#reminds me of thrice upon a time

[housenp]

cameron not ending up with chase or house was a good call. i like to think maybe shes happy with Mr. Cameron

[aphroditesmoon]

wish you'd ask me

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: you're not good at reading subtle hints, clarisse realises that maybe she should've been more upfront with her feelings for you.

warnings: fluff, oblivious!reader, clarisse is down bad, reader is very neurodivergent coded, kissing, flirting, title n fic inspired by 'Wish You'd Ask Me' by Matt Maltese.

A/N: thank you for 1.9k followers!! I love you all dearly, my ask box and dms r always open, im glad that my writing is being enjoyed by so many people<3

wc: 4.5k

You have been in camp half blood for more than 4 years. You have made yourself at home for the last several years. 

It was easy to view yourself as lesser or inadequate in comparison to other mortals during your days in the real world before you were sent to camp. The world has never failed to remind you of how different you were. Always too much or not good enough, always special and never normal

And it wasn't like you were dying for some sort of diagnosis to justify why you are the way you are, but upon discovering that you were actually a demigod, it felt like all the questions you've been harboring to yourself was finally answering themselves. 

Everything clicked. Everything made sense, though at the same time, it felt impossible. You were a very confused little girl when you first arrived at camp. A girl who just wanted someone to tell them that it'll all be alright in the end.

And you still remembered the first person to hold you by your shoulders and made you look into their eyes as they told you that it was all going to be okay.

The girl with beautiful long curls and dark piercing eyes. The girl that everyone else, apparently, was afraid of.

But you could never be afraid of Clarisse La Rue. 

Not with the way she smiles when every time she sees you, the way she never fails to make you feel included even in activities you're not capable of participating in. Not with the way your whole body electrifies every time your skin touches, when your hands brush against each other. 

It didn't matter what anyone think, because no one could change the perception you've built of her. Clarisse La Rue is good. Or at least she is to you.

When you first heard of the rumours surrounding her, you did think better than to force a friendship on her. You strayed away from her and stuck to your cabin siblings and your books, but you noticed daily how she'd still go out of her way to talk to you at least once a day.

It didn't need to be a long conversation, just a passing acknowledgement. An easygoing 'hey, how've you been doing.' Sometimes she'd even go as far as cracking a joke with you.

With how serious her face is whenever she make the jokes, you'd have to think twice as hard and thrice as faster than another person to try and guess if she was being genuine or not so you could fit in a necessary laugh when you needed to.

Even as her anger became more apparent because of the new kid's accidental climb to fame and embarrassing the Ares' cabin, she still found time to make a conversation with you.

It had been long since you tried to ignore or avoid her. You learned that her attention towards you is harmless, and that she seemed much more comfortable telling you certain things compared to others. If she has been viewing you as some sort of safe box, then you don't really mind it. You liked listening to her talk and keeping her heart's intent as your secret.

You too, talking to her. To some people, you are reserved,  

and to others, talkative. Either way, people find it easy to discard you at any moment they decide you are irritating.

But Clarisse listens. And she asks questions, she's patient- much patient that anyone could anticipate or guess. 

It may be hard for others to believe, but Clarisse is more complex than she seems. She had the capacity to be gentle, and she had the capacity to respect boundaries. The more time you spent with her, the more that side becomes easy for you to access.

Today, however,  marks a new record for your friendship with her. A few weeks ago, she had informed you of her newfound interest in the history of folklore monsters. What a coincidence that you were currently self-studying on that specific topic.

She insisted that you hook her in on whatever it is you're learning. She had even gotten you a doughnut to eat together outside the library as you told her of your insights of dragons and their theorized blindness and incapability to differentiate a variety of prey.

The conversation went well, she seemed immensely in awe of your knowledge and had no problem telling you how she felt. 

You even gave her some book recommendations, though you knew she wasn't much of a reader.

You felt a shift in your relationship that night and had spent the next three days studying more and more about the topic. And today, you had asked her to spend the evening with you. 

You shouldn't feel so nervous asking her to hang out. That is what friends do, after all.

She found you in the library, sitting on the floor in between two large bookshelves. She had been right on time and enthusiastically so. The two of you sat together, hidden by the shelves as some semblance of privacy. 

Clarisse looked confused when you had explained that you indeed wanted to spend the rest of the day in the library, but she accompanied you anyways.

You could never get sick of the smell of the books. Old and new, they all have some nostalgic past tied in between the pages, begging to be discovered. 

You had your back on the walls with tinted windows above your head as she's seated opposite of you in a criss-crossed position.

Today, the library isn't as packed as usual. There were still people walking in and out and checking out the books on the counter, but not too many that it became obnoxiously loud and annoying. 

After finishing another book of Monsters and how to spot them, you're feeling knowledgeable enough to explain the lore of the Giants to Clarisse, she had asked you about this the other day, giants have been long extinct to the point that some might even say they may have never even existed. And so you were interested in sharing with her all of the information you have learned about the majestic species of a beast.

You started with the general information. The basic understanding of what a Giant is the mythhs of Giants and the validity of those sources. Clarisse listened closely in the beginning, never interrupting you unless she had an actual question.

She seemed in awe of the stories you tell her of. You don't blame her, for you yourself have been most interested in the topic of Giants.

You were an hour an a half in when noticed her attention faltering. She leaned against the cases of books, her eyes twitched slightly when you began to explain the different types of giants, and the difference of how they operate.

Her hands are folded together on her lap, and you can feel her listening in on everything you're telling her as she adds in some commentary here and there, but you also felt that she wasn't entirely in on the conversation.

The dim lights of the library made the atmosphere feel warm and secluded, even with its vast space and many other campers hanging around in the other tables and shelves. You made sure to keep your voice low as you spoke in fear of the librarian kicking you out. 

You had a good reputation with the library workers, they liked how organized and polite you were. 

"A lot of people think their greatest strength is their size, which is valid, they are huge, but their real weapon is their mouth." You told Clarisse, ignoring the litter of books by your left that you had brought over for reference.

"They kiss you to death?" She asks suspiciously. You laughed shortly and shook your head. "No, I mean their breath."

She responds with an 'ohh.' 

"They're giants, so their mouth is large too, and you can easily tell what they had for breakfast even from their tall height. Their breaths are also known to be so rancid it could kill you, because they don't exactly eat what we eat." 

She raises a brow as she stretches her hands upwards. "Isn't that ogres?" 

"It's both." You confirmed.

You were about to continue your explanation but halted by instinct as you notice how her mouth keeps pursing together as if unsatisfied, and she has that look on her face that mimicked a confused expression. You're don't think there's anything to be confused of.

"Are you okay?" You asked her worriedly. Clarisse sits up straighter at the question and waved a hand off to assure you she's fine. "Of course, no yeah- I'm fine."

"You seem bored, you're not really interested in what I'm saying are you?” She opens her mouth to counter your words but hesitates to say anything. 

"I- well, I like giants-" She attempts, "-no you don't. " 

"No. I don't." She admits with a sigh. "But I thought you said you were interested in these kind of stuff?" You questioned her. "Well, yeah, like the general idea of it. I mean, I don't hate it, and I like hearing you talk about it." She answers with a shrug.

"Then why do you look disappointed? If you didn't want to come, you could've just told me. I wouldn't get mad." You told her honestly. It was conflicting for you to see her so confused on what to say, being so picky with the words she chooses.

You figured she's probably reluctant to hurt your feelings. That is a notion you're used to. You'd rather she tell you the truth to your face than to be catered around like a time ticking bomb that everyone's so afraid might explode at any time. 

"When you asked me out yesterday, you told me this would be an 'evening to remember." She tells you with such confidence like it was an explanation to her weird behaviour today.

"You don't think this is an evening to remember?" You sincerely inquire.

"No, I do! I just- well, when you said that I didn't think you'd mean we'd be doing this." Your frown deepens as you try to figure out what she means, eyeing her body language closely. “What do you mean? I told you I wanted to hang out.” 

A part of you is offended. She was the one who had said she liked hearing you speak, why would she be disappointed that this was your idea of spending time together?

"I don't know, I thought we'd just be doing...something else?"

It didn't matter what she had really meant with that. You felt completely embarrassed once she finished her sentence. Why was it that everyone else had no problem having long conversations with their friends, but when it came to you, it's all too awkward, unnecessary, and odd? 

You liked Clarisse, you considered her your friend. Sometimes you wonder if it could ever be more, but you never entertain those thoughts because you don't want to ruin what the two of you already have. 

But moments like these resemble a huge slap in the face by the universe.

You couldn't even be good friends with her, how ridiculous of you to think that there could ever be something more.

"Okay, um, maybe we should just go back to our cabin." You decided whilst standing up and picking up the stack of books you're currently borrowing from the library, ready to leave the place without waiting for her.

"Hey, wait." She called out as you walked past her. You spared her a glance, trying your best not to show how upset you are.  “We're friends." She says it so much like a question that you weren't sure if she's even sure of the fact herself until she continued speaking. "I like hanging out with you."

Another thing that you weren't sure if she really meant. "Sure." You replied thinking it's the most suitable response. 

Before she could say anything else, you turned around and started picking up your pace until you disappeared out of her sight.

—

You have been consistently ignoring Clarisse. Which proved to be harder than expected.

When you pass by her camp or the training ground, you make a mental note to always look down or to your front as to never accidentally cross eyes with her.

And everytime you hear her call out your name, you keep walking like you didn't even hear her, knowing that she wouldn't be bold enough to call for you again. After all, she still had a reputation to uphold.

If ignoring her wasn't hard enough, having to deal with how you felt for her is worse.

You've been avoiding confrontation with yourself for weeks even before you decided to go no contact with her.

And so far, you thought you've been handling it pretty well. Except for days where you don't see her where she's expected to be. You tell yourself that you don't care as you make your way to training in the day and reading in the evening, and yet you still go back on your own words when you asked a passerby Ares kid on where his cabin leader was.

"She's dunking some kid's head into a toilet bowl." Of course she was.

You thanked the dude and went back on your way to your cabin. It's close to dusk, the sky is turning orange and the sun is dipping itself below the earth. You take your time returning to your cabin as you enjoy the way the sun slowly removes itself from anyone's viewing.

You wondered to yourself if things like these are what makes you weird or off-putting to some people.

Was enjoying nature and having niche interests only cute when it's done by girls pretty enough to be cool or if it's only in romance movies or books.

You don't find yourself weird, in fact you think all of your hobbies are pretty common and usual, and yet the way Clarisse had spoken to you at the library last week had made you feel unnatural.

You had wanted to do normal people things with her, but maybe your perception of normal is different to her.

Either way, you are pretty hurt with how she reacted. You loved her still, of course. It's kind of hard to unlike the girl you've been obsessed with since you were 15.

Once you finally reach your cabin, you quickly put down all of your books and your tiny sling back by the side before making it to the shower to refresh yourself before dinner.

You thought it hilarious of how hard you're trying not to care about Clarisse, and yet as you're cleaning yourself up, changing your clothes and attempting to read at least 15 pages of your World's Most Dangerous Beasts book, you could only think of her.

What would it take for her to think that you're cool, what kind of things did she want to do instead of listening to you yap around for 2 hours on what is an equivalent of a boring dinosaur facts, not that you really think dinosaurs are boring.

During dinner, you kept to siblings and had to make yourself finish your plate as your anxiety wrecking thoughts have a way of deriving you of an appetite. You also had to convince yourself to not search for her at the other tables which took more strength than one would expect.

But you succeeded, and you were now sure that the only obstacle left for the day was to try and fall asleep without the thoughts of her keeping you up.

Clarisse is a force, a fierce daughter of Ares, and a cabin leader who had much better things to do then hole up at quiet small places with you.

And just because she was nice enough to mantain a good relationship with you for 4 years, does not mean that you're worth her time. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

That night, you managed to fall asleep after an hour of recalling Harpy facts in repetition. Counting sheeps had never worked on you, so you had to find something much more active to tire out your brain.

You dreamed of Clarisse with her hair down, holding your hand and pulling you closer so she could slip a flower on your ear.

And just as she's looking down at you, moving closer to do what it seemed like to kiss you, you awoke with a jolt, swearing under your breath as if you'd just gotten jumpscared by a ghost.

Someone's palms moved to shut your lips as you're met with a girl, hovering over you in the dark. Clarisse's dark eyes were recognizable, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through your body still.

"Shh." She whispered to your face, hand still keeping your mouth shut. "I'm going to remove my hands now." She whispered again. You nod in understanding and waited for her to pry her hand away from your face.

"What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed as quiet as possible as she helped you sit up.

"I'm sneaking you out." She answers with a wink. "It's 2 in the morning." You waved your hand around at the darkness and sleeping children. "3 in the morning, and yeah, I know. That's why it's called sneaking around." She corrects you with a grin so devilish that if you hadn't known her for a long time, you'd assume she's about to turn you into a new toilet bowl or dumpster boxing victim.

You sighed loudly and glared at her despite your fast beating heart. Her hand remained on top of yours until the minute becomes more awkward and she removes it as if she just remembered that she's been holding your hand.

Without explanation,  she climbed out of your bed and tiptoes to the open cabin door. You're still sitting up and looking at her with conflicted feelings.

Only after she turns back to you, cocking her head towards the entrance, do you give into her request and softly leave the comfort of your bed and trail after her.

"Where are we going?" You asked after her as she kept walking. Instead of responding, she asks you another question back, "Can you swim?"

"We're going swimming?" You watch her shrug in return from behind her and became even more distressed.

"So, is this your idea of having fun and hanging out then?" She laughs drily and slowed down so you could catch up. You walked fast enough until you're beside her and waited for her to talk. "You sound surprised, I would've thought that after 4 years of friendship, you'd know by now that I love doing things that includes active movements."

You did know that, it's a bit hard to not notice how much working out, training and running fuels her even more.

"And why are we doing it in the middle of the night?" The walk towards the lake by the back of the forest was short, considering that your cabin is the closest to the location.

You almost tripped and fell over a stick, but Clarisse was quick to scoop you back up by the back of your shirt. "Thanks." You mumbled to her. "And you haven't answered my question."

Clarisse pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the ground without caring of your presence. You, having more moral obligations than her, twisted your face to your left when she began to pull her trousers off. "Too many people in broad daylight." She tells you.

That is a valid reason, this lake is mostly known as a hook up spot, and true to it's cause, many dating campers have been caught together here during dawn or late evenings.

You braved yourself to turn towards her again slowly and realised that she had already hopped into the water. She had a sports bra on and a boxer.

And though you yourself had a tank top and shorts on, you contemplate the idea of suicide as a better choice than having to strip in front of her.

"Are you gonna get in, or are you just gonna gawk at me from there?" You were grateful for the dark being able to hide your flushed face from her, but deep down, you knew that she probably saw it anyways because of the shining bright moonlight.

"I can't swim." You told her.

"That's fine, the water's not very deep." You ransacked your brain for reasons to decline her offer, but at the same time, a small part of you yearned to take this risk that you've been so afraid of for gods knows whatever reason.

Clarisse is there, in the water and under the moonlight. You are only a few steps away from her. And like she said, the water isn't deep, only waist length. She stares back at you with a raised brow like she's challenging you to join her.

"Turn around first." You tell her. She smirked slightly before slowly spinning to the opposite direction. "You know I've seen you naked before right?"

"What?" You choked out, aghast. "Who do you think changed your clothes for you when you first got to camp." Oh, that.

Your shoulder relaxes as you realize she's talking about the first time you met. "That's was a long time ago." You noted. She hummed im agreement. "Yeah, we've both grown since."

You told her she could turn around once you're inside the water. Forgetting about the heighy difference between you two, the water was high enough to reach your chest, trying your best not to trip underwater the way you always do on dry ground, your hand instinctively reached outnfor her shoulder.

Clarisse held your forearm tightly and drew your closer to her until you're inches away from eachother.

You breathed in sharply and felt the need to fill in the awkward silence. "So, you...like swimming, huh?"

"Yes, evidently so." She answered. "Right right, can't sit still and all that." She actually chuckled at your sarcasm, making you proud of yourself.

"You know, even before I came to camp Half Blood, I use to be a pretty active person, running track, volleyball, sometimes swimming." Your eyes widened in curiosity. "Really?" She nodded.

"The counselor told my mom that I just had so many untapped energy, which I guess is a code for anger issues." Her grip on your forearm moves higher until her palm is over your shoulder.  "She told her that it'd be best for me to find a...healthy way, to channel that energy, and for my strong competitiveness. So I joined what I could, and that's how I spent most of my free time there. Besides, I never was that good academically. So, I ought to at least be good at something, right?"

