#I CANT THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS ENOUGH

[kmilipede]

can i just say nothing makes me feel emotions like @amethystina ‘s Who Holds the Devil does. every time it updates, without fail, i am collapsing on to the floor and clawing at the walls. even in bleak february, this fic revives my love of writing, fanfic, and gahan, while simultaneously making me feel immeasurable joy when i see the update email even though i am well aware of the grief that i’m about to experience. in the absolute best way possible.

(go read it)

[fandomfloozy]

Classical Conditioning

Pairing: Kento Nanami x clingy!reader

C/W: reader's love language is physical touch, petnames (kento refers to reader as love, sweetheart, darling), sorcerer instructor!reader (students refer to reader as sensei), gn!reader, slightly nsfw, mdni

wc: 6.5k

~°•*~

You're on the way home from a particularly grueling training session with the second years. Your muscles burn, your limbs feel heavy, and you want nothing more than to treat yourself to a sweet dessert and head home.

Home to bed, home to sleep, home to Kento...

You weakly push open the door of the nearest cafe you could find and head in. No sooner does the entry bell chime that the exhaustion of the day dissipates from your aching body. From one moment to the next, you've gone from zombie walk to barely containing your excitement as you spot an unmistakably familiar head of blond hair.

You don't even hear the cashier greet you as you're halfway across the room, your feet moving on their own volition. The closer you get, the wider the stupid grin on your face grows until you've practically jumped your fiancée from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his.

"Kento!" You're nuzzling into him with your eyes closed, feeling yourself recharge to practically full capacity.

He doesn't seem the least bit startled or surprised to see you as he reaches a hand up to place on your arms. He moves his face away to get a good look at you. "Hi, sweetheart." He rubs his thumb on your forearm. "We were just talking about you."

In your haste, you failed to notice Takuma Ino sitting across from your lover.

You breathe out an awkward chortle, slinking your arms away from Kento and rounding his chair to pull out the one next to him. "All good things, I hope?" You slide a hand down his arm as you take a seat.

"Nothing but, sensei!"

"You're not one of my students, Takuma-kun." You give a semi-exasperated smile as you reach down the table to grab Kento's hand. "I already told you; you don't need to call me that."

Kento glances your way. "We were actually talking about potentially having him shadow you on one of your next missions." He gives a squeeze at your locked hands at the suggestion. "Have you give him a few pointers, show him how you do things."

"Oh!" You look over at Takuma. "I'm not sure what I could teach you that you don't know, you're plenty capable already!"

"But you're a first grade, sensei! I could pick up a lot from watching you work."

"You're pushing first grade yourself!" You argue.

"And you're pushing semi-special grade, darling," Kento chides, coolly sipping at his drink. "Don't sell yourself too short."

You frown. If you sold yourself too short, Kento upsold you too much.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let out a hum as you think. "Well..."

You look up and Takuma is giving you the closest thing a young man his age can get to puppy eyes. And it's working.

You fiddle with Kento's fingers. "I trust you're capable enough not to slow me down..." Takuma visibly starts to brighten. "So I suppose it couldn't hurt to have you come on a mission and shadow me--"

"Yes!" Takuma pumps a fist and grabs your free hand to shake in earnest. "I won't slow you down at all, sensei! Promise!"

You giggle as he continues to shake. "There's no doubt in my mind."

Kento chuckles a bit and moves to stand up. "Now that that's squared away, why don't I get you something to eat?"

"Oh! Yes, please." You remember that the sweet treat you came for remains unordered. You lean away to let Kento stand. "You remember my order?"

"You need to ask?" He smiles and starts making his way towards the register. You hold his hand and then his fingers to the last moment as they slip away from you. You then watch him with your chin leaned into your hand and a dopey smile on your face as you watch him tell the cashier your order and pull out his wallet.

"Your two's relationship is so wild to me." Takuma's voice breaks you out of your lovelorn trance. You clear your throat.

"I guess it is atypical," you hum.

Romantic relationships in the jujutsu world, especially between jujutsu sorcerers, are few and far between. Not many sorcerers become old enough or secure enough to explore those kinds of relationships, let alone get to the point of planning to marry. You and Kento are lucky...

"Especially because you two are such an unlikely pair."

You hum in response again, before what he said kicks in. "Wait, what?"

Takuma responds casually while taking bites of his pastry. "Well, you know. Sensei and Nanami-san are so different. Don't get me wrong, he's a great man, but he's kind of a square."

You snort, recalling your jujutsu tech days with Kento. "He's always been a little standoffish. Been that way since we were students."

"It's just crazy. You're so bubbly and nice, and he's so..." He gestures vaguely. "I guess what they say is true: opposites attract."

"Well..." You fidget. "He is a little more reserved than I am, I suppose."

He takes in another fork full of his food. "I don't think I've ever even seen him hold your hand first."

That leaves you speechless.

Was that true? Has he never held your hand without you reaching out to grab his first? You've never thought about it before.

No, surely, it's just in public. Takuma has never seen Kento initiate because you're in public. Kento doesn't mind PDA, but you're just more prone to initiate in a public setting. Surely that's what he means.

Surely.

The weight of the day is suddenly returning to your body all at once.

Kento returns with your order, hand on the back of the chair. "Don't worry about the bill, it's covered." Takuma cheers to himself. Kento turns to face you. "Ready to head home? You look exhausted."

You nod and let out a little, "Mhm." You reach out a hand and Kento helps you up. Huh...

Initiated.

"We're heading out now. I'll see you tomorrow, Ino-kun."

"See you, Nanami-san. Sensei."

You offer a wave and lean into Kento's arm as you walk out of the cafe.

Initiated...

The ride home is quiet. You're on the verge of nodding off in the backseat as the driver takes you and Kento home. He holds onto your treat from the cafe, your craving now forgotten. Your hands are folded in your lap as you try to stay awake.

It's private enough in the car. Surely, he'll at least try to hold your hand...

You want him to hold your hand. Your thigh, your shoulders, your waist... Anything, really. But he could at least hold your hand.

Please, hold my hand...

The car coming to a stop wakes you. Your head lay in Kento's lap as he gently pets your head.

"We've arrived," the driver announces.

"Let's get you to the shower and then you can sleep all you want, alright?" Kento whispers as he tenderly lifts you from his lap and into a sitting position.

Falling asleep on him like that in front of the driver. You really forced his hand there. He had to hold you in his lap. He had no choice.

Initiated.

Arriving home is a bit relieving, though. It didn't get more private than that. More comfortable.

You were showering. He was undressing and going about his nightly routine. It didn't get more intimate than that.

So by the time you stepped out of the shower, water dripping off your form, you expected something--anything--as you creeped up behind him. Dressed in pajama pants and slippers, brushing his teeth in the mirror, he saw your naked form in his peripheral.

He smirked and spat out the toothpaste. "All done, beautiful?"

You nodded meekly, holding your arm behind your back. He turned to face you and you looked at him, alternating between looking at each eye.

Surely, he'd initiate. Nothing was stopping him. You'd initiated all day; it was his turn. Surely...

He reached out to you, and you waited with bated breath...

...as he reached behind you, grabbing the towel to place over your head and dry you off. He smiled softly. "Go put on some pajamas. I'll join you in bed soon."

He then wrapped the towel around your shoulders and turned to finish washing his face. You stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before scuttling to grab clothes to sleep in.

Maybe he just isn't in the mood tonight.

T-shirt.

I mean, you don't have sex every night.

Underwear.

But even when you do... does he initiate? You suddenly can't recall.

Something you do every night, though, is hold each other. That's a given. Cuddling is essential. It's how you get to sleep: relying on Kento's warmth to lull you into a sense of security and comfort.

You rush to the bed and under the covers. You wait.

Kento emerges from the bathroom, turning off lights on the way to you. Your anticipation is almost palpable at this point.

He situates himself in bed, sat up and looking down at you. "Long day, love?"

