#i’ve been thinking about this for a while and i suppose this is how the confrontation in the gardens play out 🥹

[velarisdusk]

No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,’” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper. 

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore. 

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more. 

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer. 

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him. 

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant. 

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. 

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react. 

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall. 

[solxamber]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSj1MUa7G/

I feel like this is something my Yuu would sing in the Mostro Lounge

Jealous!Yuu with Azul, Trey and Rook plss(seperate and romantic)

the song is so good omg, I've had it in my head since I saw this req. I've also reinterpretated the req a little bit, hope that's okay!

thank you for waiting so long <3

(also reader is pretty assertive in this)

Azul, Trey, Rook x Jealous! Reader

Azul Ashengrotto

The Mostro Lounge was buzzing, as always. Azul, in full business mode, was the perfect mix of charm and professionalism, pulling strings and striking deals with that silver tongue of his. It wasn’t hard to see why people were practically falling for him left and right.

And you? Oh, you were fuming.

It started with that one overly enthusiastic customer, leaning across the counter, giggling at everything Azul said. Then, a group of students practically lined up to thank him for his "kindness" (which you knew was probably tied to some convoluted contract). The final straw? Some guy who straight-up asked Azul if he wanted to "grab coffee sometime," while twirling his hair like he was in a cheesy romance movie.

You slammed down your empty drink and stood up so fast the chair screeched. Enough was enough.

The moment Azul stepped away from the crowd to retreat to his office, you were on him.

"Azul."

He froze, hand on the doorknob, and turned to face you. "Ah, is there something I can—"

You grabbed his tie and tugged, not too hard, but enough to shut him up and pull him closer. His glasses slipped down his nose as his eyes widened in surprise.

"Listen here, Azul," you started, voice low and firm. "I’ve been watching people fawn over you all night, and frankly, I’m this close to losing my mind."

"I-I beg your pardon?" he stammered, his usual eloquence completely deserting him.

"You know exactly what I mean," you huffed, glaring up at him. "You walk around, flashing that business smile, charming everyone without even trying, and it drives me crazy. When are you going to stop playing hard to get and make me yours already?"

Azul’s face turned a shade you didn’t even think was possible. "W-What?! I… I don’t—"

"You know I belong in your arms," you continued, taking a step closer, making him back up against the wall. "So what’s the holdup, huh? Or do you like torturing me by letting me watch all these people drool over you?"

Azul opened and closed his mouth a few times, utterly speechless. His glasses were fogging up slightly, and his hands hovered awkwardly at his sides as if he didn’t know where to put them.

"You’re jealous?" he finally managed to croak out, voice barely above a whisper.

"Beyond jealous," you admitted shamelessly. "And I’m done hiding it."

Azul’s blush deepened, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. "I… I had no idea you felt this way."

"Well, now you do." You leaned in slightly, smirking at how flustered he looked. "So? What’s it gonna be, Azul? Are you gonna make me yours, or do I have to endure another night of watching people throw themselves at you?"

He straightened his glasses, avoiding your gaze, but the small, shy smile that crept onto his lips gave him away. "I… would be honored to make you mine," he said softly, then added, "And for the record, I don’t care about anyone else throwing themselves at me. I only care about you."

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but grin. "Took you long enough to admit it," you teased, finally letting go of his tie.

Azul chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… suppose I have a lot to learn about expressing myself."

"Don’t worry," you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers. "I’ll teach you."

And judging by the way his blush deepened, he didn’t mind the idea one bit.

Trey Clover

The scene in the Heartslabyul kitchen was one you’d seen countless times before. Trey, sleeves rolled up, apron tied snugly around his waist, calmly mixing batter in a bowl as the scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air. He always looked so perfectly in his element here, like nothing could ever faze him.

Unfortunately, your patience had absolutely been fazed.

"Did you see that? Trey is so cool and kind!"

"I’m thinking of confessing to him this weekend—do you think he likes roses or sweets more?"

The voices of swooning freshmen played on a loop in your mind, fueling the fire in your chest. Everywhere you went, someone was singing Trey’s praises. It didn’t help that he was everything they said and more—charming, steady, warm. He was the complete opposite of Riddle’s strictness, and freshmen flocked to him for it.

But they didn’t get to adore him like that. Not if you had anything to say about it.

you stormed into the kitchen, your footsteps firm and purposeful. Trey, ever composed, glanced up from his work and greeted you with a soft smile.

"What a surprise. I was just about to put these in the oven. Want to—"

"Cut the sweet talk, Clover," you interrupted, marching straight up to him and slamming your hands on the counter. His smile faltered slightly, though the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, setting the bowl aside and leaning casually against the counter, as if your obvious fury didn’t rattle him in the slightest.

"Yeah, something’s on my mind," you snapped. "I can’t take it anymore, Trey."

His brow arched slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Can’t take what, exactly?"

You stepped closer, effectively pinning him against the counter. Your tone softened, but your words carried the weight of everything you’d been holding back. "I can’t take watching people fall all over you. Every day, it’s the same thing—'Trey this,' 'Trey that,' 'Trey-senpai is so perfect.' And now I hear someone’s planning to confess to you this weekend?"

Trey tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You seem awfully worked up about this."

"Of course I’m worked up! I—" You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you, Trey. You know I belong in your arms, so when are you going to stop torturing me and make me yours?"

For the first time, you saw Trey genuinely falter. His eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks. But just as quickly, he regained his composure, his smile softening into something warmer, more genuine.

"So, you’re jealous," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

"Obviously," you muttered, crossing your arms. "And if you knew all along, you’re even more infuriating than I thought."

Trey chuckled, reaching up to adjust his glasses. "I had a feeling, but I didn’t want to rush you. I was waiting for you to say it yourself."

"Well, I’ve said it now. What are you going to do about it?"

His smile turned fond as he reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I guess I should finally put you out of your misery, huh?"

Before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You’ve been mine all along, you know," he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Your breath hitched, and you felt the heat rising to your cheeks. "You… could’ve told me sooner," you mumbled, looking away.

"Where’s the fun in that?" he teased, though the sincerity in his tone betrayed how much he meant it. "Besides, it was worth the wait to hear you say it so passionately."

"Ugh, you’re a villain," you muttered, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Trey chuckled, pulling you into a gentle hug. "Villain or not, you’re stuck with me now."

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rook Hunt

Rook Hunt was everything you could want—and everything you couldn’t have. At least, that’s what it felt like.

His poetic words and boundless charm had drawn you in long ago, and you were certain they’d ensnared countless others just as easily. He was magnetic, otherworldly, impossible to ignore. And the way he spoke to people—praised them—was just… who he was. You understood that. You accepted it. But it didn’t stop the burning jealousy from clawing at your chest every time someone looked at him like he hung the moon.

Like today.

“I think Rook might be interested in me,” someone had whispered. “He said my laughter was like a melody carried on the wind!”

You’d laughed it off at the time, acting unaffected as you walked away, but the words echoed in your mind, leaving you restless and frustrated. Of course, Rook hadn’t meant it like that. You knew better than anyone how whimsical and effusive he could be. But it didn’t matter. Every glance he cast, every flowery compliment he offered, made you feel like your claim on him—if you even had one—was slipping through your fingers.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

By the time you found him in the courtyard, you were trembling—not from anger, but from the weight of everything you’d been holding back. Rook stood by a tree, gazing up at the branches with a soft smile, the winter sun casting a halo around his golden hair. When he noticed you approaching, his face lit up, and he greeted you in his usual fashion.

“Ah, mon trésor! How radiant you are today! To see you is to feel the sun’s warmth, even in the cold of—”

“Rook,” you interrupted, your voice tighter than you intended.

His smile faltered, replaced by an expression of mild concern. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

You stopped just a step away from him, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “No, not wrong. Just…” You hesitated, swallowing hard. “I need to say this before I lose my nerve.”

Rook tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes, and the sight of him—so open, so beautiful—made your heart ache.

“I know how you are,” you began, your voice shaking. “I know you love to compliment people, and that’s… fine. It’s part of who you are. But…” You looked away, embarrassed by the heat rising to your face. “I hate the way they look at you. The way they think they might have a chance with you.”

“Mon ange…” Rook murmured, his voice softening.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you said quickly, meeting his gaze again. “I could never ask you to change that. But I… I want them to know. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

There it was. The truth, laid bare between you. Your heart pounded as silence stretched, and for the first time, you saw Rook genuinely stunned. His eyes widened, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face—wide and radiant and filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Ah, mon amour,” he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion. “You are magnificent.”

Before you could respond, Rook closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face as he gazed at you with a reverence that stole your breath.

“Do you know how long I have waited to hear those words?” he whispered. “How I have longed for this moment?”

Your breath caught, your eyes searching his. “You… you waited?”

“Of course,” he said, his smile softening. “How could I not? You are the one who holds my heart, mon trésor. I could not give it to anyone else, no matter how many compliments I offer.”

The relief that washed over you was overwhelming, and you laughed—soft and shaky, but genuine. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Rook chuckled, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. “And you are extraordinary. Shall we make it official, then? Let the world know that we are one?”

Your heart swelled, and you nodded, a smile breaking across your face. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Rook beamed, his joy so infectious you couldn’t help but laugh again. And as he pulled you into his arms, spinning you around with the kind of exuberance only he could muster, you knew you’d never have to wonder if you belonged in his heart. You were already there.

Masterlist

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

I can just imagine Tiffany just watching the mc sleep.

Just imagine curling into your pillows, blinking awake and you see this girl who’s trying to be you taking notes all about you.

Hot take: I would at least try to befriend her, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t slept recently or something but just imagine becoming her friend. I’ve personally befriended everyone I’ve had ‘beef’ with, so just imagine Tiff apologizing and the two of you just dying the other’s hair, listening to music or baking together.

Befriend the cunt to get rid of the cunt I suppose,

Good morning yall!! I woke up so sick idk why but anywayssss....

yes bro like Tiffany's obsession with reader is beyond weird. she woul literally wear her skin if she good. Tiffany goes out of her way to memorize things like how reader sleeps, how she sits casually, her handwriting, tries to dress like her and wear the same perfume, she even practices sneezing like her.

And as much as I love a good enemies to friends pipeline, Tiffany is just too far gone for that. remember she's been literally bullying reader since like the 7th grade. i kinda imagine reader to be a very kind, shy girl who forgives on the outside but never really lets things go. so while she might act cool w Tiffany while she's in the manor, don't think she's forgiven her. honestly it's gonna suck for the batfam once they realize that the reader holds onto grudges like it's her job. the snake bite also has an affect on her personality, I won't say positive or negative because it's rlly a bit of both. like it makes her more confident, less shy, more sultry, more agile and charming but it also allows her to literally spew venom out of her fingertips (and teeth). i'll dive more into this in another post! but yeah reader and Tiff will not be friends but there definitely will be an enemies to friends to maybe lovers plot with someone!!!!! Also who do yall want as a love interest for reader???? and why?