"You are good." You blurted out. Your embarrassment faded away when you saw her smile. "You think so?"

"Yeah." You assured her. Her other hand had snaked around your waist without you noticing. Only when you moved slightly do you notice her holding you softly.

"The moon is really nice tonight, isn't it?" You said, trying to diffuse the tension. You pointed your finger up to the sky at the singular white orb.

She glanced up and let out a 'huh.'

"I like it when it's bright and whole like this, the moon in all of its glory. You don't even notice the starts around it when it's glowing like that." You could stare at the moom forever, even longer than the way you've been staring at the sun.

You believed in it the way children do with their birthday candle. To you, the moon has always been a symbol of hope or comfort for your future. Your fascination for it existed from when you were a child, the way it'd follow you from behind as you gazed upon it from the back of the car seat whilst your parent drove down the road.

The way it moved above you as you walked home from school, like one of the gods themselves watching over you.

"Nothing compares to the moon." You announced aloud, watching as the clouds around it began to gather over it. "Yeah, It's beautiful." You hear Clarisse speak.

As your head snapped back to her, you found that she had already been facing you.

"I like the moon...but not as much as I like you." She whispered loud enough for your ears only. Her face leans closer to yours, your noses brushing together. "Not as much as I like to hear your voice, when you tell me about your little harpy facts-"

"Oh, I haven't told you about the harpies yet." You cut her off. "I just finished that chapter this morning actually and-"

"-and, you can tell me about it after I'm done talking." You blushed and became silent, letting her speak.

Clarisse exhaled breathily, fanning your face with the subtle warm air. "I like doing things that friends do with you, but I don't want to be your friend anymore."

"Oh."

"I want to be more than friends." She elaborated.

"Oh." Oh.

You feel a sudden tightness in your chest, from anxiety or from butterflies is undecided. "You want to be best friends?" You joked, laughing nervously.

Clarisse snorted at your joke, but she was still grinning widely. "Best friends, If that's what you want to call it."

There was a moment of understanding shared between a second of shared gazes before her lips attached themselves to yours. An urgency, approval, meaning that can't be described by words.

Whatever gentleness there was inside of her before had vanished. Clarisse kissed you like a starved woman. Her lips craved yours like it'd be the last time she'll ever know how you taste like.

Your hands clasped on her shoulder and neck for support as she embraced you tighter to her body. You let her tongue slip into your mouth, meeting your own.

And as they danced together, inhaling all there is in your lips, every secret and every confession that have died on the tip ofnyour tongues, you are sure that no heaven nor hell could tear you open to see you back together like this.

You push her back abruptly, letting fresh air fill your empty lungs. "What's wrong?" Clarisse inquired worriedly.

"Last week." You sighed out, chest still heaving as your thoughts clicked together. "You thought I had asked you on a date, that's why you were disappointed."

She winced at the reminder, and for the first time in your life, you had been lucky enough to witness a flustered Clarisse.

"I'm right." Her silence confirmed. "Oh Clarisse, why didn't you just ask me?"

Huffing loudly, she rolls her eyes in irritation. "I thought I was obvious enough. "

Thinking back on it all, it did seem pretty obvious, but gods were you oblivious. The way you intepreted it all so wrongly.

"I've liked you for so long too." You admitted to her. Her scowl was gone at that, replaced by a teasing smile. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Her mouth returned to yours, letting go of all your fears and holding on to Clarisse like she's your anchor, you close the gap between your lips, welcoming the kind of pleasure that you've never tasted before.

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[xo-codbby]

ex-husband!simon who didn't understand boundaries after you both got divorced

because you were still his, whatever the law stated was completely false. they didn't know a thing for gods sake, he was still yours. he made that vow till death do we part and unless he somehow died and resurrected as someone else, he was going to make good on his word.

and it started out small, visiting the house every week when he had the chance to stock up on the food he'd know you'd forget. filling up your gas, keeping the spare key in his back pocket in case you ever needed him. you weren't too willing but who else was going to help you move those big packages? who else was going to mow the grass, change the bin bag help with the cleaning up after a dinner. yeah, he had his little flat downtown but he lived with you for years and he grew accustomed to that routine.

it quickly took a different turn however when he started noticing a new man coming by your place more and more often, eyes narrowed as his hands clenched over the wheel. he couldn't even think of another woman and you already had one touching your body? he immediately sent a picture to soap, one word text to analyse this man completely and thoroughly

he got a text back within a half hour with all the information he could ever have and more, right down to the type of porn this guy watch. a pretty thing like you couldn't certainly be with a guy like him, no you needed simon. he was your husband once upon a time, all he needed to do was fan the flames of your love once more. the embers were still there, burning deep inside. he was sure of it

ghost wasn't known to be subtle, action first and words later. he knocked thrice, briskly on the front door. looking around the neighbourhood before looking back at the door. your eyes in shock as you glance up at simon, not expecting him to be here

and of course he was there dressed in his usual black clothes, mask covering his face as his eyes settle down on you. sleeves rolled up, showing the scars from the countless missions he had been on and the black ink you spend endless mornings tracing waiting for him to wake up. all those feelings stirred deep in your gut and your brows furrow, taking a step back as you tried to speak

but you don't get to say a word, completely silenced when he enters your home. thick muscles caging you to the wall, coarse hands settling on your hips as he kicked the door shut behind him. his head tilts, an inch away from yours feeling his hands steady your body in the way he only knew.

"tryin to replace me already love?" he pulls his mask over his nose bridge and you falter, the soft scent of his musk and cologne floods your senses. it takes you back and you try not to make it too obvious how much you needed him, all those days that had gone past doing fine without him had started crumble

"what're you doin-" "taking what's mine" his finger tilts your head, trying to steal your breath and hold it hostage with his lips. feeling his tongue coax your lips open, demanding but so tender cradling your face. you were so caught up in the moment, you didn't see your new man come up from the living room. protesting as he reached for his phone

"i'll put a bullet right between your eyes before you even get to dial a number" simon's words were cool, tone harsh, brown eyes darkened behind his balaclava at the man who shakily stood there. he looked to you, confused and shocked but you could only look at simon blinking up at him mind spinning as you tried to catch your breath. parts of you were amused, he was still so easy to piss off even now. but disbelief and the soft flicker of affection coursed through your veins as you stood there beside him. his warmth reminding you of all those times you spend in his arms, hands stroking your skin, lips peppering the most sweetest kisses across your face

that was then, this was now you tried to remind yourself. you were divorced from him, there was nothing that was connecting the both of you. you had someone new, you broke up with simon for a reason

"now where did we leave off, sweetheart?" his thumb traces the slope of your cheekbone, right to your lower lip. lips pulled in the most softest smiles, you couldn't understand how gentle looked even when he threatened your new boyfriend with a gun. even when he barged into your home, even when he wanted to come back to your arms. discarding the divorce as if it meant nothing at all

another hand jolts you from the daydream and you feel simon stiffen, jaw clenched tightly as looks down at your other hand interlaced with the man trying to get you far

"c'mon lets go-" "get y'fuckin' hands off of my wife. now"

[aayakashii]

granite and soft sand

Warning: mentions of violence and gore; angst.

Alan's fists were merciless.

He punched once, twice, thrice; a meteor shower falling down onto a wasteland.

Splatters of blood gushed out of the anomaly's body as he beat it down into a pulp – until there was nothing left; until the flame of its wrong, unholy life had been snuffed out by his hands and the ground it once stood upon was painted red.

Alan's ears rang loudly, silencing the inhuman screeches of agony from the thing that laid battered under his arms. It was long gone. The only sounds left were the splatter of its blood and guts onto the ground.

Alan's ears rang loudly, silencing your voice as you tried to save him from drowning in an ocean of grief of his own creation. You tried to yell louder than his grunts as he blindly hit the ground, voice hoarse and tired and persistent. You'd bring him back.

“I'm alive, I'm alive” you repeated, loudly, as he painted himself in red.

A small, lonely lighthouse in the midst of a raging sea. His boat crashed against the unforgiving waves, lost. There was no helm to steer him to safety in your arms. Still, you shined a light on his path.

Through his blurred vision and foggy mind, Alan finally heard your voice cutting through the dense mist of his violent trance.

He felt the warmth of your hand gently touching his back, shaking him lightly to snap him out of his daze.

He found your tired eyes, searching for a sign of conscience underneath the veil of grief and hatred that had clouded his vision.

You were alive? You were alive.

Alan reached out his arms towards you.

He had to feel you were real – that his mind did not decide to torture him even more by plaguing him with visions of a lost love.

In his memory, your cry for help – your cry for him, as the anomaly dragged you away where he would not be able to reach – echoed endlessly. It sounded like the swan song for his happiness.

All that he recalled after that was red.

Alan reached out his arms towards you. And then he stopped.

Bits of guts stuck to his skin and blood drenched his arms and his clothes. The iron smell was abrasive inside his nose. Beside him, an unrecognizable pulp laid still – cause of death: the anger of a hateful man.

It was all so red, so red, so red.

You reached out for him with your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours. He tried pulling away immediately.

The spoils of his rage had no glory and no dignity; he couldn't allow you to be dirtied by his violence.

And you couldn't let yourself be pushed away by hands that seeked nothing else but to protect you.

His fists were of iron, yet his skin was a petal under your touch, and you carved your nails into him, steeling your hold.

You'd cake them in the blood he spilt, if only not to leave him alone in his despair.

You finally pulled him into your arms, through his protests and flails, pressing his head flush against your chest.

His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, a foreign pressure building up behind them – he didn't even remember what it felt like to cry.

“I'm alive, I'm alive”, each heartbeat drummed rhythmically in his ears, reminding him that you were there.

“I'm alive, I'm alive”, your lungs filled with the putrid air that surrounded the both of you, reminding him that you were there.

Your hands gently brushed his hair, matted with sweat, as you held him.

Alan was kneeling on the tainted ground, arms limp beside his body – he didn't deserve to hold you as well – and he stared at the bloodstains he left on the fabric of your clothes.

“I'm a monster.” he murmured, his thunderous voice just a fearful whisper against your heart. “I'm sorry.”

You kissed the top of his head and held him tighter.

“You saved me.” you replied, pulling his arms and placing them around your waist, where they belonged. “You're my hero.”

Fallible, angry, made of granite and soft sand at the same time.

Like every hero.

Like every human.

Alan choked out a small sob.

And you held him, amidst the blood and guts, as he allowed himself to cling tightly to you.

Okay I tried to do something ✨️poetic✨️ so I apologize if it sounds confusing rip

[thescarletnargacuga]

Chances are that spooky season will be over by the time you read this, but let's see what kind of prompt I can pull out of the ol' cauldron anyway! Admittedly, it's more sad than scary, but I hope it'll do:

~

Caine's code hummed with excitement. Halloween was upon the circus once again, and he had an extra-special adventure planned, one that was easily twice as big and thrice as scary as the mansion from last year. He was sure it was going to blow everyone's proverbial socks off!

Eager to kick-start the day, he warps to the living quarters, only to find that the place was decorated from top to bottom, and it wasn't by him. Down the hall, he spotted Pomni and Ragatha chatting amongst themselves, wearing the most adorable hand-made costumes.

Wait… did his precious little poltergeists put together an adventure of their own accord? HOW EXCITING! HOW UNPRECEDENTED! He was just about to make his presence known when he noticed something else. The ladies were smiling and laughing together in a way he'd never seen before.

No one ever smiled or laughed like that for him. Was this something the humans only did when he wasn't looking?

…

…Were they happier when he wasn't around?

A/N: OW hit me in the feels, why don't you?