The top half of your face is peeking out from under the covers as you nod. "Very," you remark with a bit of a whine. "Glad to finally be home with you, Ken." You reach out to him instinctively then think better of it and stop short, your hand flopping on the bed with a thud.

You both look down at it for a beat.

He laughs. "Me too." He picks up your hand from the space between you and presses his lips to it, holding back a chuckle. "Sleep well. We've got an early start tomorrow."

He then drops your hand to turn off the bedside lamp. The darkness somehow makes the room feel significantly colder.

Kento shimmies down into the covers, lays down face-up, and closes his eyes. "Good night, love."

"Night, Ken," you whisper.

You close your eyes as you replay the exchange in your head.

Initiated.

~°•*~

You wake the next morning curled up by Kento's side. Through the course of the night, it seems like you ended up drifting closer to him. Your head is on his chest, your legs tangled up with his.

His form is the same as he fell asleep in. Supine. Completely relaxed.

You sigh. You tried to give him a wide berth last night and still ended up encroaching on his space.

You carefully untangle yourself from him. His alarm hasn't gone off yet and you don't want to wake him. Once out of bed, you pad down the hall and to the kitchen. With the extra time, you decide you might as well get some breakfast ready.

In the silence while you're cooking, however, you can't help the doubts that start creeping up in your mind... You probably make him uncomfortable with your constant need to be touching him in some way, shape, or form. You know physical touch isn't his love language, and yet you pester him constantly anyway, even in public. He didn't so much as touch you last night without you practically begging for him to. He probably only reciprocates out of obligation.

Maybe you should tone it down today.

You hear the rushing stream of water from down the hall as you finish plating the food. Seems like you have time to pack your lunches for the day as well.

As soon as that's done, you pick at your breakfast a bit. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is having adverse effects on your appetite. You sigh heavily to yourself and figure you should at the very least have a coffee.

You prep one for yourself and one for Kento, and as if on cue, he emerges from the bedroom. His hair is glistening from the water and product still drying in it. He's got his dress shirt on with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks absolutely heaven-sent.

"Ooh, thanks for breakfast, love." He smiles as he takes his seat at the table and you hand him his mug. Your fingers brush as he grabs it, and you yank your hand away a little too forcefully. Kento raises a quizzical brow at you. "Careful, I'm sure it's hot." He blows on it a bit before taking a sip.

You hide your hands behind your back to avoid potential slip-ups. You resigned yourself to no touching him unprompted today. You were going to stick to it.

"How did you sleep? I missed you when I woke up this morning."

"Slept fine." You grab your own mug to give your hands something to do. "Just woke up a bit early. Lunch is packed and everything."

"Oh, wow. That's quite proactive of you," he teases. Oh, you wanna kiss him. He digs into his plate and gives a nod to yours. "Aren't you having breakfast?"

You shake your head. He scrunches his brows and his eyes soften. God, you want to rub at the lines between his brows. "I should actually start getting dressed, if anything. I'll go do that now."

You set down your mug on the counter and make a beeline to your bedroom. This is harder than you thought. He's irresistible. How are you meant to make it through the day?

Ugh, but this is for his sake. You don't want to make him uncomfortable. Show restraint, you're an adult.

You get dressed, do your hair, brush your teeth, and take a look at the clock to make sure you're good on time before your driver arrives. Once you're sure you're presentable, you grab your things and start making your way to the front door to put on your shoes.

"Hey, sweetheart--"

You stop in your tracks and look over at Kento, who is standing by the coat rack, jacket in hand and a weird look on his face. His tie is still loose. That's unlike him.

He gives you a crooked smile. "You seem frazzled this morning. I'm sure you're in a rush, but do you mind helping me get my jacket on?"

You hesitate, then you walk over to him. You don't have to touch him while putting on his coat. This is fine. He's asking you to do this anyway. "I've got you, Ken." You take the jacket from his hands, and he turns around to give you full access.

Oh, his back looks so good under his dress shirt. One arm in. It'd be so easy to just run a hand over it and cop a feel... Other arm in. Has he always had such a biteable neck?

You don't get a chance to think about it before it's covered by the collar of his jacket. You clasp your hands together in front of you as he turns around.

"Thank you, darling."

He looks you in the eye and you can't help your gaze from drifting down to his lips. You should kiss him. You want to kiss him. But he isn't leaning in. He's not initiating. You shouldn't. But you can't help gravitating towards him when he looks at you like that with so much love in his eyes and--

You lean in and tighten his tie up to the collar of his shirt.

He looks down in surprise. "Oh! Heh, thank you again." He lets out a chuckle.

You smile. "Anytime." Success. You restrained yourself. That was a close one.

Your phone chimes and you look down. "My driver's here. I'm heading out now." You turn around and put on your shoes at the doorstep. You open the door and spare a glance back at Kento, who is still standing right where you left him. "I'll see you tonight. Have a good day. Love you!"

"Love you, too..." He trails and adjusts his tie with one hand while the other waves a goodbye.

You give him a quick wave back and close the door behind you.

Phew, this shouldn't be that hard.

~°•*~

It's really not.

That hard, that is.

You spent the car ride to the school congratulating yourself on a job well done, coasting off the high of a win. By the time you arrived in the classroom, the whole ordeal took a backseat in your mind. As it stands, Maki, Toge, and Panda are enough of a handful in their own right.

You enter and all of your students seem to be here, sans Yuta. You close the sliding door and smile before walking to the front. "Alright, be seated," you announce as you set your things down. "Pop quiz today, so notes away and pencils out, please."

Your students' audible groans fill the mostly empty room.

"That's too cruel, sensei," Panda whines.

"Mustard leaf."

"Yeah, you didn't even prepare us for this," Maki complains.

The chorus of complaints keep ringing out. You sigh at the lack of order. You're not exactly in the mood with only your morning coffee sitting in your stomach, but you can't exactly blame them when it's so early in the morning and it's the last day of the week. However, that doesn't stop you from taking a deep breath and bringing your hands together in a forceful clap.

The sound reverberates through the floorboards and up the walls. Your students freeze.

The juxtaposition of your gentle smile and the tilt of your head lend to the immediate quiet. "I thought I asked you all very nicely to put your notes away and take a pencil out. I must have imagined the idle chatter, hm?"

They all sit up straight, desks cleared, pencil in hand. "Yes, sensei!"

A handful indeed.

It's what you need today, though. While Kento's off working, you're busy with the second years. There's no temptation this way. Not seeing him for the better part of the day helps. The rapid pace of training and lessons keeps you distracted... for the most part.

That is until, without warning, he's walking onto the training field where you're leading your class through combat drills. He has one Yuuji Itadori in tow, skipping along beside him.

You're kind of geeking, but you try not to let it show. This is Round 2. Second test of the day. You're in public this time. Your students are around. You can hold back.

You greet him with a smile. "You're back early. How did it go?"

Kento rolls the shoulder on his dominant side out. "It went well, all things considered." He looks a bit disheveled.

"It was so cool!" Yuuji cuts in. "Nanamin's cursed technique is always amazing to watch!"

You feel a swell of pride at that. Kento is very talented, you're glad Yuuji gets to learn from him. "How did you do today, Yuu-kun?"

"I think I did really well--"

"His form is still sloppy. He needs to get a better grasp on real-time battle strategy." Now that he's closer to you, you notice Kento's hair seems out of sorts. You want to run your fingers through it and fix it a bit...

"I thought I did a lot better today," Yuuji pouts. He leans his head onto the front of your shoulder and whines lowly so only you can hear. "Nanamin's been kinda mean today, sensei."

You laugh and wrap one arm around Yuuji, using the other to rub at his hair comfortingly. "He really wants you to improve. I'm sure it's nothing personal, Yuu-kun," you coo.

"I'll watch your students for you." You don't get a good look at Kento's face as he is already briskly making his way to where your kids are training.

Now that you mention it, that was a bit snappy. You wonder if something happened to Kento while he was out today.

You hum. You release Yuuji from your hold. "Why don't you tell me more about how today went?"

