#and then suddenly it became SERIOUS

[inkovert]

I want to write something fun and silly that doesn't really matter and that I don't care about carefully crafting with logical plot or well-thought out character arcs or perfectly worded sentences.

I want to write like nobody's watching

[aq2003]

day 5 of perc'ahlia week: fairytale/class

ok so. goddess vex and cringe fail cleric percy. (not pictured bc i ran out of time to draw it but she becomes mortal for him lol <3)

[industria-adastra]

[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: It's sad to be at the bottom of life, right? (4/5)

Prev - Next

Summary: It's amazing, really, how quickly love can turn to hate. Or maybe, it hadn't been love after all.

Note: Recently, I've gotten into Hazbin Hotel again. I ended up adding more stuff to the latter half of the original chapter 3 that I cut. I hope you like it, intended audience of maybe two people.

-------

There is a man who is always present in these events. A man who always hangs about on the fringes of the ever-increasingly elaborate parties in Jennette’s name, observing within the shadows. Athanasia finds him to look disturbingly similar to her father, even if she brushes off their similarities time and time again. And like her father, as she discovers in an accidental bump, he reeks of the magic that the Obelian royal family seems inexplicably chained to. 

She goes searching within the records, and already, his face appears only a generation away. Yet, Anastacius de Alger Obelia had been long dead, hadn’t he? But Athanasia has long learned to not believe in coincidence. Something strange is afoot. Will he become a test of what she’d do for her family?

At another ball, another celebration for Jennette, his dark gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash jewel blue, and, oh,  Athanasia understands now.

(She’s never tried spilling blood with her own hands)

Stiffening as he leisurely walks over, Athanasia’s mind rushes through potential actions she could take. On one hand, she could alert everyone within the vicinity, especially Lord Robaine, about her uncle truly living up to his name. On the other hand, remembering the bitter twist of his lips, staring at Father and her sister, Athanasia stalls.

(Perhaps it is a good idea, with the pressure of twisted magic she hadn’t truly noticed the strength of before. Something's wrong.)

Her vision blurs, watching him steadily walk over, the light clicks of his shoes like a war drum against her ears. His clothes don't seem to fit, a strange, ever-changing amalgamation of fluttering robes and crisp formal wear. His hair is neat and carefully tousled, and his hair is shaggy and unkempt.

(There is something deeply wrong about this man)

“It’s annoying, isn’t it, not being the golden child everyone loves?” It’s as if two people are asking this of her, with a strange mix of amusement, cold pity and understanding within his (their?) eyes. 

(Something about him is wrong, wrong, wrong)

Athanasia opts not to reply, shifting her gaze elsewhere. It’s a question loaded with enough weight to topple an empire. She’s quite sure that what that man means by ‘annoying’ is not as light as it sounds.

“I see,” his eyes move to catch her gaze. 

Before he moves to turn away, they give some last few parting words that render Athanasia stock stiff in her heels.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when you break alongside your ghoul of a mother, my dearest niece.” 

"Dearest descendant of mine."

The phrases overlap together, and before she can even blink, before she can let go of a tense breath, a body moves into her field of vision, blocking her view. Athanasia stumbles forward, hand outstretched to politely shift it away. But when it moves, they are already gone.

(It's as if they've vanished into thin air)

After that fateful encounter, Athanasia never sees him appear at another ball ever again. 

She wonders if she should have ever told her father about this meeting.

Then again, with his constant state of apathy and ennui during their regularly scheduled tea times with Jennette concerning anything relating to her, Athanasia wonders if it’ll simply pass through his ears like white noise.

-

Ever since the first one, the tea parties Jennette tries to host for the three of them are always painfully awkward. This one is no exception. Athanasia is eighteen now, and all that’s changed is Jennette’s choice of tea and snacks—this year is chamomile and imported sweets from Siodonna.

The overpowering taste of sugar accompanies the taste of rose. Paired with the chamomile, it verges on being too sweet. 

Without a need to contribute to the current conversation (consisting of Jennette rambling and her father barely even looking like he’s paying attention—he looks perpetually drowsy these days), Athanasia finds her attention turning to Bluey’s recovery. He keeps shedding feathers all over the place, and sometimes his muscles lock together involuntarily. Sustaining a life is harder than keeping it in stasis. She can’t push too much magic in, and neither can she give too little. Yet, there is no predefined value to sustain—there’s an unknown sequence yet to be found. She needs to find it soon.

“Just yesterday, I went to see Ijekiel—”

Clank. Athanasia’s teacup strikes its saucer perhaps a bit too harshly, rudely cutting off Jennette’s words. Because of that, she offers an awkward, sheepish smile to her audience of two. 

“My apologies for that, but I’ve suddenly realised that I have some rather urgent matters to resolve back in the Ruby Palace.” As she speaks, Athanasia moves out of her seat, ready to leave. “Please, have a wonderful rest of the day.”

(It isn’t as if they’d notice her anyway)

 “O-oh! Of course, we will! Right, Father?” At that, Claude only stares at her silently, yet all Athanasia can see from his eyes is apathy—a passive gaze with nothing attached. “I hope it’s nothing too serious…”

By then, Athanasia had already started to walk away.

(She wonders why she thought they’d call after her)

-

It all happens in a flash. Jennette, chatting with her amiably about the latest fashions and Ijekiel’s latest romantic gesture. And to clear her throat, she takes a sip of tea. But as she opens her mouth to speak again, her blue eyes widen, her mouth forms an “o” in surprise, and Jennette coughs up crimson blood before she collapses to the ground. The sound of breaking porcelain resounds as it crashes onto the ground.

Not even a second passes by and Athanasia has already rushed towards her, heart pounding in her ears. How will she explain this to her father? How had she been so lax in her vigilance? How had she been so blind as not to notice poison? Why Jennette? Why her? Her mana rushes out in an attempt to heal Jennette but she can’t properly do so if she has no idea what has been affected. What had Jennette ingested within the tea? Athanasia’s hands shake in terror as she scoops Jennette into her arms. 

“HELP!” She screams, heavy breaths coming out as tears start to flow. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYBODY! THE FIRST PRINCESS HAS BEEN POISONED!” Fearfully, Athanasia's eyes dart around, catching the eyes of a nearby maid, whose mouth is wide open in shock.

"What are you doing?! Go! Go get help now!" Athanasia so rarely ever raised her voice, but right now, she’d scream herself hoarse, scream herself mute if it’d save Jennette. 

Luckily for the maid, she quickly runs off toward the royal doctors. But now, there is nothing to do but wait, nothing to do but watch as the blood trickles down from Jennette’s mouth. Sweat is already building on her skin, and all Athanasia can do is hold her close and make sure Jennette doesn’t unconsciously choke on her blood. Jennettee’s eyes are still open, but Athanasia thinks that she cannot bear to close them, even for Jennette’s later comfort. As her heart continues to race, Athanasia finds that the only thing she can do is silently lament to her mother, and pray in her heart that all will be alright.

There is blood on her clothes. 

-

When Jennette is taken away to be treated, Athanasia finally collapses from the stress of it all. Yet when she wakes up, she sees neither the old, yet comforting walls of her room. What she sees are the grey stone walls; what she smells is the rotten stink of excretion and urine; what she hears is the rhythmic clanking of metal armour and the scurrying of rats. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that she’s in the dungeons—as unfamiliar as it should be.

There is still blood on her clothes. There is still blood on her hands. It’s brown and crusted and stinks of iron and Athanasia thinks she hears a woman weeping. Her gaze darts around, trying to see if her mother is here. If she was, Athanasia could get an explanation. If she was, Athanasia could have some comfort in this sudden new insanity.

But her mother is not here, and Athanasia is alone. There’s not much else to do but sit and wait.

And just a few moments later, her answers come in the form of three individuals. Duke Alpheus, Countess Rosalia, and last of all shadowed by the badly lit rooms but still standing out so strongly—the Emperor, her father. The three of them stare down upon her dirtied form with closed expressions (and what she can always recognise as barely hidden disdain). 

Athanasia decides to focus on her father. Not that it was hard to. 

“Your Majesty?” 

No reply. 

Athanasia tries again. “Is Jennette alright? Is she safe now?”

Instead of her father’s even monotone, it’s Countess Rosalia’s sharp, nearly squawking, shrieking vocals which answer her. “Jennette is safe from you, Your Highness.” She spits those words out venomously, almost triumphantly. 

It doesn’t take a one-in-a-million genius to understand what has happened.

Still, Athanasia tries to keep her calm, “What do you mean, Countess? You, of all people, should know that false accusations towards royalty are tantamount to treason.” Better to be blunt and be done with it.

This time, it is the Duke who speaks, looking down upon her between narrowed eyes, “Your Highness, there is no need for any more pretence. It has been found that you were the one who poisoned Jennette.” Prim and proper in his shiny white clothes and his always meticulously coiffed hair; in the depths of her heart, Athanasia couldn’t understand how a man like Ijekiel could be his son.

“And what evidence do you have to prove your claims?” Athanasia has learnt to smile like how Raven bares his teeth; sharp and quick, a warning to go no further. If there is anything else she’s learnt from Ijekiel’s friendship, it is that a smile grants both mystery and versatility. “Proper procedure states that I have the right to be subject to a fair trial, and a right to know upon what grounds you base such accusations on.”

She watches the countess artfully swing her fan up into a waiting hand, only to snap it open with a violent elegance. “Your Highness, there is no need for such tedious procedures when your guilt is crystal clear for everyone to see.”

Like a part of a two-headed snake, the Duke adds his venomous spit to the mix, “Out of jealousy, you dared to poison your own sister for your own shortcomings.”

“This is more fact than fiction—countless witnesses can prove to you that I had no idea what would happen to Jennette.”

“And countless witnesses can also prove that you’ve always harboured such envious hatred for your own sister. How wicked you are, to take away her fiancé—to take away my son—and now to take away her life.”

Still, Athanasia continues to stay calm. Her father would surely intervene at some point, wouldn’t he? “You must be mistaken, Ijekiel and I are merely friends. He is my future brother-in-law, and it would make no sense to alienate myself from him. And I care dearly for Jennette. I would do no such thing when it would only bring her pain.”

“But your actions speak louder than your words, Your Highness. Such pretty lies may come easily to you, given your blood, but we both know that you purposefully seduced him. Just like that crass, low-class whore you were born from.” The woman sneers, edging threateningly closer.

Athanasia snaps. She rushes to the bars, slamming into them with a strength and speed all too abnormal for a girl her size and age. Taking advantage of their foolish arrogance, she takes the opportunity to grab at their disgustingly extravagant clothes, bringing them eye to eye, and knocking their heads painfully on the steel bars. 

(They tell her to not let go, to keep moving, to keep shaking. Until they are but bloodied flesh and broken bones and as filthy as their tongues are. Better off as fodder, better off to be used for something grander than they could ever be.)

“Keep my mother out of your mouth! How can you be so sure that such a miscarriage of justice will—!”

“Be silent.” Finally, he speaks. His mana collapses onto her like that of a dying star, forcing her to let go, forcing her back onto the ground. But while it is painful, it is more bearable than the knowledge that her father simply did not care.

Ignoring the bodies quickly scrambling behind his protection, the Emperor simply comments, “Have you finished your petty tantrum?”

For the first time in her life, she gawks at him, at his apathy and unchanged expression. From the look on his face, Athanasia knows that he will never change his mind. He will never change his mind for her because he does not care. 

She’s known this for so long, and yet, and yet it still hurts.

