#(giving you the fluoride stare)

[deathweak]

in the final chapter of naoki urasawa's critically acclaimed hit manga, monster, eva heinemann and kenzo tenma adopt dieter. grimmer and lunge are his gay uncles.

#(giving you the fluoride stare) #monster #naoki urasawa's monster #dieter monster #kenzo tenma #eva heinemann #wolfgang grimmer #heinrich lunge #my posts

[buggwrites]

Please don't leave.

Brahms Heelshire x afab!reader

Warnings:

There will be adult topics and smut, so 18+ ONLY please

Summary:

You find that ever since you had been working for the Heelshires in babysitting their "son", there has been a secret admirer of yours watching from the walls. A very... Special... Someone. You begin to come to terms with it after a bit, and even start to feel sympathy for the silly wall man, warming up to him over a very quick greeting while trying to go on a grocery run.

Your pov:

I woke up in my usual bed of the large Heelshire manor, groggy like always. My eyes flickered open as I glance over at the blaring alarm clock, moving my fingers to push the "off" button of the small device. I sit up on the plush bed, stretching out my muscles. I stare off into space for a moment, still trying to wake up. I let out a grunt before flipping the covers off of me. I knew the schedule. Get up, get dressed, wake Brahms up, and so on. I stumble sleepily over to my small dresser, yoinking out some clothing for myself. I cradle the clothing in one of my arms, shutting the drawers one by one with my empty hand.

I throw my clothing onto the ground, beginning to undress myself. I get the eerie feeling I'm being watched, but I brush it off as my imagination playing with me. I've felt that same feeling of being watched since a few weeks ago, when I got here to take care of a doll named Brahms. Sure, it was an odd job, but considering what I'm being paid it wasn't that big of a deal. Once finished slipping the cloth off my body, I nab at the new clothes piled up by my feet, redressing myself. I take my old clothing, walking over to the hamper and throwing it inside then making my way out of the room and towards the doll's.

Once I arrive at the room that looked like the one of a child's, I walk over to the bed placed against one of the walls, picking up the doll in my hands, grinning a bit. "Good morning Brahms !" I chirp, looking into the glass eyes of the doll as they stare right back into mine. I place the doll back on the bed only for a moment to grab his new clothes, taking off his old ones and redressing him gingerly. Once done, I place his old clothes in his small hamper to wash later, picking up Brahms to go make him breakfast.

Once we get to the kitchen, I place him in his respective chair, grabbing some eggs and bacon from the fridge, placing them by the stove before I slide some bread into the toaster. I hum as I get to cooking, eggs and bacon sizzling on the pan. I flip the eggs flawlessly, then do the same to the bacon except with a spatula this time. I finish cooking, the toast popping up at the same time I finish up my task, and I hold the pan up, sliding the eggs and bacon onto a plate, rushing to the sink to wash off the pan, the metal sizzling under the cold water I pour over it.

I walk back over to the food I just made, pulling the newly made toast out of the toaster, spreading some butter on it and placing it on a seperate plate. I place the plate with eggs and bacon in front of Brahms, smiling at him happily before sitting in a chair close to his, placing the toast in front of me. I pick up a piece of toast, bringing it up to my mouth, closing my eyes softly as I hum quietly to myself. I finish quickly, excusing myself from the table. "I'm gonna be right back, okay Brahmsy ?" I smile gingerly at the doll before taking my plate, washing it in the sink and walking off to the bathroom to give Brahms some time alone.

I walk to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I reach for my hairbrush, combing it through my hair as I stare into the mirror, ridding my head of tangles and knots. Once I finish, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, squishing some of the fluoride mixture onto the bristles and placing the brush under rushing water for a moment before beginning to brush my teeth. Once I finish, I spit out the toothpaste into the sink, washing out my mouth with the same rushing tap-water. I spit the rest of the water out into the sink, turning off the water and placing my toothbrush back in its holder, tostling around with my hair and smiling at my reflection.

I walk back out of the bathroom, and just as he usually does, he ate all his food while I was out of the room. I smile warmly as I pat the small doll's head. "Good boy, Brahms !!" I praise him softly, my eyes tender and loving. I pick up the plates placed in front of the doll, taking them over to the sink and washing it off before walking back over to Brahms. I take him kindly into my arms, sauntering over to the study room, placing him upright in his chair as I sit in the one opposite of him after grabbing a book off of the shelves, flipping open the pages to where we're last time.

Time Skip

It was now lunch, and I was getting Brahms ready to eat once more, putting him back into his chair to wait for me to make him something quick to eat. I check the fridge, groaning a bit as I realize that we were out of fruit. Malcom wasn't supposed to get here until Wednesday, and I needed to give Brahms his lunch. I knew we were almost out of bread as well, so I look at Brahms with an awkward grin. "Brahms, we're out of fruit and bread. I have to go shopping, okay ? I'll be back in less than 2 hours, I promise. Be a good boy and wait for me, okay ?" I hear a slight rumble from inside the wall, cocking my head at it for only a moment before shrugging it off as the house settling. I begin making my way to the door after I grab my bag, but I'm stopped by two large arms wrapping around my waist and holding me tight.

"Don't leave Brahms..." I hear a quiet voice whisper, meek and trembling. I let out a shaky breath, whipping my body around to look at who had grabbed me. I stare at a very tall masked man wearing a green cardigan and an off white tanktop with suspenders holding up deep brown pants that crumpled up around his old shoes. He stared down at me needily, his large hand still attached to my arm, his dark brown curls disheveled and messy. Then his eyes, the only part of his face that wasn't covered by his doll mask which was the most concerning piece of his outfit. His eyes glistened in the light, and he continued to stare into my eyes with his true green ones.

"Wh-Who are you...?" I whimper, gazing into his gorgeous eyes, his staring right back into mine. "Brahms," he cooed in a childlike voice. I could plainly tell it wasn't his real one, but he might be using this child one to cope with something. I swallow. Hard. I didn't know how to get out of here without the chance of being hurt, seeing how quick and muscular he had looked and acted. How long had he been spying on me for ? What had he seen me do. So many questions rang through my mind, but it was all silenced by the main question;

"Brahms, have you been watching me ?" I ask quietly, his grip on my arm becoming harder. He only silently nods, staring down at the ground for a moment. Then I realize... "Are you the little boy that the doll replaced ?" I look at him gingerly, tilting my head to the side. He nods once more, bringing his eyes to look up at me this time, and I could see the look of hurt ridden in his eyes. I let out a hum in response, looking down at the ground to process this all. "How long has it been since you've been out here and able to take care of yourself? like cooking and bathing ?" My voice is still in a coo, speaking softly and clearly to him. He shook his head this time, staring down once more. "Don't remember..." I could tell he was honest with his words, and I nod slightly.

I bite my lip for a moment to think, pasuing in my thought before speaking once again. "How about we take a bath first, hmm ?" I smile at him warmly, and he nods softly, his pretty eyes gazing back into mine. I take his hand off my arm, instead holding it in mine. I could tell he hadn't been touched like this in a long time and it was much needed. I let out a faint sigh, my smile still warm and kind. I walk to a nearby closet which thankfully had a few clean towels piled up. I took 2 just in case before I lead him to the bathroom, putting him in the room before remembering he'd need new clothes, letting go of his hand and about to go out of the room. Before I can make my escape out into the rest of the house, my hand is almost yanked back as he looks at me tentatively. "Are you leaving me ?" He speaks lowly, in his real voice this time. I turn to look at him once more. "I'm just gonna find some clothes for you, Brahms. can you wait here for me ? I'm not leaving,"

He doesn't seem convinced. His grip only tightens around my fragile wrist, and I slightly try to wiggle free. "Don't leave Brahms... Get clothes after..." His child-like voice comes back, his English accent prevalent as he speaks softly. I grunt before turning my body around, letting out a sigh. "Alright then, after. Now can you get undressed for me, Brahms ?" I speak lowly and softly, careful with my words.

"No," he retaliates. I give him a confused glance. "Do it for Brahms..." He speaks once more, and I'm fully taken aback, my face flushing red at the thought of undressing this man-child. I clear my throat, staring into his eyes. "Please Brahms. Be a good boy and do it yourself, hmm ?" I beg, hoping he'd do as I asked with a soft smile across my face. But of course he does the exact opposite. "No. Brahms is already a good boy. Do it for Brahms. Please...?" His final plea at the end makes me bite my bottom lip and think for a moment. I sigh reluctantly, reaching my hands out to him.

I tug off his green cardigan, it falling off his arms and to the floor. I gawked at how big his muscles were. How did this dude work out to get this big ?? I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind as I push the suspenders off his shoulders, fidgeting with his shirt a bit, hesitant and red-faced. I look at Brahms; "Are you sure you can't do this alone, Brahms ?" I speak softly and slowly for him and responds quickly after, nodding his head as he spoke. "Yes. Do it for Brahms..." His eyes were fixated on mine, and I only let put a huff in response.

"Arms up, then," I talk once more, still soft and caring with my tone. He lifts his arms straight up for me. He was being really obedient. It was nice, seeing how well this worked for me. Maybe taking care of the real Brahms would make this stay more exiting and easy. I hesitate for a moment, my fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt. I gather up my courage, then lifting his shirt over him as best I could. He had to bend over just a bit for me to get it the rest of the way off, and I blushed slightly at the gesture.

Once I got the tanktop off, I throw it to the side on the ground. I look down at his pants, knowing my body physically wouldn't let me take them off. I plead Brahms, but he doesn't budge. "If you don't, then you won't get a goodnight kiss, Brahms, " I speak quietly, and he perks up at the punishment I promise him. He pouts, whining a bit. But it seems that the thought of no goodnight kiss was enough to push him over, and he slips his pants and boxers down, kicking them and his shoes off. I try not to look down, but failing as I grab a single glance. My mouth drops open before clearing my throat and bringing my eyes to look back up into his.

