#this was on my brain too much to pass up though

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for getting revenge on my abusers?

For context, me and my sister are conjoined twins. (I'd be medically classified as a parasitic twin, to be specific. We share a brain and I'm just a face on the back of her head) Our mother didn't want us, and instead of giving us to an orphanage, she donated us to science. We spent our first several years in a lab, enduring intense experimentation. During this time, the way we were treated was vastly different. She was just a poor kid cursed with an affliction, while I was a monster. A mistake, a cancer. They poked and prodded at us, treated us like guinea pigs, put us through all sorts of tests, to figure out what was "wrong" with me and how to control me. They never ONCE asked me how I felt or what I wanted. I fought back of course, because the shit they were doing HURT and I was SCARED. I'll admit that I caused a lot of damage, people got hurt, but they had it coming. Who does that to a kid? Eventually they decided that trying to control me was too much work, and it was time to get rid of me. They couldn't fully remove me, since me and my sis are attached at the brain and all, but they removed as much as they safely could and pushed the rest into her skull & sealed it up. Soon after that the problem was deemed as fixed, and she was adopted out into a new family. I was mostly dormant, only able to talk to her in her head but unable to act. Years passed and eventually she forgot about me, fully integrating into her new, happy family I was inactive until our adulthood, early 20s. I was awoken when she took a blow to the head, and immediately I decided to get to work. When she slept, I would track down the doctors and scientists from our childhood and kill them one by one. Was it brutal? Yes. Gruesome? Of course. I don't regret a thing, though, they got what they fucking deserved Though, because nobody knows about me and we share a body, now the police are trying to blame my sister for the murders. (And because of the shared brain, she has a few memories of the murders and might be a little traumatized, or something) That was never my intention. I was doing this for her as much as it was for me, those people hurt her back then too. But she's super upset and freaked out, so idk. Did I maybe go too far? Was there some other way?

[sadceline]

THE ENHYPEN HOST || 21

|| Reverse harem || ft. TXT, Mingyu (Seventeen) & BTS

WARNINGS: foul language, explicit content, group sex, humiliation, sex in public, threesome, foursoome, rough sex, red flags, immoral acts, unprotected sex, morbid jealousy, comedy, parody, possessiveness, violent quarrels, arguments, betrayals, lies, femdom sometimes.

GENRE: +18, reverse harem, comedy, enemy to lovers, friends to lovers

INDEX (Chapters order)

I'm literally covered in Sunghoon's cum, I've got it in my hair, on my face, on both my breasts, but most of all… he keeps coming out of me as he continues to fuck me. I'm bent over in front of him, he's got me by the waist and by my hair, which he's twisted around his right hand.

"Fuck, you won't be able to walk."

I just gasp as I feel him come in my stomach for the umpteenth time for several long seconds. It's amazing he's got so much of it.

He pulls it out and lets go of me. He looks at me as I collapse between his legs, then smiles.

"Are you tired? Although… - he says under breath - you left something here." He sighs and pushes his long cock towards me.

I swallow, I'm not afraid at all, in fact… After everything he's done to me in the last few hours, I've succumbed to him so much that it seems the least I can do is return the favour.

"How does it… - I ask, rising weakly before crawling towards him - still be hard." "It's always this way because of you." He replies amusedly, stroking my head gently, letting a strand of my hair slip through his fingers.

I am now on my knees in front of him, taking his cock in my mouth, first helping myself with my hand, but then he moves his wrist and looks at me seriously as I raise my eyes to his in confusion. I can't do it without a little help at first.

"Shit. - He swears, biting his lip as he looks down at me. - You're so beautiful."

"Open sesame" I hear, wanting to please him even more. I take him in my mouth, wrapping my tongue around his thickness as much as I can and start to move my head more confidently.

"Ah… yes, clean it all up."

Even when he talks dirty, he doesn't use any swear words, he's never vulgar. He called me slut several times when we were not fucking, rather than during it. It's almost as if I have to earn that.

I start to go deeper and deeper, although it is really difficult for me because of his size. The more he moans, the more I am spurred on to continue and improve, I want him to go mad again, this time because of me.

"You like it so much, don't you? No… you're not tired yet. F-fuck…."

I realise I'm choking because I'm going too fast. I try to pull it out, to keep him from getting in the back of my throat and choking me, but all his cum ends up on my tongue and part of my lips.

I raise my eyes, he stares at me, even though he's just come for the umpteenth time, I pull my tongue out to show him what he's done, then I swallow it and he rolls his eyes in surprise. I lick my lips, too, to collect it all.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to have a heart attack, Amanda!" He shouts in surprise.

I manage to smile before collapsing on the floor, brain dead. He bends down, grabs my shoulders, lets me lean against him and for several minutes nothing happens.

He just lets me rest against him.

"You… you did well." He tells me after a while. "You're the worst…" I pant, but I cling to him. He does the same with his arm, pulling me close. "I know."

I don't know how much time passes, all I know is that eventually he lifts me up and holds me like a bride.

"Come on, let's take a shower."

This is how it really happens. All the while, in the not-so-clear showers of the women's changing room at the ice rink, Sunghoon rubs me with the sponge he took out of his duffel bag.

The water running over me is very warm, I feel really relaxed, I don't even have to move as he takes care of gently massaging and lathering every inch of my body. I feel really exhausted, it's been so intense it doesn't seem real.

For a while it really did feel like the last time.

I try to distract myself, but I don't even want to count the times he came between Wonyoung and me today. It's scary, not human, unnatural.

But I don't even want to think about it too much, I like feeling his chest when I rest my neck on his, I like how, even though he doesn't kiss me directly, he keeps resting his lips on my shoulders, on my back, while his still-bearded cock presses against my back.

"Are you all right?" I ask in a whisper. He smiles, but not sarcastically as usual. "Why? Are you worried about me?" "That sounds like the answer of someone who is fine."

We both laugh, albeit briefly, because after soaping me completely, he hugs me from behind, partially covering my face with his arms as he leans against my head.