And just like that, her verdict—her guilt—is decided just like that. She has blood on her hands because it is the word of the Emperor—Sun of the Empire, a ruler before he is her father (as it should; as it shouldn’t be so). Athanasia bites down harshly on her lips, casting her gaze on the stone floors, and nary a sound is allowed to escape. She wants to rage, wants to scream, wants to reach beyond the steel bars and tear at the cloth near her father’s feet—to beg for an explanation, to defend herself, to harshly refute her claims.

Who had she loved dearly all this time? Who had she worked for to the bone to gain just the slightest bit of approval and notice? Who had she idolised as perfection even as it was so clear that he was nothing but a statue carved out of ice? Her father—

(The child will die. He will kill her, like he slaughtered them, watching them breathe their last. She is her child my child our only child. She must live.)

Her mother’s cold hands tether her to reality, and Athanasia does none of that. 

“Breathe,” Diana says, right on time, pressing atop her, enclosing Athanasia within her arms. “Not in front of the Duke and the Countess, Dear. Later, when it’s safer, Mama will be here. You know Mama will always be here for you.”

Right.

She has always had her mother. Always had Lily and Raven. And now she has Jennette and Ijekiel.

It is enough. (It must be; She wants a father.)

Athanasia forces herself to hold it in, to stare straight into her father’s eyes and say, “Your Majesty is as efficient as always. Will there be a further investigation into this incident? After all, Your Majesty, efficiency without accuracy is just another way to describe sloppy work.” She smiles, ignoring the subtle shock and outrage—the lovely confusion—on the Duke and Countess.

“...You are the primary suspect. It will be enough to make an example of you.” Always putting in the most minimal of effort when it came to her. 

“I see. Then may I know if you have settled on a date for the execution?” Even now, she couldn’t let herself look any less insanely perfect in front of him. Even now, she still loves him—but perhaps no longer like that of a follower and their god. After all, gods cannot be flawed.

Unreadable as always, her father so graciously lets her know when she’ll die by his hand. “The dawn of the 8th day.” Cold, clipped—he doesn’t even seem to register that it’ll be her birthday. By the sun, moon, and stars—what a joke. This is the most attention he’s ever truly given to her.

After that, he’s already turning his back on her, moving towards the exit. The Duke and the Countess cast her cold, calculating looks before they scurry after him (like the rats they were).

When they finally leave, out of sight, out of mind, Athanasia finally allows herself to collapse into her mother’s ready arms. She shakes, she sobs, and she cries—but Athanasia still does not let a single sound escape. How unfair it is, to mourn something she never had from the start.

There is blood on her hands, but it is because of someone else.

(Athanasia doesn’t want to die.

“You won’t,” her mother promises with a whisper. “We’ll make sure of it.”)

-

“How far will you go for Diana’s—my child?”

“Anything for Athanasia,” the nanny’s sea blue eyes look straight ahead, resolute. 

“Even your life?”

“If it must be so.”

-

On the second day of her imprisonment, Raven brings him a thick, tattered book. It is hard to hide large secrets, but having grown up as an Alpheus, hiding them is but second nature to him. 

Drunk off his victory, his father grows sloppy—perhaps even mad, judging from the strange one-man dialogue he occasionally hears coming from his office. (Before…everything, they had conversed about noise-cancelling magic before.) His father’s lack of care is a boon when Ijekiel knows his actions will tear into the tapestry of success his father had so carefully woven.

He remembers being told that to love is to wish for someone’s success and happiness—to do all you could to ensure their dreams would come true.

Ijekiel thinks that to love is also to do all you can to stop someone from going past that line in the sand, the precarious precipice of no return.

Then again, he muses on the seventh night, sorting through all the information about guard rotations, patrol routes, floor plans and the like—it’s not even the most damning action of his right now. Ijekiel raises a hand to press lightly against his sternum, feeling the heavy weight of the key, the rough texture of the iron, even though it’s buried underneath all the layers of his clothing.

A haunting birdsong trickles in the open window, and Ijekiel stops to turn and gaze at the moonlight.

He thinks that, perhaps, also, to love is to be willfully ignorant.

-

Ever since her verdict had been so kindly handed down to her by her father, Athanasia’s days are now spent in the dungeon, rather than in the comfort of the library or her room. There are no books to read, so she spends time talking to her mother, practising the spells stitched into her memories. However, without Raven, they’re weaker, barely sparks yet still clearly noticeable. Strangely, no guard ever seems to be able to perceive any such practice; eyes glazed over every time. Nor are there shackles on her limbs, binding her down like an animal. She won’t question it, instead preparing for a hypothetical scenario in which she’s free.

(Mother had promised her.)

She’s sure that the guards all think she’s mad from shock. They look at her with disgusted pity and gossip about her as if she can’t hear at all. But their loose tongues help her hold onto the outside world.

Jennette is in a coma. For all their talk of family, she surmises that the most precious child of both the Countess and the Duke is power. Her father spends most of his time working. Athanasia supposes that there’s much to do when you’re executing a direct member of the royal family. Morbidly, she wonders if the Black Tower magicians would want her body for their research. Lily is that “crazy palace maid” who begs to be heard every day (no news on how her father reacted to it—but such a case is one where Athanasia sincerely prays that her father’s apathy will outweigh any annoyance, that Lily’s noble family will take her out of harm’s way before the worst can come to pass). 

Raven and Bluey are both missing (something’s coming). And Ijekiel… Last she heard, he’d been the picture-perfect fiancé, periodically visiting Jennette like clockwork every day.

At the same time, Athanasia gets a single stem of flowers each day. She wonders if Duke Alpheus knows about them.

Goldenrod, purple heliotrope, blue verbena, pink gladiolus, blue periwinkle, an iris suspiciously dusted with fur and downy feathers.

When will it be the hour of their flight?

“Wait and see, it’ll be like a fairytale,” her mother says, dancing all the while. “In the meantime, show me how you weave your magic again, Athy.”

-

It is cold within the dungeons. Athanasia will surely die tomorrow if nothing short of a miracle occurs. And yet, there is no worry in either her heart or her soul. Her mother had promised her, and to love, for Athanasia, was to devote and believe—to have utmost faith.

(She wonders what her father’s idea of love is—indulgence? A passive acceptance not too far from apathy? At least she knows that her mother’s love is undying, from beyond the grave. Lily’s love is steadfast and loyal, always trying to make the best of things. Ijekiel’s is inherent in every action, every move. Jennette’s is puppy-like, endearing.)

Athanasia hums as she finishes the final touches on her flowery bracelet, sliding it over her wrist with a sense of pride. The flowers are ill-suited to be bound this way, but such perversions of reality and logic are what magic is for. From behind, her mother gently combs out the knots in her hair with deft fingers, plaiting and pinning until all of Athanasia’s golden hair is safely pinned up.

“The midnight hour comes soon, Dear—Eumiellia’s always said that it’s the perfect hour for some…mischief.” Her mother says in a sing-song tone, drawing her up on her feet and guiding her to watch the way the light on the dungeon corridors starts to change and grow. In the depths of the Empire’s bowels, the echo of the nearing footsteps rings louder and louder in her mind.

Someone is coming.

“Is it time to go now?” Athanasia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already said it’s the perfect hour, Athy.” So they wait. It doesn’t take long for Athanasia to realise that alongside the light footsteps, another pair of feet pad forth as well. Excitement bubbles in her chest—she’s heard those footsteps before.

Athanasia sees Bluey first, the stitched bluebird squeezing between the bars to nuzzle into her awaiting hands, before leaping into flight once more.

Raven is next, her book grasped firmly in her mouth. Already, Athanasia can feel the electric rush of mana, from a steady trickle to rushing rapids. Were it not for the anti-teleportation wards, she probably could be free already. 

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of white horses, Your Highness.”

All of a sudden, she feels lightheaded, warm. “Ijekiel?” She breathes out, staring disbelievingly at his hooded figure, the glint of his golden eyes. He smiles back at her, taking out a key from underneath his collar. 

“The one and only, Athanasia.” Her door unlocks, and he reaches out to tug her forward into a tight hug, holding her so tightly and so closely that Athanasia can feel the skin of his neck, and smell the scent of his skin. “Did you like my message? I learnt it from the book about Obelia’s flower language we read together every February.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be doing this in person? I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. After all, you’re my…friend.”

Athanasia finally hugs back, squeezing her arms around Ijekiel tightly. Her eyes squeeze shut with unshed tears. “I’m glad you’re my friend too. But what I meant was that I didn’t expect you to mean you were going to conduct a jailbreak.”

“Well, a nobleman should always have many skills.”

“Jennette is lucky to have you.” She feels Ijekiel tense momentarily in her arms, The break in conversation appears to drag on, long and uncomfortable, before she hears him let out a sigh.

“She’s lucky to have you as well,” he says in return, before seemingly tacking on as an afterthought, “as a sister.” At those words, he releases her from his grasp, pulling away, only to come close once more to wrap a dark cloak around her shoulders. His hands rest on her shoulders, and Athanasia isn’t sure if he realises how tightly he’s gripping her.

“We should get going now. The guards won’t stay out for long.”

“Are you coming with me?” They both know it’s a stupid question; both know what the answer will be; both know that she will never truly mean it. 

Ijekiel doesn’t reply, but his wistful gaze is enough. 

Athanasia smiles, and it is small, almost sad, as she makes a request of him, “Take care of her for me, and for her own sake, alright?” Gripping the front of the cloak, she looks off into the dark distance, the unknown of her impending freedom. “Politics was never her strong suit.”

“Of course, as Her Highness asks.” Ijekiel chokes out the words, and he lets go of her shoulders, turning away and towards the dungeon’s exit. “I’ll escort you to that place—as long as you can get out of here, you’ll be able to leave the palace, right?”

“Yes.”

And so out they go, past the numerous cells and past the unconscious guards, from the darkness, to the moonlight. The night air tastes of freedom; walking on the stone paths, past the patrolling guards, feels like a kind of liberation. Her magic wraps around them like a shield as they make their way to the place where they’d both realised they’d fallen in love with the sun. 

As they stand below the tree, Athanasia finds herself reluctant to truly say goodbye to him. 

So she doesn’t.

“Tell Lily I said goodbye, please?” The magic swirls around her feet, building, building to a crescendo, changing the colour of her hair, the colour of her eyes—held high in the air by a single thread of hesitation. 

Ijekiel cannot tear his eyes away from her. It’s only through sheer strength of will that he holds back from reaching out once more. “If it’s you, there’s no need to ask.” 

Athanasia smiles, bright and true, and she turns away. “I’m glad I met you, Ijekiel.” Her magic swallows her up, leaving not a trace, not even a spark.

It’s as if she were never there in the first place.

He speaks to the empty air, hand outstretched. “I’m glad I met you too, Athy.”

-

Athanasia jumps from inn to inn, hiding in plain sight, making sure to cycle through a number of features wherever she goes, obfuscating the Imperial guards’ search for her. Above all, she likes it best when her eyes are either pink or blue; when her hair is blonde or brown. Through it all, her heart crashes about in her chest, thrashing about in her ribcage even as she refuses to think about how she’s being hunted down like a criminal by her own father. Money (golden and shining and reliable in a way her father never truly was) is never tight due to her magic. Still, Athanasia is starved of genuine interaction with anyone but her mother. Yet it’s all too risky even to fathom making an acquaintance when she knows they’ll all bind her in chains if they ever know who she is.

