#and I can't help but feel bitter about it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 8

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: my head is fucked

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy brings you breakfast in bed. You can't help but feel the guilt rippling off him. All of this is penance on his part. 

It's as close to vindication as you'll get. You're mother would never admit what she did, let alone apologise. That's when you see her again. You're not so sure you ever want to. 

The world is distant. It doesn't feel quite real. It's like a dream. The edges aren't quite sharp enough and the colours are cloudy. 

You look down at the plate and your stomach grumbles out of basic need. You don't have much appetite but your biology is at a constant battle with your mind. You shouldn't be able to breathe but you are, you should take your meds but you don't feel all that different.  

A poached egg, whole wheat toast, turkey bacons, and thick greek yogurt with fruit. It's all very healthy but a bit more than you would eat, when you feel up to it. Your breakfasts are a hard-boiled egg or a small cup of hot oats and milk. 

"I hope it's okay," he hovers at the foot of the bed. He's dressed already. You're less than put together. You're still groggy from a grief-laden sleep and the hangover of the bitter revelation. You wear his borrowed shirt and gym shorts, your messy hair untamed despite your efforts.  

"I called in to the office. I don't think I could focus of I tried," he explains. "And there's too much to be done here." 

"There is?" You nibble the toast. 

You'd hoped for some time alone. Not to think, just to be. You're still lost in all of this. The anger, the hurt, the regret, the confusion, and shame... 

"Sweetie, you don't have any clothes. I have a spare toothbrush for you but it's a travel one from a hotel. And you'll need everything else, right? Soaps and whatever." 

"Oh, I... I don't... my mom has all my money..." you utter and deflate again. You put down the toast. Your stomach is roaring but you just want to puke again.  

"I'll deal with that. Don't worry. She's not as clever as she thinks." He puts his hands on his hips. He does that when he's upset. He used to argue with your mom and stand like that. "Please, eat. Your clothes should be dry soon." 

"My clothes?" 

"I threw them in the wash for you--" his sentence is punctured by the doorbell. His jaw ticks. "I'll deal with that. Probably Mrs. Potter trying to give me more casserole." 

He leaves and you put your focus on the plate. You shouldn't just eat because you're hungry, you should eat because he went to all this effort. You pick up a slice of toast and break through the soft yolk. 

You eat deliberately. Chewing slowly, methodically. A shrill yowl tightens your throat around a swallow. You know that shriek. 

You carefully slide the tray forward and balance it on the legs as you angle out from beneath. You go to the window and try to see past the eaves and awning. You can't. Only the police cruiser and a familiar car... 

You listen. The noise wafts in from the bedroom door. You follow it and peer down at the front door. It's muffled but clearly coming from the porch. 

You twist the handle nervously and open the door a crack. You can't see past Andy as he stands staunchly on the mat, arms crossed. You glance an officer's belt with the radio attached and your mother's snarl lashes you like a barb. 

"He has my daughter. She's sick--" 

"She's an adult," Andy insists. "I'm not holding her against her will." 

"She can't-- I am her legal guardian. She can't be here on free will, genius." 

"Ma'am," a stern female voice warns. "Sir, where is the daughter?" 

"She's sleeping." He lies. 

You let the door fall inward. You don't want to be in trouble. No one seems to notice. You stall and shiver on the threshold. It isn't cold, you're just scared. 

You make yourself step out. There's not much room. As Andy stands like a wall. You peek around him. 

"Hi," you murmur. 

"My baby," your mother throws her hands up and comes forward. Andy moves to block her. "You can't keep me from my girl-- where is her oxygen? Officers, she needs air!" 

“No, I don’t,” you say, quiet but firm. 

Your mother flinches but doesn’t relent, “he’s manipulated her. I can call the doctor right now and you’ll see. She hasn’t been without her tank in years. She could die--” 

“That’s not true,” you murmur. 

“Ma’am,” the female officer warns. “Let her speak.” 

You look around with wide eyes, taking in the full scene. Andy stands just behind you, you can hear him exhale. A male officer is on the other side of your mother. You open your mouth then shut it. 

“Sweetie,” your mother reaches for you and you shy away. 

“Alright, Jackson, you stay here, I’m going to talk to her. Alone,” the female officer says. She reaches out and waves you to her delicately. “You wanna come with me? We can talk. Just you and me.” 

You gulp and look at Andy. His blue eyes blaze as he meets your gaze. He dips his chin slightly. You turn back and nod. As you cross the porch, your mother tries to latch onto you. The other officer, Jackson, pulls her back. 

You sidle past her and follow the woman. She takes you to the curb. You look down at your bare feet then at her. 

“I’m Officer Patel. What’s your name?” She asks. 

You answer and she shifts so you can’t see the house. “Me and my partner came because we got a call about a possible abduction. We’re just here to hear the full story. What’s going on here?” 

You rub your neck and fidget. You can���t tell her the truth. Not the full truth. You can’t tell her your mom lied to you. Not even that she hit you. You don’t want to go back to court. You don’t want to tell everyone how stupid and pathetic you are. 

“I’m here.... because I want to be,” you shrug. 

“Your mother says there was an argument.” 

You chew your lip, “she couldn’t find her pills. She left. I don't know... I don’t know why she came back.” Your chin trembles and you clasp your hands on your shirt hem. You sway back and forth. “She doesn’t love me.” 

You hang your head. That’s it. What you always knew deep down. What’s so clear now that she’s ground you into dust. You’re nothing to her so she made you into nothing at all. 

“She’s your mom, I’m sure you two will work this out. Me and my partner are just making sure you’re safe. We were told that man is keeping you here without consent.” 

