#though he will likely have stipulations about when and where it should be used

[tricitymonsters]

Totally understand where anon was coming from and that there are cultural boundaries, but just to clarify, even in deep romance Mori still wouldn’t want to be called Kaito even in private by MC?

I do think there's a point where it becomes appropriate and more comfortable for mori but it's a Really Far Down the Line thing. Like I know he's not really the type to set heavy weight on marriage but I think he has to really trust MC is there for the long haul and is committed to putting in the work a really long term relationship needs. I also think it would probably be after MC has the opportunity to meet his family too. Mori chronically tries to keep ALLLL his emotional baggage and conflict out of his day to day life so it will be a long journey to the point where he feels that open with MC but I do think it could happen, especially with an MC who's patient and hits it off with his dad when they finally meet him. So not a Marriage Only thing but it definitely requires a significant milestone in commitment.

[osamucide]

⊹ SEMI-CHARMED LIFE

SHE COMES 'ROUND AND SHE GOES DOWN ON ME AND I MAKE HER SMILE LIKE A DRUG FOR YOU . . . ft. Sigma and Osamu Dazai

wc: 6.4k

cw: sigma x dazai x gn(they/them)+afab!reader, post-canon/canon divergent, language, some plot, explicit sexual content—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, coaching/guiding, fingering, handjobs, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetration, double penetration, double creampie, spit, teasing, dirty talk, so much kissing, praise, communication, squirting, soft sex, rough sex, hints of fluff and angst, soft dazai, a little bit of mean dazai, switch leaning soft dom!dazai, switch leaning sub!+virgin!sigma, switch!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, slut, whore—last two used very affectionately), use of cunt/pussy referring to reader’s anatomy, gambling/strip poker, alcohol+slight dubcon on account of that but otherwise all parties are happily consenting prior, references to pm!reader (and ada!sigma if you squint) but it’s not super relevant, some spoilers for vampire infection outbreak arc/prison break, god will judge me when i’m dead

reid: i have limited knowledge of texas holdem and a huge boner for sigzai. that’s all enjoy

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“Son of a bitch.”

You sigh and lift your martini to your lips again. It should be too late for a martini, but Sigma's living quarters in the casino is outfitted with a less-than-modest liquor cabinet and while he didn't strike you as much of a drinker himself at first—not while he was on the job, anyway—he could bartend like you wouldn’t have believed had you never seen him do it. Vodka martini, no olive, please.

He had transferred it from his hand to yours with a soft smile that echoed his customer service face; however, he was significantly and refreshingly off the clock, so he addressed you playfully, “007,” as he did and laughed a little as he settled back onto the bed, cross-legged in a triangle made up of you, him, and Dazai.

But that was hours ago. The martini you sip now is your third, and Dazai had graciously made himself at home enough to messily pour up shots between poker games, so it’s safe to say you’re at least a little drunk. Sigma had been looking on in quiet irritation at him spilling remnants of expensive alcohol all over the expensive snakewood. The casino manager couldn’t seem to help but be disarmed by the detective every time he turned around, though, face beneath his messy brown hair alight with intoxication and beaming as he distributed yet another over-poured ounce of sake to both of you still on the duvet. You all drank, poker commenced, money was won and lost.

But that was just the first game. There’s higher stakes this time around.

“I have to fold.” You curse at your shitty hand once more and glance to Dazai, who’s flicking all of his little plastic chips toward the pot.

Of course it was Dazai who’d suggested the stipulations for this game, and of course it’s Dazai who is now letting the words “I’m all in” roll off his tongue while he looks charmingly bored and tipsy.

A few games would not be enough to figure out Dazai’s tells. In fact, a few hundred games would probably not be enough to learn to read him. If it wasn’t evident enough already from his excitement about the idea that he was unconcerned about his chances of being the one with the most clothing left on, it’s certainly evident in the way he’s relaxed now, his fist propping him up by his cheekbone. He peeks at his cards again from where he lounges on his side before he looks up to Sigma with bright eyes and a grin, quiet with mischief.

Sigma could go either way, it seems, from the way his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he idles with an unruly stack of chips. He’s far more expressive, but this is his livelihood; it showed when he faked Dazai out of a 30,000 yen pot last game. Still, this time, this showdown, he pushes the rest of his pile into the center. All in.

The detective flips his cards, pinched between his middle and index finger. Straight flush.

Sigma clicks his tongue and whips his cards down onto the duvet. Straight.

“Hah!” Dazai kicks his feet like a child before sitting up to hoard the large pile. “You both know the rules,” he sings, copying Sigma’s posture as he grabs handfuls of his newly-won chips and lets them rain down over his head. A couple fall into his empty whisky glass.

You and Sigma look briefly at one other before both holding your drinks out for the conniving bastard in front of you to hold, which he does. There’s no agreed-upon piece with which you would begin to undress, so, like any sane person, you reach for your socks.

“Mh-mm,” Dazai hums his dissent through a sip of your martini. “I wanna change one rule. Losers have to undress each other.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s socks, Osamu.”

“Precedent,” he claims with a shrug, switching to take a sip of Sigma’s French 75.

So you and Sigma commence removing each other’s socks in a way that particularly lacks even a little sexiness, but when Dazai starts giggling, you both do, too. You ball Sigma’s socks up and toss them at Dazai’s head, which he dodges and swats back at Sigma. Sigma chucks your own socks at you in return for the indirect fire.

“Hey!” you bite jokingly through your teeth, discarding your socks off the little island of a bed that you exist on right now with these two men, and a moment of reflection strikes you as Dazai buries his face in his hands and Sigma almost tips backwards as they both laugh.

It started months ago in Meursault when you tumbled into the block where Gogol was challenging Dazai and Fyodor to his game after freeing them from the Infinite Dice Room. You, as a low-profile, high-priority Port Mafia affiliate aligned closely with the gravity user Chuuya Nakahara, had followed him into the prison as reinforcement; how Gogol and Dostoevsky were even aware of your existence then, you still aren’t sure. But you ended up there, watching Dazai and Fyodor shoot up lethal poison before dispersing to make their escape. You originally stayed with Nikolai to watch it unfold, but scampered off at some point when Chuuya appeared in danger of drowning. Your ultimate goal had been to help the Detective Agency and by proxy Dazai, but you’d be damned if you stood by while your executive was in a dire situation. It all turned out well, except for Sigma’s prolonged comatose state immediately after the prison break and everything that followed. But all that wasn’t important—not to right now, anyway.

What sticks in your mind and resurfaces now was the way you had watched on the monitor as Dazai—a former associate of yours, to say the least—paraded Sigma through the halls of the prison, teasing him, poking at him, dancing with him. It would’ve been borderline-adorable behavior from anyone sane in a normal situation, but Dazai had a way of driving people to the edge with the timing of his antics, and Sigma was quick to crumble under the pressure of the circumstance. What sticks more is how quickly the casino manager surrendered his trust to the quirky brunette inmate along their journey out of the building that day.

And what sticks most is how Dazai looked at him.

You remember observing a hint of something in his gaze that was usually only reserved for people who held important information, nurses in hospitals who’d taken his phone, occasionally you and Chuuya back in the day if he was feeling especially unhinged—the like.

And you remember looking at Sigma the same way over the screen—all sharp features, milky skin, elegant locks, and a hot trigger finger. His conviction over his purpose was alluring to you, who always understood your purpose to be pure survival. To Dazai, whose purpose seemed to be dying. Sigma was something entirely different from either of you, and when you all reconnected by the chance of business after the chaos, it was difficult to ignore the feelings dredged up from such a stressful time. It wasn’t like you’d always had your eye on Dazai or anything—no, surely not—but anyway, the click between the three of you back in Yokohama was inevitably pursued outside of work. A former DOA associate, an Armed Detective, and a Port Mafia subexecutive meeting up in the Sky Casino for drinks and Texas hold ‘em was certainly unprofessional in one capacity or another, sure, but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as Dazai hands you your martini back, face pink from cracking up.

It’s funny to you, how you never feel out of place between them. Sigma is leaning over onto your shoulder to stifle his dying laughter. You just shake your head as Dazai picks up the cards to deal.

The next game whirls by. You are the first to end up without a shirt, where Dazai and Sigma, both with their seemingly endless respective streams of luck, split the winnings over an evenly-matched two pair. You sit sheepishly after it’s your turn to deal, trying desperately, now that you’re losing in a tangible way (the three of you never use real money), to conjure up ways to gain back some ground and maybe not finish out the night as the only one naked.

“Sigma, deal,” Dazai purrs as if this isn’t Sigma’s show. You have your arms crossed over your chest as two cards flutter down in front of you, and you look at them, thinking, hoping—yes, maybe if Sigma would put a Jack down you could—

But any strategy you’re beginning to formulate is effectively zapped off, like a power button on a remote extinguishing a television’s display, as Dazai takes your wrists in his hands and guides them down to your lap.

“Why are you sitting like that?” he asks so innocently. “You’re hot. Stop hiding.”

You’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the alcohol making an appearance on your cheeks already. You giggle a little again, his touch making you feel more lightheaded than anything you’ve drank thus far. Sigma turns to you for your action, but your eyes are locked onto Dazai’s, so he does the only thing that makes the most sense in his own intoxicated mind—he grips your chin, not too harshly, and turns your head toward himself, in all his pastel, angelic beauty.

“Your turn,” Sigma says gently. While he doesn’t comment on what Dazai has said, and although his hand doesn’t hold the same menace that Dazai’s seems to, the tilt of his lips speaks a silent agreement.

Just as both of their fingers are beginning to overwhelm you, they retreat.

And you look down at your cards again, and your train of thought is as good as gone.

“Um—sorry, uh…”

You push 6000 yen into the pot, and Dazai follows.

And soon enough, like clockwork, you’re removing your pants—no, Dazai is removing your pants as Sigma gathers his winnings, and you’re unbuttoning Dazai’s shirt, and this has to be some sort of plot against you, you think, because the room is suddenly hotter, nevermind the alcohol, and you swear Dazai and Sigma are exchanging looks the way you and Dazai had months ago before leaving Meursault.

But you keep your composure. If there’s one thing you were used to dealing with, it’s sexy, scheming men, and it’s rare you ever let them get the best of you. Poker aside, you won’t crack. You can’t. Your drunkenness, now subsiding into hazy exhaustion and a twinge of need you won’t admit to yourself just yet, bolsters your pride, if anything. These two will not break you. You’ll make sure it’s the other way around first.

Another two games pass, and you finally have the mind and hand to win, which is what leads you to the scene of Sigma inching Dazai’s underwear down his thighs.

The casino manager’s face is broken out madly. He’d lost his own shirt but in all remains the most clothed out of all three of you; your dignity is preserved in your undergarments, and Dazai only ‘tsks as he steps out of his boxers just to lay back down on his side, propped up on his hand, in his spot on the bed.

“Well,” the detective laments, his practiced dramatics coming out to play. “I’ve officially lost. What to do now…?”

You look as unfazed as you can by Dazai’s nudity; Sigma’s eyes, however, are everywhere but the brunette.

You hum thoughtfully, considering your nails. You have your little heatstroke from before under control, it seems, but you’re biting your bottom lip raw at the shift in the energy of the room.

You crawl to sit against the headboard of the bed, shooing Dazai out of your way as you do so—it’s the same luxurious snakewood that the liquor cabinet is made from, and it doesn’t budge when you lean back against it. Dazai sits beside you, one leg curled beneath him and the other hanging off the edge of the bed as you kick the duvet down at Sigma, adjusting yourself so your bare legs are extended and crossed at the ankle. You smirk, only softly. Dazai scoots closer to you when your pinkie wraps around one of his fingers.

Sigma, hunched in on himself at the end of the bed, breathes deeply as you turn your gaze to him and pat the spot on the other side of you. He’s willed up by the expectant look on Dazai’s face, and he takes his seat at your side; he looks to the brunette across your side profile, and you hook each of your legs over one of theirs.

“What else is there to do?”

The question comes from you as you look between them, stroking both their knuckles; Dazai’s expression grows more sinister by the second, and he looks past you too, to Sigma, whose eyes are wide. You follow Dazai’s vision.

Sigma gulps and finds himself nodding. He knows what at, but he can’t bring himself to say it as you flick your gaze down to his parted lips.

You lean in.

“This okay?”

He’s still nodding. His head only stills when your hand leaves Dazai’s and reaches up to cup his face.

And you kiss Sigma with an open mouth. He shivers and leans into you. Your hand falls back to blindly search for Dazai’s cock.

Dazai is half-hard just watching you slip your tongue past Sigma’s lips; you thumb his tip teasingly, giving him a few squeezes and drawing soft breaths from him as the pastel-haired man reaches up for your neck. It’s obvious Sigma’s never kissed anyone like this before, but he follows your lead like a first-time ballroom partner, letting you nip the beginnings of moans out of him as Dazai watches, watches.

When you pull back, Sigma is in awe. His eyes don’t open for a few seconds, and you smile, endeared.

“You’re a good kisser, Sigma.”

His eyes snap open. “R-really?”

You nod. “But I think Osamu could train you even better.”

Something flashes across Sigma’s face—not discontent or anxiety but pure surprise, and you turn back to Dazai for his appraisal. He’s biting the inside of his cheek as your fingers work him up and down, torturously slow. Before anything else can happen, you lean into Dazai; he’s eager to receive your lips, force the gasps that belong to you into your mouth. You think you’ll play them like a pair of cymbals, if they let you. If Dazai lets you. It’s looking like he might.

You tilt your head back as Dazai works his way down your throat, leaving bruising bite marks as you touch him. You find Sigma glazed over in awe—the next thing you do is encourage his face toward yours again, so you can kiss him while Dazai marks you. You don’t hold back the sighs that come from your diaphragm. Sigma swallows your breath with greed. You cup his jaw, your noses bump; he grows more confident by the second, and as Dazai traverses back up your neck, you leave him whining, removing your hand from his cock to push the two men’s faces together.

Soft hums reverberate between their kiss. You look proudly upon your work as their hands find one another, frantically, on jaws, on shoulders, on chests. Sigma reaches to pick up where you left off, but second guesses himself.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm.” Dazai bites into the other man’s bottom lip. Sigma yelps into the lack of air between them. You guide his hand, which finds Dazai at his base and sends him moaning into the kiss.

With your hand wrapped around Sigma’s wrapped around Dazai, you latch onto Dazai’s neck to return his bites. Your head buzzes with anticipation; it’s so hot to watch them, low-lidded and on two different levels of experience, talking to each other without speaking. You move Sigma’s hand up, down, up, down. Dazai breaks away to let a full-bodied moan into the air; he makes up for contact by resting his forehead against Sigma’s, peering down at where the two of you are working him into a mess.

“That’s it,” Dazai pants, but he looks smug. “Unh—feels good.”

“Hear that?” With your free hand you tuck a thick lock of Sigma’s silvery hair behind his ear as you mumble into it. “You’re doing so good.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sigma breathes, and he sounds so desperate that it makes you throb. “Don’t know what ‘m doing, please, tell me what to do.”

“Exactly what you’re already doing.” You let go of his hand and let him stroke Dazai by himself. Dazai nods weakly, needily, cock twitching as Sigma explores; the pale-haired man’s thumb circles his tip the same way yours did, but faster. When you lean over to spit on his cock over Sigma’s hand, the brunette’s jaw falls slack and the two melt into another kiss; you don’t even have to enlist Dazai’s hands as, through his pleasure, he fumbles for you. You uncross your ankles, and he rubs you impatiently over the final bit of cloth that remains on your body. Your lips find Sigma's throat next.

All heaving breath against each other, you move like this for a bit, learning one another. Dazai reaches to pop the button on Sigma’s pants as he’s tugging at your underwear at the same time.

You both turn your focus to Sigma as you kick your last layer off; he stumbles upward, back onto his feet, and you and Dazai pursue him as he’s helping you both push his pants and boxers off in one collaborative swipe. He’s never been hard like this before—sure, Sigma’s not a stranger to sexual arousal, but he’s only ever touched himself. Call it a side effect of the imposter syndrome or throwing himself into his casino or the fact that this is his first time being alive, but as Dazai sits on the edge of the bed looking like a hungry animal and you toss his pants away, he can’t imagine why any two people as physically gorgeous, intellectually dominant, and purpose-driven as the two of you would want to engage with him like this. He’s excited, he can’t deny it—his cock is straining almost painfully as it bobs in the air now—but there’s a line of tears forming on his lash line, and you’re fast to catch him.

“Sigma,” you call him back from inside his head. Dazai’s fingers have found his hip; they rest there tenderly. “Sigma. We can stop. It’s okay.”

“No,” Sigma all but cries. He aches to be touched the same way you and himself were both touching Dazai. “No, no, don’t stop, I just—I’m—”

A single tear splits down his pretty pale skin. He looks back and forth between you both.

“Sigma,” you say firmly. “Talk to us. It’s important.”

“I—” He gathers himself, voice cracking only once. “I want this. I want it so bad. I can’t believe I deserve it. You’re both… I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to... not be good.”

You look to Dazai, who looks uncharacteristically tired for a moment; it’s an understatement to say he understands exactly what Sigma is trying to articulate, but he’s not a man of sentiment, so you pick up the slack. Collaborative. You wind your fingers between Sigma’s and lead him to sit next to Dazai.