Her mother helps as best as she can, whispering in her ear about the innkeeper was starting to become suspicious, or what rumours were being circulated here and there—helping her avoid areas where people are most keen to turn in the abominable villainess who’d harmed their beloved Princess (never her, never Athanasia, it was always, always Jennette who’d be so loved and accepted by all). Athanasia is oh-so careful, living as if she were dead, waiting, waiting, waiting as she always did.

Until she sees the body strung from a rope in the town square.

Horrifically injured, it is covered in a damaged maid’s dress, and matted brown hair covers its eyes. But Athanasia recognises the bend of those limp hands, the careful embroidery lining the apron and the skirt, the unseen tie so horribly torn and broken like her heart. Her breath feels uneven, all too loud for her ears in an environment that seems to press down on her. Mother’s ghostly arms pull at her as gently firm as can be, but Athanasia cannot bring herself to move. There is a scream stuck in her throat, and it claws with an animalistic ferocity to be let out. 

Faintly, she thinks that Ijekiel would’ve labelled this as the protagonist’s tipping point.

-

Lily is dead.

Mama confirms it too, with all the coldness and stiffness of flash-frozen water, the absence of spirit, her soul.

Not even days after she’s started running away, does she see the still corpse swaying in the air in front of her eyes. It’s already started the process of decay, the white pallor that marks her as gone having already overtaken her skin. Not to mention the unmistakable hole in her chest, the browning stains of blood on her always impeccably clean uniform, the doll-like stiffness of her body, and Lily cannot be dead because her Father hates her so but he is not a madman bereft of morals (as long as it does not involve her) he is a cold but stiff, still just ruler (as long as it does not involve her) because because because—

It had been fine as long as it was only her who bore the weight of such cruel apathy. 

Claude de Alger Obelia, emperor of Obelia, tyrant of Obelia has, had, killed Lily.

Her mama lays her hands upon her shoulders, ice-cold and sub-zero degrees burning Athanasia’s skin like a hot iron brand. Memories gleaned rush into her mind 

And he would pay.

He would pay for it. He had to pay for it. There were consequences to every action, everything you took from the world. Whether it was forcing the creation of your imagination into life, speeding up natural processes of growth, or ripping away a life unfinished. There was always, always, a price to pay. Equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.

And Athanasia would become his debt dealer. His Thanatos, pounding, clawing at his door. 

She could fix this. Athanasia was a fool and a horribly, terribly blind idiot with a brain rotted with desire but she could fix this because if her Mama could come back to her so could Lily, and then she could apologise for being such a stupid stupid child. Everything would be back to normal. Back to the imperfect (no, they were perfect and unblemished) days of simply lazing around as a true family.

Lily wasn’t gone yet.

And Athanasia would make sure that she stayed, for good. Forever.

All she needs to do is prepare the stage, erase a few eyesores and tidy up this mess.

(The light of the torches cast long shadows as she took one step and another forward)

For that, her first order of business is to take back Lily’s body.

-

Early morning comes with the herald of the confusion of the masses.

(Poor, ignorant souls who have yet to realise what will be wrought upon their world)

The body of the example, the unremarkable maid of an unloved princess no longer hung from the noose. Only a snapped rope, roughly cut off from the rest of it, lay hanging from the wood.

Someone had taken the body, but who? Who would dare defy the order of the Sun of Obelia, Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia?

And within the shadows, a girl began crafting. Smoothing over blemishes, re-building foundations, and making once wrongs become rights. She fixes and repairs and improves because it is all for Lily’s sake. Lily must not come back in pain. She must come back to a body that knows no pain and will never know pain ever again.

But because it must be perfect (it must be, it had to be because she had to make up for it somehow and she knows it’s not enough but—), because she will accept no flaw, Athanasia needs practice. More practice than little animals and plants in various states of decay. Better practice than that. She needs people. 

(People who will surely, surely join her, who will always live up to her expectations. Because they will be reborn and reshaped to fit them.)

Athanasia always works hard for those she loves. Will always work hard for them and those she has yet to love. Because she is a starving child, and she will devour everything even if she’s full. So in return, she’ll do anything.

She gently thumbs the closed eyelids of a most remarkable maid, knowing that beyond them are dull blue eyes. It isn’t right for them to be such a colour. Her hand goes to her face to trace soft lines just below her jewel-blue eyes. That colour is a physical connection of “family”, an invisible thread tying them together. 

He didn’t deserve to have such a colour. Its beauty—wasted on him.

It’s a colour that Lily deserves so much more than him.

And Athanasia knows she can fix it. 

She has to.

[fuzzydetectivetaco]

AI is highlighting the fundamental problems in our society

(There's a tl;dr at the bottom for those who don't want to go through the entire thing)

Have you heard of the subreddit r/orphancrushingmachine? The idea with this subreddit is that you post news or stories that are heartwarming or positive but make you go, "hey, why was this a problem again?" The example they give on the subreddit is news that the Orphan Crushing Machine was shut down. This is amazing and heartwarming news. No more orphans would be crushed. Until you realize, "hey, wait, why was there an orphan crushing machine in the first place?" I think AI actually highlights a similar issue in the modern society.

Let's take a look at what the biggest use of AI is. Possibly the most famous use of AI is to make content. Blog posts, for example. Novels. Poems. A video script. An article where every single word should begin with a B. Someone even used AI for legal documents (which is a horrible idea, by the way - not in the least because AI tends to hallucinate).

I used it for the first time because it was fun and whacky. Hey, it wrote me a song that just has words start with the letter B. That's cool. Someone asked it to write down three countries beginning with O (Oman, Oman and Oman). I once asked it to explain how structs work in rust (I'm a programmer, don't worry about it). These are use cases where you didn't need AI - there are much better places to check three countries beginning with O (spoiler: there's only one), or how structs in rust work. ChatGPT's writing content is always fun to work with. The reason i asked it to write a poem with B's is because I wanted to see how it would turn out (it was horrible, by the way). Could I have done it? Yeah. But it wouldn't have been fun to research words beginning with B and I'm not that much of a songwriter anyway.

But the time it caused my eyebrows to raise was when it was used for articles. Blog posts. Novels. And the fundamental question when you learn about this is - why? Why would you need AI to write stuff? Why use AI to write novels?

When you answer these question, you suddenly start to see that AI is not the solution to problems that were supposed to exist. It is, for all intents and purposes, creating a machine that can create new Orphans to make sure that the Orphan Crushing Machine doesn't make Orphans extinct (Ok, actually, I'm liking this example less and less).

But let's actually think about it. The first use of AI - blog posts and articles. And it's inverse - summaries. These two are linked in an inexplicable way. Someone has some points they want to present to other people. They give this point to ChatGPT and tell it to make a blog post. That post then goes online.

Someone else sees this blog post. They copy the entire post, and give it to ChatGPT and tell it to summarize the blog post and present it in bullet points.

Isn't that extremely stupid? It's just wasting computer cycles, electricity, and money. It's taking useful points, and then converting them into another format for distribution. Then someone takes this new format, and converts in back to the format it was written in. Why does the intermediary format even exist?

It exists because if the author were to simply present them points, they wouldn't like it. The author was being lazy. It's not professional. Presenting points in the useable format is stupid, you have to encase them in bits and bits of fluff and words to make it seem important and professional.

Isn't that stupid?

You may call me hypocritical for writing this blog post, but there's a fundamental difference here. I'm enjoying writing this blog post. Inspiration hit me while I was in the shower, so I picked up this laptop when I was done and started writing. I've already presented my important points in the tl;dr section above. The only people reading this are those that want to enjoy the blog post. No one is going to copy this and give it to ChatGPT to summarize, because I've already summarized it better above.

That is lost on an AI-generated blog, because an AI-generated blog isn't usually fun to read. It's written in a monotonous tone, whereas this one is fun and vibrant (right?), because it's written by a human.

So that's the first problem in our society: We give so much importance to fluff, to inconsequential things, to appearances. Our society is one where we do indeed judge a book by it's cover.

Let's look at the second use I highlighted above: writing novels. There are novels written with AI in form of experimentation and being funny (check out Harry Potter and What Looked Like a Large Pile of Ash, which was written by an early implementation of AI). That's not what I'm concerned with.

What I'm concerned with is the idea of writing actual, serious novels with AI. The trend of AI-written novels (and for anyone concerned for their jobs - they're terrible. And I will also address this below, so stay tuned). The trend of writing stories with the help of AI.

I'm a fan of TTRPGs (You uncultured folks may know it as D&D). For the purpose of this blog post, all you have to understand is that one person is called the GM, or Game Master, and is responsible for playing as the environment, world, NPCs, etc. If you've ever played Video Games, you can kind of think of GMs as the Video Game itself.

Long story short, there are products online through which you can play with AI GMs. Someone even posted on a forum frequented by TTRPG players and GMs, asking if anyone wanted to play with AI GMs (Unsurprisingly, no one responded).

Here's the question - why would anyone want to play with an AI GM? First off, we live in the age of the internet. It is not difficult to find a GM or Player who wants to play TTRPGs, regardless of what timezone you are in. And in the event that you don't find a GM, you can play TTRPGs without a GM. And if you're alone, you can also play solo TTRPGs.

Actually, I cannot answer that question. I genuinely believe that these AI GMs are a gimmick that died the moment they launched (which also brings us to a point I will address later). But the situation is similar to when me and my friend were talking about something, and my friend said, "let's ask ChatGPT".

Let's. Ask. ChatGPT. These are words that are so very concerning. Because you wouldn't rely on your in-built, God-given creativity, but rather rely on a machine that cannot imagine and is just vomiting words to give you ideas.

You'd rather write a Novel via ChatGPT rather than write one yourself (there's another side to this that I will discuss later). You'd rather write a fanfiction using ChatGPT over writing one yourself.

I'll let you in to a secret. A secret so dark I cannot bear thinking about it. A secret that you might not have realized.

We aren't really creative anymore.

I'm not joking. And this is not from someone who's a common pleb. I write fanfictions. I planned out an entire novel (which I hated immediately and threw away). I'm writing this very blog post.

But it's difficult for me to be creative.

Because creativity is like a muscle. I haven't used that muscle in a long time. Hopefully, I will come to a point where I get struck by inspiration all the time. Hopefully one day I'll come to a point where stories flow out of me all the time (which isn't to say they don't - this blog post is just flowing out - but it doesn't happen all the time. I'm better than I was before, though).

Using my creativity right now feels like a chore. I have to manually sit myself down to write something. I do really want to write the story. I do feel better afterawrds. But the moment I sit down in front of my computer, the moment I have to actually flex my brain and stretch my creativity muscles and get something substantial. It's hard. It feels like work.

It's like excersize. And we hate excersizes.

Another reason why we're not creative anymore, at least according to Sir Ken Robinson, is because creativity requires making mistakes. Mistakes aren't an if. They're a when. You will write that novel plan that you'll throw out because of how bad it is. You will write that story that you look at the next day and cringe. You will write only a 100 words when you were supposed to write 1000.

Yet we have grown as a society to hate mistakes. That one misstep in that gathering and now suddenly your entire family is talking about you. That one question you missed that stopped you getting a 100%. That one paper you didn't study for that made you lose your scholarship.

This doesn't only apply to novels and stories. Mistakes are a part of life. I'm learning french, and I know that I will embarrass myself in front of a french person. One of my teachers told me that every moderately successful businessman has had at least three failed startups.

Bre Pettis once wrote the Cult of Done manifesto. The Cult of Done was, to the best of my understanding, something that didn't actually exist before he wrote the Manifesto.

I love this Manifesto so much that I'm just going to quote it verbatim.

The Cult of Done Manifesto

There are three states of being. Not knowing, action and completion.

Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done.