[shinig6mis]

it had been a few seconds since bakugou had knocked on your door, but it felt like a lifetime. his mind raced in circles, not knowing whether his thoughts were rooted in paranoia or if there was some truth to them. why hadn't you texted him? it wasn’t like you two had a strict routine or anything, but after everything that had happened last night—how you two had stayed together, cuddling and falling asleep—he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different.

every other night, you've been in and out of his apartment, always leaving within ten minutes. but last night, something different happened. he couldn’t explain it, but it felt right to be lying there with you, sharing your warmth, hearing the steady rhythm of your breathing as you fell asleep. he could still feel the weight of you in his arms, the way you fit against him perfectly like you were meant to be there.

then, when he woke up, you were gone. no text. no call. no nothing. his heart squeezed painfully at the thought of it and he found himself racking his brain with the worst possible scenarios. maybe it had been too much. maybe crossing that boundary had been the mistake. maybe you’d seen the intimacy between you both as a sign that this arrangement had to end. maybe you regretted it, and that terrified him.

so, here he was, standing at your door, hands tense by his sides, hoping he wasn’t about to hear something he wasn’t ready to face.

when you finally opened the door, your eyes were slightly puffy, your hair pulled up in a messy bun, and you looked far too tired for someone who just woke up. the faint glow of a desk lamp illuminated your room. his eyes went to glance at the textbooks were scattered on your desk and the laptop still open with whatever assignments you had yet to finish.

“bakugou?” you blinked in confusion. “what are you doing here?”

“i—uh…” bakugou started, caught off guard by the sight of you. you were wearing those loose pajamas that he secretly found adorable. “can i come in?”

you didn’t hesitate, stepping aside to let him into your room. the moment he entered, he made a beeline for your bed, sitting down, while you stood across from him, arms crossed in that way you always did.

his eyes stayed on you as he tried to gather his words. “you didn’t text after last night,” he finally blurted, his voice rough as always, but the worry in his tone was clear. he couldn’t stand it anymore.

you let out a soft sigh and explained, “i’ve been buried in assignments, bakugou. aizawa’s been on my ass, and i just haven’t had the time to check my phone.”

he exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing as you spoke. he’d convinced himself he’d lost you, but hearing that explanation made everything feel weirdly better. “so, no… nothing’s wrong?” he hated how nervous he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. this arrangement you both have meant more to him than he was willing to admit, and the thought of losing it scared the hell out of him.

you raised an eyebrow, taking a moment before saying, “we can talk about last night tomorrow if you want. for now… just stay. sleep over. you can be annoying and overbearing in the morning.”

the relief that washed over him was almost overwhelming. he hadn’t realized how much the silence had been eating at him until now. you weren’t breaking things off. you were just distracted, which was probably what he should’ve assumed in the first place. but he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe, just maybe, he had crossed a line he wasn’t supposed to.

for the rest of the night, you sat at your desk, buried in your work, while he watched you, propped up on your bed with his arm supporting his head.

it was quiet. only the sound of your focused typing and the occasional shuffle of papers filling the space between you two. he couldn't help but appreciate the view, watching you get lost in your assignments. despite how complicated this arrangement felt sometimes, he loved the fact that he was the only one who ever got to see you like this. no one else.

he stayed there, his mind quiet for the first time in hours, just taking in the sight of you. you were everything to him in that moment, even if you didn’t know it.

time passed, and eventually, you closed your laptop and crawled into bed. without saying anything, you curled up under the blanket, pulling it tightly around you. bakugou hesitated for a second before sliding in behind you, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. he buried his face into the back of your neck, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, the softness of your skin.

he felt the tension leave his body as he held you, but his mind still wouldn’t let go. there was a an annoying part of him that wondered what you really thought of him. if you felt the same or if you didn’t. if this was all just temporary to you. but the other part of him that refused to let go of his pride was content just being here. being with you. even if nothing between you was official.

you shifted slightly in his arms, making him tighten his hold on you. it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t what he had expected when he first got into this arrangement with you. but right now, with you in his arms, it was enough. and maybe, he could keep pretending that it always would be.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[kiesbrainjuice]

— SMELL THAT ! rintarou suna

➥ pr : timeskip!suna x fem!reader

➥ syn : your husband decided to prank you by doing this

➥ tw : wife reader, pure fluff.

➥ a/n : omggg I found this in my fyp it’s so funny lmao (am i alone?)

The day had started off quietly for you. Suna had left early in the morning to hang out with Atsumu and a few of his friends, and you used the peaceful hours to enjoy your book and relax around the house. After lunch, Suna finally returned home. He looked a bit tired but still greeted you with a quick kiss on the forehead before retreating to the bedroom for some much-needed rest.

You didn’t think much of it when he disappeared for a while, though you were amused at how his outings with Atsumu always seemed to exhaust him more than a full volleyball match. By the time the late afternoon rolled around, you had curled up on the sofa with your book again, completely engrossed in the story.

That’s when it happened.

Suna strolled into the living room with a furrowed brow, his movements deliberate, almost ominous. His tall frame loomed slightly over you as he stopped at the edge of the sofa.

“Smell that?” he asked, his tone sharp and accusatory.

You blinked, slowly lowering your book to look up at him. “No?” you replied, confused.

“Exactly!” he said, throwing his hands up. “Where is dinner?”

Your brows furrowed as his words sank in. For a moment, you thought he was joking, but his face stayed serious. You glanced at the clock—it wasn’t even close to dinner time yet. Still, his sudden irritation threw you off guard.

“What do you mean, ‘where’s dinner?’” you asked, sitting up straighter. “It’s barely past four! You just got home—what’s your problem?”

He crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m starving. I’ve been out all day, and I come home to… nothing? Nothing, babe?” He emphasized the last word, his voice dripping with mock disappointment.

You felt your face heat, a mix of anger and embarrassment. “Excuse me? I didn’t realize this was the 1950s, and I was supposed to have a three-course meal waiting for you the second you walked through the door. If you’re hungry, you know where the kitchen is!”

“I work hard!” he shot back, his tone dramatic and theatrical now, though you were too flustered to notice it right away. “I play volleyball to keep us in this lifestyle, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Are you serious right now?” you asked, your voice rising. You stood up from the couch, squaring off with him. He towered over you, but you refused to back down. “I do plenty around here, Rin! You think just because you’re tall and handsome, you can talk to me like this?”

He opened his mouth, but the moment you caught the faintest twitch of his lips—the beginning of a suppressed grin—it clicked. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“Wait… what is this?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, avoiding your gaze.

“Rintarou Suna.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Is this one of Atsumu’s stupid ideas?”

At that, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His serious expression crumbled, and a wide grin broke out on his face as he doubled over with laughter.

“Oh my god!” you groaned, throwing your head back in exasperation. “It is! You absolute idiot! I really thought you were mad at me!”

He was laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Babe, your face—” he wheezed. “You looked so offended—oh my god, Atsumu’s going to love this.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re the worst! I can’t believe you fell for one of his dumb ideas.”

“Come on, it was funny!” he said, straightening up and wiping at his eyes. “You’ve got to admit it was good.”

“Good?” you repeated, your voice climbing an octave. “You scared the crap out of me, Rinnie! I was about to start thinking you were misogynistic!”

He leaned down, wrapping his arms around your waist despite your protests. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was just a joke. You know I don’t expect you to make dinner every day. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You’d better,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re making dinner tonight.”

“Done,” he said, grinning. “Anything you want.”

You huffed but couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Lucky and smart,” he teased, leaning back slightly to look down at you. “I mean, I could’ve married someone without a sense of humor—”

“Don’t push your luck,” you interrupted, glaring at him.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, his grin still firmly in place. “Fine, fine. But seriously, baby, you should’ve seen your face.”

You sighed, shaking your head. But then your eyes landed on the sofa pillow, and an idea struck. Before he could react, you grabbed the pillow and swung it at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Hey!” he protested, laughing as you swung again. “What are you doing?”

“You deserve this!” you said, chasing him around the living room with the pillow. “You and Atsumu are the absolute worst!”

He ducked out of reach, laughing so hard he could barely get a word out. “Okay, okay, I give up! Baby, stop—”

“Not until you apologize properly!” you yelled, whacking him again.

He caught the pillow mid-swing, towering over you as he smirked down at you. “You know you’re not scary, right? You’re, like, half my height.”

“Don’t test me, Rinnie!” you said, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight despite your half-hearted protests. “Okay, okay,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “I’m sorry. You’re amazing. I love you. And I’ll never prank you again—well, unless it’s a really good idea.”

You groaned, leaning into his chest despite yourself. “Oh hell nah.”

“And you love it,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You sighed, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[bambisnc]

⤷ "fuck,.." his voice is slightly hoarse as he struggles to catch his breath, a delicate string of spit stretching from your lips to his, "y'taste so sweet. what is that, cherry?"

GENRE : suggestive xx WC : 1097 w! CW/TW : uneditted + swearing + implied innocent!reader + first kiss, kissing + implied fuckboy!jungwon

SUGGESTED 🎧: diet pepsi, addison rae untouched, XO : shit's crazy. + [m.list]

thinking about childhood bsf!nishimura riki.

thinking about how you've known him pretty much all your life owing to the fact that you literally grew up with him as your next door neighbor; it was only obvious that the proximity would lead to a close relationship between the two of you and, well, it was only obvious (to everyone but you, apparently) that you'd end up developing feelings for the boy.

but as time passed, you grew older and ended up going your separate ways and losing touch. of course, you didn't ever really end up getting proper closure on whatever it was that you felt for him, resulting in a weird crush you never really get over.

but fast forward and it's winter vacation! both your families decide it's the perfect time for a huge get together, because, it's been so long with everyone here~! so you're all but threatened to spend your time off back at home. well, hey, if it's any consolation at least niki will be suffering with you?

oh, what's that? he volunteered to drive you? well isn't that lovely! what a wonderful opportunity to spend time and catch up with your beloved friend!

...

"fuck,.." his voice is slightly hoarse as he struggles to catch his breath, a delicate string of spit stretching from your lips to his, "y'taste so sweet. what is that, like, cherry?"

the slight sheen of sweat on his features and mussed up hair from your hands running through his locks captivates you so deeply that you almost forget to answer. "... it's cherry lip gloss, yeah."

his tongue runs over his lips before he simply hums in response. you doubt riki knows how badly you want to lean in again, to close the little remaining space still between you and to kiss him again and again till he's completely senseless. even if for no other reason than to, somehow, convey your own yearning for more.

the cool metallic cans of half finished diet pepsi in the center console graze your thigh lightly when you shift to settle in your position on top of him more comfortably.

merely a half an hour ago, while stopping for gas and earlier mentioned refreshments, you remember him asking if there was anything you were looking forward to going back home.

and you, high off of sugary lollipops and cringey yelled out song lyrics, had promptly replied back, "yang jungwon."

"... jungwon? that nerd we went to school with?" riki had asked, voice almost alarmingly low pitched. "and why is that, exactly?"

"i mean ... he's cute; messaged me on insta a couple times recently."

"oh yeah? s’that right?.. never really took him to be ... your type."

"...? what is that supposed to mean. are you even in touch with jungwon?"

"mm, nah, i’ve just heard stuff through the grapevine. he's more the type to get around, if you know what i mean. more of an, ah,.. experienced dude," he pauses, letting his gaze trail up and down your figure, "and you're basically .. well.

... a naive little girl."

you didn't talk to him for a whole hour after that. 

the silence settling in afterwards was heavy, until the childhood best friend you’d been rather looking forward to meeting decided to be even more of a shit than usual and let slip a few more harsh jabs about how you were so, so innocent that you probably hadn’t even had your first kiss yet~.