"Well." Yuuji starts prattling on about how he met with Gojo this morning who then let him know Kento would be instructing him again today, so they headed off to meet him, and Kento had seemed out of it this morning to begin with. Anyway, they went to exorcise some curses, but Kento seemed to be a little more aggressive with them today than usual. He mentioned how Kento had scolded him sternly more than a few times while they were working, but once they finished Kento still seemed unsatisfied and kept grumbling about this and that, stuff Yuuji couldn't make out. "And once we were done, I asked Nanamin if we could eat something and he said okay, but he just wanted to stop by here first to 'Check on the state of the instruction you students are being provided.' Whatever that means."

Huh. You should've guessed Gojo was at the source of this. He was probably pestering Kento into this morning. On top of that, Kento seems to be dissatisfied with how Gojo is teaching the first years and came to analyze the situation.

No wonder he seems a bit touchy.

Oh, Yuuji is still speaking to you.

"Sounds like a lot." You nod along to whatever he started talking about next. "I'm sure you and Kento had a long morning, Yuu-kun. How's about you take him to find Gojo-san and the other first years, okay?" You start guiding Yuuji back across the field to Kento.

It gives you pause to find that your second years are out of breath and hands-on-knees by the time you get back. You couldn't have been talking with Yuuji for more than a few minutes, what happened in that time?

"Really putting them through their paces there, huh, Ken?" You breathe out a laugh nervously. Kento is kind of scary when Gojo gets him riled up.

"They can handle this much," is all Kento offers, standing cross-armed, facing you students.

You pause. Your brows scrunch together in worry. "Okay, guys. Water break! Be back here in five minutes."

Your students let out a sigh of relief as they stagger towards the sidelines for some reprieve. Yuuji trails a safe distance behind you as you round Kento to face him fully. You soften your eyes as you meet his own, shielded from you by his round goggle sunglasses.

"Are you alright?"

The scrunch in his brow relaxes a bit at your scrutiny. "Yes, darling, I'm fine--"

"Are you sure?" You press. You take him in a bit more. His stance is relaxing some more. "Your hair's all fussed," you tease with a snort.

He looks at you. You look at him. You're mirroring his arm-crossed stance. You don't move to fuss over him, especially if it'll just make him more uncomfortable in this state, but you expect him to at least run a hand through his hair himself.

"Are you sure you're alri--"

"Yes, everything's fine. Yuuji, let's head over the first year classroom." He's already leaving before you can protest.

"Aww, but I thought we were going to eat first." Yuuji jogs to catch up with Kento and the two talk back and forth until their chatter becomes too quiet for you to hear.

You're left kind of unnerved by how he left things. Kento isn't one to beat around the bush. He'll usually tell you what's making him upset without mincing his words, especially when it comes to venting about Gojo. This recent transgression must have bothered him something fierce.

"Lover's quarrel?" You hear Maki comment behind you. You turn and realize all of your students have gathered to watch you watch your fiancée and Yuuji walk away.

"Pfft, no. Nothing that dramatic." You wave off their concern, or lack thereof. They're fishing for gossip, and you know it.

"Seemed like something fishy was going on between you twooooo," Panda singsongs.

"Salmon."

"Hey, do you want to waste the last..." You check your watch. "Two minutes of your water break yapping? 'Cause you're going to need it for the next set."

"No, sensei!" They scatter off to finish drinking at their jugs.

"Mhm, that's what I thought," you declare to yourself.

You want to bask in this recent victory. You staved off another round of the grabby hands again, after all. But something about this win just doesn't sit right with you. You don't feel good as long as you know something is eating at Kento this much...

Hopefully he works out whatever he and Gojo have going on.

~°•*~

The rest of the day is a blur. Your students are eager to get a start on their weekend or on missions, so as soon as it's time to dismiss them, they are out the door.

No new assignments were offered to you as the day went on, and thankfully, it seems like there aren't any pressing matters for you to attend to with the higher ups. By all accounts, you're free, so you grab your things and make way out the door and to the campus gates.

You haven't had a proper meal all day, so you start contemplating what you could pick up on your way home. You had enough ingredients to make a big dinner tonight. Maybe a quick snack would be enough to stave off the hunger until then.

As you continue to ponder your options, who do you run into but Satoru Gojo himself.

He spots you before you can think of turning tail to avoid him.

"If it isn't my lovely coworker and counterpart!" He offers a childlike grin and waves as his lithe form approaches you. "How is the beloved second-year sensei today?"

"Just fine," you respond, walking past him without a second glance.

He doesn't miss a beat as he trails behind you and continues chatting. "Aww, c'mon. Give me more than that. I feel like I barely get to see you."

You sigh. "That's on purpose, Gojo-san."

He feigns offense, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. "You wound me. We've known each other for years. You can call me senpai when we're not around the students, or at the very least drop the honorifics."

"Would you rather I referred to you as 'hey, you,' or maybe as 'trash-kun'?" You tease. You didn't hate Gojo, per se. You just found him a mite unbearable sometimes.

"'Gojo-san' is fine, then..." He pouts. "You and Nanami are just the same." He brightens as he seems to remember something. "Speaking of! I got to speak to our resident ex-salaryman today! He was telling me all about how you--"

"How he thinks you're slacking on training the first years?" You interrupt.

"What? No! I'll have you know I am doing an amazing job, especially with Megumi and Yuuji. As a matter of fact, they're..."

You tune him out for the rest of the walk to the exit. The thought of Gojo defending himself in the face of a scolding Kento was amusing enough to get you through the rest of the walk out. At the gates, you find your driver waiting for you, the car idling and primed to take you far away from the school and this conversation.

"As much as I love our talks." You turn to look at Gojo with thinly veiled annoyance. "I should be getting home for the day, Gojo-san." Before you can reach for the door yourself, Gojo does it for you. He opens it widely and with a flourish, offering his hand to help you in.

"But of course, sorry to keep you. Get home safe. Get rested. I'm sure next week will be another doozy."

You accept his hand and roll your eyes half-heartedly as he goes on and on. You can't help the small smile on your face as you make your way into the car, though.

As soon as you're securely inside, Gojo peers in and looks you in the eye. "But if I could offer you a bit of advice, my dear kohai." His tone comes across a bit more serious. You attention falls securely on him at that. "I'd go about talking to our friend Nanami over... stimulus control."

Huh?

You give Gojo a look that you hope conveys your confusion, but any note of seriousness in his demeanor leaves him as fast as it came. He grins widely at you and closes the door before you have the chance to question him further. As soon as the door closes, the driver pulls off and Gojo becomes but a shrinking figure in the rear window.

Well, that was cryptic.

What the fuck did he mean "stimulus control"?

You don't think much of it after a while. Gojo is infamously too unserious for his own good. It would be a waste of brain power to read too much into what could very well just be him messing with you, so you don't. What you do continue pondering is what you could do for dinner.

By the time you get home, you've decided on snacking on yesterday's treat while cooking up a suitable feast to make up for missing breakfast. And to congratulate you on a job well done today.

You are in high spirits as you eat and cook at the same time. You could get used to this! Restraining yourself was far easier than you had anticipated. What had seemed like an impossible task this morning didn't seem so bad in hindsight. Maybe every day could be like this...

With no touching Kento at all...

And him not initiating any physical contact with you... at all.

This experience had really put Takuma's observation to the test, hadn't it? Kento really doesn't initiate physical affection with you at all, does he?

Your mood sours a bit.

But you attempt to pull yourself out of it just as quickly. He has other methods of showing he loves you. He shows you he loves you every day. Constant messages checking on how you're doing. Doing the chores whenever you're far too drained. Sitting down to watch your favorite show with you. Bringing back trinkets from missions outside the city that made him think of you. Not to mention that he says he loves you outright every day without fail.

Kento is an intensely loving man, and if you only had to sacrifice a bit of hugging and squeezing for his sake, that was completely fine with you. He just wasn't the type to receive love that way and that's okay.

