#its called being manic

[pathetic-gamer]

[butchdykekondraki]

genuinely if you looked up the word "schizophrenic/schizophrenia" on sixpenceee's blog you could probably find at least 10 posts within seconds and every single one of them will be the same rinse-and-repeat "schizo maniac psycho freak kills someone while shouting schizo maniac psycho freak nonsense because theyre a schizo manaic psycho freak who should be put in a mental hospital until they die (because they are a schizo maniac psycho freak) (and that is a price that you MUST!!!!! pay (for being a schizo manic psycho freak, btw, which they are, btw))" and its just a little funny to me as a schizo maniac psycho freak

[topicaltropic]

oops! all wips

[triglycercule]

This is a question related to the mtt hobbies answer that you wrote, the murder trio go around the multiverse and live in a place together, then what happend to horrortale au and horrortale papyrus? If the murder trio got to meet horrortale papyrus how would it go? (The meeting propably wouldnt end well with more canon mtt haha)

aaaaa i dont think it through to be honest when i talk about that concept. they just do. maybe horrortale's issues are already solved and aliza's already gone through horrortale and somehow fixed the hellhole (ALIZA MY GOAT PLEASE SAVE HORRORTALE I DON'T CARE IF IT TAKES 10 YEARS‼️‼️‼️) by the time that horror somehow meets dust and killer (since i dont see a feasible way that horrortale could be fixed outside of aliza or outside intervention.) or maybe he just visits from time to time. and by time to time i mean probably quarterly weekly. idk sorry i cant be bothered to think about it,,, they just do. anyways bad answer i KNOW I KNOW put the tomatoes down pls PLS

if the mtt met horror paps? horror would obviously do his little bantering thing with paps (he's probably revealing every single one of horror's embarrassing moments to them as they speak and horror's desperately trying to get him to shut up because he can tell. dust and killer are piiiiiiissed.) dust is probably like eerily calm during the whole thing. he manages to hold up a conversation pretty well with horror paps and gets along with him good enough without mentioning that theres a ghost version of him screaming asking why dust is ignoring phantom paps. meanwhile killer is mostly silent during it too probably only responding when he's spoken too. i mean like killer already doesn't like being around papyruses (papyri? papyri is so shitty i dont like it we will be saying papyruses) and then seeing horror's papyrus??? what the FUCK happened to horror paps??? sunken in eyes and cracks in his bones and those jagged teeth AND THEN THE FUCKING CROOKED SPAGHETTI????

needless to say once horror paps is gone all of them get into a biiiiig fight. dust drops the cool act because he's not gonna lose his cool around a papyrus but also he's absolutely fuming. he can tell that the changes that phantom papyrus has gone through have something to do with horror with the way that he's acting. killer is also incredibly irritated too (surpringly. being around papyruses just gets him like that) and seeing papyrus like that just gets him upset and angry. like wtf horror did you even TRY with keeping your papyrus safe??? at least killer reset his au and now papyrus is living an unharmed life (with minor concerns about killer's whereabouts but he'll ignore that for now) but horror paps looks so fucked up that there is no WAY that horror tried to prevent him from getting to that point

obviously they fight and many many many many MANY words are said about eachother's characters and the state they left their respective papyruses in. horror knows damn well that horrortale paps's state is because of him but he regretted telling paps to eat humans and neither dust nor killer knew the struggle of living with that guilt and how much he regrets it so they dont get to drag him for not trying hard enough to keep papyrus safe. dust is definitely getting some low blows here and there (but he's getting fucking assisted by phantom paps so he's got some of the deepest hitting insults) and he's definitely getting ganged up on for killing his papyrus and like. not even attempting to leave him alive in someway shape and form aside from the absolute insult that is phantom paps. surprisingly killer is winning this fight because he left his papyrus in a relatively good state. even though he's in a more emotional state than he normally is and would've absolutely OBLITERATED dust and horror in the fight in stage 2 he's actually doing pretty well. probably because hororr and dust dont really have anything to drag him on. they might bring up how something new papyrus is searching for killer but like,,,, is that really that bad compared to how they left their papyruses

[lupismaris]

Oh. Ooohh. But if sailors love a ship to the point their love and dying to save her gives it a soul, would necromancy raise it.

Oh. Oooohhh.