“yeah, well,” you’d said, deciding you couldn’t take it anymore. “unless you’re planning on helping with that – just shut the fuck up and drive.” 

riki had glanced at you sideways, calculating, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel. 

“alright.”

“that’s what i thought — wait what?.”

“i said, yeah, i’ll help.” his face was rather composed, considering what he had offered up, only the barest hint of a smirk visible, “might as well, if you’re planning on whining about this all the way.”

“i wasn’t-,” but before you could even think about formulating a coherent response, he was already shifting into reverse and bringing the car to a halt. you’re pretty sure you’d all but sat there with your mouth hanging agape. was riki serious about this?...

his hand brushing against your jaw, moving your face towards his from how you were previously resolutely staring forward, jolted you out of your haze. “i’m going to kiss you now.”

“... okay.” 

and then his lips were on yours, and the world outside the car seemed to disappear.

…

fast forward to the present, which you’re brought back to by a harsh jab, tantalizingly veiled by the fact that the person mumbling it does so with his lips so close to yours that you feel riki say it before you hear him. “you suck at this, fyi.” 

and there was that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk of his again.

you huff, annoyance clearly oozing from the sound, "guess i need more practice, then."

“mhm.” he presses a soft peck to the corner of your mouth, “that’s what i’m here for.”

riki’s hands readjust themselves on your waist, pulling you closer, finally, but instead of kissing you properly, he only peppers a trail of featherlight ones along your jaw all the way down your neck. with an ease that can only be accounted for by a certain familiarity between you, you allow your head to tilt back. 

the increased access is taken full advantage of by him, obviously. one of his hands glides up to rest behind your neck, the softer kisses leading way to increasingly rougher, more bruising bites and nips. 

“hey – ouch. stop that.” 

“what’s that, hmm? ‘s it getting too much for you?” his thumb strokes your tender skin that is bound to end up with red and purple marks – marks that will definitely inspire questions you won’t really know how to answer. 

“‘m sorry, baby. let me apologize for it, yeah?” 

and you can’t really bring yourself to turn that down. not when he looks like that,.. kiss swollen lips, red flush against his honeyed skin, eyes half lidded with something you can’t exactly place…

unbeknownst to both you and him, however, riki’s phone buzzes where it lays forgotten in the backseat. when the vibrations stop, a soft ping! makes itself known. if either of you were paying any attention, that is. 

the display screen shows 4 new messages from a contact named “yang jw” 

riki wtf you guys were supposed to call like 2 hours ago. your guys' moms are freakin' PISSED at me rn

istfg i will beat ur ass. make out on YOUR OWN TIME MF

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[usercelestial]

What if Evan Buckley decides fuck it I quit my job because nothing makes me happy anymore and opens a bakery and then Tommy starts ordering pastries from him for the 217 and they finally reconcile after buck makes him the best damn chocolate muffins Tommy's ever eaten

Tommy's been ordering from this bakery for the last five years. After he was promoted to captain of the 217, he made it a point to bring in treats to win over his old coworkers turned employees. He orders a couple dozen muffins once every week to keep people happy. Originally, it was supposed to be one time but goddamn if they weren't the best damn muffins Tommy's ever had. His crew was happy enough with the incentive and it became somewhat of a tradition at Harbor that a delivery boy would show up at their door with a few pristine white boxes to hand over to Captain Kinard. 

Five years and he's never had a problem getting the pastries delivered on time. Early in the morning of the day of delivery, before the sun even came up, he got an email explaining that his delivery had been cancelled and a refund had been processed. 

"Shit," Tommy wipes the sleep from his eyes and sits up. He has to get to work in a few hours and he knows his crew well enough to know how cranky they'd be if they had nothing to start the morning with. He fumbles out of bed, throws on his clothes, and heads down to the bakery to see what he can do. 

It's a little place not too far from Harbor. It's called something like Emergency Eats, it has a cliche first responder theme. First responders get a 15 percent off discount with each order so the weekly spending makes it a little worth it. 

Tommy rushes inside, the sun barely having risen and the cold morning air settling on his skin. The bakery is light and warm around him. It feels like one of those places someone would call home. The decor stays true to the theme and centers firefighters. On the wall behind the counter, there's a mural of a fire station. Along the wall in the dining area, there are pictures of different first responders. He recognizes Athena in one and smiles to himself. The tiles are black and white checkered and there's even a fire pole standing next to the counter. He walks up to it and rings the gaudy bell that hangs from the ceiling that says “pull for service” despite the immense amount of cringe he feels while doing it. 

“Be right there!” 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

He knows that voice. He’s spent five years thinking about this voice, dreaming about it, being haunted by it. He’s spent five years feeling terrified of hearing it on the radio, at an emergency, on the street. 

Evan Buckley walks through the curtain that covers the entrance to the kitchen, holding a tray of pink and white colored cookies. 

“Oh fuck,” Buck’s face goes ghostly white and his knuckles strain to keep grip on the tray. 

The room is still and quiet in the soft morning glow. The black and white tiles are painted with the delicate shadows casted from the trees lining the sidewalk. The two men breathe the same air and let the shock wash over them. 

Tommy isn’t allowed to break the silence first. He relinquished that right when he walked out of Buck’s life five years ago. Buck seems to pick up on the fragile air between them and breaks the quiet for the both of them, “Are you here about your muffins?” He sounds apologetic, maybe a little weak. 

“Uh,” Tommy kicks up invisible dust on the ground, “Yeah, I was gonna see if I could order something else if you’re out of the ones I normally order.” 

“Okay, listen, I’m sorry about the delivery mishap, it’s just that normally I have more people delivering but most of them are out sick and I’ve been so busy lately and I just-” 

Buck continues babbling while Tommy only half listens, questions burning in throat. 

“Is this your shop?” Tommy interrupts. 

Buck’s face dances between expressions before landing on surprised, “I thought you-” he cuts himself off and shakes his head, “Yeah. Yeah, this is my shop.” 

“You're not at the 118 anymore? You're-you’re not a firefighter?” 

Buck glanced down at his feet and puts the tray of cookies down on the counter. He takes a deep breath and speaks, “I thought maybe Eddie or Chimney would have told you.” 

Tommy furrows his brows, “We don't talk that much about-” he swallows, “you know…” About Buck. About them. About the breakup. He hasn't heard a word about Buck in five years. He hasn't even heard his name. 

“Yeah,” Buck nods his understanding. 

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. 

“Um, yeah, this is my shop,” Buck continues, “I opened it about five years ago. A few months after.” 

They're dancing around saying it. Tommy's not sure how much longer they can keep this up for. 

“Why’d you quit?” Tommy asks. That's the question at the center of this whole thing. Why, why, why. 

Buck blinks, like he’s got something at the tip of his tongue but it caught between his teeth, “Few reasons.” He looks down at his legs again, “Uh, I got into an accident a while back. It took me out of the field for a while and I-” Buck stops and searched for the words, “I couldn't think of many reasons to go back to how things were before so I figured it was time for a fresh start.” 

Tommy lets the information wash over him. He can't imagine Buck being content with being out of the field but this bakery- it's tribute to first responders, it's pictures on the wall of smiling firefighters and dispatch operators- it's peaceful. It's like he’s found the happiest middle ground possible. 

“P-plus, I teach on the side,” Buck adds like an afterthought, “Part time, it's good money. Only have class a few days a week so it gives me time to run the bakery and keep business up.” 

Tommy smiles at that. Buck was always a busy-body, constantly needing to be moving in order to stay stimulated. Without being a firefighter, Tommy had wondered how he manages with all the extra free time but of course Buck would fill the days however he could. He’s never been sedentary and he won't start now. 

“Sounds like you've been busy,” Tommy comments lamely. Like he's a stranger. Like this is just small talk. It's almost nice. The small talk- pretending these small intimacies are something he still gets to enjoy. 

A moment passes before Buck claps his hands, “Your muffins!” He disappears into the kitchen and bustles around. Tommy can see his shadow passing through the window in the center of the wall. 

When Buck re-emerges, he’s holding the signature box of muffins that gets delivered to his station. “For you. We had them, it's just that I couldn't get them to you. Sorry about that.” 

Tommy shakes his head and steps forward to grab them, “No, don't worry about it. They're just for my crew, I’m the captain now and I’m trying to keep everyone happy.” 

“Captain?” Buck quirks an eyebrow, tilts his head, and smirks. Tommy's heart hurts. “You've been busy too.” 

“You could say that,” Tommy tries not to overthink whether or not it sounds like he’s flirting. He doesn't know if he intends it or not. Instead he focuses on the way Buck ducks his head and hides his smile. Tommy feels like a wrong move here is going to cost him. He wants to be delicate, he wants to flirt, he wants to friend-zone him, he wants to reach across the counter and pull him in and never let him go. It's been five years, it's been seconds, it's been no time at all. Seeing Buck again feels like taking your first breath after being underwater for too long. His lungs are burning. The right thing to do is to keep burning. It's selfish to do anything else. To gasp for breath the way he wants to. But- 

“Listen, Buck, if it's easier on you guys,” Tommy mentally flays himself for starting the sentence, “I could swing by in person instead. So you don't have to worry about delivering to us.” 

Buck considers him. Tommy waits for him to say what they both already know. That it’s not a good idea, they should lose contact, forget each other. 

Buck sucks his teeth. Suddenly, Tommy feels a wall rise between them. Then he exhales and says, “On one condition.” 

Tommy shrugs, keeping himself nonchalant, “Of course.” Anything, obviously, I’d do anything. 

“You can't call me Buck. It’s Evan or nothing” 

Every alarm is going off in his head. Red, blaring sirens that have always told when to run sing through his skull and fall on deaf ears. 

“I can do that, Evan.” 

Evan smiles. For the time, the smile finally reaches his eyes. They twinkle like they used to. This is such a bad idea. 

“Same time next week?” Tommy holds the basket with one hand and does finger guns with the other. He’ll never stop embarrassing himself. 

“You know where to find me,” Evan leans against the wall, blue apron tied cutely around his waist. There's a pink tint to his cheeks that Tommy tries not to read into. Gentle is the name of the game and he’s trying not to let himself expect anything he shouldn't. They're just two old friends catching up once a week. Tommy's just a customer in Evan’s shop. They hardly know each other anymore. 

Maybe they’ll get to know each other better than before he cut loose and ran. Or maybe Tommy will just become a recurring customer. He’s nervous to find out which. Either way, he leaves the shop far too excited for the week to come to an end. His crew comment on his quote-unquote glowing cheeks and far off look in his eyes. 

Picking up muffins becomes Tommy’s favorite part of the week. 

[swappermanent]

(Wet) Dream Come True (Frank's POV)

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

You might be wondering why I decided to take Max’s body from him. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times since it happened. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Well… not as much as you’d think.

When Max’s mom and I first got together, being a father figure wasn’t exactly in my plans. Sure, I cared for Max, but I was stepping into some big shoes. A stepdad is supposed to guide, support, and be there when things get tough, right? Well, how the hell do you guide someone through something like losing their mom? I wasn’t prepared for that. And Max—he may have been old enough to fend for himself at 20, but he wasn’t ready to face the world alone. I did my best, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I could keep holding everything together.

As the months went on, my mind started wandering to the past. What would it be like to be in my twenties again? To have that energy, that freedom? To feel like the world was yours for the taking? At first, it was just a fantasy I’d entertain when life got too heavy. A little daydream to escape reality. But then… something changed.

