#i sent them an ask about how they put together words and metaphors and they actually responded it was super nice and helpful

[lizord-lord]

hyperspecific agony of the day: Want to Write About The Character, do not actually have anything coherent to say. Want To Read About The Character, but keep getting sidetracked wanting to write more. There is so much in my brain and yet I feel like it’s locked in a room somewhere I cannot find or, perchance, an imaginary rock in my shoe. I should PROBABLY just go to sleep but have you considered: The Character

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 6- "you're blushing"- alpha and omega.

As usual thank u to @forlorn-crows for the prompts

And thanks to @ghuleh-recs for the divider!

No warnings apply, just 750 words of alpha and omega flirting (:

“Papa would never say that omega” alpha snorted

Omega chuckled to himself as he wiped the rim of a golden chalice with a cloth, setting it neatly in its place on the table.

“He did! Best guitar player in the entire ministry. Said he wouldn’t have wanted to summon anyone else”

Alpha set down the matching plate in his hands, giving omega a side glance. It was barely effective through the thick mask that adorned his face but he hoped omega had gotten the point anyways. He pulled the tablecloth free of any wrinkles as he took a look over the communion table one more time.

“Papa has threatened to send us back to the pits for spilling a drop of wine on his precious tablecloth, there’s absolutely no way he gave me a genuine compliment.” Alpha turned to stare at omega through his own mask, seeing as his eyes crinkle in what he can only assume to be a wide smile. “Besides, if you wanted to tell me how talented I am then you’re more than welcome to. No need to hide behind the excuse that papa said it”

Cleaning the chapel after mass was always a lackluster duty. Mostly sniffling from the dust that never seemed to dissipate, and making sure everything was to the ministry’s high standards of organization. It was always alpha and omega who were forced to stay an extra hour or two to wipe everything down and put things back in their places. The roles of being the right hand men of papa would be nice with their high ranking, but more often than not it meant they were sent to do boring monotonous tasks together that papa had deemed important.

“Oh I never need an excuse to compliment you, just don’t know if you can handle it” omega teased. A goading tone to his voice.

“You don’t affect me as much as you think you do, you’re only fueling my ego. But if that’s your intention then please do go ahead”

Omega stood to lean against the podium, an almost challenging look in his eye, practically asking if alpha truly meant what he said. It was a stupid stand off admittedly, more for alpha to metaphorically flex his muscles and stroke his ego than it was to really prove omega words couldn’t get to him. Or if it was purely for alpha to hear omegas sweet thoughts about him, then that was his business.

“Have I really never told you how talented I think you are? That you continue to impress me with how fast you learn the songs?” Omega said, crossing his arms in front of him

“Yeah I’m sure you do” alpha rolled his eyes, “probably because if I didn’t papa would have my head, we can’t all be favorites around here”

“You’re my favorite if it’s worth anything”

Alpha tried to look like that didn’t immediately make his chest constrict. A stupid tight feeling that he got whenever omega acted like he did like him beyond their stupid jokes and banter.

“Well I’d hope so. We are together constantly, didn’t think it would be earth or something” alpha played off like he expected that kind of answer.

“I just think that under your massive ego you’re actually really kind, I know how gentle you actually are alpha” omegas voice softened in a genuine, comforting way. He stepped away from the podium, instead making his way slowly towards alpha, who seemed to fumble at watching omega step towards him.

“Just not a complete evil bastard, is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean it’s not hard for me to believe at all, you’ve always been a sweetheart, to me at least.”

Alpha fiddled with the cloth under his hands as he tried from some leverage on the table. His eyes darted around, a horrible attempt at looking inconspicuous while also not looking omega in the eye.

“And that’s not even all of it. You’re so handsome under that mask, it’s such a shame papa makes us wear them all the time, would love to actually look at you while we work”

“Shut up” alpha choked

“Why? Are you blushing? You seem really flustered” omega chuckled, continuing to move forwards while alpha tried to subtly move backwards.

“I’m not blushing you asshole”

“Oh really? How about you take off the mask then”

“You just want to see my face since you love it so much” alpha tried to play off. He turned his face towards the floor, even the idea of omega seeing his eyes was more than a bit overwhelming as his face heated.

“Maybe I just want to see you blush for me”

[prolix-yuy]

So if you’re feeling it, i would love a fic about Frankie’s first time as an escort…Thank you and love you lots💕

Mari my darling, this ask is sooooooo delicious! Especially because as much as we've alluded to Frankie's work, we haven't actually seen any of it yet. Though I'm gonna pull a little bit of a fast one on you in regards to the wording here, but I think you'll enjoy where it takes us.

Frankie's First Time

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!OC "Lily"

Summary: What was Frankie's first time like?

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), we are dedicating another 2k words to Frankie's kitty king skills, fingering (f receiving), safe PiV sex, a whisper of ass play, Frankie AND Lily's filthy mouths, watch me make up shit about sex work.

Notes: This was a blast to explore how Frankie "auditioned" for Pope's, and how he got the reputation we all know and love. I also got to explore things from Frankie's POV, so we get some insight into exactly why he's so competent in places. Even though Ms. J is sitting out this story, we know she's thanking Lily for her service well into the future.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Series Masterlist

He’s not sure if he’s supposed to knock on the chipped blue door or let himself in. The whole situation feels weird, like an audition for a play he never learned the lines for.

Well, at least the metaphor’s pretty accurate.

“Come in,” floats through the wood, answering his question, and with a deep breath and a turn of the knob Frankie steps into a whole new world.

She’s walking to greet him when he steps over the threshold, a bright smile on her face.

“Pope said you’d be punctual,” she says, one hand on her hip as she surveys him. Now that he’s here and actually doing this - really considering sex work - his jaw locks up and hands wipe nervously back and forth against his jeans. He nods quickly, grimaces a smile, and scuffles his feet on her doormat. 

“Oh, you are a cutie, you don’t need to be this worked up around me. I don’t bite,” she says, taking the last steps to rub her arms firmly up and down his biceps. Her touch is comforting, the raise of her eyebrows and nod a well-earned reward. “Let’s sit down and chat. Do you want water, coffee, iced tea?” She coaxes Frankie further into her apartment, waiting for him to toe off his boots with a mumbled apology before sitting him on her maroon couch. Leaving briefly, she returns with two iced teas. Frankie gulps his down fast enough to make her smirk.

“So you’re friends with Ironhead and Golden Boy? And Pope too, of course.” Frankie’s eyebrows knit together in confusion until he makes the connection.

“Will and Benny, yeah. Pope sent them to you too?” he asks, twisting the cup in his hands to give them something to do. 

“What can I say, I’ve got a lot of experience vetting the talent,” she quips back, turning to tuck her knees onto the couch and face Frankie more fully. He takes a moment to actually look at her more than quick glances. She’s pretty but in a way that’s disarming, a way of watching him that makes him feel like she knows his secrets but won’t share. Her chestnut hair flows over her shoulders in silky waves, complimenting her warm skin and umber eyes. He thought she’d be in some tight little tube dress but the lightweight tank top and shorts compliment her natural beauty with a realness Frankie didn’t know he craved. Her toes are painted baby pink.

“You’re making me nervous you swallowed your tongue, honey, can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?” she says, and Frankie coughs out a laugh. 

“Sorry, I’m feeling…shit, way out of my depth,” Frankie says, leaning forward to put down the glass. He remains hunched, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

“One step at a time, baby, let’s start off easy, okay?” she says, and that firm hand on his arm directs his attention back. “They call me Lily. Not my real name, you know. Will and Benny picked their own, you have one in mind?”

Frankie leans back and slaps his thighs.

“No idea, my call sign was Catfish but…nothing much else.” Lily laughs, and the noise is soothing to his frazzled nerves.

“Catfish it is. Was it the whiskers?” she asks, reaching over to scritch her fingers lightly into Frankie’s scruff. The touch is surprisingly welcome, her demeanor calming. He didn’t think he’d be ready to be touched yet.

“Long story. You don’t think that would weird out…uh, clients?” 

“Might make them more intrigued.”

Her hand moves to settle on his thigh, and the familiar stirrings of intimacy through touch rumble under Frankie’s skin. But it’s too fast, brings too much of the artifice of this situation to the forefront, and Frankie balks.

“So where are you from?” he says, voice booming in the small room. He winces at the volume, but Lily doesn’t move her hand.

“Colombia. Came over with a bunch of other girls.”

Frankie remembers this part of the story.

“One of Peña’s informants?”

“More or less.”

“But you’re still…?”

Lily scoots closer to him, and Frankie tries to relax into her proximity. She is pretty, long limbed and smooth skinned and smelling of sweet soap. 

“I get to do something I enjoy and I make money. And this is the nicest place I’ve ever worked, though much quieter than I’m used to.” She taps Frankie’s thigh to turn his attention back to her. “If you don’t think you’ll enjoy it, I would recommend you not start. It’s not easy. If you’re not looking forward to the good parts, the not-so-great ones will make you miserable.” 

Frankie nods, thumb worrying at the denim stretching across his thighs. 

“What are you afraid of happening?” Lily asks, and now her knee is pressed against his thigh. The tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. She’s good, no wonder why she’s Santi’s best girl.

“It’s, ah…it’s a lot of things,” Frankie starts. She waits, her hand moving to stroke soothing circles. “What if someone finds out that I don’t want to know? And what do I do with the…clients? Like how do I plan out what they want or figure it out and what if they don’t like it? Or don’t like…me. Am I…” Frankie pauses and looks, really looks at Lily. “Would anyone actually want me? I get Will, and Benny. But I’m not…” 

The rest of Frankie’s concerns slide back down his throat as he sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Lily lets the silence stretch for a moment longer.

“I’d recommend keeping the work between you and as few people as possible if you’re afraid of being found out, but it’s a risk you’re taking no matter what. A client could out you as much as a stranger.” Frankie hums and nods as she continues.

“As for what you do, Pope will give you some background. You’re not going in blind, which is a big plus to this setup. Are you taking all clients, or being selective?”

“I, uh…hadn’t thought about that. Probably women to start, and then…I’ll see.”

Lily’s lips curl at the corners.

“Full of surprises. Women can be hard if they don’t know what they want. Part of what we’ll do today is find your boundaries so Pope knows how to schedule your clients. If you don’t do men, he won’t give you any. If you might do something out of the ordinary if you have clear direction, he’ll talk it through with you. And if there’s something you’re very good at, you’ll be his go-to guy.” Lily’s fingers tap up his forearm thoughtfully. “We’ll find those things too. I’m a discerning lady, and if you’re good I’ll know.”

Frankie sighs and finally lets go of that last bit of tension holding him hostage.

“As for your last question…” Lily says, lifting up on her knees. “Can I sit on your lap, honey?”

Frankie’s eyes go wide, but he nods slowly at the request. Lily swings a leg over and settles on his lap, big hands going to her hips immediately. She smiles down at him and lets her fingers wander through his hair, tugging the Standard Oil cap off to free his curls.

“You’re worried they won’t want you, or like what you bring. But from my perspective, a broad-shouldered man with huge hands and the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen is underneath me, and if those big brown eyes are anything to go by, you’re a thorough, and attentive lover.” She swipes her thumb over his lips as he parts them. “When they open the door and see you standing there, big boy with soft eyes, their pussies are gonna throb.”

“Fuck,” Frankie breathes out, shuddering against her touch. 

“Soon enough,” she quips back. “First, ground rules. You never jump right into fucking. Always make sure you’re both clear on what she wants and how she wants it. Check in, make sure she’s not feeling pressured.”

“Of course,” Frankie says, confusion flitting across his face. “I thought everyone did that.”

“Oh sweetie, you are a slice of perfection,” Lily giggles, and Frankie’s hands tighten on her hips. 

“Take your time. Don’t rush it. You know how long she’s paid for, so give her every last moment. You might be the first person to ever give her undivided attention, and that will keep her coming back.”

“You ever get attached?” Frankie asks, his cock filling at her hot body pressing into his lap. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult. He’s certainly having a good time with her now.

“Yes, once or twice. You redirect those emotions into something useful. Channel those feelings into care for the person. You love how happy you get to make them feel. You’re attracted to how they open up and trust you. You’re giving them a valuable service and you enjoy that.” 

Frankie rolls his hips below her, and she tugs his hair with a cheeky smile.

“Lastly, before I see what you bring to the table, always be safe. Condoms always. If she wants something risky, for herself or you, that hasn’t been discussed, you respect your boundaries. And you walk away if it’s getting out of hand. Pope will always have your back.”

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes hooding as his gaze licks over her body.

“Now,” Lily says, her voice dropping into a sultrier register. “I’d like to kiss you, Frankie.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs back, tilting his head back for her descending lips.

She’s perfectly soft against his mouth, but firm as she cradles Frankie’s head. He moves his lips against hers, the gentle presses he usually starts out with before he deepens the kiss. She sighs into his mouth, hips rolling slightly as he strokes his fingertips up her spine. The pebbling of her flesh swells pride in his chest. 

“Mmm, feels good, Frankie,” she hums, backing off just enough to signal Frankie it’s his turn to show her what he can do. Splaying his large hands on her back, he leans up to meet her lips again, another chaste press before he slips the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip. She opens for him, and he thanks her with soft little laps, barely touching as his hands roam her back, the strong muscles of her thighs, weave through her hair. They’re rocking together in a rhythm neither consciously chose, Frankie’s cock starting to ache at the lack of pressure. 

Her nails scratch across his scalp, tugging his curls just shy of painful, and he delves his tongue deeper into her waiting mouth. She groans, sliding down his thighs to finally fit her core against his straining length. The welcome friction drives his kiss deeper, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip, tongues sliding more fervently. She finally breaks away, lips shiny and eyes bright.

“Mmmm, you’re a very good kisser. Let’s take this to the bedroom,” she says, lifting off Frankie’s lap. A small noise of protest leaves his lips at the loss, but he obediently follows through a plain hallway to a sparsely decorated bedroom. The nightstands are simple honeyed wood, a matching headboard behind the king-sized bed. The bedspread is an inoffensive dark gray, crisp white sheets folded primly at the head. Lily turns around and stands at the foot expectantly.

“I, uh…do you want me to just…” Frankie stammers, the confidence waning. 

“How about we do what you normally do, and I’ll chime in as needed. Show me your moves, handsome.” Her coquettish smile entices him to step forward and cup her face in his hands, brushing their noses together again before he parts her lips with his own and drinks from her. She melts against his front, fisting his t-shirt as he gathers the hem of her tank top in his bigger hands.

“Can I take this off you?” he asks, tracing his nose along her cheek as she nods. Pulling the thin fabric over her head, he takes in a sharp little breath that she’s not wearing anything underneath it. His hands travel up just below her pert little breasts, dark nipples tightening at his touch.

“I’d like to put my mouth on you,” he pants into her ear, waiting patiently for her breathy, “yes, Frankie,” before he guides her back, banding an arm around her waist before laying her down. On his knees between her spread legs he drinks her in, parted lips and hazy eyes and a body he wants to take apart until she’s a shuddering mess.

“Frankie,” Lily calls lightly, a smile brightening her face.

“Sorry, you’re just…beautiful,” Frankie says, allowing a little of the awe to creep in as he hovers over her prone body.

“I like it when you say what you’re thinking,” she replies, fingers back in his increasingly messy hair. He makes a note to keep it a little longer if this is the treatment he’ll get.

“I think there’s a lot more I want to taste than just these,” he purrs, lowering his mouth to wrap around her nipple and softly suck. Her back arches, legs caging in his narrow hips as she sighs at the clever licks of his tongue and drags of his lips over the supple flesh. Frankie loves breasts of all shapes and sizes, and her small handfuls are no different. He loves how his whole hand can dwarf their size, how large his thumb looks swiping over her puckered nipple. He switches to the neglected one, his thumb and forefinger rolling the wet bud in the absence of his mouth.

“Yes, Frankie, that’s so good,” she mumbles, thighs tightening around him. He drops his hips into the cradle of her sex, a shallow grind relieving some pressure while driving her pleasure higher. With a satisfied hum he lifts to capture her mouth again, lips plumper and reddened from his thorough work. She accepts with fervor, nipping and sucking at him until his hands find hers and he presses them into the mattress.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, dipping to lave his tongue along her neck. She squirms underneath him, reedy moans making his head spin. “Not faking any of this, are you?” he huffs, breaking the heady tension. Lily fists his hair again and pulls him to eye level, a sardonic smile on her swollen lips.

“Not a chance in hell, honey,” she rasps, and Frankie can practically feel his dimple pop out at her breathless admission. 

“Want to taste you here too,” he admits, rolling his hips against her hot core. “Want to make you cum on my tongue. Would you like that?” he asks, bolder in his question now that he’s coming into his wheelhouse.

“Yes, Frankie, fuck, definitely yes,” she pants, hands coming to tug at his offending clothing. He shucks his flannel and t-shirt, a brief moment of self-consciousness following. He knows he’s got a little bit of a softer stomach, no six-pack like Benny, and his hairless chest might be a little less manly than he wished, but when her eyes widen and her tongue comes out to lick her lips the thrill returns.

“Knew there was a tasty fucking body under there,” she teases, fingers tapping against his belt buckle. “I bet when you’re on top you make all the girls feel small under you. Those broad fucking shoulders. Can’t wait to get my legs over them.” Frankie’s cock slams to attention at her filthy mouth, taking a moment to palm himself while he settles on his knees at the foot of the bed. If he does this often enough, he’s going to have to bring a pillow with him. Or a chair.

“I’d never keep you waiting,” he shoots back, testing the banter. To his delight her eyes darken, lifting her hips as he eases her shorts and panties down her legs. Her glistening folds make his mouth water, and when he pulls her down the bed to his waiting face her thighs shake under his capable hands.

“Relax, sweetheart. You said you were gonna keep an eye out for what I’m good at?” he says, innocence written across his face. She quirks a brow and nods. “Perfect, because I am very good at this.”

She might have been preparing for a scoff, or a witty comeback, but when he lowers his mouth to her pussy and licks a wide stripe over her throbbing clit all he can hear is her garbled groan as he begins learning her cunt in earnest. Circling her clit with the tip of his tongue makes her hips rock. Sliding down to her entrance with slow-steady strokes arches her back generously. Teasing just at her hole eases her back into steadier breathing, but breaching it makes her whole body shudder. Every movement, every reaction he gets from his oral onslaught he files away, content with taking his time to map out everything that makes her thrash and sigh.

“You are good at this,” she gasps out, locking eyes as he looks up at her from where his face is buried in her folds. “Holy shit, you look so fucking hot like that,” she stutters out, his smile pressing into her cunt. 

“Love doing this, s’my favorite part,” he garbles into her flesh, wrapping his lips delicately around her clit and pulling soft suction into his mouth. She cries out, fingers tightening in his hair as a chanted, “Oh god, oh fuck, fuck Frankie, I’m gonna, holy shit I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” tumbles from her lips. He keeps it up for a moment more before releasing, her breaths coming out in ragged sobs.

“Would you like to come, beautiful girl?” Frankie murmurs, hands stroking soothingly along her bare thighs. She laughs briefly before reaching down to stroke his sticky lower lip.

“Show me what you can do, big boy,” she challenges, and the glint in his eye is her final warning before he sets to his task. Long, firm strokes from her hole to just below her clit work her up, her hips rocking in time with his pace. He pulls her closer, legs draped over his shoulders as he bobs his head, eyes flashing up to catch her blissed-out face before she tips back into the pillows. When a whine grows in her throat he switches to tight circles on her clit, alternating directions and interrupting with quick flicks to keep her keening and arching into his mouth. 

“Frankie, please,” she begs hoarsely. He was never good at edging, always wanting his partners to cum now and cum over and over again. So with his mouth sealed around her clit he sucks and works his tongue over her tight little bud as her hands scrabble for purchase on the bed, his tousled head, the sheet he hears creak in her fists. When her body feels as tight as a bowstring he releases the pressure just enough that when he flicks over her clit she’s helpless to stop it. Her orgasm rushes through, thighs clenching hard around his ears, hips bucking hard enough he has to pin them down, and breathy shouts shooting right to his throbbing cock. If he could cum from this he would. If he had a hand down his pants right now he definitely would. But instead he slows his strokes, enveloping her slick folds with his hot mouth as she weakly releases his head and flops back to the mattress.

“Holy shit, Frankie, that was…yeah, I’d fucking pay for that,’” she gasps, his chuckle dark and deep against her core.

“Nah, that’s standard good fucking. What you’ll pay for is that I’m going to do it again,” Frankie says, and he almost can’t recognize the confidence in his voice. It’s making his skin crackle with excitement as he strokes a finger through her sopping cunt, savoring her scent in his mustache.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, handsome,” Lily says, propping up on her elbows to look at him between her thighs. “Sometimes less is…way fucking more than most girls are used to.”

Frankie lets a lopsided grin dance onto his face, enjoying how her own expression falters.