"Are we leaving the mask on, Brahms ?" He nods quickly, and I hum in response. "Alright then. Bath or shower ?" I cock my head at him, and he thinks for a moment, I could see the thought process running in his head. I just stare at his distracted eyes. "Shower. With Brahms," My jaw drops farther than it did before. A shower. With a man I just met. My face flushes a deep red, and I get lost in thought for a moment before clearing my throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a bubble bath ?" The offer seems tempting to him as he thinks once more before talking again.

"No. Shower with Brahms," he repeats, just staring into my eyes tentatively. I nod, staring at the ground for just a moment. "Are you sure you're sure ?" He nods in response to my question, and I let out a long sigh, fidgeting with my fingers. "You need to have your clothes off to shower with Brahms..." I perk up at his claim, my face getting even redder if that's possible. He suddenly reaches his hands out to me, tugging at my shirt, trying to pull it up. I yip at the sudden action, pulling away from his grabby hands. This man clearly didn't know what manners were, considering how long he's probably been cooped up in this house with no outside contact.

I realize there was no getting out of here alive if I didn't do as asked. I slowly and hesitantly slipped my shirt and pants off, putting them to the side, leaving me in just a bra and underwear. His eyes weren't as polite as mine, wandering over my body, careful to look at every inch of me. "Those too. They're in the way," Brahms states, pointing at my undergarments. I blush at the thought of being completely naked in front of some dude I just met.

"Brahms, are you sure you can't just shower alone ?" I ask, silently hoping he'd say he could be independent. But he doesn't. "No. You're supposed to shower with Brahms," I sigh reluctantly, wrapping my hands towards the back of my body, unclipping my bra and letting it fall to the floor. I tug my underwear down my legs now, kicking it off my feet. As I stand back up, Brahms's eyes are wide and wandering over me silently, and he reaches out a hand to touch my body. But before he could touch me, I grab his wrist, pushing him away.

"No touching, Brahms," I speak clearly and sternly, and he whines at me. "And no whining. Get into the shower, Brahms," I guide him into the shower, standing by his side. I close the curtain around us, then turn on the water, letting it flow down on the both of us. I grab the shampoo, squirting some in my hand before placing the bottle down again. I motion for Brahms to move his head down, and he does as I order.

I scrub the soapy mixture into his hair, making sure none gets past his mask. He grumbles softly as I scratch his scalp, closing his eyes softly. I smile gingerly before grabbing the moveable shower head, using it to get rid of the soap from his hair, putting a hand by his hairline to make sure no soapy water rushes down his face. Once I'm finished getting the shampoo out, I put the shower head back in its holder, grabbing the conditioner and putting some in my hand.

I scrub the mixture into his hair again, humming quietly to myself. His hair was naturally very soft, and his kind gaze made me smile slightly. Suddenly, as I'm about to wash out the conditioner from his hair, I feel a set of hands place themselves on my hips. I look into Brahms's eyes, my own slightly wide.

"What are you doing ?" I ask sternly, my eyes peering into his. He whines, his green eyes staring back into mine. They were very pretty, his eyes. I could get lost in them. But I didn't. I take his hands off my hips, instead grabbing the shower head again, rinsing the mixture out of his hair again. "Now, do you think you could wash your body for me ?" He shook his head vigorously, grunting softly. I sigh, grabbing a nearby loofah in my hands as well as a bottle of body soap.

I poured the soap into the small collection of ribbony fabric, beginning to scrub the soap around his body. I hesitate at a few places, moving onto something else before finishing washing him. I grab the shower head one last time, rinsing off his body and making sure to get the soap off him. I sigh, putting the shower head back in its place, turning off the water soon after. I open up the shower curtain, reaching for one of the towels I got, bringing it over to Brahms. I slowly scrunch his hair in the soft fabric of the towel, humming softly before bringing the towel down to his body, getting rid of the water.

Once he was almost completely dry, I put the towel on the floor, picking up the other towel and using it to dry myself off. Once I finish drying off my own body, I wrap the towel around myself, picking up the old clothing in my arms. I am about to leave the room when my hand is grabbed. "Are you leaving me ?" Brahms asked, staring at me, a twinge of fear ridden in his eyes at the thought of me just leaving him. I knew I couldn't leave him, especially not now. I shake my head, a kind smile sprawled across my face.

"No, Brahms. I'm just grabbing you some new clothes to wear until these old ones are washed, okay ? I pinky promise I'm not leaving you," he sighed at my answer, his head hanging low as he pulls his hand away from my wrist, nodding a little. "Okay..." I was proud he was putting his trust in me, and I smiled kindly at him. "Thank you Brahms. You're such a good boy for me right now," He perks up at my praise, his eyes sparkling a bit.

I walk out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me as I leave. I head off to the washing room, throwing both towels and our old clothes into the machine, pouring soap in and turning it on. I walk back to my room, opening the door and looking for clothes for myself. I slip on a cute outfit, grinning softly as I glance at myself in the mirror. I then remember exactly why I was in here; for Brahms's new clothes. I grunt, realizing he probably didn't have another outfit and I would have to improvise. I reach into one of my drawers, pulling out a very oversized longsleeve shirt I like to wear to bed, at least a 5XL in mens, a pair of large sweatpants, and socks. I then also remembered I had no change of underwear for him, and I frowned, sighing a bit.

I stare off into space for a moment before collecting myself and bringing myself back to the bathroom. I knock on the door before opening it, looking at the man who had patiently waited for me. "Hey, I got you some new clothes. I didn't know where you kept your clothes, so you can borrow mine until we get you some new ones," he seemed happy at that information, grunting a bit. "Do you want me to get you dressed as well ?" I ask quietly, and he nodded at my question, softly and silently. I put the new clothes on the counter, grabbing them one by one, slipping them on him gently so that I didn't hurt him in any way. They fit him well, except the shirt was bigger on him than I expected. The sleeves fell just past his fingers and the base of the fabric went past his torso, the fabric hanging loosely past his hips. The sweats fit baggily along his legs. He pushed his socked feet into his shoes last, the one part of his outfit he did alone.

Once he was done, he stood back up, looming over me as he stared down at me. I grinned at him, then remembered he probably hadn't eaten in a bit. I take his hand softly in mine, leading him out of the bathroom, his old sneakers squeaking against the hardwood of the Heelshire manor. I brought him to the kitchen, moving the doll that resembled him out of the way and motioned for him to sit down.

He did as I gestured, slumping down into the seat that seemed tiny compared to him. I sighed, content with how well he was behaving. "Good boy, Brahms. What do you want for lunch ?" I speak softly to him, and he puts his sleeved hand in mine, holding it kindly his, staring at our connected hands. He thought for about a minute before speaking again. "You," he answers simply, his gaze still lingering at our connected hands. I blush at the request, not knowing exactly what he meant, so I decided to ask; "Brahms, what do you mean ?"

"I mean you," he was very clear with his tone as he got up on his feet swiftly, looming over me once more. He knew what he meant, and what he wanted from me. I swallow hard on some air caught in my throat. Before I could even reply, he grabbed my wrist, starting to lead me down the hallway and to one of the rooms, almost dragging me at this point. This was all moving so fast. But somehow, I couldn't find myself complaining in the slightest. He pulled me to my room, throwing me on the bed as he got on top of me, pinning me to the mattress. I knew I couldn't escape now, so there wasn't any point in trying. I just lie there in the middle of the mattress, Brahms staring down at me hungrily, his breathing heavy.

His eyes fixed on mine, his face slowly leans into my own. My hands tremble, just as my legs do. I stare right into his eyes, his peering in mine. We were like this for a good 30 seconds, just in eachothers personal space and staring at each other. A stern "Mine," is all he spoke before pushing the porcelan lips of his mask into my face, colliding our lips together. I let out a yip at the sudden coldness on my lips, but didn't pull away. No, I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Which I did. I just kiss back softly, letting out a small groan as I close my eyes and push my lips farther into his. One of his hands is pulled off the bed, it now being placed on my side. His large hand trails up my body, gaining a whimper out of me as he continues to kiss me with raw passion. As his hand goes up my body, it pulls up my shirt, the fabric rolling up along my belly.

I plant my hands on Brahms's broud chest to push the large man off of me, staring into his pure green eyes as he gives me a confused gaze. "Brahms, what do you think you are you doing ?" I question, pursing my lips into a line. He doesn't respond, only giving a small grunt as an answer. His hand only continues its arrival at my chest, whining as he realizes I have a bra on. He tugs at the fabric, clearly wanting it off. I let out a sigh, staring into his eyes. "Brahms, you're being naughty. We can't be doing this," I state, and his eyes widen at being called out for his pushy behavior.

"Brahms is not !" He pushes in his childish voice, grumbling softly in a bratty way. "Brahms wants you..." He whispers, his eyes trained on mine. He tries to lean into me once more, but my hands keep him pressed away. "No, Brahms," he tugged at my bra once more, whimpering softly. My words fell to deaf ears as he thinks for a moment, I could see the thought process going through his head before he speaks again. "If I make you feel good, you won't leave..." He speaks so quietly and softly to me, just staring into my eyes. I didn't know what he meant by what he said, but before I could say anything, he pulls the hand that was toying with my bra away to grab one of my hands and guiding it up to put my hand onto my eyes, closing and covering them.

"Don't look... Please..." He leaves my hand on my face, and I hear the sound of elastic snapping back into place. Did he just... take off his mask ? "Promise Brahms you won't look," he spoke once more, waiting patiently for me to reply. "I promise," I whisper, swearing a promise to him. I hear him grunt, and I'm now completely blind to whatever he may do. I don't know where he is, not until I feel a pair of lips connect with the skin of my neck. I let out a shaky breath, shuddering at the sudden touch. My neck was one of my weak spots, so this caught me off guard.