You stand, bare, in front of the two of them, also bare; they’re both so beautiful in their own ways. Dazai, with his dark features, cutting cheekbones, flexing jaw, bandages outlining the contours of all his lean muscle. Sigma, all heavenly light, awkward hands, unmarked skin, thin sheen of glistening sweat.

“You don't need to worry,” you reassure him. “We just want you. Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm,” Dazai hums again. Not a man of sentiment, but he presses a series of kisses to Sigma’s cheek before smiling devilishly. “We’ll take care of you. How about that? Teach you how to fuck.”

Sigma shudders at his words; his eyes still flit nervously, but fall at rest when you sit opposite Dazai and run your fingertips across his thigh.

“Yes,” he responds just above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dazai echoes.

“Okay.” And you. “Can we touch you? Or d’you wanna watch us?”

Sigma contemplates. His cock jumps at the mere mental image of watching Dazai fuck you; he could get off like that and be totally content, but his mind drifts back to your hands, Dazai’s hands, and how selfishly he was campaigning for you both to touch him just minutes ago. “Touch me, please.”

Now it’s you looking across Sigma’s side profile at Dazai. He mirrors the look in your eye, and you lean over to press a kiss to the brunette's lips before you traverse the plane of Sigma’s chest. Dazai reaches for his cock.

And just like that, Sigma is in heaven. His hands fall behind him on the bed to steady himself as Dazai goes through a motion Sigma’s performed so many times on himself, but it feels so much better now—he doesn’t know if it’s Dazai’s calloused fingertips or the curling heat you both create in his pelvis by just kissing him, talking to him, loving on him—and he’s throwing his head back, embarrassed to make noise but in such ecstasy that he can’t help it, won’t help it. You giggle lightheartedly against the shell of his ear when he does, and he loves it. Loves it. Wants it to last forever. Dazai sucks on his collarbone and you tweak his nipples and he’s twitching, twitching, building up so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be spent soon.

"'M gonna... oh—gonna cum if you don't s-stop—"

But it isn't a request to, so when you and Dazai's hands both leave him, he's sent reeling just like you were during the last game. Sigma's chin meets his chest as he recovers from what feels like Dazai's revenge for the bluff that worked on him earlier, and he looks at you both, glazed over with lust.

Your eyes are so warm when they slide from Dazai back to him.

“So handsome. You’re gorgeous, Sigma.” It hardly matters who says it—the other agrees.

“Tell us what you want.”

"Well, um," he asserts, pulling his shaky legs up into himself and leading you by the arms to pull you back to the headboard. "This part seems pretty self-explanatory. Dazai, I think you should show me how to..."

You perch at the head of the bed again as he trails off, and Dazai looks like he's ready to have fun with what's coming next.

"Show you how to...?" he prompts Sigma to finish his sentence, and Sigma's nudging his way between your legs; your lips turn upward at his burst of enthusiasm, and the words get stuck a bit as he settles on his stomach in front of you.

"Touch them. I've really never done this before." He blinks up at Dazai. Weaponized incompetence has never been so sensual.

And Dazai takes the bait and crawls next to him, gripping your thigh a little too hard as he presses his shoulder to Sigma's. "Certainly. Give it your best shot, I wanna see what I'm working with here." It's so natural for Dazai to take on the mentorship position, even in this situation. You can't help the way you giggle at them; their eyes linger on each other a second too long to imply nothing before Sigma turns his attention to you.

You think he'll start with fingering you, but he dips his head down and goes right for your cunt—you're unable to suppress the oh! that leaves you as he licks a sensual and slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Knowing Sigma, you understand that his mind is probably still swimming with self-doubt as he rolls his eyes up to yours, but you can't find any of it. It's all too hot. His pretty pink lips undulate as he tastes you, delicately, and Dazai lets out a surprised noise of his own.

"Seems like you’re alright." Dazai's grinning. "But I'll help you out. Stay there."

So Sigma latches onto your clit, drawing another series of gasps out of you, and Dazai plunges his middle finger into you. You’re so slick, so ready for them that there's no resistance; Sigma's experimenting with his tongue, then his lips, then alternating, and Dazai keeps digging his fingertips into your thigh, your hip, as he works you open on his hand.

"God, with how wet you are, I think we could get you to take both of us."

Your eyes—which you hadn't realized had fallen shut as you wound each of your hands in either of their heads of soft hair—fly open at that. Sigma pulls away too. Tortorous.

"At the same time?" You're unsure if it comes out of your mouth, too, but Sigma asks it—with a sense of wonder that, had you said it, would've been overshadowed with a little apprehension. Dazai looks up to you for approval.

And while it's daunting—neither of them are small, that's for sure—you can't help the way your hips roll at the thought of being stuffed with them both. At the same time. How intimate it would inevitably be, their cocks pressed together as they fuck you. So you nod, vigorously.

"Gotta get 'em ready, though," he lectures to Sigma, snapping back to his instructorly tone as his hand falls on top of yours in his two-toned hair, pushing his face back into your cunt. "Put that mouth to work. You got it, baby."

Sigma hums against you at the nickname and the vibration sends your head lolling back again; Dazai looks wicked as he straddles your leg, still reaching down to split you open, now on three fingers instead of one or two. He kisses you hard.

The attention from both of them is unbelievable—you see now what had them both falling apart so quickly. Something about two sets of hands wandering your body sets lights off behind your eyes. Sigma’s reaching up to paw at your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples the same way you had his; before you know it you’re panting like a dog into Dazai’s mouth and soaking the bed below you.

“Fuck—you two.” You’ve got one hand still twined in Sigma’s hair. You’re almost grinding onto his nose, and he’s lapping up everything you’re giving him like a good boy. Your other arm winds around Dazai’s neck as you pull him closer and bend your knee to nudge his balls. He humps against what you give him. Lewd, wet sounds fill your ears.

“That’s the plan,” Dazai singsongs, pretty teeth visible. Amidst your frantic hips, he shuffles behind you, never breaking the heated kiss you share more than he has to. Those teeth find your lips and you gasp, you moan, you’re so impressed at how quickly Sigma is picking up on this new art, and with so little instruction, really—he watches you and Dazai make out from his place between your thighs and thrusts his hips against the bed at the sight. You notice.

“Sigma, come up here.”

His lips leave your cunt hesitantly; truth be told, your taste is more inebriating than all the alcohol he’s had. He’s rock hard, and you split your attention between him and Dazai as you lift your hips up, arch, and angle Dazai’s cock against your pussy.

His lips catch Sigma’s as he sinks into you; a whine falls from you at the stretch, and you can feel Dazai shake as he waits to move. When he parts from the kiss, he wraps his hands beneath either of your thighs, spreading you open wide.

Sigma all but gawks at the way Dazai’s dick is buried in you from below. You reach behind you, give his brown hair a tug that has Dazai thrusting up roughly, and Sigma would let your moan shatter his eardrums, his entire being, if he could. He sees the whites of your eyes, the white of Dazai’s fingertips as he grips you hard, the white of Dazai’s precum and your slick dripping down onto the sheets, and his hips lunge forward at nothing. Your cunt looks delicious. Dazai looks delicious, all furrowed brows and bitten lips and groans that bubble up from his chest. He fucks you fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Osamu! Unh, uh-huh—”

Dazai echoes your own name back to you. “Yeah, fuck—you feel so good.”

All the combined sounds are like a symphony to Sigma. He palms his own cock; no way he can cum just watching now, he decides. He needs to be in you. He doesn’t want to be an observer. Sigma catches Dazai’s eyes as if to say can I? But Dazai’s already smirking and breathlessly slipping out of you, holding you up and open still as you reach for Sigma with one hand and will him into you. You suck him in, god—thank god you’re already so wet and fucked open, because he’s not an inch inside of you before he loses himself and thrusts forward wildly.

“There you go,” Dazai encourages, grinning as the pale-haired man’s composure crumbles. “Isn’t that pussy heaven? Just like that, Sigma. They’re fuckin’ creamin’ all over you, look.”

Look, as if his rosé eyes could possibly leave the place where you’re swallowing him in. Sigma’s grunting—he’s never known himself to be noisy during pleasure, but this is another level, your cunt so warm and milky and squeezing him like you’ll never let him go.

The curtain of Dazai’s bangs falls across your shoulder as he kisses you there, mutters filthy musings into your ear while he watches Sigma sink into you over, over, over.

“How’d’they feel?”

Sigma’s unprepared for the way his own voice sounds, wound tight and concentrated while he tries and fails miserably not to whine. All that voice turns into babbling. “So—so, so fucking good, I’m—ah, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

"Woah, woah, alright. Not yet. Give 'em a breather. They're gonna need it, after all." Dazai's still laughing as he puts the brakes on Sigma with his feet—that's especially funny to him, but the way Sigma almost chokes at the way Dazai stops him is even better. Sigma, all sweat and arousal, sinks back onto his knees. You, too, squirm at the loss of stimulation, pushing soft lavender and silver off his forehead where it sticks; when Sigma’s hips don’t quite quit, even with nothing around his cock, Dazai chuckles out a “Looks like you need it, too.”

You trace Sigma’s tangling fingers as you catch your breath, interlocking both your hands with his. Dazai lets up on your legs—your hips will thank him later—letting the flex back into a more comfortable position. Your back rests against his chest, and he plays with your clit lazily.

“This is gonna take some patience, okay?” Dazai is addressing Sigma more than you; you’re guiding Sigma’s hands down to your cunt where he and Dazai move in a figure eight that keeps you occupied.

They're gonna need it, after all is what's registering in your mind. "Osamu—" you start, but he's shushing you.

Once again, Sigma's watching Dazai ride you up by your thighs so he can buck up into you, much more tactfully than the pale-haired man was just seconds ago. Perhaps more neglected than either of you at this point, Dazai's voice is gruff as you squelch around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Hah." His teeth sink into your shoulder as you croon.

"Dazai—" Sigma starts this time, but the other man answers all his questions with a single look.

"You’re gonna go back to what you were doing,” Dazai breathes, his gaze trained on Sigma as you writhe.

“Please, both of you—”

“Be patient,” Dazai means to snap at you but it’s too melted, too lovey. Anyway, he’s egging you on with his next words. “C’mon, Sigma, you’re gonna give ‘em what they want, right?”

And Sigma nods like he’s in a trance—your cunt already looks full around Dazai, but he needs urgently to be in you next to him. He thinks he’ll explode in all the wrong ways if you don’t let him in. He needs it, so he lines himself up below your clit, above Dazai, looking for anywhere he can slip in; it takes some of Dazai’s fingers, some of yours, but soon enough he feels the veins of Dazai’s cock on his underside and your pulsing walls to the top of him. He’s in. He’s actually in, and his head falls onto your shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to let his full weight slump directly onto you and Dazai. You’re bleating, sobbing, laughing through the stretch, and when Sigma’s tip nestles next to Dazai’s deep inside you, you feel full. Whole.

“I’m gonna stay still.” Dazai sounds just as affected as both of you, but he keeps his facade up a few seconds longer to guide you both to the beginning of the end. “Want you to fuck them, Sigma. Hard.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s difficult to pull back and push in at first—you’re so fucking tight and Dazai’s so fucking big, and even though you’re spread apart, Sigma feels like he can’t get close enough to you. Your cunt weeps around both of them, protesting the stretch that your brain adores, but you let up. And he fucks you, soft at first, and then hard.

All three of you are jumbled noise; skin on skin, teeth on lips, moans on shoulders, wet smacking and sliding and sobbing as you take both of them. Your gut heats up with each push, each pull, each frantic grasp, each broken sound the two men let out as they frot inside of you; Dazai’s biting your shoulder again, letting his sweet little protégé do the work. Sigma digs his nails into you wherever he can find purchase.

“Oh—fuckin’ harder, Sigma, baby, please—” you beg.

“Our pretty boy fuckin’ you good?” Dazai doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You gonna go stupid on his cock, huh?”

Sigma couldn’t answer the question even if it wasn’t rhetorical; all of his coherence is gone, and you took it. His thrusts grow erratic, remarkably unpracticed and blatantly virgin, but the repeated pounding of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix makes your eyes impossible to keep open, then impossible to keep closed, so you teeter between hyperalert and falling apart. Dazai rubs your clit as Sigma pushes your knees further back with sudden aggression, pins your thighs closer to your shoulders as he fucks you and creates an otherworldly friction against Dazai. He’s gone, he’s lost, and he looks so gorgeous whimpering and whining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screws his eyes shut and his mouth falls open over and over again. If anyone’s going stupid, it’s Sigma.

But the longer he fucks you, the more limp you fall; your head falls to rest on Dazai's shoulder as Sigma puts everything into you, and the brunette laughs like the asshole he is, even through this. He’s hardly doing better than either of you, though, and his words fly.

“My two beautiful little fuckin’ sluts, so—unh, so hot. So hot. Look at what I turned you into.”

Neither of you have any hope of answering. His voice just throttles you forward, and Sigma’s grunts ante up—he’s almost yelling, shouting as he exerts himself, as he does everything his body will let him to get himself there, and bring you with him, too.

“Ah! Angh—anh—ah, ah, ugh!”

And you reply with, “Ah! Unh—oh, oh, oh, please, please, please!”

And Dazai drinks it all up, finally letting his eyes roll back as he pulls Sigma down for one more messy kiss—one that sends Sigma headfirst into his orgasm, and he cums, rutting into you while your cunt spasms, squirts, begs for Dazai to follow. It’s like white heat rolling off of him in waves; Sigma’s brows lift as if finding a sort of clarity, and your eyes are wide as you clutch the two men, and Dazai follows shortly after—the mixture of their cum inside you sings the most disgusting and yet most satisfying sounds of the evening. Your legs snap shut around Sigma’s waist as he rides all three of you out, all sweat and tears and incredulous moans that die as he slows to a stop, still stuffed inside of you.

Three pairs of lips are dry, bitten raw—chapstick’s the first thing on Sigma’s mind as his head clears, but he feels himself and Dazai spill out of you, and you and he both reach for him, pulling him down into the pillows as whatever dream the three of you just exited settles around you like dust. He’s sticky, too, but he doesn’t hate it—how can he when you’re between them, throwing one leg over Sigma’s waist and tangling the other with Dazai’s behind you? You head falls into the crook of Sigma’s elbow, and his other arm drapes over Dazai’s, which holds you close by your waist as Dazai’s chin settles on top of your head—not unlike a three-piece puzzle, snapped together and in your right place.

“Oh, fuck.” You’re still leaking. “That was wonderful. Both of you.”

Dazai chuckles again. Unnervingly charming, even after cumming so damn hard. Sigma doesn’t want to know what he looks like himself.

“Who knew there was a whore in the casino man?”

You smack Dazai’s arm, but now you’re all laughing again, even Sigma. He feels… proud. You look so satisfied, so tired. The way your eyes slide shut after pressing such affection into his own prompts him to do the same.

Tired as he may be, though, he can’t lie and say that he’s not still incredibly turned on—you wiggle a little to get comfortable between them, and Sigma feels his cock spring back to life when you brush him, when your fingertips skate over the small of his back. He can’t reflect on what just happened—it’ll have him hard again in seconds.

“Excited again already, huh?” Dazai pokes. Sigma’s face burns.

“Ugh,” you groan out of sheer exhaustion, “if we go again, you’re both taking turns.”

Dazai looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps we could reprise rock, paper, scissors.”

And Sigma, having begun to nod, stops. “Absolutely not.”

[yumeka-sxf]

Seems like this chapter just about wrapped up the Mole Hunt arc. I decided to analyze a bit more than I usually do with my chapter reviews since there was a lot to talk about on the Twiyor front!

When Fiona questioned Twilight about not killing Yuri, he gave his official "for the mission" reason, but slipped up by calling Yor "Yor-san" instead of "Yor Briar." This made it obvious to Fiona (who already knows about him softening) that he's trying desperately hard to cover up those feelings. Even though this would have been a good opportunity for her to imply that she's a better fit for the wife role, she doesn't even try because she knows Twilight would defend "Yor-san" in every subtle way he could.

When he gets home and finds out that Yor doesn't actually have gripes with him, he's relieved of that last load of stress and is finally able to relax, causing him to collapse (similar to the very first chapter when he collapsed after Anya passed the Eden entrance exam). After he realizes how utterly exhausted he is, he can't help but ask Yor to help out with his housework.

Her reply is what really makes everything sink in for him - despite all his attempts to be a flawless spy, she doesn't want him to be that way. She's happy when she can be useful to him and thinks it's bad if he pushes himself to be perfect all the time.

And yet, that's exactly what he has to be in order to survive as a spy. The fact that he had to ask someone for help with simple housework, plus someone telling him that he doesn't have to be perfect, made him recall the feeling he had when he looked into Wheeler's eyes...that he lives in a world where you have to be perfect in order to survive, and having any kind of weakness just won't due.

While Twilight continues to be clueless about Fiona's feelings for him among other things, what he does realize at the end of this arc is his own feelings - that he does have a weakness. He's beginning to understand more than ever that a spy can't afford to be anything but perfect. And yet, his refusal to kill Yuri, which is a result of him caring about Yor (even though he gave Fiona his usual "for the mission" reason, she saw right through it) is conflicting him even more.