There is no editing stage.

Pretending you know what you’re doing is almost the same as knowing what you are doing, so just accept that you know what you’re doing even if you don’t and do it.

Banish procrastination. If you wait more than a week to get an idea done, abandon it.

The point of being done is not to finish but to get other things done.

Once you’re done you can throw it away.

Laugh at perfection. It’s boring and keeps you from being done.

People without dirty hands are wrong. Doing something makes you right.

Failure counts as done. So do mistakes.

Destruction is a variant of done.

If you have an idea and publish it on the internet, that counts as a ghost of done.

Done is the engine of more.

That's it. It's simple and beautiful. And I think it's a great code to live by. I thought of this blog post while I was in the shower. The moment I came out, I propped out the laptop. I'm writing this blog post now, and it will go live on Tumblr when I'm done. That's it. It's done now.

Oh, you thought this was a blog post about AI? Oh, no, it's so much more.

But before we move on to my next fundamental problem, there's one more thing I want to address: Inspiration.

Let me tell you a story about my life.

When I grew up, we had a strict no-devices policy at home. Then I grew older, and I got to use computers. But still, there was a no-phones policy. There was nothing to do at home, and life was so boring.

Then when I finally got my phone, I was immediately hooked onto social media. It formed an escape from boredom for me. I could spend my time, if not enjoying myself, at least not bored.

Then I realized something when I went to a family gathering.

You see, our city has mobile snatchers everywhere. So, whenever I go out, I take a cellphone with me instead of my mobile phone unless I need it.

So I just sat and stared, bored. And suddenly, my mind came alive.

Reminders of things I was supposed to do. Inspiration for stories. Business ideas. Problems with our society. I thought again about what I wanted to do with life. I thought religion and philosophy.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Before I got my phone, this was my everyday. Sometimes I'd just want a break from my thoughts. Then when I gt my mobile, suddenly those thoughts went away. I found myself having a hard time getting inspiration. I wasn't as motivated as I used to be.

So, sorry for the tangent, but I just wanted to state this point: Be bored more. It's sometimes painful, but it helps you think thoughts. Also, if you meditate, it gets less painful.

That is not to say that boredom is best for you. It's important to keep yourself busy. But you cannot go to the extreme and abandon boredom altogether. It's a balance.

So, to recap, the second fundamental problem with society: We're not creative anymore. And, if you didn't guess already, I want you, the reader, to break that. I want you to be creative. Make mistakes. Write stories. Write songs. Draw. Do what you enjoy. Follow the Cult of Done.

So, actually, let's go back to the old example. Remember when I told you there were multiple parts to AI Novels? Let's address that now.

Most people who write AI Novels don't write AI Novels because they don't feel creative enough to write a Novel. They write AI Novels because they're cheap to create and instantaneous. They have no interest in actually writing a Novel, they just want to make money.

Knowing that just makes me even less motivated to read an AI Novel.

This is a subject I'm very passionate about, so there is another tangent incoming. You have been forewarned.

I had a friend who really wanted to write an AI Novel. At that point in time, I was extremely against it a) because I wanted to be a writer and AI Novels meant that my future job would go away and b) because it's fundamentally a scam. We didn't actually write an AI Novel in the end.

This same friend loves writing poetry. He would never write an AI poem because he genuinely enjoys writing poetry. It's his hobby.

(This section of the blog's actually difficult to write because I'm trying to address two points in one go.)

I used to love crochet. I enjoyed the mindlessness of it, the beautiful patterns that it created. I loved dedicating my time to making something and then giving it to my family members. Then one of my family members told me I'd make some money if I started selling some of my creations.

I decided, yeah, that was a good idea. I bought some high quality yarn, and decided to make a handkerchief to sell. We'd decide the price later.

About a few days in, I realized that this crochet project consumed me. My entire day was spent on this one thing. And even after all that, it took me multiple days to finish it.

During it's creation, I started to count how many rows I added per day. 10. Just ten? There were machines that could make a hundred handkerchiefs in the time it took me to make a single row. There were affordable knitting machines. I was so inefficient! Humans overall are super inefficient! How would I ever sell this? I spent so much effort on this, so of course it had to be more expensive than the machine-made ones. But then no one would buy mine, would they?

This hobby of mine started to cause me stress. I used to dread starting and finishing crochet. I would feel like I was inadequate. I became a bit depressed for a while.

We never sold a single work of crochet after all. I stopped crocheting. This hobby was killed by capitalism. (tbh I'm not really sure what capitalism actually means in this context but it's fun to say.)

Money is going to kill every single hobby ever. Why make art if AI can do art so much faster and quicker than you can? Why write if AI can write faster? Why make music if AI can make music faster and better? Why learn a foreign language if AI can translate so much better?

Because it's fun.

Sometimes we decide to turn our hobby into a side hustle. But the moment money becomes involved, the hobby starts to turn a bit sour. The moment money because the driving factor, that hobby will turn into stress. You will start hating it. You will realize you're inefficient.

One of my teachers once told me, "Everything is measured by how profitable it is." That truly is what society seems to think. But that way of thinking makes one miserable. If I were following that way of thinking, I would never be an Open Source developer just because I enjoy programming. I would never decide to start learning french only because I found it fun. I'd never had read on how legal documents work because I found it intriguing.

So, with all due respect, fuck what society thinks. This blog post started as just something I wanted to put out into the world, but it's become a self-help blog post now.

Do you want to learn French just because? Do you want to make music just because? Learn animation just because? Then just do it. Doesn't matter whether it is profitable or not. If today I decide that I'm not interested in French anymore, I'm not learning French anymore. It's as simple as that. I enjoyed my time learning.

The best reason to do anything is just because you want to do it.

Me and one of my friends are going to do a podcast. We're going to take all the money we get from the podcast to pay the fee it costs to run the podcast. Everything else is going to go to charity, at least in the first year. I want to make sure we're doing the podcast just because, because it's fun. It's going to make sure we enjoy it more, and our listeners enjoy it more.

And I also want to highlight another problem with society that spawns from this. SO MANY people do things because they're profitable. Someone who's a doctor because it makes money, even though they'd rather be a filmmaker. And this goes deeper than that. Companies who try to capitalize on human creativity and make it profitable. Disney's recent movies are all trying to make the most in the least amount of time. They've made money the driving factor for their movies.

And most of them suck.

The problem with society is we often make money the driving factor. We want to make money by creating a book that can be made instantly and with minimal effort. We want to make money by creating movies as fast as possible and sacrificing the story itself. We want to make money by writing blog posts rather than because we actually have a passion for it.

Only one of these examples had AI involved.

Any time capitalism decides to put money in front of creativity, the end result will be sub-optimal, if it doesn't outright suck. And AI is no exception.

So there are two fundamental problems with society I highlighted here:

Society tends to decide how important something is from how profitable it is, which makes everything miserable.

Society tends to put profitability and money in front of passion and creativity, which causes the overall result to be sub-optimal.

Just a side note I wanted to add here was that the modern concept of production lines and manufacturing also puts money in front of creative expression, so not only are products so boring, but the people working there usually hate it too. When reading RIck Riordan's Magnus Chase series I realized how much we want individualistic expression and creativity in every single thing we use. Which is possibly a reason why people love merchandise from content creators so much.

After saying all that, I do want to say that I do not think AI is evil. Despite what others say, it is a tool. I love machines, because they allow us to delegate manual labor to them so that we humans can do what we're truly best at: creative expression. AI is the same. Using Google Lens to transcribe something, using speech-to-text, these things all allow us to ignore the manual process of having to retype something, and allow us to do other, more useful things. Having said that, if you enjoy transcribing, or copying, like I used to enjoy crocheting, then more power to you! Do it!

This is not meant to be a depressing post. This is not a post meant to make you depressed about how horrible society is. This is a warning sign, yes, but even more, it is a message to you, the reader, on how you can break out of these toxic behaviours.

To recap, this is what you should do:

Avoid boilerplate. Get to the point. There's no need to write an entire blog post if you don't want to. Also, if you do write a blog post, try to offer a summarized version as well for those who don't want to read the entire thing.

Be creative. It feels hard, but it's super rewarding. It's what makes you human. It gets easier the more you do it.

Don't be afraid of making mistakes. They are a part of life, and not only does fearing them stop you from doing things you want to do, you can never not make mistakes in the first place, so why bother being scared of them?

Follow the cult of done. (Optional)

Be bored sometimes. It's good for you.

Don't ever judge the worth of anything by how much money it makes. Do stuff you want to do just because, even if it costs you money (if you can, I'm not asking you to pour your life savings into it)

Don't do anything just because it's profitable.

Be individualistic and expressive! It's your birthright!

Don't just read it here. If you liked these points, take them and write them on a piece of paper, and stick it somewhere you'll see it often. It'll actually help you improve (according to Dr. Chantal Hofstee). And if you ever find yourself unable to do these, remember rule 3.

tl;dr the fundamental problems of society are:

We love to use too much boilerplate and focus less on the meaning. We as a society also tend to judge a book by its cover.

We as a society have gotten less creative.

We as a society have decided to measure everything by profitability.

We as a society tend to do things just because they're profitable, even if we don't actually want to do it.

Steps to take to help yourself avoid these problems are detailed above.

[elizabethrobertajones]

🗝

Send 🗝️ to see them in private.

"What are you doing in here? Get out!"

Free Company houses are for politically neutral snuggles.

[fideidefenswhore]

soulmate-ism ❤️

[adorablegorilla]

The "Ship of Theseus" conundrum is dumb and outdated nowadays for many reasons but among them is the fact you can look at professional football and easily get your answer. "Oh, if something changes out all it's individual parts and pieces for new ones is it still the same?" Yes have you ever seen the Cleveland Browns they've changed management coaches and players more times than anyone can count and they still play the same (bad)

[sumifinalfourteen]

The end of the Universe

[chozoremake]

watched kaguya-sama wa kokurasetai: first kiss wa owaranai  and on ep 1 was like: oh hehe this is so funny,i think is funnier than the last season :-) then from ep 2 to 4: oh this is definitely a drama

[elilelibeli]

The first time Regulus kissed James they were rudely interrupted, by an annoying beeping sound.

Regulus did try to ignore the sound but he had to stop when James suddenly took his hands from Regulus’s waist and hid them behind his back.

“James what’s happening” Regulus looked behind James’s broad shoulders.

“Nothing” James answered shaking his head accompanied with the same annoying beeping sound.

Regulus raised his eyebrow and with one swift motion grabbed James’s arm. James looked at him defeated and quickly put his hand in front.

“It’s my watch, okay?” he answered looking a little embarrassed, “the sound is to let me know when my heart rate is too elevated when I work out” he continued red creeping up his cheeks.

“The heart rate..” Regulus mumbled while examining the watch on James’s wrist, playful smirk appearing in the place of his pursed lips full of confusion.

He quickly pecked James’s lips, slowly moved from his lips to his jaw, while glancing at the watch on his wrist start with the sound of beeping again.

Look of embarrassment, torture and excessive blushing were covering James’s face when Regulus looked at him and giggled. His giggle turned into a full blown, head thrown, beautiful laugh as the sound of the beeping from the watch became so loud and so quick it could surely be heard from down the hall.