I came across this weird little magic shop while I was running errands. The kind of place you’d almost walk past without noticing, tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. I don’t even know what drew me in, but once I stepped inside, I found something I couldn’t ignore: a remedy that could swap bodies. The old man behind the counter explained it to me in hushed tones, like he was letting me in on some ancient secret. There was one catch, though—it had to be a mutual swap. Both parties had to, at least on some level, want to know what it’d be like to live in the other’s shoes. After that, all bets were off.

Now, let’s be real—what 20-something would actually agree to give up their youth, even for a little while? Sure, I was attractive and muscular. I’ve kept myself in good shape over the years, but still, I was in my mid-thirties. Most young guys wouldn’t see that as a fair trade. That’s when I started thinking about Max.

I’d caught the way he looked at me, those lingering glances when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his cheeks would flush when I caught him staring, the awkward way he’d quickly change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had a thing for me. I mean, hell, I’m flattered. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use that. Max wouldn’t just agree to the idea; he’d probably jump at the chance.

So, I decided to test the waters. One morning, over breakfast, I threw the idea out there casually, like it was just some funny hypothetical.

“This is gonna sound like a funny question,” I said, piercing a sausage with my fork, “but if you could choose to switch lives with me and have my body for however long, would you wanna do it?”

I kept my tone light, but I was watching him closely. The way he fidgeted in his seat, the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his reaction—it was all the confirmation I needed. His sheepish response, something about how it’d be “weird but interesting,” sealed the deal. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just curious; he wanted it. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, he wanted to know what it’d be like to be me.

That was all I needed to make it happen.

When the time came, I added the remedy to our coffee, making sure Max drank every last drop. Watching his body slump as the effects kicked in was surreal, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting across from me, I knew it had worked. My plan had actually worked.

I wasted no time. I’d already packed a bag with everything I’d need to start fresh—clothes, cash, important documents, a few personal items. I didn’t even wait for Max to wake up. I just grabbed my stuff and walked out the door, not looking back.

---

That was five years ago. Five years since I walked out the door, leaving my old life—and my old body—behind.

Now, this sexy body I’m in, Max’s body—no, my body—is 26. And let me tell you, I’ve made the absolute most of it. It wasn’t always easy; the first few months were an adjustment. I had to figure out how to carry myself as a younger man, and I won’t lie, it took some time to get used to seeing my reflection. But as the years went on, I really leaned into it. I started growing out my hair, experimenting with different looks. These days, I like to dress a little more feminine now and then—just enough to turn a few heads. And honestly? I love spending as much time shirtless as possible. This body deserves to be shown off, and I’ve been having an all-around good time doing just that.

Of course, that means my old body—the one I left Max in—would now be about 41. I never bothered to reach out to him after the swap, and, frankly, I hadn’t heard anything from him either. Part of me assumed he was mad, which would make sense. I mean, I did steal his youth, his twenties—arguably some of the best years of his life. Maybe he couldn’t confront me because of that. Not that I spent much time thinking about him these days. My life was too good, and honestly, I didn’t have any regrets. I had the life I wanted.

At least, that was the case until today.

I was at the gym, doing my usual workout. It’s a gym known for its gay clientele—big, muscular guys who weren’t shy about flaunting what they had. My kind of place. I’d just finished a grueling set at the squat rack, sweat dripping down my chest as I racked the barbell. I grabbed a towel and started wiping myself down when this super muscular, hot guy walked up to me.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, “mind if I work in with you?” He had this knowing smirk on his face.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy eyeing him up. Thick, powerful arms, a wide chest, and legs that could probably crush a watermelon. He was older, but he had this ageless energy about him. Then, it clicked.

It was Max. In my old body.

My jaw practically hit the floor as I stared at him. “Max?” I said, disbelief dripping from my voice. “Is that you? You look… amazing.”

And he did. My old body hadn’t aged a day. In fact, it looked better than ever. He’d clearly been putting in work at the gym. My old body was practically glowing.

Max—or rather, my old body—grinned and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “It’s Frank,” he corrected, his tone smooth and confident. Then he flexed one of those massive biceps, his smirk growing. “But you’re damn right I look amazing.”

I stared at him, still a little stunned by how… okay he looked. Actually, not just okay—thriving. “I thought you’d be mad,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I kind of stole your youth. I figured you’d hate me for it.”

He let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back. Then, with that same cocky smirk, he raised one of those thick, muscular arms and took an exaggerated whiff of his armpit. “I was mad,” he admitted, “for maybe the first hour. But this…” He sniffed again, clearly enjoying his own musk. “…this helped me get over it.”

Before I could say anything, he casually ran a hand down to his crotch, grabbing his impressive bulge. “And this doesn’t hurt either,” he added with a wink, his tone dripping with smugness.

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over me. “So, uh,” I began, trying to steer the conversation before I got too distracted, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you in San Diego. Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

Frank shrugged, his body language as relaxed and confident as ever. “Just moved to town, actually. Needed a change of scenery. Figured this would be a good place to start.” He looked me up and down, clearly taking in how much I’d changed. “And now I know why this gym has such a reputation,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, well, I’ve been here a while. It’s a good spot.”

“Seems like it,” he said, his tone a little too casual, like he knew exactly how good he looked. “Anyway,” he continued, “we should grab a drink later, catch up. It’s been too long.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

As he walked away to start his set, I couldn’t help but watch him. There was something about his casual cockiness, the way he carried himself with this slight earned arrogance, that was undeniably attractive. He wasn’t just comfortable in my old body—he loved it. And honestly? That made him even more appealing.

---

Later that night, we met up at a dive bar just a block away from his apartment. It wasn’t much—a little run-down, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer—but it had character, and it was quiet enough for a real conversation. When I walked in, I spotted him immediately. He was leaning casually against the bar, a beer already in hand, wearing my old Texas Tech T-shirt like it was made for him. It looked snug on his broad frame, the sleeves straining against his biceps, and for a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Jealousy? Lust? Maybe all three.

“Nice shirt,” I said, sliding into the stool next to him.

He smirked, giving me a once-over. “Figured it’d be a nice touch. Thought it might bring back memories.”

I laughed, feeling oddly sheepish. “Yeah, well, it looks better on you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. Was I… flirting? With my own body? I mean, technically, yeah, but how could I be this flustered? This was me, or at least it used to be. Yet here I was, stumbling over my words, feeling like a nervous wreck. Meanwhile, he—Frank, Max, whatever—was cool as a cucumber, his confidence practically radiating off him.

We ordered drinks, and he started asking me about my life. He was surprisingly attentive, hanging on to every word like he genuinely cared. It threw me off a little. “You’ve been busy,” he said after I told him about some of the things I’d been up to. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Was it weird that he almost sounded… proud?

Then he started telling me about his life—what he’d been doing in my old body. Turns out he’d made good money over the past few years working as a fitness instructor part-time, balancing that with his job as a mechanic. And apparently, he’d built up an online following, which had blown up enough that he was now financially set.

“It’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I’d hate it at first, but I kinda love this life. It suits me.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and confident posture. “It really does.”

As the drinks flowed, I found myself relaxing a little too much. I didn’t even realize I was flirting until it was too late. My hand kept finding excuses to touch his arm or brush against his thigh. At first, it was just playful, but one of those touches lingered a little too long. My hand stayed on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t move away, and I didn’t either.

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, that damn smirk spreading across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My face went red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. But before I could pull my hand back, he grabbed my thigh, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Usually,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, “I don’t go for twinks. But I think I can make an exception for you.” His hand slid just slightly higher, his smirk turning into something hungrier. “I mean, I know how fantastic that ass is. And I’d love to try it out for myself.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could do was stare at him, my heart pounding as his grip tightened slightly, his confidence swallowing the room whole.

Stay Tuned For Part 2

[razorblade180]

Out Ranked

Aether:A therapeutic bathhouse? He, sounds interesting.

Ayaka:I’ve been interested in this myself.

Aether:Wanna try it together?

Ayaka:*red* Umm, while that would be wonderful, it would cause potentially issues. As the eldest daughter and important figure, I have to do private baths. I even have to turn down Yoimiya’s requests.

Aether:Ah, I guess there would be a bit of stigma. We can still do it separately and talk about the exp-

Yae Miko:*opens door* Oh? Well look who it is. My intuition was correct.

Aether:Hey Miko. How’s-

Yae Miko:*dragging him off* Perfect timing. I’m bored and we haven’t had our gossip hour in awhile. I’m sure you have a bunch of interesting stories that would make a good story. Come. Let’s enjoy the water and drinks.

Ayaka:Wouldn’t that be indecent for a shrine maiden!?

Yae Miko:Perhaps, but I’m the head shrine maiden. I do what I want.

Aether:I don’t think that’s how that’s supposed to work.

Yae Miko:Count yourself lucky. People would sell their houses for this. Now no more fuss. If you can face the shogun, you can handle a peaceful bath.

Aether:You won’t let me see your fox form but a towel is fine?

Yae Miko:You’re not gonna ask to pet me in a towel without dire consequences. Goodbye, Ms. Kamisato. He’ll be back!

Aether: I’m soooooorrrrrryyyyyyyy

Ayaka:…*looks left*

Ayato:Don’t look at me. I couldn’t help you in that situation even if I wanted to. Lady Yae does what she wants.

Ayaka:It must be nice to be above it all.

The front door slides open again and the siblings turn their head to see their archon walk in a bit lost.

Ei:Greetings. Has Miko already entered the bath?

Ayato:Y-Yes. Alongside the traveler.

Ei:I see. Thank you. I shall join them then. I’ve heard this place is quite the treat. *walks in*

Ayato:Enjoy your time.

Ayaka:..*looks left* ENjoY yoUr TImE!

Ayato:Your problems are not with me! My hands Ayaka! They’re tied!

Ayaka:They’re holding milk tea!

Ayato:Because that’s within my power!

[kayakima]

Why do you think Jean and Pieck work well as a couple? (srs)

I know you have a fic of it but I'm curious about your direct take.

Oooo I’m definitely not the first person who has said this but a lot of the appeal with Jean x Pieck lies with the post-canon potential between the two of them as opposed to scenes that you directly see in the manga/anime!

Jean and Pieck are both shown to be incredibly pragmatic, level-headed, and loyal characters, (where their loyalty primarily lies with people as opposed to the systems that brought them up. I.e. Pieck saying she doesn’t trust Marley but the people she’s fought with, and Jean telling Reiner that they’re no different from each other, so it’s wrong to judge their actions), and in their few short scenes together, it shows that they immediately read how the other works in a way that they can work together efficiently in a fight. They don’t hold anything against each other for past instances, because right off the bat they both understand that nothing is personal in war, and when they’re finally at a point in the narrative where it’s time to join up, they do so immediately without hesitation.

From a physical standpoint, Jean canonically likes girls with dark hair, and while that in and of itself isn’t enough to say “oh they’re canon because she has black hair”, it does lend to the idea that Pieck may have partially been designed to serve as a potential secondary love interest for Jean, considering that she was originally supposed to be a middle aged man. Even if that change wasn’t intended to open that door, their scene together on Eren’s Titan very clearly pushes a “hey guys this is also a new potential love interest situation so pay attention to these two!!!” Type of agenda that’s really common in this type of storytelling. Pieck herself is portrayed as being inseparable from Porco, who also has a fiery temperament and dirty-blonde hair, and while Porco and Pieck lack the absolutely absurd height difference between her and Jean, we still see her interactions with a male character that has similar traits with Jean. Once Porco dies, Pieck is clearly upset, but then chooses to push forward to fulfill her duty to her fellow warriors (who else in this story chose to follow through to make a difference to honor a comrade that was in one way or another killed because of Reiner???) they’re reflections of the same character traits in different bodies, and they mirror each other incredibly well when they barely even interact onscreen.

