#like he doesn’t even fuck around and he still finds out

[twirlyleafs]

“Professional girlfriend.”

Lando Norris x engineer! Reader

TW: nothing special I think

~~~~

Usually you were pretty good at separating your professional relationship with Lando from your personal one, but today it seemed to be tougher than usual. Everyone knew you and Lando were dating, you’d never tried to hide it, but you also never acted like a couple in the garage or around the other engineers. Not that you met too much during the workdays, since you worked principally on Oscars side. During debriefs or meetings you could sometimes catch Lando looking at you and he always offered a discreet wink, making you have to push down a smile as you quickly looked away again, but never more than that.

“Alright, today was obviously not our best.” Andrea spoke up from one end of the long line of tables. That was putting it lightly. Qualifying had been rough, straight out, with bad tyre temps, shitty strategies and yellow flags fucking everything up, making Oscar start seventh tomorrow and Lando down at tenth. From the second he stepped into the room you could tell he was beating himself up for it and you couldn’t help but feel the girlfriend side of you crumble a bit. Lando hadn’t met your gaze even once and as Andrea kept talking about the day you noted how his shoulders just kept slumping more and more. Taking a deep breath you pulled your gaze from your obviously upset boyfriend, trying to focus back on the data displayed on the screen in front of you. You gave your report, keeping it short and straight to the point, and then you leaned back in your chair and waited for the meeting to be over. When Andrea finally excused you, ending with some inspirational quote about tomorrow being a new day, you gathered up your things with a sigh. You saw Lando talking with some of his engineers and you decided to go and drop off your stuff before meeting up with him. Unfortunately you got caught up for a while, chatting with your colleagues, and when you were finally free you almost felt a bit stressed to get to Landos driver room, wanting to be there to comfort him before he spiraled to much.

“Lan?” You knocked softly on the door, trying the handle even though you didn’t get an answer. The door opened and it didn’t take you more than a couple of seconds to conclude that he wasn’t there. Sighing you hoisted your bag higher up on your shoulder, setting out to find your boyfriend. Everyone you met offered sympathetic smiles, they all knew you were the one who’d comfort Lando tonight, but when you asked them if they’d seen him they all shook their heads. No one knew where he was. For several minutes you walked around the unit until you almost bumped into Will.

“Hey!” The man’s gaze snapped up from the iPad he was carrying, surprised look softening into a tired smile when he saw you.

“Hey, you’re still here?”

“I can’t find Lando.” You mumbled, getting straight to the point, and Wills face fell slightly. When you raised your eyebrows he let out a soft sigh.

“I think he might still be in the conference room, he said he wanted to go over some things from today-“

“Will.” You practically groaned, shaking your head. You and Will had talked about this before, agreeing that it wasn’t good for anyone to let the drivers sit alone and nitpick things even if they wanted too. You said drivers, but it had basically never been an issue with Oscar. Lando, on the other hand, was an expert at staring himself blind on the data, ending up feeling worse the more he watched.

“I know, I know.” Will sighed, shaking his head. “I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t have it. He told me he’d talked to you about it already.”

“He definitely hasn’t.” You checked your phone to be sure but you knew there wouldn’t be a text from him. Looking back at Will you offered a crooked smile. “I’ll get him. Thank you. But you need to be harder on him when it comes to this.” At that Will couldn’t help but scoff, shrugging his shoulders.

“You know he doesn’t listen to anyone. Maybe you, a bit, definitely not me.”

You said goodbye to Will, quick steps taking you back towards where you last saw Lando. When you reached the conference room you first thought Will had been wrong, not seeing Lando through the glass wall. The lights were dimmed, most screens turned off, but as you got closer you could see the light from one computer still flickering in the room. Stopping just outside the door you watched the back of your boyfriend for a few seconds, feeling your chest clench at the way he sat with his shoulders slumped, staring at the screen. With a soft sigh you pushed the door open, carefully letting it click closed behind you again as you placed your bag down on the floor. Lando didn’t hear you, or if he did he didn’t react. You watched the back of his head for a moment, gaze trailing his tense shoulders before you slowly moved closer to him. The second your hands came in contact with his back, stroking over it gently, Lando flinched slightly.

“Sorry.” You mumbled quietly, feeling him relax under your touch. As your hands kept rubbing his back, moving up over his shoulders, Landos gaze never left the screen in front of him. It wasn’t until you finally wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, leaning down to press a couple of kisses against his ear and cheek, that he actually acknowledged you. It wasn’t much, but he lifted one hand to grab onto your arm across his chest, stroking it slowly with his thumb.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet and you could tell how down he was by just that one word. Not that you had expected anything else.

“Are you ready to go back to the hotel my love?”

“I don’t think so. Sorry.” His hand dropped from your arm.

“Come on baby, you know this isn’t good for you.”

“You can go, I’ll come later. Have some stuff I need to review.” You could tell by his voice that he wouldn’t listen to you, he wouldn’t leave. Despite just calling Will out for letting Lando make the decisions you couldn’t help but accept defeat, pausing for a second before slowly pulling away. A moment later you were seated in the chair next to him.

“What is it we need to review?”

“No, you don’t-“ he actually turned to look at you, pausing when he noted the expression on your face. Lando knew you well enough to realize you wouldn’t leave him alone and despite wanting to be left in his bubble of self hatred he couldn’t help but feel appreciative. As he hesitated you spoke up again.

“If you have things you want to look at, we’ll do it together. Then we leave together. I’m not letting you sit here alone and beat yourself up over today.” You tried to speak as softly as you could while still remaining stern, you wanted him to know you were on his side. Always. Lando waited for a moment but eventually nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” His hand swiped across the surface of the table, closer to you, and you were quick to wrap your fingers around his larger ones. Lando watched your hands for a second before his gaze flickered up to met yours. “Thank you.” At that you couldn’t help but smile softly, nodding as you squeezed his hand.

”Anytime.”

The two of you stayed for a while, looking through the data and discussing exactly what went wrong where. While you were always honest with Lando, agreeing that he had done some mistakes that probably cost him a couple positions, you were also quick to point out all the circumstances that he had nothing to do with. Team mistakes, flags, weather- you made sure he didn’t take the blame for more than he should. As the clocked ticked on you felt yourself slump more and more and soon enough you were leaning against your boyfriend, cheek pressed against his shoulder and eyes fixed on the screen.

“You tired?” Lando suddenly paused the video the two of you were currently looking at, glancing down at you. You blinked rapidly a few times, pulling away to force some energy back into your body.

“Me?” You shook your head. “I’m fine.” Lando stared at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to tell him the truth. You wouldn’t, however you couldn’t stop the yawn escaping your lips and Lando let out a soft chuckle.

“Maybe it’s time to get out of here?”

“Yeah? You feel ready to pack up?”

“Yeah well,” Lando sighed. “You know I could sit here until tomorrow morning and pick at things…” he trailed off and you reached over to wrap your fingers around his wrist, stroking over his pulse point.

“But that wouldn’t help.”

“Probably not.” He turned to look at you again. You tilted your head, offering a sweet smile.

“If you’re ready to leave, I am too. I think it’ll be nice to get back to the hotel? Take a nice warm shower together? Order up some food, eat in bed…” you pulled your hand from his wrist to reach up and drag it through his curls, gently scratching down his neck. “I’ll give you some back rubs if you want?” Landos eyes were trained on you as you spoke and you loved the way the corners of his lips actually began to turn upwards.

“You had me at shower, honestly.” He mused quietly, earning a laugh from you.

”Alright, let’s go then big boy.” You gently patted his cheek, offering a quick wink before pulling away. Pushing your chair out from the table you stood up, stretching with a soft groan before turning around to grab your stuff from the floor. You didn’t make it more than a step before fingers wrapped around your arm and with a soft tug you were pulled back around to face your boyfriend. Before you could react his hand had found its place holding your jaw and barely a second later his lips were on yours, offering the sweetest kiss. You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face, hands snaking across his abdomen to squeeze his sides through the fireproofs as you kissed him back. When he eventually pulled away he did so barely an inch, eyes flickering between yours a few times before he offered a couple more hard pecks against your lips. You hummed out a giggle, leaning back to look up at him.

“Thank you.” Lando mumbled, the softest little smile on his face. Pursing your lips you shrugged your shoulders, snaking your arms around his torso.

“I’m just doing my job. As an engineer and a girlfriend. I take them equally serious.” That had Lando actually let out a small chuckle and the smile on your face widened.

“You’re a professional at both, I’d say.” He mumbled softly, leaning down to kiss you again. “Especially the latter.”

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar 28 if you are still doing prompts :)

carcar pt 1; curse of obedience/can’t disobey a direct order

“So,” Oscar says, “if I were to say—”

“Don’t,” Carlos says, all urgent, eyes wider than Oscar’s ever seen them. “Oscar!”

He’ll remember this moment after. Go back to it every so often, when his brain sees fit to carve out versions of himself to dissect. Savage, impulsive. Vindictive even. Couldn’t even have picked something non-life threatening, like Drink this drip coffee, which I know you’d rather die than put on your tongue. Had to go for this.

“—run out into traffic, without looking—”

Carlos stands up so fast the chair clatters behind him. Bit of a shock. Oscar looks around, waits for the crowd to laugh along, for him to be allowed in on the prank. The café’s busy, people rippling past them to get to where they need to be. Carlos turns toward the door.

“Carlos,” Oscar says. The vacant look on Carlos’s face scrapes against Oscar’s bare skin like a grater. “What are you doing?”

Carlos gives no response, eyes trained only on the door. Dimly, Oscar wonders if this is how he looks under the helmet.

No, no. Even while racing, Carlos wouldn’t look like this. Surely, his jaw would run askew, his teeth would find his lower lip, his eyes dance bright and hungry.

“Carlos,” Oscar says again. He barely registers his pulse spiking.

Two steps are all it takes for Carlos to get up to full speed, as if he’s got a rabid dog on his heels. He’s a bullet shot out the door, a blur of red.

Oscar’s supposed to have reflexes made from lightning. Fastest in the world, isn’t he? But he stares, uncomprehending, and stares some more through the endless bay windows, as Carlos, uncaring that the crosswalk’s sign is still red, dashes onto the road. He runs, cutting through the continuous stream of metal as if his body were made of something divine.

A car swerves violently, a honk sounds. The ignition Oscar needs to snap out of his daze. Combustion, power. He propels forward, mouth already formed around syllables.

“Carlos,” he screams. “Carlos, stop! Come back!”

He must not be able to hear me. That must be the only reason Carlos keeps running, narrowly avoiding a speeding motorcycle. What did he say, when Oscar was dismissing his confession as a joke? He said—he’s being made to listen, right? To listen and obey. Oscar just has to reach him, so Carlos can listen.

Carlos is too far ahead, outstripping Oscar with an unrecognizable single-mindedness. Oscar’s yelling himself hoarse, but it’s too loud all around them, tires screeching, tearing at his ears. Chaos around them, Oscar unable to reign it in. Even in the rainiest conditions, he’d been able to find more grip than this.

The crosswalk melts onto the sidewalk, and for a blessed second, Oscar thinks it’s over, that Carlos has done all he’s needed to do, carried out the cruel task Oscar’s laid out for him like the gods before Heracles.

Then Carlos turns the corner, still running.

“Carlos!” Oscar’s face is wet, for some reason. A flickering image of Carlos meeting a car sears itself into the back of his eyelids, spills more liquid out. “Come back, please!  Please, god. Come back.”

Clarity, even in panic. If he’s braved speeds most people can’t comprehend, forces that could bend and even break a neck, then what is running blind into traffic?

He doesn’t look as he steps off the curb this time. Adjusts his focus to match Carlos’s. Speeds up in a way that is second nature. A driver swearing at him, a blinding flash from a headlight too close for comfort, but Oscar keeps running. Slowly but surely gaining on his target, overtaking within his reach.

“Stop,” he begs. “Carlos, you can stop now.”

Carlos’s feet ground to a halt.

Momentum carries him to a collision. Oscar flings his arms around Carlos, drags him out of the way just as a truck blares past their intended path.

--

“Asshole, you fucking asshole.” Big, gulping, uneven inhales. “Why did I, why did I go to you, I’m such an idiot, why did I even think you would, ah, fuck. Fuck.” His voice cracks into tiny pieces. “Stupid, stupid. Such a fucking idiot.”

Oscar tightens his hold around Carlos. Dead man’s grip, he’s not letting go. Even though they’re both shaking so hard each breath feels like a bruise. Carlos’s shoulder knocks into Oscar’s teeth, hard enough to cut his lip. Doesn’t matter, he’s not letting go. Oscar tugs Carlos, still trembling, over to the wall of the deserted street they’ve found themselves in. He sinks to the ground, back against the wall, pulling Carlos down with him.

“Breathe,” he says, a little hysterically. “Carlos, come on. Breathe.”

Deep, deep breaths, swelling through both their bodies. Fuck, fuck. Was that also a command? Could he tell Carlos to stop breathing and would Carlos just stop—

“Breathe!” Oscar nearly shouts, to force all other thoughts out of his head. “Carlos, listen to me, you’re alright.”

“—hate you,” Carlos is saying furiously. Oscar squeezes his eyes shut against the pain that lances through him. Nothing like the sting of his bleeding lip; this settles far deeper. “I can’t believe I, you. You.” More air, sucked through rattling lungs. “I shouldn’t have come to you.”

“Why did you?” Oscar says brokenly. He squeezes Carlos to him, then even though he shouldn’t, shouldn’t be allowed to, buries his forehead in the dip between Carlos’s shoulder blades. Selfishly uses Carlos to buttress himself. “Tell me.”

Another command, he realizes too late. Can he not even be in Carlos’s vicinity without being such a dickhead, fuck.

“I thought you wouldn’t.” Carlos’s chest heaves, his throat forcing out words against his will. “Of all people. You wouldn’t use it against me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Oscar whispers, like the greatest hypocrite in all the earth.

Oscar’s never heard Carlos laugh like that, derisive, painfully disparaging. All those times before, when Carlos had teased him, even after a race mistake, he’s done so maybe a little mockingly, but gently all the same. Prodding at Oscar with his bared teeth, but carefully enough he never broke skin. And now he sounds like he would be happy to be wiped clean of Oscar entirely.

Oscar cringes, tries to hide by burrowing further into Carlos’s back. This must be what being flayed alive feels like.

“You wouldn’t!” Carlos says, voice raising high and thready. “After you tried to kill me. After you made me, made me run like a dog huh? Was that fun for you? You like that, huh?”

Carlos’s shoulders pull uncomfortably taut. His shaking slows, the drug of adrenaline siphoning away. The rhythm of his breath changes, stutters, then quickens. His throat releases something wounded. The arm Oscar has braced against Carlos’s chest catches stray droplets, running off Carlos’s chin.

Oscar’s never going to be able to forget the way Carlos sounds broken down. Can’t do anything. Can’t even say something like, Don’t cry, for fear of stuffing all of Carlos’s tears back into him like a botched surgery.

He holds Carlos closer. Lips on the back of Carlos’s neck like he’s allowed, like he can impart I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m so fucking stupid it will never happen again I promise. I promise.

“Breathe,” he says.

“Leave me alone,” Carlos says weakly.

 Nope, no. Never. “Breathe.”

“Just, leave me alone Oscar.” Carlos struggles in Oscar’s grip, a fish caught in a trap. He doesn’t have the leverage to break free, winded as he is, with one arm tucked under his own shirt, fingers pinching his side so hard the flesh’s turned white.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Oscar says softly. “Please let go, Carlos.”

Carlos’s fingers unclench. He lets out a low, hurt whine, frustration, anger at his own helplessness, at having to listen to Oscar. Of all people. “Fuck you,” Carlos says.

By the third time Oscar repeats it, his mind’s made up. “Breathe,” he orders. “Carlos. I’m going to fix this.”

(put that guy in a situation prompts)

[wing-ed-thing]

Rainy Day (Crocodile x Reader)

Synopsis: You find yourself caught in the rain with a pirate.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Fluff

Notes: *blub blub*

“I guess you don’t like the rain either?”

Crocodile wasn’t expecting you to speak, let alone with the light laugh you held in your voice. It threw him off acutely, causing him to raise a slight brow as he regarded you from his periphery. 

You pulled your thin sweater across your chest, still holding your light grocery shopping in one hand. Your sorry excuse for a jacket looked completely drenched through, which didn’t surprise Crocodile in the face of the downpour just a few feet before you. 

You sought refuge under the same storefront canopy, watching enviously as people ran by with umbrellas and sporting dry-looking rain boots. But the streets quickly vacated, leaving you and Crocodile stranded in the only spot of semi-dry cover. Water rushed the street, leaving a river about ankle-deep in its wake. The drains weren’t formidable enough to stop the backup, causing little whirlpools to swirl on the roads. Even where the both of you stood, rain rushed in a thin layer under your shoes. 

“I should have known I wouldn’t be able to make it back in time, but—” You glanced at Crocodile with a smile. —“You don’t look like you’re from around here, huh? No one probably told you about the downpours.”

It was the second time you’d regarded him so casually, and Crocodile wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him in such a blasé way. No one had ever tried to make inane chitchat about the weather with him before, especially not at his towering height and with the jagged facial scar he sported with menacing pride. He had a hook for a hand, and you were talking to him without an ounce of hesitation.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you not to talk to strangers?” Crocodile gruffed, avoiding your gaze as he scanned the environment outside your canopy. The rain was falling in sheets without sign of letting up anytime soon. You laughed again.

“Maybe when I was a kid, but as an adult, wouldn’t that make us both strangers?” 

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.” 

“No, I guess not.”