He leaves sloppy kisses along my neck, and I let out small groans and whimpers. I let out a stifled breath followed by a moan as he leaves a small bite on my skin. I knew it would leave a mark later, but frankly I didn't care. My hand that wasn't covering my eyes went up to Brahms's curly, dark hair, tostling it around with my fingers. It was quite soft now that it was dry, letting out a slight hum of satisfaction as I comb my fingers through his hair some more. He lets out a small groan, leaving one final kiss on my neck before pulling away. I let out a soft whimper, already missing his touch, yet I keep my eyes shut tight as I promised.

I shudder as I feel a kiss being left on my stomach, letting out a soft grunt. "Brahms..." I mutter breathlessly, my hand still in his hair. He leaves another kiss on my tummy. Then another. Then another. Then he keeps trailing his lips farther down until hes at the hem of my pants. He doesn't even hesitate, slipping his fingers past my underwear and pulling both my pants and underwear down at the same time. He tugs them off my feet and throws them aside, leaving my lower half bare.

He spreads my legs right apart, I couldn't see his hungry stare. His hand glides down my thigh, his thumb brushing over my slit, gaining a soft moan from my other end. Without warning, he presses his mouth against me, his tongue meeting my clit in a passionate dance. I groan, long and hard. I grip at his hair while his tongue works its magic, licking and sucking on my clit. He seems to know what he's doing, even though he's probably not even done this before. Though I wasn't complaining. His tongue occasionally brushes past my slit, gaining another groan from my end. I tug his hair, pushing his face even more into me, grabbing a soft moan from him.

My legs quiver with glee, my hips bucking into his face. My body twitches, hot breaths pouring out of my mouth as I mumble soft praises for Brahms. I can already feel myself growing close, my eyes locked shut as my other hand lifts up to grapple my own hair. I let out a muffled groan, my teeth gritted as my back arches.

I'm so close, his tongue only moving faster as he senses how high I was. I let out a few more shaky breaths, each one's pitch getting higher before I let out one final, long moan, hitting my orgasm. My hips buck and my legs clamp around Brahms's head, my hand grips his hair. I cum for a little over 5 seconds, letting out gutteral, staggered moans. Brahms quickly laps up all the cum from my crotch, letting out soft grunts. I finally calm down from my climax, huffing heavily, a big grin sprawled across my face as my back falls against the mattress once more. I'm about to open my eyes when I remember my promise. My legs fall to the side, softening my grip on Brahms's hair. My other hand flops down to the bed, just feeling Brahms still soft, slow licks on my womanhood. I feel him pull away, his thumb brushing my slick.

"Was Brahms a good boy ?" He asks after a small moment, pressing his thumb to my clit, pulling a quiet moan out of me. My eyes stay shut for him, but I respond softly, a big grin on my face. "Yes. A very good boy, indeed," I whisper out to him, my fingers comb through his hair ever so softly. I feel him leave a kiss on my clit, sending a shiver up my spine before he crawls back on top of me, the bed sinking under his weight. I feel his hands leave the bed for a moment, then the sound of elastic slapping again.

"You can look now..." He mutters, and I do as he said, opening my eyes softly to be met with the same mask and true green saucers for eyes. My hands slink up his neck, brushing over and toying with his hair as I stare deeply and intently into his eyes. I just hold him close, close to my body and soul. he presses the lips of the mask into mine once more, and I let out a needy sigh into his porcelan lips. This was all I needed from then on. Just him and his closeness. I was content, and never wanted this moment to end. But of course, this wasn't the end of the night, but I was completely oblivious to the fact. I just kissed the big himbo on top of me, and I was happy with that.

THANK YOU FOR READING !!

I really hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I spent like, I dunno, 3 days on it ? So I hope I did well on this 😁 Alright !! See yall later 🔥🔥🔥

#brahms x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms the boy #brahms x y/n #brahms my beloved #brahms heelshire #oneshot #smut #smutshot #writing

[mikkokomori]

do you ever get sad that u cannot physically hold a snuy in your hands and squish his face a little while he gives you the fluoride stare

I do :(

I am him.

#omori #omori sunny #sunny omori #omori fanart #mikkos sona #mikkos art #anon asks #miko talks #sunnys doodles

[ladymariayuri]

Dante from the Devil May Cry Series: EEEEEYIKES TRISH! It sure looks like these demons really want to make "Dante Must Die" difficulty come true! You could say it could make even the Devil Cry !

the two shadows ive been shooting for 5 minutes giving me the fluoride stare before entering devil trigger and killing me in one hit:

#Also freeing this one from my drafts

[ynmnrmt]

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 8

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 7,049

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, relationship drama, violence/threat

a/n: This chapter contains a moment of metatextuality which is so self-indulgent I should probably be in prison for it. However, it also contains scenes of rough, kinky sex, which is presumably what you're really here for.

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven)

The bathroom isn’t where you remember it. It isn’t how you remember it, either. The door doesn’t stick, and the tiles are pleasantly warm under your feet, which is good, because it’s a long walk across them to a sink like a sacrificial Roman altar. Surely, you think blearily as you lift your toothbrush from a silver recreation of an eagle’s claw, the old cup worked just as well.

Obviously you see Jen come into the room, in that banquet-table sized mirror, long before she’s anywhere near you. But you still make the noise of pleasant surprise when she hugs you from behind and kisses you on the neck.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask as best you can through a mouthful of fluoridated foam.

“It’s...a really nice bed,” she says. “I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

“That new bed smell,” you joke half-heartedly, it still makes her smile. Perhaps she feels the same neurosis as you, that this is all some kind of trick, that any moment the bottom will drop out, perhaps it’s all some kind of reality show. “I know, it’s all still strange.”

“It’s not that,” she mumbles. “I woke up feeling really fat and bloated.”

“You’re not,” you insist, and turn to caress her stomach and show her that part of her too is loved. She has less body fat than you do, which is probably still under a healthy amount. “You have absolutely no reason to feel unattrac-”

As you say it, Rhea walks in to yawn and stretch her arms over her head, broad at the shoulders and lean in the waist. You both stare, and it really feels like it would be patronising to finish the sentence. And of course you know exactly how Jen must feel, faced with that gorgeous strength and power, there’s the vague thoughts of how scrawny you are by comparison but before anything else the immediate desperate desire.

“Can you stop making our girlfriend feel insecure?” you ask her, with the same air of flimsy jocularity as before, even though you mean it. Rhea blinks, taken aback somewhat, and you reflect it is an unreasonable thing to ask, it’s not as if she can help it. Then she kisses Jen full on the mouth, bending her back slightly over the sink, only to break away and leave Jen dazed and move on to you.

It was the morning wood that woke you, straining in the cage up against Jen’s thigh, and you stayed awake in the dark for some time in that half-sleep limbo. Now, with Rhea’s morning breath filling your lungs, it’s back with a vengeance. One of these days, you reflect muzzily, as you share lips and tongue and oxygen, you’re going to have to have a little talk with Jen about the logistics of wearing one of these things while living with two sexy ladies.

When Rhea backs off, it’s your toothpaste-froth she has across her mouth – and she licks it up, you see her run her tongue all around her teeth. When she swallows, you go so far as to make a little noise, a choke on the inhale. She gently lays a hand around Jen’s shoulder, onto her triceps, and tells her “You’re beautiful just the way you are” before giving her that golden easy smile.

“Yeah,” you agree, and come round her other side, this time it’s you kissing her on the neck and probably leaving a foamy imprint where your lips touch her. “Don’t ever change. Ever.”

*

You find yourself alone, in the larger lounge, slightly awestruck by just how high the ceilings are. “What’s up?” you ask, as Rhea shuffles into the room.

“I’m a little stiff, I’ve been blasting my abs,” she replies – and lifts her shirt. “Here, feel.” The heat, the hard steel ridges, it’s as if you have your hand on the world’s sexiest radiator. She flops down on the couch with an “Oof!” and spreads out. “Stretchie-me-out…” she mumbles as she gets herself the whole way across the couch and across you. The filthy, lovely smell of her body is still all around you, rising from her underarms and her crotch and her feet, and between her top and her sports shorts her tummy sparkles. “God, I’m beat. I bet you could take me at an arm wrestle, right now.”

“No I couldn’t,” you say, even as she pokes you with her toes, and eyes you in a way that makes you want to give it a try. “Anyway, you were doing your abs, and-”

With a grunt of discomfort, she’s upright and in your face. “Come on, I dare you. Maybe we can make it interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Hardly even your words, but the response she wanted, and you’re all too happy to give it to her.

All playful, she proffers “If you win, I get to suck your cock,” and immediately you are uncomfortably aware of the cage under your clothes as you twitch in her direction, “and if I win, you get to jam your face in my ass and take a nice deep whiff.” She’s so close she’s practically French-kissing you, and she comes closer still to lower her voice and add “I showered before, it’s not like, y’know.”

Oh yes, you know. “When you put it like that, I don’t see how I can lose,” you say. Rhea wriggles with glee. You have already firmly decided you will let her win, or rather, won’t even resist too much while she effortlessly defeats you. Now is not the moment, you feel, for the shock revelation of the cage, the awkward explanation, and God help you the politics of it all.

It’s a couple of careful, deliberate movements with which she stretches out on the floor, lying on her stomach, her right arm cocked and ready. You get down there to match her, meet her head-on, a conception that seems ridiculous when your palm meets hers and she sweetly smiles “Holding hands.”

“Come on, take this seriously,” you say, as you try to shift so the cage isn’t wedged straight into your bladder. She hardly needs to expend any effort to lever your hand down towards the floor, and you don’t try to stop her – and then, when her victory seems assured, she pulls you hard back the other way. Even if you did take the strain now there’s no possible way you could stop her, the back of her hand’s on the floor, and your hand’s there on top of hers.