“You don’t think I can do it?” he purrs, shallowly breaching her with his fingertip. “Haven’t even tried to get your g-spot yet. Give me a chance to make you cum on my face again, and I’ll fuck you in any position you like. Even the challenging ones.” Lily contemplates his offer, carding his curls back from his face. He likes the way she plays with his hair. He’ll have to encourage that.

“Even the positions where I fuck you, big boy? I’ve got loads of toys for that.” 

Frankie flushes deeply at that, face blazing hot as she laughs at his sudden turn.

“Teasing, only teasing. Though you shouldn’t knock it. I could make you see stars, baby.”

Frankie coughs and tries to get back into the moment, shaking his head.

“Maybe when I’m a little more experienced,” he acquiesces. It’s a little white lie. He wouldn’t be able to let someone make him that vulnerable for a handful of dollars. That’s something he’d only consider with someone he trusted deeply, and cared for just as much.

“Fair enough. Let’s see what you got,” she says, leaning back and propping some pillows behind her back. A wicked smile crawls onto Frankie’s face.

“I’ll give you my best, sweetheart.”

Frankie’s specialty is the second orgasm. The first is long, languid, learning. The second one has a pace all its own, both in the buildup and the payoff. He can’t go right back to torturing her overstimulated clit, or pumping his fingers into her, no matter how hard the idea makes him. Instead he drapes his arm over her waist, spreads one of his hands over her thigh, and lays heady kisses along her stomach. Her muscles twitch at the scratch of his beard, the teasing nips of his teeth, the self-conscious giggles he earns when he tongues a particularly sensitive spot. He lets his hands roam, kneading at her thighs, skimming his fingers up to splay across her chest. Their span is exciting to most, eyes widening when they see how far his thumb and pinky can reach. He basks in the relaxation of this moment, bringing her down from her height onto the pillowy comfort of his touch. 

“Frankie,” Lily murmurs, sliding her calf along his back. He slides up to kiss the inside of her knee, trailing his mouth down her thigh. “Frankie!” she giggles more urgently, wiggling her hips when he doesn’t speed up his movements.

“Impatient?” he hums into her skin, but he lets his fingertips dance closer to her core. “Thought you were going to let me try.”

“Didn’t realize you were going to take all afternoon for the second one,” she quips back. Mischief flashes in Frankie’s eyes, and he crawls up her body to ghost his lips over her earlobe.

“Are you turned on yet?” he whispers, testing a deeper bedroom voice. To his delight she writhes under him, fingernails lightly scraping up his back. He slides a hand down to cup her pussy, sliding one finger through her folds. “Mmm, yes you are,” he sighs, scraping his teeth behind her ear to elicit a shaky breath. Coating his finger in her slick, he slides inside as she takes in a shaky breath.

“Good?” he asks, holding still with his middle finger buried inside her slick heat.

“Yeah, fuck, Frankie, please,” she gasps, rocking her hips against his hand. A triumphant smile hides against her neck as he drags his finger out, then buries it back inside her. After a few careful strokes he finds a spot that arches her back, a quiet “fuck” escaping her lips.

“Oh yeah, there it is,” he coos, swirling the tip of his finger over it. Her nails bite into his shoulderblades, the pressure of his jeans against his cock almost unbearable but he’s so focused he pushes it to the side. “Can you take another one?” Lily nods quickly before he slicks his ring finger and slides both inside.

“Shit, Frankie, I don’t even really like fingering but this…” she says, pulling him down to settle more of his bulk on her. He draws one knee up to plant under her thigh, but lets his broad frame press her deeper into the mattress. His unoccupied hand slides under her neck, holding her while he dives in to kiss her deeply, sensually, in time with his methodical strokes. When her hips start moving in time he breaks the kiss, shuffling back down the bed.

“Gonna cum again?” he asks, only allowing a hint of smugness into his voice. Lily laughs breathlessly.

“Yeah, if you put your mouth on me I just might,” she teases.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie says back before lapping fervently at her neglected clit. The warm passes of his tongue stiffen her back, thin moans growing into cries as he finds the pattern that drives all thought from her mind. Slick with sweat, her body roils under Frankie’s careful ministrations. When his knuckles pull too much at her sucking grip he spits on where they’re joined, licking where she’s stretched around him.

“Frankie, holy fuck, don’t…don’t stop…” she stammers, hands back in his hair as he rubs roughly against her g-spot and messily tongues her, audibly moaning to vibrate her clit and tighten her nipples. He wants to palm one pretty tit while he’s eating her out but she’s so close he can’t help himself. He clamps his hand down on his protesting cock as he swipes his tongue hard and fast, thrusting his fingers deep and devastating. Pride surges in his chest when her hips lock hard, bowing her off the bed as she wails. His hands fly to support her, holding her firmly against his mouth as he plunges his tongue into her spasming cunt and circles his nose on her clit. She thrashes against him but he holds steady, eyes burning up her body so when she finally opens her own she can see the raw need heating his face. His cock jumps again when her eyes roll back and another, softer pattern of pulses wrap around his tongue. 

Again, he thinks with wonder, she came again just looking at me.

When her body unlocks, trembling instead, he lowers her down to the bed, soothing his hands along her skin as he swallows down her second release. Her breaths are ragged, sending him to search for a glass of water for both their parched throats.

When he returns she’s positively wrecked, limbs weakly spread on the bed. Her head lifts and she blearily takes the water, letting Frankie hover at her side until she places the glass down on the bedside table. The silence stretches until she finally speaks.

“Holy fuck, Frankie, not only are women gonna pay for that, they’re gonna pay double,” she says, making Frankie’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “I’m serious, I don’t think I’ve ever had my pussy eaten that good. Who the hell taught you that?”

Frankie’s eyes go soft in memory.

“I had a girlfriend when I was a lot younger. It was both of our first times, and she’d never…she was all stressed out about cumming. Repressed upbringing, you know. I didn’t want to pressure her to do anything if she didn’t know what felt good. I’d been jacking it for a while before that, I knew what I liked, but she was so nervous. I told her we wouldn’t have sex until I made her cum first.” He strokes a hand absently on Lily’s forearm, her smile soft and kind. “Fingering was too intense, so I tried to eat her out. I was…ah, not good at it. And she wasn’t sure if it felt good, and was self-conscious about how long it took, if I liked it too. It stressed us both out for a while. I finally asked her if I could just try for as long as it takes.” 

“And how long was that?” Lily asked, turning on her side so Frankie’s wandering hand could stroke along her hip.

“About an hour. Took my time watching her body, seeing what she liked. Combining things, doing some things longer, more intensely. When she came I almost fucking passed out, I got so turned. And then, when she calmed down a little bit…I did it again. And again.”

“And now you’re a fucking god at it,” Lily concludes, wiggling her hips when Frankie takes a careful handful.

“I like doing it. Like the taste, how you smell, how responsive you are. It’s intimate, special. If someone puts their mouth, they want you to feel good. I like the intensity of that.” 

“Well I’ll definitely put that in your recommendation. But we should also take care of the final bit of business before we call our session complete.” Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up when Lily’s hand grazes his thigh, palming his neglected erection. “Hiding something big in here, are we Frankie?”

The confidence radiating off of Frankie dissipates a fraction, the earlier apprehension creeping back on his face.

“I- I know it can be a lot. I’ll go slow, we can take our time,” he stammers, backing off a bit to give Lily room. She smirks at him, sitting up and swinging her leg over Frankie’s lap to cage him in.

“Well, we’ll have to work on your delivery there. You say it like it’s a death sentence,” she giggles, and the tension eases enough for Frankie’s shoulders to lower. Her fingers glide along Frankie’s skin, skimming across his plush chest. “Say it like it’s the sexiest thing,” she challenges, leaning back to see what Frankie does. He ponders for a moment, then unbuttons and unzips his jeans to hang loosely around his hips. The dark boxers he’s got on underneath stretch across the soft V of his hips. 

When Frankie looks back up at her, his eyes are dark as sin with a smile to match. Crawling up her body, he gently takes her wrist and guides her inside his pants. Urging her fingers to  wrap around his girthy cock, he whispers in her ear.

“I know it can be a lot,” he purrs, apprehension swapped for smooth confidence. “I’ll go slow. Take my time.” With each new suggestion he rolls his hips into her grip, hot breath ghosting down her cheek. 

“That’s more like it,” she replies, an appreciative hum rumbling out of Frankie’s chest. Covering her with his body, he slides his jeans the rest of the way off, fitted boxer briefs generously tented. 

“Condoms?” he asks, her hand stretching out to tap at the bedside table. He shuffles in the drawer before pulling one out along with a bottle of lube.

“Probably a good idea to bring one of these with me?” he asks, half to himself. Lily plucks it from his hand and places it back on the nightstand.

“I’m plenty wet enough for you, big boy. But yes, always condoms and lube wouldn’t hurt. Better to be prepared,” she says, spreading her thighs to invite Frankie in. Rolling on the condom, he returns to the cradle of her hips, fisting his aching cock to tap against her clit. She arches, a delightful smile painting her face.

“Can’t wait to feel you stretch me,” she whispers.

“Fuck,” he gasps back, dragging the underside of his cock through her folds. “Shit, you feel good. How…how do you want me?”

“Any way you want, baby,” she purrs back, the plump head of his cock pressing at her entrance. 

Frankie enters her slowly, inch by blissful inch. Some of it is care; he’s watched the pinched expressions of women not used to taking a cock as thick and hefty as his, and he’s highly attuned to discomfort. If he catches it he drags back out, slow as syrup before pushing forward again into her blinding heat. Lily takes him so well he has to slow himself down, his mounting arousal pulling him too close to the edge. She’s moaning softly below him, fingers digging into his hips as he presses flush against her.

“Fuck, Frankie, you’re filling me up so good,” Lily moans, lifting her hips to grind on his buried cock. 

“You feel amazing. Fuck, yes, so goddamn good. I want to fuck you like this first, then make you cum on me again. Shiiiiit.” Frankie’s groans are positively filthy as he takes his first slick stroke into her cunt, the flutters of her walls around him pooling liquid metal in the base of his spine. Firming up his stance, he rolls his hips into hers, long languid strokes that speak to his stamina and patience. If her moans were filthy before, they’re downright crude now.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckFrankieeeee,” she whines, hands scrabbling along his shoulders and hair as he mouths at her pebbled nipples and palms her overheated flesh. When he’s wet with her slick, sweat sliding down his smooth skin, he slips two fingers between them to circle her clit, fast slippery circles making her quake around him.

“Oh please keep doing that, Frankie, fuck…” she whines, and Frankie’s teeth find the sensitive spot under her ear that makes her hair stand on end.

“Gonna fuck you so good you’ll be gushing around my cock, then I’m gonna pound you from behind until you strangle me again. Gonna be so deep inside you you won’t be able to think about anything else but cumming. C’mon, gorgeous, cum on my fat cock.” Frankie can barely register where the words spilling from his gasping lips are coming from, but they certainly land like sizzling oil on her skin. Eyes screwed shut, lips parted in a silent cry, her rhythm gets messier as Frankie brushes his cock over and over her g-spot, deadly accuracy in every thrust. With a few more targeted circles over her clit she bursts, legs clamped viciously around his waist as he grinds into her spasming cunt. The pressure rockets his orgasm close to the surface, his balls tightening up as wetness coats them further, but he thinks about baseball and those smoking commercials he hates and the crest ebbs back to a manageable pace. 

Once her legs unlock Frankie kisses her again, firm and exacting while she’s still on cloud nine. Humming into his mouth she strokes his scruffy cheeks, the sensation tingling up his spine. 

“Want you to cum, Frankie,” Lily whispers against his mouth, and the desire roars up inside his chest. With efficient strength he flips her, lifting her hips to meet his own, and slides back into her sopping cunt. “Oh fuck, Frankie, you feel ever bigger like this,” she chokes out, back arching as he takes one experimental thrust into her. She keens under his large hands, shuddering at the press of his mouth on her spine when he folds over to kiss her again.

“Gonna fuck you good and hard now, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me bust with this sweet fucking pussy,” he pants, admiring her round ass and sweet little hole. He presses his thumb lightly against it, earning a garbled sound of pleasure. 

“Please, Frankie,” she moans, and he could never deny her the pleasure he’s brimming to give. 

The first snap of his hips drive her face-down into the mattress, and the subsequent pounding buries her fingers in the sheets. Every snap of his hips to her thighs, his balls slapping against her clit, drives him even more wild, babbling to her about how fucking good her pussy is, how he’s gonna maker her cum on his big cock over and over again. She throatily agrees, backing up against his thrusts to drive him deeper, harder into the spot that will make her cum again. Frankie’s lips peel back from his teeth, throwing back his head to growl and gasp as he rails her into the bed, his orgasm just moments from toppling him over into his denied bliss.

“Cum with me, baby,” he orders, wrapping his arm around her waist to palm her dripping cunt. The heel of his hand combined with the smack of his hips rocks her clit over his palm, and that stimulation throws her off into the deep end of her fourth orgasm. This time her cunt is too tight, too fucking good to stop him from cumming, shouts devolving into ragged whimpers and sweet reassurances as they both come down from their highs.

Frankie eases Lily to the bed, stroking her sweaty hair out of her face and placing a chaste kiss on her temple. He disposes of the condom in the bathroom, taking a moment to check himself in the mirror. He’s flushed and rumpled, his hair an absolute mess, but damn if he’s not glowing as well. He runs the tap and slicks damp fingers through his hair, returning just in time to catch Lily downing the rest of her water.

“Frankie, baby, you are going to have a great career if you can pull that routine even once a week.” His scoff brings her hands up to scold. “I’m serious! You like making people feel good. I can definitely see this working out for you.” 

Frankie’s blush radiates from his cheeks to his chest, coming to sit beside Lily on the bed.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he says. His fingers come to rest on her forearm. “What should I do for aftercare? I normally get some water, cuddle, help clean them up. Should I be doing something different?”

Lily gives him an approving smile.

“It’ll probably be a bit shorter than what you’re used to, but yes to all. Some girls may not want it, others may want more. So keep your eye on the clock and give them as much as you can. Believe me, they’ll get more out of that than the sex itself.”

Frankie nods, deep brown eyes coming to hers again.

“Which one are you? Aftercare or no?”

Lily leans back, settling into the pillows again.

“I could take a little cuddle before you go.”

Frankie ducks his head to hide his shy smile, tucking her into his side so he can stroke soothing paths up her side, weaving his hands into her hair and kneading at the back of her neck. 

“I had fun,” Frankie finally says, staring at the ceiling and chewing the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, but it was a lot of fun.” 

“It should be if you’re doing it right,” Lily quips, running her hand over his chest and twirling her fingers into his loose curls splayed against the pillow. 

“I can last longer than that, you know,” he murmurs, nosing into her hair when she lets out a breathy giggle.

“You lasted plenty long enough, big boy.”

“Well, I have my ways just in case,” he says mysteriously. Lily’s hand slows on his chest, her body hovering on a question, but it passes. Instead she lifts up to press a sweet kiss to Frankie’s lips.

“Now I’ll show you how to leave graciously.”

“So how did he do?”

Lily lounges on her couch, phone to her ear as Pope’s voice filters through.

“I gotta hand it to you, Santi, you only fraternize with men who are very competent at fucking.”

“Ha ha, Lils, but really? Frankie’s cut out for it?”

Lily pauses, the itch under her fingernails growing louder.

“Definitely has the right temperament, the right attitude. His confidence could use a little work, but he got into the swing of things. Eats pussy like a fucking god, and knows how to use that big cock of his…”

“Jesus Lil, a yes or know would have sufficed.”

Lily laughs into the phone. Riling up Santi is a rare treat.

“He’s a boyfriend experience guy, so I’d steer him to clients looking for that. He’ll make them feel like they’re his whole world for the hour. And he’ll make bank doing it.”

“Any concerns?”

Lily’s hands flex briefly.

“Has he ever had an issue with substances?”

The silence on the other end answers her question, but she still waits for Santi.

“Not in a while. So he’s told me.”

“What was it?”

Another pause, then a sigh.

“Coke.”

The word sinks deep into her stomach.

“You know I don’t fuck with that shit, Santi. Not after Colombia.”

“He’s not using.”

“Maybe not, or maybe not a lot. But if he’s got a proclivity to it…keep an eye on him, Santi.”

“I will. Thanks Lils.”

She lets her breath out, lightening the conversation.

“You gonna call him Catfish?”

“He told you that?”

“Could be a good play on words.”

“Ugh.”

“Swimming in pussy?”

“That’s awful.”

“Doesn’t need to breathe. Certainly didn’t feel like it after the second one.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye Santi, te amo.”

Santi chuckles at the saccharine endearment as he hangs up. With approval from Lily he’ll start giving Frankie work. Her warning echoes in his ears, his own apprehensions mixing with it. They all had their demons to face, but Frankie chose a path that worried his friends. Santi would have to keep an eye on him, keep Frankie safe and watch out for his clientele. But he trusted his friend, and wanted him not to worry so much when his rent came due.

“Seems like Catfish is on the menu,” he murmurs to himself, snorting at the unfortunate innuendo. He’d have to share it with Frankie next time he sees him.

END

[sasheemo]

okay time for some praise for some specific passages because you word things so beautifully. “her tone drops, low and velvety, her words wrapping around you like a silk ribbon pulling tight.” -nnmgfnnffffmnn. oh. oh my god. yeah. agatha wrapping you tight in ribbons. likely thing for her to want to do. also please, metaphorically or literally,,, i need that.

“the haunting sound of her pleasure echoing in your mind as you retreated to the guest room to lose yourself in your own.” - so good and it feels like a deeper reflection of chapter 1’s description of how she leaves behind. others could smell her expensive perfume or hear how she hums, sure, but getting to hear the way she loses herself to pleasure?? she only imprints that on a handful of lucky minds.

(- friday thoughts rambles anon) also last one for now even though there’s SO MUCH i need to talk about for ch4, because i need to sleep :/

This is my very long reply to just one of the four amazing messages sent by the sweet “- Friday Thoughts Rambles Anon” about Chapter 4 of Friday Thoughts. It’s equal parts writer ramble, thoughtful reflection, and a sprinkle of behind-the-scenes insight. I absolutely love getting anyone’s feedback, or honestly any message/ask, so feel free to drop into my inbox anytime 💜

First of all, good morning and thank you again for (re)reading and loving the story—and for taking the time to put together such a thoughtful (and honestly, very flattering) analysis. Now, let me ramble a little myself and share some insights from the writer’s perspective while responding to your lovely essay in one go.

I’ll admit, there are aspects of this story that don’t perfectly align with my idgafer Agatha headcanons. Some of the small cracks in her composure, the softness in certain moments—like holding Reader’s hand after all that kitchen sex spiciness—the patience she shows overall, and the fact that she outright admits to waiting her for so long… BUT. I think that for this Agatha in this story, it works. Because at the end of the day, it’s all about you not believing it could ever be real, and her waiting, like a predator biding its time for the perfect moment to pounce.

Reader, on the other hand, isn’t actually all that far removed from Agatha morally—she just doesn’t realize it yet. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it until reality smacked her in the face. I mean, objectively speaking, who in their right mind would genuinely believe without a second thought that Agatha Harkness has a crush on them?

At the same time, I see Reader, being Nicky’s babysitter, as someone Agatha has grown used to having around. She helps with one of the most important parts of Agatha’s life, she’s a regular presence in her home, and for reasons even she might not fully understand, she intrigues her. Maybe it’s the sinful nature of the connection, the thrill of corruption, or simply the way she makes her feel at ease—the way her bond with Nicky warms her cold, sarcastic heart.

I wanted to play on the edge of moral boundaries and self-doubt because I personally think, when it comes to power dynamics and age gaps, those are the two core elements that create realistic tension. I wanted there to be a push and pull not just between the characters, but within them, especially in Reader. It’s that mix of naïveté, denial, and constant excuse-making that drives Agatha absolutely mad. The fact that, after all this time and all the neon-flashing signs, Reader chalks up Agatha’s behavior to the freaking wine? Oh, that’s enough to make her feral. Nothing could ever dilute or erase the deliberate intent behind Agatha Harkness’ actions—or deny her the power to claim them unapologetically.

I really tried my best to create a realistic plot with well-defined characters within the span of just a few chapters. I’ve always been a firm believer in the “less is more” approach, and with this story, I was absolutely terrified of overloading the mix—of throwing in too many elements and ending up with something messy and incoherent. My biggest fear was crafting a story where the characters’ intentions and motives weren’t clear, so I’ve tried to stay focused with every decision and stick to it throughout it all.

I have to admit tho, I almost regret limiting this story to just 5 chapters, because the deeper I go, the more I realize the possibilities for plot development are literally endless. Of course, a lot has been carefully packed into these chapters to create an arc that feels plausible and satisfying within the limited span, leading to a closure that (hopefully!) makes sense. The final chapter will be all about tying it together—clarifying what’s happened in the weeks leading up to that conversation they’re about to have at the end of Chapter 4. And, of course, hinting at what’s in store for them moving forward.