James, his watch and his heartbeat were in serious trouble surrounded by the most beautiful sounds of Reggie’s laugh.

this is based on a twitter post screenshot (which I can find anymore) i saw like months ago but can’t stop thinking about cause it’s just so so cute

[nanaslutt]

when your boyfriend asks you to cheat on him with his best friend

ʚ ft. cuck!Geto Suguru, Gojo satoru x reader

ʚ cont: established relationship, fem reader, cucking, Geto is a perv, cumming untouched, oral, dirty talk, teasing, masturbation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise, pull-out method, dacraphillia

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

...."What?" You replied quietly, even though you heard his words loud and clear. "W-why would you want that?" You asked, noticing how much harder it became to keep eye contact. Geto had invited Gojo over to hang out, the three of you lounging around in the living area, hanging out, when you noticed Geto's demeanor change a bit.

He knew how much Gojo wanted you, it was obvious. Gojo would never say it first, but he thought you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Of course, Geto was his best friend and you were his girlfriend, so he would never act on any of his deep dark impulses, but that didn't stop him from making innuendos here and there, maybe touching your shoulder a little too long, looking at your body in a way he shouldn't when you turned around, unable to notice him checking you out. But Geto did, he noticed it all.

Instead of being pissed at his best friend, all the little touches and teases, the almost advances he made on his girl, made his pants tight. Usually, he could bare with it, hold out until his white-haired best friend went home before he picked you up and fucked you on the couch right where you and Gojo were just sitting, but today was different.

Geto's mouth was running dry watching Gojo's fingers rub the couch as he laid his arm out behind you, relaxed. He knew Gojo craved to be caressing your skin instead, that's what drove him so crazy. The way his best friend kept dropping his gaze to your lips, your breasts, all of it, it was driving him mad. So mad, that he had to excuse himself, and you, from Gojo's company, pulling you into his bedroom where he spilled his deep dark desires, unable to keep them inside any longer.

"Fuck I don't know, I don't know," Geto said, covering his mouth with his hand. He kept it there for a moment, looking around the room in thought before he dragged his hand down his face and reached out to grab yours. "All I know is that whenever I think about him fucking you in front of me, it makes me so fucking hard I can barely stand it." He said, looking frantic, impatient. 

You dropped your eyes to his crotch and noticed the very obvious, twitching bulge he was sporting in his sweats, he was serious. "If you don't wanna do it just forget it, it's fine really I just needed to say somethin-" "How long have you been feeling like this?" You asked, cutting him off. You kept your eyes on him, fighting the urge to look away bashfully. Geto stopped his rambling, his mouth falling slightly open as he just looked at you. You didn't say no.

"So long baby, so fucking long. Can't help but think about it every time he's around you." Geto said, a blush biting the tips of his ears. You felt a sudden rush of heat flood down between your thighs at his shamelessness. It was a lot to take in so suddenly. To be honest you had never thought of Gojo in that way before, so having Geto confess something like this was a bit of a shock. It wasn't that you thought Gojo was ugly, or even thought he would be back in the sack, it's just you truly hadn't thought about it. 

Why would you have? He was Geto's bestfriend. But apparently, Geto would like it if you did think about him that way. "How... how do you know you really want this?" You asked, keeping your voice low and quiet, cautious for Gojo to not overhear as he was just in the other room. Geto stepped closer to you, using both his large hands to grab your waist, pressing your pelvis against his. You could feel his boner poke you just above your cunt, making your eyebrows knit together.

"I've dreamt about it baby, dreamt about him fucking you. You have no idea how much I think about this." He whispered, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His words made you blush as you looked between your bodies at his hard cock, that he was ever so slightly rubbing against you. "Dreams are different from reality Sugu... what if..." You paused, wanting to find the right words before you spoke.

"Say me and Gojo really did it in front of you." Just the mention of the hypothetical had Geto nodding at your words and pulling his lip between his teeth. "What if you were wrong and you don't actually want this? I don't want to hurt you Sugu." You said, grabbing his face with both of your palms. Geto smiled and leaned into the touch. "You know I won't let anything happen if I'm not okay with it. I promise you though baby, with 100% certainty, that I will like it, I need it." He responded, easing your worries.

"Do you... think you can do it though? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable just for my interesting kinks." Geto said, his words making you huff a laugh through your nose. "I haven't ever thought about... fucking Satoru, but he's pretty easy on the eyes." You joked, "It should be fine." Geto groaned at that, his head falling forward and landing on your shoulder.

"I love you so much you know that? 'S gonna be so fucking hard not to cream in my pants just watchin' you two kiss." He whispered against your neck, his words alone riling him up. "Baby..." You said softly, running your hands through his hair. "Will Satoru be okay with this?" You asked, making Geto raise his head to look at you, a telling smile already on his face. 

Once Geto collected himself enough to not walk like he was hiding a bomb in his pants, the two of you left the small room he pulled you into and back into the living room, where Gojo was sprawled on the couch, legs spread far apart, arms around the back of the cushions.

You swallowed hard, trying to remember what Geto told you to do. You could do it, for him, you could do it. Gojo turned his head toward the two of you when he saw your figures renter the room. "There you are~ Was starting to think you two were getting handsy somewhere." Gojo teased. You kept walking toward him, not faltering in your pace, not uttering a word back, not so much as breathing. Geto stopped a couple of feet from the couch, just watching you with bated breath for what was about to happen.

Gojo lazily looked up to meet your face when his view of the TV was obstructed by your body. "What are ya-" His words were cut short when you placed both hands on his shoulders and plopped yourself down onto his lap. Gojo's hands jerked in front of him and just hovered inches from your hips, which were now straddling his. His mouth opened to speak again but he was promptly cut off when you grabbed his soft cheeks in your hands and pressed his lips against yours.

The white-haired man made a noise of surprise against you, his body going rigid. Gojo's eyes were wide as his brain tried to catch up to what the hell was happening. His eyes found Geto's, just on the outside of his peripherals, and he was met with his best friend's large frame standing just as still as he was, eyes lower than usual, arms crossed, and of course, a huge fucking boner in his pants.

Gojo caught on quickly, a small huff of a laugh leaving his nose just before you pulled back, looking at him uncertainty, like you were waiting for him to react. "I think I know what's going on," Gojo said, smirking mischievously. Geto stayed quiet, opting to slowly sit down on the couch next to him that faced the large sofa, housing his best friend and his girlfriend, straddling his hips.

"This a test or somethin' or is this for real?" Gojo asked, astonished. The tips of his ears started to grow hot, as did the rest of his body. "Does it look like I'm joking?" Geto asked, his shaky hand grabbing ahold of his bulge, not rubbing it, just putting some pressure on himself, his other arm laying on the arm of the couch. "Fuck." Gojo huffed, a smile still on his face as he looked between the two of you.

"So what do you want from me? Want me to fuck her? Is that it?" Gojo asked, finally closing the distance between his hands and your hips, grabbing them steadily, making you press yourself fully down on his lap. You winced at the feeling of his bulge poking against you, his mannerisms were so different that Geto's, but having Geto here made you feel a lot more comfortable. And you trusted Gojo, of course. 

"Yeah," Geto replied, nodding. Gojo's smile grew before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at you, cocking his head to the side. "You want that too? Want me to fuck you while your boyfriend watches?" Gojo was already in this. He really could adapt to any situation surprisingly quickly. You turned your head to look at Geto, but your gaze was quickly corrected when Satoru gripped the bottom half of your face and made you look back at him.

"I asked you, baby." He smiled, his words teasing and light, but his touch rough. Gojo looked down at your plush lips before his eyes fell back on yours, his head inching closer to your face. "Want me to fuck you? Make you cum all over my cock?" He whispered, his hot breath tickling your face, making you whine quietly at his words. When you nodded coyly your consent, Gojo laughed, releasing your chin.

"Maaaan~ She's so fucking cute, this is gonna be so fun." Gojo chipped, rolling his head before he placed it back in front of yours. "Let's give that cuck a show then," Gojo whispered, his words not being missed by Geto's ears, making his cock twitch. You whimpered when Gojo pressed his lips to yours, a hum from him vibrating throughout your lips as his hand fell back down on your hip once more.

Gojo maneuvered the two of you to be laying down against the length of the couch, one of Gojo's legs hanging off the side, his foot placed firmly on the ground as you chased his lips, your body staying firmly against his as you were now on top of him laying down. Geto licked his lips, adding a bit more pressure to his cock as he watched Gojo's hands caress your body, teasing the skin of your back underneath your shirt.

"Let's get this off, yeah?" He whispered against your lips, letting you sit up to remove your shirt. You nodded, your eyes finding Geto's for a moment which were content and full of lust, before they were back on Gojo. Gojo ran his hands up your exposed skin the higher and higher you dragged your shirt up your body until your black lacy bra was exposed to his hungry eyes, the shirt being tossed carelessly on the floor.

"Oh fuckkk." Gojo groaned as he continued to greedily rub his hands up and down your body while you placed your hands on his abdomen, your ass firmly on his crotch. "Knew your body was hot but you look even better like this." He praised, thrusting his hips up against yours, his ass leaving the couch cushions for a minute. You felt your face erupt in heat and looked away, squeezing your legs around Gojo's body to relieve some of the ache you felt between your thighs.

"What do you say, baby?" Geto's voice rang into your ears, making you look over at him while Gojo's eyes stayed on you. "He complimented you, what do you say?" He repeated, his hand now slowly rubbing over the bulge in his sweats, matching the tantalizing pace of Gojo's hips rubbing against yours. Your embarrassment only grew getting called out like that. Looking back down to Gojo, his eyes were open wide, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to speak.

"Thank you, Satoru." You replied, finding it hard to meet his eyes. Gojo grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss against your wrist. "No problem baby." He replied, before releasing your hand and turning his head to look at Geto. "She's so polite." He said, praising Geto for training you so well. Geto smiled in return, nodding knowingly. "She'll even thank you after she takes a load down her throat," Geto added, his cock twitching at the thought.

This made Gojo audibly groan, his head rolling back against the couch, messing up his pretty hair. "Fuck I wanna see that." He groaned, long and needy. "You wanna show me what Suguru is talking about baby?" Gojo smiled sweetly, rolling his hips in circles up against your cunt, making your eyes flutter. You nodded timidly, feeling your body get hit with another wave of arousal. Gojo's smile grew in size, his cute dimples poking his cheeks.

Geto watched with bated breath as you slid down his body, pressing your thighs together as you sat on your knees between his legs, working on his belt. "You gonna jerk off to this or what?" Came Gojo's voice, cutting through the arosual clouding Suguru's head. Suguru shook his head, opting to continue to just palm himself over his pants while he watched you pull Gojo's pants down. "Not yet, don't wanna cum till you start fucking her." He said, arousal heavy in his voice.

Gojo made a sound of approval, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue before he looked back down to you. "Oh! Didn't realize you got that far." Gojo giggled, watching how you held his crumpled pants midway down his thighs, staring at his long, pretty cock, with a pink flushed, dripping head. Gojo wiggled his hips, making his cock sway in front of you. "You like it?" He asked, cockily. 

"It's so big." You whispered, laying down on your belly between his thighs as you stared at it in awe. "You think so, baby? 'S it prettier than Suguru's cock?" He teased, glancing over at Geto who shook his head in annoyance. Gojo sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when you wrapped your hand around the head of his cock, rubbing his pre-cum against your palm. "They're both pretty." You complimented, smiling up at him.

Gojo bit his lip and pinched your cheek, watching how you slightly winced as you dragged your hand down his cock, rubbing his precum down his length. "Guess I'll find out if 'ur tellin' the truth when Suguru gets his cock out later." Gojo teased, sliding his hand back from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. You glanced over at Suguru to make sure he was still doing okay, and you were met with your boyfriend looking the most around you'd ever seen him, the sight relaxing your nerves in an instant.