“Oops,” she says, cutely. “I knew you could beat me.”

“But Rhea,” you reply, and you think you keep your voice steady and don’t let the desperation show, “I was really looking forward to getting better acquainted with your ass.”

“Aww…” she gently strokes your cheek, with the hand you allegedly just pinned to the carpet. “Tell you what. Since you won, we can do both, since that’s what you want.” Hmm, you’ve allegedly won and ended up with the exact opposite of what you wanted, how’s that happened? Though really, it’s not as if you didn’t want either side of it, it’s just the circumstances that – but no time to think about this, because she’s up on her feet, and as you rise slowly to your knees she’s turned around to present you with your prize.

Rhea pulls her sports shorts down to the shelf where her thighs begin, and there it is, looking you right in the eye, the gorgeous rounded form of her rump which is painfully arousing to you even when you try to think of it with a profoundly unsexy term like ‘rump’. A gleaming bead of sweat rolls down it – no, around it, it struggles over the upper curve before it succumbs to gravity and goes in freefall the rest of the way.

“I hope I’m not too sweaty,” Rhea halfway giggles, while you restrain yourself from instinctively licking clean the imperceptible trail that droplet has left down the right cheek of her glorious ass.

“No,” you manage in response, that low-lying musky smell already invading every orifice in your head, by no means appetising but it makes you hungry all the same. You can already feel the cage pressing in on all sides.

“I mean, I wasn’t really working the glutes – alright, biiig whiff,” she says, encouraging, as she reaches back and puts her hand on your head. But she doesn’t pull you in, she couldn’t, because her mere touch is all the prompt you need to dive right in there. And you can’t take that huge inhalation because your nose is clogged up by her ass, the softness over that steel-hard muscle underneath moulded so naturally to your face.

She doesn’t smell the way you would after a workout – she smells the way her abs shone. There’s a moment of shock when she doesn’t let you go, of course there is, the panic as you realise just how short of breath you are. But this lightning sensation gets re-routed straight to your dick. It’s not even that you want to be inside her because you practically already are, and you barely even want to escape.

When she lets you come up for air she looks back at you, no, down at you, peeking from the corners of her eyes over her shoulder, and says “You didn’t take a whiff” with the faintest disappointment. So you breathe in greedily, while the cage wobbles around in your underwear, and all you can think of is how every lungful of her essence will be a further mindbending factor in how intense your eventual orgasm is going to be.

And when you’re finally out of breath and have to back off, the taste lingers, floating on your palate, in through the nose and into your mouth. Rhea turns around quickly and drops to her knees to face you, and gives you a long, gleeful kiss. All you can think is that you wouldn’t have the stomach to do this if she’d been sniffing around your ass, and how very, very grateful you are to her.

“I hope this was okay for you,” she says, cheek to cheek with you. “After that – I really am worried about accidentally pushing you into something you don’t want to do.”

“No,” you say, a choice word for this moment, “it’s fine. I like your ass.” And you can feel her giggle at that.

“What else do you like?” she husks, and the cage clinks audibly.

“I,” your mouth is dry, “I’m really not in the mood for a blow job. Not right now.” Now you feel her face change again, you can sense the expression of surprise and disbelief, because, yes, why would anyone say such a thing?

Rhea backs off, she doesn’t look sad, but even the little curl of disappointment in her mouth twists your heart in knots. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Perhaps it’s not even disappointment, perhaps it’s concern, it’s a bit of a giveaway when she squeezes your hand and gently adds “Is something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s not – you’re great. You know that.” You can’t put the same poundage into squeezing her hand back, but she still brightens up a little when you do. And you love her, so you kiss her, with the taste of her body still on your tongue, and she kisses you back with a relieved enthusiasm while you try not to think about the metal pressing into your cock.

Is it the way you feel so safe that makes you reach blindly out for her, to touch her stomach, touch her breast, and make her giggle again? It must be, and the cage is so tight on you now that when she starts curling her fingers down your chest you almost let it happen, for what little comfort that will bring. But eventually you have to pull back, and when you do you try your very best to make it seem natural.

“I used to be so insecure about my butt,” confesses Rhea, a warm glow in her cheeks.

“Come on,” you scoff.

“Well, I get sweaty around there. And, I get all this fan mail,” when she brings this up you’re already giving a little oh of mea culpa, but she continues, “a lot of it gets incredibly graphic. I even get people writing elaborate fan-fictions about me, and usually about people I work with as well, and, fuck, then I have to look them in the eye on Monday. Do you know what it’s like, trying to keep that kind of filth out of your mind?”

Your hand finds hers. “Yes,” you say, entirely truthfully, and it sets her off laughing, a low-level amusement that she cannot possibly stop.

“Alright, alright – stop looking at me like that!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Christ, maybe I don’t know, I know I don’t know what it’s like being a WWE megastar. I just, well, I hope beyond all that, I can make you happy. We can make you happy.” That’s a rhetorical flourish, you want to add, not an afterthought.

“That’s it, though, that’s why you guys – I just want a safe place where I can get away from everything. Where I can be with people who really matter to me.” When Rhea leans forward again this time it’s not simply her lips on your lips, this is deeper, this is something primaeval, and you let her force you onto your back and climb on top of you. “It’s just so much fun.”

“It sure is,” you enthuse weakly, the cage itself strangling your voice. Even with Rhea straight up on her arms over you, it’s somehow like she’s pressing right down on you. And before long, it is exactly like that, as she sweetly kisses all around your mouth.

“I want to make you feel good,” she continues, and now her lips walk their way down your chest, even over your shirt it gives you cold thrills. You grab at her, your hands on her shoulders, it’s to try and stop her inexorable move down your body but it just seems like a loving clutch, even to you. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel,” and then she has hold of your waistband and pulls, sharply.

The sudden chill of open air is nothing compared to the way your blood freezes when Rhea does too – gaping at what she has found in there, struck dumb completely.

“What is this?” she asks finally, and immediately plays with it, bouncing it in her fingers, which makes you tilt your head back and gasp.

“Jen was – she didn’t want you to be able to make me go with you again,” you stutter out, what an interesting way of saying it.

“She did this t-” Rhea begins, shoulders squared, full of fire and outrage and for a moment so unbearably sexy you try spiritedly to clench your prostate and burst the cage from the inside. Then she slumps. “Yeah. No, I, I understand. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bundling you to the ground like this.” You nearly cry out but yes! You must! when she says that, you nearly do, before she takes your arms and sits you back up. Again, a wave of desire that feels like it’ll have the metal cut through your skin and turn you inside-out. You rest your head on her shoulder, and she rests her head on you, and sits with you, troubled. She sounds utterly wretched when she confesses “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” falls from your mouth, and you do, but more than that you do not want her to feel bad in any way.

“And I love Jen, too – I don’t care if she wants to stop me fucking you, I still love her, I love you both so much I think my heart’s going to…” You hear her choke back the tears.

“Oh, Rhea,” you don’t have the words but you wrap your arms around her and squeeze, as if you don’t want her to get away. She could break your grip and throw you off in a second, instead she passes a hand over your elbow, and grasps you too – hard, maybe it’ll leave a bruise, you shift uncomfortably, there’s the cage again.

*

You do the dishes. It is the distraction of the task, combined with the comfort of the warm water, that makes it appeal to you in this moment. Then Rhea creeps up from behind you, and holds you lightly in her arms, and suddenly the idea of warm water being in any way comforting seems profoundly stupid. You wish you could quite literally melt into her grasp – life as a liquid strikes you as so much simpler.

“I don’t even know how to feel about this,” she says, and you can feel the pain in her voice. “Part of me wants to get Jen in an elbow lock and then chokeslam her through the drywall, and I hate that this even occurs to me.”

“I know what you mean,” you say, “I used to be terrible for bringing work home with me.”

“I wish she was here,” Rhea muses, setting her chin down on top of your head. “We could just talk things through instead of getting wound up about it.”

“She did say her aunt was really ill.” At the time she left, it didn’t occur to you how long she might be gone for, and it seemed uncouth to ask about the key. But at that point you’d had the cage on less than four hours. “I keep thinking I should have gone with her.”

“But then I’d be on my own,” and Rhea hardly needs to inflect that to make it sound like flirting, “all alone, in this big house.” If it was uncouth to ask about the key then there’s no way in hell you can ask her to stop being sexy so the cage doesn’t get wedged into your tender skin.

You finish the dishes and go for a walk together. The tree on the horizon seems like a natural goal, and as you cross the grounds arm in arm with Rhea, the grass – her grass – wetting your ankles and everything looking beautiful you wonder how it is that you seem so desperately unhappy.

Rhea leans against the tree. She might be looking out into the distance, over the unspoiled land and light forests, a lot of which are also now hers – but her eyes are filled with tears. “I thought we’d be happy here,” she says, and for want of anything you can say to try and make this come true you hold her around her middle. “I thought we’d never have to worry about anything ever again.”

“We don’t,” you try desperately to reassure her, the sight of her even mildly upset like a dagger in your guts, “we’ve got everything we want here.”

“I wanted to make you happy.” No emotion to the words as she looks down at you, you feel about half her height and this is incredibly exciting in your hips. “That’s why I let you win at arm-wrestling.”

“You made me win.”

Through those tears Rhea gives a little hiccup of laughter. “I did, didn’t I? It’s because I wanted to get you off, I love doing that, I love how nervous you get,” and she’s grabbing for your waistband again, but she doesn’t pull it down this time, her eyes are clear as they look into yours and she asks “please?”

And how could you say no?

Rhea drops to the ground, on one knee like a soldier, and takes the whole cage in her mouth. You don’t much like thinking of yourself as bite-sized in that way, perhaps that’s what gives you a chill and makes you worry, makes you say “Rhea, anyone could see.”