So, to wrap this up: thank you again for not only reading but for absolutely diving headfirst into this chapter and sharing your thoughts with me in such an amazing way—I’m honestly blown away by how much detail you picked up on. Writing this story has been such a rollercoaster, and knowing it resonates this deeply makes every bout of overthinking and every late-night writing session feel completely worth it. I hope Chapter 4 was a delightful little gift to unwrap on Christmas Eve, and here’s to Chapter 5 hopefully leaving you just as unprepared as Chapter 4 did. 💜🎁

[yuseirra]

I honestly think this is undeniable...;

I mean, if Kamiki isn’t Sarutahiko Okami, then why would the word "noblilty" be used? Why do you think Aqua reacted that way when hearing the name "Ame-no-Uzume"?

If there weren’t ANY divine elements involved, I wouldn’t be saying anything; but, even in the final chapter, they mentioned that the gods probably sent Ruby, didn’t they?

The story of Oshi no Ko is an homage to the Tenson Kōrin (The Descent of the Heavenly Grandchild) from Japanese mythology.

After meeting his wife, Ame-no-Uzume(Ai), Sarutahiko(Hikaru) eventually handed over his position as the sun god to Amaterasu(Ruby). In a way, this meant that his nobility or influence somewhat diminished.

The song lyrics said that he was given a fatal flaw. Contextually, this is Hikaru’s line about Ai; after losing Ai, he developed a defect. This actually parallels what happened in the myths: he’s willing to sacrifice his "nobility" to bring Ai back.

The shrine where the main characters went to make their wishes was the shrine of Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko, and all of the wishes made there came true! I’m telling you, this is all because of Kamiki. Ai is dead! The only god left to grant wishes is this person. He's the Sarutahiko, the god of fulfilled wishes that's become fatally flawed!

This person became a deity who can guarantee results, but he’s twisted to the point of granting wishes in a distorted manner.

These kinds of interactions appear in the story! I wouldn’t bring it up if they didn’t!

Originally, he was a god who guided people along the right path! People pray to Sarutahiko for traffic safety!! But imagine him as a navigation system that takes you to your destination, but the journey itself becomes cursed with misfortune, absurdity, and irrationality now—that’s the "flaw".

That’s why Aqua put his own life on the line to stop this person, to prevent him from ruining Ruby’s and everyone's future.

Ultimately, all of the wishes Kamiki realized or perceived were granted in the end. Socially, he’s completely destroyed. Akane calls him a monster, right? How does a once "noble" person become this wrecked? I don’t get it. The more I study it, the less sense it makes. Looking at scenes where Ai and this person were together, they seemed genuinely happy with each other. In my opinion, they even stayed in touch occasionally. They couldn’t be together because they were too young, but he knew about her pregnancy and she called him on a public phone. It’s hard to believe he’d suddenly turn against her. Ai’s reactions to him were pretty neutral. It’s like Ai was always worried about Hikaru, fearing he might go astray.

Chapter 154 is seriously too genuine. I think Ai’s feelings about him are the most important thing.

She said she wanted to be with him forever...;;

And Kamiki felt the same way. Didn’t he say he wanted to feel Ai forever?

If they’re divine spouses, they’d truly be together forever. It’s really supposed be that way; they’re divine spouses at their core. What Hikaru thought in 153, that was actually what was SUPPOSED TO BE. They were originally like that as gods!!

They reciprocated each other’s feelings, both of them define each other as being the "same" as they are. And neither of them was ordinary. If you examine the lyrics, Ai is the reincarnation of a star, while Kamiki fell from grace. Given that supernatural elements explicitly play a role in the story, this isn’t just metaphorical.

Yesterday, when I talked about this with a friend, they asked,

“Why would he be considered noble? There’s no scene where he saves someone or helps others, and as a kid, he seemed "naive". But there weren't many scenes to see if he could be defined as having nobility.”

Yeah. Right? Just why include the detail that his soul was noble? I’m telling you, it’s because he’s the virtuous god Sarutahiko.

There are a lot of things in this work that can’t be explained without divine elements; that’s why I’ve researched mythology and analyzed things this way—because it makes sense with that being taken into consideration. Without these elements, the story would have too many gaps. But if you incorporate mythological settings, they fill in the blanks.

There’s even talk about shattered souls, which I can explain too! Since I started re-reading this work, the strange song lyrics gave me an inkling that something deeper was there, so I immediately began interpreting it along these lines.

Kamiki is a distorted god that became of "absurdity and irrationality"(seriously, what's been happening around him's EXACTLY that!! Even Aqua turned unreasonable!!), while Ai is "the god who loves people". They were originally divine spouses who blessed and protected the entertainment world, but once they incarnated as humans, things fell into chaos. The protagonists were born as their children to resolve this turmoil.

How else can you interpret this? If there were no reincarnation or divine elements involved, I wouldn’t bring it up. But there’s too much evidence to ignore. Besides, "love" probably held a significant meaning for those two gods.

Tsukuyomi said the entertainment world wasn’t her domain.

I’m telling you, Kamiki and Ai are the gods who oversee the entertainment industry, which is why they each took part as an actor and an idol.

But just like the lyrics, "I've forgotten who I lived as!" and "Remember who you lived with," in Mephisto, they forgot who they were and that they were spouses. Kamiki probably only remembered it after Ai’s death, which made him start searching for people with the qualities to bring light and wandering around collecting light to offer as sacrifices. Judging by the lyrics, without Ai, he'd always lack the light of love and remained extremely hollow. He could never return to the white star or have chances of it—not until he saw Ruby.

I don’t think he truly intended to kill her, but intentions aside, Kamiki has become so dangerous and uncontrollable that he needs to be eliminated. Aqua’s mission is to take him down, which is why he constantly says he’ll have to go to hell—because he has to kill someone.

These ideas may seem far-fetched, but if you put everything together, this is the most plausible explanation. There’s no other way to make sense of it based on what’s shown in the story. I’m right. How else would you explain it?

[o-uncle-newt]

I guess the only person who can really be trusted to describe the greatness of Agatha Christie is Dorothy L Sayers...?

A while back, the always-sharp @thesarahshay sent me an ask that caught me up on something that I'd carelessly written in some tags- I said that Agatha Christie was good at writing romance into her detective fiction, without really elaborating. I then spent multiple paragraphs attempting to elaborate, I'm not sure with how much success. Essentially, and you can click above to see for yourself, my thesis was that while Sayers was a much better literary stylist (and certainly better at writing romance) than Christie, when writing a detective novel, her seams show; Christie had a natural talent for knowing exactly what belongs in a detective story and creating and fitting all the right pieces together that create a seamless detective story, including motivations drawn by romance (though I think the actual romances are among the weaker elements- still MUCH better than those written by most of her peers, for the record).

I'd had trouble putting into words what I wanted to say (there was a convoluted metaphor about Barbies and Lego in there), and I'm not sure I was too convincing; but turns out that the person who said what I wanted to say the best was, in fact the great DLS herself.

There's a fabulous book that I 100% recommend called Taking Detective Stories Seriously, which is a compilation of about two years' worth of detective story reviews that Sayers wrote. I hadn't heard of most of the authors, and even when I had heard of the authors I'd rarely read the books, but it didn't matter, frankly. She's just such a great writer, so thoughtful and incisive and passionate about both the genre and good craftsmanship (not to mention good English), that everything she has to say including on novels that haven't been in print since the 30s is worth reading. She has generally great taste, though she has a much higher opinion of Margery Allingham than I do and doesn't like Ellery Queen's The Siamese Twin Mystery as much as I'd thought she might (though the fact that a character in it insulted Unnatural Death may not have helped lol); but she also likes, to pick two very different writers who I too enjoy, HC Bailey and Mignon G Eberhart, and so she clearly has a good eye. (It's also entertaining to see her slowly force herself to admit that she likes Perry Mason...)

BUT ANYWAY.

She has three reviews of Agatha Christie books in the volume: Murder on the Orient Express, Why Didn't They Ask Evans, and Three Act Tragedy. She reviews all of them very positively, but it's her review of Three Act Tragedy (in my opinion, funnily enough, the weakest of the three) that she really gets to the core of Christie's genius. And it's actually fitting that it's for a book of hers that's on the more meh end of the scale- because it just shows how even meh Christie has an element of genius that other authors have to work hard for even in their best works.

She says:

Some time ago this column contained the statement that Hercule Poirot was "one of the few real detectives." It was a well-sounding phrase, and I have no quarrel with it, except that I am not quite clear what it meant. What I meant to write and what I thought I had written and what I now propose to write clearly with no mistake about it was and is this: Hercule Poirot is one of the few detectives with real charm. Plenty of authors assure us that their detectives are charming, but that is quite another thing. I don't know that Mrs Christie has ever said a word about the matter. She merely puts Poirot there, with all his little oddities and weaknesses, and there he is- a really charming person. And it is true, too, that he is "real," in the sense that we never stop to enquire whether his words and actions are suited to his character; they are his character, and we accept them as we accept the words and actions of any living person because they are a part of himself. Le style c'est l'homme. Indeed, when Mrs Christie is writing at the top of her form, as she is in Three Act Tragedy, all her characters have this reality. She does not postulate a character- retired actor, West End mannequin, family retainer- and put into its mouth sentiments appropriate to its station in life. She shows us character and behavior all of a piece. However surprising or enigmatic the behavior, we believe that everything took place just as she says it did, because we believe in the reality of the people. Poirot is charming, not because anybody says so, but because is is, and all her other people exist for us in the same objective manner. This is the great gift that distinguishes the novelist from the manufacturer of plots. Mrs Christie has given us an excellent plot, a clever mystery, and an exciting story, but her chief strength lies in this power to compel belief in these characters. [emphasis mine]

Sayers then proceeds to compare another author (or rather authors, the husband and wife pair GDH and M Cole) to Christie in this regard, moving on to another review. But in these three paragraphs she has, I think, said it better than anyone- that Christie's skill is in her naturalness, and how that naturalness compels us to believe in and immerse ourselves in her world. She is effortless and seamless.

To be clear, Sayers praises a lot of people in this book, and a lot of people's writing; but mostly she is praising their skill and ability to create what they have created. Here, she isn't quite praising that- she's praising the fact that the final product is so good that you can't even see the craftsmanship behind it, and that's, I think, what separates Christie from her peers. It's a power, and not one that can be broken down by a critic. She just has it.

I've said before that I don't think Sayers had this as a mystery writer, and I think she'd probably be the first to agree with that assessment; she certainly had a seemingly effortless skill as a prose writer (as these reviews show), but as a novelist she took construction seriously and wanted us to know this. That said, another person who I don't think has this, who I mention because he's someone who a lot of people compare Christie to (often negatively), is John Dickson Carr.

I've seen plenty of people say that Carr is a more sophisticated version of Christie, not just in mystery construction but in writing style, and equally prolific, creative, and versatile. I don't agree with this on most counts, but I think, honestly, that Carr is fine- but you can see the seams easily. He might have been prolific but his formulae are visible and his writing required intentionality on his part. By which I mean- Carr when he's trying to be funny is generally hilarious. Carr when he's trying to be scary is generally spine-tingling. But Carr when he's just trying to get to the next good bit is dull and mechanical. He needs to be paying attention and making an effort in order to be good, and we notice him doing this. Christie never has this problem; even when the actual stuff she's writing isn't high quality, she's never dull. Everything feels purposeful and organic, somehow.

Obviously, all of this is fundamentally subjective, and if there's one redeeming element it's that an incredibly smart lady agrees with me (by my interpretation, at least) and says it extremely well. But I'll be holding on to this one, if nothing else.

[willmike-what]

(Characters: William Afton, Michael Afton, Elizabeth Afton)

(Pairing: Michael Afton x William Afton)

(TW: Incest, Underage)

(Word Count: 639)

“Daddy?” Elizabeth put down her dolls as she looked behind, revealing William sitting on their sofa, with Michael sitting right next to him, fumbling with his Foxy mask he was gifted by his father.

“What is it dear?” He tried to sound enthusiastic, but instead sounded tired due to stress eating at him. “Do you ever miss mommy?” Those words innocently left her mouth as William got choked up. “Excuse me?”

He accidentally came across as offended, he always did whenever someone brought his wife up. Michael however was more confused on why she would ever ask the question in the first place, knowing that she didn’t even remember their mother.

William was genuinely speechless, but he knew that he had to answer her before she would get into a tantrum, “Let’s say that I’m happy right now, with my family.” She wasn’t satisfied with that.

“You know thats not what I mean!” She stood up, “Do you miss mommy?” She repeated, a lot louder and angrier than before. Both Michael and William sighed at it. “Its a hard topic to discuss Elizabeth, but I-“ Elizabeth interrupts, following with a question that would leave William and Michael flabbergasted

“Could I be mommy instead?”

Obviously the idea of a kid asking their parent to marry them wasn’t new, they don’t understand the implications or even what it truly means to be in love with anyone yet.

To them its just so they can show their parent that they care about them, not anything romantic or akin to it- But to Michael, who knew that was the case, couldn’t help but to be somewhat mad,

It went further than being mad, he couldn’t help but to glance at William, who was understandably quiet at all of this.

“Elizabeth, you can’t marry father…” He tried to contain his composure, but his facade was quickly cracking. “Why?” Michael predicted that she would repeat that question over and over again, regardless if he gave her an actual answer or not.

“Because, you just can’t, you’ll understand it when you’re older.” He felt like he was his own father there, with how many times he’s heard it, “Oh.” Elizabeth came to a realization of something, whatever is it, Michael knew it wasn’t anything good, but he was hopeful.

“Is it because you want to marry daddy?”

That was the straw that broke the camels back, though the metaphorical camel in this situation was his brain, to put it bluntly

Those words made Michael stop thinking for a bit. He couldn’t answer that question, he could hardly move his body, it sent him straight into a shock.

Though one thing that when he finally could think properly again was how hot the house was, it wasn’t like it a few minutes ago. But he knew that it wasn’t the house, it was a problem that was deeply rooted into him.

Even William noticed his delay in response to Elizabeths question, “Michael.?” He definitely didn’t say his name in any tone, but it sounded rather…

…Seductive.

William also took note of the obvious blush that was forming on his sons face, putting two and two together, well it was clear as could be, Michael had feelings about his father…Well feelings would be undermining it, its more or less, Michael is in love with his father.

To Michael it was disgusting, having any romantic or sexual feelings is repulsive to say the least, of course it is, but he had to bear with those feelings, that was his problem.

It was a good five minutes before any of them had said a word, Elizabeth had gotten bored, so she decided to leave and go back to her room, leaving her father and her brother alone together.

William smiled as he now knew that Michael was finally easy prey.

[lavenoon]

Ahhh, I keep thinking of Double rejection Hatchling Robin and while I was doing the dishes my brain made a scenario in which after a while Dawn and Dusk have been visiting the lab where they now work way more often (which isn't necessarily often, excuses to do so would probably be pretty sparse, but for the top agents it's unusually often enough), so Sun is waiting in the outer room (or maybe even just outside) and overhears one of the technicians asking Robin how in the world they managed to befriend the grumpiest agents, and at first Robin wants to make a joke about being able to engineer situations to their liking, but then they pause, remembering the words that affected them so much in Dawn's initial snap, and with a sigh Robin responds they aren't friends really. Just understanding how to work better with each other is all.

The post in question, because it's been a couple days!

Below this are 2251 words. Enjoy <3

"which isn't necessarily often" - true, but I've decided Eclipse gets to indirectly save the day once again. Dawn already mentioned him, and saw that Robin recognizes the name, so the boys just. Start showing up at the lab, sneakily hidden away blueprints and flimsy excuses as they ask "Hey, Horizon sent us this, but it's uhhh not making sense to us and we wondered if you maybe knew?" or simple little repairs that they used to do at home they now specifically request Robin to do because "they're the only one we trust to put in the effort we expect"

This all of course after Dusk had his moment of apology, too - he stays on lookout, checking the lab for a day or two before he catches Robin on shift, asking them to talk. They're much more apprehensive, even after Dawn's apology, due to him being the "final nail" in their little coffin for their joy, and being asked by the star agent you know as grouchy at best to go somewhere more private to talk?

But they do take their break then, wary as they are, and Dusk ushers them not to a completely secluded place, but rather... The lobby, with just a few chairs and worn couches serving as a communal space, vending machines for drinks and snacks not too far away either. It's empty around this time of night though, so perfect, actually. There's multiple break areas like this on the different floors, and Robin wonders if he chose the one with the most escape routes on purpose. For whose comfort they aren't quite sure, because Dusk doesn't look particularly happy about the situation either

There's one or two agents passing through the entrance doors and startling at the sight of lab tech who looks supremely uncomfortable and star agent with a metaphorical storm cloud over his head, seated on a small couch together, and Robin almost considers fleeing the awkwardness. But then...

"Did it heal alright?"

"... I'm not an invalid. I stopped field work because I'm obviously not suited for it."

It's quite unfair that he looks so pained, so genuine when they're the one who had their excitement crushed.

"You are, though. I - I was scared, I let you get hurt, and instead of just being angry at myself I took that out on you. Dawn told me, about the lights. I'm sorry I didn't notice, I'm sorry you got hurt because of me, and I'm sorry I said things that aren't even true in the heat of the moment."

It's a lot. A lot he feels sorry for, but Robin is stuck on one thing.

"You're not taking the credit for my stab wound."

"What?"

"You're not taking credit for my stab wound. You were half the room away, and busy with your own fight."

Dusk is kind of - almost offended, really? He's trying to apologize, and they tell him he shouldn't?

"I told myself I'd watch out for you -"

"Which one is it, then?"

Still angry, Robin interrupts him. He falls silent, because he sees there's more to the superficial anger. They expect an answer he doesn't know how to give, because he doesn't understand the question. Robin elaborates without prompting, after waiting in vain for a few heavy moments.

"Which one is it. Am I actually a decent field agent, or am I the idiot who needs a babysitter?"

Oh. Oh.

That's an easy one, then.

"You're a good field agent who I didn't want to see hurt."

Robin looks away then, ducking their head, and it's also then that Dusk realizes that like this, he can actually see their whole face. He decides he likes that, even if the reason isn't ideal.

But one step at a time - and this was the first. After that the boys start showing up under the pretense of above mentioned scenarios, and Robin does humor them. They don't ask why the boys seem so insistent on making amends, their confidence still just barely existent.

It's after leaving from one of those impromptu visits that another lab tech asks Robin in a hushed voice about their peculiar friendships with the grumpy star agents - most field agents don't even wanna work with them, so how did they get so close?

Robin first cracks a smile, a spark of their old enthusiasm breaking through, but then it falls.

"We're, uh, not friends. I don't think - I mean, I'm barely - I don't know. They did make the 'not friends' part clear though."

However, dear Dawn was still on his way out - and it seems that both that lab tech and Robin either forgot or weren't aware that they're equipped with sensors for auditory input more sensitive than human ears. He clicks the door shut softly, hopefully not alerting the two inside, and leaves for his office.

Not that he gets any paperwork done. Instead, he keeps thinking about what Robin said, and wonders just why it bothers him so much. Objectively, he wasn't wrong back then, even if it was harsher than necessary and irrelevant to the conversation. They're secret agents, they shouldn't be friends, even the continued visits are already toeing the line of what is appropriate and what isn't. It makes him think just why they stick to the rules so much.

"That's lonely."

It is.

He goes home, and shoots Eclipse a text, too - something harmless, but brotherly snarky, like "Hope you didn't set the lab on fire today. Wait, amendment. Hope you didn't set the lab on fire too often today." (Eclipse, far away, is certainly surprised, and maybe confused - but he jumps on the chance to make fun of his brother right back. Not too much though, just in case. It's rare enough that one of them is the one to initiate a conversation.)

With the next switch, Sun asks Moon point blank - are they trying to befriend Robin? Moon, confused, forever soft, replies with "Aren't we already friends?"

Leads to a very awkward moment when Sun has to explain that welllll, he might have made things even harder for the two of them. He only escapes Moon's throttling on account of sharing a body.

But they hatch a plan, and promptly set it into motion.

The next time Dusk catches Robin, he asks them, obviously enough to earn him a curious look but innocent enough to get an honest reply, "Would you like to work in the field again?"

"I don't know. I guess? Maybe some day again? Pretty sure the higher ups are already getting annoyed by me, anyway - shouldn't draw even more negative attention by asking to switch again."

Dusk just hums, eyes narrowing just slightly at their back at the rather unfortunate discrepancy between reality and their perception. If their plan didn't cover it, he would address it right then and there.

Like this, he redirects back towards their current work with a smooth "Testing these out in the field is quite fun, I think you should try it some time." He gets a full happy infodump on the newest gadget they're working on, and he's glad that their spark is growing again. Both Sun and him will do their best to keep it that way.