That's fine.

There's a jingle of keys in the lock of the front door just as you're finishing up the last dish of tonight's spread. You turn off the stove and start transferring to a serving dish as Kento appears in view, dropping his briefcase and shedding his jacket at the front.

"Ken! You're home!" You turn to place the pot and spoon in your hands in the sink. "Dinner's just about ready, just gotta set the table and everything." You reach to grab a towel and wipe your hands as you turn around to face him. "Unless this is a have-dinner-standing-up-at-the-kitchen-island sort of da--"

Kento leaning on the kitchen island with a hand on his hip gives you pause. His head is hanging low as he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

You crane your neck to look him in the eye. "Long day?"

He sighs. "Like you wouldn't believe." He looks up at you, facing you head-on. An uncomfortable silence fills the space between you. He doesn't elaborate.

You scratch your head. "Well, at least dinner's ready!" You gesture to the courses for the meal. "One less thing to worry about."

"Mhm." He nods. You're not sure with the tinted lenses, but it almost seems like Kento is looking at you... expectantly? You don't know what to say. The silence stretches on. You twist at the towel in your hands.

You tilt your head and press your lips in a thin line. "You seem stressed."

He surprises you by letting out a dry chuckle and turning away. He takes off his goggles and places them on the counter. He runs a hand down his face as he leans on the other.

"Kento..." You approach him cautiously. You're not sure what to do. Usually you'd rub at his back, but you're not sure that's the right thing to do here. "If this is about the Gojo thing--"

"Gojo?" You're taken aback as he stands at full height and throws his hands up. He starts pacing and grumbles to himself, "Of all the things... Had to sit there and talk to Gojo about this, of all the people..."

"Are you alright?"

"Are you alright??" He turns quickly and faces you.

The outburst has you dropping the towel and bumping into the sink. You didn't realize you'd stepped back so far. Kento's right there with you, though. There's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for him but to press a hand on either side of you, caging you in.

"Have I done something to upset you?" His bare eyes look into yours solemnly, almost pained.

You alternate between looking at both of his eyes for a moment. In your surprise at the seriousness of this exchange, laughter is suddenly bubbling up in your chest and bursts out before you can stop it. "What? Haha!"

Your fit of giggles seems to take Kento aback. He blinks. "Darling, I'm serious."

You try to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand. "Ken, honey, what do you mean?" You shake your head. "You haven't done anything to upset me. What made you think that?"

The warmth of a gentle hand on your cheek shocks you out of the hilarity of the moment.

Initiated.

Kento doesn't give you any choice but to look him in the eye. "I had to pull you in so you'd sleep in my arms last night." He emphasizes his words with a stroke of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. "I woke up without you this morning. You left today without a send-off kiss. God, I stopped by while you worked and didn't even fix my own appearance for the chance that you'd run your hands through my hair." Kento grows progressively more distressed as he speaks. You're speechless. "You haven't so much as brushed a hand against me all day. Have I done something that made you... uncomfortable with me?"

"Oh..." In the blink of an eye, all of the restraint you'd brute force trained into your disposition today is thrown out the window. "Oh, Kento." You reach up to place both hands on either side of his face. "You could never make me feel uncomfortable with you." You reach around his neck and squeeze him into you, rubbing your head into his cheek comfortingly. "The whole reason I pulled back today was because I thought I was making you uncomfortable."

"What?" He pulls away to look at you, placing his hands squarely on your shoulders, not moving them away. "What could possibly make you think that you make me uncomfortable?"

"Well..." You look down at your hands as they fiddle with his tie and dress shirt. "You have to admit the way I'm constantly touching and hugging and kissing you is a bit excessive, no?"

"No, actually. I don't have to admit that because it's not true. Look at me."

You peer at him through your eyelashes.

"Sweetheart, what made you feel this way?"

You glance away.

"Love, look at me."

You do. He's making full eye contact with you. Patiently waiting.

"Someone might have..." You trail off a bit. "Offhandedly pointed out...." Man, this is hard to admit now. "That you never hold my hand first?"

Kento blinks. Then blinks a few more times. "Surely, that's not true. Who told you that?"

"That's beside the point," you blurt. "The important thing is that that's what this whole thing was. Me making an effort to not touch you as much, only if you initiated first. And then it sort of turned out to also be a ploy to see if you'd even initiate at all... Which you didn't..."

Kento looks appalled.

"I just got really in my head about it!" You ramble on. "And then a little insecure. And then I was really just doing this all for your sake because I sort of got it in my head that you didn't like PDA--or physical affection in general--at all, because you never initiate any of it! And then I thought that maybe I was being too much and--"

In your panic, you failed to notice Kento slinking his hands down to your hips, towards the hem of your shirt. The feeling of the pads of his fingers on the bare skin of your stomach makes you jump a bit. "How could you ever think you're too much..." His palms are warm as they join his fingertips. He's moved his head to lean beside yours and speaks lowly into the shell of your ear. His hands start wandering farther up to your bare waist. Unfettered. "When I can't get enough of you?"

You squirm in his grasp. "Kento..." you breathe. You're not used to him taking initiative like this.

"I'm sorry I got so used to receiving your affection without any effort on my part." He glides his nose from your ear down your neck. "I got so used to having your hands on me without trying-" He presses a kiss at your pulse point. You gasp. "That I made a real ass of myself as soon as you took that away." One of his hands moves from your waist to your bare spine. It makes you shiver and arch forward. "I took you for granted and for that I apologize."

Your breathing is picking up. "It's okay, Ken," you say unevenly.

Kento shakes his head. "No, it's not." He pulls back just enough so that he's practically nose to nose with you. "I love you very much. Let me be sorry." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed.

You nod against him. "Okay."

"Surely," he continues. "I have to show you just how sorry I am." The sideways smile he gives you carries mischief. Your eyes widen before he leans down. You let out a yelp as he lifts you off the ground and onto the counter.

He sits between your legs, and you hold him by the neck as you try to keep your breath even. "The food'll get cold."

"You'll hear no complaints from me."

You giggle as he leans on one of his hands to smash his lips into yours and uses the other to start loosening his tie.

This is so unlike him, and you can't help thinking that you should deprive him of your touch more often just to illicit this response.

Somehow that reminds you of a certain someone's advice and you end up smiling deeper into the kiss.

"What?" Kento's laugh mixes with yours in the space between you.

You snort at the thought. "I can't believe I Pavlov'd you into expecting hugs and kisses from me."

"Oh, sweetheart." He leans down and gives your neck a playful nip. "You're one bell I'll just about always salivate for."

That makes you snicker and shriek even more as Kento continues trailing kisses down your neck and squeezing and touching wherever his hands can find purchase.

Dork.

For a love language Kento didn't start off with when you met him, physical touch sure seems to be something he can't go without. And that's all your influence.

You guess what they say is true, to be loved is to be changed.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via darkbluepassion01

[onfjre]

TUMBLR PHANNIES

hey everyone!! ive created a survey to compare/contrast phandom experiences by platform....and i really want to hear from you!

its abt a 5-15 min time commitment depending on your answers, but your feedback is invaluable and it's completely anonymous!! (i hope it doesn't need saying but this survey is run without platform bias and the last thing i want to do is pit people against each other! i just need a bigger sample size!)

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[lemoncherrypop]

To Build A Home

seventeen x harry potter au

deatheater!seungcheol x gryffindorprincess!reader

summary:  The war has finally come and your entire world falls into ruin. After a surprise attack from the Death Eaters, you barely escape with your life and find refuge in a faraway safe house. Everything would have been fine, all things considered, except for the fact that you had fallen right into the snake’s pit. 

notes: finally! a delicious backstory for our two main characters. let's get FUCKED UP, shall we? length: 8.7k

Series Masterlist

One l Two l Three | Four | Five | Six l coming soon...

Chapter Six

//

Year One

The first thing you noticed was his crooked smile.