"Suck his cock baby, show him how good that throat feels." Geto encouraged, gripping the outline of his cock through his sweats and stroking. You nodded and brought your attention back to the hard cock in front of you, throbbing against your hand. "Yeah, what he said." Gojo chimed in, making you want to roll your eyes. Such a Satoru thing to say at a moment like this.

You gave Gojo a few more strokes before you leaned in, your breasts resting on his upper thighs just below his cock as you stuck your tongue out. You flattened your tongue on the underside of his cock and tapped the head against it, continuing to stroke him off. Gojo groaned, watching your tongue wipe over the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum there. 

His smile started to fade the longer you teased him, pure arousal taking over his body. His jaw fell open and his eyes fluttered in his head when you finally wrapped your lips around his cock, immediately finding a pace as you bobbed your head on him, taking more and more cock into your mouth with each thrust.

Gojo's fingers curled into your hair at the stimulation, his legs parting in tandem. "Oh fuckk." He groaned, his head rolling back against the cushion before he forced himself to look down at the show you were putting on for him. Your eyebrows furrowed when you took him into your throat, fighting back gags. "Ffffuck- tight fucking throat-" Gojo praised, his hips jerking against your face when your throat contracted around him. "Takin' it like a fucking champ." He added, nodding down at you.

If your mouth wasn't stuffed with cock, you would've smiled at his compliment. "Feels good huh?" Geto added, squeezing the base of his cock through his pants, trying to resist the urge to cum already without even touching his cock. Gojo nodded dumbly, his hand just following your movements with its place on the back of your head. "Uh-huh uh-huh, shit-" Gojo's abs clenched and his back arched forward when you took him completely into your throat and hummed, shaking your head back and forth.

"Ohmygod- fuck oh my god Suguru-" Gojo whined, his toes curling at the feeling of your warm throat. "Can't believe you waited so long to let me feel this, s-shes so fucking good- I'm gonna cum already-" Gojo whined, his body jerking and twitching against the couch. Geto nodded in agreement, his eyes locked on the spot where his cock and your mouth met. "Yeah, me neither." He responded, reaching his free hand up to rub a few fingers around his nipples, giving him some other stimulation that wasn't as intense as his cock.

Gojo's breathing was so choked and rapid, sounding like he just finished running a marathon, mixed with long groans and curses of your name. "Holy fuck baby, I'm really gonna cum-" He groaned, adding his other hand down to grab your head, placing both hands over your ears. "Can I fuck your throat? Just a little? Huh?" He begged, nodding at his own words. Gojo felt his balls tighten with the need for release, he wasn't going to last much longer.

You nodded around him, stilling your movements as you relinquished control. "Good fucking girl, show your boyfriend how good you take his best friend's load." His words went straight to Geto's cock, making him have to grip his base tighter. It was almost humiliating how much Geto was into this, his most craved fantasy was happening right in front of his eyes, and it was so arousing it was almost too much to handle. 

You relaxed your throat and let Gojo fuck his hips into your mouth, obscene squelching and moans echoing into the room as he did so. You were used to this kind of treatment. Geto was usually a little rougher, and his cock was thicker than Satory's, so taking Gojo's cock, despite the length, was fairly easy.

Gojo pursed his lips around his teeth and groaned obscenely, sounding like a porn star. "Ohhhh fuck 'm cumming baby, cumming- oh fuck-" Gojo's groans and whines got higher in pitch as he was pushed to the edge by your tight throat. Geto felt his whole body tingle from his head to his toes, his brain feeling fuzzy, body feeling warm. He was too enamored by the scene in front of him to notice the familiar sensation racking through his body.

Gojo held your head down on the base of his cock, lips flush to his abdomen as he groaned long and loud, body jerking and spasming, back arched, eyes rolling back in his head, all as he released his thick load down your throat. Geto choked on a moan as his body doubled over, his thighs snapping shut. His hand that was playing with his chest slammed down on the arm of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric of it for support as he came in his pants, a dark wet patch spreading on his sweats under his hand.

You fought back the gags that wanted to escape as you swallowed everything Satoru gave you, not wanting to waste a drop. Even after Gojo had stopped emptying his balls, he kept you down on him, letting his cock just rest in your warm throat, before he pulled you off a few moments later, allowing you to catch your breath. Gojo grabbed his cock and gripped it hard at the base, relishing in the aftershocks, his cock still hard and ready for more.

"T-thank you Satoru." You whispered, voice a little hoarse from taking his cock in your throat. "Fuuuuck you were right Suguru, she really does thank you for takin' cock down her throat." Gojo laughed, looking over at his best friend. Gojo's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he noticed Geto's fist over his mouth, legs crossed over one another, the wet patch evident on his pants. "Ohhohooo~" Gojo cooed, peeking your interest and making you look over at him as well.

"Came in your pants jus watching me fuck your girl's throat? That's kinda perverted Suguru." Gojo teased, caressing the back of your neck with his other hand. "Suguru..." You whispered, feeling yourself grow wetter between your thighs at the thought of Geto cumming in his pants. You cursed yourself for missing such a sight. 

Geto stayed silent, his chest rising and falling heavily as he caught his breath. "Hope you got some more in you because I'm about to fuck her now." Gojo teased, a malicious smile spreading across his face before he looked back to you, his expression softening. "How do you want it pretty? Want it from the back? You like to be manhandled? Hm?" You felt your face grow hot at his words. You looked over to Geto for help, Satoru watching your gaze.

"Want him to decide?" He added, his voice quieter. You kept your eyes on Suguru as you nodded, the corner of Suguru's smile peeking out from behind his fist. Your boyfriend uncrossed his legs and tilted his head against his hand. "You like it from the back, don't you baby?" Geto said, his smile warming you up all over again. You nodded in response, waiting for him to speak again. "Satoru." He said, looking at his best friend now.

"You can't cum inside her cunt, that's the only rule," Geto said firmly, making sure his words were heard loud and clear. Gojo pursed his lips together, pouting a bit. "Fiiiiiine. Do I have to use a condom?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Suguru only shrugged in response, leaning back against the couch as he began to pull his sweats down. "Up to her." He said, bringing Satoru's attention back to you.

"What's it gonna be sweetheart? You want me to wrap it up? Or you wanna feel my cock rubbin' inside you raw?" He asked, watching how you began to untie the string of your shorts. "I can't help but notice you made one option sound a little better than the other." You snorted, pulling your shorts down your legs, revealing your cute black panties that matched your bra.

Gojo giggled, grabbing your hips and placing your panty-clad clit on top of his bulge, making you rut your hips against him. "I might be a little biased." He said teasingly, his cock already dripping pre-cum again, smearing against the outside of your panties. "No condom it is then." You replied, making Gojo bring his hand into a fist and drag his arm down, saying a dramatic "Yesssss." To which you and Geto both shook your heads.

"Cmere then baby," Gojo said, his demeanor suddenly changing into a more serious one. He pulled you against him, your legs slotting together as your hands fell on his chest, your lips connecting with his. He moaned quietly into your mouth, rutting his hips against your tummy, getting it wet with his arousal. Geto licked his lips watching the two of you as he fully pulled his cock out of his sweats, dragging his hand down his length torturously slow, rubbing his first orgasm down his cock.

Geto felt a sudden shock to his guts when Gojo cracked his eyes open and looked at Geto through the corners of them teasingly, his eyes finding his before they dropped to his cock, then back up to his eyes. He kissed you more dramatically, opening his mouth more against yours so Geto could see your tongues tangling together sloppily, the spit being exchanged between them. Geto picked up the pace on his cock, feeling himself strain against his hand the longer they stared at each other.

Gojo looked back at you and separated from your lips, your expression fucked out and needy already just from a little kissing. "Let's get to the good stuff, yeah? Don't think your boyfriend can take much more." Gojo teased, making you look over to Geto, who was steadily dripping down his fingers, watching the two of you intently, how Gojo was holding you. "Looks like his cock is about to explode, right?" He whispered, making you nod and whimper in agreement. 

"You were right, it is pretty too. I see why you couldn't choose." Gojo added, making you whine. Gojo tapped your ass before he spoke again. "Alright, up so we can switch. Wanna see that ass up for me." He smiled, to which you nodded and scooted over, letting Satoru sit up so you could take his place, your body perched against the couch on all fours before you leaned the front half of your body down, leaving your ass up for Satoru's viewing pleasure.

Gojo rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, stroking his cock slowly. "Fuckk, that arch is crazy." He praised, feeling his mouth water. "You get to fuck this pussy every night?" Gojo asked, grabbing a handful of the fat of your ass and jiggling it. Geto smiled and felt himself throb again, fighting the urge to jerk himself off until he came. "Yeah, just wait till you see her pussy." Geto felt so proud showing you off like this, you were the perfect girl, and he was more than happy to share and show off just how perfect you were,

"Let's see that pussy then." He said, tucking his fingers under the band of your panties and slowly pulling them down. You wiggled your hips back against him as your ass was exposed, bit by bit. Your head was forced to the side from the position you were in, meaning you were forced to look at Geto. The perfect view of him watching you intently while stroking himself off made you throb around nothing, excited to watch him cum while you get fucked by someone else. 

"Oh Shit Suguru," Gojo whined, dragging your panties down to your knees. He brought both hands to your ass and pulled them apart, forcing the folds of your pussy to spread for him, strings of your wetness sticking to yourself. You could hear Gojo's breathing pick up just from watching you. You felt so needy feeling his thumbs spread you open so close to your cunt without touching you, you needed to feel something soon or you were going to lose your mind.

Just before you were about to beg, you felt your ass part further before you felt Gojo lick a fat stripe up the expanse of your cunt, making a moan rip from your lungs. A hand shot back and tangled in his soft hair, pressing his head against you. "Ffff-uck-" You whined, your eyes rolling back in your head. Your shins kicked up and your toes curled behind you as Gojo wasted no time in burring his face in your pussy and sticking his tongue into your tight hole, sucking up all the wetness there.

Geto was caught off guard just as much as you, his hand speeding up on himself as he watched Gojo shake his head back and forth against your pussy, his cock throbbing heavily between your legs, dripping pre-cum against the cushions as he ate you out like a man starved. You couldn't help but wiggle back on him when you felt his tongue lap out and lick at your clit, making you see stars behind your eyelids. 

You don't know why you were so surprised at how good he was with his tongue. He was the sloppiest eater you knew and could put away four large ice cream Sundays in 4 minutes, and god if it didn't translate into the bedroom. Gojo pulled back with a gasp, massaging your ass cheeks in his hands, the bottom half of his face already covered in wetness. "Holy shit you taste good baby. Almost got lost in there." He giggled. Your hand released from his hair and fell back down to the pillow under your head, both your arms wrapping around it to ground yourself.

"I could eat you out all fucking day, but I swear my dick feels like it's gonna burst. Need to be inside you right now. I can eat you out properly another time, 'm sure Suguru wouldn't mind that, would he?" Gojo asked cocikly, hitting the dart right on the mark. Geto didn't answer, just licked his lips and kept his eyes on yours, staring at your fucked out expression.

"Yeah, he won't mind," Gojo said, answering his own question. Gojo leaned up and scooted closer to you, pressing his cock between the crevice of your ass. "Don't think I'm gonna last long," Gojo said, tapping his cock against your ass. "But then... neither are you two, right?" The white-haired man smiled all knowingly. 

Gojo rubbed his cock against the underside of your cunt, his hot cock stimulating your swollen clit perfectly. "Don't think I forgot about her. She'll get some attention when I get inside you." Gojo whispered, rubbing his cock back and forth a few more times against your clit before he pulled back and lined himself up with your cunt. Suguru watched with bated breath as his best friend took a few deep breaths and bit his lip, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected.