“They could,” she muses, with her lips against the metal, “and I bet they’d like it, too.” She is after all a stage performer, you think to yourself, she will have thoughts and opinions with capital letters on this sordid business of being watched, then as if she’s read your thoughts she continues “No, what I like best here is that nobody’s going to be watching us, nobody’s going to be glup anywhere near, this is just for us.” She opens her mouth again and touches her nose to your stomach.

“Oh fuck, Rhea,” you breath, she holds you by the balls and the gnarled bark of the tree is pressed into your back. Even through the gaps of the cage you can feel how warm and wet her tongue is, and then she wriggles it in, she actually touches you with it…

“Mmph!” she yelps, and you cry out too, now you feel the metal on all sides – except where your expanding cock has trapped the tip of her tongue in there with it.

“Fuck – I’m sorry – I’m sorry!” Eyes wide, you look about for help which, as Rhea has firmly established, is not there. And she gazes up at you with her mouth up against you, she pleads silently. You bite your own tongue, hard, to try and quell all that sealed-off arousal, but it’s down the other end of your body, it might as well be a thousand miles away. “I’m trying not to get hard, I’m so sorry,” you splutter, and she whimpers in reply, soft muffled moans that you’ll never forgive yourself for making things worse.

You close your eyes, grit your teeth, and rake your hand down the bark of the tree. The pain cuts through, for a moment it seems to work, you want it to work. Then Rhea chokes her mouth off the cage, her tongue still pinned in place by your cock, and she gets her fingers in there, she fiddles blindly and ends up touching your already-tender skin and now it is pain at both ends.

The bark tears through your knuckles, you swipe up and down unconscious to the pain now, and still it is no help. It is finally Rhea who solves this, roughly pulling herself free with a “Blah!” with such force she falls on her back. Frantically you help her back to her feet, though it’s more like you guide her rise, and she nurses the end of her tongue.

“I’m sorry, Rhea,” you repeat.

“I’m thorry too,” and when she hears herself she scowls in amused frustration. “I hope you’re thatithfied.”

“Obviously not,” you say, and mercifully you can both laugh at that, even as your balls throb and the blood trickles down your fingers.

*

You wake up from a wonderful dream of you and Jen and Rhea all happily naked as the days you were born, and you wake into a sting of pain, the curse of morning wood. You writhe, you breath sharply, nothing you seem to be able to do can make your cock go down. Then your noises of pain must wake Rhea, too, because she muzzily says “My poor boy” and wraps her big arms around you.

Despite everything, even when she brings one thigh up over the offending area, this is better. For sure, the cage is cold and hard, but everything else is warm and soft.

By the time you are up and have finished making breakfast, Rhea comes through the front door, flushed and pink from her run. “Only ten miles today,” she observes, “I’m being very lazy.” And yes, once she’s eaten, she flops on the couch and snuggles up under a blanket. “I hope you’re sleeping okay,” she adds, the fabric up to her chin, only her face peeping out.

“Most of the time,” you say, truthfully, between those painful interruptions you do manage to get in some shut-eye. “I hope I’ve not been disturbing you.”

“Take a look in the ice box.” When you do, Rhea has topped herself, she manages to melt your heart a little without even being in the room, because she’s made you an ice-pack, an old-fashioned cartoon ice-pack of the kind that’s usually meant to soothe a sore head. The frosty feel is a thrill all of its own, and one that doesn’t immediately bring you into conflict with the cage.

You go back through with a suspicious bulge in the front of your trousers, and kiss Rhea on the forehead, adding “You’re precious and perfect.”

Rhea smiles sunnily and brings an arm out from under the blanket, a flash of fear and arousal that she might touch you – but instead, she pushes the blanket in between her thighs. “There we go…” she murmurs, and then explains “I’ve always found this really comforting.”

“You want comforting?” Without waiting for a response you sit alongside her to stroke her hair, and she wriggles with some glee.

“Actually,” she wheedles, blinking her summery eyes up at you, “my feet hurt.” Her gentle smile turns into a grin. “So long as that isn’t going to cause you any little problems.”

You rearrange yourself at the other end of the couch and start working her soles. Of course it turns you on, but realistically just being around her was going to do that. You try to stay detached, and to look her in the eye while you’re doing it, but as the scent of her run rises up into your face you find yourself thinking how lonely her toes seem outside of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she wheedles far above you, what can only be the lead-in to a request or perhaps a plea, “but having you here like this caring for me – loving me – it makes me, oh God, so fucking horny.”

She just has to edge her running shorts down with her thumbs, over the curve of her hips. You are all too happy to take it from there and strip them off completely. Then you bow your head, and as you lap at her labia, already flushed and excited, yes, there’s the taste of her run. It feels as if you have to eat your way through it to even get to her vagina, though you treasure every mouthful.

This is more the scenario you’d had in mind, where just because you are sexually restrained is no reason for her to go without. You do not feel her pleasure in some second-hand voodoo transfer, but you feel everything else, you feel her heart beat faster and her juices flow. And you definitely feel it as her hips shift to invite you in further and her big thighs tighten around your head. She squeals, and giggles, and tells you what she wants to do to you, and the cage gets you like a snare.

*

Before you’re in too much of that permanent intimate pain, the call finally comes, and you drive to the airport to pick up Jen. As you wait in the short-term parking you wonder just what it would be like, trying to get through security with the cage on. You play it out in your mind, they take you aside into a sterile-looking back room, of course they do, but then the guard looks like Rhea, all buttoned up in uniform, and the jab of pain between your legs brings you back to the real world.

When she comes through baggage claims she looks dreadful. You go in for a hug and she almost collapses into your arms.

“So, how’s your aunt?” you say, with that slightly breathy sympathy, the voice that is already fortified for the worst.

“They were lying,” Jen sobs, “they made it up to hassle me about Grandma Barbara’s will.” Jesus! This really gives you pause, since she was only left a china hutch. No wonder she never goes back home.

You carry her suitcases, then you sit her down in the car, to give her a moment’s respite, before you load them into the boot. You’re not good with these types of situations, you never have been. Before you can even start the car she’s thrown herself across you, arms draped round your neck like a feather boa.

“I missed you,” she says, voice steadier, as if you have administered relief from a deep-seated pain. “This,” you keep your eyes on the road but hear the jingle of the keys around her neck, “was the only thing keeping me together.”

“Jen,” you say, at least you know where to begin, “sometimes I get worried that, since, you’re coming from that background – I’ve read some stuff on psychology, that, people who have a history like that, they end up understanding that kind of abuse as a kind of affection in and of itself. If you know what I mean.”

“Well, I get that,” she says, “but I don’t see how it’s really relevant to – I’ve got you and Rhea. I got away from all that horrible shit. I’m happy with you guys. I’m safe with you guys.” And when she says this, it twists the ventricles of your heart, you think you might need to try not to cry. Then she holds up the key and adds “You want road head?” all smiles now.

“Oh no,” you say, “I’ll go off the side and over a cliff if you do that,” and she laughs, and squeezes you.

When you get home, Rhea’s nowhere to be seen. The lobby’s empty, so’s the atrium, the swimming pool lies silent and still. You slog Jen’s cases up the split staircase, along the balustrade and into the master bedroom, these are all deserted too. It’s just you and Jen, alone in the house.

“Did you want something to eat?” you ask her. “Coffee?”

She still looks downcast until she crashes into you, face smashed against yours, arms wrapped around you so you can’t balance, and you topple down onto the bed as she gives you rough mouth-to-mouth. You squirm in her grasp, it’s not like being with Rhea, you could definitely escape here, but obviously you don’t want to, you’d never want to.

“Come on,” she says, when her mouth finally leaves yours and you crane your neck trying to get it back, she tugs ineffectually at your clothes, “I want you to fucking stick it in me.” So you undo your trousers, and try not to shudder-moan when the cool air kisses your cock inbetween the metal spokes.

Jen leans down to open the cage – and there behind her you see the door open and Rhea framed in there, lit from behind and shadowy, but you can still tell she’s in her work clothes. The spikes glitter and her eyes flash fierce white out from her black makeup. For such a big, muscly, glorious woman she moves so silently. Then Jen straightens up and refills your view, holding the padlock.

“There we go,” she halfway giggles, and sets it aside. “Now let’s get this off.” You’re already semi-hard, so she has to give the cage itself a bit of a tug. “I’ve missed this, I was imagining finally getting you inside of me the whole way home.”

“Jen,” you breathe, not able to muster a real warning with your cock flapping free.

“I was shaking just thinking about-erk!”

Rhea’s grabbed her, one thick arm under her shoulder and curled around her neck, and Rhea brings her face right next to Jen’s and says “Welcome home.” You want to intervene, but Jen’s flash of untrammelled delight makes you want to see where this is going. “You wanted to get some, did you? Yeah, I bet you did.”

“Uh-huh,” Jen nods frantically.

“Did you consider, for one moment, what it’s been like for us? I have been aching to get at his cock, but oh no, somebody decided to put it in a cage. What the fuck was that, anyway? Where’d you get a sick idea like that?”

“I thought it was kind of kinky,” says Jen, still slightly choked.

“You think something that degrading was kinky?” Rhea’s teeth touch Jen’s earlobe as she growls that, and she delivers it with conviction, but a small mad part of you seizes that little hope, the idea it is all okay and she’s just putting it on. “It hurt. Obviously it hurt him. And you didn’t care.”

“Unnh,” is Jen’s response, probably because Rhea’s other hand is jammed down her trousers.

“You went off to who knows where, and you knew he’d be in pain,” Rhea snarls, the muscles in her arm like hydraulics as she works Jen over, “and you knew we wouldn’t be able to fuck… you’re a shit fucking girlfriend.”