[sadclowncentral]

my family is fucking addicted to macgyvering and it's becoming a problem. every time something in this house breaks, instead of doing the sensible thing of replacing it or calling someone qualified to fix it, we all group around the offending object with a manic look in our eyes and everyone gets a try at fixing it while being cheered on or ridiculed by the rest.

it's a beautiful bonding activity, but the "creative" fixes have turned our house into a quasihaunted escape room like contraption where everything works, but only in the wonkiest of ways. you need a huge block of iron to turn on the stove. the oven only works if a specific clock is plugged in. the bread machine has a huge wood block just stapled to it that has become foundational to its function. sometimes when you use the toaster the doorbell rings. and that's just the kitchen.

it's all fun and games until you have guests over and you have to lay out the rules of the house like it's a fucking board game. welcome to the beautiful guest room. don't pull out the couch yourself you need a screwdriver for that, and that metal rod makes the lamp work so don't move it. it also made me a terrifying roommate in college, because it makes me think i can fix anything with enough hubris and a drill. you want to call the landlord about a leaky faucet? as if. one time my dad made me install a new power socket because we ran our of extension cords

[pinkcasket]

ik bpd akechi is popular but honestly I'm dying on my bipolar + c-ptsd + npd/narcissistic and ocd features for c-ptsd hill

[oflgtfol]

in my feels rn

[liquidstar]

adventure time lore is insane. it starts off just being a goofy kids show that has magic for no reason, but then you learn that all magic users are manic and/or depressed (what betty calls sadness and madness). because it turns out magic is actually a cosmic force beyond mortal comprehension, that itself was learned from cosmic entities that predated the existence of time itself inside a sea of monsters. and "magic" really is just understanding more about the nature of the universe than most people. that, in a way, reality isnt "real" and understanding that allows you to mold it. and thats magic. but that drives you to insanity and/or apathy. and there are beings who hold significant cosmic importance who are more prone to magic. and the reason magic became prevalent on earth is because of a nuclear war a thousand years ago, which released the entity that represents the destruction of all life onto the world. and after a nuclear apocalypse this gave way to a new earth, where magic could thrive. but a lot of the beings we see arent even magical, theyre just mutants from what happened 1000 years ago. and humanity as we know it has been all but wiped out. but everything stays the same because cycles of war and violence continue. and it doesnt matter if its nukes or magic. everything stays the same, but still changes.

[kazoo-world]

okay. i debated not posting this because I was worried I’d get death threats (that says a lot doesn’t it) but it needs to be said, because its upsetting me.

a woman who publicly says she feels very sane and has “never been to therapy” and who breaks up with her boyfriend in part because he can’t just “”get over”” his depression to love her the way she wants/needs does not.

I repeat, does not.

get to use the imagery she did in her fortnight video.

I’ve been seeing gifsets and screenshots all day of her chained to a bed but ~aesthetic~ and being fed a pill after a cheeky side eye and strapped to a glamourfied ECT machine and no one has said anything about it so I will. those images are genuinely triggering for me.

people have been restrained, forcefed pills, and given electroconvulsive therapy or subjected to the electric chair for severe mental illness against their will. these are not fun props anyone gets to throw around to express that they feel depressed or in a “manic phase” or like they were “raised in an asylum.”

she doesn’t know how a real asylum fried my grandmother’s brain or real cops restrained me because I was psychotic and manic. she doesn’t know what it feels like to be dehumanised that way.

do better. demand she do better, too.

edit: I say that this content is triggering to say that it causes real harm. I do still have a responsibility to myself to curate an internet experience for myself. this does not negate her responsibility to avoid replicating harmful tropes in art which is deeply influential. she does not get to co-opt institutionalization or psychiatric violence as a romanticized aesthetic or as a metaphor because real people like myself have suffered greatly under the things she is representing as glamorous or cool. institutionalization silences and violates mentally ill people in a way that marginalizes them, and that experience should be treated with sensitivity and care rather than being commodified to reduce stigma. if she had experienced these things, I might feel differently, but other ableist content on the record and her statements on her life and art indicate otherwise. she is a woman with immense privilege and power and should not be using that privilege and power to punch down on mental illness.

edit 2: I want you all to know I have seen your criticism. I will not edit the post but I do respect that she has had mental health struggles since that outdated quote. That is my mistake, I own that. My apologies.

However, mental health struggles =/ experience with psychiatric violence. Experiences of mental illness are heterogenous. Aestheticizing, romanticizing, and glamourizing mental hospitals is straight up gross regardless of your experience with mental illness. It’s tasteless and offensive.