Crocodile barely listened as he dug into his jacket breast pocket to fish out a cigar. He placed one between his lips before toying with his lighter. It took a few strokes for it to ignite, but Crocodile was eventually able to take a long drag of his cigar. And as he released a massive cloud of smoke from his lungs, he hoped it would be enough of a deterrent for you to stop your chatter. 

There was a pause as the pitter-patter of raindrops hit the ground. 

“Is that Al Fakher—?”

—“Fucking hell—” Crocodile turned to face you fully, ripping his cigar from his lips as he threw his hook up in vexation. But even as he scowled at you, your expression didn’t change. “Do you not have any survival instinct? Any at all? For all you know, I could be a pirate here to pillage your village—”

“Oh, you most certainly are,” you hummed with a nod, and the singular action took Crocodile aback. 

His words stopped on his lips instantly as he scrutinized you, forehead knitted together as he took another drag of his cigar in contemplation. His weight shifted to his back leg, his scowl deepening by the second. 

“What makes you say that?” 

He noted your three-point glance. 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Crocodile’s brows bounced on his forehead as he took another puff. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wore his usual heavy fur coat, which usually did the trick regarding light sprinkles. If it were any heavier, Crocodile might have braved the dismal downpour just a few feet ahead. 

The rain on this island came often, and when it rained, it poured. Although, the rain was typically unaccompanied by other characteristics of a storm. Lightning was absent from the grey clouds above, and thunder hardly rang out over the skies. It was all just rain.

“You’re an odd one, I’ll give you that,” Crocodile muttered. Smoke continued to take up the space under the canopy, dispersing into the muggy atmosphere. He had been weighing braving the downpour in the face of your talk, but the rushing water became less appealing as he puffed on his cigar. Crocodile eyed you from his peripheral. “You’re not scared or nothin’.”

It was equally a question as it was a musing.

“Oh… should I be?”

And just like that, the rain stopped. It dropped in one final sheet like someone switched off a lever. The pool of water on the ground slowly swirled into the sewer grates, and the clouds above remained grey and dark. 

“Yeah,” he answered, taking his cigar between his fingers. Crocodile’s hook glinted in the low light. “You should.” 

He turned to face you fully. His towering shadow engulfed you in the changing light. You stepped out onto the sidewalk, your head tilted upward and your palm extended as you checked for lingering sprinkles. And once the skies had been vetted for rain, you turned to look back at Crocodile with a cheeky smile.

“Why should I be scared when I have you to protect me?” 

The cigar nearly fell out of Crocodile’s mouth as you turned to walk down the road, your words only stalling him for a moment before he stormed after you. His long coat whipped in his wake. 

“Now, wait a goddamn minute,” he gruffed. You continued to make your way down the road. Crocodile walked closely, almost diagonally, behind you as he positioned himself in your peripheral. “I don’t play bodyguard, especially not to some random villager when my bounty—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s very high,” you hummed, glancing at him briefly out of the corner of your eye. Crocodile scowled as he narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t like the way you said that…” His hand shot out to grab you by the back of your shirt, stopping you in your tracks with little resistance. Crocodile hasn’t expected to have to fight to still you, but you seemed to immediately stop the moment he grabbed you. That oddity alone was enough for him to recoil his touch slowly. 

You turned, pivoting slightly on your heel to meet his gaze.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic by any means. I can only imagine how powerful a pirate you must be,” you sighed, glancing off to the side in thought with a shrug before meeting his stare once more. “I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff, but even I can see that… But you don’t seem that bad.” 

And just like before, you began to walk off. Crocodile followed as you took a turn down a side street. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I suppose it means that I don’t think you seem like a, uh… bad guy, I guess?” You splashed through a puddle with your knee-high boots, paying no mind to the ankle, deep water as Crocodile stood on the significantly dryer sidewalk. He glowered as tiny droplets flew onto the ankle of his slacks. 

“You’d be wrong about that,” he huffed as you returned to the sidewalk, now walking next to him as you trailed water on the ground below. Your footsteps grew dryer as you went. 

“You’re gonna fight me about being a bad guy? Isn’t that a little cartoonish? Childish?” You walked up a flight of stairs with Crocodile following alongside you. For every two steps you had to make, Crocodile made one before you stopped at the landing.

Crocodile let out a boisterous laugh, paying little actual attention to you as he regarded you incredulously. 

“You’re one to talk!” 

“You can disagree, I guess. But I don’t think a bad guy would walk me all the way home,” you hummed, placing your key in the lock to your front door. 

You didn’t seem to bother even to catch Crocodile’s violent recoil. He jerked back, gaze immediately flying to the front of the building he found himself standing in front of. It was a modest stone front with identical ones sandwiched on either side. Each boasted a set of stone steps leading up to deep-green colored doors. Romantic street lamps illuminated the road below.

You opened the door, and before he knew it, you had one foot inside as you turned to Crocodile.

“Did you want to come in?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

You turned back to the dark entrance hall, flicking on the light just inside the doorway with a shrug.

“Well, if you change your mind, just knock, I guess.” And before Crocodile could say a word, the door shut behind you, and the latch of the lock clicked firmly. 

Crocodile turned with a sigh, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened as he moved to take a step down the stone staircase. But in an ironic twist of fate, thunder cracked above, and the sheets of rain dropped from the clouds with force. No canopy could save him from the elements this time. Crocodile took one last puff of his cigar before the onslaught of raindrops put it out, leaving his hair soaked and water dropping off his nose. 

[holidayinhell]

CWs: captivity Whump, failed escape Whump.

“I know you have it.”

Whumper outstretched his palm. “Hand it over.”

Whumpee hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes flickering with defiance and defeat.

As soon as Whumpee dropped the box cutter into his hand, Whumper’s fingers snapped closed around it. His cold gaze fell over the flimsy weapon with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, just before tucking the cheap plastic knife into his back pocket. 

He shook his head in quiet disbelief.

“Oh, Whumpee…” he sighed.

Whumpee’s cheeks burned with shame. He never intended to use the box cutter maliciously. Or, at least, he knew he would never be capable of killing Whumper. He didn’t have a plan, he never did, he just needed to feel secure before he trying to find a way out of this fucking place.

After all, he was scheduled to die tomorrow. Surely Whumper didn’t expect him to accept his fate willingly. He had to fight back in order to stay alive.

“Sorry.” Whumpee whispered. 

He had so much to say, yet that was all that came out.

“Yeah.” Whumper murmured, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry…” Whumpee’s voice cracked. “Really, I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I, I don’t even think I could…”

“Sure, Whumps. I get it.” Whumper said in a soft, reassuring voice. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, exhaling. “You’ve been through a lot, I know.”

Whumpee’s shoulders sagged and he looked up at Whumper, searching his eyes for an ounce of compassion.

“But you fucked up big time.”

Whumpee’s breath hitched as he heard Whumper’s tone harden, the last trace of sympathy evaporating.

“Get up, Whumpee. I need you to turn around for me.”

His tone made it clear that any illusion of mercy was gone.

“Please. I’m sorry.”  Whumpee’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, panic bubbling in his chest. “I’ll do anything you want from here out, I’ll be good, I’ll listen--” 

Whumper laughed, a low, bitter sound. “Doesn’t make much of a difference now.”

“Turn around.”

“Please, just, give me a break. Just tonight. It’s my last night, I, I won’t try anything, please I swear to you!” Whumpee’s composure shattered as he choked out the words. “J-just, please, let me have tonight...”

“No.”

His gaze settled on Whumpee’s tear-streaked face.

“Sorry, Whumpee. You fucked up."

Whumper locked a pair of zip ties together behind Whumpee’s back. He instructed Whumpee to climb onto his cot, and made quick work of locking his ankles together too.

Tears gushed down Whumpee’s cheeks as the plastic ties snapped snugly into place.

“A box cutter. Really Whumpee?” Whumper’s grin grew, savoring the irony. “You risked it all, and that was your weapon of choice?”

Whumpee’s throat tightened, dread coiling in his stomach. His shoulders ached from the forced position, but he barely noticed, his mind was consumed with absolute terror. He could barely bring himself to look up as Whumper loomed over him.

“I’d laugh if it wasn’t so goddamn pitiful.” The tall man’s voice dripped with contempt. “The worst part is, well, I was gonna go easy on ya tomorrow. I picked up some good painkillers and booze to make it more comfortable for you.”

"You did?" Whumpee’s voice quivered, the hope fading from his eyes. “...really?”

“Heh, yeah. I wasn’t even going to tie you up.” 

Whumper leaned in, his tone dropping to a menacing whisper. “But now, comfort is off the table.”

Tears streamed down Whumpee’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean t--”

“But you did,” Whumper cut him off. “You did, and you went and fucked it all up didn’t ya?”

“I thought you liked me...” Whumpee mumbled, his words nearly swallowed by his own shame. “...don’t do this.”

Whumper shook his head as he rose to his feet. “It’s okay. You can still sleep on your side.”

“Whumper! PLEASE!”

“I can’t help you.” 

Whumper’s figure cast a long dark shadow across the wall next to the cot. 

Whumpee watched as the tall silhouette crossed into the light, swinging the heavy door closed with a thud, submerging Whumpee in total blackness.

((more Whump oneshots))

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑰𝒕𝒔 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅?*

Pairing: Chan x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Angst (small suggestive)

Warnings: Arguing, slightly suggestive, slight mentions of squirting, Slight happy ending. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

This came from 2 requests you can find here

-🖤

Knocking on your boyfriend’s door you hear him grumbling as he makes his way to the door. “Yeah?” He says seemingly annoyed at you interrupted his work.

“Babe come on you’ve been working for hours, can’t you just take a break?” You pleaded.

“No. I have alot to do still” he said.

“Chris please? I’ve barely saw you since you got back from the work trip.”

“Y/n I said I can’t. I have work to do. Stop bothering me ok?” He said before shutting the door.

It’s been like this for the past month or so. Honestly from the past few months you can count on one hand how many times he’s spent time with you. It’s been eating at you lately. Feeling like you’re a bother, like he just doesn’t love you anymore. You’ve tried to understand and you have for the most part. His job is taxing and demanding however he use to make time for you. Now it just seems like you’re an after thought.

You let out a big sigh before knocking again. He ignored it. So you knocked again. He swung open the door glaring at you eyes looking like they could kill. “I told you to leave me alone” he hissed.

“Christopher. You use to make time for us. You use to take breaks and would unwind with me. Why can’t you do that anymore huh?” You said not backing down this time.

“Y/n I can’t make time for you and be a good bread winner there’s no way.” He retorted back.

“So what then? I don’t ever get to spend time with you? Your jobs always gonna come first?” You spat.

“YES.” He said bluntly. You could see the vein popping from his forehead.

“So what’s the fucking point of dating then huh? It’s like we’re fucking roommates.” You said with a small croak. You felt like you could cry.

He looked at you, you could tell he was angry but was it for your words or because you were taking precious time away from his work. “Then maybe we should just end things” he said coldly towards you. Before you could get another word in he shut the door. You felt the tears pricking at your eyes before turning toward the bedroom. 3 years. 3 years down the fucking drain.

You cried grabbing a few things and throwing them in a bag. You called your friend up knowing they had an extra room. When he came to pick you up he was about ready to walk into that house and give Chan a piece of his mind but you talked him out of it. He sped off to the apartment. “I can’t believe that fucking asshole” he said gritting his teeth. “Who fucking-“ his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Who fucking does that shit with someone theyre supposed to love”

When you got to his place you plopped yourself into the spare room asking for some space. Your mind floated around with all the happy times you had. Smiling a bit remember how when you first met he was so shy. Fumbling over his words when he asked you out. Remembering how you made the first move to kiss him how red his ears got when you did. How he was the first one to say I love you and all the good morning texts you had saved full of love.

You remembered the first time you were intimate. How he was so nervous, afraid he couldn’t make you feel good. Only to have you trembling under him after making you squirt for the first time ever in your life. He was so proud of himself. He didn’t even care he only lasted a few minutes.

You can’t believe it was all over. All the words he had said all the talks about getting married and such just tossed like garbage. Was it really that easy to toss you to the side like that? Were you the reason he became distant?

A few days had passed before you went back. Knowing Chan was gonna be working you took the opportunity to take the rest of your stuff. Leaving anything he had gotten you there. You didn’t notice though he was home. His office was doing work from home today to try and catch up on something’s. With the last box in your hand making your way towards the door you were greeted by Chan coming out from the room. His eyes widened when he saw you. You made no effort to say anything just walking past him.

“Y/n” he said walking behind you.

“What” you said coldly slipping your shoes back on.

“I- listen I’m sorry for how I handled things.” He said looking down at your box. “Wait are you moving your stuff out?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said bluntly before opening the door. “You’ll have all the time in the world now. Take care of yourself Chan.” You said before leaving.

He stood there his mouth gaped open. He couldn’t believe things were really ending. He didn’t think you’d actually leave. Here he was though, nothing left of you. He through himself into his work even more now. Keeping himself busy. He couldn’t believe he did this. He let the best thing of his life go. No. No. This is what he wanted. He could do so much more with out the worry of you around now. Or that’s at least what he told himself.

You on the other hand worked on yourself. You got yourself out there. You got a raise at your job and moved up in positions. You moved from your friend’s place to a nice little house. You were thriving.

A few months into being here you found comfort in your neighbors. They were all so kind and sweet always sharing food together and having get togethers. That’s what brings you to now. You had accident fallen for the man who lived right beside you. Neither of you intentionally tried to but you both just connected so well. He was so kind, so down to earth. He was a big ceo of his job. Passed down to him from his father however by looking at him you’d never think that.

He didn’t show off his wealth. He was just a normal guy who liked to come to your place and make dinner with you while you played stupid trivia games. When he finally asked you out he knew you’d be hesitant telling you “you don’t have to say yes right now but just do it in the next few days so I can tell my dad I finally did it” he said his cheeks all pink.

When you finally did say yes though he was over the moon. As if you just said I do to him on your wedding day. You scoffed to yourself seeing how he always made time for you. He rarely ever said no to you even pushing back meetings to do little things with you. He was so love struck by you.

Chan on the other hand missed you a lot. He’d now and again take your pillow cuddling into it as if it was you. Fuck. He missed you. He tried dating but no one had that spark he felt with you those years ago. Where did he go wrong?

Today was you and your boyfriend’s first year anniversary. He brought you to the carnival one of the places you both loved to come. He always loved winning you prizes trying his best to get you every single one you wanted. He also just loved having you clinging to him around so many people. It filled him with pride to have everyone know you were his. “Hey beautiful I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick ok? Will you order for me?” He said with a smile kissing you softly. You nodded as he walked away.

Chan couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you standing in line. Was it really you? He has only come here because of his friends trying to get him out. He grumbled the whole time however seeing you he perked up. “Y/n?” He said softly.

Your head spun to meet his gaze looking at him with almost sadness. He didn’t look like he’d taken care of himself. His once perfect hair all messy, clothes not as neat as they use to be. You could tell he’s lost weight too.

“Oh hi Chris.” You said

“Hey it’s been awhile. What uhm brings you here?” He asked trying to make small talk.

Before you answered the lady asked for your order. As you gave it to her Chan seemed a bit confused at what you ordered. You always hated corn dogs, why were you getting one?

Chan ordered standing off to the side as you both waited.

“It’s nice to see you again” he said softly.

“Yeah, nice to see you too” you said.

Your boyfriend was making his way back towards you. He smiled that big goofy smile of his before slinking his arm around you.

“Look what I found” he said grinning ear to ear as he pulled out a stuffed animal you’ve been searching for.

“No fucking way!” You said smiling you gave him a big hug as he kissed the top of your head.

“Anything for my love” he said.

Chan watched his stomach twisting as he realized you had moved on. Something also clicked in his head. “You’re the CEO of big name right?” He said his voice sounding surprised.

“Oh yeah” he chuckled. “That’s me”

Chan looked at him and back at you “how are you here? Aren’t you like swamped with work?” He asked.

Your boyfriend chuckled some more “nah and even if I was I wouldn’t miss today for the world.” He said squeezing you softly.

“Today’s our year anniversary, so I took the whole week off, even moved meetings just so I could give this pretty lady all my attention” he said. If he would have know who he was talking to he’d probably yell at him for what he did however you didn’t want to be the bear of bad news.

“Oh oh babe I’m gonna grab a shake meet me by the table yeah? I’ll get your favorite” he said kissing you once more before strolling off.

“So there’s really no chance we could get back together is there” Chan blurted out.

You felt a bit confused “Chris. I think you need to focus on yourself before you can ever think about dating again.”

“So there’s a chance we could?” He said hopeful.

“I’m sorry Chris. But I’m happy. He makes time for me. He doesn’t make me feel like a burden”

The lady calls out your order, you grab it before walking away you look at him one more time. “I’m sorry Chris, a part of me of course will always love you however we don’t mix well. Please just take care of yourself ok?” You said before walking away.

He felt a pit in his stomach like he wanted to vomit. He couldn’t believe how happy you looked I mean you were glowing. Your boyfriend seemed to be so secure proving him wrong about being able to make time. He cursed at himself but he knew you didn’t want him back you’ve made that pretty clear through the months. He was just sad he was to late that this was really the end. He watched as you smiled and laughed. Although the pit in his stomach stayed he felt a bit of happiness knowing you were being taken care of. Something he should have done better of.

Your words although same as before rung in his head. ‘Take care of yourself’ he realized he hasn’t been. He realized he hasn’t even had time to properly think. He felt a sense of acceptance as he took his food and left. He was gonna work on himself. Make himself the man he was before, before he was consumed by his work.

“Did you know that guy?” Your boyfriend ask.