Then his messy, unkempt bangs falling over his heavy-lidded eyes and the long lashes that almost brushed his cheeks everytime he blinked. Then came the almost cruel twinkle in his eyes as he shouldered a freckled boy aside to push his way to the front.

He swung his arms around two other boys— a quiet-looking one with circular glasses and another with a chipped, toothy grin— laughing uproariously at some joke you couldn’t hear over the nervous chatter of the other students around you. You clenched the sleeves of your brand new cloak into fists, feeling just as nervous as the rest.

Two months ago, you didn't even know magic existed— until an owl flew in through your open kitchen window, dropped a thick letter in the middle of your family breakfast. Before anyone could even scream in surprise, the doorbell rang. Your father, wide-eyed and frightened, slowly walked to the door. After a short, muffled conversation, he returned with a woman in a long emerald green dress, a black cloak and a dramatically pointed hat. She took the empty chair next to you, and in a calm, polite voice, explained everything.

She seemed to know about every unexplainable incident that has happened to your life: how the bullies at school tripped into puddles that strangely appeared out of nowhere, how your hair grew to your desired length whenever your mother cut it too short, and how, whenever your parents steered you away from the candy aisle at the grocery store, a handful of your favourite toffees mysteriously appeared in your right pocket.

“There’s magic in you,” she said warmly, placing her soft hands on yours. “At Hogwarts, we will teach you everything about magic and how to use it. You’re a witch, little one.”

You couldn't fully understand it then, even if you wanted to, but it thrilled you nonetheless. It was like your favourite fantasy book had come to life. At eleven years old, the world was full of wonders, and fear didn’t yet exist in your mind. From shopping in Diagon Alley to running through the bricked wall at Platform 9 ¾ , to unwrapping your first chocolate frog on the Hogwarts Express, you were brimming with excitement.

It all felt like a dream.

But then, the double doors swung open, and reality struck. The Great Hall, as the headmistress called it, was simply breathtaking. Four identical long tables overflowed with glistening food. Towering windows lined the room, and the ceiling reflected the jaw-dropping beauty of the night sky, shimmering with the starry constellations that were illuminated alongside countless dripping wax candles.

Now, it all felt real.

The noise around you faded, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat. Every first-year student was herded down the centre, made to stand before the Sorting Hat. The boy with the crooked smile stood beside you, and your heart raced even faster. His hand brushed yours as he looked down at you with curiosity, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Just as he was about to say something, the Headmistress called your name.

Swallowing nervously, you looked at the hat, then glanced back at him.

“Good luck,” he whispered, his crooked smile somehow making your heart skip a beat.

It didn’t take much for the Sorting Hat to place you into your new home. Instantly shouting “Gryffindor!” with such a conviction that pride bloomed in your chest. Grinning, you nearly tripped as you ran over to your new family, who welcomed you with open arms.

A dozen students later, his name was called. You watched as he confidently strode up the steps, secretly hoping he'd join your house. But as soon as the hat touched his head, it declared, “Slytherin!” and his crooked smile stretched into a look of complete satisfaction.

It didn’t take long to figure out what kind of person he was: loudmouthed, arrogant and spoiled.

Your first class together was Potions, and you clenched your fists as he bragged about his family’s legacy— his father, who held a high position in the Ministry (whatever that was), was presumably best friends with anyone of any importance. That was apparently the only credentials he needed to boast about being the best in his house, nay— the whole year.

You wanted to swipe that smug smile off his face, so you made a bet: whoever brewed the best potion would win, and the loser would have to lick the dungeon floor after class.

For the first time in your life, you tasted defeat, and lost, monumentally, and unfortunately, the boy with the crooked smile had won, magnificently so.

The taste of it was bitter and gritty on your tongue, but you swallowed it down with dumb pride.

That night, you spent your first of many nights, in the infirmary. Licking up the crusty remnants of decades-old potions in the dungeon probably wasn’t your brightest idea.

Class after class, month after month, the rivalry intensified, fights broke out, detentions were made, and bets were gambled amongst classmates. He had an ego that you were determined to quash, while your unbreakable pride was a challenge he seemed set on ruining.

There was an unspoken, mutually understood plan for destruction— and this was just the beginning.

//

Year Two

One day, after a particularly satisfying victory over escaping a bludger in Flying Class, you jokingly called yourself the Queen of Gryffindor, seeing as how you managed to get your house the most points in your class the year before. It was only a matter of time, you figured— everyone could see just how valuable you were to the best house at Hogwarts.

Sneering from the loser’s side, the boy with his crooked grimace slammed his textbook shut. It was unfortunate that he overheard your joke, because at that moment, he thought it was more appropriate to call you the “Princess of Gryffindor” instead— someone naive, weak, spoiled, and disgustingly adored by everyone around her.

Somehow, the nickname stuck. That was the kind of influence he had, and the most you resisted, the harder he clung to your new “title”. Soon, even the older students from other houses were calling you “Princess” without bothering to learn your real name.

But despite the teasing and the jokes, you had no trouble making friends. Friendly and bubbly, you were always ready to help out a classmate or sneak off to the kitchens with friends for a snack. Within the first week back, you had made a new friend in Charms class, and he came with the face of an angel. Jeonghan was wicked good at the levitating charm, and when you caught him using the charm to swap his worn dragon-hide gloves for newer ones in Herbology, you knew you had to be friends.

With a flick of his long hair behind his ears, he placed his hand on yours to help you practise the charm during lunch in the Great Hall. All around you, students were busy scribbling homework into their scrolls and practising spells, cheeks stuffed with food.

“Hold it steady,” he said, “It’s LeviOsa, not LeviosA.”

When the half eaten scone successfully floated from your plate to his, you reached over and clapped your hands with his in victory. Just as you were about to float a glass of pumpkin ale into your hands, the boy with his crooked smile sauntered over and plopped down right next to your new friend.

As friendly and helpful as you were, this boy was charming. Even as a bully, he somehow managed to win others over with his words and his smile. He knew exactly what to say in order to get the things he wanted, and despite being notorious for his antics even as a second year, people loved him. And your new friend, like everyone else, fell for his wicked smile, and not even a week later, they practically became attached at the hip despite him not even being in Slytherin.

It was clear he’d come over to ruin something you enjoyed—whether it was spellwork, class, or even friendships, he delighted in getting in your way. And although he usually didn’t take it too seriously, somehow, his friendship with Jeonghan stuck. It stung. Jeonghan was supposed to be your friend, yet here he was, swept away by the boy with the crooked smile, like so many other things he wanted from your life.

A month later, you challenged him to a duel after Potions class. Quick on your feet and fast with your temper, the boy lost, embarrassingly, and this had marked your historic first win in duelling.

During breakfast the next morning, still bitter from his loss, he saw you talking to Seokmin, another muggle-born like you. Fuelled by resentment from his loss the night before, he thought it was only fair to bully the pair of you together.

“Filthy Mudblood,” he called you.

A word you were completely unfamiliar with. It wasn’t until an older housemate had intervened and threatened to call a professor on him that you realised the gravity of the word.

There was a stubbornness in how he wanted to stand his ground, but the Headmaster was slowly making his way down the aisle to his seat at the Professor’s table, and the fear of being caught made him slink back to his table. Right them, you swore to defeat him in every way imaginable. Be it in class, in pride, or reputation.

And so, the childish pranks began at this time.

“Wingadium leviosa.”

A discreet flick of your wand, and a vial of Hair-Raising Potion slipped into his soup. Watching every hair on his body, from even his brows to his lashes, stand on end was almost too delightful. He looked as if he got electrocuted, the shock in his eyes even adding to the charm of the potion.

He knew it was you. Even with your laughter getting lost in the bustle of the Great Hall, he knew because it would only ever be you.

This catapulted your feud in full force. The pranks were constant, riotous, and sometimes downright diabolical.