But in the parts where they DO interact, I can’t tell you how many shows and movies I’ve seen that have had two side characters that previously didn’t talk much suddenly wind up in a long fight sequence together, and more often than not, it does lead to a character change and emphasized romantic potential by the end of the story. Character blocking in scenes is incredibly important, and when two characters are placed together for a 4-5 minute scene of just the two of them, then the contrast of both their visuals and their personalities is much more noticeable. Then we get into the boat scene, where Pieck is the one to tease Jean about his hair, and he makes just as equally cheeky a response. I do think their time as ambassadors would put them in close quarters very often, and in real life, people fall for each other all the time when they’re together 24/7. I think it was intentional that Pieck was the one to start the banter with Jean to go back on my previous statements, and I think by the end of the story, that’s implied that there’s a good chance the two of them either currently have something going on, or that there’s something that will happen between them eventually. I also like the idea that since they met as adults, and with wildly different life experiences, they could have a lot to learn from each other without years of trauma and baggage that affects their relationship. They’re two entirely separate people that have the potential to become something completely new together as opposed to being together in the shadow of everything that happened to them when they were younger.

Also consider this: incredibly attractive and smug man meets even more attractive and smug woman. Then they have four kids.

[howdoyousleep3]

Looking back and reflecting through prayer and journaling, Steve realizes it was his fault. 

The long looks that could have easily been interpreted as yearning, the unsuitable timing of said looks, the tone in his voice when he knew for a fact it was Bucky on the other side of the confessional and he did nothing to shift said tone of his voice to a more appropriate one.

It’s his fault and he’s admitted it. He’s spent his evenings praying—begging— for forgiveness, spent his nights on his knees until they’ve been left bruised, ruined the pages of his Bible from the tears he’s wept over it. 

None of it has come close to quelling the consuming feelings he has for Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky Barnes has ruined his goddamn life. He’s made Steve question his purpose, his past, his life, his future. 

Everything. He’s ruined it all. 

But Christ, Steve can’t stay away. 

The feeling he receives from being the reason such a beautiful being cries from pleasure or otherwise make him feel like—

Like God. 

Like God.  

Steve was horrified when Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him in his office that fateful evening, couldn’t believe his eyes when Bucky began to weep and grab at the obvious bulge at his crotch and fist at his hair. 

“I don’t know what to do, Father. It hurts. It has to be a punishment for the things I can’t stop thinking about. Please, help me. Please…” 

Steve may have been possessed. 

When he reached for Bucky, out of his own mind and unable to grasp reality or his purpose, he knew the moment his fingertips came in contact with the moist skin of Bucky’s cheek he was about to enter into a world of inevitable and eternal damnation. 

“Tell me where it hurts, son. Tell me what you think about.”

An entire life dedicated to God couldn’t stop his own traitorous cock growing so full, so painfully fast that he nearly doubled over when Bucky uttered the words— 

“I can’t stop thinking about y-you, Father.”

And then Bucky had shuffled forward on his knees, letting out a pitiful noise with each jerky movement, and pressed the bulge of his crotch against Steve’s shin, through his robe.

Lucifer was described as beautiful, the seal of perfection. He was an angel before he was cast out. 

Bucky is Steve’s personal Lucifer. 

“I want to know everything you think about. You kneel here and tell me. I will help you, my son.” 

Steve had never heard such filth, such utterly disgusting filth:

“I can’t look at you without getting hard. I look at you and I want to let you inside of my body, want to put you in my mouth. I come to service and look at you and listen to you and get so hard I have to go to the bathroom to…to touch myself. I’ve never done anything, nothing– I swear I’m a good boy. But I look at you and I want to be so so bad, Father. What am I supposed to do? How do I…do I stop feeling this way?” 

It was seeing the young man’s tears that made Steve feel the most arousal, he realized. Not that Bucky was sobbing as he spoke and practically humping Steve’s leg; it was the tears. How beautiful he was when he wept before Steve, on his knees.

Steve reached for his rosary the moment he came back to his body enough to realize he too was hard. 

“You must repent, Bucky,” he heard himself say, tone hushed and reverent. “You must ask for forgiveness.” 

And God damn him, God damn him, he closed his eyes as he laid his hand in Bucky’s hair, softer than silk, and whispered, “You must give into temptation to be forgiven in full…” 

Steve never stood a chance against being faced with his own temptation.

Neither did Bucky, it seemed.

Weeping while he rubbed his erection against Steve’s leg was nothing compared to weeping with his mouth stretched lewdly around Steve’s cock.

Steve had not once felt pleasure like this in his life, had never come close to experiencing something of such bliss. Feeling the inside of Bucky’s mouth, his tongue, was otherworldly.

His pleasure growing tenfold hearing and watching Bucky struggle to take him, to suck on him, made him question whether or not he was made for a secular life instead.

Steve prayed for their two souls anyway. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son…” 

Bucky sobbed and sputtered, gagged and sucked, whimpered and sniffled.

“...has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins…”

When Bucky’s hands came up to grasp Steve’s hips, when he leaned forward to shove Steve further into his mouth as if he were starving and desperate, Steve fisted the hand that held onto the rosary into his hair, holding Bucky in place as his hips took on a mind of their own.

“...through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace…” 

Bucky’s sobs blended with moans as Steve fucked his mouth, noise so sweet Steve closed his eyes once more to memorize the noise of it.

“...and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…” 

Steve’s last bit of self-control was used to not let out a ferocious groan as he came down Bucky’s throat, teeth gritted as he forced Bucky’s mouth further down on his cock, until he felt Bucky’s tongue on his balls. 

“Amen…” 

It pulled Steve back to reality, that amen. He shoved at Bucky’s shoulder, pushed him back and away from his still-twitching cock, from his trembling body. 

The sight of a dizzy and hungry Bucky, mouth slick with cum and lips and cheeks cherry red, rubbing pathetically at his crotch from the outside of his pants while crying out, “Amen! Amen!” as he obviously came in his pants on the floor of Steve’s office is an image that will be branded in Steve’s brain until the day he sees the pearly gates. 

That’s if this doesn’t send him to Hell instead.

Bucky leaned down then, pants wet and still sniffling, and pressed his lips against Steve’s shoes. His feet. 

“Thank you, Father. Thank you…” 

Steve was indeed going to hell. 

[loveandmurders]

Never forget: ya're a Sinclair (Part II)

Hi everyone, this is the second part of the adopted sister x Sinclair!brothers little series. It's based on an image I posted a while ago (here).

You can find part I here and my masterlist here.

I hope you'll enjoy! <3

Warnings : no proof reading, toxic family, overprotective Sinclair brothers, negative thoughts about yourself, insecurities, violent discussion with your family, distress, crying, mentions of deadly sickness, angst / comfort

Everything was supposed to be alright, so you couldn’t understand how your day could have gone downhill so quickly and so badly.

Your day started like the other days.

You woke up in Bo’s bed. He was already up and about, preparing breakfast for everyone in the kitchen. You grabbed a quick shower, you dressed up and joined him. You kissed his cheek and thanked him for having taken care of you the night before. He told you to not mention it and gently stroked your face. Soon after Vincent came, he greeted you with a gentle kiss on your cheek as well.

You ate in a comfortable silence before sending a little message to Lester to wish him a good day. When he wasn’t coming for breakfast, you always sent him a message because you didn’t want him to think he was less loved than the twins. He was grateful you made him feel like he was part of the family, like he mattered.

And then you went to work after the twins hugged you goodbye and asked you to be careful on the roads. Bo reminded you that if you were too tired, he or Lester could come get you at the end of your shift. You smiled and nodded, knowing how overprotective and paranoid the brothers could be when it was about you.

You arrived at work and you thought that everything was going to be alright. You sent messages to Lester because you needed him to buy you some snacks, and to the twins to make sure that they were careful with the tourists. You hated to come back home with them injured. Your messages were always answered in the instant, the boys smiling at their screen.

Everything was going alright until, during your lunch break, someone asked for you.

You were a little bit surprised because no one could ask for you. A man younger than you was waiting for you at the reception. He smiled at you and greeted you with a honey-like voice. He seemed very sweet, but you grew up with killers so you knew the voice Bo was using when he needed to lure a victim in his traps. It felt the same. You might look innocent and naïve, but you knew better. You smiled back, but soon enough you lost your good mood.

“What do you mean, you are my brother?” you asked, it felt like a bad dream or a nasty prank

“I’m Sean, your brother. We have the same parents, Lydia and Mark. They lost you when you were 7, but I’ve been able to find you again. I was so excited to meet you, and I’m sure you’ll be so happy to finally have your family back.” he told you and you felt sick

“What do you mean, they lost me? They knew what orphanage they left me at. And they never came back. Look, I’ve moved on. I don’t want to talk to you.” you replied in pure instinct. 

Something inside of you was panicking. You had wanted to leave this dark past behind you, and to understand that your parents were actually alive and had another child, whom they kept, was making you feel nauseous.

But Sean was smart, he begged for your phone number, and you gave in, so he could leave you alone. You were shaking when you came back to your office and you just couldn’t focus on your work anymore. You didn’t even finish your food.

You had barely calmed down at the end of your day. You were getting ready to get back home when you received a message from Sean. He invited you to meet your parents, so you could all be a family again. You refused and went back home as fast as you could, as if being in Ambrose would protect you from whatever the hell was going on.

You didn’t tell the twins what happened. You didn’t know why, you just didn’t feel like telling them. You were afraid of their reaction and you were afraid that if you talked about it, it would make all of this even more real.

Your parents were alive.

Your parents never came for you because they hated you.

But they had another child they loved this time.

What if it was the proof you weren’t lovable? What if it would allow the Sinclairs to realise it?

You were oddly silent that night and the twins noticed how you seemed thoughtful and tense. They didn’t manage to make you talk, and it worried them. You always told them everything, because you knew they always had your back. You got away from their interrogation by saying you just had a lot in your mind because of work, but that everything was alright. They knew when you lied, but they trusted you. They knew you would tell them if something was really off. Still, they hated to see their girl so out of her usual self.

You didn’t sleep well that night and Bo asked you if you were alright the next morning, gently cradling your face into his hands as he was looking for your eyes. You simply nodded and kissed the palm of his hands. He let you go, unconvinced. You barely ate and left before Vincent was up. You remembered to send him a message, as well to Lester though. It still concerned the three men; you never acted that way before.

They had always been a little bit worried you would meet someone, one day, which would drive you away from them. They wondered what was going on, even more because it seemed like you were upset, which was unbearable to them. You barely answered their messages today. They knew they would interrogate you that night. 

Even more so when you told them you were going to come back home late. It never happened before.

You had agreed to meet your parents. Your “brother” was good with words and he convinced you. A part of you was a little bit curious as to why they left you. And another part of you hoped that if you accepted to see them just once, then you could forget about them forever. It would be your way to make peace with your past self and to say goodbye to this era of your life. You were really stressed out but you always dealt with your problems holding your head high.