You nod “yeah, just someone I use to know”

“Hmm well he better not try and steal you away or I’ll fight” he teased lifting his fists up.

It made you laugh. Although you’ll always love Chan. You couldn’t ask for anyone better. Your boyfriend would move the world for you if it meant you’d be happy. And you were. You were so happy.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp

[mikkomacko]

Can we pls get a blurb of Jack and Luke finding out the dog’s name is Moose?? I feel like you had an ask about this and how Jack would be baby about it. I feel like a lil blurb would be so funny

“Guys me and Nico got a baby!”

Jack and Luke freeze, pizza slices halfway to their mouths, dripping cheese and grease onto the stupidly thin paper plates.

“How’d he do that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s obvious, stabbing your fork into your Caesar salad and mixing the dressing around. “He bought him?”

Nico appears at the edge of the booth, four fountain sodas in hand that he starts distributing. Until he sees the way Luke and Jack are gaping at him. “What?”

“Dude,” Jack admonishes, “you can’t just buy babies.”

Nico sits down next to you, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“No,” you groan, dropping your fork onto your bowl and reaching for your phone. “not an actual baby you dingbats, it’s a dog.”

You hold your phone out to them, showing them the photo you took this morning of Nico and Moose. The puppy had clambered onto the bed this morning after you let him out to pee, excited and wound up after a night’s rest and the cold morning weather. Nico was still asleep, face half hidden by his pillow and Moose had draped himself over Nico naked shoulder, nipping and gnawing at his messy bed head until he woke up.

Somehow you managed to snap a photo of the two seconds Nico was laughing at Moose before he started grumbling and wrestling the poor thing into the pillows.

“Oh,” Jack and Luke breathe in unison, shoulders drooping in relief. “We really thought you’d somehow bought a child for her.”

“He is my child,” you scoff at Jack. “Look at how cute, he’s even got Nico’s eyes.”

Luke zeroes in on the screen, mouthing pursing in contemplation. “Huh, he kinda does,” he looks between Nico and the screen. “Congrats boss.”

“Thanks,” Nico deadpans.

Jack takes a bite of pizza, grease smearing on his lips. “So where is the little monster?”

“The baby is at mannerism school.” You say proudly, taking a bite of your food. Nico reaches around you for the red pepper flakes, dumping it onto his slice.

“He goes to school?”

Nico sets the shaker down. “I had him trained in Bern, but this is like basic dog lessons at a dog daycare.”

“We wanted him to get used to be around other dogs and stuff.” You add.

The two boys share a look. “His first day and you just dumped him at doggy daycare?”

“Don’t even start with that,” Nico groans, “please she’ll start crying again.”

Embarrassed, you avoided their gaze, not wanting to explain that you did in fact get teary saying bye to Moose this morning. You almost called Luke to cancel lunch but decided not to since you owe them for helping you move.

“Timo took him,” you explain, swiping through your phone again for the text your bestie had sent earlier. It’s a selfie of him and Moose in the car, the puppy sitting politely in the back seat with a pup cup in the cup holder and Timo holding up his own Starbucks drink.

You show them the text, smiling so wide it hurts your cheeks. “Aren’t they cute?”

The boys don’t answer you. “‘Uncle Timo and Moose’s day out’,” Luke reads, then his eyes are snapping to yours, wide and curious. “His name is Moose?”

“Yeah, doesn’t he look like a Moose?” You giggle, then frown. “Nico keeps calling Müsli but I don’t like that. Timo said it means little mouse.”

Nico snickers next to you and you elbow him, pouting as you put your phone away. Jack, glaring at his pizza takes a harsh drink of his soda.

“Who named him Moose?” Luke prods, leaning forward in his chair.

“Me,” you brag as Jack mutters, “Like Nico would ever pick that stupid name.”

“Hey!” Luke and you complain in unison.

“She likes the name, chill out.” Nico defends, nudging Jack’s leg with his foot. “What’s the matter with you?”

“That’s my name,” Luke explains much to your confusion. “When we were kids we all had nicknames. Quinn was Huggy, Jack was Rowdy-“

“Fitting,” you snort.

“-and I was Moose.”

The nicknames are cute, you think. You’ve never met Quinn but from what they’ve told you the nickname fits. It’s endearing to think of them as kids, actual kids, teasing and brainstorming these names.

“Awww that’s sweet,” you coo, “Moose and uncle Moose.”

“And Uncle Rowdy!” Jack complains.

“Can’t forget Rowdy,” Nico tsks, shaking his head at you. “If I’d have known Rowdy was on the table I would’ve picked that.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Liar,” he hisses and your boyfriend chuckles.

“You didn’t know we’d have matching names?” Luke asks, sounding a little dejected at the idea that this wasn’t planned.

Guilty, you frown. “I’ve had Moose picked out for years,” his face falls “-but isn’t it better to think that the name Moose connected us before we knew each other? It’s like we were family this whole time.”

Satisfied with your answer, Luke nods and smiles, going back to his pizza. You look at Nico, widening your eyes in relief that you pulled that off. He laughs to himself.

Jack is still pouting and grumpy as he finishes his pizza, and then he glares at Luke when his younger brother orders and inhales two more slices and holds you all up.

“Hey,” you nudge Jack with your foot, waiting for him to look at you before nodding to the connected ice cream parlor. “Come with me?”

Nico lets you out of the booth, squeezing your hand just once before handing you his wallet. Then he’s sitting back down with Luke, watching with interest as the boy inhales his body weight in pizza and garlic fries.

You link your arm through Jack’s, leading him out of the pizza restaurant and in front of the case of ice cream.

You get a chocolate shake and Jack gets a double scoop of mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, smiling in thanks when you request extra sprinkles on his.

“When I said that the name Moose made us family before we knew each other, I meant you too.” You say to him as you wait for your dessert.

Jack looks at you, expression indifferent but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s really listening. “You don’t have to baby me-“

“I’m not,” you interrupt, “but I mean I can’t help myself sometimes. You and Luke were like my babies, you guys were the first ones to accept me and welcome me out of all the boys.

“You especially.”

He shrugs, a blush creeping up his neck. “Really?”

You lay your head on his shoulder, squeezing his elbow. “Nico cares a lot about you, even though he likes to tease. So when you actually believed in me and liked me, it felt like I was doing the right thing. Like it was meant to be. I was fitting in with Nico’s family.”

“I like you better,” he says, and the server places your shake on the counter. Jack grabs it for you and you let him go.

“I like you better too,” you agree, sipping your shake. He gets handed his cone. “Well not more than Nico but pretty close.”

Jack shrugs but he’s laughing, that signature Hughes smirk on his face.

“So the next dog,” he says leading you back to Nico and Luke. “Rowdy or no?”

“Sure.”

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch8 - Yan!SatoSugu x Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: ~7K

Warnings: non-con, exhibitionism, double penetration (in one hole and in both), mommy kink (geto calls you mamma), sex toys like dildos and nipple clamps mentioned

For more reasons you can’t wrap your head around, Geto has become far, far kinder to you.

And you know what that means.

You can’t fuck this up again.

Yes, while men can be easy to manipulate… Geto seems to be smarter than you give him credit for, as well. That’s YOUR mistake. You realize that, and now you have to conjure a new way out but that doesn’t mean you can’t poke and prod at what seems to be a shaky foundation between Gojo and Geto. You can still play it up to your advantage. It’s gotten you out of some high-time embarrassing scenarios, like the other night when Gojo wanted to test out a pair of nipple clamps he’s found while online shopping. One glance at your horrified expression and Geto refuses to entertain the possibility, even after Gojo profusely begged him to let him try it out.

“We can try it on you, Satoru,” Geto offers with a hum. Geto settles the argument with that when Gojo seems more than pleased by the idea. Tweedledum glances at you with that irritating smirk on his face as he waves the package of nipple clamps over your face.

“Just let Princess take the wheel from here, Suguru~! But then you have to let me put them on her!”

That may have been the first time the two of them allow you agency.

Well, not the only time.

When it’s just you and Geto, he doesn’t initiate all that much. Instead, he seems to allow you a bit more room to breathe after any sessions with Tweedledum there. You can’t call sweet, because that’s one word you can’t use to describe either of those two men, but it’s…considerate enough.

It’s still not enough to sway you into a certain direction, though. Because for as much as Geto insists he doesn’t expect you to return his affections, he’s let down each time you don’t acknowledge his own perceived ‘selfless’ acts.

Again, many definitions seem to have changed over the years. Apparently ‘principled’ means not killing off people without a reason (and by people, he really means young sorcerers, non-sorcerers are ‘free for alls’). ‘Selflessness’ means not forcing himself upon you when you decline his advances, and you have made a point to decline each and every one of them if he gives you the ‘illusion of choice.’

Which, again, isn’t an illusion this time around. He really does keep his hands to himself now.

More than Gojo does, at least, which is…good enough.

On your way back to the bedroom for another agonizing evening to spend with your ‘new beau,’ you stumble across a note with a bouquet of freshly picked roses resting on the foot of the bed. Your brows knit together as you pick up the note, reading its contents.

‘Meet me out in the back. We’ll have a picnic. Just us.

-Geto, S.’

You have half a mind to rip it to shreds, but you remind yourself you can’t screw this shit up again. You have to play along.

Groaning to yourself, you slip back on your robe and step back out of the room, meeting Geto in the extravagant, botanical gardens his servants maintain to perfection. If not for the circumstances, you may have taken the time to admire the beauty and the effort put into keeping up the temple’s pristine appearances.

But this temple isn’t a paradise for you. It’s your chamber of sheer torment.

You find him near the smaller, stone koi pond and fountain, where he’s rested his picnic blanket and basket. Upon sensing your presence, he glances up and smiles at you, patting the vacant spot next to him.

You don’t say a word as you accept his invitation. This is better than everything else he’s forced you into, and you keep reminding yourself not to fuck this up like a mantra.

“I figured you wanted to get some fresh air after some time,” Geto states as he sets the utensils and plates onto the blanket. You glance over at the contents of the basket—you catch some sweets from a bakery the twins like to go to nearby. Some finger sandwiches and other interesting food items you haven’t tried before. He’s even picked up some of your usual orders, perhaps for good measure.

This can’t be good news.

“That’s nice of you, Suguru,” you reply, attempting a smile as he hands you a plate.

“Did you have a good time with the twins?” he asks, tilting his head as a fond smile plays on his lips. You’re taken aback, stumbling over your answer as he places some food items onto your plate before helping himself.

“We had a great time,” you answer, “Mimiko and Nanako can’t seem to agree on a theme for their Animal Crossing home, ,though. They kept trying to get me to gang up on the other. It’s kind of adorable.”

Geto rolls his eyes at the mention of Animal Crossing.

“They probably should have gotten their own copy instead of one,” Geto murmurs, “that would have settled some issues, but I thought it was a waste of money. I can’t remember how much money Satoru wasted on Digimon games, and I don’t want them to become ungrateful for how much money I spend on them for such a dull hobby.”

“It’s not that dull,” you laugh like it’s a nervous tick for you, at this point. “Video games are a great way for a family to bond. That’s how my family and I did.”

Why are you even trying to have small talk with him?

It feels so…weird. Like there’s this barrier. You feel like you’re trying to reach some untouchable deity when you speak to him. And in some ways that’s not all that far off. Your worlds are so different from each other.

“You never talk about them,” he remarks, “Your family.”

“Oh. Well, it’s just me now. My parents died when I was a teenager and I was an only child. I don’t really know about any other family,” you shrug, nibbling mindlessly on the finger sandwich. “But I do miss them all the time. My dad was the biggest Mario nerd, so we played all of those classic games together.”

“What was your mother like?” he asks, eyes twinkling in curiosity as he inches closer to you.

“She was like any other mom I guess,” you say, “She was a lot softer though. Like, not as strict as some of my friend’s moms…”

“I see,” he hums, “I never had a close relationship with my parents. As you can imagine, I was born into a family who didn’t have sorcerers. They didn’t try to understand what was happening to me.”

That’s kind of sad…

“You’re making quite an effort for the twins to have a normal family.”

Yeah. Yet another definition which has changed…

“My girls deserve everything I never had,” Geto replies, smiling. “I can’t change my or their past, but we have a future to look forward to together.”

Maybe in another world, you may have found this truly admirable.

But this isn’t that world.

“How’s the food?” he asks quickly to change the subject, and perhaps to alleviate the tension growing between you both.

You glance at the crumbs in your hand.

“Good,” you murmur, “Fantastic. Like gourmet.”

Geto’s smile widens.

“I had the chefs prepare it special,” he explains, “But while I was out with the girls I picked up some of your orders. So help yourself.”

He gestures to all of the items laid out on the blanket.

“Of course,” you reply finally, ignoring the twist in your gut. “Thank you.”

Awkward, you muse to yourself, your lips forming a thine line.

“I really want you to be happy here,” Geto speaks up again.

Your head snaps up at that, eyes widening.

“Huh?”

A calloused hand rests on your cheek.

“It’s true,” he goes on, the hand sliding to your shoulder. He squeezes gently. Reassuringly. “While it’s best you don’t disobey me, I don’t want you to be afraid of me, either. You’re part of the family.”

What a joke. He should petition for the greatest comedian of the year if he actually expects this…

“That will take time,” you manage to bite out, your words sharper than intended but does he expect anything different? Does he honestly believe that you, after everything he has done to you, may accept this with open arms without a single complaint?

He must be out of his mind.

He pouts at that, retracting his hand (smart move, you were tempted to bite it off).

“I understand,” he sighs in defeat. For now. “It’s like I told you, I don’t need you to return my affections.” Liar. “Your cooperation is more necessary than that.”

“I know.”

He leans in to press a chaste kiss on your lips. Every time he does he tastes of fire and brimstone. Of toxins seeping deep into your skin, contaminating your body. You aren’t in love with him, and you never will be; that much you are certain. You have been dragged into this nonsense by some rotten stroke of luck, and yes, you can’t change the past, but you can see to the future.

And you don’t want a future with him.

“My little dove,” he purrs as he pulls slightly away, eyes half-mast as he takes in your features. “I wish you could let me in your world.”

There’s no chance for that.

“But I suppose I have to settle with this for now,” he continues, hovering his lips to the crook of your neck.

You flush, furtive eyes darting to either side. Out here in the open?

Why are you even surprised?

“Suguru,” you start, resting a hand on the back of his head. “Not now.”

“But no one will see,” he mutters into your skin, inhaling your scent. He smiles upon recognizing something—notes of caramel and marshmallow and amber. “You used one of the perfumes I bought you.”

Well, yeah! Of course you do. No one likes to stink. And you don’t have many options here.

“Suguru please,” you try again, and Geto makes a sound, before retracting himself from you. He still hovers close while reaching for a pastry to present to you.

“Very well,” he concedes, cutting a piece of a strawberry crepe and bringing it to your lips. “We can settle on this.”

You open your mouth and let him feed you. The rush of strawberry filling overwhelms your taste buds, but you like this better than his lips on yours. But you speak too soon, his lips finding yours again as soon as you gulp down that bite. His tongue chases remnants of that lingering taste and he hums, pulling away with a little playful nip with his canines.

“You make these sweets tolerable,” he chuckles, darting his tongue between his lips to catch any remnants of your taste.

Nasty, you think, your face falling at he sight. Ugh. Maybe it helps a little that he’s objectively gorgeous, but since he’s the kind of man he is, you can’t give him the satisfaction of even entertaining the idea that he’s objectively attractive. You try to ignore the way your heart kind of flutters whenever he glances at you with those little jewels of amethyst for eyes or whenever he draws near you to steal a kiss. It’s only because objectively, yeah, he’s attractive. That makes this a bit more bearable. Nothing more than that, right?

This is kind of pissing you off a little… what the HELL is going on in your head now? What kind of bullshit is it trying to spew at you!? Have you lost your goddamn mind?

“I need more, Mamma,” he drawls, as he sets aside the plate, digging his fingers into either side of your waist.

“Suguru…” you whimper, as his face draws close to yours and you try to crawl away. That’s asking for a death penalty here but you can’t help it. “Not out here.”

“I’ve been patient with you, Mamma. Let me touch. Satoru’s been getting all the fun, and you know how I feel about that. We came to an understanding about that, did we not?” he trails kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, and your fists clench tightly, resting on your knees.

“Ah-hem, Geto,” Suda’s voice interrupts and saves you from certain torture. She approaches the both of you, clipboard in her arms as she focuses more on the text on the page rather than what’s transpiring in front of her. Perhaps she’s witnessed more than she wanted to. “I hate to disrupt your private time, but your presence is needed. We have acquired the scammer who tried to keep money from you.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, my dear,” he sighs as he pulls away, rising to his feet. “Duty calls, but we can continue this later.” He turns to his secretary. “Suda, you can remain with her until I return.”

“Yes, Geto,” she replies, straightening her posture as he brushes past her with a displeased look on his face. Nothing grinds his gears more than conman, speaking as if he isn’t a conman himself.

He’s such a fucking hypocrite; you’ve definitely noticed.

When it looks like Geto is gone, you glance up at Suda with curiosity twinkling in your eyes—and a touch of wariness as you feel with the rest of Geto’s goons. Her wavy pink hair cascades around her heart-shaped face and her dark green eyes stun you, resembling little jewels. She stands tall and proud like a runway model, and can probably give one a run for their entire career and salary if she ever decides to go that route. You can’t help but admire another woman’s beauty—even if she probably wants nothing to do with you like everyone else around here seems to. They seem to share similar ideas when it comes to non-sorcerers: they’re scum and are better off eradicated.