"I wish we didn't have to come back."

Actually, I wish I did too.

I know this is the last shift, and I know that after today things will change.

I'm probably going to leave, although I don't think he's realised that yet… he looks worried.

When we get out of the shower, while he is still naked, Sunghoon covers me with several towels. He puts a bigger one over my shoulders, while with the smaller one he squeezes them a bit, to collect the excess water.

"Do you find me beautiful with my make-up off?" I ask him, before he starts blow-drying my hair. He's behind me, but we both see each other in the mirror in front of us. "No, not at all. - He replies, with the expression of someone who has done nothing wrong. - You're ugly as hell."

I honestly don't understand why he would give me such an answer, while he is obviously taking care of me, drying my hair, even putting his stupid expensive creams in it.

"I've always been told otherwise." I say. He twists his lips, I can see it. "Who?" "You don't know them." "Ah… then I don't care. - He replies almost offended. - If I don't know them, they are below my level, and certainly far from you." "You are rather jealous of a very ugly girl." "In fact, I advise you to always show your make-up around the house. Even outside, you should only show your made-up face to me."

Damn… he made me blush. When he sees that I don't react, he chuckles contentedly. Then he turns on the hairdryer and the hot air blast pampers me along with his fingers, caressing my curls and rolling them between them.

It's a good thing, because I wouldn't have known what to say.

When I am completely dry, he gives me one of his 'spare' pullover. My jumper is too wet, I risk getting sick, he says, and continues to be thoughtful….

"Are you sure there were no cams?" I ask as we leave the back of the building that leads to the car park where only Sunghoon's car is parked. "They gave me the keys to this place. I turned off the cameras myself." "That was risky." I remind him worriedly. "But nice."

I can't answer.

In the car, he even opens the door for me. He buckles me in, but doesn't look me in the eye. He's sad again, no, probably just serious - I'm fantasising too much.

We don't speak, not even after we've left. He's lost in thought, you can tell, I'm really too tired and the fear of the consequences of what happened in there makes me run away in my sleep. He notices but does not wake me.

In fact, when I opened my eyes, I did so spontaneously and noticed that the car had already stopped. Sunghoon was staring at me, as if he wanted to say something, but I didn't think he would.

We looked at each other for a few seconds and then looked away.

"You're awake." "I'm sorry…" "I didn't let you sleep so your sorry." I remain silent, bowing my head in respect. "Thank you for what you said to me today. - I say, even though my voice is shaking. - I, however, can't… I can't say that I have forgiven you. Sorry." He sneers, unbelieving, wistful. "You're sorry because you can't forgive me?" "I'm sorry… because I'm so guilty myself." "Things will change, you know? - He looks at me, finally, and I look back. - Things…" "Please. I… I am an engene before I am your host! - I find the courage to say, even though I can barely stand the game of glances, collapsing like an amateur. - What I want more than anything is for you to shine as you deserve. I need that. Please, please, Heeseung… and you… should be friends! - I take both his hands and shake them. - Heeseung is lonely and you know that. There are things you'll never be able to do that Heeseung can… but there are things you'll always be the best at because you don't even have to force yourself to do them.

Sunghoon gives me a serious, unyielding look, then swallows.

"I won't give up on you." "I'll be leaving soon."

His gaze changes, damn it, and it's frightening how quickly.

"What do you mean?" "I don't… - I push my hands away, a little scared. - I can't stay." "You want Heeseung to pay the debt? I told you, I can do it too, but if Hybe finds out, will send you to….. I don't know, Mexico!"

I laugh, but I'm actually too sad. Does he still think about Heeseung? He's really obsessed with him, maybe even in love. And here I was hoping he was with Suno…..

"No, Sunghoon. I… c-c-consider that I should stop working with you."

This time, his expression doesn't just frighten me, it completely petrifies me. I am truly scary by his dark gaze, at this time of night, locked in his car in the building's car park.

"Do you want to go to TXT?" "Are you… are you joking, right?" "What the hell do you think would happen if you left?" "I'm in too deep. - I admit, looking him in the eye even though I'm literally shaking. - If my presence can cause damage to something that is very important to me… I… have few things I care about very much. If I could go back…" "You like Enhypen more than fucking them?" "What a gentleman you are. - I comment disgustedly, he smiles amusedly, but quickly turns serious again. - Anyway, yes, it's possible." "If you're asking my opinion - he says after a while - I think you're better off shagging people I've known long enough. You're in the wrong business now, it'll take a while to get out of it and it won't be easy to shut those TXT fuckers up, but… it can be done. Wash your dirty laundry at home, right? This will definitely cause problems, but we're all so attached to our nice things, our nice clothes, that we'll make it work." "What about me?- I ask quickly. - Should I just stand there and hope it doesn't fall apart?" "You should use this time to find out who you want."

I look at him, unable to answer.

"Even if it were me, I couldn't protect you except by keeping you close to me. I'm not strong enough, no one can do it properly. But if you stay close, it'll be easier to hide you."

I sigh, lowering my sad gaze as I nervously run my palms down my thighs. The things he says make me particularly tense, he really does speak as if he cares, and yet it still feels absurd.

"I won't choose anyone. Not now, not ever." "Then resist me and break my heart if you can. - He tells me, in the tone of advice. - But don't go anywhere."

I don't know what to say, I feel like I could cry at any moment, but he doesn't give me the time. He strokes my cheek and kisses me one last time, his kisses are so warm, the warmth spreads slowly but intensely through my body, and to say he is such a block of ice is usually the wrong thing to say.

"Shall we go?" I ask, the second he pulls away from me. I know my question has offended him, but I did it on purpose, I wanted him to stop. "Are you in a hurry?" He asks annoyed. "The longer we stay here, the less… I want to come back." "You want to stay with me? That's fine, we can even sleep outside, I'll book a room." "I-I didn't say that. - I stammer, embarrassed and a little offended. - Stop please, ok?" "Pick me, Amanda." I laugh, nervously. "You'll get tired of this before I do that."