You flinch and shake your head furiously. You wave your hands, “no, no. Andy... Andy helped me and... I shouldn’t be here because... because... because I’m a loser and.... my mom... my mom...” you stutter. “She doesn’t want me.” 

“She says you’re sick? You need oxygen?” She prompts. 

You twiddle your fingers. “No, not really. Not... all the time. I can breathe, see?” 

She watches you, “right. How old are you, miss?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

She nods. “You’re not a minor?” 

“No,” you blurt out. Many assume as much, especially with you always hiding behind your mom. “No, I’m an... adult.” 

“Do you want to press charges against anyone?” 

“Charges? For what?” You wonder. 

She sighs. “You’re free to go. You’re grown up and you can make your own choices without mom.” She tuts and turns to look across the lawn, “Jackson, come on.” 

You peer over. Andy stands, arms crossed, staring at you. Your mother rears like a snake, muttering under her breath. You head back up the walk and Officer Patel speaks again. 

“You have to leave, Ma’am.” 

You stop and peek over your shoulder. Patel points to your mother, “we will escort you if need be.” 

Jackson looks at her. She snarls and stomps her foot, “oh don’t you even think of touching me.” She huffs and storms past him. She comes down the steps and you think for an instant, she might push you. She stops beside you. “I took care of you, sweetie. Do you think he will for long? After he figures out what you are?” 

She continues past you. You continue up the paved squares and past Officer Jackson as he follows. As you come up to the steps, you hear the engines turn over. You’re suddenly very tired. 

“Andy,” you drag your feet over the mat. “I want to lay down.” 

“Alright, honey. We’ll sort everything out later,” he turns and stretches his arm across the door frame as you enter.  

He shuts the door as you stagger on, eyes hazy with tears. Your own mother despises you. She’s right about him too. He’ll hate you one day but you don’t know what to do to change any of this. 

💙

Andy makes you finish breakfast before you lay down. He’s right. It’s good for you to eat and you haven’t been doing a lot of that. 

You lay down for an hour before you sense him getting restless. You can hear him downstairs. You can’t be lazy. You don’t have any excuses anymore. You’re not sick, just weak. 

You make yourself get up and venture downstairs. He’s in the kitchen, flicking through his phone as it rests on the counter. You clear your throat and wring your hands as you enter. 

“I’m sorry. I was upset. It’s really stupid but sometimes I just... can’t do anything. Even if I try. I’m sorry, Andy. I’m... so sorry.” 

He faces you and his face contorts in a spectrum of emotion, “oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I put your clothes on the couch for you. Just waiting. Take your time.” 

“Waiting for me,” you frown and look at the floor. “My mom lied. A lot. But I don’t think she was wrong about everything.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifts closer. 

You shrug, “me. I’m... I’m useless.” 

“No,” his voice hardens. “No, take it back.” 

“What?” You pout and bat your eyes as you peek up at him. 

“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that. Not with me. So take it back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Apologise to yourself,” he insists staunchly. “Honey, don’t let her control you. She’s gone.” 

“But... but...” 

“You’re adjusting. I understand that. I’m not expecting you to be okay right now. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with me. We’re both... figuring this out.” 

You nod and your lips twitch. You could cry. 

“Thanks, er, I’ll... change then. Um, Andy... are we going somewhere?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. I mentioned earlier, didn’t I? About clothes? I tried to get the officers to agree to an escort to go to your mom’s but you saw her. She’s not in her right mind,” he explains. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you flutter your fingers nervously and he looks down at them. You clasp them over your chest to make them stop. “I’ll hurry up then.” 

You turn and scurry out. You go into the front room and grab the neatly folded clothes. He keeps everything so tidy and in its place. You go to the bathroom and set it on the counter. 

As you take your panties from between the jeans and tee shirt, you hesitate. It’s a bit embarrassing to think of him washing your underwear. You could’ve done it if he showed you where the machines are. 

You shrug it off. You’re just happy he helped. It’s a nice feeling when people do things for you. 

You change and bring out the borrowed clothes. Andy is still in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway. 

“Where do I put these?” You ask. 

He pops his head up and tucks away his phone, “oh, I can take care of them.” 

“Thanks, Andy, but uh, could I see? I’d like to know where everything is so I can help.” 

“Help?” He approaches and takes the clothes, his hands brushing over yours. “With what?” 

“I don’t know, everything?” You say. “You helped me so much and I want to do the same. I want to be useful. I want to be... better.” 

The tension leaves his shoulder and he smiles. “Alright, sure, that’s nice of you.” He goes to step past you then stops. “Sweetheart, you know, your mom is wrong. About everything. You’re an amazing girl. Really, you’re wonderful. And today, I want you to try as much as you can to forget. I want you to feel good about you, because you should. Because you deserve it.” 

You swallow and bounce nervously on your feet, “Andy, you’re so nice.” 

“I’m just being honest. Should’ve tried that a lot sooner,” he says. 

[zeyris-daydreams]

Imagine being chosen to become Mydei's wife. And it's not any ordinary thing either, as a chrysos heir he has lots of responsibilities on his plate, and so to help with that, the community tries to give back to the heroes.

Many people feel differently about chrysos heir and their influence over Amphoreus, but the facts remain undeniable; chrysos heir is necessary. And so, to show any gratitude, the community prepares a celebration.

You are dressed in their most flowy clothes as you stand near other brides, ready to be wed, and the nervousness eats at you like an eagle eating a titans liver. The women picked the best women for the heir, and you were dragged out of the comfort of your home to be here—and while it's not a general occurrence to have to take such mistreatment, it's not that general population is special like the heir is, either.