I do understand metaphors. I think that her calling her life an asylum as a metaphor is in poor taste. I think her representing her relationship struggles with the imagery of a mental institution is insensitive given the impacts that real asylums and mental hospitals have had on my life and the lives of many others like me, so I had to say something about it.

It’s ableist to assume that critics of your fav “can’t read”, “don’t understand a metaphor” or “don’t have brains” when they clearly demonstrate that they are thinking critically. Do better.

[traditional-tragedy]

things in scott pilgrim takes off that i am so stoked about:

[⚠️SPOILERS ⚠️]

- roxy and ramonas relationship being portrayed with emotional intimacy ! not just a sexy phase but a genuine something !

- freaking ramona flowers, THE manic pixie dream girl, the cool girl male fantasy being a fully fleshed out complex female character !!!! even though the story is still arguable about the men in her life she isnt defined by them

- knives chau being in sex bob omb oh my god. that is so special to me. she deserved so much better than what she got in the 2010 movie (absolutely no hate to the movie its one of my faves)

- the mix of the retro vibes and modern day. old tech, still has the early internetty feel but using slang from now ? young neil seeing something odd in his room and immediately dubbing it his sleep paralysis demon, crowds calling envy “mommy” and saying “step on my caracass!” was so funny

- SCOTT APOLOGISING TO KNIVES !

also apparently the whole cartoon ended up happening because micheal cera responsed to a nine year old email thread out of no where and it got the whole cast talking again ????? idk how true that is but holy shit thats so funny if its true

i havent even finished the series yet but i am in love my heart is doing kick flips

[muzanswaifu]

Hashira & Uppermoon hcs (18+)

Anon: Reader trying to crawl away when her orgasm is approaching due to intense feeling

Fem/Afab! Reader

Warnings: Smut, some suggested dubcon/noncon situations, doggy style, missionary, cunnilingus, fingering, tribbing, 69, mating press, ect, breeding kink, squirting, yandere themes, suggested violence, overstimulation, edging

Gyomei (Doggy style)

Hes so big, its no wonder you get so overwhelmed

You wait for the moment his massive length stops pumping his release in you, threads of cum stretching between your swollen cunt lips and his leaking slit, you push yourself up from your spread position on your tummy, hands clawing at the sheets desperately to get away

The fucking you could handle, it was difficult, definitely taking a toll on your delicate body, but what you weren’t expecting was for him to finish before you, filling you up so much that the hot pool of sperm pushed tightly at your belly from the inside

You’d finally reached an end of the mattress before monstrously large hands grabbed around your waist, tugging you back and forcing a sob from your throat

He gives a soft apology for finishing so quickly and not giving you a proper warning, promising to make it up to you

You beg him to give you a break, pleading for him to use your mouth instead, anything

He denies your offer, insisting that he bring you to climax once more, twice more, a thousand times more

You’re strong, he insists, you can take it

Tengen (Missionary)

Hell, hes used to it, your so goddamn sensitive all the time its not like hes suprised

A chuckle fills your ears as your weak limbs claw away, exhausted but adamant about escaping

He humors you, letting you get at least a couple feet away from him before pouncing on you again

His voice is sickening sweet as he picks you up once more, molding your hips against his in a steep arch that allows him to sink into you, your insides promptly taking shape and milking him for all he's worth

You whine aloud, muttering soft pleas and begs for him to go easy on you, for him to get you off gently rather than ripping them out of you one after the other

He laughs manically

Fat chance

By the time he's done with you, you better be dumb and pliant, begging for him to unload inside you until he's fully satisfied, don't be selfish

Shinobu (Cunnilingus and fingering)

Rolls her eyes as you try to push her way and escape, her lips and fingers only working faster on your twitching pussy in retaliation to your little rebellion

She honestly thinks you're being a tad bit dramatic, don't you think? She's only had her mouth on you for a couple minutes and your already squirming and crying

She pretends to care though, cooing at you to just bear through it a bit longer, you're so close aren't you?