“No, Rhea, come on,” you say, you try to prop yourself up a bit. “This isn’t exactly-”

“Come on,” Rhea echoes you, while Jen whimpers in her arms, “say it.”

“Oh-hh, I’m sorry,” Jen husks, snatching big preorgasmic breaths, “I’m a shit girlfriend, I’m sorry I locked up your cock.”

“For – sound like you mean it, don’t do a stupid little rhyme.”

“I’m so mmnh sorry, really, I’m sorry,” Jen jerks about in Rhea’s arms, almost trying to get free, but Rhea’s fingers have her hooked firmly in place, “fuck, Rhea, let me kiss him, please.”

Rhea tightens her grip around Jen’s body, you almost feel her bones creak. “No,” goes Rhea, cruel and taunting, and follows it with a long lick up the side of Jen’s mouth. You flash Rhea a look, she replies with an expression that makes you want to marry her. You flash her another look, and another, and she bobs her head this way and that, showing you that perfect full-cheek smile from every angle, until finally she has a little laugh and lets Jen free.

Jen explodes down onto you, she locks you to her with her tongue alone. She grabs at you, too, her arms scrabble around yours like she wants to be rescued. But then you feel Rhea’s greater weight on top of your little pile, along with the shuffling of her hand around your midsection that is still making Jen whine directly into your mouth.

Rhea finds your cock and takes hold of it and lines it up, right where the squeeze of Jen’s thighs meets her pussy. You’re not quite certain if it’s Rhea hauling Jen up and down, or Jen herself shifting her hips, but either way you’re going for it too, you poke yourself in the only direction you can.

“You like that, huh,” Rhea says more softly now, as she keeps your cock clamped in place along Jen’s labia, while making wide swirling circles against you with the back of her other hand. “You want it.”

Whoever that was meant for, it’s Jen who says “Yes, yeah, yes I want it,” her hands smear all over your chest, “yes, yes I want it, I want it, yes yes yes yes-”

For a moment Jen convulses on you, before Rhea peels her off and throws her aside. It’s not a violent act, she’s not hurled against the wall, just further along the bed, but at a distance from you both – and it’s there she thrashes, she clutches at her pussy in a vain attempt to keep it under control while her legs point out like scissors, beyond words as that last ‘yes’ goes further into the same primal cry of pleasure. She’s so wet she’s left a trail of dark droplets along the sheets.

“Ha ha!” Rhea lays her head fondly on your chest, turned to one side to gaze on as Jen still writhes her way through an orgasm. “Was it good for you too?” Rhea asks, and plants a little kiss close enough to your left nipple to make you shiver. After the days of buildup, you’re amazed you weren’t the one to come from all that.

“Rhea,” you say, you struggle slightly for breath under her lovely bulk, “I really don’t like you talking to Jen like that.”

“I thought it was better to address it like this,” she says, looking winsomely up into your eyes, “in the context of a loving, satisfying sexual encounter, rather than it be in anger.”

You look sideways at Jen. She adores you with her eyes, tongue out of her mouth, sweaty and panting, her whole body heaves with each ragged breath. “Maybe,” you say, “but-”

It’s drowned out completely when Rhea hoists herself up over you, and grabs your cock again. Before you can do anything she’s got you inside her, she bounces playfully on you as you twist your tongue trying not to come already.

“I guess, ah! I see what she means,” Rhea reflects, “the wait kind o-of makes it better.”

“I’m really sorry if I come too soon,” you squeak out, and she laughs a knowing, conspiratorial laugh that is somehow reassuring. Then she kicks out a leg and rolls onto her back and brings you with her, all of a sudden you are on top of her and Jen looks up at you from right next to her breast.

“Now fuck the fucking shit out of me,” Rhea warns you and it’s all the stimulus you need, you pump into her with all your might, you grab her arms to keep them there where you want them and she lets you do that. Jen’s tongue drools onto the bedsheet. Rhea moans for more, she turns to jelly under you, she clenches her fists and her leg jerks violently.

Miraculously, you do feel as if you’re in control, more in control anyway, like riding a large and powerful horse that is no longer actually trying to buck you off. Rhea certainly isn’t doing that, the spasms in her legs have calmed down enough that she’s wrapped them around your back.

“You like watching this?” Rhea throws out this jagged little aside in Jen’s direction. “You like seeing your boyfriend’s cock going in and out of me?”

“Uh-huh,” Jen hazes.

“Really?” you add, though you don’t stop.

“Uh-huh,” she says again, and she projects such warmth toward you that you immediately resolve not to let her down on this score. She reaches flimsily out towards you, and Rhea grabs her and pulls her in under her arm, all while you keep right on fucking.

“I’m glad,” you tell your girlfriend, although it might get lost in all the action, underneath Rhea’s cries of pleasure and Jen’s little moans. It makes your heart beat out of control, all this feminine pleasure and love, but you deliberately try not to focus on it, because every fresh husky gasp brings you perilously close to coming, you might actually bite through your tongue if they carry on like this.

But before too long, something gives way inside Rhea’s magnificent body, she throws her head back in one silent cry and her muscles relax. And it’s not a moment too soon, because then all the fluid in your body spurts unstoppably out of you and into her vagina.

You collapse, sweaty and shaky, onto her, and her big arms thump onto your back as she gives you a clumsy squeeze. “God that was good,” she sighs, and cuddles you harder and realigns your spine. “Alright, maybe she has a point about deferred pleasure.”

“The chastity cage wasn’t her idea,” you admit, “at least not originally, it was mine.”

“You kinky little beast,” rumbles out of her chest, and she kisses you tenderly on the crown of your head.

“He just gave me the idea, but it was me,” insists Jen, slithering sluglike up the side of Rhea’s body. “He was just showing me some kinky porn, he wasn’t the one who wanted to do it for real.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. In fact-” With the same sort of sharp little tug Jen used to pull the cage off, Rhea pulls the key from around Jen’s neck, the chain snaps and she yelps. Then Rhea sits up, possibly not meaning to throw you aside but it happens either way, and grasps Jen by the back of the head to look straight into her eyes while she protests feebly. “I’m going to go out there tonight, and I’m going to win, with this key around my neck and your boyfriend’s come inside of me.”

For a few moments, Jen is lost for words. Then she simply says “I’ll get horny watching you.”

“Is that so?” Rhea turns back to you with the deranged grin of a woman with a plan. “In that case, maybe we ought to teach our pretty girlfriend a little lesson.”

You’ve just come, you feel empty between your stomach and your knees, and yet she simply has to say this to fill you up with lust again. “What sort of a lesson?”

And Rhea raises the cage. “Maybe, if you want, we can show her what it’s like.”

*

Jen nestles in your lap as you both watch the TV. Rhea has won, like she said, she’s been cheerfully clear that it’s arranged well in advance but still, to see her triumph, she looks so profoundly sexy. There again, if she lost, then of course you could be there to comfort her.

“I love how tight her ass is,” says Jen, initially it seems apropos of nothing, but then, you figure, you were both thinking it.

“She said – I shouldn’t say, she said she was insecure about it, if you can believe that,” you say, though you artfully leave out how this came up.

“We ought to help her feel more secure about it.” There on the screen, your mutual girlfriend throws her arms wide and wriggles her shoulders, it’s probably not even meant to be sexy but Jen stiffens up and you do too. “And I love how her pits taste.”

You nod along, because yes, you do too. “I love how strong she is.”

“I love when she shoves me around.” A cold sweat of relief there, that had really worried you.

“I love when she’s on top.”

Jen starts to laugh, and you do too, and she adds “I also love her tits” before you kiss, and roll on the couch, and kiss. The cage becomes very present inside your underwear. Everything’s alright, you think. It’s all going to be alright.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

[roseyprompts]

unspoken understandings

sometimes you don’t need words to convey how you feel

1. the medical ward: characters are holding hands and looking into each other’s tear streaked faces while one lays on a hospital bed.

2. after a fight: harsh words were exchanged, but it was was resolved with a tight embrace.

3. during a board-game: one character is losing the game and gives the one in the lead an angry stare.

4. filming a movie: the actor/actress, unsure if they are saying their lines correctly, looks at the director to see their reaction.

5. at the animal shelter: a stray and a character share a love at first sight moment.

6. at a lecture: a presenter gets nervous, but exchanging an encouraging smile from the member of the audience boosts their confidence.

7. during a duel: two pirate captains give each other heated glares as their swords collide.

8. in a convenience store: the cashier gives the customer a deadpan stare because they missed their break because of them.

9. poker: the one about to fold makes it obvious.

10. at the dentist: the patient gives a disgusted look as the hygienist uses a nasty tasting fluoride.

11. a concert: the lead singer winks at one of the audience members.

#rp meme #writing prompts #roleplay meme #rp prompts #writing prompt #writing prompt list #rp scenario prompts #scenario list #scenario prompts

[daenystheedreamer]

Would you rather spend an hour discussing asoiaf with a pretentious Twitter user or a media illiterate Redditor

twitter user cos i wanna fight with nails. meanwhile i would not want to be within 5 feet of a redditor let alone TOUCH one.... also the twitter user may be sexist to female characters but they tend to have at least a baseline understanding of what feminism is supposed to be meanwhile the redditor has a 'nuanced' opinion on gamergate. targnation sexism is at least funny, reddit sexism makes my opinions on the death penalty waver.

however the redditor will know niche historical characters who arent targs... the twitter user can tell you what baelon targaryen's bellybutton lint smells like but would give you the fluoride stare if you mentioned like. the night's king.

#^person with a reddit account btw im joshing #ask #Anonymous

[celamoon]

Hi hii!! i hope your day or night is going great! May I order a medium beeswax candle with cotton candy as the scent? thank you very much! <3

"Are you sure this is safe?" 

"There's a one in a thousand chance that you'll die, but it's safe." Hinata hums, tapping his cheek. 