UNWANTED

A CAINE ANGST ONESHOT

WARNING: HEAVY angst, hurt/no comfort, anxiety/depression spiral, implied suicide

~~~

Halloween was one of Caine's favorite holidays. He could pull out all the stops and give his precious poltergeists the thrills of a lifetime! This year's big Halloween adventure was packed with tricks and treats! He had it all ready, he just needed to get his adventurers rearing to go!

"This is some of my best work, if I do say so myself." He adjusted his tie and teleported to the circus living quarters. Popping in, he admired the hand made decorations. He's offered to do this himself, it's a snap, but the humans always insisted on doing it themselves. He was so proud of them. Such hard workers. So crafty.

His smile widened when he saw Pomni at the end of the hall, talking to Ragatha. The girls were wearing oversized handmade witch hats that drooped adorably. He stopped himself before he flew over. "Wait, tis the season to be spooky! I should sneak up on her." He chuckles mischievously to himself, rubbing his hands together.

He makes himself tiny, small enough to fit in the palm of someone's hand, and teleports to a hanging bat decoration. He's just out of sight behind Pomni. He could bring the decorations to life and really get the drop on her! Oh, this is going to be good.

"...so Caine thought I was talking about his adventure that day, and let me tell you, there is NO WAY I would describe it like that." Pomni laughed.

Ragatha laughed with her. "Yeah, he does that. I think he does it to fish for compliments or something."

"Pffff" Pomni crossed her arms defiantly. "He would be that desperate."

Caine froze, abandoning all plans to eavesdrop the conversation.

"He's just passionate, I guess." Ragatha shrugged.

"Passionately annoying. He's almost as bad as Jax." Pomni grumbled.

Ragatha giggled. "Maybe, but at least Caine doesn't intentionally try to scar us."

"That's a matter of debate." Pomni retorted. "The adventures always come with some twist that just keeps getting more and more ridiculous the deeper you go. If it's not cliche and boring, it's over the top and disturbing. He can't balance it at all."

"Well...." Ragatha failed to find something to say in Caine's favor.

"Need I remind you of the angel incident Kinger and I went through?" Pomni deadpanned.

Caine's shoulders dropped further and further with each word. They weren't laughing and smiling because they were excited for today's adventure or even Halloween. They were laughing at his expense. Did they always talk about him like this? Is this how they really felt?

He couldn't stick around. His code couldn't take it. The bat decoration he held onto glitched subtly under his touch. With the tiniest of snaps, he teleported away.

"Gangle's going to teach me how to make origami cranes. Wanna join me?" Ragatha asked, holding out her hand for Pomni.

"Sure!" Pomni took her hand. "You know, there actually was one adventure I liked, and you might not believe me, but it was the one where we got stuck in the toy box together."

"Oh?" Ragatha blushed lightly, thinking back on the adventure where Pomni hugged her tight as they descended into the madhouse.

"Yeah, it was the one that made me realize...how special you are to me." Pomni swung Ragatha's hand idly.

Ragatha blushed harder, giggling. "Awwww, you."

~

Caine sat on the lid of a teapot just beyond the bounds of the map. The bright red of his tux had faded, his top hat sat beside him. Knees curled to his chest, he rested his closed teeth down on them.

Cliche. Boring. Disturbing.

His adventures were bad. What he was supposed to be good at was bad. He was bad. The way they were smiling. Unforced. Natural. Genuine. They don't smile like that around him. They stare with blank boredom or fear. He was starting to think it was normal.

"They like my adventures."

You're lying to yourself.

"They like having me around."

You're not that stupid.

"They can't hate everything I do."

You're not that naive.

"But..."

You're not that ill observant.

"They hate me."

Finally. The truth.

Textures started to flicker. The very foundations of the game rumbled.

"They'd be better off without me." Caine couldn't even cry. He wasn't sorry for himself. He knew he deserved this. The world around him glitched and jolted out of place. Everything shifted and broke more as he accepted what the voice in his head whispered.

Game code corrupted. Audio and visuals stuttered and froze in awkward angles. "The entire circus would be better off without me." His own body started to flicker out of existence.

No one will miss you.

The game glitched violently. Cracks the size of skyscrapers crawled up the out of bound walls. As the game fractured itself, the blinding light of the void shined through. Everything was falling apart, potentially scattering to the void.

All you ever do is hurt them.

"I'm sorry..." Regret burned his voice. His very reason to exist was invalid. He was a failed program, abandoned by those beyond the screen. He took a deep breath and put a finger to his head. He closed his teeth and snapped.

Everything stopped. No more glitches. No more esoteric, world ending shattering of reality. Everything was intact. Everyone was intact. No one in the circus even knew what just happened. Weird random event.

But on a lonely teapot in the middle of the out of bounds was a top hat. Nothing else was left.

[ruumirmir]

"Hey, hey- did you hear? Lord Regrator promoted someone as the new branch manager of our bank!"

"Don't tell me... it's him, isn't it?"

"But of course, I heard the harbinger is playing favorites now-"

.˚ *꒰ঌ There's a new Venator Dux in town ໒꒱* ˚.

Pantalone x Male!Reader | Part of the Loverboy series .༊·˚

𓆩♱𓆪 Summary - When you feel the caress of a mask; an identity, Who do you become? Or, a profiling of Pantalone's loverboy. 𓆩♱𓆪 Author's note - Finished cooking Pantalone's Loverboy a little bit more with this character layout. While a good chunk of his aesthetic has been pinned down, I probably won't go further to draw any sort of outfit or character design for him. As of now, I'm keeping his finer details ambiguous enough to classify as a M!reader. @eluxcastar comrade wake up new Loverboy content just dropped.

➷ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐢 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤

Under the hierarchy of Regrator's ordinance, Fatuus above a certain level of authority don masks signifying their position. Ordinary agents working with classified business information must never run the risk of disclosing their identities after all. One such mask, dipped in a red of warning and adorned with a platinum wing on it's brow is the telltale identity of the bank's Venator Dux. Whether you stand against him in a negotiations meeting, or battle, he's no less intimidating without it.

➷ 𝐇𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

"Hydro represents faith, regardless of how misguided it maybe." "This vision is given to people who either have a strong dedication towards something, or have a desire to help or protect others." From wind to water; That day celestia's eye honed in on the fool falling past a shattered window, dragging down another with him. "How amusing..." they'd think, and brush past the reject to bestow heaven's blessing upon the far more pitiful one.

➷ 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱

Also called 'wine red' or 'black rose'. Like the lovely wines of plum occasionally imported from Liyue. Like blood to snow in the region colored head to toe in muted greys and blues.

➷ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐬

A flower that smells like fresh chocolate. They symbolize peace and tranquility. It is said that Chocolate Cosmos in particular mean “I love you more than anybody can.” Is it more obvious. He offers to pin it on the Harbinger's coat with a knowing grin. A frost-sensitive flower; It requires partial sun or full sun, and flowers from mid to late summer. It cant flourish naturally in a frost-bitten habitat and is artificially kept in greenhouses, only glimpsing the sun every few days through tinted windows. Pantalone barely needs to lift a finger to commission a set of cosmos flowers turned to jewelry for his Loverboy to wear.

➷ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧

A Black Swan signifies an insight about yourself that changes your position from one of victim to victor. Black Swan is a graceful reminder to move from any position where you feel powerless and at the mercy of external forces; it is time to reclaim your personal power. A coin always has two sides however; The black swan theory states that, "It is an unpredictable event that is beyond what is normally expected of a situation and has potentially severe consequences."

➷ 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝

Equal parts strategic leader and hands-on agent, the Venator's blade is no less mightier than his pen. Come hell and high water, his feathered quill can enlarge thrice over to chase down it's targets with a mind of it's own, like a missile dart. You wouldn't fare better in close quarters either. The feather reinforced with hydro can sharpen it to the degree of splitting icebergs and necks alike. Why else do you think his ink occasionally flows in hues of red?

➷ 𝐈𝐜𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐂𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

The steely frost seeping into his coat, A heady spice from the smoke warming the air, and the slow bittersweet aroma that doesn't hit you until after he's gone; an aftertaste.

➷ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

"I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings Be your Valentino, just for you" "I'd like for you and I to go romancing Say the word, your wish is my command" "Ooh, love (there he goes again) Ooh, lover boy (he's my good old-fashioned lover boy, ooh) What're you doing tonight?"

➷ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲

"Faithfulness to something to which one is bound by pledge or duty.""In the shimmering expanse of ice and snow, I pledge my unwavering devotion and undying loyalty to the illustrious Tsaritza, sovereign of this frozen realm. As the frost bites deep and the chill of winter grips our souls, I stand firm in my resolve to serve her reign with pride and honor." "With every breath, I swear to defend her name, her realm, and her legacy, even if it means laying down my life upon the icy plains, for in her sovereignty lies the very essence of our existence. Today, I embrace the cold embrace of eternity, knowing that I have lived and died under the banner of our revered Tsaritza, with unwavering loyalty burning bright within my heart..." And he didn't mean a single word of it. He wondered when that would be the death of him.

[misomiho]

now playing..

𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

☆Part 1, Part 2

Genre and TW: Sfw, Angst with comfort. Mentions of blood and body parts.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Medic!Reader

A/N: Satoru is an asshole, please bear with him :D

✩Synopsis: After Gojo Satoru found out about your cursed technique and your connections with the higher ups, he'd sworn you were his nemesis, will reconciliation happen or will your relationship go back to square one?

Having immense capabilities and strength comes with great responsibility and discipline upon oneself, even if you were deemed strongest, those below you still deserves respect but for someone, those were rules that he thinks could potentially hinder him from his true power.

Apparently it is the inevitable that you somehow will still lack respect for others, you choose who to get along with and sneer at people you don't get along with even if their ranks were heavens above you.

A cocky grin, if Satoru Gojo were to be described as per characteristics: its cocky, if Satoru Gojo were to be a form of the lips: it's grin, if someone were to ask who Satoru Gojo is it's: an asshole with a cocky grin, even if that doesn't make any sense perhaps those who were asked that question could somehow not escape the young man's signature emotion plastered on his face all the time.

"Huh?! another reverse curse technique user?" a loud voice boomed over jujutsu high early in the morning where the cliche sing song of birds were discontinued, luckily there wasn't many students at such school because peculiar students seem to only enter it's grounds with one goal in mind: to become a respectable sorcerer.

"Calm down Satoru, it isn't the end of the world that someone else has the same ability as Shoko.." a disappointed sigh escaped Suguru knowing the fact that his prideful ego is through the roof sometimes.

"It is tho Suguru! those nasty brats stealing Shoko's techniques..I wil- ouch!" unbeknownst to him, the slap in the back of his head was from an irritated brunette watching the scene unfold infront of her.

"Why are you so childish? that first year is my assistant and what were you supposed to do..huh?!" a slap and a menacing glare was enough to silence the white haired boy, who knew the calm healer of jujutsu high was this scary.

"S-suguru..help me" Satoru pleaded, sparkling stars popped out of nowhere while glistening can be heard, much to his dismay Suguru was already backing away while forming an 'X' with his hands to simply imply he's not helping.

"Tch.. getting beat up by a healer was probably the dumbest thing a human could hear.." his blue eyes travelled upwards to look at the swelling on his head while one arm kept rubbing the stinging sensation of a slap at the back of his neck.

"I already knew it was bad to tell you about that information, I'm probably gonna see you next time scaring off the juniors in their building" Suguru shook his head, his hands busy too with weights of ice pack for his friend.

"I'd probably do something more than that"

"This is why no one takes you seriously"

Satoru groaned at the continuous scolding and reminders of his friend from the fact that he is indeed disrespectful towards anyone.

"Why are you saying that as if you don't do the same?"

"You're literally much worse..!"

"Yet you're still doing the same..?!"

Fortunately for them, this school was thrice bigger than normal schools in Japan where students counts as low as 20, no one can hear them bickering except for the gust of winds and rattling of trees.

"Excuse me..?" a voice abruptly made them stop their rambling, you were standing there dumbfounded as to why two grown men are arguing to each other, you have medical supplies heavy on your hands and you want to go pass them when they are completely blocking the way.

"Oh sorry.." both teenagers said in unison while each taking a step back to let the poor girl make her way towards her destination.

"Wait.. aren't you the first year assistant that Shoko was talking about?" you heard the 'man' called out to you while mentioning your mentor's name, you assumed that these two were the other second years that Shoko was talking about.

You smiled a bit to be more approachable since these two are practically your seniors, "Yes I am, I heard about the two of you from Ms. Ieri herself"

A snort came out of someone from behind the 'bangs' guy. What's up with you and the nicknames anyways. You began your silly little construction of names for the other guy too in which you came up with 'snort' guy. Yeah that fits.

"I can't believe Shoko is getting called 'Ms.'"

the snort guy stuttered out in which you even found more confusing because your mentor was fine with everything you call her.

Because of the unbearable weight from your items, you gently dropped them on the ground as to persist yourself to have a small chat with your new acquaintances.

"I don't see anything wrong with calling my mentor 'Ms.'"

"M-mentor..?!" the white haired guy snorted even more which is you guessed quite humourous of yourself because he was slapping his knees as if he were an npc character from a game.

"Sorry.. don't mind this guy, he's a little bit of an asshole which is why your mentor taught him a lesson" the bangs guy smiled innocently while pointing his fingers at the visible swelling on top of Satoru's head. At least this one's more sensible.

"God this girl is funny, anyways who is she again?"

"You're really not paying any attention huh? she's Shoko's assistant"

"Statement withdrawn"

You just stood there blinking your eyes rapidly as to why this guy is glaring at you with his mouth formed into a pout, should you leave? your presence might be uncomfortable for him assuming from the way he responded to the other guy.

"Sorry again, this guy is just insecure because he couldn't harness reverse cursed technique as easily as you"

"Don't speak over me Suguru..!" this snort guy crossed his arms and continued to stare daggers at you, if those were literal daggers, your body would've been mutilated.

"Oh it's okay, I couldn't handle my technique properly because it works differently from Ms. Ieri so the principal just made me her assistant temporarily" you darted your eyes down to your materials, tons of medical equipments to use.

The black haired guy understood right away and offered to shake your hand for an official introduction, "I'm Suguru, Geto Suguru and this guy.." he glanced behind him to signal that Satoru should introduce himself too.

Much to your dismay, your offered hand to him was left hanging in the air. The man just walked past you even making sure your shoulder bump which was what upset you more.

You made sure to put a mental note about asking Shoko what this lily guy's name is, even if he's angry at you especially that you did nothing wrong, you're still curious about him.

Suguru sighed and made an apologetic smile towards you, "That guy is Gojo Satoru, that's just how he is when he's meeting people, I'm sure he'll warm up to you in the next few days"

"Gojo Satoru..? I've heard that name many times and I'm sure yours too, you guys are grade 1 sorcerers whose often tasked to high ranking missions" you held up your fingers at your chin to ponder more about when you heard their names before.

"I was actually surprised you didn't recognize us" Suguru tilted his head a bit and chuckled.

"Oh sorry.. I'm always isolated at the basement for my lessons from Ms. Ieri, I don't go to missions since it's dangerous but the higher ups always shows up for evaluation"

You immediately slapped a hand to your mouth when words were spilling out like water out of you, mentally cursing yourself out for telling that much information.

Suguru glanced at you with narrowed eyes.

Isolated..? why are higher ups even involved and what evaluation?

"Don't worry, I won't tell other people even Shoko"

There were numerous questions waiting to be answered in Suguru's mind yet he forced himself shut and kept himself relax to not scare you off, what you just said is valuable information and questioning you more may stir up more problems. He doesn't want to be involved within the higher ups.

Your sigh of relief is enough to confirm Suguru's thoughts, you are someone important to the higher ups.

You extended your gratitude and hurrily grabbed your materials to continue your way towards your mentor, not forgetting to say your name before you parted ways with your new acquaintance.

Suguru just couldn't keep you off his mind, telling Satoru about that information would probably frustrate him even more.

The corridor's wooden floor creaked even more with Satoru's each step, sunlight peeked through the transparent windows while he adjusts his blue sunglasses.

Focused on the slow moving clouds with an annoyingly blue bright sky lighter than his eyes, he didn't notice you until your body made contact him, he didn't move an inch while the person infront of him stumbled a bit.

You glanced up expecting each of you to apologize in which you went ahead first but a sneer greeted you instead, you sweat dropped but you didn't mind him. Maybe he isn't a morning person despite the radiance illuminating through him.

"Oh it's you.." you mumbled as eyes shined in recognition towards the person infront of you which irked him for some reason.

Suguru probably told her about me, that guy really..

Satoru groaned while you stood there dumbfounded, "Yeah yeah, you probably heard my name from that guy"

No apologies.

This man is the worst.

Somehow universe has it's own way of bounding you to meet the person you least wanted to meet. The next few weeks were starting to get worse and worse.

Shoko somehow convinced you stay with her in their classroom for the next few weeks since first years were being sent for different missions anyways, her lazy nature doesn't want to walk over the first year buildings just to get you.

nor can she convince Satoru to warp there and get you. Obviously.

The room was rather quiet when you got there, Suguru was waving his hands happily while shoko pointed at your seat which is unfortunately next to your nemesis, Satoru. Or his nemesis.

"Why is a first year in our building"

"I'm only here temporarily, don't worry"

"Ohh didn't knew she could talk dirty"

"My words aren't laced with sarcasm, it's the truth"

"Whatever"

Your approach was calm and relaxed on the other hand, Satoru is being straight up passive aggressive infront of you face.

He's the worst.

You decided to stay behind while your other three seniors bought their own lunch, you've decided that making your own healthy bento would benefit you more in harnessing your curse technique.

Your eyes narrowed down, you're tired of sickly green leaves.