Following that, they both start namedropping Robin in reports, slyly suggesting their ideas are inspired by first hand field experience, and the "perhaps they should earn more" is strongly implied.

Dawn in particular, still the more talkative of the two, lets their name slip a few times when directly talking to a supervisor, often in the same "breath" as complaining about there not being anyone who gets his method ("well, except Robin. They at least could keep up - too bad they switched to the labs.")

All the while the two continue their visits, subtly building up their confidence again and laying the groundwork for an actual friendship. They'll need to ask, but they want to have the "gift" ready for that.

The supervisors do catch on. Robin gets a private summon (and shakes like a leaf the entire way to their specific supervisor's office, only to freeze at there being two supervisors - hello again, Agent River). They don't suffer for long - the offer is direct. There's been interest in switching them back over to field work, back under River's supervision and specifically to work in partner missions with Dusk and Dawn. They could work solo missions or stay in the lab during the time between those, a dual domain focus isn't unheard of.

Robin, overwhelmed, asks for some time to think - and gets a night to sleep on it. They return to their shift, and have a couple hours to collect themself before Dawn stops by, later in the afternoon. He doesn't know about the offer rattling in their brain, and is thoroughly confused (and worried about) the contemplative look they regard him with while obviously zoning out. When he snaps them out of it, they turn their back to him, and he's just a tad jittery at the thought that they purposefully hide their expression from him. They do sound awfully neutral.

"Got the offer to switch back to field work again earlier."

"Oh?"

"Yup."

"Do you... want to take it?"

"Specifically. To work with Dusk and you. You wouldn't happen to have something to do with that?"

Ah, so the supervisors already snitched. He stops fidgeting then, shoulders dropping to a more comfortable level as he grins.

"We only did what we consider 'giving credit where credit is due'. Whatever the supervisors happened to do with that information is out of our hands."

They glare at him then, but there's not as much fire in it as when he first saw them again, far from it.

"Why?"

"Because you're a good agent, and we want to be friends."

Hello, number one thing Robin did not expect to hear today!

They start spluttering, very close to a cartoonish double take.

"But - you said -"

Dawn is still a peacock, and can fake confidence like a pro.

"Well, I think I should be allowed to change my mind. Are you seriously going to hold me to something I said months ago, when I was an idiot?"

That gets them. They blink, and then just start laughing, clinging to the lab counter just a little to steady themself.

"You're still an idiot. Did you seriously set this up just to ask me to be friends?"

Dawn's reply is sober, matter of factly.

"Well, no. We also genuinely miss working with you, because friends or not, you are the only one capable of understanding our method and keeping up with us."

That sobers them up, too. They study him for a moment, but there's nothing in his expression hinting towards any doubt. This confidence isn't faked.

Robin does choose a dual focus. They love seeing room for improvement right in the field, and then getting to work on said improvement themself.

The three grow pretty comfortable with each other, the boys even willing to talk about bits and pieces of their personal life. Mostly Eclipse, really, still addressing him as Horizon though. They did (and do) make an effort to initiate conversations more with their brother, so they have a lot of shenanigans to share. Eclipse knows about Robin, too, and often enough teases his brothers for their thinly veiled crush. Sun and Moon do deny it, but well...

One day, after one complaint over the boys' current landlord too many, Robin jokingly offers that they just move in with them, but gets a genuine "yes" back. Do shrug the surprise off though to confirm, because why not, actually? ... Though wouldn't the higher ups mind?

So they stage an accidental reveal for Sun and Y/N at a specific store's ~special~ sale they both were interested in. They're very apologetic when immediately admitting that to Agent River, and she isn't paid enough to care that much so she lets it slide.

She definitely isn't paid enough to call them out on the change of address just a few short weeks later, and so she looks away. They're already a well-oiled team by then, Robin despite their limited exposure in the field soon joining Dusk and Dawn in reputation.

They all feel very clever when they enjoy their new domestic life together, seamlessly slotting into something more than just neighbors, because they're already friends. They're in each other's places constantly, and none of them would ever think of complaining. The boys worked very hard to get where they are, and know very well to cherish that after their rocky starts.

(They're the timeline that at some point has one of them just look at the other, somehow entangled in the most natural cuddle, doing something entirely normal for them, and ask "Hey, are we a couple? Is this a couple thing? Because I wouldn't mind if it's a couple thing. Would love that, actually. But also no hard feelings if not." and get a very blunt "Oh no yea I'd love that too." back. Third party gets updated during the next switch, and is also horribly blasé about it. Not much changes, except maybe a few more kisses. They were definitely already besties who nuzzle <3

[euthymiya]

hiiiiii i just wanted to come gush about your wriothesley fic because it was just so beautiful 🥺 i really really loved how you included common teyvat plants all throughout the story, it just felt so interactive in a sense!! also, that part in the last scene about the romaritimes and dendrobiums and the other flowers andddddd the part about naku weeds surviving thunder? i had to individually go look up the lore of all those plants (i mean this in a good way) and you incorporated them saurrrr beautifully ohmigosh :0 i was especially impressed by the dendrobium metaphor it twas beautiful, and it honest to god fit so perfectly with wrio and his backstory. my favorite favoriteeeeee part is how you balanced his vulnerability with his strength. idk idk idk!!!! me just thinks it was a very perfect mix of him being open and “weak” in front of someone but still maintaining that strong aura about him that he has. i’ve never read a wriothesley characterization that was so vulnerable yet felt so real and true to his character so kudos to you you’re amazing 😣 anddddd you’re talented beyond belief i hope you know your ability to put words together is wickedly impressive okie??? so you have my thanks for giving us such a great read🫰🏼mwahmwahmwah 😘

HI i haven’t answered this in a timely manner i know, but that is because i wanted to give you a proper response besides saying “you’re so sweet i cry” LOL <- even though that is a very accurate representation of how i feel. i love flower shop au’s but teyvat plants are actually really interesting some of them have some really cool lore drops and especially dendrobiums i’m sooo glad you liked that part because i find dendrobiums to be the most fascinating flower of all the ones i used. but also tysm for saying you enjoyed the way i balanced wrio’s characterization!!!! that means so very much to me i had never written a long fic for him before this one so it was honestly a very experimental (???) experience for me. i had to really sit and think on a lot of the dialogue so i hope it felt true to his character!! i am honestly so emotional over this ask omg you made my whole night when you sent this the other night i’m sorry i’m just now getting to it but i appreciate you so fiercely 🥹💖 please take this kiss as a token of my gratitude 😚💖

[chimerabytes]

(tl;dr please feel free to reach out to me if you ever want to talk + you can ask if i have any other social platform accounts if youd like to keep talking with me on other things!)

also to add on to my tags on prev post (edited to be put under a read more because this got way longer than i intended):

i apologize if my lack of communication skills and my lack of people permanence has caused anyone to feel awkward around me and/or think that i don't see them as a person worth keeping around.

i sincerely mean this when i say it: i do see you as someone worth keeping around. i know i struggle with showing it, affection is not my strength point in the slightest. but i will continue to keep trying my best to be at least approachable. and i dont mind if you want to keep your distance and just kinda vibe from the sidelines. i still appreciate you and i respect your space.

to be honest i have a pretty big personal bubble that i find nearly impossible to let people into, the closer people want to get to me and the closer i want to get to others. think of my sociability like two magnets with the same sides facing each other: the closer you try and force them together, the stronger the force of repulsion can be felt.

i try not to mean any ill intentions towards most people! but i know that even if i don't mean it, i can still hurt people regardless. and i hate hurting people who don't deserve to be hurt. i appreciate the folks who follow me - by doing so you are welcomed into my bubble, and can peek into a very personal part of my life that i bare out in the open for others to see.

essentially... i just want to say that i do care about others, just not in the most open way. and my inbox is always open if you want to chat with me and get to know me better. i have tumblr dms open - both asks and using the IM feature. i have discord and a plethora of other social accounts on multiple platforms, including:

quotev

mastodon (plush.city is my main instance where i can be found!)

just plain 'ole e-mailing me is totes cool with me!

flight rising (yes. i will allow people to send me messages on FR and tag me in forum posts. i cannot guarantee i will reply to every thing right away, but i do read all my messages within 24-48 hours of them being sent by you!)

i don't use twitter anymore, sadly. so i apologize if thats your preferred avenue of communication!

i could dig up my skype account again if anyone wants to add me on there?

i don't use a lot of other messaging apps that are popular these days aside from discord and tumblr, but if you want you could pitch me an offer to join a website/ chat/ platform that you use and i may join!

however you will Never get me to join instagram, snapchat or tiktok. Sorry, I just dont think those apps are for me.

i try to keep my avenues of conversation open. even though i admittedly am not great at chatting and most of my affection and sillies are gleaned from what kind of memes and silly reaction pics i send, i still do want to offer up a metaphorical chill spot for people to join me in.

i realize this is pretty long so i'm going to end this, although im not sure how? just like, if you ever have any thoughts, concerns, questions, or want to just talk to me at all about literally anything (i dont care if you only send me like, one word, I will likely respond anyway!) then like... As the boys would say, hit me up, I guess?

[recurring-polynya]

Does Byakuya ever take a day off? I can imagine him taking one day off to see how Renji handles the squad while he's away lol

I guess there's no citation on this, but the Bleach wiki's descriptions for the role of captains and vice-captains rings pretty true to me, based on my reading of the source material and my own work experiences:

[Captains] function as Chief executive officers, and they determine the course, organization, tactics, and policy of their division. 

Lieutenants function as executive officers for their division, taking care of or supervising day-to-day operations. [...] In the case of a division captain's death, departure, or other circumstances making them unable to perform their duties, the lieutenant acts as the "substitute captain" until another can be assigned.

In other words, Renji better be able to handle the squad because that's literally what he's there for.

Captains have a lot of discretion in how they do things-- I suspect there are captains (in my mind, Kensei) who are really hands-on and like working with their troops directly. Hitsugaya does a lot of hands-on stuff, too, but it's some combination of the fact that he's kind of young and insecure in his own authority and has a lazy vice-captain. You also have captains like Kurotsuchi and Unohana who have a very specific subject-matter expertise related to the squad's specialization, so I think they function more like a primary investigator and a chief surgeon, respectively.

On the other hand, I feel like the CEO metaphor fits Byakuya and Renji's work relationship pretty well. Furthermore, there's an entire command structure under Renji, so even when the two of them get sent off on a mission together (which is obviously a thing that happens with some regularity), the place is designed to run itself without constant micromanagement.

To get to your question about does Byakuya ever take a day off: unquestionably yes.

I have worked with a lot of Important People in my time, let me tell you: they take their time off. People like you and me think about our lives in terms of "at work" and "not at work". Most of the big wigs I have known just have "their life" in which going to dinner with other big wigs and flying across the country and writing proposals or orbital analysis code in the middle of the night and showing up to morning meeting with the team are all just things they do.

I think that Byakuya tends to keep standard office hours when he doesn't have other pressing matters, but I feel like being Clan Head is like an entire second big wig job. If he has to go put on his extra fancy haori and schmooze in the middle of a weekday, he just does it. I think he also takes time off for his important hobbies, like the Orchid Show, or when he needs to go out to West Rukongai to buy a new banana koi or something and he literally does not think twice about it. It doesn't matter whether he works 40 hours a week or not, because he's very important and 1 hour of his time is worth 10 of Renji's. There are certain things only he can do and it's not like there's a line out the door of people who can make giant glittering domes of swords when some ancient eldritch entity shows up, needing to be lectured on their fatal flaw, arrogance, now is there?

There's some amount of stuff around the squad that requires Byakuya's attention, but it's usually approving things more than anything else. I think he is an enormous stickler for documentation and he actually reads everything Renji puts in front of him, but if he didn't fundamentally trust Renji to run things, he would simply fire him.

I think he hates going on vacation and frequently tells his relatives that he can't leave work, but this is a lie. He does not usually take time off for the purposes of relaxing, although I think in latter canon times, he will take a day to do something with Rukia if she asks him to. He took a lot of days off for Hisana, and does not regret any of them.

[bruhstories]

unrequited love

summary: you're an absolute idiot and he's blind pairing: porco galliard x fem!reader (modern AU) warnings & content: pure unfiltered fluff, some angst, swearing, alcohol word count: ~6k

a/n: i absolutely have no words for how sad this fic can become at some point. and no, i did not bother editing it || @sasha-geyo

“Hi, welcome to Titanic Coffees, I’m Y/N, what can I get you?” Your voice is a mix of bored and exhausted, your gestures resembling a zombie that just can’t be bothered to function today.

“You hiring?”

The very familiar voice has you lift your eyes from the register to the man in front of you, and his presence brings a smile to your face, something you haven’t done since your shift started.

“Pokko! Why the fuck would you want to torture yourself here? I think I’ve complained enough about how bad this job is.”

“Inflation, babe. My rent’s gone up.”

“That’s fucked up and you should sue them.”

“Already asked Mikasa about this and I can’t. Fixed contract. I’m just gonna have to put up with your shit here.”

Oh, Porco. You knew him since you were, what? Two years old? You’re pretty sure he was still wearing a diaper when you met him, and practically grew up with him. He was your best friend, your cornerstone, the foundation of your house and all kinds of metaphors and similes that describe just how much he means to you.

And the feeling is mutual — Porco would absolutely murder for you (or just use you as an excuse to throw hands), he’s been your shoulder to cry on when you had your heart broken, he was there to pick you up when you’ve been stood up, and let’s not forget that one time he sent Floch to the hospital just because he looked at you the wrong way.

You two were inseparable — same primary school, same high school, same college, and, same university, but different degrees. For someone who’s a complete dumbass, Porco studied arts — “for the tits-” “NOT FOR THE TITS, Y/N!” — and you’ve finished a nice little major in fine art and film. Which, naturally, would end up in both of you being homeless if not for him being an apprentice in a tattoo parlour, and you working in this shitty coffee shop.

If anyone didn’t know the two of you, they’d be thinking you’ve been married for at least three years, that’s how domestic you were. Sure, neither of you wasted any time insulting the other, that was just your love language, but the way he held you while watching movies, or how he’d take care of you when you were sick, or how eager you were to cook his favourite food whenever he hung out at your place was visible proof to any stranger that you were in a relationship. But to your friends, nobody questioned your behaviour, because that’s how everyone else in the group treated you, right? Except, Eren doesn’t seem too concerned when you’re sick, and Jean doesn’t hold you in his arms, and Armin doesn’t stop by your workplace to make sure you’ve had enough food.

You’ve always brushed this behaviour off as just growing up together and being very close, so naturally, when he gets the job at the coffee shop, you’re excited to work with him. The shop is already understaffed, and having an extra hand would help, plus it’s your best friend working with you, not a stranger, and so it’s going to make everything a lot more comfortable, both for you and for him, right? There’s nothing that can go wrong.

*

Sasha’s the first to notice. It took her about 20 years, but she notices. She knows you and Connie better than she knows herself, and when she stops at the coffee shop and sees you smiling like an idiot, she knows. But she doesn’t say anything. Then Armin puts two and two together, by accident, when he calls you to ask for advice in his relationship with Annie and hears you laughing so hard at what seemed to be Porco tickling you at the other end of the line.

“Sorry, I know you’re serious, ‘Min, but do you mind if I get back to you later?”

And so, one by one, every single person that is friends with either your or Porco starts to see just how obviously in love you are with one another — everyone, butyou two.

What you dobegin to notice is how frequent your friends begin to show up at the coffee shop, like they’re coming to a goddamn museum, because why the fuck won’t they stop staring at you and Porco? You bring their orders (on the house, your manager doesn’t give a shit) and slightly bend over the table, hand gripping the wooden edge.

“Alright, you fuckers, spill the beans, give me the tea.”

Absolutely puzzled, they just stare at you like you’re some kind of wild animal with rabies, ready to bite.

“No gossip? Then why are you looking at me like someone died?”

“Y/N, since-“

“Ah, there you are!” Porco can’t resist the temptation of leaving a handprint on your asscheek before plopping next to Eren.

“Wassup, dipshits?”

Utter silence.

It’s like you’re at a funeral — everyone is either serious, shocked or confused. And even Porco picks up on their behaviour.

“Yo, who died?” He asks, and his eyes land on you, a hand covering your mouth as you chuckle.

“That’s what I said.” You tell him, and he fist bumps you.

They’re mortified. Each and every one of them is too stunned to speak, except Eren. He knows you don’t know shit, he knows you haven’t even had sex yet, he knows because he’s been in pretty much the same situation with Mikasa before he ended up drunk calling her and confessing. He knows you’re both idiots.

“Connie’s dignity died when he dropped his weed in a puddle outside.” Eren saves the day, because now everyone is groaning and complaining, even Connie’s own girlfriend.

“What the fuck, Eren? I thought you weren’t going to snitch, man.”

You excuse yourself when a customer walks in, and Porco follows behind you, picking up a few empty cups from other tables. He sees your narrowed eyes and the frown on your face. Oh, no, you’re thinking, and that never ends up well.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks between you taking the client’s order and him washing the dishes.

“They’re acting so strange.” You smile after handing the receipt to the customer. “Like they’re hiding something. Don’t you think?” You slide the milk jug to Porco and he catches it, as if he predicted your move.

“Now that you mention it, they are acting kind of sus.” He throws you the cocktail spoon and you move to the sink while he finishes the beverage.

“Do you think Armin wants to propose?” You glance at your friends from the corner of your eye and catch Eren telling them something. Whatever he’s saying, they stopped staring.

“No way, Annie was on board with them, I’ve never seen her so… curious. Tell me, is there something on my face, Y/N?” He hands the client their drink and spins around, a grave look on his face. You squint, trying very hard to find an imperfection but, as always, he’s perfect.

“Nope, you look as handsome as ever. What about me?” You close your eyes and lean forward.

“Pretty as a picture.” Porco boops your nose and you shrug.

“Then what’s their problem?”

“I don’t know but shit, it’s almost 1 pm, I need to go to the tattoo parlour.” He takes his apron off and dashes to the back room.

“What time is your break?” You shout as he scrambles to find all of his belongings and go to his second job.

“Three o’clock to half past three.” He’s out the door but then he sticks his head back inside. “Don’t bring me anything, I’ll just go to the shop down the street.”

“Fuck off and have a nice day! See you at three!”

It was a habit you picked up since even before Porco started working at Titanic Coffees (whoever named it that way should burn in hell). You both took your lunch breaks at the same time, so that you can bring him a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and today is no different. Your friends left soon after Porco, and time passed in pure slow motion until 3 pm. But when you saw Floch come for his shift, you knew it was time to eat. You didn’t even tell him hello, you just hung your apron in your little closet in the back room and fucked off.

“I told you not to come.” Porco scoffs, reluctantly grabbing the sandwich.

“Am I embarrassing you when you’re trying to pick up chicks?” You mock him, but hearing yourself say that made your stomach churn. Suddenly you’re not hungry.

“Believe me, I have no trouble picking up chicks. Here, let me show you.”

“N-no, I believe you.” You stop him before he makes a fool of himself (or before that nasty feeling kicks in again — it’s weird and disgusting and you don’t want to ever feel it again).

“Thanks for the food and the drink, but you have to stop doing this. You can’t keep giving out free coffee.” He seems almost concerned for your future.

“Yeah, I can, I don’t want to spend a lifetime in this shitty coffee shop. I want to actually use my degree.” You nibble on your sandwich, and a wave of questions is suddenly hitting you. What do you want to do? Do you want to leave this city? Leave the country? Get married? Have a fulfilling career? Wow, you didn’t stop and think until now, did you?

“You did fine art, maybe you can join me here and be my apprentice.” He so nonchalantly suggests, and now you stop and think. Sure, you can draw, but you're nowhere near as good as Porco is. And you didn't do fine art, you minored in it. Your major is still film. But no matter where you see yourself in two, ten, twenty years, the image of Porco's shit-eating grin is in your mind.

You are going to be friends until then, too, right? When you get a boyfriend and he gets a girlfriend, you're still going to be friends, right? When he gets married, you'll be by his side, right? Only, you don't want to be friends in two, ten or twenty years.

You like him. No, you love him.

"Earth to Y/N, you still with me?" Porco flicks your forehead and you come to your sense, panic written all over your face.

"I need to go." You abruptly get up, not giving a shit about your unfinished coffee or sandwich.

"Go where? Your break isn't over yet." God, he knows you so well.

"I've got stuff to do."

"Bullshit, I know your schedule inside-out. What's... wrong?" Porco’s voice dies down when you're already out the door of his workplace and in the coffee shop.

"Who got your panties in a twist?" Floch tries his luck but you shut him down quickly. "Fuck off, you slimy git." And you're in the freezer room, shivering to the bone, unlocked phone in your hand. You take a good look at what pictures you have with Porco in your gallery and, yes, you're undoubtedly and indisputably in love with your best friend.

Fuck.

*

Five (5) new messages from Pokko Loco:

You okay?