He retaliated by dropping a dungbomb on your head before Quidditch practice, forcing you to leave a trail of stink in your wake. In turn, you hit him with a Tickling Charm during History of Magic, making him laugh so hysterically he had to spend two weeks mopping the floor as punishment. He mixed up a rather potent batch of Swelling Solution into your lotion, causing your entire face to balloon, and you got back at him by slipping a few Hiccough Sweets into a Nose-Biting Teacup, so that once he sipped his tea, his nose was attacked by sharp ceramic as he hiccuped uncontrollably. 

But even these pranks weren’t enough. Both young, proud, fiery and dumb, you fought each other in duels as often as you could get away with. Things escalated until the Herbology professor finally had to inform the Headmaster, resulting in a strict duelling ban.

Yet stubbornness and insolent behaviour fueled the two of you to sneak out after bedtime hours for secret duels, and the caretaker had caught you both wand-handed.

The rest of the school year was spent in detention, making sandwiches alongside the house elves in the kitchen.

//

Year Three

Your dorm mate had somehow fallen for the boy with the crooked smile’s evil deception.

“I’m in love!” she declared, spreading her arms wide before falling onto her four-poster bed. You stuck a finger down your throat and pretended to gag. The thought of anyone finding him attractive seemed only possible through the use of Amortencia.

Yet, not even a week later, you were on your way to the library when you saw him leaning in, eyes closed and lips puckered, toward the very same girl— the one who’d vow to marry him after Hogwarts. Your stomach soured at the sight, and a flash of anger went through you that he was showing anyone else but you his attention.

This feeling didn’t make any sense to you. So, you decided to hex him.

“Locomotor Mortis.”

All four of his limbs snapped together, pressing against his body as he stiffened and toppled forward—straight into your dorm mate’s chest. She shrieked in embarrassment, shoving him off before fleeing, leaving him rigid and crooked-smiled as he fell onto the cold, marble floor.

Howls of laughter rang from a large tapestry just paces away, and the heads of Mingyu and Minghao were peeking out from the embroidered drapery of Hogwarts’ very first Potions professor. Undoubtedly, the pair of them hid in the back to watch and see how their friend’s first kiss would go. Calm and steady, Wonwoo approached, kneeling to work the counterspell.

“You should have listened to Jeonghan,” he murmured, “He told you to go somewhere more private.”

As the spell melted off his body, he slowly got back up onto his feet, his face the colour of an unforgivable scarlet. Not even two steps towards you (because somehow, he always knew where you were), Minghao hooked his arm around his neck and held him back.

He unleashed a spiel of curses as Mingyu joined in with Minghao,wiping away tears from laughter. “You better run, Princess!” he shouted at you, wrapping his lanky arm around his shoulders and holding him back as well. “We’re only helping you this one time for giving us such a good laugh!”

For a moment, you locked eyes with him. You’ve never seen such humiliation in his eyes before, and a sinking feeling in your chest told you that you didn’t enjoy it.

“Why aren’t you running?” Mingyu questioned, still laughing. “Or have you got another trick up your sleeve?”

Minghao leans down to whisper something into the boy’s ear and he rips his gaze away from you, burning even brighter still.

“He would have done the same,” you stubbornly say, trying to mask a strange nervousness. “Worse even, probably.”

His gaze found yours again with a ferocity that burned so heavily, it was only ever made for you.

So you run. The laughter of the other boys still ringing down the corridor as your heart began to beat erratically in your chest. He was your enemy, and you were his, and that was all you ever knew of each other. Yet, in that instant, you couldn’t shake the thought: what if things had been different? What if, on that very first day at Hogwarts, he’d walked beside you towards the Sorting Hat, leaning in just a little closer?

Running up moving staircases and through endless doors, and past old classrooms and abandoned bathrooms, you wondered what it would have been like if he had closed his eyes and leaned toward you instead.

Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest, even as you crawled under your covers and tried to shut the sight of his wrathful eyes away from your mind. You were a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin, and being natural enemies, this feud between the two of you was just how the world was supposed to work. He had no interest in you, he made it more than clear when he called you a Mudblood for the first time. You needed to feel the same about him.

So you pushed those inane thoughts away, the thoughts of him leaning in close, his breath mingling with yours, and the look in his eyes softened with anything other than hate. You pushed them down to the deepest parts of your soul, and locked them away. You knew better than letting them see the light.

The rest of the year was relentless. You hexed and pranked him viciously, hoping he’d rack up enough detentions or lose enough points to sabotage Slytherin’s standing, but he came at you with a different, crueler kind of fury.

He sabotaged any boy who tried to get close to you. How he always seemed to know who was interested in you, you’d never understand. But each time, you’d find out the hard way. You would peel back your bed sheets to the sight of shredded flower petals, ripped up letters of confessions, or shards of broken glasses of your favourite fizzy drinks. His “gifts” were a painful reminder of what you had cost him.

It became harder for you to make friends after this. Nights in the dining hall grew more lonely. You had lost your friendship with Jeonghan, Vernon averted his gaze in class, Seungkwan stopped sneaking into the kitchens with you, and Soonyoung once fled at the sight of you approaching in the hallway.

There was only one person who would wish such unhappiness upon you— and it was all because you’d ruined his first kiss.

How you would ever get back at him for this, you did not know.

You weren’t ever sure if you wanted to.

//

Year Four

It was a miserably cold and wet day, and Gryffindor had lost against Hufflepuff in the first match of the Quidditch season. Seokmin found you sulking just outside the Quidditch changing room and pulled you back inside the empty tent to apologise.

“Apologise for what?” You frowned, the frustration of losing clearly bringing tears to the edge of your eyes. “You guys won fair and square.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less bad,” he replied, guilt written all over his face. “You played so well today too! You could have won if—”

“Except we didn’t,” you interrupted. “We lost. Everyone was witness to it.”

“They also saw how brilliantly you dove to get the quaffle after it dropped. It was like you disappeared in front of me and reappeared within a blink of an eye.”

Blinking back the tears, you try not to let his compliment overwhelm you. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“We got a rematch in a couple months,” he offered with a hopeful smile. “Hope it’ll be another great game.”

A deep sigh came out of you, trying to blow the disappointment out of your mind in one big breath. “We’ll just kick your ass next time,” you replied, forcing a smile.

Seokmin grinned back, his smile so bright it seemed to light up the tent.

You were about to head back out when he gently caught your arm.

“Actually, I came back here because… well…” Seokmin’s face had suddenly changed into a bashfulness you’ve never seen on him. “I wanted to tell you s-something,” he stammered, the tips of ears looking bright red.

Looking up at him curiously, you nodded. “Yeah?”

“I— I just wanted to tell you… that I— “

You chuckled at how flustered he got all of a sudden. “Well? Out with it.”

“I like you,” he confesses. “I like you, please, go out with me.”

It was shocking just how quickly your face matched the colour of his.

And then he kissed you.

And you kissed him back.

And he was your first kiss.

And you were his.

And it felt so right.

Seokmin was always so sweet to you.

There were always whispers amongst the upperclassmen, saying that the fourth year at Hogwarts will be the first real year for students. You never understood it until now, because now, you finally had a boyfriend. Walking hand in hand with Seokmin down the hallways felt like someone had pulled back a curtain, revealing a new world of couples sneaking off into alcoves, whispering sweet nothings, or snogging openly against the windows.

Then, down the hall, you saw him— the boy with his hair as tousled as ever, his grin as maddeningly crooked. Leaning casually against a closed door, he whispered something to Ravenclaw’s Seeker, who giggled, her long black hair swaying as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. He pressed her body close against his and your steps quickened, unwilling to witness what was undeniably about to happen. At the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up and saw it was you. He grinned wickedly before leaning in and pressing his lips to the Seeker’s neck.

Without thinking, you tighten your grip on Seokmin’s hand, pulling him behind a giant tapestry of two snakes battling a boar. Before he could ask what was happening, you pulled him down for a kiss. Hastily, Seokmin wrapped his arms around you without hesitation; his love for you was clear in every touch.

This was the year of the Winter Ball, and you were finally at the age to join the school’s most spectacular event of the year.