You've heard lots about Mydei, of his nature. They call him cruel.

The only kindness you've been given was one of the women informing you who you would be wed to. And you'd rather not know. Why not Aglaea? Why not Phainon?

The two young men entered the hall while bantering over something, and you had assumed they knew about all of this. Why would you be here otherwise? You clenched the white gowns in your hands as they looked over, you should feel honoured. And you should feel happy to be here.

Yet the bitterness in your chest was unmistakeable.

The ceremony was swift, merely a formality, before Mydei took you home. And you've long realised the tales weren't as true as they sounded. Mydei, once you arrived to his home, left you to your own devices.

And maybe you shouldn't be offended to be abandoned on your wedding night, and, well, all the nights that followed. But Mydei wasn't a bad person.

Something must've been wrong with you.

The part which brought you close wasn't a cliche of treating his wounds, or comforting him when he came home. It was when his exhausted self entered the kitchen after a long day of responsibilities, only to find you leaned over the counter, whisking something in a bowl. The flour was spread around, and the movements of your arm were hasty. You didn't notice him, you didn't look at him at all.

And Mydei didn't know how to feel about this, either. A sense of anger born from a strange feeling of affection, and he left the room before you could've realised.

—

The situation between you and Mydei escalated. It was all in his long gazes and off hand comments that to most would be dismissed as sarcasm.

But not you.

It was all in his little mannerisms and intricacies, and you found he was not only shy, but quite shielded as well. And if it wasn't for you taking all the steps forward, he'd linger in the background—but you were his wife.

Slowly but surely you took off his armour, one that he insisted on wearing even at home, exposing his emotional vulnerabilities as time passed on. Mydei allowed you to be close; never too close.

"You can't be serious" a scoff came from your lips, and he really did it this time. He knew it. But exposing himself to danger was something inevitable for a chrysos heir.

He knew he could die. That would hurt you.

"you can't behave recklessly like this!" You threw the rag on his bare chest, looking up at him from your stance. His body and height no longer intimidated you.

Mydei frowned. "I'm a chrysos heir, don't you know that's what I'm meant to be doing?"

"Not at the expense of your health—" you snapped sharply, and his eyes narrowed at you. "I am your wife, and-"

His hand grasped your jaw, and he leaned that much closer to meet your height, his nose nearly poking yours.

"You're my wife, not my commander, nor my doctor.

So act like it."

[monayen]

Help | Michael & Robert

➷ Paring - Michael x Reader x Robert [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - neutral pronouns for reader but is AFAB, animal heats, fingering, praise, begging, teasing, unsafe sex, oral (m. receiving) / blowjobs, mention of double penetration ;-), SLIGHEST mention of dying

a/n - sorry this took so long i got very busy! hope 3.5k words of pure smut makes it up to you. also nobody told me i've been spelling Michael's name wrong this whole time. death to all of you. p.s i know that technically they are connected in terms of feeling things and stuff but for the sake of my sanity ignore that. ENJOY THE SPECIAL <3

You're about to die. You’re like… 85% sure of it. Maybe you ate something poisoned, or was incorrectly formed with an ill organ, or maybe it was just your time. A sudden unexpected time, but your time nonetheless. 

You find yourself writhing around in a corner, skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. You were lucky enough to find a secluded spot in the walls, but weren't lucky enough to find any relief. 

That’s the strangest part — you’re not in any real pain. It’s more like an overwhelming, searing heat building inside of you. 

The warmth pulses, unsettling and relentless, enough to make your clothes feel suffocating. Like you need to tear them off before they become a second skin.

The core of the warmth is formed between your clenched legs. And even though every touch feels like a striking sensation, you can't help but inch your trembling fingers underneath the fabric of your cloth shorts.

Wet — you’re so incredibly wet. Should dying feel arousing? What type of death is that? Questions are enough that you are able to shake the cloud of inevitable doom above you. This reaction is something else. Something desperate.

“Y-You feel it too?”

A too close, familiar voice startles you, causing you to immediately clamp up.

“Michael?!” You yelp, jerking your head around to face him, heart pounding wildly in your chest. In the dim light filtering through the cracks, you can make out his disheveled appearance — greasy hair, wild eyes, and a sheen of sweat on his pale skin. He's looking just as miserable as you feel.

He thankfully doesn't say anything about your previous display, instead just stepping closer to you. Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that you’re sure he can hear it. 

"Wh-what are you doing here?" you gasp out, fixing your messed up clothes and trying in vain to compose yourself. The heat between your legs throbs insistently, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Michael's eyes are glazed over, pupils dilated, staring at you with a hunger that makes your legs clench even tighter.

The ratman shifts closer, his own body radiating a similar warmth as he drew near. “You smell so strong. S-So pretty.” He rasps, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze flicked down to your trembling figure.

Michael's hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against your arm. Even that slight touch sends a jolt of electricity through you. His skin is feverishly hot, burning with the same relentless heat that consumes you.

He leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, smell the musky scent of his arousal. It mingles with the heat between your legs, thighs clamping.

"Tell me, does it feel like... like you're burning up from the inside out?" Michael asks, voice shaking. "Does it feel like your skin is too tight, too hot, like it's going to split open and spill out?"

"Everywhere. I… I don't know what's…” you strain, hating how weak your voice sounds. You try to scoot back further against the wall, but there's nowhere to go. Michael's presence is overwhelming, his need palpable and consuming. Mixing into and pulling out yours. 