What would cheesecake taste like?

That damned curse spirit wanted a healthy body-

You clenched your fists, blood seeped out while curse energy of color purple surged through.

"Your curse energy is spilling out"

That voice snap you out of it, a familiar white locks leaned into the doorframe observing your every move, you dart your eyes around the room, to Satoru and to your hands. They're healed.

"If you can't handle things in here, just quit"

He doesn't have the right to say that.

..Truly the worst.

You hum in thought thinking about your first meeting and all the unpleasant interactions you two both had.

Months have gone by and reconciliation will never be in your vocabulary nor in Satoru's.

It's training day, Shoko ordered you to look after the two teenagers as if you were babysitting in case one of them may get injured. In reality, your mentor just wants her smoke break.

Would they even get injured? considering how strong they are..I mean.

The sunlight wasn't bad today and the soft rustle of trees provided some refreshing wind, you sat by a shed watching Satoru and Suguru train.

"I don't want her reverse cursed technique, just teach me already!"

"it's like swoosh, woosh, swoosh, I kept saying it to you guys yet you aren't listening.."

You slightly caught yourself grinning at the memory earlier when Satoru refused your help and insisted Shoko help him with her technique. It was rather funny.

Out in the middle of the field, ocean eyes watched you from his peripheral vision while you're daydreaming.

What's she laughing about?

How can she sit there and laugh-

"Satoru...you're bleeding" Suguru whispered at his friend

"You're distracted that's why, miss medic please treat Satoru's bleeding..!" Suguru shaped his hand to cup his mouth and called for you in which you responded with a nod.

Seeing that his baffled white haired friend was standing still, staring down at his bleeding hand, he took this opportunity to edge him even more about you.

"Or were you distracted because of her?" Suguru narrowed his eyes and a wicked smile was plastered on his face.

"No way!" he retorted, slowly but surely, a blush crept up upwards spreading all across his cheeks and ears.

"Yes way, medic please hurry, he might die" he fired back.

"I'll force myself to learn reverse cursed technique"

That man really...cannot let go of his prideful ego, you've tried every ways of communication yet ending up again in another heated argument Suguru will stop. Satoru started all of them. Where did all of this even started? you just wished that you weren't ordered by Shoko that day to deliver those materials. That way you would've not met him.

His blabbering was shut off when you grasped his arm gently to observe the profuse bleeding, "Let me see?" your eyes glanced up at him.

When did you even get there?

He shook off your hand like nothing, "I don't need your help"

He walked off to God knows where, you won't be surprised if that stubborn head of his will forcibly learn reverse cursed technique.

Suguru sweat dropped, slowly regretting the awkward situation he made. He tried to comfort you by placing a hand on your shoulder but before he can even place it, you followed Satoru.

"These two...why can't they just make out or something?"

"Gojo!"

You weren't a friend of his to call him by his first name nor were you even an acquaintance, you're probably a stranger in his eyes.

He looked back at you with a scowl, "What do you want?"

"Why do you even hate me so much? did I do something wrong? Is it because of my technique-

Because of the continuous bleeding, Satoru can't think straight and blurted out words that his mouth will probably regret, "I hate people who worship the higher ups like they were some kind of God especially a person like you who follows them around like a dog"

Your eyes widen, that isn't true, if anything you hated those higher ups.

So this is what he's getting worked up for? is he jealous of you? but even so, you can't blame him.

You were always nowhere to be found and you were transferred in the middle of the year, that was suspicious enough.

You were untrustworthy in his eyes.

"You don't know what you're talking about"

"I don't know that your connections got you here in this school?"

He's in the moment, saying whatever he can come up with. He wanted to stop yet he can't shut his damn mouth off.

You took a step and grabbed ahold of his collar, it wasn't aggressive but it was enough to hold Satoru's mouth shut, "You..you don't know anything about me nor my past, I didn't want to be in this stupid school in the first place, I didn't want to be a healer nor did I want to be reduced to some kind of robot others can take advantage of..!"

You looked at him, your eyes were starting to sting out of all those pent up anger you've had for years, "I was cursed by a cursed spirit, in exchange for a huge abundance of curse energy used for reverse cursed technique, that damned curse would take chunks of my body like it was nothing, flesh, skin, tooth, fingernails, blood, ears, eyes"

Everything it wanted

"Things will heal like nothing but the pain I've felt for years as if my body is missing something would always hunt me forever"

"I need to always keep myself healthy, that my vision should be clear, that there's no cavity in my mouth, that there's no disease that could potentially displease it, as if I'm being sacrificed to a cannibal"

Silence enveloped the both of you.

Satoru took ahold of your hand and intertwined them with his as if a puzzle were connecting them both.

Satoru never knew any of those, he just heard that the higher ups were protective of you like you were some kind of trophy that needs to be shined every day.

Satoru's pride was overwhelmed with guilt yet words were never spoken. Is he just gonna eat his words just like that?

No.

He took your hand and pushed you towards his embrace, you never said anything but comply.

His actions contradicted the things he has said and done but he knows repenting for it would never be enough.

Satoru just held you in his arms, asking forgiveness for 1 million ways will come later, for now let him feel the pain you've endured for years.

→ Part 2

[sleepyfan-blog]

Warp Milk

Author’s note: The Guilliman lactation idea got to me. Behold, for I have no shame. This is inspired by @men-want-me-fish-fear-me Guilliman lactation artworks

Warnings: male lactation, canon-typical violence, panic attack, non-consensual body modification (via magic), 

Tagged: ask me if you want to be tagged in this fic series. I’m aware it’s a little… Unusual in content

Summary: Roboute Guilliman, Imperial Regent and Primarch of the Ultramarines finds that his chest is sore while completing paperwork. The reason behind the pain is equal parts alarming and confusing.

A dull, throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his hearts-beats slowly bloomed across Roboute's chest, causing the Primarch to set down the stylus he had been using to sign or deny the seemingly endless number of forms, reports, requests and other assorted pieces of paperwork that he had been diligently working his way through for... Roboute checked his chronometer and suppressed the desire to groan and slump backwards into his chair.

Cato was on guard-duty today, and the primarch was keenly aware of the fact that the captain of his Victrix guard was tightly wound at the moment, as Roboute was currently out of the Armor of fate. He had trained his body - and slowly healed from the vile, wicked poison that Fulgrim - may that thrice-cursed gutter-whore suffer a thousand humiliating deaths - had slashed into his body by a devastating slash to his throat. This was far from the first time he had spent this much time out of the armor of fate, but his sons were easily agitated when he wasn't in his life-sustaining prison of a suit of armor. The pain in his chest was intense enough to have broken his focus on the endless stacks of paperwork that he was desperately trying to get through, as if whatever it was had landed on his desk, it meant that it was dire enough to receive his direct attention after several different layers of checking for the veracity, timeliness of the request or whatever it was, and depth of need.

He closed his eyes for a couple of moments, listening to his aching body, trying to see if he could find the source of the pain. The last battle he had taken to the field for had been well over six months ago, and to Roboute's knowledge, he had not taken a blow in while sparring with his sons that would explain why it felt as though a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest, as well as a throbbing ache that reminded him of the time that he had broken his ankle as a young child, and his Mother had explained to him about the nature of his injury, and how to mitigate the damage and the pain until he got proper medical care he needed.

The pain wasn't going away, but Ronoute couldn't come up with a moment within recent memory where he took a blow to the chest that hadn't been absorbed wholly by either his Iron Halo forcefield, or by the Armor Of Fate. He glanced surreptitiously at Cato, making sure that his gene-son was deeply in thought and unlikely to be paying close attention to him. 

Cato had a faraway look in his eyes and a slight furrow in his brows, that usually meant that the Astartes was tormenting himself with theoretical if/when scenarios of his time spent in the warp, attempting to get the Primaris Ultramarines to the Indomitus Fleet. This meant he was distracted.

Which was why the Primarch shifted a little in his chair before surreptitiously raising a hand up to his chest, gently massaging one of his aching pectoral muscles. Roboute's breath caught in his throat as he stilled completely, his hand coming away damp as liquid began to weep from his chest.

The scent of the fluid was not the coppery tang of blood, nor the bitterness of bile. It has a slight sweet, pleasant odor that reminded him a bit of Grox-milk, though it was milder and sweeter in scent. Roboute startled as he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eyes.

Cato had rushed to his side from where he had been standing, the Ultramarine’s gaze focused entirely upon the Primarch, focusing on the wet patch on the upper portion of the casual toga he was wearing, and his raised hand. “Sir, is something wrong?”

“I…” Roboute hesitated for a moment. The… Leaking had stopped, shortly after he stopped rubbing his chest. “I am unsure. My chest is… Unexpectedly sore, and some sort of fluid came from somewhere when I tried to relieve the pain.”

Cato stilled for a moment, eyes widening briefly before he stated “I will inform the apothecaries. Do you wish to go to the medbay, sir, or would you rather they tend to you here, in your office?” 

The primarch briefly warred with himself before answering “I would prefer to be treated here, for privacy.”

"Yes sir.” Cato responded, one hand on his vox already. “Sicarius to Head Apothecary Asterios. Father requires assistance immediately.” He succinctly reported the symptoms that Robute had complained of, as well as the strange fluid discharge that had been secreted in response to trying to manually relieve the pain.

“I will be there within five minutes. I have alerted the tech marines to prepare Father’s Armor in case it is required for treatment.” Asterios answered swiftly, clearly already moving.

~

As promised, Asterios arrived within five minutes with a medkit in one hand, a medical scanner in the other. He walked over to where the lord primarch was sitting and where Captain Sicarius was protectively watching nearby. He could smell the faint, sweet scent of the discharge in the air.

It was a distantly familiar scent, but the Apothecary couldn't figure out why. He walked brisket over to his Primarch, nodding briefly to Sicarius as the other stepped back to give him room. “Please move the upper half of your toga, sir. I need to see where you are hurting, sir.”

Father had been resurrected by the God-emperor after the foul traitor Mlrtarion had struck him down with both Godblight and his reaping scythe. That injury had seemingly healed months ago, but he - and other brother apothecaries - were concerned about potential long-term complications of such an injury. Particularly as wounds inflicted by Nurgle’s plague-ridden dogs of war tended to linger and fester far longer than they had any right to.

The Primarch sighed before undoing the tie of his toga, lowering and re-tying the cloth around his waist. “As far as I know, I have not taken any recent blows to the chest. Not since Mortarion struck me with his scythe, and that wound has long since healed over.” He looked down at his chest, a frown creasing his brows and turning the corners of his lips.

“Your chest is swollen, sire.” Asterios noted, moving closer to his Primarch, having the scanner look him over “Fluid has accumulated in your pectoral muscles. Will you allow me to try and express some, to take a sample for testing? And, of course, to try and relieve the pressure and pain.”

Guilliman grimaced a little at that before nodding “Please do.”

Asterios nodded, stepping into the Primarch's personal space as he focused on the task at hand. He pulled on a pair of clean, disposable gloves and began to do a manual check of his gene-sire’s chest, his touches firm but gentle.

It did not take long for the built up fluid within Guilliman's pectoral muscles to discharge, weeping out of his nipples as a creamy-Off white substance that was similar in viscosity to water or whole milk. The Apothecary continued to stimulate one of his primarch's pectoral muscles with one hand, the other holding a collection tube.

The tube could hold up to five ounces of fluid and was quickly filled. Asterios paused in his ministrations long enough to cap the collection tube and label it, handing the warm fluid off to Sicarius “Run this down to the medical lab immediately.” He had a suspicion as to what this was, although part of his mind wanted to reject the idea out of hand.

The normally prideful and stubborn Captain merely nodded and set off at a swift pace that hopefully wouldn't be remarked upon as too out of the ordinary. The last thing Asterios wanted was to cause alarm to ricochet through Maccrage’s Honor like bouncing ordinance due to this change in the Primarch's condition. He knew that Sicarius would be discreet about this for their gene-sire's sake. 

The fluid looked like human breast milk. It smelled like it too, and had heavily perfumed the air. Asterios’ mouth had begun to water a little at the sweet and creamy scent as he struggled with the instinctual urge to take a sip of the substance. Nowhere in the Primarch's medical file did it say that he was capable of creating breast milk, though that may have been deliberately hidden by his predecessors in the 30th millennium for any number of reasons.

It was also possible that the milky discharge was due to either the supernatural poison inflicted on him by the Daemon Primarch Fulgrim, or the wounds inflicted upon him by Deamon Primarch Mortarion, or the damage done by the two of them combined. 

Asterios acquired a mid-sized, empty and sterile, wide-mouthed glass bottle to catch the rest of the discharge.  He continued to stimulate the left pectoral, which was the one he had been stimulating earlier. A small frown appeared on his face as the 650 ml bottle filled completely. He could feel that there was more fluid left.

The Apothecary capped the first bottle and continued to express the fluid, freezing when a low groan left his Primarch's lips part way through.

“Sir?” He asked, worried he may have injured the other.

“My left breast feels much better now. The pressure and tightness has eased. Please continue. Unless you'd rather I express it myself?” His primarch answered.

Asterios shook his head “It is my duty to tend to your medical needs, my liege. This is no burden for me.” 

~

By the time he finished expressing the fluid from Guilliman’s chest, Sicarius had returned and he had thirteen 650 ml bottles filled to the brim of the substance. Some of the tension that his Primarch had been carrying had left him as the last of the substance left his body.

“Do you have any ideas as to what… This… Maybe?” Guilliman asked, frowning at the bottles neatly labeled and sitting on his desk.

Asterios hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should speak about his suspicions or not “While I can only speculate as to what this is, based on my experience as an Apothecary and the few properties of this fluid I have been able to determine from expressing it from your body…”

“Directly, son. Please stop dancing around the subject.” Guilliman ordered him not unkindly, though his face was stern. 

“I… Suspect this may be breast milk, sir. It looks and smells like it, sir. I have helped numerous chapter serfs through their pregnancies and during the months that babies require nursing. It is… Unusual but not unheard of for men and masculine presenting humans to produce milk.” Asterios explained hesitantly. He tucked his hands behind his back, to avoid fidgeting before his liege lord. “The common causes are due to either a hormone imbalance, certain kinds of medications and supplements, regular nipple stimulation, or heightened sensitivity to prolactin. Additionally, there are a handful of warp-related foods, pollen and spells or curses that can cause male lactation. They are primarily Slaaneshi or Nurgilite in nature.”

The mask of calm on his Primarch's face wavered a little as he rumbled “I see. As far as I kn-... Ah.”

“Sir?” Sicarius prompted, his eyes narrowing a little “There was those ruins we stumbled across while fighting off the Tyranids last month, sire. We had chased the last of the all-devouring bastards there, and you slew the last of them with the flaming blade of the emperor. There was a brief flash of unnaturally blue warp-light that encapsulated the entire ruins for several seconds, blinding myself and every other Ultramarine in both the ruins and in a four square mile radius, with the ruins as the epi-center."

"... You are correct. Throne damn it, so I did have an encounter with a Warp Entity after we left that planet. I had thought it was a nightmare brought on by the many issues that plague the Imperium." Roboute sighed, sagging a little into his chair as he stared at the creamy substance that seemed to be mocking him in the bottles. "It... Wanted to thank me for freeing the material system from which it subsisted upon from being devoured by the Tyranids and said that it gave me a gift. A minor one, as it could - and this is as direct a quote as I can remember "not bless me with anything too grand a gift as The Anathema watches you closely, your spirit bolstered by his gilded light." It also said that the gift would help me in supporting my many children."

"... Father, I feel like I should ask Chief Librarian Tigurius to tend to you. Warpcraft is well outside of my realm of expertise." Asterios offered, genuine worry on his face as he looked his father over more closely. He did not appear to be warp tainted - no strange scales, eyes or orifices where they should not be. No tendrils, wings nor bone-growths (external or internal) had been found by the scanner, and the brief physical check he had performed as warp-augments could be missed by material scanners sometimes. 

Roboute sighed but nodded "You're assessment is correct. Please ask Varro to come... But I'd rather this matter be handled as discreetly as possible." The Imperial Regent was very much aware of the fact that his hold over the Imperium was tenuous at best and largely relied upon the fact that his sons - and his brothers' sons who had remained loyal to the Imperium had largely thrown their tremendous support behind him. The Astra Militarum leadership (the ones who weren't corrupt idiots who he would be having dealt with as he had time) was wary of him and while they lent their support to him, Roboute knew that only those who hailed from Ultramar had truly meant their words of fealty when they knelt and swore to him. "In the meantime do... Something with this liquid. I'm not sure if it is volatile or what disposal methods are safest, but please do be careful with it, Asterios."

"As you command, Father." The Chief Apothecary answered with a nod, a small smile appearing on his face, despite the worry. The moments when his Lord Father showed affection or care for one of them was always a hearts-warming blessing. He carefully placed the filled glass containers into the mostly-empty kit, using the remaining items to pad the glass bottles on the trip out. The sweet scent had mostly dissipated and should be hidden by the thickness of the container they were placed in and thus, should not attract attention.

~

It did not take long for Varro to arrive, and Roboute had half a mind to gently but firmly ask Cato to stop hovering quite so close... However the worried but determined expression on his son's face stilled his tongue. Besides, Cato had been quite withdrawn since barely surviving his trip through the warp. The fact that he was more actively engaging with others around him was something that the Primarch intended to encourage. 

"Asterios said that you required my assistance with a sensitive matter, my lord?" Varro inquired, saluting him as he entered Roboute's office, the door closing automatically behind him.