He doesn't answer right away, I don't know what his expression is because I'm not looking at him.

"Want to bet?" He just asks, taking the keys out of the ignition of the car, which turns off.

I don't dare answer. We got out of the car in silence, he followed me, then we got into the lift. It was late at night. Neither of us had anything more to say, or perhaps we both preferred to remain silent at that moment, which seemed darker than it probably was.

When we got back, Sunghoon used his keys to open the door, but he let me in first. How gallant…

I wasn't expecting it, but all six of them are sitting around the lounge table, drinking beer and soju, there are snacks on the table, but they look untouched.

As soon as I return, I look for Heeseung's eyes: I didn't find it, he looked away, almost as if he knew, as if he was avoiding me. Melancholy, later I find Jongseong's eyes, worried but also angry.

Next to him, Jake looked at me calmly, as if he expected nothing else from me. Jungwon smiles, which makes me uncomfortable, but I have to admit that smile is quite sensual. Sunoo, next to him, sips his glass of beer undisturbed, but when I look for his gaze, I find it immediately and he seems pleased. Niki, who's been on his phone almost the whole time we've been here, just looks confused and amused.

"Let's talk." Jay says.

I stop spontaneously. Sunghoon sighs behind me, then grabs my shoulders, Heeseung notices and turns around, I lower my eyes as he gently pushes me towards the low table and makes me sit on the floor.

"Let's talk." Sunghoon repeats, sitting next to me, close enough to rest the back of his thigh against mine. "We talked, we… exchanged opinions." Jay says in a rather sarcastic tone. "Without me." He reminds him of the peer next to me. "That's really funny." Riki comments, looking at them almost pitifully. Sunghoon looks at him coldly, Heeseung smiles unnerved. "It is, but let's talk about concrete things. The shift thing won't work, the council thinkers claim." The minor smiles amusedly. "Then we cancel it?" "Oh, no. That's the funny thing - Heeseung continues - they… have a pretty good idea. While Jay's dating Amanda's friend, you're dating Wonyoung, Jungwon's been dating Hanni for about two years, and Sunoo, he…. - laughs, even more nervous - he's also dating someone! He hasn't evenparticipated, but they all agree on that." "This what?" Sunghoon asks more seriously now. "Let's cancel the shifts. - He shouts with Jungwon's usual smile. - We can keep them, but you would have to give up yours and I'm sure you would never do that. Am I right?" "Explain yourself better, Jungwon." Man, that's scary, Sunghoon. "Let Amanda help us, in no particular order. With whomever she feels like, whenever she wants… - he explains, I can tell he's about to say something dangerous, he's even struggling to say the words himself, but he seems so amused that it makes me really uncomfortable. - Still, she should not refuse. Of course, if she agrees, but… that would solve everything. If we behave well and don't bother her too much, if she can't choose who to favour, everything will be fine, and it will be much more professional".

For several seconds I cannot tell if what I have just heard is an auditory hallucination. You… He didn't really say all that, did he, Jungwon?

Okay, funny. Really, ten out of ten for originalit - Sunghoon replies, grabbing my wrist and pulling me up. - We'll sleep in hotel tonight, tomorrow, if you're clear…" "You don't decide." Jungwon reminds him. Jongseong looks at us, I can see an almost imperceptible smile on his face, a mischievous grin. "Fortunately, the majority decides. Or it could just choose the leader. I don't know if that's convenient." Sunghoon looks at Heeseung, who seems completely impassive. "Aren't you going to do anything? You're the oldest!" "You don't understand the situation. - The elder answers in a whisper. - You don't decide, she does."

Sunghoon turns to me, stares at me for a long time, but I don't know what to say, so he lets go of my wrist and turns to his bandmates.

"Sunoo, what the fuck?! Why do you agree?!" The minor smiles amusedly and puts down his glass. "Why shouldn't I? Isn't it to my advantage, too? I could be a breath of fresh air for Amanda noona." Hoon doesn't seem to have expected such a reaction, he remains silent for a few seconds, then turns to Jake. "You always make the worst choices, don't you?" Jaeyun smiles, but is annoyed and quickly changes his expression. "Don't bother me. I've had enough of you and your women, I don't want boona to be one of them." "Noona?" He repeats in disbelief. "She likes to be called that. Don't you know?"

Oh. I've gone all red, this isn't the time to be embarrassed about these things, dammit!

"Sit down, Amanda." Jay says to me in his warmest voice.

Even though I know that this will break Sunghoon's heart, should he actually have one, I walk past Sunghoon after a few seconds of thinking and sit down at the table. The one who stands up is Heeseung, but also abruptly.

"Don't do it, Amanda." He tells me, it's an order. "Do you realise that if you don't, it will become more and more difficult to keep you with us? - Jungwon explains, becoming more serious, perhaps for the first time. - We… want you here, understand?" He says this as his cunning gaze squares me until I feel naked and helpless in front of him. "If we pay the debt, they'll send you to the farthest country, if we end the contract, you'll work somewhere else. - Jay continues with a sigh. - We don't want that." "If you stay here, you'll be safe." Jake finally explains, although he doesn't look at me. Jungwon bites his lips in amusement, then takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it. "You can set all the limits you want, except that… to… refuse you. Unless there are medical problems, of course! - He reassures me, as if he's talking about something completely normal. Then he shakes my hand a little more and his eyes become even more puppy-dog eyes. - After all, it's fun… and you're our fan, so I'm sure you'll enjoy it… helping us maintain our well-being."

I swallow, just hearing him talk like that makes me excited again.

"Ok, shall we make it like an opening ceremony?" Riki suggests with his sensual volatility as he gets down on his knees. "Fuck, you guys are crazy, aren't you?" Sunghoon asks with a nervous half-smile. "An opening ceremony?" Sunoo ignores him and looks at the minor. The Japanese boy begins to laugh in amusement, then lowers his gaze to his crotch, hymming something very unorthodox. "Well… all together, in the name of friendship." "Oh my God." Jay comments in disgust. Sunoo bursts out laughing, as does Jungwon, although for a few seconds he turns and looks at me strangely. "Let's do it, come on." Jake is speechless. "You… oh my… that's disgusting. You're a fucking child!" "I'm not!" Riki replies curtly.