Her lips suck harder at your clit, her fingers digging deeper in your g-spot, stars sparking in your vision

You don't wanna come again, you don't wanna "squirt" or whatever she called it when your juices sprayed out and made a mess last time

Sobs echo through the room as she continues, her tongue swirling over your little bead over and over again, right under the hood where it almost hurts how good it feels

Its a good thing she tied you to bed this time, otherwise you probably would've gotten away since Shinobu probably wasn't strong enough to stop you, but she planned this, schemed this

She moans shamefully loud when you finally drench her face in your sweetness, liquid shooting all over her mouth and neck as your legs shake violently in release, she licks her lips of the delectable nectar

Oh that was so beautiful - again?

Iguro (fingering)

Couldn't give a shit, did you have to be so loud and annoying about it? Just shut up and take it

He does go a little slower though, dragging out the agony that builds in your gut with every fucking second

His fingers are devilishly skilled, each digit curling painfully perfect against your g-spot and creation such a delicious stretch against your walls, but each sensation just built one atop the other, making all of it just that much more unbearable

He doesn't even give you a break, instead holding you down with his legs keeping your thighs spread for his torturous touch

It honestly turns him on how desperately you're trying to escape, though he'd never admit it given he disproved of his own sadistic desires, but if he could he'd want it like this always, you tied down and begging for release of both kinds while he denied you of either

Before you could reach the end, however, he tears his hand away, letting you wallow in the pit of frustration and despair, hell it was probably his fault you were so painfully sensitive since he'd been edging you like this for what felt like several hours now

But god did you look so hot like this, so irresistible, he wondered if you could come from just a breath on your delicate little clit now as he pet along the side of your labia, making your hips jump against his hand for one more second of touch where you needed it the most

After a few moments he returned to the peak of your sex, rubbing softly and relishing your sniffles as he wondered how many more times he should tease you

Mitsuri (Tribbing)

Oh lord she's so sweet

Apologizes for being too much for you and forcing you to have to crawl out from under her just to get a break

Promises she'll be softer, better, and will take care of you like you, her princess, deserves

You sniffle at her kind vow, nodding your head stupidly with what small amount of brain you have left and she giggles

She resumes position, tribbing your cunts together reverse cowgirl while your thighs are pressed out over your sides under the weight of her ass, your juices mix together like a fine wine, flowing down onto the sheets in a dewy puddle that has mitsuri mewling

You can hear the slick sounds the friction makes, her wet sex against yours, her lips sliding against your clit like a carnal whisper, each rock makes you shiver, your climax building up so slowly and torturously you cry

she looks over her shoulder with a gentle expression, a glowing redness spread across her cheeks, admiring the roll of your eyes to the back of your skull as you finally, finally, shatter

Your so cute like this, she thinks, so adorable and precious

She can't help but continue, rolling her hips atop yours to bring out several screams from your shrill throat, she just can't help it

Tomioka (Grasshopper)

Ignores it

He doesn't at all mind when you try to flee from him, as he quickly catches you without any effort at all and brings you back down to bed with him, though he does find it rather inconvenient when he knew you were so, so close to sweet release

It had been quite a while since your last coupling so he was confident this was well needed for you, and he'd be damned if he let your own naive body keep you from satisfaction

He'd pull you back down to his embrace, making sure to securely wrap his arms around your waist this time so you couldn't move an inch, and absolutely go to town, thrusting so hard and fast that you were sure your insides would bruise

None-the-less, you would be forced to take it, unable to break through his strength, each stroke hitting your sweet spot near your cervix with crippling precision

Your sobs rose in volume as your body was forced over each wave of pleasure, rising and rising and rising but not yet allowing you to tumble over even though you so desperately needed to

But Giyu was merciful, taking care of you so viciously and forcing your greedy little cunt to succumb to bliss even as it rebelled against what had to be your strongest climax yet

Only when he'd bottomed out, grounding his base into yours in deep swivel did you finally break, crying with hot tears and clenching at the sheets, your stubborn body screaming as he continued pumping

Did you think he was done?

Rengoku (Cunnilingus)

He finds your attempts absolutely adorable, so amusing, even if they were futile since he'd tied each of your hands to the bedpost and had your ankles and thighs knit together to keep you bent and exposed, his own powerful arms curled around your hips to keep you spread for him to feast on

Pure ecstasy filled him every time you came into his mouth, with the occasional spurt of sweet honey all over his jaw and face when he was being especially eager

But it was only a matter of time before your little pussy would reject the need to finish, being so used to satisfaction that you were kept at a constant of sensitivity and edging

Perhaps it was his fault for making you finish so many times (it was), but he'd be awful if he left you in such a state with no end, even if you begged him over and over to just leave you be and give you rest, he knew you couldn't possibly mean it

He'd make sure to give you attention where you needed it the most, flicking his tongue over your dripping folds, wrapping his lips around your throbbing bead, licking into your convulsing hole

Each sound you make is a gift from god, your pained cries for mercy only edging him on further to lavish your little kitty with attention, she was begging for it

Eventually, after several long whiles of eating you, you start to feel the draws of climax creeping up on you, but this one felt stronger, more pain than pleasure with how horribly sensitive you were, with clenched fists pulling at his locks you begged him to stop, the plea falling on deaf ears, honestly even if he were to listen how would he hear with your thighs squeezing his head?