Where did you go? Pieck said you didn't have any plans and now i'm worried for your sorry ass.

Yo, did i say anything offensive?

I mean, i always say offensive shit but you never got mad, right?

Call me maybe?

Hi, sorry for storming off, I remembered I have an interview tomorrow and I need to prep. Good night.

In the two decades that you've known Porco, you never lied to him. Not when you got your first period, not when you had your first kiss, not even when you lost your virginity. And now you’re lying to his face. It feels like you're cheating on your boyfriend.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?" You groan, head buried in your pillow. It's easy to be evasive when you're both at work, because you have shit to do and can't always talk. But at night, when you lay alone in your bed, in dim lights and complete silence, you can't avoid him anymore. He's always in your mind, and the one time you can't push him out if your brain is before sleep. Sure, he's always been in your mind even before you had this epiphany, but now you can feel your chest tightening, your breath heavier whenever your phone vibrates. Because you would want the feeling to be mutual, to have him profess his undying love to you and actually be in a relationship with him, not just act like you're in one. But you know that is never going to happen, because he probably only sees you as a very close friend and that's that. Ding! One (1) new message from Pokko Loco:

Oh, shit, good luck then! What time is it?

For fuck's sake, you can't back down now, can you? It would probably be better to have it when he has his shift, so you don't have to give anymore bullshit excuses. 10 am. It's an assessment and all that shit so I'll be working half a day tomorrow. Wow, you feel horrible. You do the unspeakable act of texting Floch fucking Forster to cover your shift tomorrow, and surprisingly he doesn't complain too much, only a little. You promise you'll hook him up your second cousin twice removed and he shuts up.

Ding! One (1) new message from Pokko Loco:

Aww, i'm gonna miss your purdy face :( I'll bring you lunch, you brew the coffee ;)

Fuck, he doesn't make it any easier for you to be evasive, does he? And you can't live the rest of your life in love with your best friend.

I won't be taking my lunch break, I'll skip it and go home earlier since I'll probably be very tired after the interview. Aaaaanyway, I'm gonna hit the hay. Good night.

He knows. He knows something is wrong with you because you never put a full stop after your last sentence, and he’s not an idiot. But the more he stares at his phone, the more he becomes worried. Alright then, good luck and good night <3

Porco waits for a reply but it doesn't come. He thinks you must've fallen asleep already, even if it's out of character for you to fall asleep without insulting him in some way, so, naturally, he texts Sasha.

Ayo, Sash, what job did Y/N apply for?

I didn't know she applied for one, why?

She said she has an interview tomorrow and i was confused cause she didn't tell me anything about it

Maybe she doesn't want to jinx it?

Fair. Aight, g'night

His brain is short-circuiting because you tell him everything, yet you didn't tell him something so important? Oooh, maybe you have a boyfriend.

A boyfriend.

Somehow, the thought of you in a relationship with some dude makes Porco furious. He doesn't understand why, he's just your friend. A very close and personal friend. A friend who holds your hair when you throw up, a friend who holds you in his arms when you watch a horror movie, a friend who brings you painkillers and chocolate when you're on your period, a friend who tells you how pretty you are when you're feeling down, a friend who fantasies about moving in with you, a friend who sometimes (always) thinks about you when he jacks off. Is he in love with you?

Nah.

Or? "Fuck my life." Porco throws the duvet off of him and sits up. He can't believe what he's about to do, but he does it anyway.

"Heeeeeey, Eren, buddy, pal, amigo, wassup?"

"Galliard, it's past your bedtime. Give me one good why I shouldn't hang up right now."

“Right, listen, I have this friend and-“

“Alright, good night.”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out. And whatever you do, do not put me on speaker. I don’t want Mikasa to hear this.”

“Fine.” Eren groans, proceeding to do exactly that. “Go on.”

“So, this friend of mine, right? He just realised he’s in love with his best friend, and, like, he’s known this girl all his life. And he doesn’t want to fuck up their friendship cause he can be an asshole sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, so what I wanna ask you is what should I do?”

“You?” Porco can feel Eren’s sneer through the phone.

“As in what should I tell him, fuckface.”

“My bad, pea-brain. Do I get to think about this or do you want an answer now?”

“Now, preferably.”

“Aight, tell your friend to confess.”

“What? No!” Porco screeches at his phone.

“Galliard, you called me for advice, this is the advice. Take it or leave it.”

“Ugh, how the fuck are you the reasonable one?”

*

You’re sat in bed in the usual foetus position that you morph into when shit hits the fan. It’s 10 am and you’ve switched your phone off for the supposed interview. Hoping and praying that none of your friends will show up at your workplace today, you decide to finally drag yourself out of bed and take a shower.

You can’t possibly love Porco, right? It’s just the comfort, the fact that you’re used to being around him all the time.

Oh, who are you trying to fool? You love him — you adore his shitty jokes, his innuendos, his prefect face and gelled back hair, how annoying and caring he can be at the same time, and you especially love how you get lost in his eyes whenever he’s looking at you with that grin, like he’s about to do something stupid to lift up your mood.

What if he does like you? What if he’s into you and you just didn’t see it until now?

Nope, he’s been in relationships before, he’s been happy, and you sure as hell wasn’t the reason of his breakups, because if you were, you should’ve known by know. Oh, well, time to put on a show, just in case he spots you from the tattoo parlour. Jesus, why did the coffee shop have to be right across the street from his workplace? Well, you can’t move an entire café, can you?

You’re taking your sweet time doing your hair and putting on makeup to try and trick people into thinking you’ve actually been to an interview, hell, you even wear your best pencil skirt to have that professional aura around you, even if you’re going to change when you get to work. This lie is going pretty far, but if anyone asks, you’ll just tell them you’ve been rejected. Maybe you should actually look for a job.

At 12 pm you leave your flat, making sure to go on a completely different route to make your story more believable. Right now you really need a friend to talk to, ask for advice, but the problem is, the only one you talk about feelings is Porco, and you can’t just go up to him, be like “ay, so I’ve liked you for 20 years, how about we hook up?”

Unless… you can?

You are a genius. That’s exactly what you’re going to do! You’re going to tell Porco you have a friend that’s been in love with their best friend for a long time and ask him what he would do! Brilliant, flawless plan, because according to his answer, you know what to do next. Why didn’t you think about this before?

Feeling slightly, better, you actually find yourself smiling, strolling down the street in your uncomfortably tight skirt, but there’s no time to think about that. You get to the coffee shop, excited by your stupid amazing idea, and lo and behold, Porco hasn’t left for his other job. You’re so close to jumping into his arms for a hug, like you normally do, but you can’t, not after that epiphany. Besides, he has his back facing you.

“Pokko!” You get up on your toes, hands behind your back like you’re hiding something from him. “I’m back from my interview.”

“Oh, hi!” He smiles, but he seems hesitant. Fuck, what if he knows? He’s always seen right through your bullshit, what if he sees through you now? “Sorry, I can’t stay for long, I need to go to the tattoo parlour.”

“Right, yes, of course.” You go behind the bar and he finally notices your outfit. He can’t remember ever seeing you dressed in something so tight, and his mind wanders a place he didn’t want to be while at work. “Hey, before you go, I need to ask you something.”

“Go on.” Porco takes off the apron and throws it over his shoulder. Something about the movement made you notice his muscles better. Was he always this buff and toned?

“So, you see, there’s this girl I know, from uni,” You explain, trying not to give out too many details, “and she just realised she’s in love with her best friend. And she asked me for advice, but I told her I’d mull over it because, honestly, I don’t know what to tell her. And, we’ll, you’re a dude, what would you expect if you were in his shoes?”

“Funny you should ask, I know a guy who is exactly in the same situation.” He tilts his head, clearly lost in thought.

“Who?” You question him, brow quirked. Most of his friends are your friends, and you don’t know anyone who can possibly be in this situation.

“Guy from work, doesn’t matter. I asked Eren and he said the dude should confess.”

“You asked Eren? Damn, Galliard, must be a good friend if you did the unspeakable act of talking to Eren.” You laugh, and he can’t stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls with each chuckle.

“Yeah, well, I figured since he was in the same boat with Mikasa a few year ago, he’d know better.”

God damn it, why didn’t you think about asking Mikasa or Eren?

“Right, so you think she should confess?” You press on, and he takes one quick look at the time.

“Shit, yeah, why not, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Porco stumbles into the back room and you follow because your shift is starting and you need to change. He’s seen you half-naked before, so you just shrug and unbutton your shirt.

“The worst that could happen is for their friendship to end.”

“Well,” He turns around, head first into your pink bra, “cover yourself, wench. What if Floch walks in?”

“Ah, so what, he gets to see a titty.” You laugh but your little joke isn’t amusing to Porco. “Not funny?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“You know I don’t like it when you have to be alone with him.” He pouts, but his tense muscles betray his anger.

“Pokko, you’re literally across the street. You see everything that happens in here.”

“But not the back room!” He slams his fist onto the door of his locker. You knew Porco to be aggressive and abrasive, but he really didn’t have to leave a dent in the metal door.

Your hand instinctively touches his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him that everything will be fine, and in a way, to test yourself and see if you can still be comfortable around him, knowing that you fucking love him, and you can’t. As if you touched molten lava, you retract your hand, turn around and put your apron over your clothes.

“You okay? Am I that hot?”

“You’re late for work.” You deadpan, exiting the back room. You can’t do this anymore, you can’t be friends with him if you can’t even touch his goddamn arm. He’s left confused, and when he walks out of the back room, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Bathroom.” Floch has a sneer on his face that Porco really wants to erase with a punch, but at least he knows where you are. Jeez, since when is he so concerned? You’re a grown ass woman, not a child, you can take care of yourself. He knows you carry pepper spray everywhere.

But you found refuge in the bathroom to contemplate your options. Right now, there’s three of them.

You can either, A, just fucking tell Porco how you feel, B, try to get over your feelings for him and keep being friends or C, never get over your feelings, end up bitter and sabotaging his future relationships because you’re petty and can’t stand seeing him happy.

It’s going to be A. It has to be A. C cannot possibly be an option because you will hate yourself for choosing it, and you know too damn well you can’t get over him to be choosing B.

Besides, he said it himself, your hypothetical friend should confess. But you don’t have the balls to do it. Maybe tell him through a text? No, that’s pathetic. A note? So pathetic. For the time being, you’ll focus on work and just push this thought away.

*

Sasha drags you into the bathroom, music muffled when she shuts the door. You’re so confused, one minute you were having fun, drinking and forgetting most of your worries, the next you’re stuck in Eren’s bathroom with Sasha, who is giving you such a condescending look. You wait, like a child waiting to be chastised by their parents, uncomfortably sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“Sash, why so serious?” You stick thumbs in your mouth and pretend you’re the Joker. Fuck, you’re drunk.

“You wanna tell me why the fuck is Jean so touchy with you?”

“We’re” hiccup “dating.”

“Since when?”

“Since I found out I’m in love with P-“ hiccup “Porco.”

She’s about to slap you into sobriety, you know it by the stern look on her face.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Relaaaaaaax, Sash,” hiccup “’s nothing serious, Jean knows it, I know it, now you know it.” You giggle, your ass sliding in the bathtub until you’re stuck, like a cockroach on its back. Jesus, you’re a mess. Ever since you chose option A, confess, you’ve done nothing but the opposite. You’ve been drinking, dating, fucking, and most importantly, avoiding Porco.

And it’s not like he didn’t try. He still texted you, talked to you at work, but you’ve just been so cold, he stopped doing all the little things that made you happy. You two were falling apart and it was all your fault. You say you don’t care, say that people come and go, but you’re in so much heartache that this is the only way you can cope.

“You need to talk to him.”

“Fuck. No.” You still struggle getting up and Sasha doesn’t give you a single finger to help. “I pushed him away, he’s seen the worst in me, now he can” hiccup “live his life.”

“You’re an idiot. You’ve both been in love with each other for as long as I can remember, you’re just too stupid to acknowledge that.” She bluntly tells you, but you can’t give yourself false hope. Besides, it’s a bit too late.

“Meh, even if we were to talk- no, even if he did like me, he’s probably over it by now. Been a month.” You finally get the help you need from your friend and get up. Sasha’s holding you by the shoulders, worry in her eyes.

“You’re self-destructing, Y/N.”

Shit. You knew this, but to hear it so loud and clear is just too much. You can feel saliva pooling up in your mouth, a sing that you’re about to cry, and you bury your head in Sasha’s arms to muffle the sounds about to come out of your mouth. For a few moments, that’s all you’re doing — crying. It feels liberating to let the tears fall, even if you’re going to ruin her shirt with your runny mascara and snot, but she’s taking full responsibility.

“Why the fuck am I so stupid, Sash?” You howl in the bathroom, and you’re so glad the music is loud. “I’ve been bitching about how I might ruin our friendship if I confess, and look what I’ve done by notconfessing. He probably hates me.”

“Shh, there, there.” Sasha brushes her fingers through your hair. “If anything, he could’ve said something, too.”

“For the last time, he doesn’tlike me.” Your throat is dry, voice hoarse.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t dare say anything. You’re not in the right mental state to have this conversation, so Sasha just holds you. It’s going to be a long road to reconcile with Porco.

Before you go home, you end it with Jean. Sure, neither of you got attached, and neither of you planned to get attached, but it was encouraging to hear him say “go get your manchild.” You walk back home, grateful that you don’t live too far away from Eren’s place, and, like the queen of sadness that you are, rain starts pouring from the night sky, matching your mood. It’s fine, you deserve it, you think. You just hope you’re not going to get mugged, stabbed or assaulted on your way home.

Hey. Can we talk?

You don’t know what possessed you to send Porco that text, but you did and you can’t unsend it now.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

It’s 1 am. I have work tomorrow.

Right, of course. You forgot he’s not an apprentice anymore and works full shifts at the tattoo parlour.

You’re right. Sorry.

Pathetic.

You’re pathetic thinking a “hey can we talk” is going to fix everything.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Are you okay tho?

Even if you’re an absolute fucking idiot, he still cares. Even worse, he still loves you, despite how cold you were with him. You really don’t deserve him as a friend, let alone a boyfriend. Seeing you with Jean, though, that’s what really put him off from ever trying to confess his feelings.

No. I haven’t been okay in a long time. Sorry for bothering you though, good night!

Porco absolutely hates you right now. Not because of how you treated him, not because of the text you sent him, but because no matter what he’s doing, who he’s fucking, how much he’s drinking, he can’t seem to get over you and your stupid smile.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Are you home?

That’s a strange question to ask, you think, drying your phone with the back of your sleeve.

Almost lol. I just wished it stopped raining.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

You’re walking home??

Yes? I’m walking from Eren’s, it’s close.

You’ve walked down this road so many times lol

Hello?

Pokko?

Wow, you haven’t called him that nickname in a long time. It feels strange to do it now, but there’s still some alcohol in your system.

Ding! One (1) message from Porco Galliard:

Share me your location, I’m picking you up.

Ugh, fine. There.

You press send and keep walking. You can’t just sit in the rain and wait, besides, he’ll see where you are on the map. The more you walk, however, the more you sober up and process what exactly happened. You know what, fuck it. You’ll tell Porco exactly what’s going on in your heart and mind. You’ve already fucked this friendship up, it can’t get any worse. At least he’ll know, and you’ll finally be able to move on, finally free from the constraints of an unrequited love.

But you’re tired. So tired of walking, drinking, pretending. And you miss him so much. You crave his voice, his warm hugs, his insults and jokes. Oh, how you wished you had the balls to confess at the right time. Then you wouldn't have to go through so much shit now. But maybe you deserve it. After all, Porco did tell your hypothetical friend to confess, and you didn't, so it technically is on you. Tears well up again, and you just sit on the concrete pavement, crying your heart out. The lights from a car almost blind you, but you're relieved to see Porco coming out of it.

"Y/N, are you okay? Did someone hurt y-"

"I can't do this anymore, man. I'm tired. I'm sick of acting like this."

"Then stop it." He offers his hand to help you up but you just slap it away. "Y/N, get in the damn car." His voice is grave, almost angry.

"Why did you even come here? I've been nothing but a bitch."

"You're still a bitch." Porco walks behind you, crouches and shoves his forearms under your armpits. "Come on, get up."

"Oh my God, what are you, ten?" You try to push yourself away from him but he's far too strong. "I'm trying to be serious! Let me go, you dipshit!"

"No." He clasps his hands together and picks you up. His body is so warm, you could just melt in his arms. "You're a fucking cretin and you're driving me mad."

"Yeah, well, takes one to know one." You give up on trying get him off of your back and instead accept it, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, rain falling down onto your bodies.

"Talk to me." He whispers in your ear. "Why have you been acting this way?"

"Ugh, I just... I want things to go back to the way they were."

"And they will if you just stop shutting yourself in."

"Trust me, after what I'm about to tell you, nothing will be the same." You sigh for the hundredth time today.

"Jesus, what did you do? Kill a man?" He presses his chin onto your forehead. "That would be easier to confess." You close your eyes and the rain stops. "Look, I-"

"I love you." Porco cuts you off and your eyes are now wide open.

"You what?"

"I'm not stupid, Y/N. I figured something was off when you mentioned that shitty interview which, by the way, I know was a lie."

"Then why the fuck didn't you say something? Anything?" You turn around, still in his arms.

"Because you thought it would be a good idea to avoid me, dumbass. The fuck was I supposed to do? Show up at your door with roses and champagne?"

"Shit, I didn't think that far ahead." You avert your gaze but he lifts your chin with his fingers.

"You didn't, because you only thought about yourself. Did you ever stop and think about what this was doing to me?"

"No." You're ashamed to admit. "No, and I'm sorry! I was selfish but I was scared. I know nothing can excuse my behaviour, but I was terrified because I love you! I didn't think you'd love me back! What? Why are you laughing?"

"Say it again." Porco grins, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I fucking love you, assface!" You shout at him, and his eyes light up. You’ve never seen him so happy in all twenty years since you’ve known him, and you realise you’ve never been so happy either. Porco pulls you closer to him, one hand resting on your waist, the other brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face. “I love you so much, and I never want to go through not talking to you for a month ever again.”

“I’m gonna ask for a refund if you do that.” He pulls you closer to him, lips pressing onto yours into a feverish kiss. It all feels like a dream, ethereal and unreal, but it is real, it is happening, and you love every second of it.

“I’m never going to let you go, Galliard.”

"Good, now get in the goddamn car, my balls are wet.

[queenjanai]

"janai," amaya asks when they retire for the night, although the term is absolutely metaphorical for janai—she doesn't get to retire, ever. ironically, she glances at her bed, the half-transparent covers pulled away, as amaya signs. "when was the last time you slept?"

janai would have laughed at the question if she had the strength to do so. instead, she shrugs, the question passing over her head as if she was asked what would she like for breakfast. anything would've been fine, really. "i get—two hours at night, i think? i don't really keep track," she answers, again with the care of saying 'i don't know, a salad will be nice'.

amaya walks towards her, with such heaviness in her steps they would've sent janai stepping backwards, but the stiffness of her body, the goddamn weight on her shoulders, prevents her from doing so. but amaya doesn't draw her sword, or tackles her, like she would have expected her to do, mere two months ago. she simply points at janai's bed, pressed against the ruined wall. "sleep. i'll handle the camp for the night."

janai is, for the lack of a better word, caused by sleep deprivation, confused. "but what if something happens during the night? what if we're attacked?"

"i'll handle it," amaya looks at her, holding a hand to her chest, and again janai can't believe she's being ordered to sleep. "just go to sleep. lux aurea will manage eight hours without you."

janai scoffs, crossing her arms, and she only realizes how lame is answer is once it leaves her mouth. "five hours at best, amaya. you will wake me up."

"alright, five," amaya surrenders, and under any different circumstances her proud smirk and the infuriating momentarily roll of her eyes would have made janai burn. it does make her burn, only in the form of her cheeks heating up.

she can't argue with her, janai realizes. she can't argue with this woman who is—so much brighter, and funnier, and got herself way more together, than her. fucking hell, truly. so janai relents, and she's about to unbuckle her belt and remove her tunic when she remembers that maybe amaya has no wishes of seeing her half naked. "um, could you turn around, please?"

with a smile, amaya turns around, and janai frees herself from layers and layers of armor, all that gold pressing on her body so much, her golden knight crown that she refuses to replace even though that she's—god, the queen now, and the cool night's air is a blessing against her skin once she puts on her miraculously less complicated sleep clothing, and taps amaya on her shoulder.

"where are you gonna sleep?" she asks, and amaya turns and gestures around the room, with the single armchair in the corner and all the goddamn pillows thrown around that she hates so much but can't be bothered to put away. she still has no idea who thought to just put them there, and it embarrass her. pillows on the floor.