Heeseung stares at him for several seconds, his gaze is icy, it sends shivers down my spine, but not only that… Then he turns to Sunghoon, the two of them staring at each other in silence, but I lower my gaze, intimidated.

"Amanda will sleep with Sunoo tonight." Heeseung says, massaging the space between his eyebrows as he tries to stay calm. "After the ceremony?" The unconscious Niki asks. "Say it again. - Heeseung raises his voice and looks menacingly at the maknae. - Look at Sunghoon's face, I'll make it much worse for you." "Come on, why don't do it, hyung?" The younger man replied. "It's still my turn. - Sunghoon says seriously, interrupting them thankfully, because Heeseung doesn't seem to be joking at all. - I want to finish it off." "I haven't had a full twenty-four hours either, get over it." Jay replies. "No problem for me, I can accommodate her before or after the ceremony." Sunoo laughs. "Amanda, the advice I gave you. Forget it." Sunghoon says behind my back. "What advice?" Jungwon asks curiously. "I changed my mind, completely. It was nonsense, you'll go to China or somewhere else." "What advice?" Heeseung asks in a darker tone. "Let's do it." I say suddenly.

They are all silent for a few seconds, I have a tired look on my face.

"Are you kidding? - Heeseung shouts. - I said I'll pay. I said I'll take care of it." "You don't have to do that. - I say with an edge in my voice. - I have nothing to do with you, look at me. - I'm being rhetorical. - I did it with Sunghoon and also with…. Niki. Why would you… it's humiliating for you. Don't do it. It's not worth it…"

I can't bring myself to meet his gaze, afraid his expression could easily tear my heart apart. I'm a bad person, whether he's that bad or not, he should know.

"Did you do it with Yeonjun and Soobin?" He asks me, as if it matters in any way. I don't answer right away, everyone stares at me, Riki laughs. "Go ahead, answer." Sunghoon urges me not so gently. "No… but what does it matter?"

Heeseung sighs and looks almost relieved. Sunghoon and Jay seem to do the same.

"It does matter." The three repeat with a dazed expression. "Glad you trusted her instead of asking who was there." He remembers Riki, who I look at confused, no, scared. Heeseung looks at him and purses his lips. "Yes, I believe her." "And you do well, Hyung. I would never let them do to her what I would have done to her."

Heeseung quick to violence, at least that's what I could see, but he still stops, perhaps because the one in front of him is still his maknae, the youngest. But the look he gives him… it's hard to describe how much fear he gives me.

"So… shall we officially end the fifth round?" Jungwon suggests. "Let's do it." Sunoo smiles and looks at Sunghoon, who for some reason can't answer in front of him. Jay swallows, struggling. He looks at Jungwon, he knows him very well, he seems annoyed by his behaviour. "Should we?" "Why should she sleep with Sunoo? Shouldn't she be able to choose where she sleeps?" Jake asks, already assuming that the fifth round will indeed end here. "Do you think she would sleep with you?" Riki teases him, sitting on the floor leaning on his palms.

Jungwon bursts out laughing and puts a hand on Jake's shoulder to stop him from getting up and hitting him. Sunoo just laughs, I'm just in shock.

"Do you want to, Noona? - Jungwon comes up to my ear and willingly places his lips on it. - Tomorrow we'll make all the rules, but tonight… are you ready? Has Sunghoon taken your strength?"

The way he whispers in my ear, the way his voice spreads through my brain, awakening primal instincts, immediately throws me off track.

As I try to hold my breath (I don't even know why), he notices and laughs.

"I… I don't… I don't think… " Jay has been watching us for a while, he's obviously annoyed. "Jungwon, what are you doing?"

Sunghoon approaches and notices, maybe because he's done nothing but watch Heeseung so far. He abruptly pulls Jungwon away and Jungwon resents it, Heeseung also approaches us and I involuntarily lower my shoulders as if to make myself smaller. I don't know what's going on and I'm afraid of what might happen.

"Ouch, hyung! I'm smaller but bigger. Don't make me angry." He says this in a joking tone, but he seems to be seriously annoyed. "I'd like to… sleep here." I admit, trying to restore order. "No, that's no good." Riki says, as if he had no obvious second ends.

Heeseung sighs, makes space between us and then grabs my arm with such force that it lifts me up, I'm scared, I admit, it's starting to scare me, it hurts. I don't like it. Sunghoon just did the same thing, but he was gentler.

I can tell he's really nervous, I don't like it at all.

As I stand up, I pull my arm away from his grasp just as abruptly, and he looks me in the eye, seemingly angry, but then seems to turn away unarmed, betraying some concern. Sunghoon lifts the sleeve of his sweatshirt, which I'm still wearing, to see if he's left a mark on me, but Heeseung looks away in annoyance.

"Let's talk for a moment, please." "Wait until tomorrow then." Sunghoon reminds him. "He can't even talk to me when she wants to?" The younger man glares at him; I never said I wanted to, but he takes it for granted. "Not on my shift." "It's not your shift anymore, haven't you heard?"

I sigh tiredly, I can't take it anymore, this day seems to never end. I look at Sunoo, he is smiling but I can still see some annoyance in his expression.

"I think noona is uncomfortable. - He says in a cheerful but mischievous tone. - Should she sleep with me? Do you want to, noona?" "Y-Yes." I nod quickly. "You don't even want to talk to me?" Sunghoon asks me.

I scamper ridiculously between them, standing behind the backs of Jay and Jungwon, who don't move and remain in front of me.

"I-I just want my phone."

Sunghoon remains speechless, Heeseung starts to laugh out loud.