She huffs, scrunching her nose in distaste as she finally addresses the likes of you. “I don’t understand what Geto’s doing with you, but as much as I don’t like it, I’m here to help a sister.”

Your ears perk up at that. That’s something you don’t expect, but it’s a welcome surprise, indeed.

“Men abusing their power over us is nothing new,” Suda remarks in a rather snide tone, but you expect nothing less when it comes to such subject matter. And of course Geto is involved. “I’d have liked to believe Geto was different in at least that regard.”

It’s a sad, but cold, hard, truth: men may swing their swords around and pound their chest like gigantic gorillas, but in reality, they’re as frail, weak, and vulnerable as chimps out in the wild. Geto isn’t removed from this fact; neither is Gojo. Neither is any other sorcerer who happens to have male anatomy.

In the end, it’s their most fatal flaw.

At least Suda understands that as well as you do.

“Why work for him, then?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

She shrugs, staring off into the distance. “Good living, I guess. Better than the dump I came from where guys would harass me all the time. He doesn’t come near me. Not like that. Just expects me to organize this circus of his.”

She gestures to the general area of the temple. Well, she’s not entirely wrong in that department—it’s decent living. Never mind the fact that her boss is a raging lunatic which apparently she’s more than aware of herself.

You tilt your head, processing the newfound information like it’s a software update. Interesting.

So even Geto’s goons know he’s not all that, either? Then what the hell are people doing here, other than for the good pay? Just for the shits and giggles? Maybe there’s got to be some other things they might benefit from in aiding a maniac like him…

“And I guess some things, I owe to Geto,” she finishes while adjusting flyaways in her hair after a gush of wind rushes by. Ah. There it is—a sense of obligation then. “But this can be between us. Even if you’re not like me, you’re still a woman.”

She doesn’t need to finish that statement. You fill in the blanks yourself. Women protect other women, and that’s that.

Even if Suda is ultimately loyal to Geto and whatever this vision of his is—it still doesn’t really add up to you, but then again, as Geto and Gojo love to preach to you, these are matters far above your scope of understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmur as a little smile plays on your lips. This is the most hopeful you’ve been since this whole thing went down, and knowing someone has your back is good enough for you for that very moment.

“Besides,” she adds, resting her clenched fists on her hips. “You being here just isn’t right, anyway. Whatever Geto wants with you, it’s for his personal gain, ultimately. I probably shouldn’t question him, but he does make a lot of questionable choices.”

Your mind flashes to when Miguel tells you something similar.

You flash her another smile. She manages a small one herself before her mask comes back full force. She strolls over to one of the benches and takes a seat, crossing one leg over the other as you both wait for Geto to return. This time, the silence is a little comforting. You fiddle with some of the remaining food on your plate, finally feeling some semblance of relief wash over you because maybe, maybe, you have fnially found your ticket out of there.

Geto finally returns, moments later, that displeased look still etched on his face as he tuts at the current situation to Suda.

“Rich men can be so foul,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Not including certain people, of course.”

You know who he means.

“What did you do with him, Master Geto?” Suda dares to ask as she rises to her feet, hugging her clipboard to her chest as she maintains an air of a professional secretary. She can flip that on and off; it reminds you much of yourself when you were still working at that bakery that had since gone out of business for obvious reasons. All workers and customers mysteriously dead, you going missing as a result. You are also presumed dead or missing to the public. That can’t look good for someone’s business if they want it to skyrocket.

“I let his curse do away with him,” he answers smoothly with a dismissive wave of his hand over his head. “If that’s all, Suda, I’d like to be alone with her now.”

Suda gives a curt nod before twisting on her heel and sauntering off. Thus far, Geto has no suspicions with you or her, but you stay on your guard nevertheless. Geto always has something up his sleeve.

Once you’re left alone with him, Geto glances down at you with a mysterious smile. You ignore the fear pricking at your insides like toxic barbs. Your hand rests on your stomach as you will yourself to relax. You have backup. You have an ally. That should have you rejoicing and dancing in glee but instead you’re still coiling every time Geto so much as glances at you?

Yet you can’t find yourself faulting yourself for that either. The man is goddamn terrifying in his own right, and he has full control over you.

But not for much longer. You just need to hold on, for just a little longer. You have already settled on having to play the long game here. Don’t get discouraged.

“Now with that interruption out of the way…” He returns to his spot next to you. “Where were we?”

“Watching the sunset,” you reply as he tries to inch himself closer to you.

Fight back. Any way you can. You remind yourself. You force down any and all emotions combating against each other in your head. They quiet down the moment you try. You try to imagine something more peaceful and serene than something like this—anything else sounds good right then. A nice trip to Paris, far away from a country where Geto and Gojo resides, enjoying a baguette and hot chocolate while someone serenades you with a violin performance.

Anything is better than this. Anything. You can’t believe how your life has gotten to this point.

Frowning, Geto glances up at the sky. The sun has just begun to set, just a blinding, shining gold glob amid a pink and blue sky.

“It is a lovely sight,” he muses, before his gaze flits back to you. “But nothing beats the sight I have right here, beside me. You truly are a work of art, my dear.”

Ah. More pretty lies. That seems to come as natural as breathing to him.

You know better than to fall for anything he says or does. They never align.

The picnic continues in a tense silence. You do appreciate the pastries he picked up for you, helping yourself to that brookie you’ve been eying for a while. Geto just watches you, content just being next to you. He doesn’t try to touch you again, which you thank the stars above for, but that’s going to be short-lived the moment you go back to the bedroom with him. He can’t control himself for all that long.

After the sun fully sets beyond the horizon, Geto gathers the items and retires with you back to bed. Instead of his servants attending to you in the restroom, he decided to take their place, preparing the shower while attending to his own business. He ties his hair long, flowy hair up in a bun as he changes into a pair of silk indigo pajamas.

You slip out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your frame and he approaches you with a bottle of lotion.

“May I?” he requests with that same, dangerous smile that you know it best not to anger.

You’re not allowed to refuse.

You settle onto the edge of the tub connecting to the shower, removing your towel and allowing it to slip to the marble tiled floor. Geto starts massaging the lotion into your shoulders, slowly and softly moving down your back.

“Soft,” he praises in a little whisper, pinching a little area. You wince.

“Am I doing a good job, Mamma?” he purrs into your ear as he moves to your arms and to your breasts and stomach.

“Yes, darling, you’re doing so good, taking care of me.”

Such lies feel like toxic barbs piercing your skin.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he asks, swirling his tongue around a nipple. Your breath hitches.

“No,” you bite your lip, grimacing at what you’re about to say next: “Good boys are supposed to do what they’re told.”

“Then what else must I do, Mamma?”

He flicks the tip of his tongue around the stiff bud, making your throat tighten. Your hands grip the edge of the tub. His hands snake up your meaty inner thighs as they stretch apart, his palms resting just before your intimates. Slender, calloused fingers brush against your skin, inching closer and closer to your nethers where he has already lubed up. Two fingers tease your outer lips, pressing them together and from the corner of your eye you see his toothy, pleased smirk as he pries your lower lips apart. The cold air hits your sensitive skin and you hiss, tightening your grip on the edge of the tub until your knuckled whiten. Your legs begin to tremble, and he gasps in delight, falling to his knees on the ground and marveling at the sight of your flushed pussy glistening in a light coat of your arousal.

He licks his lips, leaving his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth as a finger easily slides into your entrance. A shaky gasp leaves your parted lips.

His finger sucks itself inside your pussy up to its knuckle. He coos as you wriggle a bit in your place.

“Shall we take this somewhere else more comfortable, Mamma?” he grunts, dipping another finger inside with a purr. “Let me get you to come once and then we can take it back to the bedroom.”

He steadies you, using his free arm snaking around your waist as he picks up a faster pace. Gentle pumps but his speed picks up each time. He groans at the feeling of your walls closing around his fingers, desperate to suck him in further, and you clench your teeth, failing to conceal your desperate whines and gasps as you can feel something inside rising, rising, rising…

“Come for me, Mamma,” he grunts, “Aren’t I being so good for you? I can always be this good. I want my Mamma to be happy with me.”

Your orgasm comes like a tight thunder clap, seeing setars behind your eyes, and you gasp out, panting as your body comes down from that high. He lets out a satisfied, arrogant little huff at his handiwork before scooping up your naked form into his arms, carrying you back to the bedroom and resting you on the plush mattress.

“Good,” he praises with a low, sultry purr as he gazes at you with that smoldering look in his eyes. His violet eyes glint with mischief and ulterior motives as he pries your legs apart, keeping them spread for him as his fingers toy with your soaked, flushed folds. “So good for me, Mamma. I just want to make you feel good.”

You shut your eyes, wishing this would end but it doesn’t seem like the torment ever does for you anymore. The minute you feel his lips kiss up either of your thighs and it’s over. He takes and takes and takes; it doesn’t matter.

You just need to hold on. Just for a little longer.

Just hold on for a little longer.

In the following few days, Geto tries to be a little more considerate of your needs. You know it’s not going to last long like all of the other times he let his desires take over, but you still are going to take advantage of the time he allows you to breathe. You’re found in the common room with the twins as they engage in a handful of classic board games. It’s a rainy day and they find they’ve grown tired of video games and want to give themselves a little detox from electronics (apart from some special condition for Nanako, which you’re a little confused about). Geto is more than happy to entertain this and watches with fondness in his eyes as Nanako bests Mimiko in another Chess match.

You are seated on the couch next to him, observing the sight yourself. You don’t have much to do in these situations—you have tired the magazines stacked under the low coffee table, and you haven’t the attention span to try out one of Geto’s long-spanning epic fantasy series. You’re running out of things that might stimulate your mind for the better, and you don’t like the sound of it. There’s only so much you can do in a situation where much of your agency has been taken away from you.

You have come to realize the longer you’re here the more time no longer matters. All that matters is just trying to find that opening, which you already have some semblance of when Suda dropped that bomb on you the other day. You just have to find another opening.

Geto calls your name and you’re ripped out of your thoughts. Somewhere you’d rather be than in the present moment.

“Mimiko was asking if you wanted to play a round of Chess with her,” he tells you, “You look a little bored.”

Yeah. Painfully, you think to yourself. It does kind of get old being your sex doll when it’s just us and then some weird nanny for your girls.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be a challenging opponent, but sure,” you reply as you take a seat by Nanako, who peers at you with a gleeful smile on her face.

“I can always sneak ya a few hints,” she giggles, “Mimiko kind of sucks at Chess anyway…”

“Nanako, that’s rude,” Mimiko chides, her face etching an expression of irritation that oddly mirrors Geto’s. Guess they do pick up a bit after their adoptive father…

“Sorryyyyy but you know I’m right!” Nanako quips while clapping excitedly. Mimiko rolls her eyes as she resets the Chess board for a new game. You can’t help the little smile on your lips while watching the interaction.

Oh, they’re definitely sisters.

Geto has no problem watching over the three of you as you entertain them with a few rounds of Chess. The first time you play against Mimiko, you lose, more on purpose because you realize you remember how to play the game better than you thought. Then you alternate, going up against Nanako, who beats you fair and square. She is a natural at this game, for sure. Rinse, lather, repeat. You win some rounds (mostly against Mimiko). You lose a lot of rounds.

Getting back into classic board games does help alleviate the boredom a little. Afterward, Nanako and Mimiko switch to Jenga, a game you haven’t touched since your own childhood. It brings so many memories flooding back to you and suddenly you wonder why all of your dreams have been taken from you. As much as these girls deserve a functioning family, you want a functioning family of your own, not manufactured like this. Not when you have been taken away against your will. You try to silence these thoughts threatening to bubble forth, focusing on building the tower and not letting it topple over.

You shouldn’t let yourself topple over with your own raging thoughts, either.

“Mom?” Mimiko addresses you with a concerned look on her face.

You freeze. She…she really calls you that now, doesn’t she? How long has it been since you have been here now? You have lost track of time. After all, time here doesn’t matter for you. Not when you have gone through the same routine again and again and again. It’s madness.

“Yes, love?” you ask, trying to sound as motherly as you can because you can feel Geto’s cold stare searing into the back of your skull. You don’t want to anger him, and you don’t want to make them feel like they’re wrong in addressing you that way. It does feel wrong, to you, but that doesn’t matter. They don’t deserve to be in the middle of this.

“Are you happy with us?”

Your jaw drops for a moment but you close it immediately.

“What has you thinking about that?”

“We’re just wondering,” Nanako pipes in while nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been with us for over a year now! Crazy, right? So… does this mean you’re really going to stay with us? That you like Mr. Geto?”

“Do you like being here with us?” Mimiko adds onto the myriad of questions Nanako is bombarding you with and you don’t know how else to respond.

“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” you lie with a smile. “I’m so happy to call you girls my daughters.”

“We love you, Mom,” Nanako says, pulling you in for a hug. Mimiko follows after.

“We love you,” Mimiko parrots.

“I love you both too.”

It’s another lie.

But one that won’t get you killed in the end.

The next time Satoru visits, they don’t go all that easy on you. As if they ever do regardless of what promises they spew out of their assholes for mouths.

Satoru’s handsy as usual, roughing up your breasts and biting everywhere on the sensitive skin and laughing every time you yelp or shriek from the sharpness of each bite. Geto wastes no time entering your pussy while Gojo explores every inch of your body, licking and kissing every area of exposed skin. Geto makes you come three timed before pulling himself out and disposing of that last condom while Gojo adjusts you, leading you to sit on his lap. You don’t even bother to try to wriggle or squirm because you’re no match for two grown men. Two grown men who possess abilities beyond your own comprehension. If you dare try, they may not hesitate to be meaner. Crueler.

“Ooooh, Princess, my pretty baby,” Tweedledum purrs into your ear. “You’re being so good today.”

Tweedledee behind you just hums as he approaches the two of you, vibrator in hand. “She knows we only want to take care of her, Satoru. She understands.”

This time, they still don’t insert both their dicks at once like they have entertained before, even teased and terrified you with before, but Satoru manages to squeeze a dildo alongside his cock while taking you in the ass and Geto rests a vibrator on your pussy at a moderate setting. It’s all to get you stretched out and perfect and ready to take them both in that damn hole or even in your pussy. Someday sometime soon but likely not today. They can’t stop thinking about it.

Even if Geto recognized your hesitation at first, he eventually caves to his own desires like he always does.

You cling onto Gojo’s shoulders, biting down hard on your lip because the stretch feels so wide with that mild burn yet it somehow doesn’t compare to the stretch you feel from Geto’s size by itself.

“Satoru,” you squawk like a bird and he just laughs, hand coming down to smack your ass before fondling one of those fatty cheeks of yours and making you whine again.

Geto pumps the dildo inside of you and Gojo pumps his cock in tandem. The vibrator on your pussy grinds against your clit and folds and you’re not sure you can take much more.

“Fuck, Suguru, she’s so tight,” he growls, low and guttural as he kisses into your neck, increasing his erratic pace and waiting for you to come so hard on his cock that your pussy splatters everywhere. His eyes roll back as he reclines his head onto the back of the couch; his grip around you tightens. Geto hasn’t stopped with his dextrous hands working both your dripping cunt and ass. Your juices splatter onto the ground and leave behind a large puddle beneath you. Geto slides the vibrator close to your entrance and you shout, your ass walls clenching around Gojo’s cock and the large pink dildo pumping inside you. It hurts, fuck it hurts, your head is spinning.

It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s too much. And they don’t care!

“You’re being so good for us, little dove,” Suguru purrs in approval. “Not making a fuss, letting us take care of you, because you know we’re only doing this so you can handle us, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you wheeze out, “I-I want to be good for you, Suguru…”

“Good,” he says as he switches off the vibrator. You’re relieved at first until he lines the tip of his protected cock to your entrance. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Then you’re ready for us both now.”

He chuckles darkly as he slips the head into your entrance, and you hide your face into Satoru’s chest, panting heavily. Geto has enough of a conscience to remove the dildo moving alongside Gojo’s still fully rigid, stiff cock as he fucks into your ass again.

Geto kisses into your shoulder and moans.

“You’re taking me better and better each time,” he drawls, taking his thumb to draw circles around your stiff clit as he keeps a gentler pace than Satoru does when entering you. While he still doesn’t shy away from taking what he wants, he still finds it in him to be a little kinder. Just a little. If you can call any of this kind.

“Satoru,” he calls, bringing the dildo that was just in your ass to Satoru’s lips. He opens up willingly, allowing Geto to fuck it into his mouth and get remnants of your taste off of that piece of silicone. Your heart twists in disgust from the act. You shouldn’t even be surprised anymore but they do everything to get each other off with you.

Gojo slobbers over that dildo like he probably does over Geto’s cock whenever it’s just them. Some of it even splatters onto your shoulder and Geto is ‘considerate’ enough to swipe it off with his thumb. When it’s the three of you, it seems more like a competitive game between them—see who can make you come more times, see who can make you come faster, see who can make you beg or scream or cry for mercy, etc. They’re not as interested in getting all over each other (though they still do, doting on each other to the point it makes your whole body shudder, riling each other up in any way they can).

The two come practically in unison but they don’t stop until you find yourself coming two, three more times.

But apparently, the torture is not ending there today after they slip their spent cocks out of you.

“Those nipple clamps last time sure were fun,” Gojo suggests while smacking his lips at the thought. “Your nipples were so hard. So perky and perfect. Just like the rest of you.”

As if to rub salt in the wound, Gojo traces his finger around one of your nipples before pinching it, making your breath hitch. You’re too tired to try to fight them off; it’s not like you ever win anyway.