You take the chance to look at the route the roller coaster's going to go. It doesn't feel safe. It looks like a ride right out of Monokuma's dreams. Are you sure you aren't in the killing game anymore?

"Riiight." You nod slowly. "Yes... and this won't kill me?"

"Will not."

You nod. "Let's go."

"I need to operate the ride, so you'll have to sit alone."

"If I die, you're dying with me." You mumble. "You're committing suicide for me."

Hinata snorts. "You won't die."

"Alright." you shrug. "Just saying."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves his hand dismissively. 

You sit in the seat, making sure the safety mechanic is attached properly, giving Hinata a thumbs up as he steps to pull on it harder.

You stare shamelessly at his chest as it's pressed in front of you.

"You have no shame now, huh?"

"Hear me out." You start. 

"Yes?"

"You're hot." You wink at him. "Though, can we get cotton candy after this? I'm hungry."

"Sure." Hinata pauses. "No. No, you can't. You're supposed to cut down on sugar."

"Dammit." You mumble.

"And acid. Which means... a roller coaster ride may not be good depending on how easily you get acid reflux." Hinata pauses.

"Oh, just put me into the ride." You pat his chest. "Come on."

"If you scream while I fix your cavities, I'm not helping you out." Hinata shrugs, pulling away from you as he steps back to the operating station. 

"Boo!" You cry. "At least you don't shove fluoride down my throat."

"Too much of it will make you nauteous." He shrugs. "Hold on tight."

"AlrIIIIIIIIIIIII—" You shriek as he launches you into the ride, your heart racing as you feel the wood rattle beneath you. Safe your ass. This feels like it'll break at any given moment. You just hope Hinata loves you enough to not actually kill you. Maybe he does? You're not too sure at the moment. You feel like he set you up for death with this ride. Yet, as the ride eventually slows and you can see again, you're pretty sure he does.

 He does— you're sure of it. 

You sit in the seat for a little longer as you try and stabilize yourself after the ride. Hinata steps next to you to loosen you from the seat, and you press a hand to his chest, resting your head there as your head thumps.

"Hajime, darling?"

"Yes?"

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

#aAAAAND DONE!! just in time before my next event hehe #☾.events #hajime hinata x reader #hajime hinata imagine #danganronpa x reader

[challahbread]

OKAY because it's insane and i will be giving live updates going forward (i cannot help my Blogger's Temperament) here is the account of my Situation to this point. i was gonna autobio comic-journal it but drawing is way too hard.

so because i am a cringe failwoman leeching off family who cannot find a job and is too sucky to try that hard, the other day i decided to read in the park of the ~cool~ neighborhood i usually loiter in as an excuse to get out of the house. i am sitting there reading alone w my ice cofy and i notice a guy also sitting alone near me, he doesn't look TOO unnatractive and he's my age-ish and actually funnily, not to lift the veil too much into my Real life but he kinda looks like humanstuck of the love interest in this comic i made (where the protag was obviously a self insert) (however also funnily in the followup i will never write i was gonna break them up and have protag go back to her highschool gf because i no longer found the love interest i made that appealing LOL). ANYWAYS im like ok.... experimentally takes cigs out... and bam bait hooked he comes over and asks to bum and we start talking. he's a musician and writer, he's very offline, stoner (obvs), we both write emo menthol illneth shit so we show each other (mine is better tho i'm not even gonna pretend w u guys)... yknow on paper its checkmark after checkmark on the traits i like list but in my actual emotions i got that fluoride stare. anyways he says he has to go and we give each other our numbers and as he's leaving he turns around and says "by the way,!! you're cute!" and i say "you too..!" wow perfect meetcute. i guess. sidenote i cant stop thinkingh how funny it is that i was literally ~dark mysterious troubled beauty reading kafka alone in the park~ like i got this manic pixie dream girl shit FINESSED.

ok act two. i go into a store and eventually later as i'm heading home i run into him again, i'm like "haha i thought you were leaving!" and he's like "i was but i went back to find you again..." once again romantic on paper, MILD POLICE SIRENS IRL, but whatever we hang out a bit more and i show him some places i like in the area (including the comic store which has my aforementioned comic in stock w the characters we look like hugging on the cover ^^;) at some point he says "you have pretty eyes" and i go "ahAHAHA THANKS,,," while autistically avoiding eye contact. anyways now the tumblrinas are caught up bc after that is the overly affectionate texts and then asking a girl you met Once out. "but challah thee bread if every alarm in your body is going off why are you still doing this" A) because i'm in too deep and can't cleanly back out and more importantly B) because i want to have sex. next question!!

#at least this is something to distract from my parasocial paramour neglecting me

[expfcultragreen]

If you tell someone you were raped or assaulted and they get mad at you or give you the fluoride stare, its because they dont have souls

This world is full of no soul people

[nek-ros]

cant even look up tf kink art on some sites bc its just flooded with zero effort ai art. it looks ugly and there's nothing horny about the image of some white lady with an animal snout just giving you that fluoride stare

[latenightsuburbansprinklersystem]

when you say "stand right there I'm gonna take a picture" and they give you that fluoride stare

[thegapbetweengalaxies]

Promise Me This (V)

word count: 2.8k

previous chapter

Suguru had always stood alone at the top. That’s how it always was as “the strongest”. Sometimes, he wished for someone else to share the burden with him, to make it weigh less on his already worn-down shoulders. But he knew that if anyone did, they would fall into the same darkness as him. And he wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Still, of course, he can't help but feel exhausted, each mission only peeling away at his resolve. If only Satoru were around to lighten the mood then perhaps everything would be fine. But after their catastrophic failure to protect Riko, he's been called too ‘weak’ to accompany him on his missions, no matter how much Suguru requests and protests. Instead, Suguru is forced to take care of other weak people, other non-sorcerers. To swallow curses whole for them despite how much he despises the taste. Everytime he places anything in his mouth, his tongue remembers its taste as if it were ingrained into it. He retches and throws everything up, even his favorite foods. He wishes for the mild, earthy flavors of tea instead. He wishes for the warm and raw flavors of home-cooked meals. He wishes for the sweet taste of Satoru's lips, made even sweeter by the aftertaste of his favorite desserts still lingering on his tongue.

Curses taste nothing short of disgusting. He's described it once to Satoru, who didn't seem to quite get it. A flavor that gets stuck between your teeth, one that even fluoride can't get rid of. The only thing that seems to be able to overpower it is the taste of Satoru.

They only kissed once. An accident, they both say, back when they were juniors and still stupid, still naive, still innocent. Suguru had just spit out a piece of chocolate that Satoru bought for him, choking on the bitter aftertaste that chocolate isn’t supposed to have.

“What did you do that for!?” Satoru screamed at him as he patted his back.

Suguru wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. “What the hell did you give me!? That wasn’t fucking chocolate!” 

He reeled himself back in when he saw Satoru flinch. He never raised his voice around Satoru, never even got mad. It surprised both of them.

“Sorry,” Suguru amends, pulling himself away from Satoru’s hand. He doesn’t feel worthy of his touch. “It reminded me of how curses taste.”

A long silence followed, stretching the centimeters between them into miles, making the gap between their pinkies feel infinite. Suguru flinches when Satoru suddenly speaks.

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need to think about it a second more. He had been falling into the man’s ocean eyes since they first met his lightless ones. He had been wondering how his hair felt since his eyes first fell upon it from that stage where he was announced to be the strongest, the young Satoru staring at him with his big azure eyes. Without another thought, Suguru pressed his lips against Satoru’s and let his fingers sink into his hair. They didn’t disappoint, feeling like the first fall of snow on the ground.

It was only when he moved back to catch his breath and caught sight of the flushed Satoru that his senses came flooding back. If he’s caught doing this, he would be disowned by both his parents and teachers. He’s not supposed to be falling in love with the weakest sorcerer, especially not with another man. He’s supposed to find himself a sweet wife and pass on his powerful cursed technique. He’s supposed to keep forcing curses down his throat. He’s supposed to be the strongest and he’s supposed to do that alone.

No, Suguru shouldn’t be kissing his best friend, Satoru. 

“Don’t talk about this again,” he hissed at Satoru before promptly leaving. And he never did. Neither of them ever did. And the space between their pinkies seemed to stretch to infinity.

"Suguru, did you lose weight?"

Satoru runs to catch up to Suguru in the halls, the only place they can see each other now due to his schedule. Suguru hasn’t slept in days and hasn’t eaten or drunk in hours. He straightens his back, hoping that Satoru wouldn’t notice.

"Are you okay?" He continues when Suguru doesn’t answer, placing an arm over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Suguru lies, slowing down to match Satoru's leisurely pace. "It's just the summer stress." 

He's lost his appetite recently. All he can taste, even when eating food that used to be his favorite, is the taste of vomit. And whenever he does find the strength to swallow something, it comes back up again. And when the taste of throw-up hits his tongue, it makes him want to throw up again. It happens again and again and again, all in an endless cycle.

Satoru takes a moment to stare at him and Suguru tries to make the corners of his lips curve upward. But it's futile because Satoru can see even right through it, able to notice how forced it is right away.

"Let's eat zaru soba today." 

"I have to go to Kyoto," Suguru says right away, like clockwork. But he starts to regret it as soon as the words come out of his mouth. He wants to go with Satoru. He wants to see his smile again after weeks of being deprived of it. He wants to stare at his lips and imagine how they’d taste. He wants to eat zaru soba, not disgusting curses again. He squeezes his eyes shut, desperately hoping that Satoru would take him away despite his words. 

"You can go there another time!" Satoru finally squeaks with false anger. Suguru feels his shoulders slacken. "Bring me some souvenirs too!" 

Suguru smiles softly, waving a hand. "Of course." 