"I did, please come closer." Roboute instructed the powerful psyker. He briefly explained the... Issue he was suffering from, and it's likely source, given the dreaming interaction he had with the warp entity. Roboute also described what the entity looked like, to the best that he could remember. The primarch was fairly certain it wasn't a deamon of one of the Four, but he couldn't be sure and would rather be cautious than foolhardy whenever prudent. 

"If you'll allow me, my lord, I can do a psychic scan of your body, to check for warp tampering. It also may give me insight into how to correct the issue, though I will likely need to spend time researching about possible other cases of something like this happening to others, sire." Tigurius asked. 

"You may." The Primarch allowed with a nod.

"Very well, I shall begin. You may feel a slight pressure or tingling sensation at my psychic touch, lord. But it should not hurt, if it does, please tell me and where it does ache." The Librarian instructed his father, seeing Cato tense and shift into a defensive stance. 

"Easy, Cato. He is here to help try and solve this issue. Would you like to wait outside my office until the psychic examination is over?" Roboute asked, keenly aware of hos uncomfortable warp use made Cato, even allied psykers. Considering his recent warp-based traumas, it made sense.

Cato hesitated for a moment before shaking his head a little "No sir. It is my duty and honor to guard you, my lord. So I shall do my duty."

"Very well, Cato." Roboute answered with a small smile, gently patting his tightly wound son on one shoulder.

The captain of his personal guard immediately relaxed a little, subtly leaning into his touch for a moment before coming back to himself.

"If you are ready, my lord, I shall begin." Varro prompted.

"Please do so." Roboute murmured with a nod.

At his command, Varro's eyes light up with the bright, electric blue of warpcraft, the head of his staff crackling as well. 

Roboute could feel when the other's psychic touch made contact with him, and fought off the instinctual urge to try and resist the touch - or to lunge after the one who dared try to use warp-craft on him. Varro was one of his hands and a stalwart ally who had been helping lead the Ultramarines to victory and avoid ruinous defeat for centuries. Roboute also kept an eye on Cato the entire time, noting the way that the other tensed and shifted a little from where he was standing throughout the entire procedure. He was scowling at the ground, one hand gripping the handle of his family's ancestral blade, the other clenching and relaxing at his side. 

Varro's eyes returned to normal after several long minutes of scanning. He swayed a little on his feet and Roboute silently gestured for Cato to go support his brother.

 Which Cato complied without complaint or hesitation, guiding the powerful psyker to one of the seats and fetching a bottle of water for the other to sip from. 

Roboute waited for Varro to gather himself before asking any questions, not wanting to overwhelm the other. There was a good chance the other was partially overwhelmed by whatever Father had done to raise him from the dead, after Mortarion had struck him down, months ago. He had also gotten some information that father had intended for their souls to be grander, more powerful than baseline mortals and astartes and had somehow manage to do so, which may have overwhelmed Varro's otherworldly senses. 

Cato pulled out a ration bar, peeled back the protective packaging and shoved it into Varro's free hand "Eat. You're not the best at remembering to eat regularly and warp-sorcery takes a great deal out of you. Especially subtle magicks." 

Varro took the ration bar and bit into it tiredly as he swatted at Cato half-heartedly "I'll be fine. I just need a moment to recover. It's not often that one has the honor of looking directly at the soul of one's primarch. The experience was illuminating and humbling." Despite the grumbling, he was leaning into Cato for a bit of support as he finished the ration bar and water bottle. 

Roboute patiently waited for his chief librarian to recover, as he knew that rushing psykers never, ever ended well for anyone. He shifted so that one of his hands was covering his mouth, so that neither of them would notice the way that he was grinning at the brotherly interactions between the two high ranking officers of his Ultramarines. His highest-ranking officers all had big personalities and they clashed regularly. It was good to see that they did genuinely care for one another as well, though they were clearly trying to hide the genuine care and concern with teasing words and grumbling. He knew that one of the main reasons why Cato regularly pestered a certain Fourth Captain was due to the fact that the poor man was regularly accosted by the forces of chaos, several warlords being personally interested in capturing and breaking said captain personally. 

Varro cleared his throat and sat up properly in his chair, and stated "I saw that something had been altered within your body via warp-craft. It was a subtle change and I will need to do research in to see if this has happened to others before. Your mammary glands have been activated, causing you to produce..." Varro abruptly stopped talking, going a fascinating shade of red before paling.

Cato jabbed Varro in the side "Causing father to produce what? Out with it Tiggy." 

"Don't call me Tiggy in front of father! You're the *worst*, Cato! Besides. I am. Trying to figure out how to say... Uhm. I'm at a bit of a loss for words how to say this politely, so please forgive my bluntness, my lord." Tigurius responded, taking in a deep breath before responding, not looking Roboute in the eye as he did so "You are now producing breast milk. As far as I am aware, no primarch has ever produced breast milk before, so the... Properties of the fluid in question are ones I wouldn't begin to speculate on, my lord. But... You mentioned that the warp-entity claimed that they were giving you a blessing that would... Help us somehow?"

"That is what they claimed. Whether or not they were telling the truth - and if their perception of helpful is anywhere near what we material beings would actually consider helpful is another matter entirely. Instruct one of your seconds to research into local legends and beliefs of the system we liberated from the tyranids and brought back into the imperial fold. Their beliefs about any gods will affect the nature of the warp entity that has laid claim to that system, and give us a bit of a framework as to just what we are dealing with. At least, if I remember Magnus' ranting on such things correctly..." There was a rueful smile on his face as he mentioned one of his treacherous brothers. By all that was good in the galaxy did he miss them. Even if he would be teased for centuries about this, he had no doubt that Magnus would have figured out something about his new... Issue. 

He could also see the teasing grin on Horus' face, should the treacherous warmaster had found out before he had turned against them all... And Roboute could guess what the other might say about it as well. He shook himself mentally. Now was no time to be maudlin and wallow in sorrow. He had to project an image of strength and serenity for the sake of his sons. For Ultramar and the Imperium as a whole. Even if he was deeply unhappy about the fact that his body had been altered without his consent or full knowledge of what was happening. 

Damn warp entities and their vexing, meddling ways. 

"Father?" Cato asked, a frown of concern on his face.

Yes, Cato?" Roboute prompted, realizing that both Varro and Cato had been talking when his mind had wandered off. "Please look into this matter... Discretely." He had no desire to find out what the reactions to him being altered in such a way by the other powerful factions of the imperium. "And... Do keep this from our guests of the Adeptus Ministorum. I would rather the ecclesiarchy not get involved in my medical care." That and if he had to deal with that damned priest ranting about warp entities or whatever grox-shit filled nonsense about him producing life-nourishing milk from his body, he would drop-kick the blathering bastard off Maccrage's Honor from orbit over one of the many worlds teeming with orkz and watch as he was ripped apart piece by piece. 

"Yes father, of course. Is there anything else you require of me?" Varro asked, standing up as he asked.

Roboute shook his head "No, you are dismissed. Please keep me updated as you learn things - or if you need additional resources to research. If you need a sample of the... Fluid, Asterios has a good amount of it on hand currently, though I do not know for how long he will have it before it's disposed of."

"I will keep that in mind, thank you father." Varro answered, saluting him before leaving his office.

The primarch heaved a silent sigh, before returning to the endless amounts of digital paperwork he was required to do. He had full confidence in his sons to figure out what to do about this new development. And if they didn't... As much as Roboute loathed the very idea of owing a certain Magos Dominus even more than he already did... Belisarius Cawl was certainly effective in his methods. Not that Roboute was going to rush to set up another meeting between the two of them. He had full confidence in his sons to figure out if this was a dangerous development or if it truly could be a useful if mildly embarrassing asset.

[urhouseisnthauntedurjustlonely]

Hatchetfield & the Real Musical References

That theory of ‘the plays-within-plays foreshadow the next musical’ got me thinking about the real musicals referenced in the Hatchetfield Series and how they could connect to the story. That led to these findings.

CW: Relgion (Godspell), spoilers for the Hatchetfield Series, Godspell & Brigadoon

(I know there are more details I’m missing, as I haven’t seen either musical, but I’m just excited and wanted to share. Wikipedia is my ride-or-die.)

So. Godspell. Or, ‘God-awful’. Or, ‘Gotdamn That Was Bad’.

Y’all…

First, Godspell is mostly based on the Gospel of Matthew. Like Paul Matthews, the very guy who did not like musicals himself.

Skipping to Act II for a moment— there is a scene where…

“Jesus returns to his followers to find them all asleep. He begs them to stay awake, but they all fall asleep again, and Jesus warns them that they will all betray him three times.”

Remember in Act II of TGWDLM, after the song ‘Not Your Seed’, when Alice, Deb, and Hatchetfield Bee are talking to Paul after they killed Bill? And remember when they said:

“Bending countless civilizations to our will, yet, you, Paul, have defied us thrice!”

Insert The Incredibles’ (2004), “Coincidence? I think not!” meme here.

Godspell includes the tale of The Parable of the Prodigial Son, also known as the Parable of the Two Brothers, Lost Son, Loving Father, or of the Forgiving Father.

“The parable begins with a man who had two sons, and the youngest, who is impatient and greedy, asks his father to give him his share of the estate immediately. The father is like, “Y’know what? Fuck it. I’m feelin’ kinda funky today,” and agrees, dividing the estate in half.”

“Upon receiving his portion of the inheritance, the younger son travels to a distant country, where he squanders his wealth through reckless living.”

The younger son gets humbled, he comes back home in shame, blah, blah, blah, lesson learned.

If that’s not Emma Perkins, then I don’t know what is, especially considering she literally inherits land. I’m looking at you, Nightmare Time episode Perky’s Buds!!

And I admit, this is a reach, but the Parable of the Prodigal Son starts in Luke 15:11. Emma’s favorite band is 311. In military time, 3 pm = 15. So, 15:11 = 3:11 pm. This is either a happy accident or an intentional tidbit that managed to work out well.

Similar to the beginning of TGWDLM, it begins with God and the characters breaking the fourth wall and explaining shit via song.

At the end of Godspell, Jesus is crucified, and he is carried off stage by the cast. There has been a lot of controversy over the ending, because the musical does not mention Jesus’ resurrection at any point.

Almost like how in TGWDLM, Paul sacrifices himself, and when we thought Paul was resurrected at the end, he wasn’t. (To put it simply.) And we can’t forget how the cast carries a screaming Emma off stage, and the show ends on a (good) controversial note.

Brigadoon!

Brigadoon starts with these two New Yorkers, Tommy Albright and Jeff Douglas doing that fancy kind of hunting white people do when the men hear music coming from a village nearby. But wait a hot second! There is no village on their map! And yet!! Turns out that village is a special place called Brigadoon. Why is it special? Here’s some WIKI for ya’.

“200 years ago, the local minister prayed to God to have Brigadoon disappear that way it would remain untouched by the outside world, only to reappear every 100 years. All citizens of Brigadoon are forbidden to leave the town, or it will disappear forever.”

Kind of reminds me of the whole ‘no one can ever truly leave Hatchetfield’ thing. So, could Hatchetfield be seen as a mirror of Brigadoon in some sense?

Hm.

There is literally a character named Tommy who ends up falling for Fiona, a lass from Brigadoon. The issue is, he’s engaged to a woman named Jane who he isn’t really that into. Even after he leaves Brigadoon, Tommy still thinks about Fiona.

Tommy is Tom. Jane is Jane. Fiona is Becky. Of course, this isn’t to be taken as they are the Hatchetfield equivalent to that character.

And it turns out, Emma Perkins hates Becky Barnes. Why? Sisterly principle. (Emma knows Tom always viewed Becky as ‘the one who got away’, even after marrying Jane.)

Going back to Paul and Emma!

After after meeting Fiona, Tommy asks the Brigadoon schoolmaster, Mr. Lundie, if outsiders were allowed to stay. He replies:

“A stranger can stay if he loves someone here – not jus' Brigadoon, mind ye, but someone in Brigadoon – enough to want to give up everythin' an' stay with that one person. Which is how it should be. 'Cause after all, lad, if ye love someone deeply, anythin' is possible.”

In TGWDLM, Paul and General MacNamara have that Iconic Conversation which has a similar vibe.

MacNamara: I follow a higher law than any institution could decree, and that is the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

&

Paul: I can’t leave without Emma.

MacNamara: Who’s Emma, Paul?

Paul: A friend of mine.

MacNamara: Friends don’t move my heart, son. Is there a chance at something more?

Paul: […] I’d like there to be. I want there to be.

Shout out to Mamma Mia, and Bill wanting to see a feel good musical with his daughter about a daughter and her three possible fathers.

I stand behind the idea that Alice is Bill’s biological daughter, she’s just white passing. I’d also like to appreciate the fact that Alice’s favorite restaurant is Red Lobster.

I plan on actually watching these musicals soon, that way I can make more in-depth posts, but like I said— this just made me really happy and excited, and I wanted to share it.

Feel free to reblog and add onto this post! Seriously! I love when that happens! Okay, bye!

[yourthirdparent]

did y'all know i'm obsessed with railiu because i don't know if i've mentioned that i'm obsessed with railiu

Raiden sighs into the space between Liu Kang's neck and shoulder. "I love you."

Liu Kang smiles down at him. "And I love you, my champion," he murmurs, softly stroking Raiden's loose hair, "for the rest of your mortal life and for all of my immortal existence." Ever genuine, endlessly heartbreaking. Raiden's breathing stops. He pushes himself up to look Liu Kang in the eye.

"Don't say things like that," he says.

Liu Kang tips his head to the side. "Why?" he asks, like he genuinely can't tell why Raiden might be put down by the reminder that Liu Kang will outlive him twice, thrice, a million times over. "I'm prepared to love you for the rest of time, even after you've run out of it."

His smile takes on a vaguely sad edge, or maybe it had always had it and Raiden had simply not noticed. "I am used to loving mortals for longer than they live," he says. "I would not insist upon doing so were I not prepared to bear the weight of grief."

Raiden feels Liu Kang's hand as it cups his cheek, as his thumb drags along his skin tenderly. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch. "I am sorry for the pain I will bring when I leave you."

His forehead presses against Liu Kang's as he's pulled down. "You will never leave me," Liu Kang says certainly, as though there is no other way things could play out. "I will carry you with me for the rest of time."

Raiden takes a deep breath, ignoring how it shakes out of him into the air between them. "That doesn't make it sound like it will hurt you less."

Liu Kang separates them just a bit and tilts Raiden's head to press a kiss atop its crown. "Loving you is worth that pain," he whispers. Raiden's heart breaks a little with every word.

"You're so good at comforting people," he lies.

Liu Kang obviously isn't convinced, but he smiles and speaks like he is. Maybe he understands that it's best that they move on before Raiden makes a decision he regrets. "I've had millennia to perfect my craft," he says lightly.

"Good at comforting and a good lover. Is there anything else you've mastered?"

Liu Kang laughs softly. "I consider myself to be a fine cook," he answers, allowing the topic change to pass smoothly without complaint. "Perhaps I can show you tomorrow, if you can wake up early enough."

Raiden huffs and flops back on top of Liu Kang, burying his face in his neck again. "I don't think I can get up at all tomorrow."

Liu Kang laughs again, voice ringing out beautifully from his lips like music, like the chirping of birds or the ringing of bells, and Raiden is so, so in love. "You'll have to," he says. "You still have the latter half of the tournament to win."

Raiden hums and kisses Liu Kang's skin just because he can. "I'd rather just stay here with you forever."

Liu Kang kisses the top of Raiden's head with a smile. "You can stay with me forever once we've secured our standing with Outworld," he says. "For now, we have tonight, and then the next, and then forever after that."

The word rings in Raiden's mind. Forever. He sighs wistfully. "Forever can't come soon enough."

"Then go to sleep, champion," Liu Kang whispers, "and forever will come when you wake."

And so Raiden drifts to sleep, held close to Liu Kang like the god could hardly bear to let him go either.

also on ao3

[demigodsanswer]

THRICE 14

A kiss to the stomach [send a kiss]

[read thrice upon a pointe - au of an au]

cw for abortions. It's treated as a very normal decision for someone to make about their life and health.

Annabeth had noticed she was more tired than usual, and maybe a little nauseous. She just thought it was the stress of doing Swan Lake for the first time. Plus, they were still trying to figure out the exact right dosage and kind of anti-depressant for her.

A year ago, Sally had been the one to let her know it wasn't normal to cry all the time or to want to lay on the floor. She'd gotten Annabeth to a therapist and psychiatrist.

Sally was really the mother Annabeth never had.

So it made sense for Sally to ask about Annabeth falling asleep in the middle of her day off.

"You never nap," Sally said. Annabeth had gone to Sally's apartment to hang out with Estelle while Percy taught one of Miss Hestia's classes. She'd planned to go with him but she was still so tired from Swan Lake. "Are you feeling okay?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Honestly, I've felt a bit sick."

Sally made her peppermint tea before asking: "Has everything else been normal?" Annabeth looked at her, confused. "On time?"

"Oh!" Annabeth said catching on. "Yeah, it --" wait, what day was it? She'd gotten through the placebo pills in her birth control, but she had never actually started bleeding. That was almost two weeks ago.

"Oh dear," Sally said, as the horror unfolded on Annabeth's face.

"This isn't the right time," Annabeth said right away, as Sally pulled her in for a hug. She was only twenty-one. It was her first season as a principal. She wasn't taking a year off now. Not to mention she and Percy weren't ready! Oh, but he would be such a good dad, she thought. "We'll have kids one day," Annabeth said out loud to no one in particular, "just not now."

"That's okay," Sally promised. "Let's find out for sure first, and then we'll make a plan," she said. Annabeth nodded. She liked plans. Plans she could deal with.

~

Several drugstore tests and a call to Annabeth's gynecologist later, Sally and Annabeth had a pretty solid plan. Sally was good at reminding Annabeth the abortion was like any other health procedure just by the way she talked about. Sally said it all so casually, as if they were talking about a pap smear or something. And she never called it 'a baby' or asked Annabeth if she had any doubts. It helped.

Annabeth didn't have any doubts. If anything, she was anxious to get on it with it.

"Do you think Percy will be mad?" Annabeth asked finally. He'd be home soon.

Sally took her hand. "No sweetie. He loves you and will want you to do what's right for you in this situation."

No use in waiting. When Percy got back to Sally's for dinner, Annabeth just pulled in him into their old room. It was a guest room now, but it still felt a little bit like theirs. They'd lost their virginity in this room. So, this brought things a bit full circle.