“Satoru, what did I say about picking on her?” Geto scolds but his tone sounds more amused than ever angry. But you know later those fits of jealousy or rage come out at the most random of moments, and though you have known better than to try to initiate anything with Gojo again, Geto can easily twist any situation in his favor if it means he can justify his punishments. However he chooses to exact them on you.

But he never really hurts you. Not really, no.

Geto always just finds a way to repurpose his cruelty.

Gojo huddles you close to him, flashing yhou that irritating grin of his you wish you could rip straight off his face but you can’t fight two grown men. You’re helpless in these settings. And you’re so tired of being helpless.

But that doesn’t mean you still can’t find other ways to bend and shape this all to your advantage, however small.

“Suguru,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. “Need you.”

Satoru quirks an eyebrow at that. “What’s the matter, Princess? You tired of me?”

He can’t help but snuggle you closer into his bare chest and you drag out an impressed sigh. This is your chance; this is the only way you can get under their skin at all because you just have to remember their one fatal flaw.

“Satoru,” you murmur, “I thought you were nice. Suguru can be so much nicer than you.”

Satoru’s eyes flash at that and he almost looks pained by your rejection. “What? But baby…”

“You heard her, Satoru, so respect her wishes,” Suguru interjects with an icy stare as he scoops you up into his arms instead, casting a genuine smile at you, like he’s pleased with your submission. “She knows who best takes care of her. Don’t you think?”

You wish you could smirk yourself. No way are you ever going to truly submit to either of these pieces of shit.

Gojo scowls at his lover, before flashing a worried look at you. For some reason, he’s not buying this sudden shift, the sudden shift in preferences, but if he had half a working brain cell he’d understand that you favored neither.

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe Suguru’s actually been treating you better than I have, Princess,” he pouts while crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t we have something special, too?”

“Of course you both do,” Suguru interrupts again, then coos at you while you tuck your head into his shoulder with a faux look of love in your eyes. “But you remember the initial arrangement. She belongs to me, first and foremost, Satoru. All you are is part of the package.”

Gojo huffs at that. “Ugh, fine, you’re right about that, but come on, Princess, don’t you like me more?”

“I like you both just fine,” you mumble, “But right now Suguru’s being nice. You have been kind of mean lately Satoru.”

Suguru’s smile widens at that, nuzzling his face into yours before his lips smack against your cheek, and it’s an unsettling sight, indeed. You almost wonder if what you might encounter following this might be worse than if he decides to punish you for appearing to favor Satoru over him. The tension between the three of you builds with each passing second and you wonder if you should attempt to diffuse the situation but you have already dug your hole. You might as well keep digging until you find what you’re looking for.

Gojo lets out another petulant sound like the manchild he’s proven himself to be, far more so than Geto.

“I’m sorry about that, Princess. I’ll…I’ll work on it,” he replies, his lips still curled into that pathetic little pout as if he thinks that might do something for you.

However, it seems to for Geto, and that’s enough for you. Geto reaches over to Satoru and sympathetically pats him on the cheek.

“You promise to be a good boy next time you come back, Satoru, and she’ll warm up to you again,” he chucklse as he adjusts you in his arms. “You should probably head back now. Don’t you have to be in the countryside for your next mission?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, standing up and grabbing his clothes. He presses a kiss to the corner of Geto’s mouth. “Stop fucking hogging her.”

“I’m doing absolutely no such thing,” Geto counters with his lips quirking into a smirk.

Gojo only shakes his head as he disappears to clean himself up before leaving for that day. Geto mentions something in pasing about that mission likely lasting longer than usual, but you don’t really listen, shutting your eyes as Geto escorts you back to the main area of the temple.

[separatist-apologist]

The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: Sending my love.

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter・Masterlist

Chapter 7/9: The Sunshine Of My Lifetime

Rhys couldn’t get the taste of Feyre out of his mouth. 

He’d tried, scrubbing his teeth twice and rinsing his mouth with something minty first, before chugging a cup of wine. Still, the sweetness of her lingered, making each step toward the sixth court miserable. Rhys wanted to return to Dawn and stay for the rest of his life, ideally.

But Feyre had been the one to insist they leave, Cassian trailing just behind her. Rhys liked Cassian, trading barbs and jokes for the better part of the morning. And his presence kept Rhys from grilling Feyre about their shared kiss.

Had she done it on purpose?

Had she enjoyed herself? 

Did she want to kiss him again?

Predictably, Feyre betrayed nothing, her face placid, blue eyes focused on the path before them. Thesan had taken them directly to the border with a casual remark about the tunnels between Dawn, Day, and Night closed for obvious reasons. Feyre had nodded sagely, but Rhys had no fucking idea what that mean. Closed for what obvious reason? 

Cassian walked between the pair of them, talking about anything and everything while Feyre stared into the distance. The air had become warmer and more humid with each step they took toward the Day Court palace. They should have asked Thesan to winnow them straight to the door.

Did there need to be so many rocky hillsides? Did the sun need to be so unrelenting? The sky so cloudless? 

“Tell me about Day Court,” Rhys said, trying to distract himself from how sweaty he was, and more so with how sweaty Feyre was. Tendrils of golden brown hair curled around her face while little beads of sweat slid down her neck, tracing a path he’d like to follow with his tongue. 

“You mean Prythian’s best court?” Cassian asked, earning a dark look from Feyre. “Day Court is home of countless scholars and even more libraries. All the knowledge of our people is housed here. It was the first court to be subdued in the ah…curse. The rest fell like dominoes.” “What can I expect?” Rhys heard himself asking, eyes darting from the unending hillsides stretched before him and Feyre half hidden by Cassian’s bulk. 

Cassian only shrugged, wings pulled tight. “I guess we’ll find out together.”

“Are you going to be helping?” Feyre snapped, wiping her brow on the back of her hand.

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you two humans,” Cassian replied with a grin. “I just need to speak with the prince.”

“The one who owes you money?”

“Lucien,” Cassian agreed, far more forthcoming than Feyre had ever been. “I haven’t seen him since the curse. I never thought I’d miss the bastard.”

“We just need to get in and get out,” Feyre said in that straightforward way of hers. 

“Eager to see the Lord of Night?” Cassian questioned. “You’re on your own for that fight.”

“Tell me about him,” Rhys said quickly, earning an exasperated sigh from Feyre.

“He can’t—he’s bound by the magic of the curse,” she said as Cassian opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. “They aren’t supposed to help us.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tag along, see you get to the final trial in one piece,” Cassian said. It was more than that, though. Cassian had a mate riding on the outcome of things, and Rhys didn’t think he’d leave until she was either freed, or they were all dead. He couldn’t help, but that didn’t mean he had to stand idly by, either. 

He almost asked Cassian to just fly them there. Surely, with all those muscles, he could handle it. “There it is,” Feyre murmured, pointing at a blinding light in the distance. The palace, Rhys realized, with spires that seemed to touch the sun itself. The golden dome reflected the sunlight back at them, causing him to shield his eyes with his hands the closer they got.

Unlike the other courts, the Day Court palace was situated atop a winding hilltop they were forced to climb, overlooking what must have once been a bustling city. Where had everyone gone? Had they fled? He wanted to open the doors of the empty homes and try and make sense of it. 

Feyre trailed ahead, her back to Rhys. It was a nightmare—he couldn’t focus on anything but the sway of her hips and the way her braid moved back and forth from her shoulder to her spine. Cassain hung back, his expression wary, nostrils flared. 

“I’ll leave you here,” he murmured, not getting close to the entrance of the palace. 

“What about the prince?”

“I’ll talk to him when this is all resolved,” Cassian said, wings flaring. Rhys started to ask what he knew, but Feyre had vanished within the palace and Rhys felt compelled to follow her. The air smelled salty both inside and outside the expansive, marble palace. Was it beautiful? Perhaps the most beautiful place he’d ever seen?

The temperature dropped considerably once they were out of the sun, offering immediate relief. He could have used some water, but all things considered, Rhys was feeling a lot better than he had a few moments earlier. He jogged after Feyre, who was all but sprinting through the palace. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, reaching out for her arm. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“Rhys,” she breathed, and was it his imagination or were her cheeks flushed? Eyes dark? Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. “We need to just…do this.”

“We do?” he gaped, mouth falling open.

Feyre exhaled, her breath sweet against his face. When had he gotten so close. “The trial. We need…Rhys…”

“Just one kiss,” he murmured, sliding his palm over her cheek. He was so close—his lips all but touching hers, when the sound of shoes on marble began to echo around them.

All of Prythian was conspiring against him, he thought as Feyre skittered back, hands balled to fists at her sides. With her back pressed to the wall, Feyre turned to the hall where the obvious High Lord approached. Rhys would have known him even without the obnoxious golden crown set atop his onyx hair.

“The human who has come to save my home,” he said, offering an outstretched hand to Rhys. He ignored Feyre entirely as if he didn’t see her, and though Rhys bristled that he was getting all the credit, he accepted the warm hand all the same. “Welcome to Rhodes.”

Rhys offered what he hoped was a charming smile, trying to match the man—male—before him. 

“Helion Spell-Cleaver,” Feyre said smoothly, unbothered in a way Rhys could only ever hope to achieve. “I thought you were locked up.”

“Life finds a way,” he replied, not bothering to explain himself to either of them. “Where’s Cassian?”

“How do you know Cassian is here?”

Helion rolled golden eyes, turning to look wholly at Feyre. Rhys didn’t like the look on the fae males face—that unguarded lust, that open hunger. It didn’t help that Helion was, by far, the most beautiful man—male—they’d encountered thus far. It didn’t help that he wore a white piece of material wrapped around his waist and secured with a heavy, circular piece of gold shaped like the sun, an arm cuff, and some wrist braces and absolutely nothing else. 

He might as well have been naked—Rhys could all but see the curve of his ass beneath the cloth.

“I can scent him,” Helion replied. 

“You know why he didn’t come in.”

Helion sighed. “This may be my last opportunity. Ah, well. You’re here…where did you start?”

Feyre’s eyes flickered to Rhys before she looked back at Helion. “Spring.”

“Is my court all that’s left?”

“And night,” she murmured, her voice taking on a softer quality. “But the others are liberated.”

There was a question lingering that the male didn’t dare ask, though his expression seemed to burn with it. He merely shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter, glancing at Rhys again. “It won’t be as easy to liberate my home.”

“Respectfully, we killed a dragon,” Rhys snapped, his temper getting the better of him. Helion was walking around, wasn’t he? How bad could it be? He just wanted to get things over with so he could corner Feyre somewhere and demand she talk to him about what had happened earlier. 

We kissed! 

Feyre glanced away, eyes lingering on the floor beneath them. 

“Drinking the wine makes it worse,” Helion told her before gesturing for them both to follow. “The task itself is simple. Walk through the throne room and destroy the burning incense.” Rhys’ steps faltered. “That’s it?”

Surely there was more to it. Helion threw Rhys a smile that irritated him and nodded. “That’s it.”

“Why haven’t you done it, then?”

“Rhys,” Feyre hissed, clearly frustrated. Helion only chuckled, pulling open the double doors to his throne room. The smell was cloyingly sweet and strangely salty, choking Rhys’s lungs as he blinked away tears. Coughing, Rhys waved at the fog in front of his face. Was it poison, then? Something the fae could withstand but would kill himself and Feyre? 

He turned around to step back in the hall, but the doors had swung shut behind him. Helion was sauntering toward the large, golden throne situated upon an elevated dais. The floor itself was littered with pillows and bodies…all of which were naked. Were they dead?

No, he realized as hands began gliding up torsos. It was…it was…

“Is this an orgy?” Rhys whispered, eyes massive.

“We just…we walk across…the room,” Feyre reminded him, her eyes strangely unfocused. Rhys couldn’t stop staring at her. She’d put on clean clothes made of fine, Dawn Court material—the flowing white pants hugged her hips and the pale pink top shifted and rustled with each breath, revealing little bits of her tanned torso. The little wisps of hair framed her beautiful face and when she looked up at him, Rhys was struck by just how much smaller than him she was.

How they might fit together. 

“Feyre,” he murmured, walking toward her. They had a moment. It was strange how easy it was to forget what was happening in that cavernous room. The sunlight pouring through open windows illuminated her form, turning the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose into a glowing constellation of stars. 

Her lips parted, but no words escaped.

“You kissed me,” he reminded her, reaching for her face. Her skin was soft beneath his palm, and he could resist running his thumb over her plush lips. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Neither can I,” she admitted, sliding her fingers over his wrist to hold his hand in place. “But Rhys—”

“Let me just…” he lowered his face, waiting for the resistance to come. Feyre only tilted her chin toward him, her grip tightening. 

“Just one,” she whispered. 

“Just one,” he swore. There would be others when they finished their embarrassingly simple task. He’d kiss her for luck, they’d destroy the incense, and then he’d ask for a private room and see what he could get away with. 

It was better than the first one. Perhaps because it lacked urgency, or simply because he knew she was seeing him. Really seeing him, touching him, offering herself to him. Rhys couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, teeth scraping her bottom lip. Feyre pressed closer, hand leaving his wrist to grip his shoulders. He was barely conscious of himself, especially when she sighed against his lips, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt.

Rhys hadn’t realized he’d hauled her up into the air until her legs wrapped around his waist, causing her body to rub against his erection. Fuck. In the list of things he hadn’t noticed, his rapidly hardening cock was one of them. The other was the room they were in slowly coming to life. The once lethargic bodies began to rouse themselves, touching and tasting without concern for who might be watching.

Rhys could relate to that. He was only peripherally aware of his surroundings, especially when Feyre’s tongue slid into his mouth. Mother above, but Rhys lost all sense of self at that moment. She tasted better than he’d dreamt, hazy and sweet in a dizzying concoction. Rhys needed…he needed more. He was desperate, quenching his thirst for the first time in his life. 

She tugged at his hair, pulling his head back so she could all but devour him. Rhy’s knees shook, though he remained standing only through the grace of the gods above them.

“Walk, Rhys,” she pleaded, her voice breathless with arousal. That’s what she said. What he heard her say, however, was a different matter entirely. 

Fuck me until I forget my name, Rhys. 

He took a step, stopping when her thighs clenched around his middle. How was he supposed to do anything? All he could think about was the sweet taste of pear and lilac invading his senses and how her breasts kept rubbing against his chest. 

“Not like this,” he whispered, well aware that he’d take her however she offered herself. Even here, in this place, surrounded by strangers that both watched and touched and tasted within inches of themselves. 

“Stop talking,” Feyre replied, teeth grazing his bottom lip. Who was he to argue with her? After everything they’d been through and everything they’d seen, didn’t they deserve a chance to relax? To enjoy themselves after what felt like months of non-stop fighting and walking and faerie politics. He wasn’t convinced they’d survive, and worse still, was his fear that when it was over, she’d want nothing to do with him again.

He’d see her in the village, pass by without any recognition in her eyes. She’d find some other man, one who suited her better, and Rhys would spend the rest of his life like his father—mourning a woman he’d lost and punishing everyone around him for his misery. 

His arm was wrapped around her waist, free hand gripping her hair tight enough he could feel the tension on her scalp. She couldn’t leave him. He simply wouldn’t allow it. 

Their mouths collided in a symphony of pent-up need. Rhys groaned at the taste of her, sweet and heady just the way he remembered. Feyre was voracious, untethered from whatever restraint typically bound her. Raking her nails through his hair, Feyre gripped him just as tightly as he held her, holding him in place with each rough, frantic kiss. 

They weren’t the only ones, though they were rapidly becoming one of the few left with their clothes on. Rhys was vaguely aware of what was happening around him, just as he was aware that he was still dressed even when he didn’t want to be.

Feyre, either, it seemed, given that she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head without a second thought. Rhys stared, momentarily blinded by her undergarments which she quickly removed as well. Feyre was there, in his arms, without a shirt. Rhys didn’t know how to act—sure, he’d seen other women without their clothes on.

He’d never seen this woman without a shirt, though. And right then, he may as well have never seen a pair of breasts in his life. They were perfect, deserving of poetry sonnets, of portraits hung in the palaces of kings, of the sort of worship he would never master. That didn’t stop him from walking six steps to the left toward an elevated platform where the High Lords throne sat. Helion was otherwise occupied by two males and a female perched rather neatly atop his face. 

Rhys was jealous of the scene—he wanted Feyre on his face, too. He’d take whatever he could get, and right then what he’d managed was setting her atop the purple cushioned seat so he could fall to his knees before her as nothing more than her eager supplicant. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered, chest flushed as it rose and fell rapidly. Feyre’s eyes, usually a pretty, starlit blue, were so dark they seemed black to him. 

“What I should have done the day I met you,” he replied, well aware he had no authority to make her a princess anywhere but in his own life. Maybe that was enough? Worshiping only at her altar,  restructuring his worldview so she was the most central star illuminating his otherwise dreary world.

It was a simple thing to unlace her boots and toss them behind him. Running his hands up her thighs, Rhys swore he felt heat emanating from just between. Maybe it was wishful thinking–he wouldn’t know until he got his hands and face between them. He hated those well-made pants, hated the way she knotted the laces at the waistband and how clumsy his large fingers felt trying to undo the knot. Feyre merely watched, tugging at her braided hair as if she were nervous. 

He managed to undo the laces, relieved when she lifted her hips to help him shimmy her out of them. There she was, wholly naked, perched atop that throne with flushed cheeks and bitten lips. He didn’t know what to do, suddenly, his mind clouded by desire and indecision. What if she didn’t like whatever he did? What if she woke in the morning and changed her mind?

What if you overthink this and never get another change?

Rhys leaned up on his aching knees, ignoring his own discomfort to kiss her again.

And again.

And again. 