Michael lets out a sudden, bitter laugh that turns into a whimper, "I’m not good at thinking. I can… I can only think about—” He catches himself before he can finish the sentence. But with how his eyes bare into yours, he doesn't need to. “Maybe Robert knows what—” 

You cut him off, shaking your head as you lean forward in front of him, “N-No! Don't tell Robert! I can't let anyone else see me like this!” The rasp in your voice is telling, embarrassment creeping onto your red face.

“Tell me what?” 

You almost wish that you were actually dying just to escape this moment.

Robert stands in front, and with how you and Michael are low on the round, he practically looms over. Michael stammers, his words tangled,

and you can't even begin to form the question on just how you keep getting snuck up on like this.

Robert looks between you, Michael, and the charged atmosphere, his brow furrowing before he takes a step forward, taking in your disheveled appearances. The glistening sweat on flushed skin, the way you're both huddled against the wall, bodies trembling slightly, and the desperate, almost agonized expression on both your faces.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice low, almost trying to hide the slight hesitance, “I see.” 

Michael immediately perks up at the sound, “Y-You know what's going on? Yeah?” Michael is still so close next to you.

“It’s… natural,” he says, his tone clipped, “I can smell it— sweet… heavy.” His words are curt, like he's working through something you both can't see. 

Michael looks up at him, his lips parted slightly, chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Robert... I... we..." he starts, but the noises get caught in his throat. Instead, he pushes closer to your side for support. You find yourself not minding, leaning slightly into his small frame.

Robert's eyes flick back to you. The light embarrassment spread across your face, but also the desperate, aching behind your flushed form. Attractive… inviting.

"It's alright," he finally says softly, his voice so unexpectedly soothing that it somehow manages to cut through the fog of desire clouding your mind. "You don't have to be afraid. I can help."

His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, your skin burning at his touch. You lean into his palm instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed as the softest moan escapes your lips. 

Robert's thumb brushes over your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it, before he lowers and leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Let me take care of you," he whispers loud enough, "Both of you."

Michael makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes wide and wild as he stares at Robert. "Together?" the blonde ratman asks with a wavering tone.

Robert turns a bit towards Michael, his hand never leaving your face. He confirms with a nod, his hand then sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your sweaty hair. 

The three of you huddle closer, and for a second you feel a bit of relief feeling Robert’s smooth leather gloves. It isn't anywhere near enough though, and it's obvious enough to both of them. 

“Lay against me, y-yeah?” Michael murmurs to you, and you feel him begin to shift from pushing against your side to your back. It’s a bit awkward with how you three are so tight in a corner, but soon you’re properly sandwiched between them.

Michael’s lap is incredibly warm. Even through the fabric of his shorts you can feel the heat of his skin radiating onto yours. Butterflies form in your stomach when you feel a hardness too.

Excitement intensely courses through you, itching and scratching at the empty feeling inside you. Enough that you don't feel embarrassed anymore about how close the two are. The heat isn't anywhere near subsiding, so you might as well welcome feeling good.

“Take off your shirts,” Robert starts, his gaze fixed onto the pair of quivering bodies in front of him. Your back more comfortably lays on Michael’s front, thighs shivering when Robert’s hand leaves your hair. “Both of you.”

Michael audibly gulps behind you, and it dawns on you that he might feel just as embarrassed as you did a moment ago. But those thoughts have already quickly faded, and without hesitation, you pull off the constricting shirt with a swift motion. The cool air brushes against your damp skin, sending a shiver through you as you instinctively press closer to Michael.

Robert looks at you approvingly, a look you didn't know you needed. His hand finds you again, but this time on the side of your thigh.

He trails up your leg slowly, up the side of your torso, stopping right before he reaches your chest. “Aren't you hot, Michael?” His pause is suffocating, boring into the ratman right behind you.

“Yea— I… I just—” Michael stumbles, breath tickling the surface of your skin. Robert’s hand presses deeper into your softness, giving a small squeeze to the flesh around your ribs. “It's alright to be nervous, but you wanted me to help,” another squeeze, “didn't you?” 

His hand moves more up now, and you can't help the sound that escapes you when his thumb trails over your hard nipples. Michael noticeably tenses up, the insistent poking at your ass telling you enough.

“C’mon,” you half whisper-groan, pushing up more onto him as you grind ever so slightly. He responds how you hoped, with his own slight buck of his hips and shaky breath. It doesn't take long for him to messily loosen his red tie and lift his shirt over his head.

“Good.” Robert praises, thumb circling around the sensitive peak before pinching you lightly. Michael responds even better to those words, his hands coming up to rest on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Pure warmth radiates off his bare torso, chest rising and falling.

Robert then leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt on your skin, before he sucks hard, determined to leave a mark. Michael is eager to mirror his actions, lips and teeth and tongue immediately lapping at the opposite side.

You're lost in a haze, head falling back against Michael's shoulder as you push your chest further into Robert's touch. Your heat is growing more insistent, and even though finding a bit of relief with grinding your hips, you only seem to want more.

As if reading your mind, Robert's free hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

"Fuck," you hear yourself whimper, voice raw and desperate. "Please, I need..." You trail off, unable to put into words just how badly you need this. But Robert understands, Michael understands, and they’re egear enough to provide.

Michael's hand joins Robert's at your waistband, both of them sliding your shorts and underwear down your trembling legs. Michael's fingers brush against your inner thighs, inching ever closer between.

"We’ve got you," Robert murmurs against your skin, quicker to bite off the glove from his hand and press fingers onto your slick sex. "Just relax.”