"Go to sleep, both of you." Jay sighs. Jungwon goes up to his ear and covers his mouth from the side of the two bandmates, letting me see what he's about to say as he looks at me amusedly out of the corner of his eye. "Shouldn't he sleep with you? After all, you are the most serious of us, and Sunoo is younger."

I swallow and look down, pretending not to have heard, even though it's obvious that I have. I've heard everything and I don't even despise the idea… but it's not out of any ulterior motives, it's just that for some reason I think Sunoo has it in for me, and I also think that the only person I could talk to about how I feel is Jay, only he, maybe… would be willing to listen to me.

"No way." Heeseung replies. "Jay hyung is dating with his friend, nothing will happen." Jungwon reassures them, rightly in my opinion. "No way." The eldest repeats, looking his dongsaeng, who has the serious and unyielding look as if they were the same age. "You don't decide that, she does." Jay sighs and turns to me. "Really… don't you want to talk to me" Sunghoon asks me, seriously, no, even wistfully. I swallow, swallowing the lump in my throat and trying to fight the urge to cry. "I just wish… it wasn't a competition. I can talk to anyone."

Sunghoon does not answer me, but takes a step back and literally leaves the room to go to his room. Judging by the silence that follows, I don't think I'm the only one surprised by his behaviour.

"Oh, how cute - Heeseung sneers, although he has such an icy stare when he looks at me - did you delude him?" I lower my eyes, not sure if I did anything like that, but I know he is offended and disappointed to me and that makes me sad. "It's none of your business." "I apologised for earlier, but now we need to talk."

I still sigh, I can't deny him, but I'm still worried about Sunghoon. He left in a strange way, looking so nervous.

"N-no, you didn't. But I'd like to say something…'' - I try to steady myself as all eyes are on me - I… I hope this won't be misunderstood, but… couldn't we just finish the shift? Things will be different tomorrow and we're definitely not going to do anything tonight, but c-couldn't we create any more…"

Only now do I realise how stupid I am, that Sunghoon only went to get my phone back to me, instead I just blew it out of proportion, feeling really guilty and sad for him. I was so embarrassed that I immediately shut up.

Sunghoon looks at me, I look at him too, but only for a second, then I look down in embarrassment. I know Heeseung isn't happy with my words, but I don't want him to win… again.

I see the ice prince cover his face with one hand as he shrugs his shoulders, offended (maybe even embarrassed?), and then puts my phone back in his pocket. Jay sighs tiredly, Jungwon laughs but is nervous.

"We can't do this. The situation is already borderline". Jay says annoyed. "You will end up to fuck again if you spend the evening together." Jaeyun comments, sitting at the table, staring at us, resting his face in the palm of his hand. "W-What difference does it make? We've already done it and then… I honestly don't think he'd want to, knowing that I've agreed to the terms of the new contract." I explain, very uncomfortably. "Yes indeed, mind your own business." Sunghoon replies. "That's a nice way to get back at you - Heeseung says then, taking me by the wrist gently this time - but now, let's talk."

He takes me to the kitchen so fast they can't stop him, then we go to the balcony, his grip tightening all the way, careful not to hurt me.

"Do you like him now? Has he told you that he's willing to do anything and usual shit for you? "I look at him annoyed, but I can't take much more. "Would you stop it? And by the way, you say that shit too". "Why do you believe him and not me?" He raises his voice and lets go of my wrist. "Heeseung, it's… it's nothing, it means nothing. Let's finish the shift, so it's all even, no… no hard feelings." "You just want to be with him." He says in a deep, scary tone. I swallow and pull away. "No, Heeseung. I want to stay away from both of you. However…" "Then just talk to him tonight. Don't sleep with him." "Will that change anything? From tomorrow I'll be at the mercy of everyone!" I raise my voice, this time looking into his eyes, but he remains cold, unyielding. "I will fight every second to prevent you from spending another minute with Sunghoon. I don't fear anyone, Amanda - he tells me with an air of conviction and threat - but of him yes. I know you can't help wanting him, I just want to limit the damage. If I have to suffer to have you, he has to suffer too.

I smile, not because I am amused, but because hi answer, his speech, really frightened me, made me insecure and nervous. He sounds serious, he sounds sincere, but there is no reason why he should be.

"If I don't have you in the end - he says again, lowering his tone further, "he won't have you either, Amanda." "You… you have to stand by him." I reply. Heeseung stares at me blankly for several seconds, then smiles pitifully. "What?" "You're friends, you have to be, do… d-do it for your music, for your dream! Don't waste your light on me… I… I'm not enough… - I say and my voice shakes, it comes out irregularly. - I just want you two to be friends, to protect each other, I… I would give anything to make things right between you. I admit as huge tears fall from my eyes.

Heeseung stands like a fool in front of my tears, unable to speak, but then sighs as if embarrassed and hugs me, avoiding looking at me directly. He is… warm. His body is very warm and comfortable, although I think his heart is very cold right now.

I didn't think it would hurt so much to know that I had failed him.

"It's not your fault, don't worry about such things."

Letting him embrace me like that, almost in public, makes me feel worried, I fear every second that Sunghoon might see us and continue with the scenes, but just like with him, I cannot refuse Heeseung. His touch, his smell, his body, I am completely helpless.

He is always so sweet, even though there are sides of him that obviously frighten me. Who is the real Heeseung? And is there really someone else?

But why does he make me feel so special?

He doesn't give up anything for me, but it's like he's fighting with the whole world.

"I'm s-serious, Heeseung. I care more about your music… than you." Despite saying this, the boy continues to hug me as he sighs tiredly. "So if we become friends, will you choose me?" "You're not listening to me!" I reply, pulling away. But he squeezes me harder, forcing me to hide my face on his broad chest. "No, I've got it all worked out. You just need to leave it to me." "I don't think you understand."

Heeseung pulls away after a few dozen seconds in which I could feel his heartbeat quickening as a pain so intense, a burning sensation that radiated from his chest throughout his body, tore through me. Now he looks at me, still cold, but now also tired. He still strokes my arm, even though we are far apart.