You were strong and you kept repeating it to yourself as you settled in front of your “family”, in a bar nearby your workplace. You couldn’t deny how shocked you were to be in front of your parents. They were obviously older than in your memories, but it was truly them.

At first, they all tried to be gentle to you, like when you try to get someone to do what you want them to do. You could tell they were sweet talking to you, but you weren’t too sure why. They hadn’t looked for you for over a decade, so why did they care now?

Your parents explained to you that the orphanage refused to give you back; and when they finally had all the papers to take you again, you had been adopted away. The orphanage refused to give the name of your new family. But now you could be a family again, you could be everything you should have been. You listened for a while, without saying anything. You weren’t stupid enough to believe them.

A little voice inside your head was telling you that they never tried to find you after they abandoned you, and you were believing it.

“I have a family” you finally replied as you felt your phone buzzing inside your pocket, knowing it was one of your brothers messaging you.

You saw that your parents tried no to laugh at that and their son sent them a little warning look, as to tell them “don’t fuck this up”. You leaned into your seat, waiting.

“I’m very happy you found a family, despite everything” Sean said as he took your hand in his. You did your best to not remove it from his grasp. “But I want my big sister home, I want to know you and to take care of you. I’m sure you want to discover who I am too; you don’t have to be alone anymore. We can be a real family. You have been missed so much” he continued and you knew that if you didn’t have the Sinclairs in your life, you would have fallen for this. 

“Why now?” you asked

“It has been difficult to find you before. When I finally managed to find the name of Victor Sinclair, it was impossible to find where Ambrose was. I promise we’ve been looking for you for quite a while now.” he explained

“You could have looked for us too” Lydia said with a little bit of venom in her voice; a venom you used to know so much. It made you want to throw up but you didn’t show anything.

“You abandoned me.” you simply replied

“And we want you back” Sean said before his mother could reply “But we don’t have a lot of time” he continued

He proceeded to explain that your mother was heavily sick and that she needed a very expensive treatment they couldn’t pay for her. They needed your help, they needed your money, they needed you in their lives.

The little girl inside you wanted to cry; she wanted to be a good girl to her family, she wanted to obey like she used to. She thought she could finally be loved by her parents and to show them how useful she could be.

But you had grown up, and you now knew what it was to be loved and wanted. You didn’t need them for that, even if a toxic part of you wished to know more of Sean; to understand why he was loved by your parents when they never cared about you.

However, you were smart so you refused to help them and to be part of their family. Your answer displeased your parents who started to tell you all the awful things they used to yell at you. They woke up all your most primitive insecurities; the ones they created when you were a child and the ones you could barely make shut up.

You were a waste of space, you were clingy, stupid, you were talking too much, you were asking too much, you were unlovable and pathetic, you were going to end all alone because even your real family couldn’t stand you, you didn’t deserve to be part of anything. 

Sean tried to appease the situation but you got up and left without a word. You didn’t want to give them that kind of power over you. You didn’t want to cry in front of them; you just wanted to come back home, where you felt safe and loved.

You noticed the missed calls from Bo and Lester, the messages from Vincent. You sent a message on the family group chat “On my way home, sorry I’m later than I thought I’d be”. Bo instantly offered to give you a ride but you refused. You needed some time to yourself, to calm down.

One thing was certain: you didn’t want to tell anyone about what happened.

You didn’t know how they would react to such news and you were afraid they wouldn’t want you anymore in their lives. What if they realised you were indeed unbearable, clingy, stupid, too talkative? What if they realised your parents were right to abandon you? What if they thought family was too important and that you needed to get back to yours?

When you parked your car outside the house, the three men instantly opened the front door to welcome you home. They quickly were all over you, checking on you and asking you what was going on. It warmed your heart and it appeased you a little bit. You were loved, you needed to remind yourself that.

You still barely managed to smile at them and you weren’t hungry. You told them you were going to go to bed, but they weren’t going to let you go that easily. You had always told them what was wrong. You were far too important to them for them to drop the subject. If something was wrong, then it was their duty to find a solution.

They needed you to be happy.

Despite your arguments, they settled you on one of the kitchen chairs and Bo knelt in front of you as Vincent brought his chair closer to yours. Lester was behind you, his hands on your shoulders in a comforting way while Jonesy was whining at your feet. They coaxed you into telling them the truth. After a little while, you finally let escape the words that were burning your heart, throat and mouth.

“My biological family found me”

Pure panic wracked through the three men as they exchanged a look. They couldn’t understand what was going on. Their first thought was “Are we losing her?” and then “We have to get rid of them or to lock her up. We can’t lose her.”

“They are dead,” Bo simply said, trying to make sense of the situation.

You only had the strength to shake your head, before you started crying. And it broke the men’s hearts. They had no idea what was going on, but they did their best to comfort you with soft cuddles and gentle words. It had been such a long time ago since the last time they saw you crying and they remembered very well how much they hated it. They felt quite powerless but they kept trying to make you feel better.

“Ya sure it’s really them?” Lester tried to question and you nodded

“They know too much for them to not be… And I recognised my parents. Can’t fucking believe they had a son…” you babbled and the mention of another man tense the brothers even more. A brother could so easily take their place, and they couldn’t let that happen. You were a Sinclair. “He tried to be nice to me, but how can I trust him?” you whispered

“Ya can’t darl’. What do they want from you anyways?” Bo replied, trying to hide his anger

“They said they want me back, but it’s for my money because she is sick” you said, crying even more

“Those fuckers. She should die then. They ain’t your family” Bo groaned

“They said they didn’t come back to get me because I was too much” you continued, needing everything out so the brothers could comfort you

“Ya ain’t too much” Bo replied with annoyance now; he was getting really mad at those people

“We love ya so damn much, ya know it” Lester whispered to you “They ain’t deservin’ your tears” he added

“And we can get rid of them if it could make you happy again” Vincent signed and it instantly made you stop crying. 

You stared at him, wondering if it was indeed what you wanted.

“I don’t want the police to find you. And Sean…” you started

“What ‘bout him?” Bo asked, grabbing your face into his right hand, for your attention to be on him. 

Your eyes widened as this time you heard it in his voice; the love, the jealousy and the worry. You seemed to have forgotten how possessive Sinclairs were over their own people. You dried your tears and tried to calm down, before softly smiling at the three of them. 

It was going to be alright again, you knew it.

--

Part 3

[deathbecomesthem]

may we yearn after the handsome linecook some more ♥️ I haven’t stopped thinking about him making Mickey Mouse pancakes for the little kids

For you, my sweet Tom. Sorry it takes me 50,000 years to write these days. I'm hoping to have more of these two sometime soon, a direct continuation from the end of this "chapter." I think we're due for something with these two.

Kiss The Cook 6

Where Eddie is trying to train a very stubborn server how to work on the grill.

~2K - Linecook!Eddie x Server!Reader

---

You can feel the icy wind sneak through the back door of the diner, even while the heat of the grill radiates off of the skin of your forearms. It’s hard to focus when you can feel the sweat trickle from your scalp down to your eyebrows. You make a mental note to wear a bandana around your forehead the next time you have grill duty. If there is a next time. God, you hope there isn’t a next time. 

The only upside to grill duty, the kitchen manager, sidles up next to you, peering over your right shoulder to see how table 5’s breakfast is coming along. You can feel his light exhale prickle against your sweaty neck, a dissatisfied hiss of air that sends a shock wave down your spine.

“Where’s the butter?” The question isn’t out before he spots the squirt bottle to your left. His chest pushes against your side as he reaches for it, you can smell his cologne - Eternity for Men, you’d wager. 

You step back and hand him the flat metal spatula you’ve been gripping tightly for the last hour. Eddie grabs your forearm and pulls you back next to him. Side by side, no room for the Holy Spirit between you. He puts the plastic bottle in your hand and points to the pile of hashbrowns sitting on the grill in front of you.

“More,” Eddie says after you squirt a healthy amount at the center of the pile. You give another squirt and look out of the corner of your eye to see him not in approval. “Now. We wait.”

“Eddie,” you’re surprised at the edge to your voice, but soldier on to make your point, “I’ve been waiting over this fucking grill for 20 minutes. How long are hashbrowns supposed to take?” You use the spatula to scrape the potatoes off the grill and move them around. This is one of your last tables for the day, and your patience has worn thin. You have yet to successfully make a single plate of hashbrowns as crispy as Eddie does on a regular basis.

“Well, Sweetheart,” this time he takes the spatula out of your hand and flattens the potatoes, “if you’re making crispy hashbrowns, you need to learn to wait. Patience. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Them.”

You’re not surprised to hear the edge to Eddie’s voice. His patience with training you is nearly non-existent. He doesn’t want you back here and only agreed to train you on the grill as a “just in case” measure after the last 3 cooks quit after less than a month of being at the diner. Eddie’s been working 7 days a week since last month, and his next day off isn’t until Charlie gets back from his vacation in Tucson. You know better than to poke the bear, and yet -

“Well, ok. I’ll just go out there and tell Mary and Mark at table 5 it’ll be another 45 minutes for their hashbrowns and eggs and that they need to learn patience.” 

You’re not looking at Eddie, but you can feel his eyes on the side of your face. You’re cracking eggs into the small metal bowl you use for scrambling. The next ticket, and likely last for the day, is french toast and eggs. Easy.

Eddie moves behind you, chest flush with your back. He takes the bowl out of your hand, sets it down, and puts the spatula back in your hand. He breathes against your neck, “I said, you need patience, because you do. I see the way you flit around this place every day, and that’s all well and good when you’re waiting tables. Back here, you need to learn when to stand and wait. Now,” Eddie grasps your wrist to guide you back to the hashbrowns, “do not touch them until you see some brown on the edges. Hold that spatula there. Wait.”

Eddie doesn’t move, and neither do you. You are acutely aware of his presence behind you, his hand on your wrist. You watch the potatoes, buttery margarine bubbling around the edges, until you see it. The flat plane of hashbrowns is starting to become golden on the edges. 

“Hashbrowns require patience, especially if you want them to be crispy. You can’t rush something like that. You gotta spread them as thin as you can with plenty of oil, and then just watch. Good things come to those who wait.” 

You wonder if Eddie realizes how close his lips are to the back of your neck. You can feel the heat of his skin and breath while he instructs you. You try very hard to not think about how patient he is with the potatoes - how patient he would be as a lover. Slow and deliberate movements to create these dishes all day, every day. You try very hard not to consider how much stamina is required to do this job. 

Eddie’s grip tightens on your wrist, he’s twisting it and guides the spatula closer to the potatoes, “Now you can flip.”

So you do, and you’re not surprised to find a golden brown layer of perfectly cooked hashbrowns in front of you. You can’t hide your annoyance. You drop the spatula and turn to face Eddie.

“I don’t like this. I hate being on the grill. I smell like bacon, I’m drenched in sweat, and my back hurts. Plus,” you bring your forearm up close to Eddie’s face so he can get a good look at the scattering of burn blisters there, “look at this. Fry oil splatter. That shit is painful.”

Eddie frowns and takes two steps to the first aid kit next to the office door. He rummages around while you turn back to the grill and finish plating the food for table 5 - perfectly crispy hashbrowns included - before ringing the bell for the server to come pick it up. 

“Did you even put any cream on it?” Eddie’s back at your side, grabbing your arm and applying burn cream across your blistered skin. “You need to be careful with burns. Plus, it numbs the pain.”