His fingers find your clit, circling the sensitive nub with a feather-light touch. Michael's fingers grip your thighs tighter, holding you open and exposed as Robert starts to rub, his fingers slick with your arousal. Your hips roll into his touch, chasing the pleasure that's been building since you woke up.

Michael’s so close, breath hot against your ear. "You're so pretty," he rasps, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. “K-Keep moving like that!”

You can only whimper in response, too lost in the sensation of Robert's fingers beginning to pump in and out of your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. 

Robert’s teeth graze your neck, and you gasp slightly when he quickly tilts and presses his lips onto yours. You practically melt, feeling how his tongue delves into your mouth, swallowing your whimpers and moans. 

Breaking the kiss, Robert completely pulls away, only to be replaced by Michael's eager fingers. You whine a bit, but the blonde ratman’s fingers so quickly curl inside you that it immediately turns into a keen.

An unzip is heard in front of you, seeing that Robert is now standing with himself freed. His dick springs up, the flushed head already glistening as he strokes himself slowly. Your mouth runs dry, and you can only look up with big eyes as he stands closer, crotch leveled with your face.

Michael can see this too, considering that Robert’s length is only a bit closer to your face rather than his. His breath comes in short, and you can feel him insistently rut against the curve of your ass even more desperately. 

“I can’t— I can’t wait anymore. Please, please.” He’s crying, begging. It throws you for a second — why would he beg you when you’d clearly let him do anything he wants, just to keep feeling this good? Then it clicks… he’s not begging for you. He’s begging for Robert.

The ratman above you lets out a small, pleased huff. His small eye is looking past you, directed to the trembling one behind you. “Help me first.” He says, positioning his length in front of your mouth, “Put it in their mouth, guide — ah, guide their head for me.” 

Michael swallows hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he nods eagerly at Robert's command. "Y-Yes, yeah.” the ratman stammers, his voice thick with desperation. He slides his hands up from your hips, gripping your shoulders tightly as he begins to steady you.

You feel your cheeks flush even hotter as Michael's fingers then move to tangle in your hair, slowly but firmly pushing your face towards Robert's waiting length. The proximity making your head spin with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

"Open," Robert instructs, his voice low compared to his usual leveled tone. His cockhead brushes against your bottom lip, smearing the bead of precum that's formed at the tip.

Michael's grip on your hair tightens, and with a needy stare, he starts to push your head forward, guiding you to take Robert's length into your mouth. Your lips part instinctively, and you feel the thick fever of Robert's cock sliding over your tongue, filling your mouth inch by inch.

"G-Good job," he grunts. Whether it's to you or Michael, it doesn't matter, both of you respond equally with a ragged moan. 

Michael refuses to blink his lidded eyes, his grip on your head never wavering as he continues to press you forward, helping Robert to slide deeper and deeper down your throat until you reach the soft skin of his pelvis.

Robert doesn't try to hold onto you, letting Michael be the one to set you in place as he starts to shallowly thrust into your mouth, not quite fucking your face, but grinding his hips against you in and out. "Taking me so well," he praises with each inch.

A whine from Michael catches attention, “Ahh, need to be inside!” You hadn’t realized just how tightly he was holding you, as if you'd ever leave his lap. 

"Please," Michael whines again, too far gone to care how pathetic he sounds to continue begging. 

Robert groans, slowing his thrusts to let his words come out properly, “Don't worry, I didn't forget about you.” An almost teasing tone coats his words, as if drinking in the scene of you two eager and completely undone for attention. 

He tells you to lift your hips, enough to give Michael the space to tug down his shorts and free his aching length. Robert’s dick never leaves your throat, leaving you to only muffle against the shaft once the ratman behind you freed himself.

It pressed right between your spread legs, and if Robert’s dick was slick when he unzipped his pants, Michael’s was practically wet. The constant grinding had done a number, and if he wasn't so hard you’d probably believe he had came ages ago. 

“Go on, you've been patient.” Robert coos, drawing Michael closer to your wet entrance. He replies with something more of a whine, hands holding the underside of your thighs to prop you up. He isn't anywhere near as strong typically, but his own heat gives him the energy to practically fold you in his lap. 

As soon as you're in a position he wants, Michael wastes no time in pressing inside you with a guttural moan, body yielding to his desperate need. He immediately starts thrusting hard and fast, chasing the pleasure he’s been craving for as soon as he smelt you. 

Michael stretches you out, hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust as he takes you with abandon. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he chases his high. 

Robert sets a matching pace, fucking your face in time with Michael's frantic thrusts. Drool runs down your chin as he hilts himself over and over, stifling your moans.

“There you go," he grunts to Michael, one hand fisting atop your head, holding you as he uses your mouth. “Feels good?”

Michael just moans brokenly in response, too focused on the tight, wet heat enveloping his aching cock. He angles your hips, trying to get as deep as possible with each thrust. "S'good... s'fucking good..." he babbles, completely lost in pleasure.

His cock pistons in and out of your drenched cunt, the wet squelches of your coupling filling the room along with your muffled gags and Robert's grunts. 

Your mind spins, and you realized you haven't taken a proper breath since Robert’s began to fuck your throat. It doesn't matter, you're sure you could stay like this forever if it meant they’d keep fucking you. You can only hold onto the sides of Robert’s pelvis and take the slightest of gasps when he isn't completely blocking your airways. 

"Tight, so— so warm.” Michael keens again, his voice strained with pleasure. He rants, praises filling the air as he moans about how good you feel around his aching cock. You swear you see Robert smirk from above you, a rub on the back of your head as you greedily suck on his length. 