"Sorry about earlier…" He whispers, sounding remorseful to me. I shake my head in embarrassment. "N-never mind. Thanks for apologising." "I didn't think I was that strong."

Heeseung looks at me again, caressing my face with the back of his fingers, he looks worried but I can't tell if he really is.

"Sunghoon… Did he tell you about the video?" "What video?" The boy blinks in displeasure, but still doesn't seem friendly. "Ah, I thought so. Get it from him." "Since you know… w-why don't you tell me?" His eyes aren't tired, they look completely drained, I shiver. "Because he has to pay a price if he wants to spend this night with you. - Then he comes close to my ear and sighs. - But we can be friends, really. I will, for you."

I am speechless. I don't know what to say, but I have a bad feeling. Heeseung doesn't want to tell me, he seems happy to have given the task to the minor. A video… there's usually nothing good in videos.

In the midst of all this, my heart exploded.

"How many saw it ? What video is it, Heeseung?" He walks up to me and kisses my forehead, the gesture so warm that it shuts me up again. "I'll take care of it, don't worry. Not everyone knows, don't worry… Jungwon is young and a bit crazy, but Jay keeps him calm. I'll take care of it".

I swallow, what the hell am I supposed to say? I don't understand, my head is spinning. Really, maybe I'm at my limit, maybe Sunghoon hasn't left me any strength to hold on and cope.

I fainted, totally. I can't see anything, but I'm not going to fall, I'm sure of that.

I don't know what's happening, I don't know how much time is passing, but when I wake up, I'm in Sunghoon's room and I don't understand. I was with Heeseung before, right? The owner of the room is watching me, and when he notices that I'm awake, he approaches me and touches my forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Are you all right?" "Ah… yeah, I think I got dizzy." Sunghoon doesn't answer immediately, but sighs. "You literally fainted." I look at him in silence, suddenly remembering Heeseung's words and stiffening. "How did I get here?" "Never mind." He replies more seriously, as if he has just remembered that he was angry with me.

His back is to me as he opens the wardrobe, takes off his jumper and remains shirtless, carefully tucking the jumper into the dirty laundry basket. I can't help looking at it, man… you never get tired of looking at something perfect.

No, Amanda! Stop it!

As he takes off his trousers too, but puts them back in the cupboard, I sprint to the bed and cover my face with both hands as I see his… I've never seen him look so good, but he's got a really nice bum!

"Come on! Don't c-change in front of me!" "You're kidding, right?" He replies annoyed. "Go to hell, Park Sunghoon." I say involuntarily. He gets irritated. "What did you and Heeseung talk about?"

I don't answer immediately, I want to ask him something first. He seemed to understand, even though I didn't speak, and then I looked away.

"Why do you have such a useless room?" "Useless? - He asks me offended. - You have it wrong, the word is 'tidy', you need an overhaul." "Is it because of what you told me at the ice rink?" "Why are you suddenly so curious?" "I want to ask you things because I may never get the chance again." I explain. "What are you talking about? - He raises his voice and comes towards me after pulling on a pair of baggy trousers, the fabric of which is so thin it looks transparent, beige in colour, and which fall damn well on his long legs. - Where are you going? You said you accepted, you…" "I've accepted, but I hope I never get to this level of intimacy with anyone again." I sigh, uncertain. "Oh yeah? Then why should I answer? - He says, looking at me reluctantly as he slowly buttons his pyjama jacket, the same colour and fabric as his trousers. - You just lied all the time and you enjoyed it. That was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Sunghoon… that really seems to be him.

"Exactly." I nod sadly.

That's not true, I didn't lie, I tried not to expose myself and him, I tried my best to restrain myself, to deny and hold back, but Sunghoon didn't notice, and that makes me sad, even though it shouldn't.

"Stop it, stop it now." He tells me seriously. I look up… he's handsome, even in his pyjamas. "What?" "You can't really… say you didn't feel anything."

I swallow, we didn't talk about it directly, he didn't ask me, but… if I stop caring about him, that's good. That's what I want, for both of us.

"How… how did you know I was… t-touched for you?"

He blanches, growing more serious but also more nervous as he tightens his lips in annoyance, his beautiful eyes narrowing on me.

"When was I going to say that?" "Think about it." I answer him.

He swallows and remains silent. Then suddenly he sits down on the bed, facing me, staring at me.

"I didn't tell you so you wouldn't… get hurt. I'll take care of it… so you don't have to worry. - He says this with a solemn air, he understands the gravity of what has happened, he doesn't even touch me because he can see from my gaze that now is not the time. - Think about it, he didn't wait a second to tell you! It won't come out, you have to believe me, you shouldn't have known". "I shouldn't have known?!" I raise my voice, stunned. "So you're just going to get sick! You're already so nervous, I didn't want to put you through this." "Sunghoon, I'm not a child you have to protect! - I remind him, and he gets even grumpier (he looks like the child now). - These things are so important, you can't think of excluding me voluntarily! I… oh my God, there's a video of me like this? And I'm alone, aren't I? So… oh fuck". I say, curling up into a ball and covering my face with my hands as I make moaning, shocked noises. "I… - He tries to put his hand on my shoulder, but suddenly, uncomfortably, decides not to. - T-Told you, you don't need to worry." "Tell me what happened….. Sunghoon…"

He sighs, obviously not wanting to talk about it. I don't know if I should understand his decisions… they are so arrogant, but basically kind. No, it's disrespectful - and yet… why do I feel he meant well?

"Jungwon has a video in wich… - he looks up embarrassed and I can't believe he has the courage to be embarrassed in such a context - you… you touch yourself, for me, clearly". "I understood that too me…" "Well, he won't publish it, he just wanted to scare us. - He sighs and lowers his face. - He knows we'll do anything to get him."

I put my hands back to my hair, how embarrassing, how pathetic, but most of all….