Eddie turns his head to the side and calls, “Jim, get over here and take over the grill for a few minutes. It’s almost close, and we just need some french toast for table 2.” He pulls you into the office while Jim the dishwasher takes over the grill for you and Eddie. 

He leads you into the tiny office adjacent to the grill and oven and sits on the desk while motioning for you to sit in the chair in front of him. His long arm reaches behind you easily to swing the door shut. It’s not the first time you and he have been in this tiny space together, but every time you’re reminded of that one dream you had about you and Eddie on the very desk where he’s currently seated.

He pulls a joint from the front pocket of his apron and lights it, takes a hit, and hands it over to you. With Charlie gone, you and Eddie have been “sneaking” in the office to get a mild buzz when things get too tense. The dishwasher knows, but he’s a 17 year old kid that wouldn’t think about getting his older and cooler co-workers in trouble. It’s been too cold to sneak out behind the dumpster like the two of you have been doing for the last few months - since the ice cream “date” that wasn’t a date, but maybe it was. There was no kiss at your front door, but his foot rubbed against yours under the booth you shared at the Dairy Queen.

“I’m not kidding, Eddie,” you tell him, pinching the end of the joint to hand back to him, the smoke warming you from the inside out, “I will light this place on fire if I end up working the grill on a regular basis.”

Eddie laughs, lowers his head, and takes a hit from the joint in your outstretched hand. It’s a silly move that hints at an intimacy that the two of you almost have with one another. From this angle, you can see that the tips of his ears are pink, either from the heat, the smoke, or the close proximity to you. 

“Can’t have that. My favorite server in prison for arson? Plus, me out of a job? Nah. I think I’ll just tell Charlie you’re the worst cook I’ve ever tried to train and get Jim set up on grill. We can find a new dishwasher easier than a cook, and he ain’t bad.”

Eddie’s still leaned down, close to your face. His eyes flick from yours to your lips and back again. A subconscious indication of his desire to kiss you. You think for a moment he’s actually going to do it, that he’s going to close the distance between the two of you finally. And then he leans back and you slap his knee without missing a beat. The wall is back up again in an instant.

“There’s no way I’m the worst. No way,” you look at the clock behind Eddie’s back and see that it’s now a quarter to 2, almost time to shut the diner down for the day. “I remember Lucky. Pretty sure he gave me food poisoning.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, Sweetheart. No, you’re right, not the worst. Possibly the most subordinate.” You push his shoulder and start to stand, ready to get to work on closing. “Definitely the cutest.”

You sigh and shake your head. You don’t turn around for him to see the grin on your face. “That’s a pretty low bar, Ed, considering the competition.”

His hand reaches around you to open the door before you can. You didn’t even hear him stand up, but again you feel the heat of him at your back. You’re suddenly sure that if you turned around, he’d have you pinned against the door with a kiss. You don’t move, don’t breathe. And then he turns the knob and says,

“Hood guys coming tomorrow, Charlie said I can shut this place down for the day,” the door opens slowly, pushing you back against Eddie’s chest while he continues, “was thinking it would be fun to watch a movie or something.”

“Yeah?” You’re stepping through the door, taking the residual weed smoke with you back into the kitchen. Jim’s already back at the sink, the tickets are all fulfilled, and he’s running a rack of silverware for the server, Katy, to wrap before she leaves for the day. You’re trying to decide what to say to Eddie. You’re wishing he would just say what he wants. You’re tired of the game, and you’re not even really sure it’s one that he’s playing with you at this point.

“Yeah. Eraserhead. Ever see it?” 

“No, never saw it. What’s it about?” You ask as you start scraping the grill, getting all the pieces of leftover food down into the grease trap.

“Hmmm, well. That’s complicated. How about you come over and watch it with me,” Eddie’s getting wiping down the inside of the microwave, looking at you through the cloudy door, a dopey smile on his lips.

[rosedustdreams]

walker and you being best friends, you get asked out by another actor and he’s super jealous after you go on the date

More Than Best Friends?

Walker Scobell had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. From the day you both met on set, the two of you had clicked instantly, sharing inside jokes, and late night FaceTime calls that left you both in tears from laughter. Everyone on the Percy Jackson set joked that you two were inseparable.

But lately, something felt… different.

It started when one of the newer actors on the show, Dylan, asked you out. Dylan was charming, funny, and undeniably attractive. When he approached you after a day of filming, casually asking if you’d want to grab dinner sometime, you were caught off guard but couldn’t help smiling.

“Uh, sure, that sounds fun!” you’d said, trying not to sound too nervous.

But out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Walker watching the whole interaction. His usually easygoing expression had shifted to something unreadable, and he quickly excused himself from the group.

You brushed it off, figuring he was just tired from a long day.

The next few days were… weird. Walker wasn’t texting you as much, and on set, he seemed quieter. You’d try to joke with him like you always did, but his laughs felt forced.

Finally, your date with Dylan arrived. You had a great time he was sweet and a total gentleman. He even walked you back to your trailer after the date, giving you a warm smile before saying goodnight. But as you stepped inside, you were surprised to see Walker sitting on your couch, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place.

“Walker?” you said, closing the door behind you. “What are you doing here?”

He looked up, his expression a mix of casual and annoyed. “Oh, you know, just waiting for my best friend to get back from her date with Dylan the Perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, kicking off your shoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Walker set his phone down, crossing his arms. “Nothing. Just thought you might want to talk about how amazing he is. Did he tell you about his perfect smile and how many followers he has on Instagram?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, what’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t have an attitude,” he said, though his tone betrayed him.

“Yes, you do. What’s going on?” you asked, sitting down next to him.

Walker avoided your gaze, staring at the wall instead. “I just don’t get it,” he finally said. “You’ve got all these guys lining up for you, and you go for him? What, because he’s tall and has great hair?”

“Walker, what are you talking about? Dylan’s nice,” you said, confused.

“Yeah, he’s nice. So what?” Walker snapped, finally looking at you. “You could do so much better.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Better? Like who?”

Walker hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know… maybe someone who’s actually been there for you. Someone who knows you better than anyone else. Someone who—” He stopped himself, looking away again.

You stared at him, the pieces slowly falling into place. “Wait… are you jealous?”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“Oh my God, Walker,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips. “You’re totally jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he mumbled, though the redness creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“Walker…” you said gently, leaning closer. “Why didn’t you just tell me how you feel?”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes full of vulnerability. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we have. You’re my best friend, and if you didn’t feel the same way, I’d rather keep it to myself than lose you.”

Your heart melted. “Walker, you’re an idiot,” you said with a laugh.

“Thanks,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Super reassuring.”

“No, I mean…” You took a deep breath. “You don’t have to be jealous of Dylan. I only said yes because I didn’t think you were interested. But… I’ve kind of had feelings for you for a while now.”

Walker’s eyes widened. “You… you do?”

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I mean, who else would put up with me stealing all their snacks and sending them terrible memes at 3 a.m.?”

Walker let out a laugh, the tension finally breaking. “Okay, fair point.”

There was a moment of silence before he grinned. “So… does this mean I can officially tell Dylan to back off?”

You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Yes, Walker. You can tell Dylan to back off.”

And just like that, your best friend became something more.

A/N: please more request definitely my fav even though i say that all about all of them.

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092, @shellsarepretty, @cheoriemoawa

[synesthesiadreamscape]

The Identity of Cyrene’s murderer, or the Past, Present, and Eternal Self

Ancient Hymn Trailer — "Of Titans and the Mortal Realms"

(I know we’re not in Penacony anymore, just let me have this).

There’s something interesting happening in Amphoreus. And no, I’m not talking about the eerie parallels between the world’s superficial god-slaying prophecy and the ongoing Aeon-slaying subplot playing out in the universe, or the clandestine Memokeeper who tried to spy on Herta and Nous, or even the mysterious murmurings of Oronyx calling for their “mother.” All of those things, I think, are the secrets about this world that the writers actually care about wrapping in mystery. What I find fascinating is that, to this point, there are just as many things that they evidently do not care about keeping a secret, making only the barest effort, if any, to try and hide the truth.

I think the identity of Cyrene’s killer is a prime example of this. Let me show you what I mean.

SPOILERS: Amphoreus Act I: Heroic Saga of Flame-Chase and Honkai Impact 3rd’s Elysium Everlasting arc (and also parts of the Elysian Realm arc). You have been warned!

Amphoreus’ first act concludes with Kevin Phainon undergoing Nikador’s trial to prove he’s worthy to inherit Strife’s legacy. We know Phainon is unsure of this path, despite his repeated assertions that he’s been waiting for this moment, and that it’s his dream to inherit Nikador’s authority. As of this writing, the outcome of the trial is undecided.

…Except we do know its outcome, because Mydei has already been drip marketed as the heir of the Lance of Fury, two weeks before 3.0 even dropped.

“O Chrysos Heir that seeks the Coreflame of Strife, you must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone, for one must slay a god to become one.”  (Amphoreus' Saga of Heroes | Mydei)

Not exactly suspenseful for the people engaging with Honkai Star Rail’s social media accounts. What’s more, towards the end of Act I, Mem gives the Trailblazer a storybook called “As I’ve Written” to record their memories of the flame-chase journey and the flame-chasers Chyrsos Heirs. Just like the Titans’ constellations are displayed on a wheel in the Vortex of Genesis, the Chrysos Heirs are represented as icons around a similar constellation wheel after the Trailblazer writes a memory of them into the book. Mydei, unsurprisingly, is occupying the same space as Nikador’s constellation, while Phainon is at the top over the constellation I presume is Kephale’s. Again, this is not exactly a well-guarded secret. All of the marketing for Amphoreus has strongly implied that Kephale is Phainon’s fate, down to the design of Phainon’s eyes. The devs are not even trying to hide this, because it is not supposed to be a secret or point of intrigue in-and-of-itself. In other words, we know the result, but we don’t know how these characters will get there.

Now, spoilers-by-drip-marketing are not a new thing in Honkai Star Rail or in Hoyo games in general (looking at you, Mavuika and Dan Heng Imbibitor Lunae and Wanderer and Robin and–). But that’s not the only example of shit they don’t seem to care about keeping secret in Amphoreus. If you frequent any HSR fan spaces, then surely you’ve seen theories by now about our new friend Mem:

If you haven’t, then here’s the sitch: the current running theory is that Mem is Cyrene, or at least connected to her in some way. Supporting evidence for this is a mix of vibes (Cyrene and Mem’s shared pink aesthetic, similarities between Mem and ELF Elysia’s role in Elysium Everlasting) and concrete hints rooted in the narrative (the memories Mem showed us of a little boy and girl [presumably Phainon and Cyrene] when we first land in Amphoreus, and this part of Nameless Faces), as well as the uncanny resemblance between Mem’s as-yet unnamed voice actors and the performances for Elysia and Cyrene in all languages. I definitely hear Marina Inoue in Mem’s Japanese voice acting.

This is still a fan theory, but there are too many coincidences pointing at least towards its partial truth. When it comes to Mem’s identity, it seems that the writers are far less concerned with players knowing who Mem is, but rather why she is appearing to us in this form.

Cyrene’s only explicit appearance as Cyrene in the story so far occurs in a 2D illustrated cutscene of Phainon’s past towards the end of the first act. Cyrene is sitting in a field in Aedes Elysiae, his homeland, and she says he will be “a hero worshipped by all” based on a card she drew (perhaps some Amphoreus astrology?). But Phainon resists this reading of fate because he has no interest in becoming a hero for the world, which is yet another aspect he shares with Kevin Kaslana.