Pain seared through your veins as your nethers clenched, his tongue never ceasing its vigorous swiping even as you screamed out your demise, juices gushing out of your and staining his face in such a lovely sheen, he licked his lips and yours clean

Sanemi (69)

Its absolutely infuriating that you were being so finicky

Hell, you hadn't even made him come yet and were already trying to ditch? Yah, fuck that

He should've known you'd get all fussy after he'd made you come the first time with his tongue, your own stuttering on his cock before grazing your teeth as your jaw began to lock with the overstimulation

Honestly how was he supposed to react when you tried to crawl off of him to freedom? Was he supposed to beg you to come back? Comfort you and give you a break? Fuck that weak shit, if he needed attention, you were gonna give it to him, and take it

With a strong thigh wrapped over the back of your head to keep your throat impaled on his length and thick hands anchoring your pussy to his face, he was in absolute paradise

He almost laughed when he felt your teeth whisper against his cock again, you no doubt having the urge to bite down as he lathered his tongue all over your cunt over and over again, paying careless and heady attention to your little clit

He rolled his hips on occasion to jostle his dick in your mouth, thoroughly enjoying the way your throat would tighten around him and your bud would twitch between his lips

It was only after you'd finally relaxed on top of him, likely having lost consciousness from the combination of pleasure and lack of oxygen, that he filled your mouth with seed, but even then, why not another round?

Kokushibo (Mating Press)

Upper 3 finds great offense to your lack of gratefulness and pursuit of escape, who were you to deny him?

With a deepening hold, he only pounds into you harder, sending sparks upon sparks of pleasure through your body despite the bruises forming on your abused bodice

His cock slams hard into your cervix, bruising the delicate tissue and bulging out of your stomach in a overwhelming sight, you're comparably smaller frame can't even begin to take it, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the ledge of a release that quite honestly scares you

But each time you beg for him to be more gentle, to stop, to let you go, he only becomes more vicious, unforgiving, cruel

You're lucky, had he cared about you any less he would've broken a limb or two to make you stop struggling, but being the generous man he is, he allows you to continue making a fool of yourself, your weak little hits doing nothing but drive him further off the wall with rage

Your sobs only increase in frequency as you get closer, your eagerness to get free becoming more desperate

Pushing the backs of your knees further into the ground, he quickens his already hellish pace, his pelvis slapping into yours violently and abusing your tender clitoris that, regardless of everything, throbbed for attention

When your pleasure pain finally peaks with a hot rush of juices squirting out to drench his pelvis and thighs, only then does he ease on you (hardly), slowing his pace slightly to ride out the delicious clench of your cunt around his member, your reward being a generous few flicks to your clit, making the hypersensitivity just that much more unbearable

Douma (Thigh job)

He finds grief with your overstimulated cries and grasps for relief, chastising himself for overindulging on such a poor creature as yourself, he apologizes sincerely, hoping he didn’t hurt you too much

Its not your fault, you poor thing, he can hardly handle his own carnal needs himself, and he much less expected you to be able to keep up

Truly he’d thought such a position as this would be easier for you, with the lack of penetration and gentler handling, though perhaps it was a bit much considering how teasing each pass of his shaft was over your sensitive little bundle of nerves

He tries to ease up, he does, but how can he contain himself? Your thighs and pussy feel oh so good wrapped around his swollen cock, the perfect mixture of slick and friction, second to that of your insides of course

So eventually he chooses to ignore your tries of escape, instead opting to coo down at you, comforting you through the waves of pleasure that he knows will soon lead to your orgasm

He can feel how your holes convulses, your clit twitches, your thighs tighten, its nearly painful how hard you're pressed around him, not even a gap of space left between your legs other than the one his cock is occupying

Finally he feels it, your shudder of tension before your body seizes in a tantrum of euphoria, he can see the way your hands grip the sheets, the way your spine quivers, the way your mouth gapes open in scream after scream, hell his followers must think he's murdering someone in here!