Countless hours were spent on getting ready for this grandiose party. Pieces of the finest cloth you could afford were pulled together into drapes that would flatter your body. Multicorfor being cast every ten minutes to change your gown to the most magnificent shade of ruby-red, so it looked like you were walking through flames itself. You twisted and twirled your hair until it cascaded down your open back, and the rouge on your lips and cheeks was done just enough to make you glow.

There was a sparkle in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as you descended the stairways to meet your partner.

But there, at the bottom of the stairs, stood the boy with the crooked smile. In the finest of silks and velvet, he was dressed in obsidian black, matching his glowering eyes. 

Almost like he was anticipating you, your footsteps gave you away again, and he snapped his head up, truly looking at you for the first time since that night you ruined his first kiss. You don’t miss the way his eyes look at you, wandering down to your dress and then back up at your eyes. They contort into something completely unreadable, and when his crooked smile vanishes, his eyes seem to hold a hatred you’ve never seen in him before.

It almost seemed like he was angry with himself.

“What a pity,” you said flatly, tilting your head as you reached up to pluck a petal from the rose on his lapel.

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” he seethed through his teeth.

“You tried to scare everyone away from me,” you whispered so no one else could hear. “But it didn’t work.”

He blinked, and then his grin returned, sadistic and crooked. “There’s still time, Princess.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you walked past him and into the Great Hall with just your silence as response.

With his shiny eyes and impeccably ironed plum coloured suit, Seokmin stood at the entrance, waiting for you. He pinned a red rose into the curls of your hair, and when you were smiling again, he took your hand and the small of your back, and danced in joyful circles around the open floor. His practised steps made you spin and twirl with ease, his whispered confessions melting into your skin.

The night wore on, the candlelights dimmed and the music softened into gentler streams of violin. Seokmin held you close, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered softly about how much he adored you. His faze flickered down to your lips before returning to your eyes— his telltale sign before a kiss, and you closed your eyes. Gentle as ever, that was always in his nature.

It didn’t take long for the fire to overcome you both. It greedily licked up the delicate layers of your dress, and as you spun around in fright, it caught onto Seokmin’s plum coloured robes and the both of you were set aflame.

“Aguamenti!”

Seokmin had quickly doused the fire, but left both of you drenched. Your beautiful curls wet against your cheeks, the flower in your hair crushed under your own heels, and your beautiful dress, left to almost nothing but burnt tatters. That was how quickly the fire had spread. Seokmin stood there, gasping to catch his own breath, still in shock of his own.

There’s a bark of laughter, and you look up to see the boy with his damned crooked smile. The mocking cackle wasn’t even coming from him, but Mingyu and Minghao who stood on either side, trying their hardest not to draw attention to the violation he’s committed against you.

His grin is wicked as ever, but there is no laughter in his eyes when he stares you down. His wand is hastily shoved into the pockets of his robes, and you can see Wonwoo pulling him back with urgency. His burning gaze never leaves yours as he’s pulled back into the growing crowd, unflinching as tears start blooming in your eyes.

This had cost the two of you dearly. Jean was witness to him setting your dress on fire, and told on the Headmaster, which resulted in his most severe punishment yet. Ruining what was meant to be your most magical night at Hogwarts had cost him three straight months of detention, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you. His act of cruelty on you had cost you Seokmin.

Seokmin ended it with you after that night. Not out of fear, but because he knew being with you would only bring more acts of wickedness. It broke your heart, but you knew he was right. Truth be told, the relationship lasted far longer than you thought possible. You reached up on the tips of your toes to give him one final kiss.

And then it was back. The rageful fire that burned between you and the boy with the crooked smile roared back to life. You watched him reject girls, just as you did with boys. He risked further detentions by tampering with your schoolwork and disrupting your Quidditch practices. You spiked his food with Puking Potions and set his prized books ablaze, a reminder of what he’d done to you.

You knew the year would end as it always did, with both of you serving detention.

This school would never be a safe space for you. Not as long as he was there with you.

//

Year Five

Oddly, to everyone’s dismay, the energy has shifted this year. The dreaded year of the OWLs has finally arrived.

From the very beginning, there was a mad rush to the libraries to get a head start on classwork and studies. Even you and your worst enemy couldn’t deny the importance of these exams. Countless nights were spent on the opposite ends of the long tables in the library. Heads both buried deeply into every book you could grab, quills were being used up left and right, scrawling away furiously into your scrolls.

There was no time for tomfoolery, and yet, you and the boy with the crooked smile— to the surprise of absolutely no one—still managed to find time to wreck absolute havoc.

He was always top of the class in Potions. Five years into Hogwarts, and this much you could admit out loud, even if it was begrudgingly so. However, no one could deny that you were the best in Charms.

During the History of Magic exam, you shot a finger-removing jinx at him multiple times in rapid succession. Minutes in, he was scrambling to pick up his quill with just his two nubs for hands, having lost all ten fingers. He tried to make a scene, but luckily for you, your ghostly Professor stayed soundly asleep, and all your other classmates— tired of your endless rivalry—just shushed him so they could concentrate on their own exam.

It took at least half an hour before his fingers finally grew back, and he managed to write about six inches of essay in his largest handwriting ever before the hourglass ran out.

He got back at you during Potions, like the fucking devil he was, and ruined you more than you could have ever imagined in your worst subject. Your face erupted into an absolute chaos of cystic acne, and the boy’s crooked smile spread so wide at the success of his furnunculus charm. Absolutely livid, your cheeks flushed hotly with a rush of rage until the freshly sprouted boiled burst, splattering messily into your Befuddlement Draught.

Your cauldron bubbled tenfold, spilling and gurgling into your classmate’s cauldrons, and caused a chain reaction of ruined potions. Befuddlement had run amok that day, and clearly from the Professor’s disappointment, it was not from the intended use of the required potion.

You fought back during the Herbology exam. You’d read about a fun new jinx while studying for the OWLs, and who better to test it on than on your worst enemy?

The students were tasked with taming Chinese Chomping Cabbages, Screech Snaps and Fanged Geraniums, and the entire greenhouse was filled with wails from both plants and students alike. He was wrestling a particularly feisty Fanged Geranium when you discreetly snapped your wand in his direction. Bunches of leeks sprouted from his ears, effectively pushing off the precious earmuffs that were crucial for today’s exams, and he clapped his hands over them in pure shock and screamed.

You swallowed down your laughter the best you could, and watched as he ran towards the Professor for help, crying treason as he pointed his wicked finger directly towards you. You mocked surprise as you continued to handle a pair of Chomping Cabbages on your table.

The two of you have always tried your best to not involve anyone else outside of your rivalry, but this year was different. With the relentless onslaught of petty hexes and pranks against each other being performed specifically during the exams, it was impossible to not get your other classmates involved.

Chan was so distracted by the loss of his ten fingers, he wrote the wrong dates down for all four historic battles during the Great Goblin War. Jeonghan’s potion was one of many that also got ruined by the explosion of boils on your face, an incident that he thoroughly berated the both of you for. Vernon and Seungkwan are both certain that they will receive a Dreadful in Herbology because the sudden disturbance of leeks had made them drop their Screech Saps, accidentally crushing them under the soles of their boots.

In the end, both of you lost your houses one hundred and fifty points, and earned a full month in detention.

Knees pebbled with grime and broken bits of stone and wood, you spent hours every night, sweeping away decades long cobwebs and wiping at the grimey corners of every unused room in the castle. And there, right by your side, was him.

Every year that you have spent at Hogwarts, and all those long weeks and months you’ve had detention for, was thankfully on your own. But for some cruel reason, the Headmaster thought it was only fitting that you shared detention this year with him. You believed that he thought the forced proximity between you two will someday create a more cordial relationship.

If only he knew better.

At first, the boy whined and complained the whole time, and you with your impatience and rage, threw buckets full of muddy soapy waters and brooms against the wall in defiance, trying your best to ignore him. If he made one wrong move, said one wrong word, you would have pulled on his hair and collar, and bitten his face clean off.