His jaw fell open with the two of yours when Gojo slowly pushed inside, feeling little resistance thanks to how wet you were. His fingers dug into the fat of your hip as his head fell back, a loud groan leaving his lips. "So tight, s-so tight fuck-," Gojo repeated as his cock was sucked in by your tight, warm walls, so much tighter than your throat, if it was even possible. 

"How's it feel baby?" Geto spoke, his voice hoarse and deep with his arousal. "N-need you to tell me how his cock feels inside you," Geto begged, stroking himself faster. Gojo choked on his own moans and breaths as he tried to calm himself down, stilling his hips flush against your ass as he tried not to blow his load prematurely. "Suguru, s-Suguru it's so deep. F-feel it in my tummy." You whined, placing your hand on your stomach.

Geto groaned and spread his legs, feeling his cock throb at your words. "Deeper than mine? Huh?" Geto didn't know if he wanted you to say yes or no, he just wanted you to talk to him, to tell him how it felt. You waited a moment before nodding, averting your eyes. The dark-haired man found his answer when he had to squeeze the base of his cock hard to prevent himself from cumming at that moment. 

Gojo half smiles through his arousal at your answer before he rolled his hips into yours, fucking his cock even deeper inside you if that was even possible. "You're twitching around me like crazy, you want me to move now?" Gojo asked, using his thumb to pull at your opening where his cock was currently inside. "Please, p-please move Satoru." You begged, doing your best to fuck your hips back against him in the position you were in.

Gojo smiled before he looked over at Geto, who looked about halfway to losing his mind from being so horny. "You like hearing your girlfriend beg for another man's cock?" He teased, getting into Geto's kink to rile him up more. Geto nodded, his other hand joining the mix to play with his balls. "Heh, I can't believe my best friend likes to get cucked, and I never knew till now." That was the last words Gojo said before he started driving his hips into yours like a madman.

Moan after moan spilled from your lips, tears welling up in your eyes from the intense pleasure. Gojo kept true to his word and started rubbing quick circles against your clit, the wetness being fucked out of you making the sensation stronger. Geto rolled his balls between his fingers and jerked himself off to match Gojo's pace, slowing down or pausing entirely when he felt like he was going to cum.

"S-suguru, suguru-" You cried, your words coming out desperate and choppy. Gojo pouted behind you, his cock fucking into you rougher. "Hey, that's not nice. You shouldn't cry another man's name when I'm fucking you." He pouted, angling his hips to drive his cock deeper inside you, pummeling your sweet with every thrust.

"He's right baby, I'm right here, I'm here, but you can say his name its okay. Want you to say his name." Geto encouraged, making a smile creep onto Gojo's face, his fingers rubbing back and forth faster along your clit. "Fuck- Satoru, t-toru its so deep, feels s- good." You whined, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. 

Gojo felt his cock twitch, he cursed himself internally for being so weak for you. He just started fucking you and already just from a few thrusts and cries for your name, he already felt like cumming. "I know baby, can feel how deep you're taking me, feels so good for me too baby." He groaned, wincing when you squeezed your cunt around him, a loud moan coming out choked from his throat.

The loud 'plap' sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. Gojo's fingers on your clit started to lose their rhythm, going slow, then fast, jerking all over the place. It was doing it for you, so you had no complaints, but you knew Gojo was close.

Gojo rolled his head back, his hip's rhythm getting sloppy as well. Geto watched his eyes flutter in his head. Gojo looked like he was panicking, trying to calm himself down. It was obvious he didn't want to stop yet, but your pussy was just too good. "I know." Geto chimed in, finding Gojo's eyes. "Her pussy is dangerous, makes you finish so fucking fast. 'Specially the first round." He nodded, his balls tightening with his release.

Gojo groaned at his words. "Yeah, she's s-squeezing me like a fucking vice, and it's so fucking warm, f-feel like my cock is melting." He cried, his words rushed and high-pitched. "G-god I'm gonna cum." He whimpered, his body fighting to stay upright. His hips slamming against your ass felt so good, only adding to the pleasure he was already giving you.

The men's conversation was blurring in your head, the only thing your brain was focused on was cumming on Satoru's cock. "You getting close baby? Gonna cum on Satoru?" Geto asked, his cock throbbing against his hand. You nodded at his words, your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, legs pressed firmly together as Gojo fucked you up to your orgasm. "R-right there." You whined, your back arching against him.

"Let go, baby, let go." With Geto's encouraging words, your orgasm crashed over you. Gojo clenched his teeth together when your pussy squeezed around him even tighter than before, pulling a wonton moan from his lips. He almost forgot Geto's rule only seconds before he came. Hurriedly, he pulled out his cock and started jerking himself off, making sure he continued rubbing his fingers over your clit, working you through your orgasm.

Geto came at the same time, white ropes of cum shooting out of his cock and dripping down his fingers, his legs spreading further as his body sank against the couch, his eyes never once leaving the sight in front of him. Your shins crossed over one another as your body was wracked with tremors. Your orgasm hit you so hard you were seeing stars.

Gojo groaned through his high as he jerked himself off over your ass, thinner ropes of cum decorating your ass and back. He came so much, maybe even more than the time he came down your throat. He had your cunt trying to milk him that entire time for that. "Ohhhhhh- ffuuuck." Gojo groaned, tapping the head of his cock against your ass as he started to come down, rubbing his cum on your skin.

You let your arch fall as you fell onto your side against the sheets, your body jerking every now and then. You pressed your thighs together firmly, keeping pressure on your sensitive, still throbbing clit. Geto wasted no time in tucking his spent cock back in his ruined boxers and pulled up his pants, walking over to the couch in front of him.

Gojo rested his hands on your ass and thighs, rubbing them soothingly. Geto crouched down by the edge of the cough and grabbed your face in his hands, making you peel your eyes open. You smiled the instant you saw his face. Geto leaned in and pressed a long, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away and wiping the sweat and baby hairs from your face. "Good girl baby, I love you so much. Thank you, you did so well." 

You let his words relax your body further as you melted into the cushions, Gojo's warm hands caressing you and easing you even more. "Aww..." Gojo pouted, making Geto look over to him. "I'm feelin' kinda left out, can I get a kiss too?" Gojo teased, pointing to his pink, swollen lips. Geto made a noise of disgust before he directed his attention back to you, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, so jerking off while watching me fuck your girlfriend is okay, but a kiss is too much? It's hard out here." Gojo pouted, only making Geto shake his head harder. "Thanks for doing this, and thanks for not coming inside her," Geto said, keeping his eyes on your relaxed face as he spoke. Gojo smiled softly, watching him caress you. "Yeah yeah, you pervert, anytime." He responded, ruffling the other man's hair. 

[thelostconsultant]

The bet

pairing: Lando Norris x reader

summary: You and Lando got married before the beginning of the season, but no one knows you're together. You make a bet at the wedding, and Lando truly believes he can get through the season with everyone believing he's single.

fc: The one in the red hoodie is just a random girl from pinterest, while the other two are AI generated. Don't take it seriously. The other photo is also from pinterest.

“What?” you asked, although the question came out more like a bark than a well formulated question.

Lando had been watching you with that stupid grin of his for long minutes now, and you couldn't hide your annoyance any longer. You loved him, you really did, but God, was he annoying sometimes. As you waited for his response, he held up a finger and opened a video on his phone for you.

It was him at the last race weekend, standing on the stage with Oscar. Nothing new. But then he talked about being single, and after this part he quickly moved over to the comments. Everyone was either offering to date him or felt sorry for him, there was no in between. But you couldn't feel sorry for him. 

“You're still gonna lose,” you told him with a laugh.

With a thoughtful hum, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against his chest. “You read the comments. I'm the people's princess, they feel so sorry for me. No one suspects a thing. I'm safe,” he said with a confident smile.

Over half a year ago, on the day of your secret wedding at a remote part of the world, the two of you had made a bet. You said he wouldn't be able to keep this secret, that there was no way he could last this season without people finding out he was not only in a relationship, but married too. He begged to differ, saying he was pretty good at keeping secrets.

Now, after all those months, you sometimes had your weak moments when you were sure you would lose, although this was something you were under no circumstances about to tell him. His ego was already big enough when it came to the bet, the last thing you wanted was things getting worse in this sense.

If he won, he would get the right to decide when and how to announce your marriage. And if it was up to him, it would be a hard launch, like a wrecking ball crashing into a building to tear down the walls. He wanted chaos, he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. It was flattering, really, but could he not?

Because Lando wanted a big, flashy event with all of his friends from on and off the grid, and he wanted alcohol to flow like water while the music blasted loudly around you. It would only come to an abrupt stop the moment he grabbed the mic and announced how much he loved his wife, only to cause the guest to murmur loudly as they tried to figure out if he was just drunk or dead serious.

If you won, it would mean people found out about you, so your prize would be something other than how you made this relationship public. But what could you ask for? So, in the end, you told him you would get to make a wish one day when you figured out what you wanted, and he couldn't say no when you asked.

As of now, people didn't know about you at all. You were just a nameless McLaren employee to them who sometimes showed up on photos with the rest of the team. To make sure you could stay in the background, he even asked one or two girls during the time you were still in the dating phase to pose as his girlfriends for a while. It would only come with a few photos and posts, sometimes appearances in the paddock. Nothing serious, really.

While you could wear your wedding band all the time, Lando didn't have the freedom to do the same. Sure, he had it, safely locked away with the rest our your jewelry until the day your marriage became public. Now he only had a necklace with a pendant you chose, your initials engraved into it with small letters so it wouldn't be so obvious on photos.

“I've been thinking,” you suddenly said, moving your head a little so you could look him in the eye. When he let out a questioning hum and flashed a smile at you, you reached out to play with his pendant. “Why don't we raise the stakes in our little bet?”

Lando kissed your cheek, then he said, “You hate it that I'm winning.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh. “No, I just had an idea for a little experiment. What if you wore your wedding band on the next race weekend?” you asked with an innocent look on your face.

It was mean, you knew that, because this would surely draw attention to him. Him wearing the ring could only result in losing the game. But you had to do something, you wanted to win. Well, you just didn't want your dear husband to win, but that was almost the same. 

“That would be too obvious,” he replied with a shake of his head.

“Buy a few more and say you're copying Lewis,” you offered with a cheeky grin. 

He shook his head with a laugh, then took a deep breath. “And what do I get if they don't notice?” 

You had thought a lot about this, because you knew it had to be something big, something he really wanted. And there was only one thing that came to your mind. “You get two kids,” you told him casually. 

But Lando wasn't stupid, he knew this was the moment to negotiate. “Hmm… You know I want a big family. Three and I'll do it.”

He would lose anyway, so why would you say no? “All right, three. But if I win, we'll only have one,” you reminded him.

He nodded before leaning down to kiss you. “I’ll win, so you can start picking names,” he said with a confident grin.

You: Sorry, babe, you officially lost the bet. <link>

A few seconds later your phone rang, and you answered Lando’s call with a satisfied smile on your face. You just wanted to rub it in his face, you wanted him to know he lost the bet. To be honest, ever since you’d seen this post, you’d been thinking about what to ask for, and a soft launch of your relationship sounded quite nice. 

“I didn’t lose,” he said right away. 

“You saw the post, someone spotted the ring.”