I also have to point out how considerate Yor was of Loid's exhaustion - she completely pushed Yuri away, even after noticing he was injured. She didn't even invite him to stay and have tea with them!

What Twilight was about to say to Yor (in his mind) before Yuri interrupted is debatable, but going by his previous line of thought, it was probably something bittersweet like "which is why...once Operation Strix is over, I'll have to leave the Forgers" or possibly something more immediate, where he now realizes how compromised he truly is and so might reconsider the stipulations of Operation Strix even before it's over. Though I think it's more of the former since his thoughts in the shower in the next scene make it seem like he's not ready to do anything drastic yet, but the idea is still gnawing at him.

Fiona had noticed his leaking emotions way back when she was first introduced, but this is the first time Twilight himself is realizing it and not denying it. Whether anything major will change in his actions from now on is yet to be seen. Will there be another aftermath chapter or two with Twilight still being jostled by this realization? Or will things go back to normal now and he'll brush those feelings aside for another day? It seems like Yuri has been totally thrown off the scent, so his identity should be safe for the time being. Will Anya get to read his mind the next morning and finally find out everything that happened? The next new chapter won't be out for another 4 weeks, so brace yourself for a grueling wait!

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Kill a Dragon, Rez a Falin

I just like when they're friends like this :)

This, too, is taken from another post, but truly this dynamic is sooo funny of

Chilchuck: I am not a fighter!

Chilchuck, any time he has any sort of ranged weapon: [aims with pinpoint accuracy]

.

This is just literally that moment in every Miraculous Ladybug episode where everything goes gray and the things Marinette is about to use for a Plan "light up" one by one in red with black spots. Please someone draw fanart of this. And maybe an entire Miraculous Ladybug AU. Yes I think Kabru would have to be Chat Noir - in terms of deuteragonist-ness is SHOULD be Marcille, but she and Laios just doesn't have enough of a bizarre push and pull Dynamic. We need real character foils to pull off that relationship square.

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Raw fucking dialogue.

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THE PERIODIC ADS ON THIS SITE FOR PRINTING OR CLOTHING OR SHOES REALLY ADD TO THE EXPERIENCE.

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Agh agh agh, looking at this, thinking about Namari's explanation of how much body mass you can lose before resurrection gets harder...

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Carving this tunnel into the dragon and physically walking in emphasizes how big it was much more than anything we saw while it was alive, and it's sooo cool.

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This ad was a great millisecond of cliffhanger, unironically.

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These opening pages of the next chapter are so devastating. After all the movement of the fight, this simple layout and minimal dialogue make the grief and horror and just emptiness, emptiness where Falin should be, where hope for Falin should be, ring like a low and broken bell. Driven in just a little deeper by Laios admitting he doesn't know a monsters fact (warg bones vs human bones) - there is helplessness, too. He's just doing the only thing he can, which is so little, in all this terrible caesura.

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And then this! Marcille and Laois don't have the messy meatiness of relationship to carry and Miraculous Ladybug love square, but they are JOINTLY the parallel to the Mad Mage, and that's fascinating. They're on the same page here: Laios's "No" isn't just the denial of grief, it's a flat "That's not what we'll do." This is Laios - of course he's already thinking about how the red dragon is perfectly functional meat. As is Marcille, at last 100% in-step with him re: monsters = meat, here in the final steps to save Falin. With magic and drive and an absolute determination to save Falin, they're going to walk hand in hand into the darkness, and if something in their devours them (or their party, or the surface world...) - well, it'll have to beat them first, because throughout this world it's eat or be eaten, and those who want it most, win.

(And it IS fascinating that they do this while, so far as I've seen, basically remaining at the relationship tier of "good friends/in-laws." This isn't Found Family, it's Found Really Good Co-Workers; and I LOVE that.)

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THE PARALLEL COMPOSITION AND DIALOGUE TO THE ABOVE SCREENSHOT WHEN LAIOS WENT TO KILL THE DRAGON THOUGH!! I'M FERAL!!!

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Obsessed with the decision to frame this as a monster meal.

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Blood! In! Hair! Blood! In! Hair! Man, when I saw that post saying this wished this show was in the show, I vaguely assumed her hair had gotten messed up in the fight but she didn't bother to fix it for the ritual; but in fact her hair was braided literally 1 panel ago - she undid that and DELIBERATELY (or at least uncaringly) ran her bloody hand through it.

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YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS AS COOL AS THIS PANEL! Oh fuck yeah, eyes went white. That's when you know the magic is awesome.

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HUNGER AND EATING AS A SIGN, SYMPTOM, STIPULATION AND SYNECDOCHE OF BEING ALIVE!!!

Alas, but with good okay slightly postponed and belated timing I must now go to bed.

[reblogandlikes]

Where the fuck are the magical consequences in the ACOTAR series?

I have two main examples, and the first being the pivotal change that kick-starts the whole Feyre and Rhysand storyline. That being, the Bargain.

Aren't bargain in general Fairytale lore cross the board mostly non-negotiable? That being said, Rhysand forced the unnecessary Bargain on Feyre while UTM so she has to spend 1 week a month with him for the rest of her life. I'd say the shit should have been void since the damn girl died and the bargain was made while she was human. Now she isn't; she's Fae and it still stayed and thus, has to spend 1 week of her now immortal life with him per month. OK, I'll bite. But then the first two or was it three (who cares) months...that didn't happen, adding to everyone's paranoia in SC. Had Tamlin searching high and low of ways to break it, and in the end, the Cauldron was needed to break it.

...so, what's the point in a bargain if you can pick a choose how it works? There were no stipulations. 1 week a month. That's it. The magic should respond violently/whimsically/something each time it's breached on one party or both. Does the magic of bargain mean nothing then if it's not fulfilled? And if so, couldn't Feyre had just told Rhysand to piss off when he came to collect her seeming nothing bad happened after missing the first couple of months initially?

Anyway, moving on.

The High Lord meeting.

They all go to Dawn to talk about Hybern and it was stated that the HL's can't harm or attack or do whatever to each other because the magic of the room prevents it, but that's...not true.

The NC got away with so much magical shit. Rhysand stealing Tamlin’s voice/mouth, Feyre losing control and harmed the Lady of Autumn and then didn't care and deliberately went to harm Baron. And then Azriel straight up attacks Eris. Like, the actual fuck?

Not a single consequence or magical interference in a space that's meant to be neutral. The whole scene just made the NC look dumb, though I'm sure Sarah wanted me to be on their side, but like, get a grip. Use your words than having an emotional outburst, but I guess those are only allowed and excusable for the NC.

So, does the magic in the room all the HL's and those in attendance, I guess, are beholden to only reacts with legitimate life-threatening ordeals than petty squabbles?

Anyway, magic holds no weight in the direct moments they're meant to and its weird.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello-ellow!

due to your interest in alchemy, do you have theory why Peter used what he used to resurrect Voldemort? ok with Harry blood, but other, what it have to mean? what substance was in cauldron before Peter pull Voldemort in?

Hello!

Okay, so I actually have, like, a bit of a headcanon about the potion and why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection since I don't believe the Horcruxes caused his body to look like that, but that it was because Peter messed up the potion.

As I mentioned in the past, in Alchemy, everything is alive and comprised of 3 parts:

Salt - Body

Mercury - Spirit

Sulfur - Soul

So, the soul already exists — we have a wraith Voldy who is already a complete soul.

And we have a rudimentary body that holds this soul, which is also an ingredient of this potion. I believe it gives, like, the basic instructions of how the body should be made ie two arms, two legs, and a head. It's a body component that is the template the potion builds upon.

Then we have "bone of the father". This is another salt component. I think this is there for the genetics portion. It's the closest body part to a blood relative of Voldemort, so it's there to represent what his body was before his death. An image of the past.

"Flesh of the servant" is an odd one because Wormtail just drops his entire hand in, which, really, he shouldn't have to, because the ritual stipulates "flesh", and I think that's purposeful. Bones are templates, building blocks, flesh is what covers it. It symbolizes life in a way, which is why I think it's both a salt component and a mercury component. Again, the entire hand is dropped in, blood, bones, and flesh, all different ingredients that Wormtail chucked into the potion together but that should symbolize life and devotion in general. (It's Likley a finger might've been enough but Voldemort told Wormtail to chuck his whole hand in to mess with him. I think Voldy would do something like that)

Harry's blood is a spirit component as blood represents life and it's also imbued with Lily's sacrifice magic which Voldemort wants to circumvent (which is life-related magic). But Harry's blood is a soul component as well because of the Horcrux, Voldy doesn't know that though. This might affect the potion negatively as it might set it out of balance.

We also know the potion included Nagini's venum and I think this is where Wormtail messed up.

Medieval alchemists believed the mindset you have while making a potion, or doing any alchemical process affects the results. This is why it was of utmost importance to keep anyone other than yourself out of the lab so they don't mess it up by just thinking the wrong things. Especially if the procedure is a more complex one. This is that intent aspect I always mention magic having. How your thoughts and feelings affect the magic you produce.

So, the reason I headcanon for why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection is because Wormtail added Nagini's venom as a body component when he should've added it as a soul component due to her being a Horcrux. Her venom was supposed to strengthen the bond between the new body and Voldemort's soul, and I believe it still did that. I just also think Wormtail thought her venom was there to help create the body, and he mixed it into the potion under this wrong impression and it butched how the body looks as a result.

At least, that's my headcanon on why he looks like a snake and not like a creepy DILF.

As for other ingredients that were in the potion, I think it shares some of its ingredients with the Phlagaton Potion I theorize is part of the Horcrux-making process.

There would probably be healing ingredients such as Dittany, dragon liver, valerian root, and mint.

And there would be ingredients corresponding to resurrection and rebirth. If you can get Pheonix ashes, all the better, but if not ingredients such as Saffron spice, Hyacinth flowers, or Golden crocus flowers could also work assuming you burn them into a fine dry powder that is almost white in color.

As the ritual we witness in the graveyard covers the components needed for the actual body creation, there probably aren't many ingredients already in the potion related to that.

[twistedtummies2]

Leona's Sadism

So, someone sent me...an EXTREMELY long Ask basically questioning why I keep saying Leona is a canonical sadist, and arguing against that fact. Rather than answer the Ask directly, I decided it was best to sort of answer in my own words, since I know I can get pretty long-winded myself. XD I should point out that when I say things like this, I'm partially exaggerating/joking. (Though only partially.) The one thing for sure we can say on that front is that Leona is certainly a canonical jerkface, which is part of why he's fun. To quote an Internet video: "He's a d*ck...but he's a NICE d*ck!" That's why I love him; he's such a colossal ass a lot of the time, but then he'll flip around and show another side, and it's fun. XD HOWEVER, I am only PARTIALLY exaggerating/joking because Leona is, in fact, at least slightly sadistic in the game. There are multiple occasions throughout his appearances in the Main Story, Vignettes, and so on where he will deliberately do things to make people miserable, make people angry, or make people scared. He ENJOYS having that kind of power over others and dangling things before them before snatching it away. He does it a lot, sometimes with comical results, sometimes more severe ones. He also clearly takes pleasure in watching others in pain during his darkest moments, such as the clear relish he showed and the mockery he exhibited when using his Unique Magic on Ruggie. That's certainly a bit more than just being, say, "mischievous," which you could argue in other instances. NOW, OF COURSE, that last example IS a very extreme one: Leona was basically having a mental breakdown at that point (which the Asker did point out, hence why I'm bringing it up), and wasn't totally in control of his emotions or actions. And he DOES seem to regret it at least a little bit in the aftermath. But the point still stands...when pushed to his limits, so to speak, Leona can be EXTREMELY cruel. It's also worth pointing out that this isn't just an inference; OTHER CHARACTERS are fully aware of this in-game. My favorite example is when Azul defends himself at one point (I think he was talking to Jamil, but my memory may be wrong here) by stating that he "doesn't take pleasure in other people's suffering, unlike Leona." Which, of course, is SUCH an ironic statement, since Azul does, in fact, do that...but there IS a key difference. Azul typically only takes pleasure in that when it benefits him in some material manner. He enjoys having power over people, too, and watching them squirm and dance and play his games...but it's specifically because he's getting something out of it that's tangible. Leona just does it because he's a jerk like that. He doesn't get anything out of turning Ruggie to sand, he doesn't get anything out of mocking Idia after ruining his costume, he doesn't get anything out of teasing Azul before destroying the contracts. He literally just ENJOYS doing stuff like that and - with the exception of Ruggie - shows neither remorse nor apology.

Leona can be cruel. And he can ENJOY it when he's cruel. That's sadism, plain and simple. It's not about inflicting physical bodily harm on others, and while it CAN mean one "gets off" on causing others misery, it doesn't necessarily HAVE to mean that: a character can be described as "sadistic" without that specific stipulation. When I say Leona is a sadist, I simply mean it in the sense that he can, in fact, show sadistic tendencies at times. He's not the only one in the cast who's like this, but he IS one of the ones where that part of his personality is a MAJOR character trait that others POINT OUT in the story and dialogue. In terms of my kinky nonsense and weirdness, I basically just take that simple fact - that Leona can be a jerk and, on some level, enjoys watching others feel bad for his own enjoyment - and take it to its natural extreme, so to speak.

I should also point out this makes perfect sense given Leona's source material. A LOT of Disney Villains clearly relish their own evil, and Scar is no exception: there was no REASON to give Mufasa that taunting "Long Live the King" before hurling him to his doom. There was no reason to pretend to still be a kind and caring uncle to Simba before siccing the hyenas onto him (a fact many have argued over time), there certainly wasn't a reason to whisper his little secret into Simba's ear before attempting to kill him. Scar is DEFINITELY a sadistic villain: he enjoys being nasty just because he enjoys it. TL, DR: Leona is a canon sadist in the definition that he can be sadistic in his actions, other characters in-canon are VERY aware of this fact, and there are multiple examples of these points within the game and the manga alike. On top of that, his source inspiration is also a sadistic character, so this makes perfect sense as an element of Leona's own personality. This doesn't mean Leona Kingscholar can't also be nice, or funny, or even cute, and it doesn't mean he necessarily "gets off" on those sadistic actions in the literal sense. But one also shouldn't ignore the fact that he can, in fact, be a big fat meanie-face when he wants to be, for basically no reason at all. I hope I have explained myself with clarity. XD

[grimnisdottir]

Inspired by the many arranged marriages to seal a treaty AU's, and thought, well… no, not quite. Anyway enjoy my twist. ~~~~~~~~~~~

Madara is entirely unsure why a Hatake is sitting at the table, but the way the White Demon seems to relax minutely holds his attention over the tense atmosphere. His eyes seem relaxed, so Madara can see white lashes spread like snowfall over blood. See how he gently leans towards the older man as though awaiting something. If this was to be his Wife, then Madara can at least admit that the Senju is pretty to look at.

Madara flicks his attention to Hashirama and tries desperately not to let a bark of laughter out. Hashirama looks vaguely pale for a Clan Head, and the dark circles under his eyes only seem to pop out more. His old friend looks- Madara sobers. Now was not the time. 

Today they had something important to discuss in the treaty, and the interloper would only prolong the inevitable. 

“Hatake-san, why are you here?” Madara addresses the man directly, annoyance threading into his tone. 

The redhead, and wasn’t that a marvel, tilts his head to the left. If it hadn’t been for the Hatake mon, golden eyes that reminded him of wolves, and the freezing lightning-touched chakra lazily rolling about, Madara would have assumed another clan entirely. 

The Hatake smiles, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Uchiha-sama,” the man addresses him, leaning back and crossing his fingers on the table. It has Madara bristling at the arrogance. "I am here because the Senju can't honor the terms of one important treaty line." 

Madara stiffens along with his brother beside him. Excuse me? 

Mushrooms sprout onto the table as Hashirama groans, capturing Madara's attention faster than a Kunai can strike. "What is the meaning of this Senju-sama?" Madara says through his teeth. 

"Uchiha-sama," The Hatake smoothly interrupts. It's lazy and unbothered by the insult he has given. Golden eyes glitter, and Madara wants to stab. "You react too soon. Tobirama Senju is not just Heir to the Senju. He is also Mine."

What.

Madara blinks. A strangled noise comes from Izuna and what sounds like a choke from Hikaku. He had no idea the Hatake had switched hands. The last he had known, it was still Satoshi Hatake. A devastating man who Madara swears his honored father sneaks out with to go get drinks when the wolves pass by. Though the knowledge they had been able to scrape up about his children was scarce. Only two. One passed, so this must be the youngest who follows in his father's footsteps, Katsuro Hatake.

"I apologize, Hatake-sama. I was unaware that the Hatake had a new Clan Head," Madara says but side eyes a further wilting Hashirama. 

"Forgiven and forgotten. We like to use knowledge and misdirection, especially with your Heir and his talents, Uchiha-sama," Katsuro waves off their apology and gently touches Tobirama's hand. "I named Tobirama my Heir, as agreed upon by the terms made between our clans," Madara can hear the ‘predates yours’ that goes unsaid, "that should I not have children, my sister's eldest child was to be my Heir."