He's never been the softest person, always a bit blunt and straightforward, but the feverish slide of his cock in and out of your mouth is beyond how Robert would seem. His pace is becoming more erratic, a clench of his thighs telling you that he's been holding back for a while. Simply determined to make sure you map out every inch of his length with your willing tongue. 

Michael is an absolute mess. He's going so fast you can't even properly think anymore, the only focus being how desperate you are for him to fuck you. It’s almost primal — every part of you screaming to arch your back more and take them deeper. 

The knot that settles in your abdomen is becoming tighter and tighter, your body shaking between the two. You can feel both of them twitch together, heavy panting above and behind you as they approach the edge. 

Michael lets out a string of garbled pleas and curses, his grip tightening to the point of bruising as he slams into you with wild abandon. 

"Nngh, fuck! I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." His words dissolve into a high moan as he hilts inside you one last time, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he desperately finds his release.

Robert is close behind, finally relaxing his tensing body as he watches Michael come inside you. With one final, pulsing thrust, he buries himself balls-deep in your mouth and lets out his own low groan. 

Hot, thick ropes of cum paint your insides as your own orgasm crashes. Michael writhes, grinding against you and drawing out his pleasure as he continues to pump inside you. 

You can't even moan properly, your mouth flooded with the release of Robert as he empties himself down your throat, pushing you to swallow every last drop. 

Both men hold you in place, panting and trembling as you all come down from your intense highs.

Michael is the first to move, slumping back against the wall and taking you with him. Robert remains standing, his softening cock slipping from your well-used mouth with a gush of leftover cum and saliva. 

For a moment, there is only the sound of ragged breathing and the occasional aftershock that makes Michael twitch inside you, his length still nestled snugly in your wet heat. 

“We s-should clean up.” Robert starts, moving to fix his pants. Michael immediately interrupts, his voice raising as he grips you. “Wait,”

He trails his hands over your sweat slick skin, reaching your legs and spreading them. 

Robert halts, taking in the display of Michael’s length still pressed fully inside of you. “Do you think— hah, they can take us b-both?” 

His gaze lingers, his small eye flickering between the entrance and your half-lidded eyes. He hesitates, waiting for a sign before daring to move closer, all in an attempt to remain composed.

But you can see right through him. The rise and fall of his chest, the weight of his breath as he measures if you are willing.

And fuck — you are. The sore sensation on your just body hasn’t registered yet, a slightest grind of your hips making Michael’s breath hitch. More.

You nod frantically, your breath hitching as clammy hands clutch at your flesh, digging impatiently. “L-Look, they're— we're waiting.” Michael thrusts shallowly, and you watch as Robert’s dick becomes half-hard just at the sight. 

Robert lets out a low curse, jaw clenching as he lowers down to his knees.

“Fuck. Spread wider for me.”

[somereaderinblue]

Your Odysseus of Troy au made me remember a fun fact I discovered when I decided to look up gay relationships in Ancient Greece times

Now everyone probably knows that men sometimes had male partners in Ancient Greece, what most people don't know was that gay relationships was not all that and was actually really complex

Basically, the man who is the 'bottom' in the relationship was seen as to be the 'woman' in the relationship and not be a man in the eyes of Greece society (except for slaves as they weren't seen as human). There was also some weird ideas that if you were the 'bottom' you must be biologically female

Now I don't know about Troy, but it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to think that the Trojans also had the same mindset, which for Odysseus, is not great. He was taken from his homeland with his baby son, married and forced to sleep with someone against his will; yet no one thinks that is messed up and instead focuses on how Odysseus being with Paris does not make him a man and he probably wouldn't be accepted as one by the others in Troy except for Charis, Odysseus's handmaiden

Just the thought that Odysseus is treated as a woman because of his situation with Paris, which he did not consent to, is probably frustrating and a bit humiliating as Odysseus will most likely also not be treated the same after the Trojan war like before he was kidnapped

And if you want to go the route of t4t Odypen this would just mess with Odysseus as he would be thrown back to times before he transitioned with how most of Troy and Paris are treating him

Yes, one of many power plays Paris does is send Odysseus to sit with the rest of the women, i.e. wives, mothers & daughters, during gatherings. It was another bitter pill to swallow but not the most painful one; plus, it let him learn how to weave so he could feel closer to his wife.

Pre-transition, Athena's patronage fended off suitors & Anticlea herself wanted Ody to marry for true love. He wasn't 100% shielded from the uglier aspects that comes with being a woman & he's too sharp to not see the harsh truths behind any sugarcoating but he definitely had it better than most. Post-transition, his parents were supportive, Athena couldn't care less and even gave him top surgery, he had a kindred soul in Penelope & Ithaca's a close-knit community in gen that accepted him a prince who knew what he was doing.

TW: brief mentions of SA, abortion & body dysmorphia

He has none of that in Troy & Paris has made it clear he wants him knocked up. Luckily, Ody knows how to brew an abortifacient/contraceptive to ensure it doesn't happen, giving him some degree of control. He also tries to focus on Telemachus, messing with Paris & aiding Greek from the inside so he doesn't dwell on body dysmorphia.