To your surprise, Lando started to laugh, a carefree sound that made it clear he was sure he was winning this. “Do you want me to remind you that you’re not here with me right now? And that video of us was recorded during the summer break in Greece. The bet was about me wearing the ring this weekend. So no, sweetheart, you definitely did not win this one,” he explained, and you could see that smug smirk on his face. 

“Still, the original bet–”

He tutted to interrupt you. “No, no, you changed the rules with the ring. I won. No one noticed it this weekend.”

“Let’s call it a tie,” you tried, although you knew he had you in a corner now. 

“I want to talk about the prize,” he began, waiting until he heard you hum to let him go on. “We agreed that if I win, we’ll have three kids, if you win, we’ll only have one. If it’s a tie, then fine, let’s settle with two.”

You remained silent for a while as you thought about this. He was right, it would be only fair to reach a compromise, and in this case it involved the number of your future children. If it was a tie, then two was the logical conclusion, there was no reason to argue with him. So, you took a deep breath that you let out slowly until you gathered your thoughts. “All right, fine. And what about us? I mean, our relationship. Do we keep it a secret, or…?”

“What do you want? If you’d rather not be in the spotlight, we can deny everything if there'll be a bigger buzz about that tweet,” he said kindly, his patience with you painfully obvious. 

But you didn’t want to hide, you wanted things to be out in the open now. “I’d say let’s do a soft launch with mysterious posts for a while. But if you have a different idea, I’m open to it,” you assured him. 

Lando let out a thoughtful hum. “We have a short break now, soooooo… Okay, we do the soft launch, but you come to the next race with me, as yourself, not disguised as a McLaren team member, and we’ll wear our rings and everything.”

“That’s pretty much a hard launch.”

There was a scoff on the other end of the line. “You get almost two weeks of soft launch, what more do you want? Come on, I need you by my side,” he begged you sweetly. 

You agreed. There was no way you could say no to him.

liked by oscarpiastri, martingarrix and 522,145 others

landonorris: My wife, the queen of the house 😍🥰❤️

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: LANDO!

⤷ landonorris: Yes, love?

⤷ yourusername: You said you'll give me two weeks. That's it, you're sleeping on the couch when you get home.

oscarpiastri: What did I miss? Last time we talked, you were chronically single.

⤷ landonorris: I don't know what you're talking about, I've been happily married for over half a year.

⤷ user1: WHAT?!

user2: Lando being married was not on my bingo card.

maxverstappen1: My wedding invitation must have been lost in the mail.

⤷ landonorris: Sorry, it was just the two of us.

user3: I'm so happy, you deserve all the love!!!

user4: We have a new WAG, woo-hoo! I already like her. But please yourusername don't make him sleep on the couch 😭

⤷ yourusername: I'll reconsider that decision.

[theministop]

holding myself accountable this week for all the things i put off:

laundry. i admit, i'm such a sucker for nice clothes. it's gotten to a point where i can skip laundry for two months and still have something clean to wear. i've spent most of my paycheck, setting aside the rent and all, on clothes because growing up i used to only wear hand-me-downs. i guess buying clothes heals my inner child. going back, it's been a month since i did laundry. i need to do it this weekend.

clean my room. i barely stayed in my room for the past few weeks. on weekends, i'm either out of town or out with friends for a drink. sleep is all i do in my room and since i have been on a good girl strike lately, my room has become a mess. it doesn't even smell or feel like me anymore.

organize my closet. do you have that chair in your room? that chair where you hang a piece of a used clothing that's way too clean for the laundry but can't put back in your closet because you already wore it out? i have that chair. since i only work from home once a month now, that chair doesn't even look like a chair anymore.

let go. i need to let go of boxes. of clothes i don't wear anymore. of "friends" who only reach out when they need money. of values that no longer bring me peace. i need to let go because i am outgrowing that part of me who gives too much of herself to people. they no longer deserve it. i am not a cake; not everyone can take a piece of me.

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 “Webs of Fate”

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

[orionsangel86]

I watched X-Men 2000 tonight. Yup the Deadpool and Wolverine brain worms got me - at least for a little while - so I figured I'd rewatch the old movies that I havent seen in over a decade and have basically forgotten entirely at this point.

You know what really stunned me? Even more than the slow pace, serious tone, actual dedication to telling a coherent and interesting story with layers of meaning and social commentary attached to it, as well as a sincerity that's been missing from most superhero films since the MCU was born (thanks Josh Whedon).

Nope, what shocked me most was this:

This is a perfect specimen of a man. Look at him. He's gorgeous. But look at his chest? His arms? He's muscular, he's pretty well toned, he's hairy. He's definitely got a six pack - but it's nicely covered by a healthy layer of fat. His skin is plump, he has a bit of squish to him. He'd probably be great to hug (Jean Grey certainly gives him a good squeeze lol).

When he sits down he looks like his stomach will roll just nicely. Like a stomach should.

I know my point here is obvious. It's just that scrolling the Deadpool and Wolvering tag is basically 50% "oh they definitely fucked in the Honda Odyssey" (yes lol) and the other 50% is just horny posting over Wolverine's topless scene like the entire site suddenly adopted Deadpools horny brain.

I gotta give props to Hugh Jackman for his dedication to turn himself into an actual comic book character - because that's what this new movie does. It gives us a comic accurate Wolverine in practically every way (except for his height lol) the suit is amazing, the cowl was a joy to see brought into live action. The body too though was straight out of a comic book artists male power fantasy.

What I wanted to emphasise was that this:

Is extremely tough on the human body. What I wanna know is how long he starved and dehydrated himself for before filming this scene? How long before they shot this did he last drink some water? Because damn that must have been tough. The oil and the lighting probably help further emphasise the muscle, vein, and sinew definition. It's probably similar to how body builders prepare before a show.

Nothing about body building is healthy though. So in the coming weeks as the whole entertainment industry rides on the coat tales of this movies success, and everyone goes crazy over Hugh Jackmans physique, please don't feel pressured into thinking that his 2024 physique in the movie is remotely realistic - or realistically attractive. Like I get the fantasy sure, but come on. I'd personally rather lie on a cushioned bed than a concrete floor.

Deadpool may disagree with me, but he's a masochist lol.

Oh and whilst I stand by the shade I threw at the MCU above, I think Wolverine's different physiques in the movies is a good standard of comparison for how much superhero movies have changed. Because when superhero comics first started getting adapted I think a lot of the choices made were about how to bring them to live action realistically and believably and the attitude was to try not to make them look ridiculous. The first X-Men movies definitely do this.

It was about bringing the comics to life in a way that fit in our world. But over the years, as audiences got more and more used to comic book movies the movies became more and more like comic books and less like a realistic adaptation of a comic book. Does that make sense? So as the movies attempted to bring the comics to life in a way that was less realistic and more comic accurate, the demands on the actors to sculpt their physiques to meet the standards of comic book art became normalised.

I think Deadpool and Wolverine is the MOST comic book accurate of all superhero movies made in the past 2 decades. Half the time the images from the movie look like they could be literally pulled from the pages of the comic books. The story is convoluted and stupid, the plot is barely there and is full of gaping plot holes and elements that don't fit any past stories. The action is ridiculous, extremely fast paced, gratuitous, and violent to a hilarious level. But it's so entertaining, joyful, exciting, and laugh out loud hilarious throughout.

It reminded me a LOT of my attempts at reading through the Deadpool comics (I've read a lot of them but no where near all of them).

To sum up this rambling message with multiple points, I'll say that Deadpool and Wolverine is a really fun movie that I thoroughly enjoyed, but make no mistake there is nothing real in it at all. It is almost literally a comic on screen. Don't expect anything more than that and you'll enjoy the experience.

[webslingingslasher]

Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please 🥺.

this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!

“I kinda want a black eye.” 

Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue. 

“Oh, really?” 

You nod, “it looks gnarly but it’d be cool to have one.” 

“Baby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You don’t want one.” 

Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peter’s hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful. 

“I think if you loved me you’d give me one.” 

Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadn’t. 

“We should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.” 

You scoff, “they weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.” 

Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost. 

“I’d never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.” 

“Do you have a friend that could-” 

“No.” 

—------------------------------------

Oh FUCK did your eye HURT. 

It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldn’t even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didn’t work. 

You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, you’ve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt. 

If your right eye could open it’d be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye. 

Your voice bubbles with pain, “petey, it hurts.” 

Your boyfriend couldn’t even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked he’s caused serious damage, panicked you’d be scared of him, panicked you’d dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him. 

“It hurts so bad,” he knows you’re calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the ‘whack!’ in his head. It wasn’t gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.

Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one. 

His short, barely there breaths start to stutter.  

And suddenly Peter couldn’t see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He should’ve been quicker, he should’ve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment. 

“Peter!” A desperate cry for attention, you don’t know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine. 

You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after he’d pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand… well you don’t know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone. 

Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you.  

He’s crying, your boyfriend’s crying. You’ve been punched and he’s crying. 

“I’m.. I’m sorr.. Fuck.” Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused. 

“Let me see it, please?” Peter said it like a question, like he’d ever be lucky enough to have that privilege. 

You sob, “it hurts.” 

Peter blinks, more tears. He can’t believe he’s crying over this, he also can’t believe he hit his fucking girlfriend. 

“I know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.” 

You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, it’s not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldn’t open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the world’s best poker face. 

Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage. 

It was bruising, and swollen and you couldn’t open your eye and it was all his fault. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. A normal teenager doesn’t have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you. 

His powers, his abilities, his strength.

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

“You need ice.” Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. “Everything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?” Peter ignored you as he backed away, you don’t think he’s ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions. 

He shouldn’t be getting ice, he shouldn’t be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldn’t be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldn’t be icing your black eye he caused. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You weren’t upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand. 

He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table. 

Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside. 

You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didn’t hurt. 

“Am I right, super high pain tolerance?” 

It’s like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room. 

“I hit you.” 

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you could’ve. 

“That’s a little dramatic.” 

Peter shook his head, upset you weren’t upset. 

“I hit you hard, I hurt you. I…” His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. “I fucking hit you,” he whispered it, like his own mind couldn’t wrap it around. 

He doesn’t pull out the fuck word often. 

You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think that’d made things worse. 

“I’m not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.” 

“I swore i’d never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didn’t-” 

“Mean it.” You cut him off, “you didn’t mean it.” 

Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldn’t let you. 

“Ice.” Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didn’t question him, you followed instructions. 

“Remember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?” 

It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldn’t deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldn’t shake it. You were just playing around, it’s not like it was that serious. 

“I was joki-” 

“I told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.” 

Disgust. That’s what it was. He was disgusted with himself. 

You sat up straight, your lip curled up. 

A black eye? Sick.

“Wait, really?” 

Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere. 

“You gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?” 

This wasn’t a cute or funny thing, and he won’t let you make it be one. 

He hit you.

“This isn’t funny, I hit you and you’re happy you got a black eye?” 

“Pete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didn’t mean to and you’re obviously extremely remorseful.” 

“But I-” 

You reached out for his hand, “forgive yourself. You forgive yourself.” 

It wouldn’t be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldn’t be able to fully forgive himself. 

“No more wrestling.” 

You scoff, “no more sneak attacks, how about that?” 

He shook his head, “I don’t want this happening again.” 

“If the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?” 

Peter scoffed, “absolutely not, but it wouldn’t hurt me like it does you.” 

“So you do have a super high pain tolerance.” 

He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, “yes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.” 

You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off. 

“First off, plural. Second, please stop. You’re making me feel bad, I’m really okay and I’m not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.” 

Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. He’s more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.

“I think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.” 

You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart. 

“I’d never!” 

Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, “toxic.”