He eventually follows suit, cum spraying across your body in thick ropes that he pumps out with each pass of his hips into your spent ones, your body twitches weakly and you whine as he continues to use your oversensitive folds

Who can blame him? You feel so good!

Akaza (Spider-man)

He laughs manically seeing you trying to escape, your weak little body looking so pitiful between his powerful thighs

Honestly it was a miracle you'd lasted this long with him, but he found satisfaction in the fact that the pleasure he'd brought you was so overwhelming that your stupid little brain thought it'd be a good idea to flee from a god such as himself

He'd had half a mind to let you and watch you run away with so much cum running down your legs that you'd likely slip in it, stupid thing

But he'd trashed that idea when he'd heard your cries rise, more tears and saliva pooling down your face, he wanted to hear what your voice sounded like when you came again, what your face looked like, what your cunt felt like

He thrust into you faster, trailing a hand from where it was hugging your thigh to his chest down to where your little clit lie

He brushed over it quickly, relishing your shrill cries of grief and despair as your nerves lit on fire, more laughter filling your ears

It wasn't long before you finally snapped, your pussy chocking around him and spewing hot liquid across his thighs, it was bliss feeling you milk him and hearing your broken voice scream so loud his ear drums nearly burst in time with his seed that flooded your insides

Yes, he rather enjoyed this, perhaps he should let you escape next time and see how that plays out as well

[ghoulphile]

no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.8 k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand ➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry) ➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️ masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Going topside wasn’t an easy decision.

In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.

And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.

No one lives in the vaults - not truly.

Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

Not anymore.

Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.

To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers. 

Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).

Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.

Ghouls; who knew, huh?

Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.

And kind of frightening.

But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded.  His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).

You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone. 

He was alone - had been for a very long time.

He was very old - one of the last of his kind.

And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.

“The fuck you doin’?”

Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.

And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.

“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”

The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”

You huff, your knees starting to ache.

Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.

“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”

Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.

While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.

The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.

The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.

A true ‘surfie’ now.

“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”

You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.

Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.

The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.

You could let the waist out some…

What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.

“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”

Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.

After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.

The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.

Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.

Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.

It’s a miracle you don’t scream.

Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.

You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.

How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?

Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.

Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.

Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.

No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.

And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.

Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.

But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.

You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.

“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”

Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”

The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”

“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”

You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.

Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, “Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”

“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”

“I just - you don’t understand…”

He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.

He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.

“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”

Not an offer - not really.

More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.

If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.

Quid pro quo.

And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.

Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.

“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”

A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”

Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.

Shit.

Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.

Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.

Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.

His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”

“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”

While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.

He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.

“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.

A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.

At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.

It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.

You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”

His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”

“I-”

Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.

You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.

You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.

“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’

Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.

His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”

“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.

The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.

So close you can taste it.

Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.

Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.

You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”

Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.

Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.

Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”

“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”

[thecommunalfoolboy]

I think tadc is gonna explore the different ways a person would cope with the situation of being trapped in a fake world and take them all to their logical extremes.

Like the whole thing with Jax is that he’s viewing this in a code breaker way. None of its real, the fake people aren’t real, so it doesn’t matter if I kill them and break things. Hell, what if that’s how we get out? What if you can break enough things that the whole code falls apart and the game shuts down? I find this idea the most interesting because i honestly think that’s how I’d react to the whole situation. Like if none of this shit has consequences then why not see just how far you can actually push it? Act insane and see how the game reacts. It’s like that option in a dialogue tree where the player sees it and is like ok no one would actually ever say that, but it’s insane enough that I wanna see what would happen if I did.

Kinger is the most realistic reaction in that he kinda literally just went crazy. Like he got locked in fairy land and lost it. He seems to at this point almost believe it’s all real too, he calls himself an actual king and not just a human who randomly got put in a chess piece body. He’s at the point that he’s just manic and accepted that this is reality now

Ragatha seems more like one of the early mindsets, like she arrived kinda recently. Her idea is to just play the game as it was supposed to be played. Go on the adventure, save the kingdom, oh no, the bad guys are here! She’s still trying to rationalize it all and act like it’s real. But after a while she’s probably gonna find it harder and harder to pretend that she cares about the next NPC’s problems. She’s gonna face the eternity trapped here one way or another, and when playing the game stops working she’s gonna have to find something that does.