"you've got plenty of room here, my queen," amaya says, and janai rolls her eyes with her, not without a smile. amaya has become the only person allowed to call her queen without getting some part of themselves bloody. and she uses that fact way too much. still, for some fucking reason, that shuts down every nerve inside janai's head, and makes them burn like wildfires at the same time, amaya takes a pillow—several pillows, actually—and sits down to lean against the frame of janai's bed.

there's no way it's comfortable. it's extremely inappropriate too, like a—

oh god.

enjoy your pet.

janai would have started screaming if she had any air in her lungs. perplexed, she blinks, watching amaya stretch her legs, still standing over her and--she didn't mean to remind janai of her dead sister, although she already haunts janai on the daily. but something soothes janai as well, having amaya so close to her, her promise echoing in her mind, calming like the hands of a lover. go to sleep. i'll handle everything.

she snaps her fingers at amaya to get her attention, because honestly she deserves that. "five hours, alright?"

"five hours," amaya nods. "sleep well, janai," she says, and not unkindly, truly meaning it.

janai drops on her bed, and immediately turns around to face the wall, drawing her knees close to her chest. she stares at the crimson banner thrown over the ruins of the chamber for a while, fear still creeping in her chest. it will be fine, is the last thing she remembers thinking, with amaya behind her, so close she could turn around and touch her. go to sleep.

eight hours later, it's the sun that wakes her up. the brightness of it. she hasn't woken up to such a strong sun in weeks. dawn usually greets her, or usually the darkness before it. it what sends her from burying her face in the comfort of the pillow to jump upright. "amaya!"

with her chest rising and falling, the blanket pooling around her ankles as she sits on her bed, feeling so well rested it terrifies her, janai's eyes wander around her room. nothing is broken, or burned, or torn. there are no screams outside of the heat of the fire. everything is—fine. with her heartbeat settling, her gaze lands on the floor where amaya was yesterday. there's a note on the floor, and janai leans over to see it more clearly. written in neat handwriting, the note simply says, although she can feel happiness radiating from it, the sun knows why: good morning, my queen.

[dboliklover]

Breathless Whispers - Shu

My new series. Will take a while to complete (don’t mind the fact I am STILL working on the Easter Smut series). It’s based off an ask I got and is very sinful and I implore everyone who is triggered by the following to NOT INTERACT WITH THIS SERIES. The tags will vary from each entry but “Breathless Whispers” is a SAKAMAKI BROTHERS X STEPMOTHER! READER Smut series. As such Cheating/Adultery and pseudo-incest/stepcest are always going to be included in the chapters. 

Tags for this chapter: Stepcest/pseudo-incest, cheating, NTR (Netorare) ((Karlheinz gets cucked)), dub-con (the reader believes she has feelings for Shu), dubiously-consensual implied impregnation, mentions of pregnancy, blood, and my out-of-practice smut writing skills that border on cringe, Happy sex (?) 

This is as vanilla as it’s gonna get for this series, methinks. Next chapter it’s Reiji’s turn. ;) Happy sinning ❤

WORD COUNT: 5.8K (11 pages)

___

In his life, Shu learnt to try to ignore meaningless things around him and to feel as precious little as possible - he didn’t need to feel, it added no enhancement to his life. To love was to have weakness and those he loved and cared for often ended tragically.

It was only natural that he chose to stick to himself and become a solitary creature after all that he’s been through, was it not? Solitude meant safety. Slowly but surely Shu cut as many emotions away with a metaphorical knife as he could, opting instead to be careless regarding all matters. He didn’t need anyone else, just himself. Only himself.

But there was one emotion that refused to leave, one emotion he would never allow the chance to withdraw from his heart - hatred. Pure, unadulterated loathing towards the man who caused his, his brothers’ and their mothers’ tragedies - Karlheinz. The hatred he felt was coated by a layer of would-be indifference - he knew better than to challenge the man, at least for the meanwhile - memories from the North Pole haunted him still. His father was a cruel, demanding man and Shu felt abhorrence, perhaps it did not reach the hatred felt by some other brothers but it was there and undying.

Karlheinz’s largest sin of all was the pain he caused his mother - the burdens he put onto him were a close second, however. But Beatrix’s suffering still wounded Shu to think about even after so many years had passed. The guilt instilled in him from that time flowed through his veins, unrelenting. His mother had her streaks of emotionally tormenting him but after all she merely wanted to prepare him for a difficult life ahead and Shu missed her presence as demanding as it was. And that was why when his father chose to re-marry yet again, Shu felt nothing but slight pity for the bride but regardless, he felt towards her as he did with most things; wholly indifferent. That was, of course, until he got to know the woman - he recalled the wedding day, it was a boring event and the fact his appearance had to be publicly seen bothered him for he’d much rather be doing anything but - still, he did as told and attended, albeit with minimal effort.

You made for a blushing bride, he couldn’t deny that. Glamorous appearance was hardly something he heeded though, and his father was known for choosing beautiful women as his wives - you knew nothing of the terrible fate that was bound to befall you in the coming months or years. At least all the other wives were long dead, namely Cordelia (whose torments only fed into the neglect his father served his mother, furthering her agonies) so you’d have no other competitors for Karlheinz’s horrid affections. He felt nothing for you, then. But unbeknownst to him, that detachment would not last forever and soon thereafter Karlheinz sent his bride away to live with his sons: what drove his father to such a foolish decision baffled Shu and he felt it somewhat of a ploy, another experiment to conduct. Maybe it was, but then again it only wasted time and energy to speculate on what went through Karlheinz’s mind. But you were their new stepmother, not one of their sacrificial brides; that was made clear, if unspoken. You were not their shared property but the property of the vampire king and it was to be respected, even if you had a puppet authority or no true power over them.

He avoided you at first, in his mind getting to know anyone was worthless;  and yet you persisted under the guise of ‘getting to know’ him and the others, wanting a relationship with your new stepsons. None of them really wanted a relationship with you, except for perhaps Reiji who hoped that you’d speak well of him to his father, ever-the-suckup.

You were a vampire of course, although it was surprising to learn that you were not a pureblood as they were. Karlheinz always made his decisions for a reason and he knew the reason for marrying you wasn’t love: therefore must’ve been something else entirely.

Karlheinz was incapable of love.

Gradually he found himself enjoying your attempted affections and voice - you figured out his disposition and chose to talk to him without expecting anything more than grunts and hums in return, knowing he preferred to listen to his music. Even he wasn’t sure at what point in your relationship he started to favour the sound of your melodious voice to his earphones, but it happened and he soon found himself turning down the volume as you spoke about your day if only to listen to your sweet voice far more vividly. He started to seek you out, something...unusual growing in his soul at the sight of you - he began appearing in places you were around the mansion, silently guarding you against the likes of the others (such as Laito). He liked being around you - a feeling he’d lost long ago ever since the “death” of Edgar - true companionship. But it couldn’t last perpetually, as nothing ever could, and those amicable feelings grew until they bloomed into something far darker than protectiveness towards his new stepmother and prospective friend - his heart yearned for you in the most unusual ways. It was troublesome for an overwhelming variety of reasons, primarily because he couldn’t have you. His romantic intentions soon turned to a subtle obsession. He needed to be close to you, always there - watching.

You’d always smile and greet him pleasantly, innocently - how on earth you could be so innocent after centuries’ worth of living on this earth, much less so after marrying Karlheinz, he had no clue. Your naivety and sweet nature brought him to you, made him fall into insanity because of you. It wasn’t instantaneous, things rarely were. Months went by but eventually he could no longer cope, his dreams were haunted by your form and always the exact same: you laid nude, breasts perfect and demure for him to corrupt, moaning out his name like the most delightful song from an ephemeral musical meant only for him. But when he awoke he was alone.

You tempted him without even knowing it but it was only a matter of time before it would come back to haunt you, he couldn’t be expected to have control over his instincts and needs forever and the time came when he finally snapped.

Stepmother or not, he was going to have you. In a way, it served as the most exquisite form of perceived vengeance towards that man - to steal his wife. He was hesitant about how to approach his desire to seduce you, such things were really more of Laito’s expertise, but he’d be damned if he failed to achieve his goals. You were too good for Karlheinz - a kindly thing to the point of intoxication and frustration, too pure for a vampire. He wanted to be the one to fully spoil your spirit, he wouldn’t permit his father to shatter your psyche as he did with all his previous wives. Shu was going to protect you, but in order to do that he first had to take you; claim you for himself. And that’s when he came across the most intriguing sight: your hushed moans of pleasure as your [slender/chubby/elegant] fingers stroked your glistening cunt in your private chambers - the same chambers which were supposed to be blessed in sacred matrimony if only his father hadn’t left you here all alone at the mercy of his ravenous sons. He must’ve assumed such a thing would happen sooner or later, hadn’t he? If not, then...well, Shu couldn’t help but think it his father’s loss from his own folly. “Shu.” Your angelic voice uttered his name - not his father’s, not your husband’s - but his. In your moment of unholy ecstasy, it was him on your mind; thoughts of him that edged you to your bliss. His obsessive passions were returned to him in kind, it seemed, and he couldn’t be more glad.

“Shu?” You questioned the following evening at dusk, that blossom-pink blush dusting your cheeks like an undead Aphrodite, tempting him further into his hidden lustful hunger, “Is...is everything okay? You’ve been staring at me all evening and I just wanted to ask if there’s something wrong-” He sighed, eyes half-lidded as if tired but it was his internal frustration revealed. “There is.” “Oh?” You pouted and fuck, he wanted to bruise your plump lips right there and then until they held his mark. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” It was a lie, of course, but he was a guarded man and his words reflected that. “Shu…? What do you mean?” The sadistic aspect of him was fuelled by the subtle distress in your eyes, however, you tried to remain calm, he’d said harsher things and you knew he scarcely ever meant them but something...something seemed so offbeat tonight. No, not just tonight - as of recently, but you couldn’t place a finger on the exact date when things began to change between you.

Your hands were down, pressed together as your thumbs nervously rubbed the other. You just wanted answers. “Heh,” He smirked, “You have no idea how alluring you are, do you?” His tired eyes stared earnestly into your soul and you felt stripped of your integrity. An innocent blush flooded your visage with lecherous embarrassment at such a sensual suggestion, sputtering out various syllables as you rushed to find your footing and speak out in protest of such an inappropriate topic between mother and son - that was what you were, related or not...you were his mother, even if merely by marriage. Guilt clogged your throat up as you thought of your own lust for your stepson, he was only slightly younger than you were and handsome beyond compare (as much as you loathed to admit it, your carnal self preferred Shu’s indescribable silent grace and steely blue eyes to the snowy tresses of his father) and disgust for yourself stung you deeper than a knife dipped in holy water - had he...witnessed your acts of depravity in your chambers? Did he know? “S-Shu, I...I don’t know what you mean,” You were drowning, unable to form proper words, “Don’t.” He cut you off before you could deny what you both knew at that moment. You weren’t as innocent and proper as you made yourself out to be. As you wished to be. No, you were a creature of tainted prurience and Shu was more than happy to play into your fantasies. You paled and nodded, if you were human your heart would’ve surely been palpitating by now. Fear wholly consumed you - would he be disgusted by you - no, he would’ve made that clear by now. Shu hid his thoughts and feelings from others but if he’d felt abhorrent disgust he wouldn’t have chosen to speak to you or indeed even be around you, you trusted that truth if nothing else. But then there was only one explanation for his demeanour, one that made you clench your thighs tight as you stood before him, a woman. He stood from his seat, no longer laying on the windowsill. “You’ve been a terrible wife,” Tears of crimson welled in your eyes while your knees felt weak but you nodded, ashamed. “Yes.” “And a filthy mother,” His harsh breath on your ear and neck made you whimper, “Y...yes,” You stuttered out with another whimpering moan, “Shu please don’t toy with me, I’m sorry I-” Without another sound escaping your painted lips you felt the amorous pressure of your stepson’s kiss, disclosing the intense emotions he returned for you. Your mind screamed at you for your sins and yet you were both inhuman creatures; Perpetuity of faithfulness was boresome and your husband had done little but ignore you and your hopes for a good life. Shu, however, had been there since the beginning of your marriage - even if you’d started out as nothing more than his father’s wife - now you were so much more, immensely more. Your knees buckled as you gave into the kiss, unable to avoid your feelings for him a second longer - you needed him just like this and he needed you too.

Human or not, the inherent wrongness burned your flesh and chest. You’d tried to be a good wife but your husband had practically abandoned you here with his sons bred for him by other women, he’d left you here and did little to even write to you. Loneliness was an obvious side-effect and it was only a matter of time before you would’ve fallen into another’s arms. But your debauchery brought you right into his son’s embrace. A terrible wife indeed.

Shu devoured your moans, swallowing your lust and increasing his own as his ample size grew in the confinements of his pants. “Fuck,” He huffed out as you pulled away from him, blinking. Your thighs burned with a need only he could satisfy. A shy hand wandered down his body towards his growing erection, stroking it from the fabric of his pants. Your efforts were rewarded by the sound of his deep groans. How long had it been since anyone touched you like this? Since you’d been able to make someone feel unutterable pleasure - since anyone made you feel wanted? You had slept with Karlheinz only a couple of times and he failed to sate your inner hunger as Shu was doing with only kisses and loving groans. “You’re playing with fire,” He breathed out, staring at you and sealing you in place. “I...know,” You swallowed thickly, “P-please, I...I need-” “What do you need, whore?” His teasing words of degradation made you feel alive, you were the object of his uttermost attention. His lips traced your neck, licking and gnawing but never piercing, fangs flying over the tender flesh. “You.” The certainty in your otherwise meek voice nearly made him burst right there. He was done restraining himself, pearly fangs sharper than needles pierced your neck as Shu drank the sweet nectar beneath. Your pleasured moans filled the hallways of the Sakamaki manor and he prayed his brothers could hear you wherever they were knowing that he won you. And he was going to keep you. You were going to no longer be just his stepmother - you would be his woman.

The blood, thick and plentiful, dripped down your neck. The droplets were not wasted as his tongue gathered them before they could drip onto the marble flooring. Shu was going to get addicted to this taste - your taste - he was sure of it. This was what you were made for; to belong to him. As he did this you toyed with his pants, unzipping them and releasing his erect cock from its prison, letting it spring free, wet with precum. “Oh fuck,” You whimpered at the sensation, pumping up and down his length. You wanted this, you wanted him so badly. You could feel yourself slowly dripping with clenched thighs. This was wrong - it was revolting - but you couldn’t stop the heat inside you, your inner desires. On your quest to befriend your sons you inadvertently ended up falling in love with one of them and never before had you longed to be held by someone as you did when you were with him.  

You wanted to be his, no one else’s. But you couldn’t be, for you already were a taken woman; despite the truth, you wanted to succumb to your immorality; to pretend that, for tonight alone, you were his.

Once he pulled away from your neck Shu chuckled lowly, “You’re such a lewd slut, mother.” You cringed at the name, reminding yourself of the positions between you two and, for a short-lived second, you attempted to pull away except the moment you did he caged in on you, back shoved against the wall with burning eyes glaring at you. “But you’re going to be my slut from now on.” his breath hitched as your hand movements sped up, blushing crimson from your wicked sensuality. You were loving this, in all its sinfulness. “Y-Yes,” You choked out submissively as you brought him to his edge, creamy cum coating your hand and sinking into the fabric of your dress, physically tainting you. It drove you wild.

The sight of you in front of him, dress dripping with his cum made him hard almost instantly as he ordered you to strip for him after he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the empty music room - he didn’t want to be interrupted by any of his bothersome brothers.

“Strip for me.”

You nodded and bit down harshly on your lip, droplets of blood still flowing from your neck at the open puncture wound, staining the white semen-soaked fabric as you unzipped the back and slowly released your hold on it as it fell down your form until you were exposed in only your undergarments, intimate and raw. This was incredibly embarrassing and yet, for him...you didn’t mind humiliating yourself. You were convinced of it, now: you were in love with him. Soft hands twirled around to unclip your bra, feeling as though it wasn’t merely your body which you were exposing to him but your very being as your breasts bounced free from the cups’ confinements, bra forgotten as you threw it down onto the floor, not caring about anything else but him. ‘Don’t do this’, your sanity pleaded but whatever morality may have existed in the cage of your heart was extinguished with a single gaze into his yearning eyes. If you didn’t do this the lack of his touch on your skin would surely drive you insane. You just wanted to be loved, cherished and used.

You were married - and although that sentiment alone should have been enough to snap you out of this sexual haze you were trapped in, it did little to sway your lust-filled judgement. Swallowing nervously your fingers dipped below the strips of your panties, sliding down your silky thighs, pride consumed you as you watched his subtle but intense reactions, the way his thick member twitched in anticipation made you feel powerful for the first time in your life. You couldn’t wait to feel him inside you. “Come here,” He growled, making you squeal as you nodded like a good little whore and fell onto your knees, crawling over to him - you felt like putting on a show for him, filled with risque concupiscence. If your husband was to ever find out you feared the consequences and despite the dangers, it drove you further into the arms of his eldest son to consider how taboo, how wrong such a union was. There was something unspokenly intimate about this. An intimacy from which you never wished to awaken. As soon as you were at his feet you admired his cock, glistening from residue cum in the moonlight. “Oh God,” You were about to cross a border from which you could never return and it turned you on profoundly to think about how your relationship would develop from here. Opening your mouth, you took his length inside your warmth, (e/c) eyes staring up at him like a sweet gazelle, pumping your head up and down and twisting your tongue around him as you sucked his member with a fierce determination to please. He believed this was the closest to heaven he would ever be; you, his personal fallen angel at his feet, his cock in your mouth.

Shu thought you were perfect just like this; doing all the work as you fucked your mouth on his cock, giving him your all as he sat back, eyes fluttering shut to focus on the pleasure you were providing. You were so good for him, such a pretty girl. Such an ideal woman, his woman. Further lewd commentary fell from his lips as he prompted you on. He wanted you on your knees for him each night, and you would be. He would make sure that things would stay this way forever now he was so close to having you all to himself. Even if it meant having to fight against his father, even if it meant the most intensive of efforts and having to use all the energy he had stored in his muscles - though he’d never utter it aloud, for you he would do anything.

Even if the only way to keep you would be to commit patricide. You were worth it. Just before his release, he pulled your head back by gripping your hair forcefully causing a pained yell to escape from you, your voice full of physical anguish that set off a primal need within his chest. “That’s enough.” He then lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, “Ride me.” You gulped back the juices in your mouth and shakily stood as your thighs were flooded with slick. “Y-Yes I…” You blushed vehemently as you aligned yourself with his cock, sucking in a sharp hiss as you felt the heat of it against your burning cunt. “I want you to make me yours.” Instantly you sat down, thighs clenched as your walls adjusted to the intrusion, making you cry out in ecstasy. Did you seriously almost orgasm simply from having his length inside of you? You couldn’t be blamed - not when your husband had neglected you. But it was going to be all better now that Shu was here to help you. Just as a good stepson should. “Fuck,” He gasped out quietly, breath falling from his chest. You were so fucking tight he could’ve potentially fooled himself into believing you were still virginal. That was, of course, until he reminded himself that his father stole that honour for himself and elicited underlying rage in Shu. With the buck of his hips he drove himself inside you as you cried out his name, holding tightly onto him, arms tied around his neck as you rode him, clumsily moving your hips and revealing your sexual inexperience to him; the knowledge that his father didn’t seem to take any time cherishing your body like this, lewd and sinful, eased him somewhat because it meant he could be the one to make you completely lose your mind and become his perfect little whore.

Maybe he’d even make you his wife, along the way.

His arms held your waist and he lazily guided the movement of your hips. You were insatiable, rapid. He could tell you wanted to go faster but his strong hands consistently ceased your attempts - he was going to force you to take your time, to truly feel the way his cock filled your insides, to ensure your walls would take the shape of his dick.

He wanted you to know that he was superior to his father, that no one could ever please you better. He never felt so attached to anyone prior to you, you did something to him. Something dark. Enchanting. And he was never going to let you go after this. By giving your body to him, you have given yourself in your totality.

Even if you didn’t know it quite yet, or didn’t fully apprehend the consequences sex with him would bring.

Your whines became far more desperate with each blunt thrust. Slow, steady but forceful; Shu’s cock reached into the deepest parts of you, lovingly rubbing your cunt. It was indisputable that he was focused on your enjoyment as much as he was on his - it wasn’t anything like what sex with Karlheinz was like, he was self-gratifying and solely cared about his own high, Shu (much to your surprise) paid attention to your smallest reactions to ensure this was as great for you as it was for him. His fingers delved below and started to mercilessly torment your clit, electricity flying through your spine and cunt clenching as more love juices were produced, soaking his cock and helping to lubricate the thrusts.