"So, to get to the point, Uchiha-sama. The Senju can not offer you Tobirama's hand in marriage to seal this treaty." The room explodes into noises of outrage but Madara closes his eyes. He should have known where the direction was going. Dealing with Hashirama had been easy. Although the marriage wasn’t ideal - he hadn’t wanted to, but Izuna would have slit the Demon's throat if given a chance, their animosity too strong -  the Elders had demanded it. Made it a stipulation, and the Senju agreed. 

No, Hashirama did. 

Looking closer at the duo, he can spot a pleased glint in their eyes. Sending his senses out, Madara is surprised the soothing cool of Tobirama’s chakra is curling around him, like a cat trying to find the best spot in the sun. It jumps back if noticed, pulling behind the sharp icy chakra of the Uncle. Not that he would be able to tell across the Senju’s face. 

As much as Madara disagrees, he has already resigned his fate to be tied to Tobirama for the sake of peace. “So, what do you suggest?” 

Katsuro finally offers a smile, near smug and self-satisfied. “Hatake hearts need to be won, Uchiha-sama. The candidate in question will have the chance to earn it, as Tobirama will endeavor to earn theirs. If it fails, no harm, no foul, and the treaty continues. We Hatake do not enter into loveless marriages, nor do the Uchiha if I recall. If this is unacceptable as a term, then you may choose someone else to marry.”

Madara can't help but feel like he's stepping into a trap, but too late to stop it. Already the terms have been set, and the Elders will likely agree. The burn of anger alights a fire in him. "Are you implying I cannot earn my Wife's heart?" Madara asks, voice tight and controlled. 

A hand wave, dismissive in nature, is the only response that gives anything away. "If that's the way you choose to take my terms, then do so Uchiha-sama. But they will not change. My Heir is precious and an incredible shinobi. Anything less than loved is a travesty.”

“Fine.” Madara snaps, slashing an arm through the air. “I accept those terms.”

“Nii-San,” Izuna whines lowly, and Madara doesn’t miss how Izuna puts his head in his hands, muttering so low he can’t hear. 

“I’m pleased to hear that!” Hashirama gains life, clapping his hands together, which only makes flowers grow on the table around him. 

In one smooth movement, the Hatake Head stands and gently runs his fingers through silver-white hair. The way it parts under fingers has Madara wondering what it would feel like if it was his hand instead. Was it soft? As the loveliest carmine eyes meet his, Tobirama tilts his head, which shows off a column of pale throat and… was that more red lines?  A teasing tilt to plush lips captures his attention before the seductive song suddenly ends, and Tobirama looks like he normally does. But the image has been seared into his head. Whatever game Tobirama Senju plays, Madara wants to see it through even though he feels much like a mouse would before a cat.

Madara grins, full of teeth and excitement. Tobirama Senju might be a good dance partner, after all.

[buddiebeginz]

Hey, Justine! Did you see the new article?

https://ew.com/911-season-8-preview-exclusive-photos-interview-8704969

I did. I think things are looking very good for us. Tim has had every opportunity to remove or distance Eddie from Buck's story and he's not. B*mmy's seem to think that's what's happening here but it isn't. When characters and their storylines are being distanced they don't get talked about like this. And this isn't just the journalists inferring this is Tim's own words.

Tim could have distanced Buck and Eddie in s7. If Buddie wasn't happening he could and should have made 704 about Buck and T*mmy and not really included Eddie at all. But really that episode was very loudly about Buck's feelings for Eddie.

You could make the argument that Tim wanted to wait and see what the audience response was going to be to T*mmy before he made any major changes. Which he had plenty of time to do that leading up to the final two eps of s7 considering T*mmy wasn't in eps 707 and 708. 709 and 710 also went through significant rewrites before filming so there was definitely time for Tim to put more focus on B/T but he didn't. He didn't even have T*mmy at the hospital with Buck and that wouldn't have required taking time away from the other characters at all, just like a shot of him there sitting with Buck.

Consistently since B/T became a thing Tim has told us in every way imaginable that Buddie is more important and that Buddie (canon) is the goal. Even think back to how Buddie was handled vs B/T at the bachelor party. B*mmy's make all these excuses for what happened there but the main thing is Tim decided he wanted Buck and Eddie dressing up in a couple's custom. He wanted Eddie to be the one there spending the whole night with Buck not T*mmy. He easily could have had T*mmy there instead of Eddie or had it be the three of them there but he didn't.

You can tell this pattern is clearly going to continue when you read what Tim is saying about s8. We already know T*mmy is just stepping stone to Buddie, Lou himself said as much in one of his early cameos. Tim is likely going to use T*mmy for dramatic tension while Eddie has his feelings realization about Buck.

I suspected this was where Tim would go with things this season I just wasn't sure if he was going to bring Lou back after the all the drama him and his fans caused. I'm assuming he got told to stop interacting with his psycho fan base though because we now know he's coming back yet he's not been communicating with his fans at all. He likely was contracted to come back for a few eps with the stipulation he can't cause any more problems.

T*mmy will likely be around for a few eps while Eddie's storyline is getting more of the focus. Hopefully we'll get some jealous and pinning Eddie cause that would just be delicious. I don't see T*mmy lasting beyond mid season if even that. I know a lot of people aren't happy about him coming back and I'm right there with you but also as someone who has been waiting and hoping for Buddie to happen for years I've never seen it so within our grasp. This feels like it will be our year.

Anyway hope you don't mind my long ramble. Thanks for messaging me. ❤️

[bbygirl-aemond]

All the Laws Viserys Violated by Making Rhaenyra His Heir

Hi hi! I'm in the midst of writing a post about Otto's motivations throughout HotD and the portion about why Otto was so sure Alicent's sons would end up as heir when he pushed her to marry Viserys got wayyy too long so I'm just going to write it here.

I cannot emphasize enough how crazy it was that Viserys kept Rhaenyra as his heir. He has literally no law or precedent to back him up; every single possible precedent actually works against him. Full disclaimer, I genuinely think Rhae would make a good queen and support her over Aegon, but I don't think Viserys made her heir for the right reasons and I think because of the following he was setting her up for failure.

First, Westerosi laws of inheritance say that a woman cannot inherit if she has a trueborn brother. This has always been the case. Remember that as of right now Dorne is NOT a part of the Seven Kingdoms, so the Seven Kingdoms unanimous in its institution of male-based primogeniture. There is literally no region under Viserys's domain where a woman is allowed to inherit if she has any trueborn brothers. You'll never find any instances of a woman being made heir when she has surviving trueborn brothers. When we see women in power, like Jeyne Arryn or even Sansa Stark, it's always because they either have no brothers or their brother is occupied with another title. And honestly, in like half of these cases the title gets passed to a woman's uncle rather than going to her if she's the sole child.

Second, the Great Council of 101 set the precedent that even if a woman is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, she should be passed over for a male. Rhaenys was Jaehaerys's heir according to Westerosi laws of inheritance as the only child of his previous heir, so she was even backed by the actual law and precedent. And the threat of war was dangerous enough that it forced the literal King of Westeros to concede matters of his personal inheritance and violate precedent just to pass over a woman. That's how sexist they are!!! They literally broke the law so that they could be MORE sexist!!

Third, Widow's Law specifically stipulates that it is not meant to be used to allow a woman to inherit over her trueborn brother. I know a lot of people think this law can actually be used to support Rhaenyra, but I think this ignores the context of the time. Remember, even though Alysanne wrote the law, Jaehaerys is the one who implemented it and is the only one who had the final say in its wording. And, as mentioned above, Jaehaerys straight up does not have the power to allow women to inherit, even when the law is backing him up. He's also a super misogynist and has proven unwilling to listen to Alysanne on feminist matters. So I'm not sure why people think he'd have the desire or the power to instate a law that says a daughter from a first marriage gets to inherit over a son from a second marriage. The lords would never allow something like that, because most of them use and discard their wives for the sole purpose of gaining male heirs and I guarantee there would be a moral panic about women getting too much power the same way there eventually was with Rhaenys and Rhaenyra. And not just the lords, but Jaehaerys would never allow something like that: They're all grade A misogynists, remember? That's why Widow's Law specifically placates the lords by assuring them that their precious eldest son can still inherit before even introducing the new law. Because Jaehaerys knew he wouldn't be supported if he said that women could inherit when they have trueborn brothers, so he made sure everyone knew he wasn't trying to do that.

So Viserys has 0 laws and precedents backing his decision, and 3 laws and precedents that his decision outright violates. And he keeps Rhaenyra as his heir anyways, out of guilt to Aemma. This is why I think Otto was genuinely flabbergasted by Viserys's decision; because he demonstrates remarkable awareness of the misogyny in Westeros and is fully aware that this WILL incite rebellion. He says it himself: It doesn't matter to the lords of Westeros how good or kind Rhaenyra is. They've demonstrated, time and time again, that they will not allow a woman to inherit a title, including the Iron Throne, if there are ANY trueborn male relatives available--AND that they have the power to force the King to let them decide his inheritance!

TLDR: Viserys really did Rhaenyra dirty. He made and kept her his heir out of guilt about Aemma, not out of love for Rhaenyra. And he did this knowing that it violated every single precedent or law relating to inheritance out there, and knowing that previous kings weren't able to uphold their female heirs, even when they had a stronger claim than Rhaenyra would have, because the lords threatened to start a war over it. And that's not even getting into how he completely failed to teach her about politics and did nothing to prepare her to become Queen.

This is also part of why people say it's not just about Rhaenyra's bastards. I fully agree that having them weakened her claim even further, but what you need to understand is that Rhaenyra was doomed from the start. She was doomed by the misogynistic laws, and by the misogynistic precedent, and by the misogynistic lords who never tried to hide that they'd start a war if a woman inherited the throne. And Viserys put that burden on her anyways, and put her and her children's lives in genuine danger, all so he could feel better about his decision to butcher his wife.

[cool-cowboy]

Summary:

In which Father Kennedy comes up with a plan to expel your mutual lust by forcing the both of you to cope with it, and the plan works, for about a minute, then he confesses his undying and eternal love for you and does you on the altar while you stare at Jesus Christ.

This is the second work in this storyline, reading the first one isn't all that necessary, just know you've already indulged once before, during the previous Sunday's confession. If you like your men obsessed this one is definitely for you. Enjoy!

Tags:

Priest Leon S. Kennedy, Alternate universe- Medieval, Church Sex, Catholicism, Guilt, Adultery, Love confessions, Catholic prayers, Altar sex, Naked female clothed male, Body worship, Semi-public sex, Multiple orgasms, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Teasing, Vaginal sex, Cum shot, Aftercare

Blurb:

“If we are to abstain, why would we come here alone? Is that not counterproductive?”

“Temptation can only be overcome if it is present, miss. We are in no position to flee, we must face our desires and let God lead us in the way he sees fit. I intend to cure us of our illness in as quick a manner as possible, so we will need to bury ourselves in it, let the wound fester prior to healing."

Text:

“Father? Um- Stephan’s home, you-”

“I wasn’t looking to come inside. Accompany me through town, we have some things to discuss.” I nod, unsure exactly what said discussion will entail, considering it has been only a few days following our indiscretion, and I haven’t seen him once, though the guilt has been heavy, making me sickly to even look at Stephan, who is none the wiser, thankfully, I wouldn’t want to need to sin again by lying to ward off any suspicion regarding my adultery.

“Alright. Let me go and tell Stephan, he doesn’t like for me to leave without notice. Come in, Father.” I pull the door a little further open, allowing him inside and out of the cold, my thoughts already ungodly at the sight of him in his casual clothing, the collared shirt tight over his neck, and his upper body as well, providing an overly enticing view which leaves very little to the imagination.

“Hurry along, miss, we have things to attend to.” I nod, a little feverish, not glad to have been caught ogling, as well as anxious to speak to Stephan about the Father in any regard. I hurry to the study, admittedly delighted at the thought of any manner of time spent with the priest, even if it is sinful.

“Stephan?” He has the door closed, was telling me a few hours prior my cleaning was interrupting his work, so much so he had to close his door to keep me from being bothersome. He utters a soft “Come in” from the other side, so I do, opening the door slowly to keep from disturbing him, wary to rouse his bad mood.

“What could possibly be so damn important you’re interrupting a second time?” I don’t look at him, well aware being too bold is never a smart decision, just keep my gaze down and wring my hands, any attempt to calm the nervousness falling entirely flat.

“I just- I wanted to tell you I’m heading out for a short while.” I glance up, his expression unhappy, though he really should be glad to be rid of me, if I truly am being such a nuisance.

“Where?” A tight leash, that’s what he’s named it, his stipulation of getting to ask his questions before giving his assent for me to do as I please, though he’s usually not all that big of a part of my day, keeps to himself besides mealtimes and when he’s looking to bed me, more often as of late, our marriage barren without me giving him any children, of course I take precaution where I can, lily root has never failed me so far, though if Stephan ever found out about my unwillingness to bear his children I’d be in quite the predicament, I’ve already received more than a few slaps due to my “Infertility”.

“Just through town. The Father has some things he wants to discuss.” I hope it’s sufficient, I would rather be truthful where possible, I never had the chance to become a skillful liar, never had reason to, before now.

“The Father? What business do you have with Mr. Kennedy?” I’m sweating, hands wiped on the front of my dress doing nothing to abate the clamminess on my skin, my guilt plain, thankfully not so plain to my husband, this being one of the few occasions I’m glad he doesn’t pay me much mind.

“I assume it’s something to do with the choir, Meredith’s out of town for now, I assume he expects me to fill her role for the time being.” A convenient story, a truthful one, which happens to work very nicely in my favor.

“Sure. You’ll be back in time to make supper?” I hum an affirmative, and he waves me off, going quickly back to his writing, ignoring me once again, other than a final “Make sure you’re not “too tired” tonight”, the excuse I’ve been giving lately, claiming to be too busy to have the energy to give into being bedded, not that it works majority of the time, he does as he pleases no matter how pleading my asking him not to is. I leave him, not wanting to be a bigger bother than necessary, heading back down the hall to a man who’s more than willing to offer his time, the father waiting patiently just where I’d left him, inspecting a painting of Stephan and I hung just inside the door.

“He agreed?” I nod, making sure not to stare, taking my furs from their hook and shrugging them on, having a look at him when I’m finished, his expression serious, professional, not unusual, though we are closer now, close in a way I would have never guessed, me being the only person on the entirety of earth who has seen him in the throes of pleasure, lost to desire, the thought of his entirely different self rousing goosebumps over my arms, enticed and afraid at once.

“Let’s be off, I’ll need to arrive back with time to prepare Stephan’s supper.” He opens the door, letting me through first before closing it softly behind, the action not of any importance to him, but indescribably touching for me, something Stephan has never once done in the years I’ve known him, even while he was courting me he was selfish, luckily for him so was my father. “So, Father, what is it you… Wanted to discuss?” I’m curious, we’ve never spent time together outside of church hours, never had any reason to, which leads me to believe this has everything to do with Sunday’s confession.

“What is it about me that you enjoy?” I pull my brows together, taking his offered hand to help me down the steps, unsure why he’d ask something so forward, or where he intends to bring this discussion, the warmth of him lingering on my skin when he releases me, our pace lazy, a simple stroll, not entirely normal, but I suppose no one will gossip about Mr. Kennedy, the thought offering relative safety as we trail along, even if I’m not all that glad there are so many others out at this time of day.

“Forgive me, but why- Why do you ask?” I cast a look toward him, wary of having this conversation in public, even in the mostly empty residential block.

“I think I may have found a way to rid the both of us of our yearning… I suppose I should set the example. I find you perfect. You enrapture me with your nature, truly, you consume my mind and body with your presence, my entire being is delighted at any reminder of you, miss. I believe there is reason behind your draw, of course, God has sent you to me, and me to you, as either of our most formidable trials, lust being our greatest weakness-”

“Father, I don’t see how this is- What solution can we have for a trial from God other than to abstain?” He smiles, seeming overly giddy at my words, nodding along with them, his footsteps pausing just in front of the church’s walkway, his body turned to face mine, large in front of me, undeniably masculine, everything I would have wanted if the choice was mine to make.

“You’ve figured it out all on your own, miss. Abstaining is the only way, we must make a habit of it, that’s what I’m suggesting. Come.” He leads the way, the both of us entering the empty church, no service going on at midday on a Wednesday.

“If we are to abstain, why would we come here alone? Is that not counterproductive?” It surely seems that way, the tension settles the moment the door is closed behind us, thick and heavy, the weight of sin on my shoulders, my guilt eating me from inside out, an excruciatingly powerful deterrent, I must say.

“Temptation can only be overcome if it is present, miss. We are in no position to flee, we must face our desires and let God lead us in the way he sees fit. I intend to cure us of our illness in as quick a manner as possible, so we will need to bury ourselves in it, let the wound fester prior to healing. Sit.” I do, take a seat one the frontmost pew, watching him take a seat beside me, a small amount closer than what would be considered appropriate, though I suppose it’s necessary, being close enough to lean in but having the willpower not to. I wonder if he’s looking this well kept on purpose, to be enticing, he looks more put together than usual, and I must admit it is making me a little warm, my face heated only from being alone with him, sat close enough for him to do as he pleases, no confession window keeping me from seeing the entirety of him. “We will need to expel our desires… Have you been praying to the lord daily?” He’s sinning, the evidence is all over him, that same low, lusty quality to his gaze, the roughness of his voice, the pink dusting over his cheeks, the telltale tightness of his breeches. He seems to be trying to distract himself, keep his thoughts from wandering down the more unrighteous path, and I’m doing the same, though my mind has a tendency to wander, especially during time with the Father.