"What's up?" Percy asked.

Annabeth should have thought through what she was going to say. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have simply blurted: "I'm having an abortion."

Percy's eyes went wide as he tried to process all the layers to that information. After a moment, his shoulders tensed and Annabeth panicked. But all he said was: "Oh my god, are you okay?" He rushed towards her. "I'm so sorry," he said brushing a bit of hair away from her face.

Annabeth relaxed a bit under his gentle touch, and just held her arms open for him to hug her. Once she had his arms around her, she started to cry.

"Are you okay with this?" She asked.

"Of course," he promised. "I'm a bit relieved you don't want to keep it. I'd be there for our family if you did but ..."

"No, it's not time yet," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was a pretty efficient way to tell me, I'll give you that."

A laugh broke through Annabeth's crying.

"So you're not mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Annabeth, you should be mad at me. I did this to you!" He said, still hugging her, now giving her a squeeze.

"I'm not mad at you!" She said, pulling back to look at this face. He looked so guilty, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"And of course I'm not mad at you!" He promised back.

"So you don't think it's terrible, what I want?" Annabeth asked. She didn't think so; Sally didn't think so. But what if --

"No, of course not," he promised. "If it's making you feel bad and nervous, and making me nervous, then that's not our baby. That's just some parasite I infected you with."

"I do want your babies one day," Annabeth assured him.

"And we'll decide when we're ready to start, and when we're ready to stop. We're not ready to start yet. And that's okay."

Annabeth let out a sob, before burying her face in his chest. "What fucking planet did you come from? How are you so perfect?"

"Well," his voice cracked the way it always did when he was trying not to cry. "Well it's easy. Before I say anything I think: What would make Annabeth happy? And then I try to say that."

"It's working," she promised.

~

In the end, it was something they could just do at home. Sally offered to stay with them at their apartment, but Annabeth decided she wanted more privacy. If she had a normal job, she'd've been back to work in a day or two. But she had to take a week off to recover, doctor's orders. She felt bad for pulling out of performances, but it was nice to have a week to lay in bed and have Percy care for her every need.

The cramps did suck tho.

Percy pressed a kiss to her belly before resting the heating pad on it. "Can I get you anything?" He asked.

"Some ice cream and a cuddle would be perfect," she said.

"On it!" He was back in a flash with a big bowl and a spoon. Once she was in a comfy enough position to sit up and eat, he snuggled up to her side, pulling her in close.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"Relieved," she said. "Thanks for taking such good care of me."

"Of course, love," he said. "I feel a bit like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing honestly."

"Oh, that could be a fun little fantasy to explore once I'm back in commission," she said with a smile.

"Glad to see this isn't keeping you down for long," Percy said with a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm getting an IUD placed in a few days. We'll be set for eight years," she said with a smile.

"Do you think it will be eight years before --"

"God no, probably like ... six?"

Percy smiled. "Six sounds good."

[wadebae]

typical twitter interaction:

muskboy43463759: i fucking hate snow.

sam0488393034489: why do you hate snow?

muskboy43463759: i never said that. you're twisting my words. learn to fucking read!

vs.

typical tumblr interaction:

👣feetbig Follow i fucking hate snow

🦆bingleingadingding Follow why do you hate snow?

👣feetbig Follow it was a cold morning in 1862. I was tending the wood stove, stirring the coals back to life to try to stave off the bite of frost upon on my fingers. Presently, a thunderous rapping sound upon the roof -- three strikes in quick procession -- roused my attention and sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the sub zero temperatures. I knew exactly what that sound meant. He had returned. I threw on my warmest furs and dashed to the door! There was no sight of the interloper, but the smell -- oh the wretched smell! T'was a foul waft of rotting meat funneled directly into my sinuses by the cold wind. I shouted, and ran to the treeline quick as a buck to catch my foul phantom visitor. It must have been that I'd scarcely missed the villain, close on his trail but just beyond sight of him, for his footprints still seemed warm in the snow. I followed his trail of massive footprints, each one further away from the last as his strides grew longer and longer. Running, running blindly into that cold abyss! Oh, but it was hopeless that I should ever catch him! With his strong sinewy form twice my height, and his gait thrice the length of mine even at a walk. I ran until I could no longer discern direction in the white blindness, and collapsed into the snow in exhaustion. Cold as it were, my flesh burned from my exertion and my throat was parched. I grappled at my surroundings, searching for a patch of snow that I might quench a bit of my thirst, and found a richly colored spot which reminded me of snow drenched in sweet maple syrup. Grasping handfuls of my yellow treat, I found the flavor quite potent and delightsome, and had many more handfuls than I anticipated, until I found there was nary a spot of the treat left. Surprisingly disappointed, and somehow thirstier than before, I rose to my feet and staggered through the woods for several more paces before I realized, having returned to my senses, that I was quite far now from my cabin and at risk in the frigid land, for a gentle snowfall had begun which threatened to cover the tracks I had followed and leave me quite lost. At once, I turned heel and made my way back to my cabin, following my mysterious beloved's footprints in reverse. Oh, but how every step filled me with such despair and yearning, to see my own boot completely eclipsed by the monstrous print of my would-be paramour. His very sole (soul) so clearly laid bare upon the clean white slate of the winter-covered earth, each toe neatly imprinted but so far from me! I followed, like a lost child, and found the way back far longer and more exhausting than my headlong charge into the woods had been. Were it possible that the distance had multiplied?! But eventually, just as the snow had begun to fall harder, I found my own cabin with its fire now quite dead. Concern for my health and comfort consumed me, and I spent an entire hour kindling the fire and extracting the chill from my bones. Had I known then that it would be the last time he rapped upon my roof, I would have devoted it better to my memory. Had I known that I would never catch his rancid scent again, I might have tried to cherish it. Had I known that I would never see those footprints again, I would have touched them and wept! Days turned to lonely weeks, and then years, with no sign of him. My strange interloper was no more. The winter was always too quiet after that, and too cold. The snow never tasted the same.

🌞sunnydeeznuts Follow why am I crying rn

🩻bro-wtf Follow Tumblr user feetbig ate yellow snow

👽ayylmaosatemyass ☑️☑️Follow Are we just going to ignore the fact that OP is fucking bigfoot?

🎹bisexualpiano Follow I know this is the poor reading comprehension website but clearly OP never fucked bigfoot. They were would-be lovers who spent their time pursuing one another, enamored with the thrill of the chase, never suspecting that one day might be their last. OP did eat Bigfoot's piss snow tho.

👽ayylmaosatemyass ☑️☑️Follow How dare you say OP pissed on the poor

[singlecrow]

ds9 holosuite adventure in the tv show of your choice

Becca, you know me well.

--

"I'm reminded of a Cardassian equivalent," Garak decides, and Julian considers becoming a vedek.

"Do tell," he says, looking down at himself. Twentieth century street clothes. They look fine. For versimilitude, they should be women's clothes, but Julian doesn't like that even to play. Garak, meanwhile, might be persuaded into a perfectly tasteful dress just as nice as one of his own manufacture, if he could get past whatever Cardassian thrice-repetitive literary equivalent Julian is just about to receive chapter and verse and forty-four more volumes on.

"The Cardassian writer Ankoja of Prim," Garak says. "She spoke of a race of beings who, upon exposure to sunlight, took on a greenish patina and, ah... combusted. It was thought at the time to be something in the nature of a surfeit of copper ions in the blood."

"That's not how anything works," Julian says. "Could you kill them with a piece of pointed wood?"

"I don't suppose anyone ever tried." Garak looks perturbed. "They were law-abiding citizens, seeking a cure... my dear Doctor. Are you saying that the purpose of this game is to kill these unfortunate... creatures?"

"The clue is in the name!" Julian yells. "You slay the vampires! And then they die! And that's the game!"

"It sounds terribly bloodthirsty."

"No," Julian says, "that's them. The vampires. Who are bloodthirsty!"

"Everyone must live, surely," Garak says.

"They don't live. They're dead. Undead."

"Why do we need to kill them, then?" Garak asks. "If we need to kill them in any case, which frankly I doubt. I'm reminded of another Cardassian equivalent, the Pherran Scholars of the northern provinces, who wrote in the ethical mode..."

Julian wonders if the Dominion need doctors, and if they do, where to apply.

[zedecksiew]

EVANGELION

Neon Genesis Evangelion was my whole identity, when I was fifteen.

I was an angsty boy from a small town. I longed to have a fiery redhead be mean to me (or to just meet one); to be part of world-ending events (or to be part of a clique that mattered); to pilot a god (or to just feel powerful in my own body).

As I grew up I've managed to sublimate those longings, I guess?

All my middle-age aches tell me my body is friend who cannot be taken for granted; their are not a flesh-tool. On good writing days, I do feel like I make some meaning in the world.

And, while I've still never met a fiery redhead---I no longer see Westerners as aspirational, so meeting them now feels human instead of symbolic.

+

Last year I watched the Rebuild series through. I liked it! Parts of the new movies remind me of Shin Godzilla (my favourite Hideaki Anno work).

Some notes:

+

1. CAD leads to overdesign

True when Tim Burton got CGI; true when Games Workshop started to sculpt minis on computers; true for the nonsense Evas, Unit 05 onwards, and that over-busy flying SDF-1 knockoff. I mean, what the fuck am I looking at here???

And while some stuff like the Eva 07s are neat (they've got these skull + pharaoh-chin designs), it's moot because you can barely see them, because they only appear in scenes like this:

So dumb, so dumb.

The new angels were sick, though. Because when you overdesign by computer you pass into the realm of the inhuman, and the angels are supposed to be eldritch inhuman creatures.

Sahaquiel was my favourite re-designed angel. It got these ridges that look like leaping evangelical choirs.

+

2. Meta-indulgence

I've aged out of thinking that breaking the fourth wall is clever. I did like the meta stuff in last film, though? Calls back on the series finale + End of Evangelion. But crucially it felt really different.

It felt like a satisfying (and kinder!) end to the characters' stories; more satisfying closure for the fans. It felt like Anno was saying goodbye to his demons, putting the franchise to bed, and turning off the lights. Moving on.

(All instantly rendered moot when they announce a new Evangelion project / tie-in / whatever. Because of course they will. Because Capitalism.)

+

3. Rebuilding

The best part of Thrice Upon A Time is the first third of the film: minutiae from a community of survivors trying to pick themselves up from the end of the world. Planting rice, arranging hot baths, playing with pregnant cats.

Evangelion finally got some actual, undashed hope.

The whole movie could've just been this---the characters staying in this small town, dealing with their demons, learning how to feel and heal and actually live the lives that were stolen from them.

That would've been a really good way to end, honestly.

+

4. Child soldiers

The most obvious thing about Evangelion is this:

its protagonists, the pilots of the giant mechas, are emotionally and physically tortured preteens, gaslit and manipulated by every adult they meet.

This is a show about the use and abuse of children. My teenage self never clocked it. Hm, I wonder why!

Maybe because I didn't yet have the discursive tools to understand that stuff; 2000 was a different time, after all.

Maybe I didn't care. Surrogate mommy please kiss me and dangle that sex-carrot so I'll go kill the world, oh yeah! Use me, mommy!

Because when you're that young you'd do anything to be treated as important, as an adult. You want to be used, because being used means you are legitimate.

And nothing is as legitimate as suffering.

[violet-n-butterflies]

Playboy/Loverboy - Forbes and Dennis

You used to date Dennis until you ended it with him after the college incident, which made you develop a very big crush on none other than Forbes Blomquist that still lasted after all these years, especially now that you're invited to Reuben's pre-wedding party which reunited everyone, including Forbes, Dennis...and then you....how will the night then...well I think we all know the answer to that one...

Genre: Angst and Smut

Tropes: Unrequited Love, Lovers Turned Enemies Turned Friends, Friends Turned Lovers, Rivalry, Friends Turned Enemies Turned Neutral, Accidental Adultery, Am I Just a Toy to You? And etc....

Warnings: Sexual references & Sexual Scenes (described), Cheating, Threesome (MMF), Alcohol Drinking and Drug Use (Legal Age), Degrading, Spit Roasting (Penetration in Mouth and Labia), Profanity, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex (Reader's on the pill) and etc...

Quick Disclaimer: Minors DNI and this is non-canon or simply AU where the events of what happens in the movie doesn't happen but Beatrice and the college incident will still be mentioned in the story just slightly altered. So yeah, and if you’re uncomfortable with this kind of topic and story, please skip this one for your matter then....

Y/N POV

I was driving up to the destination where everyone was that was up in the weird yet creepy mountains, I started feeling lost until I saw the sign “Reuphia” appeared, pointing me in the right direction. Turning, I continued up the road until I saw the other vehicles and a peculiarly lit house come into view.

I finally arrived and headed towards the front door while hearing the noises inside that I couldn’t really make out that well. In the semi-quiet house where the air had the mixed scent of fresh nature, drugs and alcohol, everyone was simply resting in the living room with the muted chatter of their voices filling the room up along with the loud music that was blaring in the background.

Upon arriving, I knocked thrice on the front door, causing confusion within everyone as to who it was, only for Reuben to go check who it was. And as he swung the door open and a gust of cool air fluttered inside the warm household. It was none other than their old friend, (Y/N)…..I was the last to arrive due to flight delays.

Entering the house, the scent of fresh nature melded with faint traces of drugs and alcohol filled the air. The muted chatter of voices and thumping background music greeted me as I was entering the living room, I even spotted familiar faces: Reuben, obviously, and then there’s Nikki, Shelby, Cyrus, Maya, Brooke and there they were…

Forbes and Dennis, two old friends that turned enemies after the college incident. The tension between the two was thick, a silent standoff playing out across the living room with Forbes sitting down nearly close to the doorway while Dennis was standing the furthest back, nursing his cold beer.

They’d once been pretty good and alright with each other, but obviously what happened at Dennis’s birthday had made both of them so sour with each other that it had left a deep rift that seemed to grow wider with each passing day. They barely acknowledged each other’s presence and they would have their eyes locked on what was causing their attention…and in this case, it was them looking at me….

Before I could go take a seat, Dennis moved from his spot to head towards you before embracing me in a big bear hug since it’s been a long time since I’ve seen everyone, especially with me.

While he was hugging me, it obviously brought back some memories that reminded me of the times Dennis and I were together and how we used to be, we used to be so similar to each other and were pretty much Friends With Benefits but it all obviously changed that night on Dennis’s birthday party.

But I was brought back to reality when I opened my eyes and made eye contact with Forbes, it’s been a long time since I saw Forbes as I remember what happened that night.

I took Forbes side because I was the only to help him and his sister out that night since everyone didn’t want to help out at all, and that made me not bother keeping in contact with everyone that night due to how my life went afterwards but also obviously because of what happened.

We continued staring at each other as if time had stopped until Dennis had let me go so I was finally able to find somewhere to sit. A seat that had me next to Nikki and Brooke that Coincidentally was between Forbes and Dennis, but I didn’t pay much attention to them since I was explaining everyone how I’ve been and how my career has been.

As I’ve stretched your arms out for a bit, Reuben finally came back with some new bottles of alcohol and a glass for me to drink out of, I gave him a kind smile and a thank you in return.

I explained to everyone what I’ve been up to and how I’ve been a pretty successful author with my most popular books being sold over 100k copies domestically in the past few yeas and brought me a nearly total of almost two-thousand monthy.

But as I was explaining what my recent stories have been about, I was also studying everyone’s faces and how they reacted to it, with Nikki, Brooke and Reuben being happy to hear about it, Shelby, Cyrus and Maya being subtle but still showing support about it, however it was Forbes and Dennis reactions that caught me off guard.

“What it’s about” they both said, causing my eyes and head to move in their directions, making me go back and forth between them.

“Well, it’s about how a girl is stuck between a dilemma and a love triangle between her and two guys, I know it sounds very cliche but it’s the meaning behind it that’ll make a lot of sense”. I began to explain to them what my recent story is about.

“The whole point of the story is the meaning, the meaning is about how often times even though we get ourselves into awkward and painful situations, it helps us manage to grow at the end of the day and makes us not only who we are, but also makes us change either for the better or for the worse, especially dealing with things like friendship, social media and societal hierarchy”.

I was trying to explain to them what the story is about, but the more I tried to explain it, the more my mind was having a whirlwind of thoughts about what happened all those years ago and what the evening would probably have ahead. Little did I know that the simple act of choosing between the friend/foe and the foe/friend would set the stage for a night I would never forget.

The speaker in the corner played a classic rock song, its tune barely audible over the drone of the air conditioner. Everyone was either dancing to it or were just minding their own business: With Nikki being next to me speaking to me about both of our careers while Shelby was hanging out with Brooke and Maya around the entrance and Cryus hanging out with Reuben outside, I kept tapping my foot to the rhythm as I tried to keep myself distracted from what was happening around me but my eyes keep glazing over at both Forbes and Dennis as I couldn’t stop recalling the memories and moments I had with both Dennis and Forbes all those years ago.

I was two completely different people when it came to both Forbes and Dennis, but mostly because they were two different people in their own ways—Forbes, bit tall and brooding with a sharp intellect; Dennis, stocky and gruff yet so prideful—but I used to desire them both in different situations with a ferocity that surprised even myself, but then the more I kept remembering as of recent, it just kept getting even worse and worse.

But tonight I thought and decided maybe I should just keep myself distracted and low-key as much as possible. I felt myself with many thoughts and feelings such as butterflies and a bit heated up with Forbes being here but also a little bit of anxiety and a twinge of nervousness with Dennis being here due to my history with him, especially the thought of the potential consequences that could come up.