He wanted to show you how mindblowing sex with him could be, to show you he could love you in ways no one else ever could. In the eyes of his brothers, especially in Reiji and Ayato’s point-of-view, he was the one who got everything; the golden, careless heir. But they did not and would never understand that he had everything he didn’t want. His entire life the things he truly yearned for were stolen from him, his happiness, his innocence, his friends and beloved companions of human and animal kind; destroyed, ruined, killed. It reared his indifference to the material goods he possessed for they held absolutely no value of their own. And now there was you. You, you, you. Sakamaki Shu knew that, without a single shred of disbelief, he would happily give up all of this if it meant he got to keep you. All the wealth and grandeur and power that his position brought was worthless in comparison to his beloved whore whimpering above him as she impaled herself on his cock.

“S-Shu,” You moaned out into his ear, “Fa...faster, please,” You choked back spit as you made feeble attempts to catch your breath, the intense friction between your joined bodies making it difficult to think. It wasn’t as rough or primal as you initially thought it would be like, it was...better than that, intimate. Was this what they mean when they say sex can be ‘making love’? This closeness between bodies as they become one, the heat and passion in the air and bouncing breasts and thighs clasped around one’s lover? It wasn’t fucking - it was so much more. A proclamation of love, even, though you could never dare and utter that belief out loud. His self-satisfied comments, “Hm,” He playfully paused completely, making your eyes widen as you stared at him with desperation for him to continue, to let you reach your climax. Your nails scratched his back like a needy brat as you cried out pleas, “Please - please Shu, I need you to keep going I-” You swallowed thickly, blinking wildly as your core ached without movement and he kept your hips down, unable to fuck yourself on his dick regardless of how hard you tried. “Say you love me.” “W-What?” You gasped out, sweaty and needy but with enough common sense to know that saying something like that to him - even if it was true - would seal a secret deal between lovers, it would open all the nightmares of your very own Pandora’s Box.

But you loved him - you did, somewhere along the way you became enamoured by your stepson and now he was inside of you, fucking you with a tenderness that made you sure that he must love you, too. “I…” You smiled weakly, genuinely. You pulled back ever-so-slightly, (e/c) eyes sinking into his. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he was finally permitting you to see; he trusted you with his heart, you could see that now. Your hand stroked his cheek, his hard dick still throbbing inside of you (you knew he wanted to keep going but held himself back, resolved to get what he wanted out of you). He melted into the caress, your hands were soft as angel feathers. “I am in love with you, Sakamaki Shu.” Despite the arousal that filled your mind you earnestly tried to convey the true depth of your affections for him and it seemed to awaken the beast of passion as he soon started to bounce you up and down his thick, throbbing member at a speed only vampires could achieve, determined to claim your womb for his own.

It wasn’t hard to notice your maternal longings, your desire to baby the boys despite their inherent aggression towards you all but proved it. And if was a baby you wanted, well...who was he to deny you of that right? His hushed grunts only sent you further into ecstasy - You had the power of feminine sexuality over him and it gave you somewhat of a power rush. It was paradise - not worthless fucking like animals - but true divinity here in his arms, where you felt appreciated and loved and as though you finally had a raison d’etre - You wanted to be his so badly it caused you physical anguish but you were his if only for the moment, connected to him so snugly. “I love you,” You sobbed out as tears welled in your eyes from the intense satisfaction and your own emotions coming to the surface, “I love you, I love you,” Each word sent Shu into a brand new dimension of rapture. You loved him, you loved him - more than anyone else in this world. If binding your bodies together didn’t officially make you his your whimpering confessions just did. The urge to impregnate you with his seed only grew with every passing moment as you mechanically moved in perfect timing to his thrusts, nails once again clawing at his flesh. “That’s a-” He inhaled sharply, stopping mid-moan, “That’s a good girl,” He breathed heavily, you felt so perfect on his dick, his personal cockslut, the love of his life, stepmother and soon; the mother of his children. “F-Fuck you’re going to look...fucking amazing,” He sighed out as he felt your fluttering walls try their hardest to milk him, “When you’re swollen with my troublesome brats, heh…” He could only smugly smile at your immediate reaction to the statement being to clunch down on him, tightening as if your womb was begging him to cum inside, to fertilise your pussy and breed you over and over. “Pregnant?” You exhaled out, teary-eyed as you locked your eyes with him, fucked out to the high heavens with sweat causing your hair to stick to your reddened forehead and lipstick smudged with perky, puffed lips. “Yo-You want to get me pregnant…?” The timidity of your voice betrayed your excitement. Logically you wanted to escape, to push him away and scold him for even suggesting such a thing - you couldn’t become pregnant with his child! It was atrocious enough that you were currently having this affair with him, your stepson, but to be bred by him was in a category all of its own - truly disgusting.

No matter how much your husband neglected you he didn’t deserve to for his wife to not only cheat on him with his own son but to be inseminated by him - but the inner beast within you was wanton, a silent whisper in your mind that tried to persuade you to surrender fully to your hopes for motherhood, to allow this man in front of you, this beautiful vampiric prince, to fill you with his seed and claim you as his bitch, his bride; to be stolen from the man you originally wed and live your eternity as Shu’s whore. “I-...we can’t, Shu! We-” Morals renewed, you tried to get through to him, “Please-” “Shut up.” He ordered and you instantly did as told, being the good girl that you were. “Don’t lie to me. You’re loving the-” He moaned, “-idea of...of my children growing inside of you. I felt you tighten up at the notion, you’re such a fucking lewd woman. My lewd slut.” You hated yourself because you knew he was right; it was true. You wanted this so badly, to give birth to his kin, to feel your uterus painted white with his cum. Primal needs craved relief. “No, we...we can’t, I...don’t…” You choked on your words as he kissed you roughly, his thumb on your clit twirling and pulling until you were unable to form anything more coherent than mindless stutters. “S-Shu! Fuck, fuck, fuck I...I...I love you! I do! I do, please I just...I want-” “What do you want, pretty whore?” “...I want, I w….want your cum! I need it, I need you to fill me up and get me pregnant!” The last remainder of your will crumbled under the pressure of your sudden orgasm. ‘I’m so sorry, Karl…’ you thought bitterly as amazement overtook you, making you screech in the midst of the night in the moonlight, squeezing the lifeforce out of your stepson’s dick. Shu groaned and laughed in dark victory as you came undone around him, biting into his neck instinctively mid-orgasm. The sharp sensation was enough to push him completely over the edge.

Your tongue lapped over his neck, sipping the blood that flowed with delicious fervour as the heat of his semen poured into your deepest depths, coating your womb with his lust. Once you pulled away you felt almost faint from the intensity of your love-making, concupiscence fading as the realisation of what you just did hit you in full force, causing your eyes to open. “Shu..oh fuck, I...we...just--” You squealed and tried to hop off but he kept your hips forced down, still inside your leaking cunt despite slowly growing soft. “No.” Shu was serious, now, eyes grave. “You’re not running away. You,” He exhaled, bringing your lips closer to his, “Are mine.” “Shu-” The distance between your lips was closed as he fought with your tongue. Your heart yearned to return his kiss and despite the inner war ongoing within your soul you did, tongues dancing in the warmth of your mouth. When he pulled away he smiled.

And you felt yourself smile too, hand travelling to the spot below your stomach but above your cunt. “You’re mine now, troublesome woman.” You laughed, nodding and kissed him again. The conflict within you wouldn’t fade, and you were terrified of what might happen now to yourself and to Shu. But maybe it won’t be that bad. It was only one time - you can surely find some form of birth control to ingest before the next time, and he’d never have to know. It was...one time, so you shouldn’t get pregnant this time...right?

Somehow you felt proud - proud to have his cum flowing from your core, to know it’s his seed that potentially is currently fertilising you and not your husband’s. You did feel authentically guilty but the guilt made you more aroused. Karlheinz didn’t deserve...this and despite that here you were, and the worst part was you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop anytime soon, there was no point in vowing to yourself that this would be the ‘last time’ because you knew that the moment he came inside you you were already addicted to him. The child of your lover...realistically it was an awful, unspeakable idea but a sense within you wanted to go through with it, to allow yourself fertility, to fully become his.

Little did you know you would have no choice in the matter.

[miraculouscontent]

"Please, get out of my room."

Marinette's hand shook, trying desperately to keep the doll house behind her together enough to protect the Miracle Box. Her gaze fixed on her friends standing there, Rose crouched down to the sad remains of the doll house's roof while the others were looking on in concerned confusion.

Alya stepped forward first, the request apparently denied. "It's nothing, Marinette. We'll help you fix it, don't worry."

Except it wasn't nothing, it was everything, and of course none of the girls could've known that it was everything but it was. She'd barely had the Miracle Box for any time at all and now she was about to be exposed, the doll house feeling like some sort of metaphor for her life.

Raising her voice, Marinette replied strictly, "It's not nothing! Now leave!"

Most of the girls just stared at her, standing awkwardly in place. She asked - no, told - them to leave, and they weren't leaving. Why weren't they leaving?

Her palms were sweaty, making the task of holding up the doll house's wall all the more anxiety-inducing.

Alya huffed, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "Okay, there's obviously something up—" She crossed her arms. "—and we're not going anywhere until you tell us what it is."

Mylene offered a smile that she clearly thought was reassuring, then held up a bracelet made of yellow threads with five colored beads along them. "We've already given our secrets to this bracelet, so now it's your turn."

Marinette wracked her brain for any memory of said bracelet, wondering if there were a promise she'd forgotten about - wondering if it was an excuse for them showing up out of nowhere - but there was nothing. She didn't even recognize it. Even over the voicemail they'd sent, there was no mention of such a thing.

The wall under her palm wavered, and she had to adjust quickly to keep it in place. She couldn't tell if it was too light or too heavy at this point, but it was ultimately just another thing to worry about that she didn't need. Her gaze flickered to it briefly to make sure it was properly held up, then swiftly focused back on the girls so as to not seem suspicious.

They really weren't going to leave. They were going to force her secrets out of her; force Ladybug out of her, the Miracle Box, everything.

Her stress levels were rising. She was panicking. It was all too much, and she—she...

She snapped.

"I'll—I'll tell you what's wrong!" she began. "You all walking into my room without my permission!"

The girls' mouths all shut in unison, their shoulders tense as they seemed suddenly lost for an argument.

"I didn't want to talk to you, and I definitely don't now!" A particular memory of the voicemail resurfaced, and she was reminded of what they'd said. "I thought you told me that I could talk where and when I wanted to? I thought all of you told me that, and then you showed up anyway?! Why would you lie to me like that?"

The words were bitter, only serving to make her angrier; at them, at herself, and at the whole situation. She hated lying - hated liars - and there was a part of her that couldn't help feeling hypocritical when she had to lie constantly to keep her identity secret.

But another part of her was quick to point out: she lied because she had to. They were lying despite having the choice.

Alya's brows furrowed, and it was hard to tell if she felt genuinely guilty or if she was just trying to think of how save the situation. She glanced back and forth from Marinette to Mylene, then hurriedly took the bracelet and held it out, arguing, "But if we're friends, you have to tell us everything anyway!"

Rose nodded in agreement, fists drawn up to her chest. "And real friends never let each other down!"

Marinette sputtered at first in response, multiple rambling responses trying to come out at once, from reminding them of either their intrusion or their lying to say that they had very much let her down.

Finally, her mouth settled on, "Then I guess we're not friends after all, since I'm letting you down so much! You're always pushing me, and setting things up even when I told you not to, and when everything goes wrong, it's always me who takes the blame, and me who gets teased for it!"

Alix recoiled at the outburst, then averted her gaze, looking somewhere between put off and ashamed as she grumbled, "We were just trying to help."

"I don't want your help! I don't even want you here!"

Marinette breathed shakily, her chest heavily at the emotions building in her chest. She could barely process what was coming out of her mouth and could only wonder how long she'd felt that way. How long had she been holding this in? How much had she been holding in? How long had she thought she deserved to be treated a certain way and took everything like she was the one at fault even if she'd done nothing?

Mental clarity kicked in, Marinette glaring and resolve blazing in her eyes as she asked, "Do you know why I didn't tell you anything?"

They looked on in curious trepidation, obviously not knowing the answer. At first, maybe she hadn't either.

"Because I didn't want you to meddle! Everything just goes wrong and I wanted to just live without worrying about it! I didn't want to  be teased, or talk about Adrien, or be ignored!"

"We don't ignore you!" Alya immediately interjected, taking on an offended tone. "That's why we're here!"

"Then why didn't you know?" Marinette challenged. "You noticed my crush on Adrien, but you didn't notice that I was dating Luka? When he was riding me home from school? When you took all those pictures of us together? I wanted to be left alone to be happy with him without anyone shouting at me about what to do and putting more pressure on me than I already have!"

Rose and Alya shifted in place, not making eye contact.

"You invaded my privacy, you broke my things, and you lied to me! If you're going to make me tell you everything, then—then—" She shook, the tornado of emotions hard to handle. "—then I don't want you as friends! Now get out!"

The girls collectively gaped at her, a few letting out audible gasps and Rose in particular covering her mouth with her hands. Everything went quiet, and Marinette's eyes must've been giving off fire with how any argument lingering on the girls' lips died before they could even come out.

Then, one by one, the girls began to turn and silently walk out of the room, some staying a second or two longer as if Marinette would change her mind if they held to the staring contest a bit longer. Alya was the last one out, her gaze darting up to Marinette one last time in vain.

Marinette just looked away, only reassured that the girls had left when she heard the click of the trap door. She exhaled, her arms stiff and her legs feeling like jelly as everything hit her at once. The gravity of the situation dragged her to the floor, the walls of the doll house falling apart to reveal the Miracle Box to no one but her and the kwami. She'd already cried too many times that day, but the tears were building up again. Anger, sadness, frustration...

Seeing Tikki hover close out of the corner of her eyes, Marinette lamented, "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have a choice. I was just—and then—and they..."

"I know, Marinette," Tikki said quietly, though it was clear that she had very little comfort to add.

Marinette tried to steady her breathing, but she could see her tears falling onto the floor and knew that she'd lost control of her emotions. In a way, it almost felt relieving, like a weight off her chest that she didn't know had been there, but it didn't stop the terrible feelings from everything that happened that day, and the day before, and the day before that...

"We—" Marinette choked, realizing something and looking up with urgency. "Shadow Moth. He might come after me."

"Ah, but..." Tikki weakly tried to protest, watching as Marinette tried to force herself up.

"Gotta transform. Gotta be ready," Marinette murmured in a daze, her legs wobbling but managing to hold her up. Not letting Tikki get another word in, she hurried to command, "Tikki, spots on."

— — — — —

Marinette hugged her knees to her chest, back against the wall stretching upwards that helped make the bridge where she broke up with Luka. Part of her felt like coming here was some form of self-punishment - a reminder of what she'd lost and why she had to keep it that way - but another part just wanted to be here. It wasn't a good idea to be in her room where everything went down, or where her pictures were, or where the kwami would just remind her of all the things she didn't want to think about. It wasn't like her parents were going to check on her anyway, so she felt it best to be away from it all.

She tried to listen for the melody of the water that Luka had told her about, but every time she thought things were quiet enough to hear it, she would breathe in a little too hard, or Tikki would shuffle around in her purse at a loss for what to say. Marinette sighed in defeat, curling in on herself further and staring at the ground with her eyes half-lidded.

She wished she could go back; back to the day this whole mess started. Maybe she could've avoided Fu, Chloe, and maybe even Alya. She could've stayed in the background, unoffensive and just known as "the clumsy girl," one who didn't lie and leave class unexpectedly with the worse excuses possible. Avoiding Chloe would've meant avoiding her wrath, which meant that there would've been no misunderstanding with Adrien and no "spark" to ignite her crush underneath that umbrella.

Everything would've been so much easier. Maybe she would've met Luka sooner, bumping into him by accident one day and they'd drop all their things, her sketches mingling with his song sheets. They'd apologize and hurry to separate their stuff, then lock eyes and all would be well with the world. She'd stammer out her name when she introduced herself and he'd tease her affectionately, and it'd be okay because she wouldn't be busy being depressed over another guy.

They'd laugh, they'd get along, and there wouldn't be any drama in the way of them getting together. Without her having any responsibilities that would cause her to run off, they'd date, and they'd just... be happy.

Marinette closed her eyes, trying to let herself indulge in the fantasy even if only for a moment. The hold she had on her legs loosened, her hands sliding down until one of her hands brushed the opposite's wrist. She remembered Viperion - Luka - as the hero who thought first just like her and now could never be because of his identity being compromised, yet another by-product of her crush on Adrien in a way.

She exhaled, her thumb futilely brushing over her wrist; over a bangle that wasn't there.

Second Chance...

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, trying to live in fake memories, but when her eyes opened, she still found herself underneath the bridge in a life she didn't want. She stared blankly at the ground, the melody she'd desired still inaudible to her.

It took her a few seconds to realize that the view in front of her wasn't quite what it was before she closed her eyes, and it took a few more to notice the black distressed pants and the shoes splattered with varying random symbols at the corner of her vision. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing properly and wondering if she might be hallucinating after her fantasy, but a quick glance upward caused her eyes to meet Luka's, the brows above them furrowed with concern.

"A-ah," she let out involuntarily, straightening a little. Finally registering that he was there and very real, she inhaled sharply and stood, waving frantically at him as she stammered, "I-I'm so sorry! This is your spot, and I'm taking your spot, and I swear I didn't mean to—" She bent down and brushed her hands along the ground where she'd been sitting, as if she were cleaning it. "—I'll be gone soon, let me just—"

"It's okay," Luka assured while approaching her, his voice even softer than usual but with a tinge of sadness to it.

She stopped, hesitating, then looked back up at him in confusion. They hadn't talked since their break-up and she genuinely thought that he'd be upset with her.

"I'm glad," he said genuinely, "that you can find as much comfort in this place as I do. You don't have to go anywhere."

"...Oh," she uttered, her shoulders easing in mild relief. At least he didn't hate her, she supposed, though the awkwardness in the air was noticeable and she couldn't help noticing that he was keeping a minimum distance of three meters from her.

It hurt.

She fiddled with the strap of her purse, wondering why he was there and how she could've gotten so unlucky as to—well, that part was obvious actually, she'd been unlucky her whole life, but that didn't stop her from wondering what he was doing there. Was it something about his dad, or...?

Against her better judgment, she took a good look at his face, biting her bottom lip guiltily at the tired look in his eyes. He seemed as if he hadn't slept well in a few days, and she couldn't say that she was any different, which made the reason for his expression all the more obvious. It was a terrible feeling, already feeling bad that she made him feel bad and then feeling worse because there was a part of her that was a little glad to have meant so much to him that the break-up actually affected him.  He'd made her feel noticed and seen, something that was rare even amongst her frie—

Ah. Right.

She fidgeted, her feet shifting nervously against the ground. Juleka had been amongst the friends that she'd called out and forced to leave. She wasn't sure how close Luka was with his sister, as most of the interactions she'd seen were when they were in a group, but she was still his family. Did he know?

As if able to sense what she was thinking, Luka spoke up. "Jule told me."

Marinette winced and looked down, ashamed and fully expecting to be reprimanded. She clasped her hands at her waist, trying to mentally prepare herself.

Then, he immediately followed with, "Well, she mumbled it, but I got what she said."

It wasn't quite a joke, but it wasn't anything critical either. Marinette peeked back up at him, her brows scrunched together in confusion. He was smiling sadly, either understanding her or trying to be the sympathetic empath she'd always admired him for.

She averted her gaze, not feeling worthy of making eye contact with him. Sinking back against the wall, she sunk down to her earlier position and muttered, "I-it was for the best. I'm just... better off alone." She flinched at the sting in her chest that the words caused, but continued, "I won't hurt anyone that way. They can't be disappointed in me if we're not friends."

There was a pause, at which point Luka took a few steps closer, still maintaining a distance between them but also closing the gap significantly. "Why do you think you'll hurt people?"

She almost scoffed at that. "You would know why more than anyone, Luka." Though she still avoided looking at his face, she could see his fingers twitch from the corner of her vision. "I lie. I'm a liar! I'm just—" She spread her arms wide. "—I'm going to lie for the rest of my life, and ditch everyone and make them sad and they'll never know why!"

She'd tried to say it in an exaggerated tone to keep things light, but the tears started up. She held them back as best as she could, determined not to cry again when she'd already cried so much.

She heard Luka take a few steps closer, and he observed quietly, "But you don't want to."

"Of course not! But it doesn't matter! I should've known from the start that making friends was a mistake but I did it anyway!" She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "I can't keep friends! I can't keep a boyfriend! I can barely keep this secret a secret!"

She didn't have to see his face to know that he was processing that. "...You can't tell me."

It was a realization for him, a mix of emotions in his voice and none of which she could place. She imagined he'd thought that it was a secret she'd chosen not to share with him, but that wasn't true.

She lowered her hands from her face. "I can't. I mean, not like—physically can't—it's not like the world would end if I did—" She halted briefly, stiffening at an unwelcome memory of Paris destroyed and underwater. "—o-or, maybe it would! But, it was never about trust, Luka! I trust you, I trust you so much, and I want to tell you so bad but I can't! It hurts but I can't! No one's supposed to know!"