And that’s when we’re confronted with the horror of Cyrene’s fate — she’s stabbed by an unknown assailant, with golden blood flowing from her wound:

To be honest, I didn’t read too much into this image until this past week while watching Cy Yu’s VODs on Youtube. Because upon seeing it again, I realized I knew that sword. And if you’ve been watching all of the marketing for Amphoreus, then you’ve seen it before too.

It belongs to this dude:

First two images are Mythology Opening, last image is Nameless Faces

That’s what happens when you stare for too long at Anaxa crumbs. Stuff gets burned into your brain that you didn’t even know was there, and it comes roaring to the front when you least expect it. Looking at these other stills of Masked Dude at 0.25x speed, I’m almost positive it’s the same blade.

And yes, this is a tenuous connection at best as is, but hear me out. There’s a lot more to it than just the similar blade shape.

Elysium Everlasting

Cyrene is inarguably a variant of Elysia from Honkai Impact 3rd, and if you’re not familiar with the game then let’s just say she is extremely important in shaping Part 1’s finale. TL;DR, Elysia is from the Previous Era, the generation of humans before Kiana, Mei, and Bronya, who lost to the Honkai and had their civilization destroyed. She was one of the Flamechasers, a group of humans who were modified with the genes of strong Honkai beasts so that they could fight and resist the Honkai in ways other humans could not. Mei learns about this past era by venturing into the Elysian Realm, a simulation composed of every Flamechaser’s memories, where she first meets Elysia’s simulation.

Before the Previous Era lost to the Herrscher of Finality, the real Elysia sacrificed herself so that when she returned to the Honkai, her pure love for humanity would influence the Will of Honkai so that the next Herrscherrs could retain their humanity and the will to fight for its survival rather than its destruction. By doing so, she paved the way for a brighter future that she would never witness herself. I flag this plot point because it almost exactly mirrors what happened with Gnaeus at the end of Act I, and you know how Hoyo loves to foreshadow greater plots through subplots like this:

Gnaeus: I will return to where I came from and become a part of Nikador’s divinity once more. In all likelihood. I will also be consumed by corruption. An inevitable course of action if we hope to end this madness. Castorice: You are willing to…sacrifice yourself for a future you won’t get to witness? Gnaeus: This is my purpose, my origin. I am no mortal and I do not fear death…Even so, will you still weep for me? (Kremnos, Cleanse Thy Rusted Blood (II))

The last memory sync the real Elysia did with the realm happened before she died, so reconstructing the memory of her death in Elysium Everlasting required uniting the memories of those who witnessed it - and one of the people who not only witnessed it, but executed it, was Kevin Kaslana.

This leaves us in an uncomfortable position regarding Cyrene’s death. Could her executioner, (presumably) Masked Dude, actually be Phainon filling a similar role to Kevin's? In Nameless Faces, we see Phainon and Mydei fighting Masked Dude themselves, which would seem to rule this possibility out, nevermind that it seems Cyrene died when they were both children, and that Phainon once sought revenge for having his home ripped away from him. How could he be angry about what happened, and also be the reason it happened? And wouldn’t this direction for Cyrene's death be too close to Elysium Everlasting if it’s true? After all, Shaoji said these characters would have their own fates, separate from some of their variants from Honkai Impact 3rd, right? I think this is still true, but it doesn’t have to rule out the possibility of Masked Dude being “Phainon.” 

It’s clear that there’s a lot more to Phainon than meets the eye. “Phainon” is apparently not his true name, and in his recent past he followed a much darker path than the one he’s on now. Kevin also was known to wear a ‘mask’ while he was in MOTH, only rarely revealing his true feelings to the people he was closest to, and even then he kept many of them in the dark, including Su, MEI, and Elysia. Everyone can tell Phainon is going to crash out at some point in Amphoreus, the writing is on the wall re: his lack of a strong will, his surprise that borrowing a Titan’s power actually hurts them, and the little he seems to understand about the true nature of the prophecy he and the other Chrysos Heirs are following.

Castorice: The prophecy gave him a new mission, granting him a new life as a Chrysos Heir. But which is more important to him: his new mission or his desire for revenge?

This part of him, his “past” self that bubbles beneath the surface of his “present” self, may come back to haunt him as he journeys toward Kephale’s Coreflame in more than just a figurative way. It’s not like this is out of the realm of possibility - we’ve already seen how past and present can be superimposed on one another in Amphoreus, interacting in strange ways through tools that construct illusions (perhaps a consequence of both the Erudition and the Remembrance’s influence). Or maybe it’s that Masked Dude is actually split off from Phainon himself, similar to Wonweek and Sunday, or all of Tingyun’s “selves” in A New Venture on the Eighth Dawn.

And speaking of past selves, there’s a pretty fun puzzle throughout Amphoreus called Golden Scapegoat that features a “past” version of the player, which shapes the gameplay into a series of convoluted maneuvers to both avoid your shadow and trick it into creating a path forward for you. If we read this puzzle as an additional clue to the main story’s themes, just as Oronyx’s puzzles involve using shapes to create light and shadow that construct a desired form (Plato’s Allegory of the Cave), then the idea that Masked Dude is a shadow of Phainon has some additional support, though I suppose there’s nothing specifically limiting it to Phainon, either:

"Past self appears as an embodiment of darkness"

However, I did think this passage of the Golden Scapegoat’s Mutterings was interesting given the nature of Elysia’s death, since Kevin knew Elysia wasn’t their enemy and partook in her sacrifice because he wanted to believe in the future she envisioned. Still need to do a close reading of the rest of it, but this is from the 4th part:

There’s also a part of the Mythology Opening trailer that I assume is Masked Dude talking (I could be mistaken, so take this with a massive grain of salt), and while I will say in Japanese it is not clear to me that it’s Satoshi Hino’s voice (I kinda hear it, but it feels delusional), in English to me it has that same uncanny similarity to Joshua Waters’ Phainon that Mem’s voice has to Cyrene’s (compare Phainon’s “even gods can bleed” to the link clip). This is pretty copium evidence, since these similarities could be all in my head, but for what it’s worth…

Phainon and Masked Dude shown right after each other (0:09 vs. 0:10) in Nameless Faces. What did they mean by this?

One last note on this Phainon/Masked Dude theory that I think is interesting. The theory that Phainon has something to do with Nanook is as ubiquitous as the theories about Mem and Cyrene, and while there’s clearly some Nanook symbolism going on in Nameless Faces when Phainon splashes golden blood on his torso, I am hoping Phainon will have a happier ending than Nanook and that he won’t go nearly as far as Kevin did in Honkai Impact 3rd. But if Masked Dude is some other version of Phainon, perhaps he is the allegory for Nanook’s ascent, and Phainon’s journey will represent an “alternative ending.” To put it another way, Kephale is the Worldbearer Titan, who shoulders the fate of Amphoreus and delivers mankind to hope and salvation. So what is the opposite of this role, or its shadow?

The Worldbreaker, who delivers all to Destruction:

While this theory did make more sense with some additional knowledge from Honkai Impact 3rd, the available official material for Amphoreus, including marketing videos like the Mythology Opening and Nameless Faces, is not exactly subtle about who Masked Dude might be. I mean come on, they use very similar visual storytelling with Phainon and Masked Dude in Nameless Faces as they do for Mem and Cyrene in the same video. This leads me to believe that this particular “secret,” as well as Masked Dude’s potential role in Cyrene’s fate, is yet another plot point that the writers don’t care that much about shrouding in mystery. And to me, this indicates that there is something much, much, bigger that they’re concealing through the story of Phainon and Cyrene, the “why” of Amphoreus rather than the “what.”

And that’s all! Hopefully you found this entertaining if nothing else ^_^ What lore have you found in Amphoreus so far?

EDIT: changed a sentence about what elysia's sacrifice would do for the next generation of humans cuz I realized the way I wrote it before was not accurate. ☺️

Director’s cut:

Chat, is it normal if your CHIMERA has horns? Get it? …I’ll see myself out.

(no but why does this kitty chimera have horns like the golden scapegoat character?)

References:

What Happened in Elysium Everlasting!? Chapter 29 - 31 Story Recap by Homu Labs. This channel is the GOAT for HI3rd lore.

[ilikekidsshows]

We can see what kind of "friend" Marinette is from the way she treat Socqueline. In my country, we have a saying that said 'When the sweetness is gone, the pulp is thrown out'. It means when something is outgrow it usefulness, it will be thrown away. That's exactly how she streat Socqueline. The moment she got expelled from the school and can't be Marinette defender anymore, thats the moment she's no longer needed/important enough for her to remember.

(Even Cat Noir got this treatment despite of him not going anywhere)

People can't use the defend that 'Socqueline isn't go to Dupont that's why Marinette can't give her a Miraculous' or that 'she's a new character's because neither Kagami nor Luka go to Dupont' and Zoe is a new character just like her. Yet the designated dog miraculous is Sabrina, who's assisting in bullying her just some months ago.

Why, I wonder...

---

Yo, I’ve been planning to write a post about how Marinette's treatment of Socqueline is what made me realize that she will only be friends with someone she can benefit from. Might as well do it now.

Okay, so, the most damning thing when Socqueline gets introduced back into the story is what they say when they meet. Socqueline brings up starting highschool, something she did almost a year ago, as a new thing to Marinette and doesn't know she's completely defanged Chloé. They only talk about meaningless stuff, so you can't even argue that this conversation is important exposition for people who don't remember Socqueline. There's only one assumption to draw from this: Marinette hasn't contacted Socqueline since she got expelled protecting her.

The writers could have avoided this with a single line. They could have implied they’d seen each other off-screen, or that Marinette has been calling/texting/emailing her. Something like: “What have you been up to since last month?” “It's so great to see you in person!” “I really liked your last email!” “Sorry about keeping you up so late last time I called!” But no, Marinette can't be arsed to call, text or email her once only friend that her mom still has frequent contact with, let alone visit her. And why is that? Well, what is their conversation really about? “I was so worried about leaving you with that monster (aka Chloé).” Socqueline’s job was to protect Marinette from Chloé. When she could no longer do that, she was useless. The writers didn’t put in anything to avoid this interpretation because, as far as they are concerned, Marinette’s friends’ job is to benefit her.

Marinette is the kind of friend who’s only concerned with what you can do for her. Like, I already pointed this out before, but Marinette can’t be bothered to remember a pool trip with her friends and she will dip when they’re all supposed to plant trees together if something more interesting comes along. The only time she will hang out with the girl squad and not dip is when they’re helping her with her Love Quest. It’s sadly very consistent that Marinette didn't bother to contact Socqueline because she didn’t need anything from her. She didn't miss her enough to call, didn't wonder about her enough to ask her mom how she was doing, she seemingly didn't even bother to think about her. Socqueline was worried, Marinette mentions nothing of the sort. It’s Socqueline’s job to take care of the poor, miserable, defenseless wretch Marinette, while Marinette will just soak up all the care and give nothing back like an emotional support black hole.

This is also another thing that makes season one Marinette look questionable in hindsight. You're telling me her previous school year ended with her losing her protector against Chloé and dropping all contact, and the next one started with her instantly becoming bosom buddies with the new girl who defended her against Chloé. Hm.