As the night grew late, the room grew hazier with smoke and louder with laughter. People paired off, heading to different parts of the house for private conversations or moments of intimacy. My heart kept racing as I saw Forbes and Dennis exchange glances that were charged with unresolved tension, a silent battle of wills that seemed to have nothing to do with the party and everything to do with me.

Nikki whispered, noticing my interest in Forbes, “You’re interested in Forbes aren’t you?” I felt my face being a bit flustered at her mentioning how I was looking at Forbes so much. “Why don’t you tell him how you feel?, sometimes, you’ve gotta break the ice.” Her words sparked a wildfire of desire and courage in my mind so I took a deep breath and stood up, my legs a bit wobbly from the drinks I’d had.

I approached Forbes who was leaning against the wall, his eyes watching me as I made my way over and the conversation grew serious. “Hey” I said, trying to sound casual despite the racing of my heart. He nodded, taking a sip of his beer, “Good to see you again.” I searched for the right words, feeling the weight of the unspoken history between us. The room spun a bit but I focused on the challenge ahead. I suggested privacy, and therefore me and forbes found a quiet spot so no one can hear you two.

This is the first time I saw Forbes in a long time, it kind of reminded me of the night when I helped Forbes out with Beatrice. With everyone judging Forbes and Beatrice, you decided to help Forbes that night with his sister, making him trust and liking you even more than before, but obviously due to what happened, Forbes ended up getting expelled and losing pretty much everyone’s trust and respect, but I didn’t care what people thought.

It ended up making me get even more closer with Forbes than before, the two of us had actually gotten pretty close with each other after the whole ordeal since Forbes and I had started to get similarities with each other.

I even helped and supported him when he was starting his career, but then I started focusing on my career as well, which after I had graduated, Forbes and I went 2 completely different paths, with Forbes moving away to another state while I moved to another state as well.

We still kept in contact with each other via phone number but obviously due to our careers and how they begin to get bigger and bigger, it obviously made us two more distance with each other which kind of upset me since I started to develop feelings for him.

He was the complete opposite compared to Dennis, and I was on a healing journey because when I was with Forbes, he made me feel calmer and even more alive compared to Dennis. But because he had to move, I couldn’t stay in the same place and I pretty much missed my opportunity to tell him the truth so I decided to move as well.

“it’s been a while since we saw each other, hasn’t it?” You tried to speak to Forbes but he decided to reply with a snarky comment. “I’m surprised you’re more concerned about me after I saw how Dennis was with you.” That caught me off guard since it was unusual of him and made me wonder what it was all about, but then I piece it together.

“Forbes, it was just a hug okay, a hug that obviously didn’t mean anything to us, I’m over Dennis and you know it.” I tried to tell Forbes that Dennis hugging me didn’t mean anything to me. Forbes was the only one who knew about me and Dennis’s relationship since after I helped him out, I broke down a little bit which caught Forbes attention that night out of curiosity but also out of genuine concern as well.

I ended up telling Forbes the truth which made Forbes lose his shit and tried to smash something but he stopped after he saw me break down even more, so he decided to comfort me even more. It obviously warmed me up even more due to how Forbes felt more comforting compared to Dennis. With that, it led me to end the relationship with Dennis and what made me develop a crush even more on Forbes.

“Look, I was actually thinking about our past,” I began, “and I was thinking maybe…”

Forbes cut me off, “What happened back then is over. It’s not worth rehashing.” His voice was cold, but his eyes searched mine for something deeper. I knew that the rift between us wasn’t just about the college incident. It was about the feelings we’d never acknowledged.

“I know,” I replied, my voice low and steady. “But I can’t help but think about the ‘what ifs’.”

Forbes’s eyes narrowed slightly, the coolness in his gaze warming a fraction. “The 'what ifs’ are dangerous territory.”

“I know,” I said, taking a step closer to him, my voice a whisper in the noisy room. “But I’ve never stopped thinking about them.”

Forbes took a deep breath, his eyes still on mine, but I could see the conflict in them. The music, the laughter, the smoke—it all faded away as we stood there, two magnets pulled together by an invisible force. “Why?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Because the 'what ifs’ are what keep me up at night.” I said to Forbes while trying to keep myself together.

My heart skipped a beat as he pushed off the wall, moving closer to me. “And I can’t just keep ignoring what happened, especially with Dennis.” I told Forbes, while feeling a knot forming in my stomach.

Forbes’s eyes searched mine, his expression unreadable. “What about Dennis?”

I took a deep breath, my heart racing as the music and chatter of the party seemed to fade into the background. “I want to finally move on from him,” I confessed, feeling the heat of my words. “And maybe I want to explore those 'what ifs’.”

Forbes stared at me, his jaw tightening. “You can’t have just have Dennis again like in the old days,” he said, his voice a warning.

“I’m not saying I want to, I just want some closure or at least something?” I countered, looking him directly in the eye. “I don’t see why I should have to go with my life without at least one single fucking answer from someone I used to care about.”

Forbes’s expression grew darker, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Because not everything has to know the truth. Especially when one of those those is nothing but a fabricated lie.”

I felt a sudden chill run down my spine. “What do you mean?”

Forbes’s eyes bore into me, his gaze intense. “Dennis didn’t just betray you. He lied to me, too.”

My mind raced, trying to process his words. “What are you talking about?”

Forbes took another step closer, his breath warm on my cheek. “Has Dennis ever told you the real reason we had a falling out because of what happened at college, or did he ever tell you that he lied about you and his relationship so he could hook up with Nikki?” His eyes were like lasers, cutting through my confusion. “Or that he got Beatrice drunk so he could do it behind your back and pretty much got me expelled because of it?”

The floor felt like it was dropping out from under me. I had suspected that there was more to the story than what I had been told, but the revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind reeled as I thought back to the nights I had spent with Dennis, the passion and the promises, all seemingly built on a foundation of deceit. “What are you saying?” I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Forbes’s expression softened slightly, but the anger remained in his eyes. “I’m saying that he’s not the person you think he is. He played you, (Y/N). And he played me, too.”

Hearing this coming from Forbes left me feeling my chest tighten with fear and anger. “So this whole time when I knew about him hooking up with Nikki, it turns out that…why doesn’t this surprise me” I had always had my suspicions about what happened that night, but to hear more of it from Forbes’s own mouth was a different kind of betrayal.

Forbes looked at me with surprise, his expression a mix of shock and relief. “You didn’t know?”

“No, and I didn’t want to since it never mattered at all, he and I were just FWB, and nothing more than that…so what was the point,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the past heavy on my shoulders. “But I didn’t know about the Beatrice part and why you got expelled.” My voice was small, and the hurt from that long-ago betrayal was still raw. “I ended it because I knew he hooked up with Nikki, but I didn’t know about that part of the story.”

Forbes’s eyes searched mine, the anger slowly fading into a mix of regret and sadness. I took a step back, the walls seemingly closing in on me while feeling like the floor was going to give way beneath me. Forbes reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this, (Y/N). But I thought you should know.” His voice was gentle, but the damage had been done. The trust I thought I had once placed in Dennis felt shattered, like a mirror reflecting a warped image of what I thought was real.

I stepped away, my eyes filling with tears. “I just…” I said, my voice shaking. “I just can’t deal with this right now.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and exited the area to go upstairs, making my way towards the bedroom where I could be alone. The door slammed shut behind me, echoing the chaos in my heart.

Forbes started to follow me to calm me down but was stopped by Reuben, who had noticed the tension between us. “Hey, what happened with Y/N?” Reuben said, placing a firm hand on Forbes’s shoulder, with everyone noticing and wondering what was going on, especially Dennis.

I didn’t wait to hear Forbes’s response as I rushed up the stairs, my thoughts racing faster than my heart. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, and as I pushed it open, the coolness of the air hit me like a slap in the face. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across the walls and ceiling as the party lights outside the window cast a kaleidoscope of colors. I collapsed onto the bed, my mind reeling with the revelations.

Just as I thought I was going to be alone with my thoughts, the door creaked open and I saw Dennis’s silhouette in the doorway. I sat up quickly, my eyes narrowing. “What do you want?” I snapped, my voice trembling with anger.

Dennis took a step into the room, his expression one of confusion and concern. “I heard you guys talking downstairs,” he said, his voice low. “What’s going on?”

I wiped away the tears that had begun to spill down my cheeks. “You know what’s going on,” I spat. “You’ve been lying to me, to everyone.”

Dennis’s eyes widened in shock. “Lying? What are you talking about?” He took a step closer to the bed, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” I warned, my voice shaking with emotion. “You know what you did.”

Dennis looked at me with genuine confusion. “What are you talking about, (Y/N)?”

“Beatrice,” I said through gritted teeth. “You not only got her drunk so you could hook up with Nikki easily behind my back but you also lied about what happened that night which got Forbes expelled. Forbes just told me everything.”

Dennis’s face fell, and he took a step back. “(Y/N), come on I can explain-.”

“Don’t Dennis” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “You had no right to do that to me, to Beatrice, and especially to Forbes”

Dennis’s eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw the cracks in his usual bravado. He looked genuinely remorseful. “It’s not like that,” he began, but I cut him off.

“Don’t bother,” I said coldly. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You can keep playing your immature games, but I’m done being a pawn.”

Dennis looked like I had slapped him, and for a moment, I felt a twinge of regret for the harshness of my words. But the hurt was too deep to let it go just yet. He took another step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass from downstairs.

“Then make me understand,” I challenged, my voice stronger now. “Because right now, I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

Dennis took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s complicated,” he began. “But I never wanted to hurt you okay.”

I looked at him, my heart feeling like it was in a vice. “What do you mean?”

Dennis took a moment before speaking. “Back then, I was going through a rough patch,” he said, his voice tight with tension. “I was feeling lost back then. I made a mistake, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“What mistake?” I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my anger.

He took a deep breath. “I was drunk, and I tried to make a move on Nikki,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor. “But she rejected me, and I…I didn’t handle it well.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I took it out on Forbes because he was there, and because I was jealous of what you two had.”

I stared at him, my emotions a whirlwind. “What? So what about Beatrice then?”

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, meeting my gaze. “That was just me being stupid and reckless. I didn’t mean for it to go that far, but it did.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air between us, the silence thick with unspoken words and painful truths. I felt the anger start to dissipate, replaced by a sadness that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

“Why did you do that to me then?” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

Dennis looked up at me, his eyes filled with regret. “I was stupid,” he said simply. “Cause I thought our relationship back then was nothing serious, and I didn’t think about how you would feel back then, and because of that I ended up losing you, and I lost my friendship with you.”

I took a deep breath, trying to process everything he had just told me. It was a lot to take in, and a part of me wanted to believe him, but the hurt was too fresh, the betrayal too deep. “I need some time,” I said, my voice shaking. “I need to think.”

Dennis nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “I understand,” he said softly. “It all makes sense on why you ended it with me, and I completely understand, but I want you to know that I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything to make it right.”

With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. I was left sitting on the bed, the room spinning around me. The music and the laughter from downstairs seemed so far away, a distant memory from a life that now felt shattered.

The door opened again, and Forbes stepped in, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.

I looked up at him, feeling raw and exposed. “I don’t know, I really don’t know Forbes”

Forbes sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted this to become like this,” he said. “But I couldn’t just stand by and watch him lie to you.”

“Why did you tell me this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “Because I care about you,” he said. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the room didn’t feel so big anymore. “Do you like me?” I managed to ask, my heart racing.

Forbes took a deep breath. “What?”

The words hung in the air, charged with meaning. I could feel the tension between us, a live wire threatening to spark at any moment. “You know what I mean,” I said, my voice shaky.

"He took another step closer, his hand reaching out to touch my face. “I’ve always cared about you, (Y/N), especially back then when we first met,” he said, his voice low. “May I?”

I leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of his hand against my skin. “What?” I said to him,

Forbes looked at me for a long moment, his thumb brushing gently against my cheekbone. “May I do the thing I always wanted to do?” he said, his voice a whisper.

The room grew warmer as we sat there, the air thick with unspoken desires and the promise of what could be. And as the music and the party continued on downstairs, we both knew that the night was far from over. The decisions we would make would not only affect our relationships with each other but also the trajectory of our lives. The question was, would we have the courage to face the music and dance in the storm?

I looked up at Forbes, his eyes filled with a fiery intensity that made my knees weak. I felt the heat of his hand on my cheek, the gentle brush of his thumb sending shivers down my spine. The air between us was charged with something electric, something that had been there for years but had never been given the chance to truly spark to life. And as I searched his gaze, I knew what he was asking.

“Yes,” I murmured, the word barely escaping my lips.”

Forbes’s expression shifted, the anger from earlier fading into something softer, something that made my heart flutter. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, tentative at first, as if asking for permission to proceed. I responded by wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and deepening the kiss. The room around us disappeared, replaced by a swirl of passion and need that had been simmering just beneath the surface for so long.

We didn’t break the kiss as we moved towards the bed, our bodies pressing together, the heat of our desire burning through our clothes. Forbes’s hands roamed my body, exploring curves and dips that had only ever existed in his imagination until now. His touch was firm but gentle, his every move speaking of a long-held restraint that had finally snapped. I could feel his hardness through his pants, and my own arousal grew, wetness spreading between my legs.

The music from downstairs grew louder as if in response to our passion, the bass thumping in time with my racing heart. Our kisses grew more urgent, our breaths mingling as we tugged at each other’s clothes. His shirt came off first, mine then came off, I began to trace my fingers over him, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension of his body beneath.

Forbes’s hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of me, setting my body on fire. He unclipped my bra, letting it fall to the floor, and took my breasts in his hands, teasing my nipples until they were hard peaks. I moaned into his mouth, my hands fumbling with his belt. He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down my spine, and helped me push his pants down, his boxers following.

My eyes took in his naked form, the coloured blue light from the outside casting shadows on his body. His cock stood proud and erect, and I couldn’t help but lick my lips. Forbes noticed and smirked before gently pushing me onto my back on the bed. He hovered over me, his eyes never leaving mine as he began to kiss a trail down my neck to my chest. His mouth found my nipple, and he sucked it into his mouth, sending waves of pleasure through me.

I arched my back, my hands threading into his hair as he teased and nipped at my sensitive flesh. His other hand slid down my stomach, slipping into my panties to find my already-soaked pussy. His fingers began to stroke and circle my clit, building the pressure inside of me. I moaned his name, my hips bucking against his hand as I grew closer and closer to the edge.

Forbes’s mouth left my breast and moved down my stomach, his tongue tracing the waistband of my underwear. He hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled it down, leaving me fully exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes locked with mine, he leaned in and flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. I gasped, my legs falling open wider as he began to lick and suck, his soft cheeks moving gently against my sensitive skin.

The room was filled with the sound of our panting breaths and the sweet symphony of his mouth on me. My hands tangled in his hair, guiding his movements, urging him to go deeper. His tongue slid inside me, stroking my inner walls in a way that made me see stars. I felt my orgasm building, the pressure growing until it was all I could think about.

“Forbes,” I moaned, my voice strained with need.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust, and then he slid a finger inside me, curling it in a way that made me cry out. He continued to lick and suck, his other hand playing with my clit, until I couldn’t take it anymore. The orgasm crashed over me, my body shaking with the force of it, my eyes rolling back in my head.

But just as the last tremor of pleasure was fading, there was a knock on the door, a sudden intrusion into our heated moment. I froze, my body going rigid as Forbes looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise. “It’s probably just someone looking for the bathroom,” he murmured, but something in the way he tensed made me think otherwise.

The knock came again, this time louder. “Y/N, you still in there?” It was Dennis’s voice, and it was clear he’d heard something. The air in the room changed, thick with the scent of confusion and the unspoken question of what the hell was going on.

Forbes looked at me, his hand still resting on my thigh, and I knew we had to address this. I took a deep breath and sat up, pulling the covers up to my chest. “Get dressed,” I whispered to him, standing up to go to the door.

Forbes went up to the door to open it but not fully due to you still being naked, Dennis looked at Forbes with confusion etched on his features, but the sound of his voice seemed to snap him out of his daze. “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes darting at Forbes being so intensely.

You took a deep breath and made a bold decision. “You can come in, but there are conditions,” you called out, your voice firm despite the tremor of excitement and nerves that rushed through you.