She clutched her head, realizing that the conversation was spiraling downwards fast. She was torn between thinking that she'd said too much and then regretting how little she'd said when she'd broken up with him.

Luka took the final steps to close the distance between then, kneeling down to be closer to her level. "Marinette, I—I can't imagine what your secret could be, but it hurts watching you tear yourself apart like this."

"Well maybe that's how it's supposed to be!" she declared as she met his gaze, his eyes going wide in a mixture of pain and shock. She blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tears. "Maybe I'm just supposed to stay sad and alone forever! I have to do it all myself because that's the rule and it's my burden to carry!"

His heart was clearly breaking for her and it just made everything worse. He reached out to her, hovering his hand over her shoulder as a test and then settling it down with a feather-light touch when she didn't pull away. "I won't force you to tell me, and it's hard to say anything when I don't know what you're going through, but..." He hesitated, clearly feeling like it wasn't his place to say but being unable to help himself. "Couffaines break rules when we want to - when we know we have to - and I don't want to see you break instead."

She raised a hand, tempted to pull his hand from her shoulder, but stopped herself. "I-I don't have a choice. It's too dangerous. I can't let people close to me; I didn't even want to break up with you. You're amazing and sweet and I feel like I can tell you anything, but..." She looked down, defeated. "...you deserve better than this..."

He squeezed her shoulder, though whether it was a mix of offense at the comment, an attempt to comfort her, or both, she wasn't sure. "I can only tell you that I'd never tell anyone if I knew." He paused, as if to consider something, then added, "Even if it wasn't me - if it was someone else you trusted - I just don't want you to carry this alone."

She glanced up at him without moving her head, her mouth moving to reply but she ended up choking, then coughing in response to the air she'd just lost. Luka's free hand found her other shoulder as he leaned towards her, all the concern and love she could ever ask for being offered in his eyes.

He seemed to want to continue their conversation, but found something else to prioritize instead. "Do you want anything? Have you drank any water lately?"

The question caught her off guard until she remembered her coughing and mentally acknowledged that she might've been neglecting herself far more than she should've. Luka's hearing was on point, and she figured he must've heard the dryness of her throat.

She let out a small noise instead of a reply, no words given but Luka understood anyway. He stood up, his hands lingering on her for as long as possible before he turned and began to head back to the Liberty.

She watched him go, an ache in her chest even if she knew he'd come back. It reminded her of the day in the TV station where he confessed and she hadn't given him an answer, or when he'd comforted her after the break-up and she'd just taken it without a word back. It was all left incomplete, with him merely giving her  that respectful smile that told her that she only had to say what she was ready for.

But ready for what, exactly? Ready to talk? Ready for him?

Ready for herself?

"...I—" Her mouth moved on its own, her body leaning just slightly towards him as she said the words she'd always wanted to. "—I'm Ladybug."

It was practically a whisper - equivalent to a pin dropping - but Luka froze nonetheless, his foot mid-raise to take a step that never came. He'd heard her, and he finally moved as he turned to look at her, expression unreadable.

That's when the moment caught up with her, and the panic followed suit. "O-oh—oh no. Oh, I said it—you know—you—" She clutched at her capris, desperate to ground herself, but the hyperventilating was beginning to start, almost harmonizing with the sound of Luka's footsteps as he hurried over to her, closing the gap between them much faster than he had previously.

In an instant, he was on his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her and lifting her slightly as he pulled her into a hug. She gasped in surprise, still blinking back tears as her senses registered that he was there: his body heat warming her, the fabric of his jacket against her face, the calming color combination of blues and blacks, and the faded scent of his body wash.

"L-luka," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry. Y-you're in danger—"

"It's okay," he assured softly, then again as if to be certain that she heard it, "It's okay."

She hesitated, her breathing still uneven, but she willed herself to release her capris - her fingers feeling stiff from how tightly she'd gripped them - so she could grab at his jacket instead. He responded in kind by hugging her tighter; too tight for a normal hug but just tight enough to bring her back down to reality.

"You're not alone anymore, Marinette," he whispered, "and I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

That did it, and the tears overflowed. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to however much fabric her hands could grasp as she buried her face into his shoulder. No matter how strongly she hugged him, he didn't complain, simply letting her take whatever she needed from him.

In the silence of the embrace, she could finally hear the river's melody.

— — — — —

Marinette clasped her hands together on the couch, her breathing starting to steady as she watched Luka pour her fourth cup of water since she'd gotten there, the first three of which she'd downed in mere seconds. It was just the two of them there, which was comforting, as Juleka had apparently gone to Rose's house for the rest of the day and Anarka was... well, Anarka, and wouldn't be back until who knew when.

Luka returned to Marinette with a smile, offering the full cup of water to her. She reached for it, then stopped as she noticed how badly her hand was shaking. Taking a few more controlled breaths, she offered him a smile and gently pushed the cup towards him.

At his confused look, she observed, "You haven't been taking care of yourself either."

He opened his mouth, possibly to argue, then looked away from her, his eyes darting around at nothing. She could see the internal conversation in his head, playing out a scenario where he would try to insist, she would insist back that three cups was more than enough for her and he'd also taken none himself, and they would go back and forth until he relented.

His gaze softened, the conclusion to the mental argument clearly reached as he took a few sips from the cup. Rather than sitting on the couch, he sat down on the wooden table in front of it - a typical Couffaine move - so he could face her. Then, offering her a grateful smile, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She smiled back at him, but it faltered as she stared at her lap, taking the time to legitimately think about the question. She ran her hands along her legs in a slow motion, hoping that it would stop any shakiness somehow.

"...Scared," she answered. "Nervous. Worried. Anxious." She pursed her lips as she realized that she was just listing off synonyms at that point.

Luka leaned towards her, resting his hand over one of the ones on her lap. "But, better than before?" he guessed.

Eyes half-lidded and fond, she nodded. "Yeah, and..." She turned the hand underneath his upwards so she could hold it. "I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too," he whispered, as if to make sure that this moment was only for the two of them.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other's presence. Marinette was a mess of emotions, but refused to let go of the hand he'd offered her, her thumb stroking along the back of it.

"...Luka," she said after a few seconds of contemplation.

He didn't respond verbally, but he'd also already given her his full attention, and she knew he was listening.

She continued, "You're the last person I'd ever want to lose. If Shadow Moth finds out that you know—"

"If," he gently interjected, though his eyes encouraged her to go on.

"He'll use you. He'll take advantage of you. I don't want anything to happen to you, but I don't want you to leave either, because I really like you and you make me happy and better and—" She huffed, frustrated by the conundrum. "It feels like it's my fault. If I was stronger, or I wasn't so emotional, I..."

"Marinette."

She looked up at the tenderness in his voice. He set his cup down on the table, then slowly pushed himself off, crouching down in front of her as if to make himself appear as small as possible. His other hand found her free one and he held it, making their hand holding perfectly mutual.

"Do you remember the day we met? When my mom got akumatized?"

She nodded. "Yeah, of course."

He nodded in return, going on to explain, "You needed me to hide you, and I needed you to go get—" He caught himself, half-chuckling as the identity revelation adjusted his memories of that day. "—be Ladybug."

Marinette managed a smile. "You were covering for me, even back then."

He smiled back, looking almost too proud of that fact. "And we needed each other. No one can do everything alone, Marinette, so don't say you're sorry for the feelings that made up the song that's been stuck in my head ever since that day."

She swallowed involuntarily at the reminder of his confession. Judging from his smile widening, he noticed it.

"It's hard learning an instrument all by yourself," he continued, "and sad not having anyone to play to."

"And you want to be the whole crowd?" she asked quietly, her gaze drawn to their joined hands.

"Yeah," he answered, not missing a beat.

She took a breath, knowing it was too late to change things but still wanting to acknowledge the decision anyway. "O...okay. Thank you, Luka."

They exchanged loving smiles, and Marinette could've sworn that the eye contact alone was keeping her heart rate down. The future was still nerve-wracking, but she'd been afraid of it even before she'd told Luka her secret, so at least now she had someone who understood her and who she could talk to about it.

The conversation mutually ended there, but then Luka - wholly unprompted - let out an exaggerated sigh and tilted his head back. Curious, Marinette asked, "What is it?"

He grinned at her, a glint in his eyes that made it clear that he was in a teasing mood now that the atmosphere had lightened. "Does this mean I have to watch Chat Noir flirt with my girlfriend?"

She snorted, opening her mouth to reply before stopping as the words behind the joke caught up to her. She leaned forward and squeezed his hand, eyes wide with hope. "Girlfriend?"

He nodded without hesitation. "You said you didn't want to break up with me, Marinette, and I didn't want to break up with you either."

"Y-yeah, but—" She frowned, conflicted. "I'll still have to leave? Nothing's changed except you knowing why."

"I didn't date you so that we could go on dates," he replied. When she tilted her head in confusion at him, he briefly averted his gaze, a hint of shyness appearing on his face before he steeled himself up and looked back at her, clarifying, "I just wanted to be your boyfriend, dates or no dates."

"Oh. O-oh." And that was all she had to say about that, any coherent words burned away from the blush forming on her face.

Luka smiled hopefully, and Marinette quickly decided that bashfulness looked good on him. "So, if you want to make this work with me, then—"

"Yes!" she replied immediately, untangling her hands from his so she could push herself off the couch.

His eyes lit up, his arms spreading wide as she dropped into his lap, and he didn't recoil when she arched up to kiss him, her movements quick to ensure that there would've been no chance for them to be interrupted. She wrapped her arms around him, neither caring about the awkward position on the floor due to being lost in each other's touch.

There was a soft click when the kiss broke, Marinette promptly pulling herself against him and nestling her face near his collarbone, now able to properly enjoy the scent she'd missed for all those dreadful days they'd been apart.

Following up on what he'd told her underneath the bridge, she tightened her hold and whispered, "I love you too, Luka."

Snuggled so close to him, she swore that his heartbeat picked up, though she didn't have to feel it to know that he was happy, what with the way his hands shook against her and how he placed an immediate kiss on the top of her head. She let herself get absorbed in the moment, allowing herself to smile and think only of Luka, the one who respected her choices and feelings from the day they met.

There was no one else she'd rather share her identity with.

[taesspark]

A Normal Friday Afternoon

drabble #1 from the Spellbound series

pairing: Jungkook x reader

genre: enemies to lovers (but mostly enemies so far oops), hogwarts au

word count: 2.2k 

warnings: violence (oc punches jungkook in the face), swearing

It’s a normal Friday afternoon at Hogwarts, meaning everyone is going insane. You wonder why Professor Snape even bothers teaching Potions right now since it doesn’t look like anyone is paying the slightest bit of attention. He even chose a hard potion for the class to make, individually this time. As if making it an individual assignment could stop a group of annoying 17-year-olds from wreaking havoc. 

You flicker your eyes in annoyance at Jeon Jungkook and his rowdy group of friends. They had created a game where they launch the ingredients into each others’ cauldrons, giving each other points based on how close it got. Usually you try to get along with your classmates, especially fellow Gryffindors, but Jungkook has always been the sole exception. There’s something about him that grates all of your nerves like a carrot. Maybe it’s the way he’s good at all the same things you are, but he makes it seem more effortless. Maybe it’s the way everyone thinks he’s so innocent and kind, when he’s been metaphorically (and literally) pulling on your hair since first year. 

It started with the little things. You were friendly to him, like you are to everyone, and as an 11-year-old, you had nothing to complain about. Something changed one day when you were walking past him in the hallway to class and he hit you with a hex that he hadn’t mastered yet. You remember falling to the ground in pain, watching your stinging flesh go boneless. And Jungkook? He was laughing.

You’re no less of a witch or a Gryffindor though. With your limp arm, you cast the strongest dancing hex you could muster. It worked, of course, and Jungkook was known as “Happy Feet” for at least another year for the way he danced around Hogwarts that day. 

It’s a memory you keep close, as a reminder to never trust the sweet smile and starry eyes of Jeon Jungkook. 

If you looked at all of the detentions you’ve served in your 6 years of being a Hogwarts student (and there are plenty), you’re sure 99% would have been from fighting with Jungkook, whether it’s yelling at him, cursing him, or swatting him with your broomstick in midair during Quidditch practice. Because of course he would join the Quidditch team at the same time you did. 

You’re not in the mood for fighting today, though. You’re exhausted from a frankly awful week, and you just want to finish your stupid potion, get your stupid grade, and go to your stupid dorm so you can sleep. 

Your only good friend in this potions class is a Ravenclaw girl named Nina. For a Ravenclaw, she’s chatty, and she flits around you while you grind up asphodel root for your potion. With a quick slide of your knife, you dump the crushed root into your potion. It bubbled. Beside you, Nina bubbled even more, her personality like soda that had been shaken too hard. 

“-and then Emilia told me that she asked Irene if she would go with her to Hogsmeade next weekend, but Irene said she’s already going with Jieun, but Sam told me that Jieun is going alone, so what’s even the truth? You’d think that she’d at least-” 

“Maybe you should mind your business.” You give her a sour look, and you hope it isn’t too harsh. “Just a thought.” 

Nina’s mouth curls into a rueful smile. “You’re spending too much time with Yoongi lately.” 

You crack a smile at the thought of your best friend and his (only partly true) reputation. No one dares cross Min Yoongi, a 7th year Slytherin with a killer poker face. As one of his best friends, you can see right through it. 

“There’s no such thing as too much time with Yoongi,” you grumble. 

Nina leaves you alone after that, thank god. You usually have a higher tolerance for her chattiness and gossip, but today your patience is running thin. Luckily, she knows you well enough to not seem upset at your attitude. 

You sprinkle a serum into the potion before stirring it clockwise ten times. It’s the last step of the potion, and yours is already turning the perfect shade of mint green. You count to yourself as you stir: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-

You don’t make it to ten. You were so goddamn close. 

“Oh, shit-”

You don’t register who curses. All you can see is a bottle of serum—someone else’s bottle of serum— being launched straight into your cauldron, and your entire potion splattering onto your front. Your robes sizzle where the potion hit them. 

“Oops.” 

You recognize that voice. How could you not? You almost want to laugh. 

Fucking Jeon Jungkook. 

The leech lumbers up to you sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. “My bad. We were playing a game, and I missed pretty bad.” 

He chuckles a little, surveying the green ooze all over you. “Green is your color, Y/N. Maybe they should’ve put you in Slytherin.” 

You’re seething. 

A temper is not one of the traits associated with Gryffindor, but at that moment, you think maybe it should be. Lions do roar, after all. 

And roar is exactly what you do. Roar and knock Jungkook the fuck out. 

The room is in chaos: Professor Snape is yelling, Nina is telling you to calm down, Jungkook is on the ground in front of you, more shocked than hurt, and half the class is chanting “Fight!” because the adolescent urge to create violence never truly dies. 

“Take this outside!” Snape shouts at the two of you, grabbing you both by the collar of your robes. “Fight in the hallways, I don’t care, but this is not going to happen in my classroom. When you’re done, head to McGonagall’s office. I’m sure she’d like to have a word with you two delinquents.” 

Jungkook stares at you, rubbing at the bruise blooming on his cheek. 

The door swings closed, slamming in your face. With a huff, you turn around and vanish the potion residue still left on your clothes with a quick spell. You barely spare a glance for Jungkook. He stands several feet away, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

“Do you have something to say?” You snap. 

He opens his mouth. Then closes it. 

You roll your eyes. “Listen, Jeon. I know you did that on purpose. Very funny prank, absolutely hilarious. Truly, I’m rolling on the floor laughing right now.” 

Jungkook’s eyes drop to the floor as if he expected to see you there, laughing. 

“Let’s just go to McGonagall’s already,” you say, posture slumping at the thought of being yelled at by the intimidating professor.  

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says. Jungkook rolls his shoulders, and you see him gain some of his usual bravado. “We were playing a game, I already explained this to you.” 

You bark out a laugh, just one. “I’m not stupid.” 

He cocks a brow. “Are you sure? I bet my potion was better than yours even though I was dicking around for the entire class.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Hit a nerve?” 

“No.” 

It’s like this, for the long, long, long trek from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower where McGonagall’s office is. 

“You know, you don’t have to be such an asshole all the time,” you say, turning the corner. Jungkook jogs after you to keep up. 

“I don’t? No way, all this time I thought it was mandatory.” 

He sounds more upset than snarky, and in your present state of blind rage, you don’t have a single clue why he would be upset. He’s the one who ruined your potion and got you sent to McGonagall’s office. He’s the one who has been a splinter the size of Greenland in your thumb for five years and counting. 

“Besides,” he adds, as if you wanted to have a conversation with him, “you’re the one who fucking punched me in the face. It’s kinda hypocritical to call me an asshole in this situation.” 

“That’s a really big word, Jungkook. Did you finally learn how to read?” 

Jungkook’s face crumples into a frown. “Shut up.” 

“Hit a nerve?” You mock. 

You think getting to McGonagall’s office is a relief until you’re finally there. McGonagall is all but screeching at the two of you. You’ve heard the same lecture several hundred times, but never in such a high pitch. You offer to make her some herbal tea for her throat, and she only gives you the evil eye. Jungkook snorts beside you. You ignore him, nudging him in the ribs with your elbow. 

“Never in my days…”

“...Such stupidity from my own students!”

You fade in and out of consciousness during the lecture, and one look at Jungkook tells you he’s doing the same. 

“Detention for both of you. I will see the two of you here at 9 pm sharp every day for the rest of the week,” McGonagall finally says. 

Jungkook groans. 

“I’m being generous,” McGonagall says. “If I see the two of you acting like violent animals again, I can and will suspend you both from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.” 

You and Jungkook both make sounds of protest, only to be drowned out by McGonagall. 

“I hate to see my own team lose, but it has been five years of your childish fights. You two will learn to be civil to each other, and I will make sure of it.” 

The tone of her voice makes you uneasy. Jungkook beats you to the question that’s on both of your minds. “What are you going to do to us?” 

The fear in his voice would make you smile if you weren’t practically shaking in your boots yourself. 

“As you know, in Transfiguration, I am going to be having everyone work in teams this year. I was going to let you choose your partners, but you two have not earned that privilege.” 

You turn to face Jungkook. He’s staring back at you in wide-eyed horror. 

“You both are now partners in Transfiguration. Sit by each other and complete the projects together. I will not tolerate any misbehaving in my class, and if you don’t work as a team, you will be risking your own grades.” McGonagall stares at the two of you with the smallest of smiles, disgustingly smug. She’s enjoying this, and you hate her for it. 

“But-”

“Professor!” 

“I won’t hear it!” She shouts. Jungkook recoils. “This is final. If you have a problem, you should’ve thought about that before brawling like wrestlers in Potions.” 

You hang your head, staring at how the end of your robes skims your shoes. You don’t like to be dramatic, but this sure feels like the end of the world. The rest of your year is probably ruined, thanks to McGonagall essentially sentencing you to Jungkook duty. Not to mention Transfiguration is your hardest class, even without having to compete with Jungkook. You don’t doubt that this would make everything so much harder. 

“That’s all I have to say to you. Please leave,” McGonagall says, pressing a thumb and index finger into her forehead. 

The two of you file out of her office, stumbling down the empty hallway. You walk in silence, thankful that classes aren’t out yet. You stop a few corridors down, and Jungkook stops next to you.

You look at him, really look at him. Other than the bruise on his face a la you, he has a sweet face and kind eyes. You remind yourself that it’s fake. 

You take a step closer to him, and he tilts his head at you, nonplussed. 

“Y/N?” 

You brush a hand on his cheekbone, where you hit him. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask. 

The hallway is empty, but Jungkook still looks both ways before responding to you, as if you were a car hurtling towards him on the street. He gulps at your proximity to him, how he can feel your breath mingling with his own and your fingertips’ gentle pressure on his face. 

“A little,” he says, quieter than you. “You really know how to use your fists, huh?” 

He laughs. To your ears, it sounds forced. You smile. Checkmate. 

Without warning, you grab his tie and jerk his face down to yours, leaving just a breath of space between your noses. You lean even closer to Jungkook, and a smile ghosts your lips when you feel him moving closer to you at the same time. You wait for one more moment, letting your warm breath hit his skin. The moment he closes his eyes, you whisper, “Good.” 

His eyes flutter back open, confused, and you take your foot and slam it down on his. He all but howls in pain, nearly knocking his head into yours as he hops away. 

"What was that for?"

"If you still don't know, then maybe I need to step on you again." You narrow your eyes at him, still close enough to register the clean linen smell of his clothes. “Do not cross me again. I need a good grade in Transfiguration this year, and I won’t let you ruin that for me.” 

"McGonagall is right there. I could go tell her," he threatens. His eyes are wide, and you pick up on the slightest fear under his façade of arrogance. 

"Okay, do it. See if I care, asshole." 

You spin on your heel and storm down the corridor, leaving a stunned Jungkook in your wake.