He forgot he was wedged between her legs, so caught up in the taste of her mouth and how good her tongue felt stroking his own. He needed nothing more, he thought. Rhys’ mind couldn’t stay focused on his long term goals. Kissing her felt good and that was all that mattered. He had time, besides. They didn’t need to go anywhere else. There was no rush to the act, no great hurry. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt that wasn’t quite true. 

He’d worry about it later. How often was the woman of his dreams splayed out naked before him? Rhys pulled away, breathless and desperate. Ignoring his aching cock rubbing against his own trousers, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. His indecision left him the moment his fingers grazed her exposed navel, tracing a few errant freckles dotted along her ribcage. 

His hands found her breasts, teasing the peaked nipple with the rough padding of his thumbs. Feyre arched her neck upward, eyes fluttering shut. She liked that. Rhys felt the way a dog must when praised by its master—all he wanted was to please her. It felt instinctual, like his purpose and reasoning for being. Rhys dared to lower his mouth, taking that same nipple into his mouth. Feyre cried out softly, a mere whisper of pleasure that ignited an inferno within him. He forgot himself, trying to elicit that sound again. While his tongue worked, making promises he fully intended to keep, his fingers began to push apart her legs. 

It was curiosity, truly, that made him want to touch her. He wanted to know if she was half as aroused as he was—if she felt the same way. Feyre was so guarded, so careful with her emotions and Rhys never quite knew where he stood with her. Her body wouldn’t lie, though—if she was aroused, he’d know.

Gliding his fingers through her cunt, he found a mess. He could have wept at how wet she was, how easily he slid right into her. Rhys wanted to abandon all logic, replace his fingers, and fuck her until the two of them passed out in a heap of sweaty limbs. 

Maybe just a taste, he reasoned to himself. That was all he needed. It was a pretty lie bouncing around his skull, and the realization he’d lied to himself, however trivial, pulled him back to reality for just a moment.

The throne room had devolved into a mass of writhing bodies performing every sexual act imaginable. Twisting to look behind him, Rhys’ mouth fell open at the sight of all those entangled limbs. Never in his life had he seen anything like what was happening before him, the pure bacchanalian display momentarily stunning him.

He was supposed to be ending this—he remembered, now. The incense was still burning, still close enough that he could simply rise back to his feet and extinguish it. It would be so easy, too—but Rhys lacked the willpower. His mistake was looking back at Feyre, legs draped over each arm of the throne, displaying the prettiest cunt he’d ever seen.

Was he supposed to tell her no? Rhys would rather be trapped by the curse forever than have her think he was rejecting her. It wasn’t going anywhere, he repeated to himself as he trailed his tongue down the flat plain of her stomach. He’d already forgotten what it was—but he trusted he’d remember later—when it mattered. 

All that mattered to him then was the woman in front of him. Something was happening to him—something that had never happened before. Warmth flooded down to his very marrow, his chest tight as he struggled to draw breath. He glanced up at Feyre and her midnight dark eyes and wondered if she knew what this feeling was.

He could guess, but if he sat back to untangle it, he’d ruin everything. She didn’t want to hear it—Rhys knew her well enough to know the unspoken truth between them, that there was only so much Feyre could handle at any given time. There, vulnerable and naked, eyes pleading with him to finish what they’d begun, Rhys didn’t dare say a word.

He merely pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, the realization clanging like a bell in his head.

I’m in love with you.

Two courts, he reminded himself, kissing the other leg while holding her gaze. They’d figure out how to undo the curse in Day, and move on to Night, and then…and then they’d be free. Forever changed by what they’d seen and lived through, bonded and connected just as surely as any chain between them, only this one seemed to be wrapped around his heart rather than his wrist. He needed her, and he didn’t believe she didn’t need him, even if she thought she could rely only on herself.

She’d gone to the ends of the earth for her sisters, had risked life and liberty to see them unshackled from whatever spell housed them. Rhys simply meant to be that for her. He’d make the same journey to save her, would give up everything for her if she asked. Already, on his knees before her, his queen, his goddess, his northernmost star, Rhys would have done anything she asked of him.

And more.

He was close to reciting poetry, which seemed a shame given Rhys didn’t know any poetry. He’d studied it, once, but he’d been too busy screwing around with his friends and his sword to commit any of it to memory. What a waste, he thought, gaze slipping to the wet, pink cunt before him. Feyre’s body deserved at least a ballad at the very least. A sonnet or two about her perfect form. Surely someone must have.

He’d kill them.

Feyre raked her fingers through his hair, pushing at his face gently, though he wished she’d be rough. Tell him what to do—that was her way, after all. It seemed uncharacteristic of her to leave the decision in his hands when Rhys had come to enjoy being bossed around by a woman not half his weight or height. Rhys smothered a smile and finished what Feyre had started.

It was magic moving them, and magic that made her taste like some sort of elixir that granted immortality. Rhys couldn’t stifle the moan that rose up threw his throat and seemed to echo louder than the music around them. Fuck. Was it just anticipation, or something else? He didn’t know—didn’t care. His tongue found her again, licking slowly up the length of her and back down. Feyre’s hair was falling from his clasp, longer than he remembered as the long, golden brown strands framed her flushed face. She seemed otherworldly to him, shimmering with the same need that he felt bubbling in his blood.

Rhys forgot how his knees were aching, the cold marble seeping through his trousers to lodge itself against his spine. For all he knew, they were floating in some ethereal plane, the only two people left in the world. This was what he’d been born to do, and it would take the very gods themselves to pull him off her.

Or Feyre herself.

She surged forward, pushing him back without any care or concern for his comfort. Rhys grinned, landing flat on his back not far from a writhing group of women moaning and touching in a display that ought to have fascinated him. Feyre, however, climbed atop him, straddling his waist with a sly smile on his face.

“You look tired,” she all but purred, pulling at his shirt. He was quick to help her, tossing it somewhere in the room before both her fingers and his went scrambling for the clasps on his trousers. It was erotic to watch her undo them, even as he gracelessly kicked himself out of his boots. She peered down at him, running her hand over his stomach with that same smile that made him feel out of his mind with lust.

“I wasn’t done,” he complained, afraid she was going to try and repay the favor. “I need you to come on my tongue.”

Feyre blinked, digesting his words before color stole over her chest and up her neck. Was this what embarrassed her? Absurd. Rhys reached for her before she could squirm away and with relatively little effort, positioned her over his face. Finally, a warrior's death, he thought to himself. With both arms wrapped around her to keep her from pulling away, Rhys went back to the feasting from before. She was dripping wet, making a mess of his face, and Rhys had never been happier.

He’d just assumed she’d ride his face—that was what he wanted, anyway. Her hips rolled over him as she sighed breathlessly just before she shifted. Rhys held tightener before his back arched off the cool, marble floor, just in time to realize Feyre was only readjusting so she could take his cock in her mouth.

Fuck.

 The memory of his task slipped back to the forefront of his mind at the same time her soft tongue slid down the length of him. Who cared anymore? Rhys didn’t hate the fae like he once had, but right then, he didn’t care if they suffered under the same subjugation he’d promised to unravel. All he cared about was Feyre spread out over his face while she sucked him. Nothing else was important—nothing else mattered. 

Rhys had time, for once, to do everything he wanted. It was tempting to lap at her frantically, to draw her upward just to prove he could, to know what she sounded like when she came. He had to force himself to slow down, to temper his excitement with the reminder that he had time. They had nowhere to be and nothing important to do. 

That lasted for all of ten seconds. Feyre gagged as she tried to take more than half of him, the sound shooting straight to his balls. Forced to clench his cheeks to keep from coming prematurely, and desperate from excitement, Rhys redoubled his efforts over her cunt, tongue swirling and teasing her clit until Feyre’s rhythm faltered. Bolstered by his success and drunk off the knowledge she wanted him, Rhys continued licking and sucking at her clit until Feyre screamed. Her legs clamped around his head, keeping him in place while preventing him from taking a full breath of air. Rhys simply rode it out while taking her through her orgasm without stopping.

Feyre fell forward, cheek pressed to his thigh. “It’s not enough,” she moaned, echoing his own thoughts. Scrambling off him, Feyre tugged at his arm to pull him to his feet. He did as she demanded, wishing for some of his usual eloquence. He wanted to tell her he felt the same way, that his blood was thudding painfully in his chest.

“It’s magic,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Rhys’s heart sank, his mind once again returning to the task at hand. She was looking at him, but he turned to look at the bowl of incense. He didn’t want to destroy it—was it so bad to be trapped here like this? Together? 

It wasn’t real. Rhys found his pants laying in a heap and grabbed them as she tried to reach for his arm and pull him back. 

It’s magic, it’s magic, it’s magic.

Not like this.

It was agony to leave here standing there, to feel her eyes burning against his back. Worse to pull those trousers over his raging erection while his blood thrummed, beating in time with her own heart. Rhys knew how he felt—the spell merely enhanced what was already there. Did she feel it? Or was she merely trapped? The thought ate at him, ravaging him until his heart felt like a ruined wasteland. 

It was easy to get to the bowl of incense, and easier still to raise it over his head before throwing it to the ground. The little flame extinguished as the pottery shattered irrevocably, spilling sweetly scented oil all over his bare feet. The moaning and sounds of copulating slowed to halt as the music came to a grinding halt.

Rhys turned to find those once writhing masses slowly untangling themselves, blinking as though waking from a dream. Feyre was scrambling for something—his shirt, he realized, which engulfed her in the stained white fabric. She wasn’t looking at him, though her cheeks still bore the tell-tale flush.

No, Feyre was looking at a very naked Helion. “Lucien,” she said, the only person who spoke at that moment.

“Go,” Helion ordered and just like that, Feyre raced out of the room, leaving Rhys standing there feeling like a fool. She had his shirt, so Rhys couldn’t fully dress though it was better than Helion who didn’t seem to care at all. Rhys supposed if he looked as good as Helion did without clothes on, he’d strut around, too. 

“Fifty years,” Helion said as Rhys joined him, Feyre’s clothes and their shoes all heaped in his arms. “I’ll need about that long to recover.”

“At least it wasn’t a dragon,” Rhys heard himself saying, barely aware of the conversation at all. He could still taste Feyre in his throat, could still feel the weight of her on his body. He would have liked those fifty years—nobility was for those with a moral sense of righteousness.

He simply didn’t want her to hate him. 

Helion put a hand on Rhys’ bare shoulder, golden eyes filled with nothing but a mixture of relief and sadness. “I owe you everything. Tell me how I can repay you.”

“A room?” Rhys asked, at a loss for what this man could give him. All he wanted had left the room, another man’s name on her lips. For all he knew, Feyre loved that man, had been thinking only of him while Rhys touched her. Jealousy was an ugly emotion and as Helion walked him through the warm, sprawling palace, all Rhys could think about was Lucien.

Who was he? Why did she care? He remembered Cassian mentioning Lucien, the memory returning in a haze. Lucien was a faerie prince. How did he compete with that? Everyone they’d met had been impossibly beautiful and powerful, and for all he knew, Feyre had been silently trying to free the prince alongside her sisters. 

Feyre was nowhere to be found. Helion promised to tell Feyre where he was when he saw her next, his face unreadable as he took one last look at Rhys before closing the door. Rhys wanted to smash the room to pieces. Petulantly, he wanted to leave Feyre to finish the task on her own. The thought of abandoning her made his chest ache and water prick at the corners of his eyes.

So she loved another man. That didn’t mean he didn’t still love her. He was simply disappointed that she might not want him back—that despite what he’d told himself in that throne room, he had been hoping she returned his feelings.

Rhys took time to bathe, pleased to find clothes laid out on the bed for him. He wasn’t alone, though Cassian was hardly the company he wanted right then. Sprawled out on his bed casually, his leathered armor swapped out for the same loose pants and shirt that Rhys had been given, Cassian seemed as irreverent as usual.

“Want to get a drink?”

“Make it a double,” Rhys said, returning the smile. 

“I know just the place. This whole palace reeks,” Cassian said, wrinkling his nose. It was easy to like Cassian, perhaps because he seemed so very human—minus the wings on his back. His ears were rounded, his eyes a very normal hazel, and his face looked as if it belonged to a regular man rather than an immortal creature capable of ripping him apart with their bare hands. He didn’t doubt Cassian could if he wanted to. The glowing siphons on his person certainly suggested he commanded some sort of magic—Feyre had explained it all to him once, but Rhys didn’t remember.

He didn’t want to think about Feyre at the moment.

Cassian let Rhys dress, pointedly turning his back without leaving the room. “Where’s Fey?” he asked casually.

“With Lucien,” Rhys spat, his hatred irrational.

Cassian chuckled. “I’d say we should rescue her, but maybe she deserves whatever hell he’s currently giving her.”

Rhys bristled. “Why would he give her anything but his gratitude? She just rescued him—”

“You don’t know Lucien, but he can be…difficult…at times,” Cassian replied, running a hand through his shoulder length hair. 

“How do they know each other?”

“I’ll let Feyre tell that story if she wants. Lucien hates humans, and well…Feyre doesn’t, obviously. So their friendship has always been interesting.”

Friendship. “Does she see him often?”

“Too often, I think, given he’s mated to her sister. I’m sure he’s waging war on Elain’s behalf, pissed they’ve been separated for so long.”

The knot that had settled in his stomach seemed to untangle. “Mated?”

“Married,” Cassian amended, tucking his wings tight against his back. “It's a similar principle.”

“Marriage implies choice,” Rhys heard himself saying, a frown stretched over his lips. “What if your mate wants to leave you?”

True anger seemed to shine on Cassian’s face before he banished it with a shake of his head. “You don’t understand. It’s…she’s half my soul. I could no sooner leave her than I could leave my own body.”

“Surely not all matches are happy.” It didn’t seem possible that fate could select people who got along flawlessly and created nothing but incandescently, happy pairs.

“They’re not,” Cassian agreed. “There are plenty of unhappy pairs—you have a choice to accept the bond. Lucien and Elain had a hard time of it—”

“Because he hates humans?” Rhys asked, piecing Feyre’s life together 

Cassian chuckled. “Among other things. Lucien can be a real, arrogant bastard.”

“Feyre doesn’t have a mate?” Rhys asked suddenly, uninterested in the Day Court faerie prince and his love life. He recalled slaying Tamlin and the relationship that had existed between them. Had she dragged him into this to kill a mate she didn’t want?

“I’m sure she does,” Cassian replied as he stared studiously ahead. “Everyone does—even humans.”

Cassian didn’t need to explain to Rhys that if he had a mate, he wasn’t going to feel it the way the fae could. Feyre, too, would never know if he was hers. Would she always wonder given her sister's circumstances? Would it be enough?

Could he be enough? Feyre didn’t seem to hold any love for the culture or people, even if somehow she knew all of them by name. Maybe, once it was all done and she was certain of her sister's safety, she’d want a little peace. He could give her that. Hells, if she wanted he’d live in this land though preferably far from the sprawling palaces of the High Lords. 

Rhys had two drinks with Cassian down in the emptied city—where was everyone? The winged male seemed in high spirits, grinning and laughing as he told story after story about battles Rhys wished he could have seen. He was jealous of Cassian’s long life and the things he’d seen, of the things he’d do before it was all over.

He had to half carry Cassian back to the palace, leaving him in a patch of grass beneath an olive tree. “This is perfect,” Cassian had mumbled, snoring before Rhys had taken more than three steps. Maybe he should have let himself get obliterated, too, but Rhys was hoping to talk to Feyre. He thought he might die if she decided she wanted to pretend nothing had happened between them. 

He just needed to tell her how he felt, he decided. Fumbling for a light switch in the room he’d been given, Rhys decided he’d just tell her he was in love with her. He’d— “Feyre?”

He was drunker than he thought, because surely that wasn’t his Feyre, kneeling on the end of his bed in a nightdress so sheer, she may as well be wearing nothing at all. Her hair was unbound, the ends curling ever so slightly as they hung over her shoulders

Rhys turned to look over his shoulder, back down the dark hall he’d come from. Rubbing his eyes, he turned back to his room, certain he’d be alone.

She was still there, cheeks red, lips pink and swollen. Rhys closed the door softly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, trying to project calm when his insides were turning over. 

“Can you?” she replied, her sultry tone settling at the base of his cock. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d had her mouth on it, though right then his mouth began to replay the way her tongue had felt, how her lips had wrapped themselves around him. His stomach tightened from excitement. Please. 

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Feyre uncurled her legs from beneath her body, bare toes touching the floor as she straightened herself. The little nightdress she wore was a joke—he could have shredded the delicate cloth with his teeth if he so chose to. And gods, did Rhys want to rip it ribbons with his teeth. Feyre was in charge, though, so he remained as still as he could manage while she sauntered forward. His eyes fell to the swing of her hips, visible beneath the cloth. The neckline scooped low enough that he could see the swell of her breasts while the hem just shimmed the uppermost part of her thighs. 

He was dreaming. This wasn’t real. It was a fantasy.

“Neither can I,” she told him, pulling him closer by the laces on his trousers. Rhys had to remind himself to breathe. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered, afraid he might ruin everything with that question. “Are you well?”

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it, too,” she said, deftly pulling the strings until they were unknotted. “That I don’t want you.”

That may have been the most erotic thing that had happened to him all day. Rhys froze as she pushed his pants to his ankles, revealing his already rigid cock. “I didn’t get to finish,” she told him, sliding to her knees before him. Her fingertips skimmed over his thighs, drawing a shiver up his spine. 

“Feyre,” he whispered, unsure what he planned to say. She ignored him, licking his shaft from root to tip while Rhys had to employ every ounce of his will to keep from falling to the ground in a boneless heap. His mind barely worked, though he had enough thought to gather up her hair and pull it off her face. 