Pomni’s so new to this all, she’s still going through the stages of grief. She’s so preoccupied with all this new stuff she hasn’t had to actually sit down and figure out how to respond yet. And most importantly, she still thinks there’s a way out- when she’s forced to realize that she’s stuck here for forever, she’s gonna have to figure out what’s next.

For Gangle and Zooble I’m honestly not sure. Maybe it’s just that they haven’t gotten as much screen time yet, but I can’t get quite the read on them comparatively. So idk if anyone has ideas lmk I guess

[sunnebeam]

"i was hoping i wouldn't have to resort to this."

A 'PERKS OF BEING A HOUSEHUSBAND' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi unintentionally scares people

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: go on tell me d-day!yoongi isn't tatsu I DARE YOU 😤 btw u don't need to watch the way of the househusband before reading this, but i swear u won't regret it if u do lol it's so funny (and it gives great visuals for this fic!). anyways, enjoy!! i'd love to hear ur thoughts so drop by my askbox and let's chat :)

Water drips down his neck as he washes his face. Droplets fall down his tattooed back, tracing the meticulous lines and bold colors that contrast his pale skin.

After rinsing and drying off, he dons on his outfit for the day – a fitted, white, short-sleeved shirt that shows off the intricate tattoos on both his arms and some black sweatpants – and puts on his signature apron – a beige, cotton apron with a drawing of his brown poodle on the front. Said poodle is staring at him from the bathroom door as he takes one last look at the mirror.

An old, bumpy scar runs down his right eye.

"Perfect," he says to himself before heading to the kitchen with his dog following right behind.

Min Yoongi never used to wake up this early. But these days, he wakes up bright and early at six o'clock because he has an important assignment.

"What do you think, Holly? Too big?"

The poodle barks in response, and taking its opinion into consideration, Yoongi adjusts his gimbap slices accordingly, making them a tad bit smaller and just the perfect size for your lunchbox.

"Shit!"

The door to your shared bedroom opens and you run out, already dressed in your corporate attire. You run to the kitchen where your husband is and get a huge glass of water.

"I'm late!" you screech, all while gulping down the whole glass.

"But you still have a few hours," he points out in confusion.

"I forgot I have an early meeting!" you explain in a hurry, putting on your heels before giving your husband a big smooch on the lips and blowing Holly a kiss. "Sorry, Yoonie! I'll see you later!"

And you're out the door.

Yoongi blinks for a few moments before shaking his head. He's chuckling in amusement at your mishap, but if any outsider hears his laughter, it just sounds a bit manic.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, Holly."

Holly barks.

"Huh? What was that?"

Holly barks.

Yoongi stares at the poodle, then at your Hello Kitty lunchbox he meticulously prepared, then back at the poodle.

"She forgot her lunchbox?"

Holly barks.

"Fuck."

Yoongi snaps into action, securing the lunchbox and putting it inside a Hello Kitty cloth bag before running out the door with his cute apron still on. He mounts his bicycle and speeds towards your office – which, if he was driving a car, would have broken numerous traffic regulations but luckily he isn't a stranger to breaking a law or two.

He's almost to your office. He's halfway there.

But unfortunately, there's a bit of a situation.

"What's your occupation, sir?"

The two police officers stare at him hesitantly after flagging him down for pedalling too fast with his bicycle. They're debating on giving him a ticket but then Yoongi answers.

"Househusband."

They stare at him.

"What?"

Yoongi sighs. At this rate, he won't be able to catch you before you clock in.

"Wait a second," one of the officers says, eyeing the tattoos peeking out from Yoongi's shirt and the big scar on his eye. "Are you..."

They stare at the name on the ticket. Min Yoongi.

"...Agust D?"

No way, the other officer thinks. There's a rumor about an infamous gangster called Agust D who used to slaughter his enemies with his own two hands. This guy can't be him. Right? Right?!

They hold a breath when Yoongi reaches into his pocket.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this," he murmurs.

"Wait, sir. There's no need for violence—"

"Here," Yoongi shuts them up by thrusting one of his most precious possessions.

A gift card for discounts at the local grocery store.

The police officers stare at the gift card, bewildered.

"As much as it pains me to let go of this," Yoongi continues, "take it. Now, I have to go."

And he pedals away, leaving behind one gift card and two very confused cops.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