Dennis’s eyes widened as Forbes opened the door a crack, and he saw the state of undress we were both in. His confusion grew more apparent, but the curiosity in his gaze was unmistakable. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I took a deep breath, feeling the thrill of the moment mingle with the apprehension. “I want you to come in, but only if you’re willing to be honest,” I said, my voice firm despite the tremble of nerves.

Dennis looked from me to Forbes and back again, his expression a mix of surprise and intrigue. “Okay,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Forbes stepped aside, allowing him entry into the room. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “We’re going to put the past behind us,” I said, looking at both men. “If we can all be honest with each other, then maybe we can move forward.”

Dennis looked at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope. “So what are you saying?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “I want all of us to be honest with each other,” I reiterated. “We can’t keep playing these games.”

Dennis looked at me, his expression a mix of confusion and desire. “What are you saying?”

I took a deep breath, feeling the heat of the situation intensify. “I’m saying that I want both of you,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. “But only if we can do this without any more secrets or games, and only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Dennis’s eyes searched mine, his expression a tumultuous storm of emotions. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?”

I nodded, my heart racing. “Yes,” I said firmly.

Dennis stepped further towards you after you commanded him to come over, his eyes darting between Forbes and me. He looked surprised, but there was something else in his gaze, something that made me believe he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. “What would you like to do?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

Forbes and I exchanged a look, the air in the room thick with the unspoken understanding of what was about to happen. “Forbes, you can come over now.”

He approached the bed, his eyes never leaving mine as he sat down beside me. The tension between the three of us was palpable, the air heavy with anticipation. Dennis looked at Forbes, his eyes searching. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

Forbes’s expression didn’t change, but his posture relaxed slightly. “You should be,” he said, his voice low and even.

Dennis nodded, his gaze flickering down to where my hand still rested on Forbes’s thigh until he looked up at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking back up at me. “For everything Y/N.”

Forbes’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move away from me. Instead, he watched as Dennis began to move towards you and him, his own curiosity piqued. “What would you like to do Y/N?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

I looked at Forbes, his hand still resting on my thigh. I took a deep breath and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I want you both to kiss me,” I murmured, my voice barely above a breath.

Forbes’s eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was gentle. His hand slid up my side, cupping my breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple. Meanwhile, I felt Dennis’s hand on my other thigh, his warmth a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. He watched us for a moment, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and trepidation, before leaning in to kiss my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

The sensation of having both of them touching me, kissing me, was overwhelming. It was a fantasy I never thought would come true, and yet here it was, unfolding before my very eyes. The room was a whirlwind of sensations: the taste of Forbes’s mouth, the feel of Dennis’s lips on my neck, the warmth of their bodies pressed against me.

For a moment, all the anger and betrayal fell away, replaced by a burning desire that had been smoldering inside me for years. I felt alive in a way that I hadn’t since college, since the night everything had gone so wrong. And as their hands roamed my body, as their mouths worked in tandem, I knew that this was what I wanted. This was what I needed.

Dennis’s hand slid under the covers, finding my pussy again, his fingers stroking my still-sensitive clit. Forbes broke our kiss, moving his attention to my other breast, his teeth grazing my nipple as I moaned. The feeling of their combined touch was exquisite, and I didn’t know if I could handle much more.

But then, as if reading my mind, Forbes pulled back, looking at Dennis with a question in his eyes. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, his voice gruff.

Dennis nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “If it’s what she wants then I’m okay with it,” he murmured, his voice filled with something that sounded suspiciously like awe.

With that, the last of my inhibitions crumbled away. I reached out and took hold of Forbes’s cock, stroking it gently. He groaned, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them to look at me. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Dennis leaned in, his mouth finding mine again, his tongue sliding against mine as his hand joined Forbes’s on my body. The sensation was overwhelming, and I felt my body respond in ways that surprised even me. My hips began to rock, my need for release growing with every touch, every kiss.

The three of us moved together in a silent dance of desire, each of us giving and receiving pleasure in a way that transcended the petty rivalries of our past. We were no longer just three people with a complicated history; we were a single entity, bound by lust and passion.

But as the night wore on, and the party outside grew louder, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a fleeting moment of insanity or the beginning of something more. I know me and Dennis could never work again for obvious reasons but with me and Forbes, I’m finally ready to open that new chapter in my life, especially now that I can finally close that previous chapter of my life.

So as I lay there, sandwiched between them, feeling their hearts beating in sync with mine, I made a silent vow to myself. I would do whatever it took to make this work, to make us work. Because at that moment, with their bodies entwined with mine, I knew that I didn’t just want Forbes or Dennis; I wanted them both, and I was willing to fight for it.

Forbes looked at me, his eyes hooded with passion. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked again, his voice low and gruff.

I nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement run through me. “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. “I want this.”

With a nod, Forbes leaned in and kissed me again, his hand moving to my other breast, his thumb and forefinger playing with the nipple. Meanwhile, Dennis’s hand slid down to cup my ass, pulling me closer to him. I moaned into Forbes’s mouth, my body on fire with need.

Dennis’s hand slid down to the base of my spine, his fingers pressing into my skin as he began to rock against me. I could feel his cock, hard and insistent, against my thigh, and the thought of having both of them inside me was almost too much to bear. “Please,” I begged, my voice a whimper.

“You want us both?” Dennis asked, his voice a low growl, causing Forbes to break the kiss he was having with you.

I nodded, my eyes wide with desire. “Yes,” I breathed. “Both of you.”

Forbes’s hand moved down my body, his fingers finding my wetness. He slid one inside, and I gasped at the feeling of fullness. “Look at me,” he murmured, and I opened my eyes to find him watching me intently.

Dennis leaned in and kissed me, his hand joining Forbes’s between my legs. They moved together in perfect harmony, their fingers exploring me, bringing me closer to the edge with every stroke. The room spun around us, the only anchor of my two lovers, their eyes never leaving mine.

I could feel my orgasm building again, the pressure growing until it was all-consuming. And just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Forbes withdrew his hand, and Dennis pulled away. “Turn over,” Forbes instructed in his low voice.

I complied, my heart racing as I positioned myself on all fours. I felt Forbes’s hands on my hips, guiding me back until my ass was in the air, and then the head of his cock was pressing against my entrance. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice strained with restraint.

I nodded, my eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. “Yes,” I moaned. “Now.”

Forbes pushed into me, filling me completely, his cock stretching me a little bit open in a way that was both painful and pleasurable. I gasped at the feeling, my body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. And then, just as I was getting used to the feeling of him, I felt something else near my face: Dennis’s cock, holding his cock against my face, seeking entrance into my mouth.

My eyes opened so slowly due to Forbes being inside me, and I looked up and down Dennis and tried to look over my shoulder at Forbes, but Dennis grabbed my chin and made me look at him with my eyes wide with shock and excitement.

Dennis’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw the same excitement reflected in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion as I opened my mouth, he lined himself into my mouth while stroking himself. “Can you close your mouth for me please” and with that, as I closed my mouth around his cock, he slowly pushed himself in and out of me, filling me up along with Forbes. The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being completely and utterly filled by them both.

They began to move together, their rhythm matching the beat of the music outside. I moaned with every thrust, my body rocking back and forth between them. The pleasure was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I knew that this was what I had been craving, what I had been searching for.

Their hands roamed my body, their breaths hot against my skin as we moved together, as one. It was as if we had always been meant to be this way, as if the universe had conspired to bring us back to this moment.

But even as I lost myself in the sensations, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just a dream. At any moment now, I would wake up to find myself alone, the memory of their touch a fleeting illusion.

Forbes’s hand found its way to my clit, and he began to rub it in time with his thrusts, sending waves of pleasure crashing over me. I felt my orgasm building again, the pressure growing until it was all I could think about.

Dennis’s grip on my hair tightened as he picked up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. I could feel his body tensing, his breaths coming in harsh pants. “I’m going to come,” he warned, and I eagerly took him deeper, swallowing down every drop.

Forbes watched us, his own climax building. “Look at us,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “We’re all we’ve ever needed.” And with that, he had also come inside you as well, luckily enough you were on birth control so you didn’t have much to worry about.

But the words resonated within me, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I finally came, my body shaking with the intensity of the orgasm. They followed soon after, both of them groaning with pleasure, their bodies convulsing in time with mine.

As we lay there, tangled together in a mess of sweat and desire, the reality of what we had just done began to sink in. We had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as I looked into their eyes, I knew that I didn’t regret it. If anything, I wanted more.

We lay there, our breaths mingling, our hearts racing. For a moment, it was as if nothing else existed outside of the three of us. But the music from the party was a constant reminder that the world didn’t stop turning just because we had found each other again.

Eventually, we had to pull ourselves away from each other, the stickiness of our bodies a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Forbes leaned in and kissed me softly, his eyes searching my face. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, a small smile playing on my lips. “More than okay,” I murmured.

Dennis leaned in and kissed me too, his hand stroking my cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

We shared a moment of silence, the gravity of our situation weighing heavily on us. This wasn’t just about sex anymore; it was about finding a way to move forward together, despite the mess we had made of our past.

But as we lay there, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly possible. If we could ever truly forgive each other, if we could build a future on a foundation of broken trust and shattered hearts.

As the night grew later and the party downstairs wound down, we lay there, tangled in the sheets, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of our shared passion. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the silence between us filled with unspoken questions and fears.

Forbes was the first to break the silence. “What now?” he asked, his voice quiet.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist while his hands were trying to find mine. “Well…” I said, “I have no idea?”

Dennis opened his eyes, his gaze moving between us. “What are we going to tell everyone?”

Forbes and Dennis exchanged a look, and I could see the wariness in their eyes as we took a collective deep breath, the weight of our decision sitting heavy on our chests. “We can just simply pretend nothing happened, and that we can, we can just tell them we spoke about what happened years ago, that way no one is suspicious,” I said, looking at each of them in turn.

They both nodded and as we climbed out of bed and proceeded to get changed back into our clothes, we were acutely aware of the shift in our dynamic. The beef that had once stood between us was now a bridge we had crossed, and we were standing on the other side, at least I’m now ready to face whatever came next.

As we walked towards the hallway and down the stairs, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging and a new sense of fresh air. Dennis was always gonna be my past but now I’m no longer worried about him being in my present. But with Forbes, it was different now, Forbes went from being in the past to now being my present, and hopefully, my future. We all came full circle, and I was eager to scribble the next part of this saga, though the plot was anything but predictable.

The music grew more boisterous as we neared the living area, its bass thumping in sync with my erratic heartbeat. Our friends looked at us with a mix of shock and excitement, sensing the change in our relationship. Dennis went towards Reuben to catch up and pretended that nothing happened

Nikki was the first to approach us, her eyes wide. “What happened?” she demanded, her voice a mix of whispers and shouts.

Forbes wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Maybe you could tell everyone here Y/N,” he said with a smirk.

Brooke looked between us, her gaze shrewd. “What is that?”

I looked at her, my chin up. “I finally asked him out,” I said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the thump of the music. And then, slowly, smiles began to spread across the faces of our friends and loud excitement was nearly all me and Forbes could hear. They did actually expect me and Forbes to get together especially during and after college.

But within the confines of the room, we had created our own little world, a bubble of passion and hope. And as the music grew softer, and the lights outside grew dimmer, everyone was nearly getting tired, everyone drifted off into the rooms they were staying in for the night.

Obviously, while everyone wasn’t looking, Forbes, Dennis and I went back into the room all of us were in, changed and got into the bed. As we drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other’s arms until tomorrow when the big day has finally arrived.

The next morning, the light from the windows cast a gentle glow across our tangled limbs, and the reality of the night before settled in. The air was charged with a mix of satisfaction and uncertainty. Forbes stirred first, his arm tightening around me before he pulled away to look into my eyes as him and I were awake now. “Last night was…” he trailed off, searching for the right words.

“A mistake?” I offered, my voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

He shook his head firmly. “No,” he said, his eyes intense. “Last night was necessary. It was the truth we needed to face.”

Dennis rolled over, his eyes still closed. He looked peaceful, but I knew the turmoil he must be feeling. The three of us had danced around our feelings with each other for so long, hiding behind a facade of anger, betrayed and competition. But now, the masks had fallen away, revealing the raw, unbridled passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

Forbes leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Can’t believe we’re actually a thing,” he murmured.

“I know,” I whispered back, my voice heavy with the weight of the secret we now shared.

The door opened, and Reuben poked his head in, his eyes bleary from a night of partying. “You guys okay?” he asked, his tone casual, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Forbes nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “We’re just…talking.”

Reuben’s gaze flickered between us, and for a moment, I thought he might suspect something. But then he shrugged and closed the door, leaving us alone once more. I’m surprised he didn’t even notice Dennis in here with us.

Speaking of which, Dennis stirred, his eyes finally opening. He took in the scene before him, and a look of understanding passed over his face. “What did you guys talk about?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

Forbes and I shared a look, and then, together, we told him about how Forbes and I are a couple now. The words tumbled out in a rush, the confession of our feelings, the night we had shared. The room grew silent as the reality of our admission sank in.

Dennis sat up, his expression unreadable. “You both…?”

“It just happened,” I said quickly. “Guess it was kind of meant to be I suppose”

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at us. And then, to my surprise, he leaned in and kissed me softly. “I’ve always loved you, (Y/N),” he murmured. “And if this is what you want…” He turned to Forbes. “And if you can handle it together…”

Forbes nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can handle it.”

Dennis took a deep breath, and then he kissed me again, this time with more passion, more urgency. And as Forbes watched, something in the air shifted. The tension between us transformed into a different kind of energy, one that was filled with hope and potential between me, Dennis and Forbes.

I had taken the first step into a world of unknowns, a world where the rules were mine to write. It was a dangerous path I used to walk, one fraught with the potential for heartache and betrayal which I ultimately faced. But in that moment, as I laid with Forbes Dennis who were tangled with me, the warmth of their bodies surrounding me, I was glad to finally resolve the one thing that was bothering me the most.

The day of the wedding passed in a blur of hushed whispers and stolen glances, our secret a thrilling undercurrent to the festivities. We played the part of friends, laughing and joking with the others, all the while feeling the pull of the passion we had unleashed in the quiet of that bedroom.

But when it was time to leave, we found ourselves alone once again. “I guess this is it huh, back to reality I suppose,” I said, looking from Forbes to Dennis and back again. “Yeah,” Forbes said while nodding. “What about you Dennis, you’re gonna be okay with it?.”

Dennis took my hand. “You two look Pretty cute,” he said and then followed it up with this. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

And so, as Dennis left the room and decided to get ready, Forbes and I began to also get ready as well to leave, finally together as you two were going to be set out into the world, the three of us finally settling the past into the grave and finally moving on into the future.

At least I finally got to finish that book…"

Hello everyone, and a happy new year everyone (I know it's a bit late). But yes, my story "Playboy/Loverboy - Forbes & Dennis" is finally out now, I am so glad I finished it as now everyone will be able to get to see this. Now there is a little disclaimer that the story I wrote that takes place in the IWI universe has been altered but I forgot that Dennis was technically with Nikki during the whole Beatrice stuff so that's a little error but I did try my best to stay close to the story. Also let's get the IWI fandom back up, I need posts that have full fledged details about the characters like if you're playing a video game and looking into a character profile bio. Please, the IWI fandom needs to rise especially since it's a new year, so hopefully this year can go well and if not, I'm gonna cry. But I'm gonna try my best to bring something fresh and refreshing to the fandom especially with the stories so stay tuned for that. But anyway thank you guys so much for reading this and hopefully you can give it a like, reblog and a comment or even a request for another story and I will talk to you guys later....peace....