“Yes, of course, for forgiveness and guidance. I haven’t seen a difference- In the-uhm- The… Frequency of the ungodly thoughts, no matter the amount of times I plead for it.” God has been unkind to me in the past weeks, never providing any type of assistance to aid me with my problem, but I suppose that’s how it’s meant to be, it is my choice to be godly, or to give into the need burning through me, the scorching hot, pleasurable want that is nearly worth it.

“The lord works in mysterious ways, miss. We must remember this. We are to choose our own path, be worthy or risk our salvation when judgment comes.” I nod in agreement, though I can’t help but question it, God’s will, his willingness to tempt but not allow humankind to be tempted, the all-knowing man surely already knows what choice we will make, which path we will continue down. “Though it is true all sins are equivalent under the lord… As long as we are forgiven we are cleansed…” He has a hand over the front of his pants, just rested there, his expression lax, only a little pained, the suggestion clear, an offer to call off our abstinence before it’s even had the chance to begin, give into temptation and assume we will be granted forgiveness for our weakness.

“Father? You’re suggesting… We should..?” I’m not so sure, not that I’m strong enough to resist if he was to suggest we indulge again, it does seem much less consequential now that we’ve already done so once before.

“Not suggesting, merely… Well, perhaps I did suggest it. You really have ruined me, miss.” He sighs, closing his eyes and covering his face with one hand, seeming strung up, not all that willing to make either decision. “I’m all too willing to fail, only when it comes to you, all I ask is that we remain discreet, my position is based on the trust of the town, I cannot have them finding out I’m a sinner, they will lose all faith in me, I can’t have that.” I nod, unnerved he’s planning to keep this tryst going for longer than today, though I can’t say I won’t be glad to continue as we have, one sin is equal to many, penance is the only way we will be saved now.

“We cannot be found out. Stephan, he would- I’d-”

“I’m well aware, miss. I wouldn’t allow it, you will not be harmed. We will be sure to keep this under wraps, yes?” I hum, still afraid, a continued offense meaning more instances our sin could be revealed. “Good, well, I suppose reveling in temptation wasn’t the ingenious idea I thought it would be… Truthfully I’m being ungodly right now, thinking of how beautiful you were when you bore yourself to me, allowed me to pleasure you…” He’s touching me, has a hand on my knee over my skirts, his upper body turned toward me, the shift in the conversation bringing forth the familiar warm sensation, a buzzing of want settled over me, heavy and hot and unyielding.

“Father, we… Someone could come in…” He doesn’t seem to mind, his expression hazy, face near to mine, his breathing a little hoarse, excited.

“Don’t be worried, miss, I must admit I had lustful intentions, I turned the lock, in the case we weren’t well equipped to resist… Seems my hunch wasn’t far off, unless you aren’t as fully depraved as me… Tell me, do you wish to indulge?” He speaks softly, kind, his face a breath from mine, his hand pausing its upward travels to await my answer, this man who has no need to be so gentlemanly giving me the kind of choice I’ve yearned for nearly the entirety of my life as if it’s something so common.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned, and I will do so again.” I sign the cross, praying my repentance will be enough, watching him sign his own, not at all concealing his lustful gaze, the holy signal dampened by his hand running a little further up my leg, my skin already sickly hot, the both of us anticipating it, steeling ourselves with heavy breaths.

“The father is just, he will cleanse and forgive the faithful of their sins…” He presses his lips to mine, soft and slow, the beginning of depravity, the sealing of our shared sin, the sweetest sin I’ve ever committed, the only one I’d give up everything to commit again and again. “This is it… The start of our descent… The most beautiful madness I could ever conceive of… The most evil perfection there is, my all consuming want, you.” He’s not rushed, it’s not in his nature, he’s calm, collected, his lips rough against mine, as well as his palm, cupped gently to my jaw, holding me to him, his skin hot against me, a reminder of sin, the heat a sort of omen of where we’re headed, a prelude to the heat of damnation we’re settling ourselves into. “I wish I could explain… The things I feel for you… The power you have over me… The carnal, painful need simmering inside…” He’s easing me back, slow, laying me back on my elbows, leaning over me to keep our lips connected, his hand trailing down from my jaw, ghosting over the curve of my waist, the gentle touch completely unfamiliar, his softness entirely enrapturing, his honest words spoken into kisses with a passion and fervor I could never begin to explain. “The sweet embrace of sin… Is all too enticing while you’re the one offering it… Miss, I have a confession.” He stops, pulling back to look down on me, his face and lips both flushed, nearly as flushed as mine feel, the both of us breathing heavy as he rests above me, his expression earnest and pained, distraught at his yearning.

“What is it, father?” He doesn’t tell me, rather sits up, pulling me along once he’s stood, lifting me right up out of the pew to rest across his arms, carrying me up the steps before pausing, just looking at me, still distraught, swallowing in a nervous manner as he looks down on me.

“My heart has always been full of God.” He sets me down, right on the altar, smoothing my skirts before sinking down, rested on his knees in front of me, staring up at me with that same expression, utterly terrified of what I’ve done to him, his hand moving to sign the cross before letting it rest over his thigh. “I’ve never had the room for anything further than the lord… Never felt inclined to make any, but you- You’ve shoved your way inside, clawed through a lifetime of God’s will and made your own home in my heart. The thought of- I’m appalled by it, the precedence you’ve assumed… Miss, you’ve consumed me, reached inside and tore my heart and taken it for yourself… Though… I find I don’t mind, and if it makes me ungodly then so be it- because I’m- I won’t apologize for being smitten with someone so utterly perfect- This is a mistake I would make time and time again, because it isn’t- Loving is never a mistake.” Love. I’m not sure I can say I’ve ever loved anyone, surely not Stephan, even if I do tell him so, the closest I’ve ever come to love is probably whatever warmth I have for the man before me, though I couldn’t admit it, loving him would be the worst possible offense, a far more real version of whatever we’re doing here, a crime for which there is no punishment other than the wrath of god.

“Father, we- You-”

“Just let me say it, I will bear my sins to you, you need not return my sentiment, I merely cannot keep the feeling festering inside any longer, feel free to ignore my ramblings, I am nothing but a godless madman, prepared to worship at your altar… Your body is the only temple I need, the only thing important enough to tear me from God, so allow me this, give me the freedom to speak my truth, divulge my sins to both you and the lord.” He’s touching me, staring at me with his head turned to the side, lips pressed to the skin of my inner ankle, lifted with a soft touch, the look in his eyes making me sickly, something so beautiful I can’t stand it, a care I’ve never seen, love. “I relinquish myself to you, completely, miss, from now until forever, I am yours, entirely. I will worship you, offer you all that I can in means of companionship and affection, though you need not do the same, I simply just cannot deny myself the simple pleasure of offering up my love, all of which belongs to you… Solely.” He’s making his way up, smoothly kissing up the inside of my thigh, looking up at me from his place on the floor, entirely enamored, his hand pushing slowly up on my skirts as he moves.

“Father..? I don’t- You can’t- You can’t say these things in God’s place…” He pauses his kissing, turning to look at me straight on, my skirts hiked up over my knee, my skin burning hot and clammy, worried what God will think of us now, two devoted disciples worshiping the other rather than our creator, indulging in an ungodly love.

“What I feel for you is not my doing, miss. I have fought against it long enough, I cannot convince my heart to feel for you any differently than I do. God knows this, knows I truly have tried my absolute hardest to quell my affections but I’m- This isn’t a decision I get to make, I’d continue loving you if I kept quiet. Just- Let me give myself to you, while we’re alone, the only time I can love you without looking your husband in the face… Let me love you before I face my guilt.” He looks near tears, voice soft and pleading, his hands coming palms together before he presses them to the wood between my legs, forehead to his thumbs, face hidden in my skirts. “Please, miss, forgive me, I did not intend to divulge my most gruesome secret, I only saw it fit to not hide it from you any longer- If you do not wish to continue-”

“I would- I mean… You may continue…” He lifts his head, lifts it and smiles, soft and affectionate, sickeningly so, his devotion pouring through his gaze, through his touch, his hands warm and rough on the skin of my opposite leg, fingers easing up on my skirts as he looks at me, his hand bringing my ankle to his lips, his eyes peering at me sideways as he lays slow kisses to my skin, slicking it with sinful saliva, his sin so overwhelming he’s lost in it, looking at me in a way that suggests nothing else on God’s earth matters as long as him and I are here, like this, indulging in something so terrible, but nothing of the sort, something so passionate it could only be god’s will.

“You’ve changed me… Molded me into something new… Laid the me before you to bed… Given me a new purpose… Pleasing you… My lord, you’re so beautiful I could do absolutely nothing other than gaze at you for the remainder of my days…” He’s made it up to my knee, my skirts hiked to my lap, his hands on the outsides of my legs, running up as he stands, pushing up further on my clothes before trailing his fingers up and over them, up from my hips to the lacing at my stomach, his eyes on mine as he pulls the knot, slow, his words quiet, the both of us too hot, too much feeling between us, too much to simply speak, the need burning low, humming beneath my skin. “I’ll say this, miss, you’ve made me human in a way I’ve never been… Shown me with your touch and care that I am to be cared for as I care for others…” He’s working my dress up, gently getting it up and over my head before smoothing my hair, not showing any interest in the skin he’s just exposed, instead continuing to stare into my face, conveying his truth through his gaze, his hands smoothing at the sides of my hair, the softness making me nearly emotional, a kind of fussing I’ve never received nor knew I’d wanted, all until now, until him. “You are my test, not of my willpower, but of how much of my love I can give away. I will not stop loving you, miss, I will love you until the day I die and after, I will claw my way out from beneath my grave and return to you, that is my penance, the one thing I can do to show that this is not a physical want, but an insatiable yearning to be one, a craving to be yours and to have you as mine, make a home for you inside my heart which cannot be sullied by fear or insecurity, a safe haven filled with all the warmth I have for you…” He kisses me, hands on the sides of my face, my body all but bare but without attention, this kind of lust without hurry, not about the physical pleasure as much as indulging in the warmth between us.

“Father… I must be… Off soon…” He hums, leaving one last lingering kiss on my lips before returning to his knees, hands pulling on my undergarments, leaving me fully bare, his clothing still fully intact, the clerical clothing still as crisp as ever, all of him smooth, enticing.

“Soon then, until then… Bless me Lord, and these thy gifts, which I am about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” He leans in, kissing up the inside of my knee as he eases my legs wider, trailing fingertips up the opposite side, his eyes peering up at me in his affectionate manner, his beauty laid out below me, utter perfection at my disposal. “I will do all that I can to please you, be free to speak any wishes you may have, I’m more than happy to oblige… I would be satisfied only to satisfy you…” He presses a thumb to my hole, or rather the wetness there, slipping it up to press to the pleasurable spot I’m not sure what to call, rubbing up and down, watching my face, seeming pleased at my expression, tightened with the feeling he’s offering, his breath fanning over my privates making me tense against him. “This is God’s will… It must be, otherwise he would never have allowed me this information, the secret to unraveling you until you’re puddled, so well worked you’ll never need anything else… God wishes me happiness, and that happiness lies where I’m able to show you my care… Where I can give you at least a fraction of what you deserve, miss. I’m curious… Let me…” He tastes me, softly, licking up and sending a pleasurable jolt through me. He groans, sounding pleased with his findings, moving to close his lips where his thumb has left, light suction there a whole lot more intense than the pressure beforehand, my light gasp getting him to continue, the image of him between my thighs entirely sinful, beautiful in the way of Lucifer, led astray, an angel who’s done wrong, cast down into my arms, well, between trembling thighs. “Yes… My lord this is… You’re incredible… The most perfect body and soul, truly the image of God…” He moves back to using his thumb, watching me with his pretty blue eyes, his lips skimming over the skin of my thigh, my wetness shining on his lips evidence of our actions. “This must be heaven on earth… Alone with only you… Nothing veiled any longer… Only my love for you laid out for God to see, whether he strike me down or grant me forgiveness I will not regret this, I could never bring myself to regret you.” The pressure is building, my hand mussing his hair, legs closed on either side of him, his thumb moving against me, the tightness making me breathless, unbearably hot, damnation so close it’s pressing into me, making me sick with fever. “You’re nearly there, miss, you’re afraid- Don’t be, worry on judgment day, for now only focus yourself on me, let me worship you, give you pleasure, mark you with my hands and body, leave traces of you all over me, ruin myself with your touch, plunge deeper and deeper into the depravity I’ve fought for so long I can’t remember the first time I sinned in your name.” He pauses his ramblings to watch me, head thrown back as I orgasm, intense pleasure along with the familiar searing heat washing over me, sweet words coaxing me down even as I pull on his hair.

“Father, father- We must hurry, come up.” He listens, standing to his whole height, still towering even as I’m sat up on the altar, his body slotted between my legs as he captures my lips, the taste of me on his lips somehow enticing, a reminder of what he’s done for me, of his depravity, of our willingness to deny God.

“Would you like to continue?” I nod, using a hand to pull him back to my lips, my other hand fumbling with his breeches, his hands taking over in a silent display of care.

“Would you… I’d like to… Please you.” I press a hand to his chest, backing him up enough to sink to the floor between him and the altar, his manhood bare to me, his clothes still mostly in place other than the undone clasp of his breeches.

“You’d really… You’d-” I grip him, softly, his whole body jolting as I run my hand up the length, looking up at him as I close my lips over him, the taste barely familiar, salty. “That’s… Lord help me, I’m hellbound…” He lets me do as I please, just pets the side of my hair as I sink down, gagging before I expect to, pulling back with watery eyes before taking him back in, my hands on clothed thighs, his expression worried, mouth gaping, the flush spread up to his ears and down his chest. “This is… Truly-ah- Lord, forgive me, forgive us, we will-hah- we will sin again and again, accept our-our penance and our pleas for forgiveness and-nnh cleanse us of our wrong doings-” He leans over me, one hand planted on the altar, the other gripped to my hair, leading me along, his head hanging, eyes closed tight, mouth opened in the pleasure I’m offering. “Nearly- I’ll never-Ah- I’ve never- Felt anything like this. So beautiful-hah- Heavenly- Your mouth is just as perfect as-Nnh! Perfect-Miss-!” He pulls me away, reaching out and pulling me up, taking care to wipe away the mess on my lips before easing me back onto the altar, his body against me, the heat terrible, dizzying, my body laid out below god, head over the edge of the altar, jesus christ staring down at me from his place against the wall, his body strung up to make up for me, for my lust, the greed to want more than what I’ve gotten, the sickness inside of me, whatever sickness has led me here, the father’s manhood pressing inside, my eyes on the son, his on me, the guilt making me sick, the distraction of the man above me not able to do anything to abate the burning heat settled over us, marking us as sinners.

“Forgive me, father in- in heaven, I will- I am a child of sin… I pray you will invite me- to paradise, forgive me for the-ah-the wrong I’ve done.” He lets me take care of my prayer, stays seated inside while I do, waiting, my eyes coming to his once I’m finished, both of us too unwilling to give up on whatever disgusting kind of pleasure this is to properly show appreciation to the lord.

“Miss… We really… Are you truly willing to- delve into the depths of depravity, accept and wear this sin as yours-Ours?” I really shouldn’t, I should high tail it out of this forsaken church and never speak to him again, but I truly can’t bring myself to deny him, or myself, something so searing hot, something so correct, perfectly incredible, his skin against mine the only thing I’ve ever truly longed for, enjoyed.

“Yes, I accept my sin and my penance, I need this, father, you.” He swallows, seeming distraught at my confession, at my willingness to be ruined, to sin alongside him.

“Then so be it.” He moves, slowly, drawing himself back and slowly forward, leaning over me and gazing down, one hand beside my ribs, the other gripped to my hip. “My God… I- You’re so-ah- beautiful… So- Tempting-! Miss, this is my love, this- This is the most of me I can-Nnh- Offer-! Being one with you- seated deep inside- this- this is the most-ah- Feels so- so good…” He’s lost, eyes nearly closed, opened for the sole purpose of gazing into me, his hips hitting the backs of my thighs, the sound echoing through the empty pews, his hand pulling me, coaxing me in to meet him, thumb stretched across to rub that spot, the both of us panting like dogs, feverish from our wrongdoing, burning with evil, a lovely sort. “Even if- If everyone found us ungodly- I wouldn’t- I’d kiss ungodly skin, live in an-ah- ungodly home, sink deep into an-hah- an- ungodly woman- Give into depravity, worship the opposite-Hnn- the-ah- of what I’ve sworn to, give myself over to the devil-” He’s laid out over me, head between my breasts as he works against me, both of us sweating, my hands in his hair and gripped to the side of the altar, my head tipped right side down, gaze on the son of God, my legs trembling, all of it too much, the devotion, the sin, the weight of him, the heat passed between us, all of it wretched, painfully precious. “You’ve corrupted me, miss, made me born new, born to-ah- love you, to satisfy this sinful need, to sink into the burning heat and-hah- and make my home there… God- You’re- You-Hnn- This is the only heaven I need, buried inside the- the woman of my dreams, our bodies and souls-ah- as one, two sinners lost in- in the- the- other-! Hah-The- feel of your skin is the most enticing touch I’ve ever-Nnh- The taste of your lips, your warmth, your sacrifice, ours, our shared sin…” He’s speaking into my skin, breath hot between my ribs, the heat of him nearly painful, his hand bouncing me against him, his manhood pressed deep with every thrust of his hips, my thighs tight and shaking around him, the high nearly there, Jesus staring down on us, reminding me of my guilt, the man waiting in my home, a man who could never even come close to making me feel like this, warm and overwhelmed and weightless and satiated all at once. He’s nearly finished, teeth gnashed and eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed to my skin, his thumb moving desperately against me.