And as much as I love happy endings, my traitorous mind also can't help but think of angsty long-term consequences like what you mentioned. Odysseus is traumatized, his reputation will never be the same & that's not even getting into what an older Telemachus will have to grapple with. Still, better to face those consequences than avoid them by staying in an even more miserable status quo.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

A this point we’ve got so many threads going, I gotta sit down and focus for them, too, ( ´ ▽ `  )ゝ

AND YEAH EXACTLY? Out of everyone, it genuinely boggles my mind they never connect, especially when Kate’s openly yearns for what Mark can offer? It's concerning now, too ??? (〇_ｏ) Does she understand she can be vulnerable without having a sexual, or sexual and romantic relationship? Does she have any connection outside of TT? Did she ever have one? If she's leaping at possible connections, was she and Eve ever close? Does she feel like she has anyone?There's shit to explore here and the show just casually moves on? STOP. SLOW DOWN. WHAT'S GOING ON HERE? I'd even argue Mark needs a friend who also doesn't have a looming, like, threat of romantic connection (cough, Eve, 'cause future!Eve what the fuck), while he's convinced he can't have normal non-heroic friends? They'd genuinely benefit from bonding with another?

AND YEAH? Robot's casually admitting he stole Rex's DNA, is now wearing his face, got swept under the rug TOO QUICKLY? Ain't that WEIRD? Like, it feels we're rushing to establish new dynamics without EVER exploring anything about them. 'Cause you're making such great points, here, why doesn't Immortal talk about betrayal to the TT/New!GoG? Why isn't anybody horrified after being lied to for years? Ain't anybody concerned if Robot would just wear your face what ELSE would he do on a whim? Can they trust him anymore? WHY ARE WE JUST MOVING ON, HELLO? Where's the team break up? Where's the arguments? Where's the bitterness, the wound of betrayal, mistrust? I'd even argue Kate and Mark can bond over thinking you know someone, I'll die on the Make-Them-Friends Agenda.

ALSO, again it goes so fast I didn't even process the weirdness of Samson, 'cause why wasn't he at the funeral? I'm going to go insane over the fact we never got any Samson and Nolan? WHY? They keep just saying things then moving on, like it's just the new status quo. Him clawing his way back for insurance, steady pay, etc, could lead to exploring how TT work for the same thing! How it works. (Like will Mark ever get paid for this stuff?) Also, why wouldn't Mark try clinging to any mentor he could get now he's Dad's the Worst Remodel? Why not grasp onto any help? And the potential for Samson, like the guilty relief? How it could've been you? And then, what to do when powers are back, do you fear your vulnerability more or less? Powerlessness saved you once, no? Even if it's irrational association, since he's got more power now, when they're called to a meeting does he feel wary, knowing that's how it happened? Immortal and Cecil are only ones really paranoid or wary, but give me more. Why isn't there a reaction or exploration with Samson as he was uniquely pushed back and only now, given a chance again, which came after his former coworkers were SLAUGHTERED.

ALSO SPEAK ON IT? I'm far too tired to speak clearly, here, but the lack of any insight on how they function on a systemic, interconnected global level, the utter absence of any politics, even to answer who pays for construction post-battle, baffles me. Yes, yes, Invincible is taking the shape and tropes within heroic genre, but relying on the assumptions of the audience only works so far. It leaves questions on how this universe, in particular, actually operates.

Even if it's one off lines about cost of aid, construction costs, diplomacy, heck, do heroes have to be extra careful in specific countries? If there is a global registry, what qualifies you, and can countries cherry pick whose allowed within for emergencies? What's the law like for this? Is there a United Nations for Heroism? What are the benefits? Pay? Can, and have, heroes have unionized? Do you have to report / file a quota to access said benefits? Patrol hours? Can you be cut from the registry and heroic acts made illegal by financial penalty, or does it mean any costs are billed to you individually? Do they have to give their real identities for said registry, and what happens when there's a data breech? Like, are the GoG called that because they have access to ALL nations to help? What does it mean in the context of vigilantes? Do heroes have ranks? How much information is put on file, accessible?

AND YES. Nolan's "protectiveness" becoming isolation, restrictive. GIMME CONFLICT, PLEASE. YEAH, I'd imagine having a partner is already risking it for heroes apparently, so having a vulnerable child is 100x times. I'd love if hero-parents are an actual rarity, or there being an almost unspoken understanding to retire/break for years to actually be in the child's life, earning Nolan odd looks for not doing so. Like "Oh, you're not gonna...? Hm, I mean, it's your kid!" People are already opinionated on parenting, I'm sure hero parents make it 10x worse. ALSO YES. GDA? Do they try discourage parental leave on some "too many heroes cannot retire at once" type beat? Do they offer "babysitting" services that also act as monitoring?

AND YEAH? I think about that, was Mark an accident? Was raising him too much, considering Nolan's Functionally Over Seas, and Debbie's got her own hardworking career going? I can see there being a frustration with raising Mark alone, and omg, please, I love the idea of him being like GoG's Shared Nephew, or just straight up parented by a whole group of Heroes. Does that mean he, as a baby, was lowkey in a car seat while Darkwing or War Woman flew a plane for a mission? Did they just come over and babysit normally? Did he wander around GDA, does he know the in's and out's of the GoG's base intimately then, to the point it's mundane? As he got older did he ever just stay there after school if Debbie was busy + too young to be home alone and someone was always there? I know Debbie doesn't trust Cecil, but fuck it, was there ever a point he had to babysit? And Debbie lost trust in him, specifically, for anything else after that? Even, back to Samson, when GoG died and Nolan was just "injured" and not being investigated, did Mark call or reach out to Samson? WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HAVE A GOG as a whole network?

Trying to explore every crack in canon just drives me further insane because I want more of what could have been explored and then just isn't?????

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[alasy]

From now on, I declare The Mirror Visitor is a trilogy. There's no fourth book, trust me. Just enjoy the first three and move on <3

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I said I wasn't going to get started on the topic of Aveline ruining Carver's chances with the guard but I lied okay, it's Carver Hawke defense hours.