Feyre took him into his mouth, eyes pinned to his face. All the air available to him punched out of his lungs, leaving him gaping like a fish. He had to remind himself to take a breath, that passing out in front of her was unlikely to make her want to touch him again. 

“You don’t—” The next slide of her mouth silenced him. She didn’t have to do this, but why was he trying to stop her? He wanted this so badly it made his teeth ache. Rhys wasn’t above begging, either. If she stopped, he thought he might die. He’d take her however he could get, though he was hoping he might manage to take a little more from her.

That he could give her something, too. Rhys wanted to take her out of her clothes, lay her out, and show her what he felt. He didn’t move, drinking her in as he fisted the soft strands of her hair between his trembling fingers. Right then, Rhys would have given anything for faerie powers—if only to tell her, mind to mind, all the things he wanted to do to her.

He groaned instead, spreading his legs wider as she worked him slowly. It was exquisite—better than anything he’d ever felt in his life. If he died right then, he could have died satisfied with his life. He couldn’t pretend Feyre on her knees before him didn’t please him immensely, especially after everything they’d shared together. 

He wondered what she’d make of this if he could go back to when they met and smugly inform her that one day, she’d willingly take his cock in her mouth. Likely nothing pleasant—something that had an arrow pointed directly at his cock. He would have deserved it, too.

Release built along his spine, his arousal and desperation pushing him toward the edge far quicker than he wanted. He needed to draw things out—he needed to be inside her. Feyre moaned around his cock, convincing him she needed the same thing. Rhys reached for her and Ferye sprang up with far more athleticism than Rhys thought he possessed—his knees would never allowed for him to come up so quickly. 

Their mouths collided, frenzied and hungry and oh, it felt good to know she felt the way he did. Rhys was unspooled and undone, desperate and dizzy as he tried to both get that stupid night dress over her head and walk toward the bed. 

He’d once considered himself graceful, though not anymore. They collapsed in a heap of elbows and half-discarded clothes, unwilling to stop what they were doing for even a moment, and thank the gods for that. She was undressing him with clumsy fingers, though somehow managed to get him out of his shirt before he gave up and did what he’d wanted from the start—Rhys ripped the night dress from neck to hem in one solid, fluid move.

Gripping his waist with her thighs, Feyre flipped him to his back, fingernails digging in his bare chest. She was naked again, and oh, Rhys wished he could draw. He wanted to keep an image of her straddling him in his pocket, folded up for his eyes only. Maybe he’d ask when she wasn’t shimming down his body so she could rub her slick cunt against his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word pushed from his gut with the force of a punch. “Feyre, please.”

“Please, what?” she practically purred in response. Gods above and the hells below, she would be the cause of his early demise. 

She just barely had the upper hand. Reaching for her waist, Rhys flipped her to her back so her hair became a halo around her beautiful face. “Please, Feyre, darling,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to the hollow of her neck, “make a mess of my cock.”

She exhaled, her eyes rolling upward which was all the permission Rhys needed. He didn’t wait, sliding himself wholly into her body while she was still catching her breath. Her eyes flew open, lips parting and in a moment of panic, Rhys kissed her. He’d just assumed he wasn’t her first, given how he’d found her and her general lack of concern regarding her nudity.

“Did I—”

“Big,” she managed, tightening herself around him. Pure, masculine pride warmed his gut, propelling him forward for that first, perfect thrust. 

“Tell me you want this. That you want me,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck.

“I want you,” she replied, pulling at his hair so he had to face her. “I want this.”

Gods, he could have come from those words alone. Rhys had to squeeze his ass tight to keep himself from doing so, overwhelmed by the rush of emotion. He wanted to tell her everything—the things and people he loved tended to be taken from him. Or they left him, physically or emotionally. It was easier to be guarded, to place walls around his heart and play the irreverent rake. 

There was risk to vulnerability. To admit to Feyre that he both wanted and needed her. It was on the tip of his tongue, telling her that he loved her, too. Rhys wanted to—he was afraid. So afraid she didn’t feel the same, that this was some fleeting amusement, a passing fancy. Better to just take what he could get for now. If that was all she ever gave him, that was better than nothing at all. Far more preferable than a life without knowing her. A life where they turned back to strangers.

“Come back to me,” Feyre whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. The blue of her eyes centered him, settling his fears. They were here, now, and that was enough. Pumping his hips, Rhys returned to kissing her, albeit messily given he was also trying to find her clit with his clumsy fingers. 

He was hanging by a thread, just barely keeping himself together. Feyre moaned when he found what he was looking for, digging her nails into his shoulder while meeting him thrust for thrust. He could feel her own need, how she convulsed around him as her own kissing became slower, less focused.

“That’s it,” he whispered, picking up the pace. He was going to finish and she wouldn’t and what then? He simply no longer had control of his body—something deep in his gut was unspooling like thread, winding its way through him as it demanded more, more, more. He couldn’t stop himself even if he’d wanted to.

There was no skill to Feyre coming mere moments before he had—only luck. He wasn’t discounting it, grateful all the same as Rhys released himself with a guttural whimper that seemed to ignite the room in blinding starlight. There was none—just the same darkness, the same bed, the same ceiling and floor.

Heart pounding, Rhys was certain things must have changed. He felt changed, and so the rest of the world must be, too. Feyre reached for him, kissing one cheek, and then the other, before her fingers skimmed over his jaw.

“You were perfect,” he told her, catching the way her eyes widened. She blinked, eyes strangely glassy. 

“You’ve always been perfect,” he added, just because he thought maybe she needed to hear someone tell her that. I love you! His mind screamed, though his lips refused to give them voice.

“So are you, Rhys,” she replied, pulling him back toward her. He let her push him to his back, making a mess of his abdomen as she slung her leg over his hips. “And I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

Not ever, he hoped.

[hippolotamus]

When will I see you again? - Eddietommy

My love, my darling. I need you to know that real tears were shed in the making of this snippet. May I present WW2 Staff Sgts Diaz and Kindard (partially under the cut to save your dash):

“When will I see you again?” Eddie asks. The tremble in his voice betrays the stoic persona he needs right now. No matter how much his heart leaps every time he sees Tommy, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re both still owned by the US Army and Uncle Sam. That if anyone knew the nature of their relationship, they’d be dishonorably discharged and run out of town. Assuming they weren’t beaten to death first. 

“Not sure.” Tommy shrugs. Like none of this means a damn thing. “Shit, I don’t even know where I’m headed.”

“No girl waiting for you at home?” It’s meant to be joking, to ease the tension, but it falls flat like Eddie should have known it would.

“You know damn well there’s not,” Tommy murmurs, sending him an icy glare. He quickly schools his features. “But I’m sure they’ll make me find one. Not like a guy can just be a bachelor and live his life.”

And that’s the thing that rips Eddie into a thousand pieces more than having to say goodbye. Knowing that they’ll both have to transition into some sort of domestic life. Pretend they didn’t just endure three years of pure hell fighting off the Axis powers. That they aren’t at least a little fucked from the neck up. Pretend that they never fell in love. 

The first time Tommy kissed him, Eddie froze, unsure whether to kiss him back or run like hell. He knew what he wanted to do. The thing he’d been wanting to do since he first laid eyes on Staff Sgt Kinard of the US Army Air Forces division. So he did. He grabbed Tommy by the shirt and hauled him in for a bruising kiss. Not unlike the one they had shared barely ten minutes before, in the secrecy of an abandoned office. Like they’ll never share again, it seems. 

“Staff Sergeant Diaz!” 

Eddie whips around toward the voice, standing ramrod straight and saluting when he sees it’s a superior officer. “Sir, yes, Sir!”

“Bus is heading out in five. Your ass better be on it if you don’t want to be left in this godforsaken hellhole.”

“Yes, Sir, Master Sergeant!” The officer walks away and Eddie relaxes his body. He swallows hard, forcing himself to look at Tommy. He wants to memorize every goddamn line on his face, like he hasn’t done it dozens of times before in the cover of darkness. “I guess this is it.”

Something passes over Tommy’s face so quickly, there and gone before Eddie can parse what it means. “Yeah, guess it is.” 

Tommy searches the crowd, calling out when he finds who he’s looking for. “Deluca! Over here.”

Jealousy, vicious and green, rears its ugly head and snaps its jaws in the confines of Eddie’s ribcage as Deluca jogs over. 

“What?” Sal snaps. In lieu of an answer, Tommy grabs the cigarette pack from Sal’s jacket pocket. He takes one for himself, lights it and shoves the pack back at Sal. 

“Beat it, Deluca,” Tommy says on an exhale. Eddie can’t pretend he isn’t happy when Sal huffs and storms off. 

He turns to Tommy and raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” Tommy answers. He meets Eddie’s gaze with those bright sky blue eyes that Eddie wants to stay lost in. Tommy’s voice drops low for his next words. If only it were possible to lower their accompanying intensity and heartbreak. “Just needed something to get the taste of you out of my mouth. Can’t very well watch you leave and still have that behind. May as well cut my losses all at once.”

Eddie thinks Tommy could have cut his heart out and it would have hurt less. He starts to tell him so when there’s another bellow from the bus, reminding Eddie that he’s out of time. 

“When you figure out where home is, maybe don’t forget to write?” It’s a desperate plea and a long shot, but Eddie has to try for something. 

“Don’t miss your bus, Diaz.”

There are so many things Eddie could say or do. The only ones he can follow through on are giving Tommy a tight nod before he walks away. 

He purposely finds a window seat where he won’t be able to watch as Tommy fades from view. From his life. Because they both know damn well Tommy’s not gonna write. And Eddie doesn’t trust himself to stay composed if he sees Tommy’s stupidly gorgeous face. From here on out Staff Sergeant Thomas Kinard is just a memory. Has to be. One more piece of this stupid war that Eddie would rather never have to think of again. 

*****

Tommy watches Eddie’s bus pull away. He should have turned around the second Eddie did and gone back to checking his effects. But he didn’t because he’s stupid that way. Because he’s been a sucker for Edmundo Diaz since he kissed Tommy back in that underground club. The one Eddie claimed that he didn’t know why he was there. Tommy did. He knew as soon as Eddie stepped inside, wide-eyed and scared like a newborn fawn. 

He also knew he had to get to him first because he wasn’t going to let just anyone claim then Corporal Diaz. If anyone tried, Tommy couldn’t be held responsible for what happened. Eddie was his, even if neither of them were ready to admit it yet. 

He thinks again of Eddie’s parting words, asking Tommy to write when he figures out where home is. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? The secret he’ll carry to his grave. Because he doesn’t have to figure it out. Home hasn’t been a geographical location in years. Of course he knows exactly what address he’ll go to when he gets dumped back in California, and it sure as shit isn’t home. 

Home is in encoded conversations. It’s in stolen moments and glances. Bits of time they took for themselves because nobody was ever going to give it to them. It’s in hushed whispers about a future that’s never going to come true. In biting truths and scared, too honest confessions. Home just walked out of Tommy’s life and left on a shitty army bus bound for Texas. 

send me an angsty prompt

[mythica0]

Silly messenger

🎂: Epic: The musical

🧁: Hermes

🍫: Poseidon

Summary: After Hermes decided to play a little trick on Poseidon, the god of the seas decides that instead of kicking his ass, he’ll try something a little different.

A/N: this is a sequel to Special Delivery by @amazingmsme ! Read that(and their other amazing fics) first!! Also, I know I’ve said it many times before but I’m saying it again I LOVE HERMES GRAHH. Also, you’ll know why I’m saying this when you get there, but I HC that Hermes likes being tickled and is very open about that. That man does NOT care. Lastly, the last line feels a little dumb but I didn’t know how else to end it so whatever. That all being said, ENJOOOYYYY!

Cw for swearing and some more intense tickles, but that’s it!

Silly messenger

Oh, Hermes was so screwed. He could tell by the mischievous smirk on his uncles face.

Was it worth it? Abso-fucking-lutely. But that doesn’t change the fact that he was still screwed. Royally screwed, even.

Y’see, Hermes was an opportunist(and a trickster) by nature, so when he found out that his pissy, grumpy-pants uncle was ticklish, he just couldn’t help himself!

And now he was about to face consequences.

Poseidon faced the first challenge of trying to get revenge on Hermes. Catching the fucker. He is the good of speed, and therefore ridiculously fast. The exit was blocked, but within the cave Poseidon still had to find a way to get Hermes out of the air and into his mischievous clutches.

“Grr, get your ass down here, feathers!”

“Hahahahaha! And why should I?” Hermes didn’t actually want to get away all that badly. But he wanted to tease his uncle, so he was putting up a fight anyway.

“Because if you do, maybe I’ll go easy on ya.” Poseidon smirked, picking up his trident.

“Yeah, right! I know mercy isn’t exactly your thing, uncle.”

“Well, if you comply, maybe I’ll be swayed otherwise.”

“Hahahahaha! I have absolutely zero belief in that, Poseidon. If you want to get to me, you’ll have to catch me first!”

Poseidon growled. He was expecting that. Didn’t make it any less annoying. So, the hard way it was then. He didn’t even bother trying to chase Hermes, he would get absolutely nowhere, the feathery fucker was far too fast.

Instead, he used his trident to summon the water around the cave to block Hermes in and hopefully get his wings wet so he couldn’t fly.

“Woah there! Smart move, but you’re gonna need to do a little better than that if you want to catch me!” Hermes ended the taunting remark with his signature, shrill giggle.

“Oh really now?”

Hermes pretended not to notice the small little trail of water that was sneaking up behind him. Again, he didn’t actually want to get away, after all.

The wings on his sandals got wet, making it so he had to fly back down or risk falling, landing right in Poseidon’s grasp.

“Got ya”

Hermes was still smiling, on the verge of giggling because of what he knew was about to happen. Poseidon took mental note of this. For later.

The sea god wrapped his arms around his nephew, and then started to wiggle his claws at his sides and ribs. “Really, you’d think you would’ve seen that coming, you getting sloppy?”

“Nohohoho!” Hermes responded, the protest infested with giggles. His hidden eyes were scrunched up from the wide smile across his face as he giggled.

“Hmm. Then what was that about, huh?”

“Yohou’ll sehee! Hehahahahaha!” Hermes laugh was a little less.. annoying.. when he was being tickled. Poseidon was expecting to sacrifice his eardrums to the loud, glass-shattering, infuriating laugh. But surprisingly, while it still held that infuriating, bird-like tone, it was much less high pitched.

He took his claws and scribbled his way under Hermes arms, causing them to clamp down to the younger’s sides as he laughed louder.

“Hehahahahahaha ohoho nohoho!” He called out, his instincts finding it unbearable no matter how much he liked it.

Poseidon noted many things. One of which being, “y’know, I don’t think you’ve asked me to stop once.”

“Hehahahahaha thahahat’d behehehe cohohorrect!”

Poseidon narrowed his eyes with a teasing smirk “so does that mean you don’t want me to stop?”

“Whahahahat doho yohou thihihink!” Despite the situation Hermes was in, he couldn’t help but tease a bit.

“Ha, that’s what I thought. Of course you would enjoy this, you silly messenger.” You’d think that since it was revenge, Poseidon would stop when he found out the other enjoyed it, but he didn’t. It was still revenge, he knew how unbearable the sensation could be, even for someone who liked it. So, he upped the ante, scratching his claws faster and faster against Hermes’ sides and underarms.

Hermes’ loud giggles echoed around the walls of the cave, kicking his feet lightly as Poseidon tickled him ruthlessly(ha, see what I did there?)

“Hehehehehahahaha! Thahahat reheally tihihickles! Hehahahahahaha!”

“Well, that’s the point. I’m tickling you, dumbass.”

Hermes didn’t try to conceal whatsoever how much fun he was having, smiling widely and never once trying to push at Poseidon’s hands or ask him to stop. What can he say, it was fun! Laughing like this was always a blast, no matter what caused it.

Poseidon decided to be a little mean and without any sort of warning, blew a loud raspberry right in the center of Hermes’ stomach. The messenger squealed and giggled louder, resembling his usual, ear-shattering laugh a little closer.

“EEEE! Ahahahahahahahahaha ohoho nohoho! Eehahahahahaa!”

“What? You don’t like raspberries? They’re a pretty tasty fruit, if I do say so myself.” Poseidon teased before doing the same thing again.

“Eehahahahahaha ihihi dihihidnt sahahay thaHAT! EEE!”

“Heh, you are an absolute dork, you know that?”

“Thahahank yohohou!” Hermes giggled out sassily in reply to the teasing remark.

“It wasn’t a compliment, stupid.”

“Ihihit ihihihis toho mehehe!”

“Ugh, shut up and laugh.” Hermes response was cut off by another squeal as Poseidon blew another raspberry, followed by changing the scratching at his underarms to drilling and digging, making Hermes laughter even louder and more hysterical.

“EHEHEHAHAHA! OHOHOHO GOHOHODS! HHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Heh, that’s more like it.” Poseidon finished the taunt with another raspberry, assaulting Hermes’ torso with lingering waves of tingles that made him feel so giddy.

Hermes wings were flapping and he was kicking a bit, trying to expel some of the energy building up within him from the bubbly feeling. It was a lot of fun and he was not afraid to show it, smile splitting his face in half with small happy tears pricking his eyes. Poseidon continued his relentless digging and raspberries, using his facial hair to make it tickle the younger god even more.

“EHEHAHAHAHA POHOHOSEHEIDON!”

“Whaaaaat? I thought you liked this!”

“IHIHI DOHO- BUHUT- EEEHEHEEEE!” His words were cut off with more squealing laughter. It was so intense and unbearable but also so amazing, sending giddy waves of laughter and tingles through his whole body.

As much fun as this was, Hermes laughter was starting to get shrill and high pitched again, so Poseidon stopped in order to spare his ear drums, letting go of Hermes who then stood on the floor, letting out remaining giggles.