“If the lord won’t forgive us for having this- I don’t wish for his- His forgiveness, I’d choose this a-ah- million times over- This- Emotion and pleasure like I’ve never felt, the touch of a woman who-Hnn- Woman who I’ve bared my soul to- Laid my heart out at your feet and you’ve taken it and-My Lord-! And me, placed your sweet lips on mine and given me all I’ve ever longed for. Let me return a- a piece of the pleasure you’ve given me- give you one more unforgettable high, one more today and a million more the following. Yes, God, yes- Miss, let me have it, Let me-Hnnn-!” I do, back arched up off the altar, the feeling entirely too much, wave after wave of heat and haze over me, both his hands on my waist to pull me in, his pace messy and quick, his noises whiny, huffed out against me, a final prayer in hopes of getting away with this. “Holy Mary, Mother of-Oh God, pray for us sinners, now and at- at the- the hour of our-Hah- our death-!” He leaves me empty, the high fading off as he empties, warmth laid all over my stomach, my eyes forward, toward Jesus, the loss of pleasure bringing a grief for who I was, a god loving and pure woman, now ruined, sinful and wretched, undeserving of God’s love, though that was the choice I made, the decision between the lord and my desire. “I love you, miss, purely and ceaselessly and infinitely, I will love you.” I believe I chose correctly, I suppose only time will tell, though I can’t help but find this love much more unconditional, the soft touch following the scene, gentle, rough hands easing me up to seated, a handkerchief cleaning the mess on my stomach, my hair smoothed sweetly, the closing of his prayer whispered against the skin of my forehead following a lingering kiss . “Amen.”

“Amen."

[dearweirdme]

Hi Rain!!

I would like to add my two cents in the ongoing discussion.

Fans often miss the mark by viewing Taekook through a conventional dating lens. Societal norms cloud our judgment, leading to misinterpretations.

In my opinion, the Dream premiere's purpose was to portray them as extremely close, not romantically involved. Their separation afterwards might be a strategic move by the company, possibly orchestrated by Taekook themselves, to display their strong bond as a duo outside the group dynamic. This approach allows them to be close in the present and future without fueling romantic speculations.

There's a contradiction: fans simultaneously believe they're not ready to publicly disclose their relationship yet, while also expecting them to act like couples in public. This is simply unrealistic.

I genuinely believe Big Hit anticipated this. Artist contracts often address such situations, especially for popular groups like theirs. While I can't confirm details about permission or veto power, it's likely stipulated that Taekook should at least inform the company before appearing together publicly in a way that could be misconstrued as romantic.

It's understandable why people might speculate about Jungkook's emotional state on the live stream after the Dream premiere. This situation is unprecedented for them. Previously, their outings were only known through personal stories or leaks from a few people. This was the first highly public event where they appeared together in a decade. Knowing their every micro-expression would be dissected, it's natural for him to feel nervous about the public's reaction. The public's perception of Taekook's relationship is often skewed towards a romantic interpretation, regardless of their actual intentions. Their appearances, interactions, and even expressions can fuel these speculations, as evidenced by the recent fan and media reactions to their Dream premiere appearance.

The decision to sleep separately and appear on separate live streams could be a strategic move by the company or taekook themselves. This might serve several purposes gauging public reaction, managing fan expectations. It's important to consider that excessive speculation, even from well-meaning fans (*cough* us *cough*), can have negative consequences. While other fan groups might engage in similar behavior, with same popular pairings, the potential for harm is likely less severe for them. However, for Taekook, managing fan expectations is crucial to avoid negativity and potential "outing" before they're ready. Ultimately, these strategic moves could benefit everyone involved – the artists, the fans, and the general public.

The speculation about loneliness also stems from a single viewpoint – that they maybe casually dating. However, what if they're simply cautious? Imagine having a fantastic night, but instead of enjoying it freely, you have to wait and see the public's reaction for fear of questioning their relationship or to create the perception you are not dating while you may very well be. This could be quite heartbreaking.

While Jungkook might not be overly sharing, as Rain pointed out many times, he also finds it difficult to completely mask his emotions.

Forgive the text wall! Just wanted to share my thoughts. 🫣

Hi @purplemoonlibra !

Thanks for sharing your thoughts! I very much agree with not looking at Tae and Jk as a conventional couple. They are not. They’re famous and they’re a secret. Both of those alone would mean there’s planning involved when it comes to a relationship, the two combined only makes it more necessary.

The though of them doing certain things to normalize seeing them together has come across my mind at some point, I’m just not really sure if that’s deemed necessary at this point. I haven’t got a great grasp at what the opinion of SK’s in general is about them. Do they already see them as friends? Do they suspect something? Would they be surprised to see Tae and Jk spend this much time together? So, is there a need?

I do think it’s something they have done before. To me the way they were shown in ITS was very much about this. Establishing closeness with strict boundaries. I do think at that time there was a need to do it.

If Tae and Jk would have a plan to be more open after enlistment, then maybe you are right and this was already a start into that. I absolutely think their aim these days is to show that they’re super close. I don’t know if they actually plan stuff to make that come across though.

To me it does look as though at least Tae’s live had a purpose other than him actually telling us he heard Jk did a live and that he himself was drunk and passed out 😂.

The last part of your ask I definitely agree with. I do think they are cautious and I do think it’s probably very heartbreaking at times.

[fizzyxcustard]

I've Loved You Forever (2)

Part 1

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: North & South (modern AU)

Pairings: Modern John Thornton x Fem!Reader/Fem!Reader x OC

Warnings: Language, angst, pining.

Summary: It is the Christmas party for John Thornton and his workers from Marlborough Mills. You have all been allowed to take partners, and that means your boyfriend of eighteen months is there. When he is asked if he loves you and can't answer, John Thornton's rage comes out full throttle, especially as he's been in love with you for quite some time.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

I tend to use Lucas North pictures as my modern Thornton images. This idea actually came to me randomly a few days ago when I was reading on the train.

As soon as you got home that night, after Stuart had dropped you back to your flat, you said farewell to him. Your mind was ablaze with John Thornton, and so much so that Stuart had to call you back for a kiss. The kiss was quick and only a peck. Of course Stuart noticed a difference in it, but he put it down to what he had said earlier that night and just told himself that you would be alright in a few days. Whenever you had a falling out, it didn’t take long for you to get over it. 

John paced his kitchen, his phone in hand. Should he call you? After he had admitted his feelings for you, you had disappeared back into the full pub where your boyfriend was still sat with everyone else. Thoughts and emotions raced. How could he put this right? Had he made a mistake telling you how he felt? The truth was, it would never be a mistake in his mind because he really did love you, more than he could express. Bearing his heart to you would never be a mistake in his eyes, even if your answer wasn’t the one he wished for. 

Suddenly your name flashed on his screen. With a grin and a sigh of relief, he answered the call. 

“John? We need to talk about tonight,” you told him. “I left without telling you where I stand. You shocked me; I’d never got that impression from you at all that you thought anything for me which surpassed friend and colleague.” 

Shit! Where was this going? Were you going to politely reject him? John held his breath. 

“The truth is…” 

John’s heart was pounding so hard now and he gripped his eyes closed, praying with everything inside him that your answer would mirror his confession. 

“The truth is…” you began again. “I…love you, too. I’ve never had anyone tell me they love me, and look me in the eyes and have so much passion there. John, it’s something I’ve always yearned for. And the way you spoke to me earlier, I know I can’t walk away from you. Even when I had all the rough times with Stuart, you were the one who was there in the midst of it all. I miss you already, and I’ve only been away from you about half an hour.” 

“Will you let me come and see you? I need to,” John asked. “Hearing you say this, I need to see you.” 

You sighed. “I want to see you so much, but I need to do the right thing and speak to Stuart first. You do understand, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do. I’d do the same,” John said, still smiling. Even at a time like this, you were faithful and honourable in your relationship with Stuart. 

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s done, John, I promise. I…love you.” Those words felt alien on your lips, but so right. They connected to your heart and your soul. The act of speaking them felt alien, but the place the words came from felt as though you had been born with it in your heart. 

“I love you, too. Goodnight.” 

Your conversation with Stuart got straight to the point, and you initiated it by recalling the events at the pub. “I know we’re not in love, Stuart. Tonight made me see that it’s like that from both sides. We’ve been together for eighteen months and surely something should have started to blossom now and it hasn’t.” 

Stuart chuckled. “And I’m guessing your boss has got something to do with this as well?” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked defensively. 

“It’s obvious he fancies you. The way he snapped at me, and then he followed you outside. I’ve known for a while now that you’ve got feelings for him, and I never said anything. I know we stayed together out of familiarity. We’re too different. When you had hard times, you went to him and not me. I knew a long time ago that you felt something for him.” 

Stuart’s understanding and cooperation shocked you, and for a second you were speechless. 

“John seems a nice bloke, apart from his temper. He’d be good for you like I never was.” 

The call ended with you both saying goodbye to each other and walking away on polite terms. For a few seconds you held your phone in your hand in disbelief, staring at it stupidly. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend of eighteen months and he was okay with it, very okay with it. Had your relationship really been that bad? In the sense that it was too familiar and comfortable.

John was still awake, sat in his living room, scrolling your Instagram page. There was only one photo of you and Stuart. The rest were memes, quotes, childhood photos and holiday pictures. There were even a few of you with your natural beauty hidden beneath a stupid filter. 

Are you still up? The text pinged on his phone. 

Yes. Is everything okay? He asked.

It’s done. You replied.

John couldn’t help but allow his urge to push him to make the call to you again. He sighed as he heard you answer. “It’s done?” he asked, his voice a whisper. 

“This means I’m now single, Mr. Thornton,” you giggled. 

John chuckled. “I was hoping that I could change that in person. But it’s midnight.”

“My door will be open if you get over here in ten minutes.” 

Anticipation raced up your spine and butterflies flapped in your stomach with such ferocity. You watched at your window, until you saw a familiar vehicle pull up outside your maisonette block. A tall figure got out of the car, all veiled in shadow. That walk: you could spot it anywhere and recognise it amongst a dense crowd. 

John reached out to press your bell, but instead was greeted with your face. The door opened swiftly. He couldn’t help but smile at you, falling even more in love with you. He inhaled sharp, and stepped inside the flat. 

Your cheeks flushed bright red as John reached out and cupped your cheek. Then, slowly, he leaned down, being taller, and kissed you softly. Your arms immediately curled up his back and you both sank into the kiss. 

John wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer against him, your kiss deepening. 

***

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[twilightknight17]

Last time on P3R: fun, not-fun, and another full moon!

Also, Koromaru <3

So I went back into Tartarus because two people wandered in like… three days before the full moon. So I gotta go get them. BUT. Elizabeth informed me that there was also something else in Tartarus I needed to rescue.

HOW did you get to the 72nd floor, kitty??? I mean, we got him out, he’s fine, but just ?????????

Elizabeth also requested another outing, this time to Naganaki Shrine. We had a great time. It’s actually really refreshing to have Elizabeth around. In a world where everyone seems to be some shade of unhappy, she’s full of wonder about the small things.

She recognizes a slide and a jungle gym, which means she’s seen them before somewhere. Do you think the Velvet attendants were kids once, like Lavenza? Now I want a whole room of the Velvet Room that looks like Discovery Zone.

Anyway, it’s full moon again. We’re off to an… abandoned underground military facility on the north side of the city. We didn’t have any trouble getting in, but once we arrived and determined that the shadow was deeper underground, we were surprised by two out of three of our weird trio of midnight assassins.

At least they’ve introduced themselves now.

Strega is pissed off that we’re trying to destroy the full moon shadows and Tartarus, because… they’re selfish, basically. If we get rid of the Dark Hour, they might lose their powers.

They like running around in a hidden hour, playing god. They like being untouchable assassins. And they don’t actually think Apathy Syndrome or anything worse that might come is something to worry about.

I mean… he’s not wrong, considering how many times over the course of Persona canon that humanity has almost destroyed itself. But like… dude. We still have to try.

Takaya and Jin lock us in the underground facility. Kudos to them, I guess, for not just shooting us dead right there. If they’re not killing anyone but their targets… at least they have some sense of decency? So, rather than banging on the impenetrable steel door, we’re going to head down into the dark to go look for the shadow.

...fun.

There are OLD ROCKETS AND DEAD BODIES DOWN HERE. Why would you just leave this stuff like this, wtf????

Anyway, something like 30 meters underground, we find the Justice Shadow! Or maybe Chariot?

Or both! It splits in half when you hit it hard enough. Which… the only thing that seemed to hit it hard enough was my theurgy abilities, so that was kind of a slog. They also do the thing where if one dies, the other revives it, so you have to balance your attacks so you can kill them in the same turn. I liked it. And the designs for these were cool. Half the full moon shadows so far have had really good designs, and the other half have just sort of been “...okay?” XD

So after the shadows are down, we call Ikutsuki to inform him that we won, but we are stuck in the base.

...sir, you could be a little more concerned???

Who are you sending, it’s still midnight???? Are you making us wait out the Hour? Hello????

We all make it back safe, though, and Pharos comes to visit literally the next night. I feel like I should be concerned that he showed up right away, but that’s fine. Hi, dude.

...baby boy, you could be a little more specific. X’D If we’ve got a traitor, that’s kind of important info.

Elizabeth gives me a chain-of-deals sidequest the next day, with the weird stipulation that she doesn’t want anything specific. She just wants me to trade the random bandage she gives me and turn it into something cool. I traded all over Iwatodai and ended with…

If she’s happy with what I got her, I’m glad. ^_^

Mitsuru calls a meeting in the evening, and we learn that Koromaru is better, and officially joining the team now!

No one’s really sure how this tech works, but with Aigis translating, we learn that Koromaru wants to help us because we saved him. He’s such a good boy. T_T

With the shadows eliminated and our fluffy new teammate, I’m ready for the rest of summer to be aweso---

...you know, Mitsuru, when I jokingly called you “mom”, it was just that. A joke. You didn’t have to do this to us. I’ve already had a week of mandatory track practice.

Fuuka claims that it’s only for “a few weeks”, so we should make the best of it. Actual school starts again in less than a month!! When do I get a break!! There’s at least two part-time jobs I haven’t even managed to try out yet because there’s no time!!

At least if I’m back at school, maybe I can rank up some of my school social links…

But first, we’re going on an outing with Junpei for some summer fun. We’re gonna smash a watermelon! And learn some more about Junpei in the process.

Instead of using Junpei’s childhood bat, Akihiko smashes the melon with his bare hands. Which… holy shit, senpai.

Adding injury to insult in terms of my summer break, Ikutsuki has decided that we all need to go to the doctor. You’re not my dad! Leave me alone! But I cannot refuse. We’re going one at a time, and my appointment is on the second to last day of summer school (which is only a week, btw, Fuuka).

Summer school sucks, though. Like… not only is it another week of just “go in, see cutscene, go home”, it takes my evening slots away too! Six days of getting nothing done, and the worst part is, even though it gave me points towards my academics for each day, my academics still didn’t rank up!! Ugh. X’’’’D

Thank god you can pet Koromaru.

When Friday rolls around, it’s off to the hospital for a checkup, which… goes very weirdly. Apparently Minato’s took much longer than everyone else’s, because his persona power is so unique. They had to run so many more tests! But, uh… what kind of tests are you running on personas at the hospital? That’s weird, Ikutsuki. What are you testing for?

He comments on how we’ve been making so much more progress since Minato arrived in Iwatodai.

Well, I am the Protagonist. B)

Apparently my fucking doctor’s appointment took so long that by the time I get back to Iwatodai station, it’s midnight. Like, wtf, Ikutsuki. Fuuka’s on-call with Lucia to make sure I get home safe, but before I can go anywhere, she detects a shadow in the city, like the night Koromaru got hurt.

LET’S GOOOOOOO, MOONLIGHT BRIDGE.

Sprinting off to Moonlight Bridge, I do not get to actually run around, but I do find Takaya and a weirdly fucked-up-looking Abbadon.

Minato and I are not willing to leave anyone to die, even if it’s this dude, so we team up to take out our common foe. Takaya’s gun is really effective, but we also get to see him summon his persona.

Dude looks like he’s in pain while summoning, and no wonder, considering what his persona looks like.

We successfully take out the shadow, and Takaya leaves before Mitsuru can show up to get me. But not before acknowledging that he owes me for my help. We’re enemies, but he doesn’t leave his debts unpaid.

Dude’s bonkers, but again, apparently has some sense of decency in there somewhere.

The summer festival rolls around, and it’s nice. We went with Aigis and Mitsuru, to give Aigis some more regular human experiences.

...I just suggested that we hold hands!