"Why the hell does he have cameras in the room?" "I wish I could find out too… I'm so angry that he saw a moment like that. - He comments in a very nervous but distracted tone. - You touched yourself for me, I should have the video! "I didn't touch myself for you!" I remind him, because suddenly that seems to be the important thing, not the possibility of completely and permanently destroying my reputation. "Don't lie. You're so perverted…" He laughs.

I slap his arm, slowly but quickly, I don't want to hurt him but I want him to understand that I want to do it to him. He laughs again, then stops and stares at me, realising he has been smiling too long, he suddenly becomes serious again.

"Look, I'm sorry, but Jungwon is a good guy. It's just that…" "He hurt your face." I reply, just finishing his sentence, not feeling sorry for him, looking at the wound on his mouth that I've deliberately ignored so far. He nods. "Exactly, we screwed up. But nothing will happen, tomorrow I'll make sure it's erased, but tonight is… the last night." "I don't want to d-do it anymore. I'm tired." I explain, hastily and lyingly.

Even if I wanted to, I'm still angry. The fact that he wanted to protect me isn't enough, can't be enough.

"That's not what I meant… you're really perverted." I hit him again. "Stop it." My tone is serious. "So… Heeseung told you about the video, but didn't explain anything, leaving me with the thankless job." "It would have been nice if you two didn't take it as a game." Serious comment. "I told you to trust me." "He did too.- I force a smile. - But I'm still not quiet." "Not enough? - He says. - Everything I've told you, what I've done, even though we've known each other for such a short time… isn't it enough?"

I look at him in silence, even angrier, but I can't think of anything to say at the moment. Sunghoon, seeing me so transparent, smiles softly, but I can tell he's sad too.

"I'm not clear either, I can only say I'll do my best to protect you. But you can only trust me, I have no other way to prove it." "Please… don't use this video against me. Not now, not in the future, no matter what happens. C-Can you promise?"

Caught, he's speechless. That means he's seriously thinking about it, and I don't know whether to be happy or not.

"Of course, who do you think I am? - Sigh. - You should tell Heeseung." "Stop talking about him." I reply annoyed. "Stop telling me to." He replies again before pulling me into his arms and throwing himself onto his bed.

I can't even struggle at the moment, he's stretched out tiredly. He's holding me so tightly I can't even move, but he's made himself comfortable and even rests his chin on my head, breathing exhaustedly.

"This really won't be the last time." He tells me, although he seems to be talking to himself.

What should I do? What could I say? Even now I feel sad, and I'm pretty sure it's not because of the video. I like to close my eyes in his arms, I like the smell of his skin, so fresh.

"Stop saying… such things." "Sleep and shut up." "Are you… going to sleep like that?" "I said shut up. - He says, making himself more comfortable and holding me. - I'm sleepy."

[cave-monkey]

After watching Episode 12 I really need Mr. "It's the cast of the Beijing Opera! >:D" and "I use theater to playact my insecurities and get really into stage direction and critiquing the roles" to get locked in a room together with Mr. "I use literary tropes and character roles to define and explain both myself and the world and you will pry this out of my cold, undead hands" and "writes and puts on an entire play to really stick it to a kid and then gets upset when he doesn't understand it" with nothing but a script, a knife, and the question, "But what was the playwright's vision for the supporting male lead?"

[greetingsfromuranus]

Man nobody told me the comedown from a manic episode lasts like a year

Makes sense now I guess lmao

[voulezloux]

.

[orcelito]

Omfg I never actually posted about this but just like 2 days ago I realized that no it is Not normal to experience lightheadedness near daily when I've gone just a little too long without eating

I looked it up and apparently lightheadedness/dizziness CAN be a part of fibromyalgia (which I think I have for a number of different reasons), so like. It all makes sense.

Fuckin fibromyalgia. It's the source of like 95% of my physical problems, I swear. Every Damn Thing can be traced back to it. What a pain.

[syncrovoid-presents]

YOU CAN HIT A TAG LIMIT??? My ramblings in the tags have been conquered and squashed by the 30 tag limit. How silly!

[fandom-blackhole]

.

[quietlyblooms]

more tired rambling about chiyo in veilguard -- there's minor spoilers, mainly concerning the veil jumper origin. and major brainrot uvu lots of that uvu

i'm soooo sleepy, but i just keep thinking of the interaction between veil jumper rook and strife when the party's in arlathan at the beginning of the game, and it makes me!!! aaahhh!!! bc i said before that chiyo's pointed in the direction of the veil jumpers by her grandmother, and!! what if strife is the old friend she had!! what if there's a bit of a mentor/fatherly dynamic with chiyo, and his disapproval and anger are ultimately what makes it easy for chiyo to leave with varric and harding!!

there's clearly still tension between rook and strife bc rook didn't listen to him and made their own call regarding the " invaluable map " and their fellow veil jumpers. placing chiyo in rook's role, she would definitely feel justified in her actions -- no way she's going to take a chance with innocent lives, even if that map was important. its value doesn't outweigh someone's life. being reprimanded and resented for prioritizing lives over an artifact, especially by someone she respected and cared for, would definitely push her away.

this situation also makes me think of a line you can tell solas!! i can't possibly remember the exact dialogue rn, but it's something to the effect of, " i don't care what they call me as long as they're safe in the end, " implying that there's a lot you would do to keep people safe. and considering the veil jumper background, i feel like that suits chiyo really well in this scenario. she gave up valuable knowledge and who knows what else to save her peers and friends. she'd do it again, and there's more she'd be willing to give up. what exactly that might be moving forward with the story, i'm not sure!! but boy i'm excited to see!!