Here's the thing; it doesn't matter if you believe Carver was or wasn't fit for the guard. That's a different debate that I'll get to. What matters is Aveline's in no position to tell the guard not to accept his application. Why does she think that's her right to judge whether or not he's fit?

Carver should've had the chance to prove himself one way or another. If it turns out he's not a good fit, then let him fail. Let him learn from it.

"Oh but failure could mean lost lives-"

Aveline doesn't get to talk shit about failure and the people. Plenty have died on her watch yet she still believes she's a good guard and Guard-Captain.

"maybe Aveline's protecting him, Carver could die while on patrol-"

Carver could die working in the Bone Pit, or serving as a templar, or when he's running around with Hawke. Carver could trip and fall down a set of stairs and die. In fact, he can die in the Deep Roads, somewhere he wouldn't have to go if the Hawke's weren't desperate.

Either Carver fails as a guard, or more likely, he succeeds and proves himself worthy of it.

But let's be real, Carver probably kept getting rejected due to being a Fereldan with a past of smuggling/mercenary work and Aveline only reaffirmed the decision, either because they asked her what she thought or she stuck her nose in unprompted.

But what irritates me is that she admits to telling them not to accept his application, and then has the balls to call Carver too proud to take up a trade or find another line of work.

Carver tells her, "And who would take on a Fereldan apprentice? Maybe in another year I could work my way up to pissboy." He has a good point here. Aside from the guard, the only other place Carver could work and use his skillset is with the Templars. Or go back to mercenary/smuggling work.

And Aveline doesn't even have a real answer for him. No suggestions, no encouragement, nothing. Just "Fine, let's crawl down some holes. Good bloody luck for your sake."

Also, if you do the Mark of the Assassin DLC in Act 1-

Aveline: You should see if any of the noblemen are looking for new men-at-arms. Carver: Are you trying to get rid of me? Aveline: It's a role with some autonomy. A good fit with your training and... tendencies. Carver: After serving King Cailan? You want me to suffer some poncy git who needs two servants to wipe his own ass? I'll find my own way, thanks. Aveline: I wish you would.

You wish he would?? Aveline, he was trying to find his way into the guard, a position he'd make a good fit for, and you helped deny him of it because YOU didn't think he would be good enough, I just-

If I haven't made it clear yet, I firmly believe that Carver would've made a great guard. He wants to help people, to be a protector. He's loyal, and despite what Aveline claims, he can follow orders and take his duty seriously. We see him do incredibly well with the Grey Wardens, after all. If he were a guard, he wouldn't have to go down into the Deep Roads with Hawke, and I think he would've been okay with that! He's so hurt and bitter when you leave him behind because that effectively tells him, "I don't need you." Carver's spent the whole first act telling you he wants to go on the expedition aka that he wants to be needed.

But if he were a guard, he would be needed elsewhere. He'd be in training as a recruit. He'd look after Leandra while you go. He wouldn't be backed into a corner with no income and only the templars left as his chance at forging his own path and providing for his family.

He doesn't get that opportunity, though.

By the way, if he becomes a warden, you can get this banter:

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

This banter makes me want to scream.

Aveline's just... she's so insistent that she's right. She's someone who will double down rather than entertain the idea that she's wrong and it's not just with Carver and the guard, it's with everything. The "my beef with Aveline" list gets longer and longer every time I replay da2, I swear.

Say what you will about Carver, whether you think he would've been a good fit or if Aveline's right and it wasn't for him, he was denied a chance and it cost him so much in the end. He either dies, or he joins the templars where he deals with Chantry's bullshit trying to brainwash him with "mages aren't people" and "magic is a cancer in this world", or he's infected with the blight and becomes a Grey Warden, forced to serve the rest of his life fighting darkspawn, tormented by voices and nightmares.

I will never not be bitter about this.

[owlyflufff]

haikyu's dumpster batte is only going to be around 1 hour and 24 minutes, oh it's genuinely bokuakaover

[spiralsandeyes]

jude perry....

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[dragonjesterwrites]

One thing that will bug me probably forever is one of Moon's new lines in Help Wanted 2.

"What makes you so special?"

Like- he says it with such bitterness. Why though. Is he jealous of the player? Over what? What do you mean by that Moonman

[liloswhitelies]

.

[kyofsonder]

Physically, I'm already lying down.

Emotionally, I feel like I need to find a soft spot and crumple dramatically to the ground and lay down for a few weeks.

[mothymayhem]

Telling people you cannot drive, legally, due to disability feels like telling someone "hey! I'll never amount to anything and never live a happy life!"

Cause that's how people will always react. Part of me feels they're right to react like so. Cause it does suck and I can't work outside my immediate area and nobody wants to hire somebody who does not have a valid mode of transport.

The alternative? Spend money buying an Uber 5 days out the week. To and from. Which still isn't reliable enough of transport.

It's so frustrating. And there is nothing I can do to fix it. There is no surgery. There is no medicine I can take for it. It is something I just have to live with and it sucks.

[itspileofgoodthings]

slowly, slowly, slowly learning how to bridge the gap in my teaching between overexplaining and underexplaining so I hit that exact sweet spot of getting the kids to the place where they’re interacting with a text that is absolutely over their heads and out of their leagues but their excitement, generated by me but sustained by them, and the right amount of scaffolding and explanation lifts them up to be able to meet it, enjoy it, learn from it, be affected by it. 

[kuiperguertel]

i wish i was virginie despentes or, if thats too much to ask, at least physically connected to some part of her brain