Koromaru is also a regular part of the household now, so you can spend time with him like you do your other teammates. Either going for walks, or…

You know what? Okay. Let’s do it.

Outstanding.

Lastly, since NONE of my school confidants are available to rank up, I guess we’re going out with the Gourmet King, again. Who is 100% legit in a cult and I am uncomfortable.

DUDE, NO. I’m not drinking your damn kool aid. I’m going home to watch more documentaries with Koromaru. X’’’’D

Next time I need to head back into Tartarus to see about the new area that unlocked. I’ve been trying to go for like a week, but stuff keeps happening at night! God, P3, I’m trying to manage my time and you are killing me. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m not gonna max everyone’s links this time around, but I want to at least try, you know?

[bloodfromthewound]

Epitaph

Description: A trans woman shares an unexpected bond with her step-mother after the death of her father.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: discussions of trauma and transphobia

The day Ashley attended her father’s funeral was almost the best day of her life. Almost, except for the fact that her father’s last wishes had stipulated very specifically that she be made to wear a suit and attend under a name she hadn’t used in years. The old man had made her life a living hell, but he had money, and a big house that she stood to inherit, so Ashley grit her teeth and put up with it.

The funeral was a quiet affair. Beneath the red maples that dotted the family graveyard, not a single eye was wet. Ashley shifted on a hard wooden chair in her—rented—suit and was surprised that even a dozen people had bothered to show up. Her father had made a name for himself in the grocery business, but where it had brought him riches it had never gained him friends.

Once the droning priest had finished his sermon—delivered while casting angry glances Ashley’s way—and the coffin was lowered, those few who had shown up were quick to leave. Their expensive cars left a trail of dust leading from the graveyard back to the highway. The priest gave a few words to the only two who remained, and then himself departed.

Ashley was left alone among the gravestones with her step-mother. She had kept quiet the entire funeral, and her face was kept pinched into a mask devoid of emotion. Ashley could have forgotten she was there, were it not for the pointed questions the others had asked about the “mother and daughter” where they had expected a son.

Where Ashley was lean and tall, her step-mother was short and curvy. While Ashley had trouble filling her b-cup bra, her step-mother gathered shameless stares wherever she. Her eyes were blue while Ashley’s were brown, blonde curly hair while Ashley’s was straight and black, and above all didn’t have a penis, which was really all that anyone cared about when comparing the two.

Ashley watched her step-mother glide across the graveyard silhouetted by the sun setting behind the maples. A feeling of dread gathered in her stomach. gave Ashley a feeling of dread. She stopped just short of Ashley, and looked up at her with wide eyes. Up close, her face was as smooth as porcelain and unmarked by age. It was a reminder of the most uncomfortable similarity the two of them shared, and just about the only one: they were very nearly the same age.

“Hey, mom,” Ashley said at last, tugging at the collar of her suit.

Her-step mother shook her head. “Your father’s not around anymore, you can just call me Emily,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’re still Ashley with me.”

“Thanks,” Ashley said, and felt her shoulders relax.

Emily looked around, and smoothed out her inky black dress. “I wanted to tell you that you’re free to stay at the house tonight. It’s cheaper than a hotel.”

Ashley opened her mouth to tell her she didn’t need the charity, but her stomach answered for her with a growl. Emily smiled and nodded. “Let’s get inside, I bet still know where all the cooking stuff is.” Emily sighed. “Your father never liked to cook, so I doubt he moved them since the last time I was here.”

Together, though not side by side, they walked across the uncut grass that led from the little family cemetery to her father’s house itself. It’d been built to be what her grandfather had imagined the home of a wealthy man should look like. The house was massive, with four floors that soared above the grass and as deep from its entrance as the caves a couple hours south. It was decorated with just about every material, from brick to wood to stone that had once been kept like new but begun to age with the death of their owner.

The house’s front yard was decorated with a lone bradford pear, awash in white spring blooms. Ashley’s nose wrinkled when she walked past; like everything to do with the house, it stank like rotten fish despite its looks. She hurried after Emily, up the front steps and into her father’s house.

Inside, Emily pushed aside boxes full of ad flyers and quarterly reports that had been piled around the entryway. Beneath the boxes the wooden floor had begun to warp, and her father had used the mess to hide the water-stained walls he’d never gotten around to repairing. The living room was even worse, with more boxes piled high with newspapers, trinkets, and old trash gathered around her father’s ancient recliner. Someone had put a sheet over it after the coroner had come to collect the body from its final resting place.

“Sorry about the mess,” Emily mumbled, taking care to step around the worst and smelliest piles. “Your father liked cleaning as much as cooking. I tried to get him to hire a maid, but you know how he is.” She swallowed. “Was.”

“Oh, I know.” Ashley cleared away a pile of manila folders and sat at the old kitchen table. It was a big wooden thing where her father had spent his mornings screaming at the people on his laptop. The rest of the kitchen looked almost untouched. The only sign he’d even used the room was a rusty latte machine covered in coffee stains.

Her step-mother opened the tall, stainless-steel fridge, wrinkled her nose, and closed it. “I guess no one bothered to clean up after they found him,” she said. “Nothing but rotten food.” She opened the freezer, frowned, then pulled out a box with a smiling Italian man. “You up for frozen pizza? If not, I can try seeing if there’s a local place that delivers. Even this far out from Louisville there’s got to be at least something…”

Ashley checked her phone, and frowned. Still barely a signal. “Frozen pizza is fine,” she said. “If that doesn’t work out I can get something on my way back in the morning.”

While the pizza cooked in the oven, Emily sat across from Ashley. Under the harsh white lights of the kitchen, Ashley saw the beginnings of middle age spreading across Emily’s face. Some small part of her wanted to feel triumph in that, but even in her early thirties her step-mother was a pretty woman. An ache Ashley told herself was just jealousy throbbed inside.

Emily fumbled with the wedding ring on her hand, twisting it back and forth. It was a big ugly thing covered in diamonds that Ashley’s father had crowed about for weeks. The wedding had been no less ostentatious, but that was back when her father had had money—and friends.

Emily checked her phone—covered with a bright pink case, of course—and tried her best to smile at Ashley. “So, how’ve you been?” Emily asked. “We, that is, your father and I, didn’t get to see you much since you graduated from UK. I know I should have texted you more…”

“Been fine,” Ashley replied, “just busy with work. Last job I had wanted me to move to California, but I like Chicago more. Now I’m working at a new place; working on a moving company’s app.”

“Oh, an app?” Emily cooed. “Now that’s exciting.”

“Not really. It’s tedious.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Emily, apparently not able to let the quiet win, got up and hurried over to one of the cupboards. “You thirsty?” she asked. “The freezer’s still making ice, and it looks like we’ve got bottles of soda and water in the pantry.”

The memory of spending a couple puking her guts out as a kid because her dad had neglected to get the water pipes fixed crossed Ashley’s mind. “Soda’s fine,” she said, and accepted a cold glass of it when Emily returned. She, like Ashley, had opted against testing the water.

“So, what’s Chicago like?” Emily said between sips. “I’ve been in Louisville the past couple years and it still feels too big to me sometimes. I can’t imagine what it’s like living somewhere that big....”

Ashley shrugged. “It’s alright.” She swirled her glass and watched the ice twinkle under the light. “Noisy, and rent’s always too high. Plus, it’s so cold every winter I think I’m going to freeze to death.” A smile began to rise across her face. “But it’s nice. I like it. The people are kind, and they treat me like…me. It’s the first place I’ve ever felt safe.”

Her step-mother grinned and clapped her hands together. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I know things weren’t easy for you here, but it’s good you found yourself. You look better, too.”

“Better?” Ashley asked.

“Prettier,” Emily purred, “and happier.” She got up to get the pizza while the oven started beeping. “You seeing anyone?” she asked while putting on oven mitts. “A boy? Or girl? Or, well, other? I forgot what you call them these days.”

Ashley’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked away so Emily wouldn’t see her face. “Non-binary,” she said, “and no, not right now. I’ve just been trying to focus on work and keeping things together.” She rubbed her shoulder and looked away. The conversation was off, but she couldn’t figure out why. Something about the way Emily was talking to her made her ears burn, which only added to the discomfort. “There was a girl in college, but once she found out about me, she took it like dad.”

Emily sat down and slid a plate piled high with pizza in front of Ashley. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not right, especially these days. I hope you know I feel that way.”

Ashley did her best to not respond, she really did. She munched on her pizza, downed her drink, and even tried to check her phone again. Unfortunately, her mouth had a mind of its own. “Even if you do, you sure didn’t say anything when dad drove to the college, threatened to kill me, and then cut me off.”

She had expected her step-mother to respond in defiance, to give her a speech about not being grateful, but instead the shorter woman wilted in her chair.

“You’re right,” Emily said. She bowed her head and her shoulders shook when she spoke. “I didn’t do enough. I thought I could fix him, but I ended up living in Louisville with my sister because he got sick of me.” She shoved her plate away and put her head in her hands. “Look at me, I thought sharing a frozen fucking pizza could help us reconnect.”

Ashley kept munching on her pizza and tried not to stare. “Did you really want to reconnect over a funeral?” she asked. “What’s the point? We’re step-family, and our only connection was a man who died hating us both. I’m only here to try to figure out how to get my inheritance and what you want from me in the process.”

“I don’t want your inheritance. I don’t want any of it,” her step-mother responded in a low voice. “I just, I don’t know, wanted some sort of closure. Something to make this all right.”

Ashley stuffed her hands in her pockets to hide the way they were shaking at the news. She rose from her seat while Emily sat with her head resting against the tabletop. “Not everything has a happy ending,” she said. “If you need me, I’m going to go figure out if my room is still habitable.” Ashley stretched and looked out the kitchen window towards her car on the front lawn. “I’ll be gone in the morning and we can just forget this whole conversation, okay?”

Emily didn’t answer. Ashley left her there and ascended two flights of stairs to the room she’d last seen in her nightmares.

...

Her step-mother found her an hour later, leaning against the railing of the upstairs deck. It was a pointless addition to the house, a little balcony set between her parents’ room and her own that looked out over nothing but trees, but she was thankful for a place to get some air away from the front yard.

The suit was still wrapped around her like a straightjacket, but she’d at least managed to get the tie off and toss it from the balcony. She heard her step-mother step out onto the balcony behind her, but didn’t turn to greet her.

“I remember you used to come out here a lot before you went to college,” Emily said. The sunset lit up the wide Kentucky sky with brilliant oranges and violets. “I thought you were just…lonely. I didn’t understand back then.”

A cool wind blew over the trees, the last dying breath of winter. Ashley shivered and gripped the balcony’s railing with both hands until her knuckles turned white. Then, she let out a breath. “It’s fine,” she said.

Emily stepped beside her and leaned against the railing. In its dying breath the setting sun wrapped her in a soft glow like its favored child. “You don’t have to say that, I understand. I overstepped.”

“No, no, I get it.” Ashley rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I get it. To you, I was the mopey son of a rich guy who had just given you what you’d always wanted. If I’d been happy, it would’ve been perfect. Anyone would be unhappy in that situation.”

Her step-mother frowned. “I was young,” she said. “Younger than you are now. Your father…when he and I were dating, he was everything I could have dreamed of: smart, sophisticated, handsome, and rich. I was looking at working a register for the rest of my life because I failed out of college, and he saved me from that while promising the world.” She joined Ashley in looking out over the rolling forest bursting with spring. “I thought I could be the mother he said you needed, and that we could have a real family together. I was naïve.”

Ashley sighed and turned away from the view to look straight at Emily. “My dad took advantage of you. He did that to a lot of people, especially pretty young women.”

There was quiet for a moment. Emily dabbed at her eyes, then broke the silence with a sigh. “Yes. I see that now.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to. I thought that it was because no one could see him like I did. Even when he yelled, even when he told me to get out until I fixed myself, I couldn’t see it.” She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “Even when he put his hands on me. I couldn’t see what everyone else did.”

She began to cry, but when Ashley reached for her Emily turned away. “No, no, I still fucked up,” Emily said. “I failed you, when you needed a mother the most, and I can’t make up for that. I just wish I could have seen it before all of…this.” She gestured to the silent house beneath them, and the even quieter forest that lay in every direction.

Ashley rubbed her own eyes and groaned. “I meant what I said in the kitchen,” she said. “The only thing that united us as family was a man who hurt us both. It only brings us pain.” Emily started to speak up again, to apologize Ashley figured, so she held up a hand to stop her. “So why don’t we just…try this again? Not as step-mother and step-daughter, but just… friends. People. Something.”

She shook her head. “You get what I mean,” Ashley continued. “So, why don’t we just try to be two women sharing an old asshole’s house for the night?”

Emily sniffed, but eventually nodded while wiping her nose on the sleeve of her dress. “Okay, I can try that. New start, right?”

“Yeah, new start,” Ashley said.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon while Ashley led Emily away from the balcony. They stepped into the room she’d shared with her father, which was thankfully almost clean. “Your father must have just slept in his chair,” Emily said, which sounded just like him.

His bedroom was the same Ashley’s grandfather had used, and hadn’t changed much since that time. There was a crappy analog tv on a stand in one corner, and a massive dresser in the other. Its windows were covered up by sheet and closet door lay open with random clothes strewn around inside. In the center, though, lay the one good thing her father had owned: a massive bed covered in sheets made of real silk and pillows stuffed with goose feathers.

Ashley sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at herself. “I have never so badly wanted to rip off my clothes in my whole life,” she said. “I don’t know if he made do this because he thought it’d make me a man, or because he just wanted to hurt me one last time.”

Emily disappeared into the closet and came back holding a baby blue nightgown. She offered it to Ashley with a small, sad smile. “When I left here, I was in enough of a hurry that I forgot some of my stuff. I hope it fits.”

“Thanks.” Ashley shuffled in place until Emily got the idea.

“Right, I’ll go take a bath and leave you alone,” Emily said quickly. “I need to wash today off.”

Once the door to the master bath was shut, Ashley’s whole body sagged in relief. Nothing had felt better in her life than ripping off the last suit her father made her wear. In her rush she managed to just about strangle herself with the tie and ripped the fabric all over. She balled what was left in her hands and threw it in the corner with a triumphant cry. Once it was all off, she lay back on the bed for a minute and let the silk touch her skin. She shivered. No more suit, no more deadname, and no more dad reminding her he could end her life with a phone call.

After a while she forced herself to get off the bed. She had allowed herself to wear her own underwear to the funeral, and for once had an excuse not to tuck. Though given how tight the lacy black panties were, they practically did the tucking for her. She sat up and looked at the nightgown Emily had given her. It was girly with a little collar and lace all over. She sighed and began to slip it on, hoping it would let her sleep with some measure of peace.

Before she could get it on, however, a loud cry came from the bathroom. Ashley stumbled up, halfway in and out of the nightgown, and rushed through the door to find Emily struggling in the bath, sputtering and coughing while water ran down her face and through her hair.

Ashley tried to shout something reassuring, but it came out like a scream. She tore open wooden cabinets beneath the sink in search of a towel, but Emily kept squealing and splashing around so she did the only thing she could and grabbed her step-mother in a bear hug until she calmed down.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, nothing here is going to hurt you,” Ashley said, the words escaping her lips before she knew she had said them. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

After a couple minutes of shaking, Emily finally lay still in Ashley’s arms, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept repeating like a prayer, until Ashley had to shush her and brush her hair back. Finally, Emily slowed her breath and tucked her knees to her chest.

“What happened?” Ashley asked. She sat on the bathroom tile with her bare back against the door to give Emily some room.

At first, Emily didn’t look her in the eye. “Bad memories.” She talked with her eyes closed. “A lot of them. I thought I could handle being back here, even if just for a day.” Her head lifted and she looked at Ashley with eyes so pale they could have been ice. “I put off coming back until the day of the funeral because I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.” She began to laugh and wiped away wet strands of hair that had plastered to her forehead. “You’re the one who was forced to be here and to go through so much, but I’m the one exploding on you. It’s embarrassing.”

Ashley found herself laughing along with her. “It’s not embarrassing to show you’re hurt. We just have different ways of doing that.”

“I’m shivering, naked, and cold in front of my step-…in front of you,” Emily bemoaned. “I don’t think it gets more embarrassing than that.”

“Then let’s get you up.” Ashley rose and offered Emily a hand. For a moment she thought Emily would refuse, she relented and stood up. She used one arm to cover her chest, while the other grabbed a towel and managed to hold it over her crotch.

They walked out of the bathroom together and headed for the waiting bed. When Ashley tried to let go of her hand, Emily almost fell. Ashley caught her mid-fall and tried to get her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, you just need to lay down.”

Emily didn’t object.

Once she had lowered her step-mother onto the bed, Ashley pulled a blanket over her and got up to leave. She picked up the nightgown from where she’d left it on the floor, but before she could open the door Emily groaned.

“Don’t go on my account,” Emily called out. “I know…your bedroom hurts. Don’t go back because of me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ashley shot back.

“You stood on that balcony for an hour in a suit so you wouldn’t have to go in,” Emily said. “Please, stay. I promise, we’ll be okay. We can just rest.” She sat up in the bed and held a hand out. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to, but I want to make things right.”