“Gods, you’re loud.”

“Ihihi- hehehe.. I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” The smile in his face made it seem like he wasn’t actually sorry, although the latter part of the statement was true.

“Okay, whatever you say.” Poseidon walked back up to his throne and sat down with a dismissive wave.

“Go on, I’m sure you have more deliveries to take care of.”

“That I do! Ta-ta, uncle~ this has been fun!”

Poseidon rolled his eyes with a huff as Hermes left, hiding a small smile.

Maybe Hermes wasn’t so bad.

———THE END————————————————

[theocddiaries]

Yukio: You know what I heard? That finding a horseshoe brings good luck. Logan: Hm, and what if you find it in a stable like the one we're in? Yukio: It doesn’t matter, a horseshoe is a horseshoe. Logan: No, I meant--Never mind. Wade: Cool, and I found one! Yukio: And they say that to increase your good luck, you have to spin around three times and throw the horseshoe over your shoulder while making a wish. You'll have a better chance of it coming true. Logan: Does it work for two rounds? I’d like to go back in time to when he found me and put up more resistance. Wade: Ah-ah! It’s my horseshoe and my good luck, I found it. Let’s see… [gets into position]: Move aside so I don’t hit you by accident. [whispering] Logan: Where did you hear that? Yukio: Nowhere. But Wade laughed at my interest in astrology, so I’m getting back at him with his superstitions. Logan: …I like you, Yukio. [Wade finishes spinning three times and throws the horseshoe. It hits a mirror behind him.] Yukio: Wanda’s mirror! Oh, no, she has such a bad temper… I can't imagine how bad it could get if she gets mad! Logan: Same old story with this idiot, this guy doesn’t miss. He never fucking misses!! Yukio: What do we do?! Wade: What do you think we’re gonna do? Fucking run, strategical retreat! [grabs them by the hand and they all run away] [Hours later, the three return home. They park right over some screws scattered on the road.] Wade [frantic]: Are you gonna tell me that running out of gas six miles from the gas station isn’t bad luck? Logan: No, it’s not bad luck, it’s mismanagement. Didn’t I tell you to put gas in last night? Wade: …And why do I always have to be the one!? Someone else step up and do it! Logan: Shh, ssh, sssh!! [The three go quiet and hear a tire losing air. They follow the sound and see the tire deflating. Logan picks up the screw.] Wade: Well, are you gonna tell me that this isn’t bad luck either!? Logan: No, that’s being useless. Those are the screws that you dropped this morning, that I told you to pick up, and clearly you didn’t even though you swore you did! Wade: …You have an answer for everything, don't you? Just to deny reality, you have an answer for everything! I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today. On Friday the 13th, don’t get married and don’t set sail! Yukio: But you haven’t set sail. This is a car. Wade: Same thing. It’s a way to encompass everything that involves moving with vehicles, whatever type they are. Why did I get out of bed, God!? Logan: That’s what I’m wondering. Why did you get out of bed today? If you hadn’t gotten out of bed, we’d all be happy today. Hell, if you had never gotten out of bed, the world would be fine! There wouldn’t be any wars, we’d all be singing 'Imagine' together hand in hand! Wade: How nice, man, how nice. This is how you talk to your boyfriend. I’ll let it slide because I know you’re stressed about the seven years of bad luck that await us. Logan: Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean "await us"? You broke the mirror. It’ll be waiting for you. Wade: Right. Rub salt in the open wound. I don’t know what I saw in you. [storms off indignantly] Logan: Great, another night sleeping on the couch. Yukio: Don’t worry. Look on the bright side, since you’re practically immortal, seven years will fly by for you. Logan: Yeah, kid, but when his seven years of bad luck are over, mine will stay the same because I’ll still be with him. Yukio: Aaw, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason and Roy being friends and using class of 09 characters (less insane):

*It sucks the creator of this game sucks, but these lines are still funny to me since I treat the game as a comedy*

Jason and Roy sat together having lunch at Burger King and discussing a charity event.

Roy: I'm pretty sure Ollie is running a charity scam.

Jason: No, I looked into the organization he's working with are the scammers. His name wasn't on the board of trustees. He's being scammed and the people running it are probably somewhere in Florida.

Roy (confused): How do you know this much about charities?

Jason (serious): My fucking piece of shit dad—who I want to kill—worked for a charity like that.

Roy (exasperated): Is there—okay, we won't explore that one. Do you really think he's not apart of it?

Jason: I doubt your father is smart enough to run a fake charity. He definitely fell for one though, the company is advertising NFTs on Tiktok. If that's not a scam I don't know what is.

Roy: They're advertising what on where?

Jason: It didn't makes any sense to me. Ollie seems like the type of fall for that though.

Roy: I... Yeah he is. Thanks.

Jason: I just find it funny he's that gullible.

---------------------------------------

Roy (agreeing to breaking into a bank): I'm cool with it.

Jason (shouting): Shut the fuck up!

Roy: I said I’m cool with it!

Jason: Nah, not you. I was hearing the voice again, telling me I'm wrong about something.

Roy: That isn’t even odd to me anymore, but have you tried listening to him?

Jason (chuckling): That’s a funny joke.

---------------------------------------

Jason: Do you know what a whip-it is?

Roy: I never did whip-its.

Jason: You look like the type who would use them.

Roy (happy): Oh, thank you!

Jason: That's strange that you took that as a compliment.

---------------------------------------

Jason: Where’s the coward arrow?

Roy: He hasn’t been around since you made him cry… and stuck to your promise about slashing his tires.

Jason: He better be afraid of me, because I’m not the one.

Roy: Oh yeah?

Jason nodded, a serious look crossing his face.

Jason: I don’t like how he talks to you. You’re really cool and smart. Handsome, I’ll admit—and you should be treated as such.

Roy raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Roy: Wow… that… um… have I really been deprived of a compliment for this long?

Jason: We’re friends. I’m going to be nice to you. Don’t worry about it.

Roy: And you're not trying to sell drugs to me?

Jason: You’re a recovering addict and my friend. No, I’m not going to sell you drugs.

Roy: Then I definitely went through it in life.

Jason: Has your dad ever complimented you?

Roy (laughing dryly): Not for a long… long time.

Jason: ‘Cause he doesn’t appreciate what he has. And seriously, Roy, if I ever see him talk to you like that again, I will rip his beating heart out and hand it to you on a silver platter!

Roy: And you’re not trying to have me relapse and then kill me?

Jason: N-no. I like you. You’re neat.

Roy: Oh… hm… the heart platter part is fucked up, but that’s so kind of you. This not being a ploy and you actually wanting to be my friend is still an adjustment.

Jason: Oh my God… you poor thing, you’re welcome. You make me dying seem like a coma. This is why I will be your friend forever! I will not let anyone hurt you, and if they do… they're gonna meet God!

Jason hugged the man, tightly. Roy patted the man’s back and then shrugged accepting this insane friendship.

Roy: Hm… All right.

---------------------------------------

Jason (paranoid): Spontaneous? Are you talking down to me?

Roy: No, it’s just a word that I read about in… um… Wuthering Heights?

Jason: Oh yeah, that’s a good book. I love you.

Roy: All right… Why did that make me feel happy?

Jason: Because you haven’t heard it in a while, and neither have I. That’s why I said it to you. I love you.

Roy: I… heart… you too.

Jason chuckled and pulled Roy into another hug. Roy smiled, confused, but not terrified. He patted Jason on the back, both appreciating the moment.

"You slashed his tires?"

[kamiversee]

I wish y’all would just chill on this app bro. I’m actually getting irritated by people who seriously lack something as simple as basic comprehension skills.

Many things to say to this, bear with me. 🧚

For one, due to the fact that you so clearly did not read anything I said in my previous reply, I’m going to insert it here again!!

You said “If there are similarities between gojo and zade then that's your problem, I'm just pointing it out but you're the one who wrote it did you not?” but if that’s the case then I am entirely entitled to tell you that I don’t like that comparison, nor do I want to hear or see anything regarding it. I wrote it, it’s my story — I’m allowed to not like certain comparisons!! 🥰

Following that, never once did I say I had a problem with my fic being compared to dark romance as it’s literally a dark romance fanfiction in itself. The issue here lies in the book you specifically compared it to. Duh??

Which is part of why I said you must be new around here because most of my readers are aware of the fact that I don’t like the Zade/Gojo comparison because while they may have one or maybe two things in common, they really aren’t alike in the slightest. Especially when you dive even deeper into the story.

Thank you for this headache tho because you just reminded me to let future readers know that I don’t like comparisons. Let tfl be what it is please. You can compare it to whatever you want with whoever, obviously I can’t control that but just don’t come to me personally with that shit because it’s not a compliment & I don’t find it funny nor entertaining in the slightest!!

&& the topics specifically romanticized in TFL are included here in the warnings:

You also said that I “went out of my way” to create another book just so that they got together… Girl, that was REQUESTED by MANY of the people who read the damn story and still wanted Gojo even after all he did & or, to have all their unanswered questions answered. I was originally not going to drop a sequel & answer things one by one but the number of people asking for more led me to do so.

Haunting Adeline romanticizes some of the topics I included in tfl PLUS MORE that I, again, specifically do not romanticize, sexualize, or write.

The damn book was never supposed to be considered “regular erotica” since it literally starts off with Gojo fucking blackmailing her. It starts out dark and ends even darker, please.

I’m also VERY well aware that dark romance doesn’t always mean sa or 🍇. tfl is a dark romance fanfic. I know this.

And last but certainly not least my love, you actually can block anons!!! Hope this helps.

& I pray you have a very blessed day. Mwah. 💋

[marstonsboy]

i still won't forgive john for saying '' he's becoming too soft '' to jack likeeee . . . .

i love john but i feel like i’m warranted in wanting to strangle him sometimes.

like, he gets better. we know he does. he isn’t perfect by any means but he DOES start trying and he becomes a pretty good dad all things considered. but i will stand by the fact that jack has every right to be a little resentful towards him. he walked out on him and his mom, at least twice by the way (once when jack was born, and again when he went after micah even though abigail begged him not to), and was pretty cold to jack for a good chunk of his childhood.

there’s even a camp interaction that you can get in (i think) the clemens point chapter where jack says something like “come on, play, pa!” and john’s immediate reaction to his four-year-old son asking him to play is to turn around and go “what did you call me?”

and yes, later in chapter 6 you can find them actually playing together just like jack wanted to earlier. he realizes he fucked up and he tries to do better, and i love his character development. this doesn’t mean i’ll absolve him of this treatment of jack, however. that kind of shit sticks with you, even if you’re as young as jack was.

sixteen-year-old jack holds some resentment towards john for leaving and is afraid he’ll do it again. from twelve years old (at the very least) jack was calling john “sir” off and on instead of pa, and i’m sure part of that is because of john’s reaction to being called pa when he was younger and still in that stage of refusing to believe jack could be his.

some of these may be low honor specific, i’m not certain, but i know nineteen-year-old jack also has lines that make this resentment more obvious , like: “blame my parents, i do”, “i had a bad role model”, “i guess i am my father’s son”, and “when you meet my pa in hell, tell him i say ‘hi’!” he does love john, that much is obvious, but it’s complicated when he also hates him— again, for justifiable reasons. it’s that exact sort of complicated relationship you have with parents who messed you up, and it makes me so SAD.

[purplemagics-blog]

IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH LOGAN HOWLETT/WOLVERINE HEADCANONS!!🐱⛓️‍💥🚬

“I'm a puppet on a string. Tracy Island, time-travelin' diamond cutter-shaped heartaches. Come to find you four in some velvet mornin' years too late. She's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space”

Things: gender neutral headcanons I think, kinda out of character of him, Logan being an ass.

1.) When he is tired he will hold you in his lap and will NOT let go, leaving you stuck with his arms around your waist and his face in the crook of your neck.

2.) He secretly love cuddling but denies it HARD when you try and tease him about it to the team.

3.) This man is attempt to cook just for you when you’re sick even if he is actually shit at cooking. He has actually almost burned down the kitchen of the X mansion, trying to cook a grilled cheese for you.

4.) He will match with you when it comes to clothes like if you wear a white suit/dress he will wear a white suit or if you wear a red suit/dress he will wear a red suit.

5.) Overprotective for no reason. This man is jealous 24/7 especially when you’re around Scott and when he gets jealous of Scott and you he will pick you up and carry you away from him leaving you embarrassed and mad at him. (you would do the same if he was talking to Jean BUT STILL!-)

6.) Loves watching movies with you and loves it when you cling to him when there’s a jump scare.

7.) Finds it adorable when you try to act tough or in charge and when you try to boss him around he just mocks you not taking you seriously.

8.) You got a cat and Logan was complaining about it but when you checked on Logan and the cat to make sure he didn’t kill it and when you walked in he was cuddling with it. (They are best buddies)

9.) Ones you bought pheromone perfume as a joke in this man was glue to you. No this man would not leave your side no matter what.

10.) HE IS A BITER Y’ALL!😭🙏🏽

11.) An actual mess when he drinks to much. Ones you had to carry him out a bar has he peppers your face with kissing and rambling on how he never wanted to leave you.

12.) You speak in brain rot sometimes and watch as his face goes more and more confused and like “wtf is my partner talking about!?” (Skidi sigma Rizz☝🏽🤓)

13.) You always take him to the theme parks/carnivals which he loves it there but would never say out loud. Once a little kid that got lost walked up to you guys and Logan offered him a sip of the cheap beers they sell at carnivals.

14.) He got your name tattooed on his left collarbone (small but noticeable if you looked at it close) but then you looked at it you didn’t have the heart to tell him it was spelled so terribly wrong LMAO. 😭🙏🏽

15.) He would never go through your phone but he doesn’t mind if you go through his’ phone. (THAT MAN AIN’T GOT NO GIRLS OR BOYS IN HIS CAMERA ROLL BUT YOU!!)

16.) Type of guy to plan out a whole fucking future with kids, home, etc thinking you are the sexy person on earth just from looking at you while you are slumped over the couch with your hair tied up, in a oversized hoodie, on your period (if u a girl), thinking you are the ugliest mutant/person in the world.

ANYWAYS TELL ME IF YOU WANT MORE OF THIS TYPE OF THING BYEEEE❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜

[4ranghaes]

Another song fic with Taesan?🥹

(Love ur writing btw, hope this doesn’t stress u, take ur time hehe)

song fic!💋

now playing… this is how you spell “HAHAHA, we destroyed the hopes and dreams of a generation of faux-romantics” by los campesinos!

han taesan x reader [fluff/angst, gender neutral!reader, non-idol!taesan, i’m imagining the setting as like a shitty english uni house so hope you get the vibe lol]

warnings: problematic/abusive relationship, reader is having a panic attack, reader smokes, talks of drugs

a/n - no stress at all, anon! never be afraid to request <333 also i apologise because this song is probably NOT what you had in mind but, we abide by the playlist🙇🏻‍♀️

01:09 - “i just wanted peace,” he sighed, “i just wanted to sleep.”

“i’m sorry i’m not fucking perfect, taesan,” you snapped, your breathing deep and frantic, previously cried tears staining old mascara down your face.

the party that the two of you had abandoned hours previous could still be heard going on downstairs, music and people’s voices blaring as they disturbed the neighbours. you left housemates responsible for anything that was happening now.

“that’s not what i meant,” he huffed, watching as you got out the bed, storming over to the old, rusty sink in the corner of your bedroom and splashing your face with cold water, “are you alright now, love?”

you swallowed, nodding slowly as you walked back over to the bed, taesan pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you sat beside him. you lit up a cigarette with shaking hands, he glanced up and saw the old beanie of his covering the smoke alarm.

“you know that’s not what i meant,” he sighed.

“i don’t know what you meant at all tae,” you said, leaving his body again as you walked round the messy bedroom, “what are we even doing here?! what is this?! why did i just have a nightmare about you, taesan?!”

“about me?” he exclaimed, “what was i doing?!”

you cried out, practically tearing your hair out with the harsh grip you had on it, “i don’t know! maybe it was that fucking note again.”

your boyfriend scoffed, “please don’t bring that up again, y/n. that was a drugged up mistake, you know that!”

“‘i have left you, please never try to find me’?!” you exclaimed, “do you know how fucked up that is, taesan?!”

taesan couldn’t say anything in reply as you walked out to your balcony, finishing off your cigarette with long drags. he could hear occasional sobs, but he knew it was better not to react. eventually, the cigarette became a stub as you pressed out the flame on the corner of the railing, dropping it into the bucket you kept.

walking back into the room, the party’s eyeliner and mascara was now rubbed all over your eyes, leaving big streaks of black. taesan took in your appearance, noting the goosebumps on your arm.

he opened his arms, a silent invitation as you climbed back into the bed, burying yourself in his chest. his fingers brushed gently over your goosebumped arms, feeling each one of them.

you were still crying, tears falling from your eyes while apologies fell from your lips. taesan looked around the dump of your bedroom, unfinished poetry and books laid around, in the bins and on the walls; he couldn’t help but think they were indicative of your life.

“i can read you,” he whispered.

you sniffled, chuckling, “am i that obvious?”

“no,” he whispered, serious as ever, “your arm. i can read it.”

“like braille,” you sighed, staring off into the distance, holding onto the arm that was wrapped around you tightly. taesan nodded in reply, even though you couldn’t see him.

“i know,” he said, running one finger along a line of goosebumps, “i am wrong. i am sorry.”

“i know,” you sighed, kissing his arm as you listened to the background noise of 2010s indie party music, “i am wrong, i am sorry.”