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[sharkieboi]

started playing Abzu on my switch, finally, after owning it for literal years, and while I have no idea what the fuck is going on in terms of the story (WHAT are the triangles that keep electrocuting me and what are all these temples) it is so beautiful and enthralling and has honestly been really helpful in my sadness that I haven’t been able to swim or go to the beach or scuba dive in the past couple years

[satoruxx]

thinking about since canonically Geto is more popular with girls than Gojo he’s gotten used to them looking past him to get to Geto but what if Gojo and Geto are out for drinks with the other teachers one night and he gets approached by the reader but he thinks she’s just coming over to ask him for Geto’s number and so he prepares his ‘responsible best friend’ act and then SHE ASKS ABOUT HIM INSTEAD, ALL BLUSHY AND STUFF BECAUSE HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS GONNA BRUSH HER OFF

AHH I LOVE HIM SM 😔😔😔

pairing: gojo satoru x reader | 1k words summary: fluff, pining, reader is a simp but same, satoru is a good wingman but he needs attention too, au ig bc suguru's alive LMAO, idiots in love? rheya's note: oh my god shut up this is so cute and YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT??? i can just imagine that he's gotten so used to judging whether or not the person is even worth suguru's attention before deciding to pass on his info...and after a while his brain just defaults to thinking that everyone wants suguru but he FORGETS that there are gojo girlies out there (me asf) !! thanks for the ask nonnie babes i love this idea so so much <33

OK SO

it's obvious that there are quite a few women at the bar eyeing the group. young, attractive teachers spending an evening trying to relax and take their minds off of the stress of jujutsu work. nanami is in deep conversation with shoko about something while ijichi quietly listens. further down the table utahime is quietly sipping her drink while mei mei orders another. shoko makes a comment and suguru bursts into unabashed laughter.

the flush of alcohol dusts over each of their cheeks, but satoru remans the only one who has barely touched his glass, the sting of the bitterness a little too harsh for him to enjoy. he opts for instead letting his eyes roam over the faces in the crowd, taking little notice of all the eyes and smiles sent in their direction.

well until he notices you anyway.

you're already looking in his direction curiously, face illuminated by the dim lighting of the bar as your friends giggle around you. when his eyes lock with yours, you immediately tear your gaze away, trying to play it off by immediately delving into conversation, though satoru can tell that there's a flush crawling up your neck now.

he doesn't look away though, too caught up in the crinkle of your eyes and the smile lines that grace your face as you laugh at something. a minute later you're looking back in their direction, and when you catch him staring, you turn away yet again.

satoru glances to his side, knowing that you're probably watching suguru take a sip of his drink and most likely falling for his charming smile.

typical and so predictable.

some time passes like this. you'll look, and turn away, and satoru will watch you do it over and over again. it isn't until a while later that satoru catches your friends pushing your shoulders and giggling, and he knows that they're urging you to come up and ask about suguru. you're shaking your head, the nervousness clear as day as your brows pinch. but eventually you succumb to peer pressure and stand up from your table, taking anxious strides towards him.

and usually, satoru will make a face or turn his back or do something to look as unapproachable as possible. because almost every person who comes up asking for suguru's contact info has been obnoxious as hell.

but you're quite pretty and you look sweet enough, and he doesn't think it'd be right to deter you.

suguru would probably like you too.

so satoru decides to let you try at least, and if you seem to be as nice as you look maybe he'd bridge the gap between you and his best friend.

you make your way up to him, and as soon as he finally gets a good look at you he's thinking you're a lot prettier up close.

dammit.

"hi," you say, face hot as you try your best to maintain steady eye contact with him. you look so nervous, fidgeting with the fabric of your clothes as you attempt to strike up conversation, and he doesn't have it in him to watch you struggle.

"yeah i can give you his number," he says, voice clipped as he tries to hide the disappointment in it. you watch him grab a napkin and begin scribbling something down, confusion clear as he hands you the digits.

"um…?" you look at the napkin and then at him. "sorry, whose number is this?"

satoru balks, lips parting as he mirrors your confusion. "uh…suguru's? the guy behind me?"

realization dawns on your face and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

"oh actually," you suck your teeth nervously, trying to hide behind an awkward little smile. "i came to talk to you."

satoru can only blink, cerulean eyes widening behind his glasses as he stares at you in surprise.

you take his silence as a bad sign, shoulders dropping and embarrassment settling in your frown as you look anywhere but his face. "s-sorry if that's weird. i don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything so-"

he's grinning before he can stop himself, heart dangerously swelling with affection as he motions toward the empty stool next to him. "not weird at all."

the pleasant surprise on your face makes him bite back a chuckle, and you take the seat. "huh...i wasn't expecting you to be okay with it."

satoru raises a brow curiously, tilting his head. "why not?"

you shrug with a careless grin. "i had a feeling you were gonna brush me off from the moment i first looked over."

satoru winces, and he can practically feel suguru's knowing smirk on his back. he chooses to ignore that for now, eyes trailing over the mirth in your expression, and he can only smile helplessly. "no way in hell."

your laugh comes instantly, sweet and bright, and you take it as a sign to continue talking. satoru listens on, sipping his drink to hide his giddy smile and ignoring the sting of bitterness once again.

honestly, with the amount of sweetness he's just found, satoru would tolerate as much bitterness as he needed to.

[covenofagatha]

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well. 

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions. 

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book. 

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words. 

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers. 

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals. 

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class. 

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul. 

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study. 

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could. 

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch. 

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea. 

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes. 

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them. 

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms. 

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk. 

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks. 

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it. 

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you. 

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact. 

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open. 

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink. 

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan. 

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore. 

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down. 

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?” 

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her. 

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump. 

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked. 

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it. 

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat. 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts. 

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...” 

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?” 

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin. 

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins. 

“You want me to help you?” 

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.” 

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.” 

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.” 

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.” 

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours. 

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt. 

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down. 

“Please, professor, touch me.” 

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower. 

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says. 

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum. 

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?” 

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too. 

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing. 

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone. 

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling. 

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?” 

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.” 

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?” 

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on. 

Your mouth falls open. 

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning. 

“Wait, can you-” 

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.” 

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.” 

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you. 

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.” 

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips. 

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.” 

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good. 

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.” 

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation. 

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks. 

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in. 

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size. 

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.” 

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.” 

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her. 

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp. 

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?” 

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble. 

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again. 

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.” 

[earthtooz]

cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.