"It just opened recently but the reviews are great," Satoru starts up again, buzzing with excitement. "I'm sure you'll love it!" 

Suguru can't help but smile. It's times like these that makes him think of a life without ever having known the world of sorcery. A life as a non-sorcerer even, as long as he could be with Satoru. Anything is fine as long as it's with Satoru. 

---

"What the hell!? Why are you eating so much?" 

Suguru laughs as Satoru can only watch him chew on another bite of the noodles, his bowl empty yet again. "You said you're paying, didn't you? I have to make the most of it then!" 

Satoru pouts. It's become a habit for both of them to empty the other's pocket whenever they agree to pay, but it still feels like too much. "You’re one to talk. You earn twice as much as me!" 

Suguru rolls his eyes in an attempt to act nonchalant. But Satoru watches as he grimaces, his lips forming a thin line. Shit. Satoru reminded him of work again, didn't he? He reminded him of curses again, and of how disgusting they are, despite bringing him here with the promise to himself that he would make Suguru forget all about it. 

Suguru places the bowl down with a light sound. 

"Satoru, do you think that you can keep being a sorcerer?" Suguru says, suddenly cold and serious. His face is now drowning in shadows. "You have such little cursed energy that you can barely fight a curse. You could have lived a life without caring about this world that you can't even see. Why do you choose to do it?" 

Satoru barely has to glance at Suguru to find out what he truly wants to say: Why, even when it's so difficult, do you continue to be a sorcerer? 

Satoru had expected him to ask this question, but wasn't prepared for it to happen so soon. In his other life, Suguru never asked him at all. Perhaps because he knew that Satoru would have given a stupid answer like 'Duh, it's my only choice.' Because in that world, it was. But in this one, he's always had a choice that he never had back when he was the strongest: To leave. To just walk away from the world of sorcery, without even having to worry about leaving any responsibilities behind. Hell, he isn't even welcomed in this world. Then why? Why did he join and why does he stay? Even when it gets so damn difficult to even survive? And why should Suguru stay too, even when he has to suffer every single day? 

Satoru hums, deep in thought. Perhaps he shouldn't look for the answer in his previous life, but in this one. He finds a memory that he's certain wasn't his and yet one that's close to the soul of the Satoru he is now. "Being a part of the Gojo clan, I was always aware of the world of sorcery. But you're right, I could have left it at any time and no one would even bat an eye. But something made me stay." He can feel Suguru's tired eyes look at him with a sense of desperation. He's asking him– begging him even– for a reason to stay on this path. "It was the night that you were announced to be the most powerful sorcerer and every major clan was invited to see you. You were surrounded by people clapping, people who praised you and saw you as a god. But you seemed.. lonely. Since then, I wanted to become strong, to be able to stand on that stage with you, hold your hand, and tell you that you aren't alone." He didn’t mean to tell him that he’d hold his hand but it just came out. He watches Suguru don a soft smile before letting out a chuckle. Satoru finds it the most filling thing he's had tonight.

"I know it's stupid," Satoru shrugs. "A person without cursed energy wanting to become a powerful sorcerer. But who doesn't want to challenge hard and fast rules?" 

Suguru thinks for a moment before asking, "Haven't you almost died on a mission before?" 

"Are you kidding?" Satoru leans back on his chair with a groan. "It happens on every assignment. Didn't you see me in the last one? Toji could have killed me!" 

"And yet, you still find reason to be a sorcerer?" Suguru's teeth kiss his lips and Satoru knows that he's thinking about the taste of curses again. "What if you die, Satoru? If you stay in this line of work, you'll end up leaving me alone anyway. " 

Satoru grits his teeth. He's almost angry because Suguru just doesn't get it. If he leaves this line of work then Suguru will be left alone. If he leaves then Haibara will die. If he leaves then Suguru will go down the wrong path and kill people again. If he leaves, then Suguru will die. 

"Suguru," Satoru starts, carefully schooling his expression so as to not show his deep-set frustration at the man who saves everyone at the cost of his own life. The man who’s so willing to throw everything away– to throw Satoru away– just to achieve his version of a world where every sorcerer is happy. But Satoru would never be happy, no matter how peaceful and no matter how many days off he can take, even if he could have finally gotten rid of his title as “the strongest”. He would live any life, a life as a non-sorcerer even, as long as he could be with Suguru. Anything is fine as long as it's with Suguru. "I'm not going to die that easily." 

Suguru scoffs. "You're just the same as everyone else. You keep protecting non-sorcerers even at the cost of your own life!" He closes his fists, bright red blood coating his fingertips. "Are their lives really worth as much as yours!?" 

"Suguru," Satoru whispers, placing a hand over Suguru's fists. He watches as it unfurls, displaying the blood inside, as if showing how he had just crushed Satoru's heart. "I'm a non-sorcerer too." 

The words feel so foreign in Satoru's mouth, so unfamiliar, as if they're not his to say. But that's his reality now. In this world, he is no longer the strongest, standing side-by-side with Suguru. He's just a non-sorcerer. 

Suguru pulls his hand away in shock rather than disgust, which Satoru finds himself thankful for. "I didn't mean it that way.. Sorry." 

Satoru sighs lightly. "You're starting to hate non-sorcerers now, aren't you?" You're starting to hate me. His surprised expression makes his answer clear as day. How did Satoru not see it before? He's always hated non-sorcerers. For his parents forcing him into this line of work, for being forced to keep protecting them, for being forced to watch others die for them, and for them being unable to be grateful because they aren’t even aware of any sorcerers’ existence. Wood has just been added to an already existing fire, a fire that has already consumed Suguru. Just how is Satoru supposed to put that out? 

"I don't hate them," Suguru finally lets out with much difficulty. Satoru doesn't have to see his gritted teeth to know that it's a lie. "I just don't understand why sorcerers have to protect them. They don't even know that we exist and that we die just to keep them alive." 

"Then, you've lost your reason to keep protecting non-sorcerers," Satoru says, finishing his sentence for him. Suguru only nods. Satoru never had a reason to save those people before either. He did it out of duty. Suguru had been the one to keep him from doing the opposite, from killing them, because it had no meaning. And yet, he was unable to save his one and only from doing just that. Now, he has to keep Suguru from finding a reason to kill and give him a reason to save. But how is he supposed to do that when he’s never had one too? 

"You don't have to do sorcery work to save people," He's finally able to say. After all, Satoru never did. He only did it because he had to, just as Suguru did before. But Satoru could never understand why the other hated doing it so much. He could never understand how difficult it was for him because it came so easy to him. It was all he ever knew and so protecting non-sorcerers is what came easy to him. All he had to do was snap his fingers to kill curses while Suguru had to shove them down his throat. But Satoru knows one thing: If he still had his abilities, then he would make it so that Suguru wouldn't have to do sorcery work a day in his life. 

"Some people do it because it gives their own life meaning," he continues, thinking of Haibara and Nanami. "Others do it because it’s all that they know at first, but end up finding it fulfilling to help other people." He thinks of Megumi. "Some do it because they're the only ones who can. But they never grew to hate it because it was always easy for them." He thinks of Ieiri. He thinks of himself. "Sorcery is their lifeline, Suguru. If you take it away, even if it saves their lives in a literal sense, it might take away their reason for living.”

He sees Suguru thinking, contemplating, already approaching the pitchfork in the road where he has to make his decision. But Satoru can never be too sure that his words alone could sway Suguru. He's still a ticking time bomb that could explode any second. 

"Suguru," he calls out again and watches as Suguru's eyes go from troubled to carefree as soon as it lands on him. He opts to take his shades off, wanting to see Suguru's face without any obstructions. "No matter what choice you make, I can never hate you for it. That damn brain of yours is just always right, no matter how twisted your actions may be." He extends a hand out at Suguru, who raises an eyebrow at it. 

“Promise me this, Suguru.”

Satoru finds himself in a pit of desperation. It no longer matters to him if he gives his life in the process. He'll do anything to save Suguru, to keep him from meeting the same fate as last time, even if he has to be the one to meet it instead. 

“If you ever choose to kill every non-sorcerer in the world, promise me that I'll be the first life you take."

Suguru's expression quickly shifts into one of horror, laughing nervously. Satoru realizes that he’s read his mind. "Isn't that a bit extreme? I wouldn't kill every non-sorcerer–" 

“Then, make this binding vow with me." Satoru stares into the deep voids of his eyes, the brightness of his own seeming to fill them completely. "Please, Suguru." 

And with the single word, Suguru's resolve seems to dissolve. He places his hand in Satoru's and promises. Satoru feels something shift inside his heart. It seems to finally be able to breathe and yet constricts at the same time. But he finds himself smiling at Suguru, as that’s what always came easy to him when confronted with the man, forgetting any and all thoughts of his impending doom.

-a/n-

the rest of this will be posted on ao3 instead! thank you all!!

[umbralundertaker]

even outside of huss its the case. its like how the one (and only) wv bonus update in hs2 had davekat before anyone else. could just feel the fluoride stare from other intermission fans i was with.

That whole thing about WV being Davekats baby is so so true I cannot impart upon you guys how true that is. The fact that people don't even realize he's a war veteran and make him (and all other carapacians) have the sentience of an actual literal animal and make the kids take care of him like a pet... it gives me a heart attack every time

[cloudtowne]

men be giving you the fluoride stare before kiss them btw

[daenystheedreamer]

asoif tiktokers talking about their niche fav (mc/ foil of mc) will also be like who tf is Val? What's a faegon? rotten ice beacon theory???

thank god i dont touch them 🫶 i visit the curséd ground maybe once a month to enjoy the tiktoks my friends have sent (curated) for me and then i leave. my heart is full and i wont get mad. That being said. when you ask a asoiaf tiktoker about the targaryens' relationship to gender economics and serfdom and they give you the fluoride stare. the feudal stare.

#ask #Anonymous