them end up straddling you one after the other, slick and needy, taking your cum deep inside and moaning when they feel you throb and spill, you realize this isn’t just about being some space hero. It’s about how far you can push it, how many hearts and bodies you can collect around you, turning that glitch in your brain into a path toward a whole galaxy of warm thighs, messy creampies, and a harem that looks at you like you’re not just some punk who threw a punch at the wrong guy, but the center of their universe.