Ashley leaned against the door frame, unable to look back. “I didn’t come back here to be nice, just to make money,” she told her. “Now I’m realizing you’re a good person. I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Is that so bad?”

Her hand fell from the doorknob and Ashley sighed. “No,” she admitted. She walked back to the bed and sat on its edge. The air was cool on her naked skin, and suddenly the gown felt stiff and rough in her hands. “Alright, what now?” she asked.

“This is a big bed,” Emily said. “There’s plenty of room for us both.”

“The floor is fine,” Ashley replied.

Emily reached again for Ashley’s hand, but Ashley pulled away. “If this is your last night here, at least spend it in a nice bed,” Emily pleaded. “After everything, you deserve that. Please, don’t deny yourself nice things over me.”

“Fine.” She ran a weary hand through her hair and took up the side of the bed next to Emily. After everything that day, Ashley’s body was heavy. She settled back and pulled the covers over her. “Satisfied?” she asked.

“As much as I can be,” Emily said. “Goodnight, Ashley.”

Hearing that name, in spite of everything, made Ashley’s heart stir. “Goodnight,” she replied.

...

As much as Ashley wished, sleep did not come. She tossed and turned, but the aches of the day did not leave. She gripped her arms around herself. Her arms felt too skinny, and she could feel the way her hands were too large and bony; the kind she kept hidden whenever she could. Ashley’s chest swelled with two oddly-shaped lumps, and her stomach managed to somehow be too thin and too round at the same time, above hips that were straight as an arrow.

The house creaked in the night and each noise brought a new memory of terrors. The first time her father had found her girls’ clothes, the first time she had tried to tell a friend the truth, and the first time she had looked at herself, really looked at herself, and sobbed.

“Hey,” a voice whispered from the darkness. When Ashley didn’t respond it called out again, “Ashley, you’re shaking.”

It was only when warm arms wrapped around her that Ashley let out a small cry. She turned her head away even as Emily pulled her close. “I don’t need help,” she told the darkness. “I’ll be fine.”

The other woman let out a low “hmmm” and then ran one of her soft hands through Ashley’s hair. “You helped me earlier, it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t pay you back,” she said.

“That was different,” Ashley said.

“How?”

“It just is.” Ashley grumbled, but didn’t move to untangle Emily’s arms from being wrapped around her. “You’re…different. Soft. Pretty. Girls like me don’t get that.”

Another “hmmm” and more brushing of her hair. What annoyed Ashley the most is feeling another woman’s hand in her hair did make her calm down. Her shoulders lowered and her jaw unclenched. She kept her eyes turned away, though, in a last futile attempt to refuse to accept that Emily was comforting her.

“I understand that you mean because you’re a trans woman,” Emily said at last, “and I know I played a part in that.”

“Yeah,” Ashley said, which was a terrible response but she was afraid what would happen if more than one word escaped her mouth.

Emily cleared her throat and pulled Ashley’s head onto her chest. “I couldn’t sleep, either. All I could think of is where I went wrong, and what I can try to do to improve things.” Her heartbeat pounded in Ashley’s ear. “I guess what I’m saying is, I really want to make things better between us. As two women. Two pretty women, at that.” She chuckled. “Christ, we’re only five years apart. You’re as old as my sister, and I’m only just in my thirties. It shouldn’t be this weird between us.”

Ashley finally looked up at the other woman, with her chin on Emily’s chest squarely in the middle of her tits, and gave her a knowing look. “I’m resting mostly naked on your chest, step-mom. I think we are past weird.”

From the look on her face, Emily hadn’t considered their situation carefully until that moment. Her face lit up red, though she didn’t pull back. “I thought you said that the step-mom stuff didn’t matter!” she cried.

Ashley pulled back, but only just a little. “It doesn’t, I’m just joking. It’s just how I cope with things lately.” She nuzzled her cheek against the soft spot between Emily’s tits and gave a little “hmmm” of her own. “Maybe it’s because I’m gay, but this is the first thing that hasn’t made me feel like shit in years.”

After a moment to revel in the teasing, Ashley looked into Emily’s eyes and tilted her head to one side. “Seriously, though, what are we doing? It feels like we’ve been having trauma ping-pong all night, and I’d like to have something, anything else. So, are we just going to sleep or keep doing…whatever this is?”

“I don’t know what this is,” Emily confessed. “I just, I don’t know, sort of grabbed you. I wasn’t thinking. I just saw a beautiful woman in need of help and the first thing I could think of was to hold you. If I’d thought about it more, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Ashley pulled her up until she was kneeling over Emily, her knees on both sides of the other woman’s waist. “I think too much,” Ashley said. “I keep wanting to be a bitch to you, to say shit that makes you yell at me so I can abandon this part of my life entirely.” The words tumbled out like a dam had finally broke. “I want you to scream at me and call me a tranny and tell me you’ll never love me, but you keep refusing to and instead you’re nice and fucked up like me, and really hot, so it’s got me all messed up inside.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to do.”

“And what do your instincts tell you to do?” Emily asked.

“I want to feel you against me again, and to kiss you, and to try not to throw away the one fucking good thing I’ve had since I moved out with the one person who treats me like I am who I want to be.”

Emily pressed a hand up to Ashley’s cheek and wiped a thumb over her lips. “I think you should listen to your instincts.”

The lump in Ashley’s stomach threatened to rise out of her throat, so she kept swallowing between words. “But that’s wrong, isn’t it? The two of us, this whole situation, the bed we’re in…”

“Ashley?”

“Yeah?”

“Just kiss me.”

So, she did. Ashley leaned down over Emily and kissed her while their chests touched. Ashley’s small tits were swallowed up by Emily’s, and the older woman’s breath was hot on Ashley’s tongue. She kissed Emily without opening her eyes, afraid that if she stopped the dream would end.

Emily’s hands snaked around her and pressed against Ashley’s back. They roamed around, rubbing her shoulders, before moving down to the small of her back while threatening to go lower.

“Is this okay?” Emily asked between kisses.

Gasping for breath, Ashley could only nod and squeal when Emily’s soft, warm hands grabbed her ass. Estrogen had, thankfully, been kinder to her there than the rest of her, and she had a bit of heft for Emily to tease, pinch, and slap. Emily patted Ashley’s ass and giggled at the sounds the younger woman made. “I suppose we’re not just stopping at kissing, are we?” she asked.

Ashley’s face flushed as she could feel the outline of her cock strain hard against her panties, and even in her shame couldn’t help but lean down to desperately rub the bulge against Emily’s naked crotch. “I’m sorry,” she whined, but Emily silenced her with another kiss.

“If we’re going to go this far, I want to at least have fun,” Emily said in Ashley’s ear. “You’re a woman, I’m a woman, we’re just fucking, right?” When Ashley nodded, Emily smiled and went back to spreading her legs so Ashley could grind on her wet cunt like an eager dog.

In the dark, Ashley could barely see Emily. She had to use her hands to feel around, to grasp at Emily’s hips, and raise her own while the shorter woman tugged Ashley’s panties off. Her cock sprung forth dripping and leaking. It throbbed so hard it felt like it was caught in a vice, and Ashley whimpered in response.

Emily ran her fingers along the veiny shaft; in the dark Ashley could hear her smile. “It’s okay, you’re a gorgeous woman no matter what you have. If you don’t want to use this, I swear I left one of my vibes around here…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ashley gasped. “I don’t mind using it, just guide me okay?”

“Because you can’t see or because you want me to take charge?”

Her face burning, Ashley whimpered again. “Please don’t make me answer that.”

“Alright sweetheart.” Emily kissed her cheek and took a firmer grasp of Ashley’s cock, her thumb rubbing softly over the head, and guided it closer. Ashley’s hips were eager, and she gently gasped and humped the air as soon as she felt the hair around Emily’s crotch brush over her. Her cunt was so wet it matted the hair down and its smell thickened the air.

Ashley squealed when her head finally met Emily’s cunt. The older woman’s lips parted and welcomed Ashley inside, squeezing her tight and meeting her cock’s throbbing with a beating heat. Emily made small gasps and groans of her own as Ashley’s full length eased into her. The hand not on her cock snaked up Ashley’s back and rubbed over her cheek.

“Forgive me if I’m rusty,” Emily said between gasps, “you’re the first woman I’ve been with since college.”

A ripple of heat and light slid its way up towards Ashley’s brain and she moaned while her toes curled. “Same here, but I think we’re doing okay,” she groaned in Emily’s ear, her hips sliding deep into Emily as her length would allow, until she ground her hips into Emily’s. Her body moved as if it were possessed, Ashley only able to cling to Emily so hard her fingernails made marks in Emily’s shoulders.

She began thrusting inside Emily like a woman possessed, a bitch in heat, until the older woman took her close in both hands and guided her into a steady rhythm. Emily pressed one hand to Ashley’s chest, groping her tits, and gently slowed her speed until it was enough to manage. Her other hand slipped a finger between Ashley’s cheeks to toy with and finger her asshole. Emily probed inside with just the tip of her pointer, but when Ashley responded with whiny moans she pushed the whole digit in.

“That’s it, you feel so good honey,” Emily squealed between moans. “It’s just us, just focus on being inside me, okay sweetie? I’ll guide you, just let it feel good. I’ll show you where to go…”

Her words dripped heavily over Ashley’s brain. She shivered and let Emily guide her. Another finger slid inside Ashley and it made her whimper like a puppy. She could feel Emily’s smile and felt the warm hand on her chest slip down to her side. It rested on Ashley’s boney hip and kept Ashley moving in firm, hard thrusts that slid her cock in deep, shivering thrusts.

“Now, lean down,” Emily ordered, and Ashley complied. Emily offered her tit, her nipple hard and bright pink even in the dark. “Just put your mouth here, you know what to do.”

She was right. Ashley’s lips locked around Emily’s nipple, her eyes closed, and she suckled in time with her thrusts. Emily groaned and pressed her hips up to meet Ashley’s with renewed fervor. The fingers in Ashley’s ass begin to pump in and out, and Ashley felt Emily’s cunt squeeze her like she was being milked.

Ashley opened her eyes and looked into Emily’s, her question as pressing as it was silent. Emily nodded hurriedly and groaned. “Inside, it’s safe.” She pressed Ashley down into her as far as she go, and her legs locked around Ashley’s waist.

She didn’t last much longer from that. Ashley’s hips finally stopped moving for one last thrust, and her balls clenched. She let out a wholly inhuman sound as she emptied into Emily, years’ worth of frustration and need exploding into Emily’s cunt that clenched around her like a vice. Emily squealed and held Ashley inside until her cock finally stopped throbbing and began to soften, releasing squirts and streams of cum out of Emily’s cunt.

Once she had slid out of Emily, Ashley began to roll over, but Emily’s hands clung to her back and pulled her down. “No,” she said. “I…don’t leave. Stay with me, here, for the night. Please?”

In the barest light, Ashley saw Emily’s eyes shimmer, so she nodded and slid down to once more rest and snuggle her head on Ashley’s warm chest. “I can do that,” she said.

“Thank you,” Emily said, and then, a moment later, offered, “I liked that, Ashley.”

Ashley smiled. “I liked it too, Emily.”

...

In the end, there wasn’t much left to get from the house after the morning came. Ashley grabbed what she could from her father’s office, and called to get assurances from the bank and lawyer that they could handle selling the house and property. Emily made no objections, and instead packed her own car.

The blanket of the night lifted from their shoulders, they stayed quiet and kept out of each other’s way. It was only when Ashley had finished packing her car that Emily carefully edged up towards her.

“Going back to Chicago?” she asked.

Ashley nodded. “Someone else can sell the house and get me whatever dad had left. I don’t want to deal with it here.” She softened her gaze. “Where are you headed?”

Emily fiddled with the blonde curls that spilled down her shoulders. In just a t-shirt and shorts, she was a far cry from the dolled up widow she’d performed the day before. “I could go back to my sister’s,” she offered quietly, “but Debbie is always busy. I saved up enough to be comfortable for a while, but I’m not sure what I’ll do after that.”

Birds called to each other over the trees, and insects buzzed in the warm spring air. Whatever anger or bitterness that had once filled the air around the house was gone. The breeze smelled like a new world, and covered the stench from the rest of the house. Ashley looked towards the where the dirt road disappeared into the trees and snaked a path out towards the highway.

“My place in Chicago is small,” Ashley began. “It’s cramped, my neighbors are way too loud, and the water smells weird.” She leaned against her car and crossed her arms over her chest. In just a tank top in jeans, she felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. “Still, it’s home. The thing is, though, I don’t know if it’d have room for a step-mother.”

The older woman nodded and bit her lip. “I understand,” she said, and turned to go.

Ashley stepped in front of her. “But, maybe, it’d have enough room for a roommate,” she continued. “It wouldn’t be much, but it’d be a start.”

“Could I tell my roommate I love her?” Emily asked. “For real, this time.”

“I think I could include that in the roommate agreement.” Ashley tilted her head and smiled. “Does that work?”

Emily pushed past the hand Ashley offered her to agree with a hug. “I’ll take it,” she said, and Ashley hugged her back.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hypothetically, how would Unknown react to me chomping on his collarbone? Like, a really light and respectful chomp, not even enough for it to sting or leave any marks. Bonus points if I tell him that he's really boney and should eat more sustainably.

Okay look, his collarbone is like completely exposed and some part of me is completely fearless I guess 😶

Unknown isn't one to appreciate people in his personal space like that for any reason. The only reason you even get to be within the same breathing distance as him is that you're stuck in that room with him as his assistant. Nobody else is within spitting distance of him. You’re here because you didn’t know how to listen and damn, did he ever think he could rip that streak out of you if he tried hard to bite back.

You should count yourself lucky in that because nobody gets to be that close to someone like him. He is going to be the one who delivers salvation to paradise at the speed of light and you get to witness that firsthand. So, why... you're the kind of person that wants to get in the way of his work? You're supposed to be working for him, not working against him. It's tedious on the good days and it's exhausting on the bad days.

It's obvious that if you get in his corner, he is going to make you pay for it greatly when he has the time to focus on you completely. So, with that in mind, are you going to go against him knowing that you'll have to pay for it with some form of repercussions in the future? There’s always some kind of stipulation, setback, or punishment. Of course, that hasn't stopped you before and it's not going to stop you now, is it?

So, set the stage, he’s decided you’re useful as a blanket. The room is chilly and the weight of your body pressed against his isn’t so bad. You know he does this to you because he needs to feel something... it’s not about terrifying you with the world of digits and numbers. You couldn’t be scared of something that you hadn’t a clue about. He could preach up and down all day about fear and control, but it was never going to scare you the way he wanted.

When he does this, he hardly talks to you unless he has a point to make. It can be exhausting and isolating to listen to him that way. The only sound in that room for as long as you can take it, is the sound of humming and breathing.

There's nothing else going on in that room. It’s always like that. He says nothing and you say nothing. That’s it. If it weren't for the fact that you had something to focus on, I.E. the feeling of his weak body warmth,  it would feel as though you were alone. Sometimes you can't help but wonder if that's the way he feels. it doesn't matter where he is, and it doesn't matter who's with him, it still feels like he's always going to be alone. 

That’s... sad, wouldn’t you say?

Well, the best cure to that is to take your mind off of it. Being so close to him like this mean you get to eye him from a place nobody does. You see his long lashes flutter when his brows further, or the way his lips tuck underneath his top row of teeth when he’s mad, or the small swell in his throat when he swallows now and again. His chest rises as he breathes, and you can’t help it. You stare at his soft skin... his throat... his shoulders and exposed chest. For someone as scrawny and lost as him, his features do stand out when you’ve got nowhere else to look.

What else would you do at that moment but dip your head lower to nip at his collarbone? Was there really any other option at that moment? It was like an impulsive urge that you couldn't control. You wanted his attention and you knew that this was one way to make sure that it happened. It should be no surprise to you that he reacts quicker than lightning. His body is extra sensitive for whatever reason and he knows when there's something amiss.

Be it from demons you know nothing about or the past that he refuses to tell you, he knows when somebody makes a subtle movement. Unknown is quick to grab the back of your head and pull you away from him so he can look you in the eye. At this point, you're not scared of him. You know that there are things he can do but none of them terrify you now. There are punishments and blame games but really, those are nothing in the grand scheme of things. If all you get is a tongue lashing, you could care less.

He sneers, his narrowed eyes unsure of your intent.

“You know, you’re all skin and bones, boss. You should do something about that. If you’d let me make you a half-decent meal instead of using me like a weighted blanket, maybe I wouldn’t need to take drastic measures to get your attention,” you said.

“I can do something about your mouth,” he retorted. His hands didn’t leave your hair, though. He gripped it tighter and watched you wince. “You know, you're the only person that has the gall to bite me. I got to give you credit for one thing, you really don't have any will to live, assistant.”

“My will is yours,” you replied, though the bite and cheek to your tone was clearly apparent.

Unknown leaned in closer, his hot breath rolled down your cheek as his mind seemed to wander, and that made your stomach flop. “Oh, really? If that's the case, I bet you won't mind if I bite back, then.”

Unfortunately for him, that was exactly what you wanted. It was fun and games with him until he decided to turn the table like that. Better then nothing. That had been your best attempt yet.  You weren't going to complain. Distracting him from his work meant that he wasn't going to exhaust himself. If all it took was a little teeth, you weren't going to be holding back anymore.