But the other professors very quickly had threatened for your punishment to go past the school year and into the summer months if anything else went wrong, so the two of you stayed silent. He stopped his grumbling and got to work, and you did your best to scrub, mop, and clean.

Then, on your last week at Hogwarts, he spoke.

“I shouldn’t be in here,” he ground out. “Not with you of all people.”

Rolling your eyes, you don’t even entertain him by responding.

“This is all so beneath me,” he continues, aggravation clear in his tone. “I’d be better off making sandwiches in the kitchen with the elves.”

Still, you stay silent.

And so does he, for only a moment. All you could hear was the angry scrubbing of a decades old mop against the stained marble floor that you knew would never get cleaned.

Then, he breaks open the window out of frustration, throwing the mop onto the floor, and stands there, unmoving.

“If only you hadn’t— if you had just—” he breaks off, unable to finish his sentence. You stop what you're doing now, brows furrowed with annoyance when you sit up from your knees to look at him. He is gazing out the open window, the cool night air swirling in and blowing his hair back, the stars already twinkling out in the night sky.

“If only I hadn’t what?”

His gaze turns towards you. He blinks slowly, his expression vacant. The silence hangs thick between you, only the cool breeze whispering through the cracked window as the castle settles into its nightly stillness. For a moment, you wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. He tears his eyes from you and back out the window. Then, in a voice so soft that it almost seems lost in the wind, he mutters, “If only it had never been you.”

Unsure whether to be offended or intrigued. “Been me?” you repeat, your voice edged with disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He grips the edge of the window tightly, the white of his knuckles showing. “If you hadn’t been so… stubborn. So fucking infuriating. Maybe…  we never would have gotten to this point.”

You let out a dry laugh. “So it’s my fault we’re both scrubbing the floor at midnight? And here I thought it was because you couldn’t keep yourself from casting boils on my face.”

A ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low and soft. “But you never made it easy for me, did you?”

The question catches you off guard, and in that moment, you recall the years you’ve spent at Hogwarts — the bitter rivalry, the countless hexes and jinxes, the sleepless nights in stubborn competition, and the complete and utter disdain you held for each other. But now, all you can see is the quiet vulnerability that peeks through in his gaze, the lingering traces of something almost… uncertain. You clench your jaws, wanting to break through the strange haze that’s settled over the room, but no words come out.

He stares, expecting you to retort back at him, like you always do. But all you can do is stare back, lips still sealed.

“Forget it,” he murmurs, breaking the silence and picks up his mop.

You swallow down whatever strange feeling has started to well up and return to scrubbing the floor, willing the silence back into the room. But it doesn’t last long. You can feel his glare turn back on you, and before you know it, he’s muttering under his breath again. 

“Maybe,” he says, voice low and cold, “maybe if you didn’t act like you were better than everyone else, we wouldn’t be in his mess every damn year.”

You snap up, tightening your grip on the dirty rag. “Better than everyone?” You echoed disbelievingly. “This is coming out of your mouth?”

He scoffs, giving you a scathing look. “You’ve been going around and acting like you belong with the rest of us. It’s pathetic.”

The word hits you like a slap. The muscle in your jaw ticks, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Is that why you hate me? Because I’m a fucking Mudblood that beats you in duels and charms, and you can’t stand the sight of someone so beneath you winning?”

A dark flush creeps up his neck. “Don’t flatter yourself. Like you’d hold that much importance in my life.” his voice drips with disdain, and for a split second, you can see something flicker in his eyes— a bitterness that goes deeper than the usual rivalry.

Laughter bubbles out despite the tension. “Then why do you keep going out of your way to make my life miserable? Why do you spend all your time finding ways to get under my skin rather than studying for your own exams?”

His face twists, frustration beginning to boil over. “Because you make me—” He stops himself, words hanging in the air, heavy and unfinished. His fists clench, and he looks away, the veins in his neck pulsating. “Forget it.”

But you’re done with his unfinished sentences now. Your patience has worn out. “No, go on,” you say, standing up to face him. “Tell me. Tell me why you hate me so much.”

He glares at you, and before you can blink, he’s stepping forward, practically nose-to-nose with you. “You really want to know?” He snarls. You could smell the sage and rosewood from his collar.

“I do.” You cracked a smile. “Maybe then we could finally end our fighting.”

“Fine,” he snarls, “because every time I see you, every damn time I even think about you, it’s like I’m being reminded of every single thing I can’t stand about myself.”

You take in a sharp breath. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “You don’t get it, you never will.” His lips are curled, the smell of his cologne getting stronger. “You’re so repulsively stubborn, so fucking persistent, always fighting for something. It’s like—” His hands are shaking at his sides. “You don’t know when to quit, the worst of all these fucking Gryffindors, and every time you don’t, it just… it reminds me that I’m the same and— you make me feel so fucking insane, that I could ever possibly be someone like you—”

The words cut off abruptly, and in that silence, something shifts. Neither of you know what to do with it.

Then, before you can stop yourself, you reach out and grab his collar, pulling him close until the fabric is bunched up in your fists. “Maybe,” you hissed. “Maybe if you stopped blaming me for your problems, you could actually get somewhere in life, instead of living in your family’s shadows.”

Shock flickers across his face before he, too, grabs hold of your collar, pulling you in even tighter. “Let go,” he says, his voice laced with warning. But neither of you releases, fingers digging into the fabric and skin, pushing and pulling, each trying to prove a point you can’t put into words.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” you spit out, the words trembling with frustration.

He growls, his hand slipping up to the back of your neck, fingers coiling up in your hair. He pulls sharply, enough to make you yelp, and you retaliate, your own hand quickly reaching up to do the same, fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard.

Before you know it, your foot catches on the leg of an old chair, and you’re stumbling backwards. When the chair topples with a loud crash, he steps, catching on the bottom of your robe, and loses his balance. You are roughly pulled down with him, limbs tangling up in each other. The two of you hit the floor hard, the impact jarring as you crash into a worn desk. A pile of ancient scrolls are flying, dusty potion bottles are rolling off and breaking, and the crack of wood echoes as the desk splinters beneath your combined weight.

Still, neither of you loosen your hold. Your bare knees scrape against the rough stone, and you can feel the skin breaking. Pinned awkwardly on the ground, he twists to the side, his shoulder slamming into yours and you go tumbling over one another, rolling on the shattered glass that shimmer in the moonlight. There is a thin line of blood bleeding on his brow, and you can feel a warm, wet sting along your own cheekbone. You’re both gasping now, faces inches apart, skin scraped and already swelling.

“Just let go,” he says again, his voice still low with a tremor you don’t recognize. You stay where you are, arms and legs locked uncomfortably, face tilted up and eyes fixed on him.

“No,” you grit back, refusing to move. “Not until you do.”

The tension is like a live wire, sparking and searing in the air between you as you glare at each other, chests heaving, bruised and wounded from your clumsy fall. He searches for something in your eyes, a sort of desperation that you don’t want to answer.

Then, slowly, he lets go. Fingers loosening, his hand slides away from your hair, leaving it dishevelled. You both sit up, still breathing heavily, staring at each other in the dim light.

“You are my fucking nightmare, Princess,” he finally says, voice hoarse. It’s a broken sound, like a confession he never wanted to say out loud.

You laugh, soulless and heartless. Your skirt is bunched up to your thighs as you shift your legs, robes falling off your shoulders as you turn towards him.

You stab a finger to his chest. “And you,” you seethe, pressing hard against him. “You are the bane of my existence. Everything— everything that is wrong in my life is caused by you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he reaches up, wrapping his fingers around yours, holding you firmly to his chest, right over his heart. His pulse is heavy under your touch, and his eyes don’t leave yours, his gaze almost daring you to pull away.

“Everything I ever did to you,” he says slowly, his voice almost a whisper, “was to make you feel as miserable as I did.”

His face is so close to yours, close enough that you can see the faint bruises blooming on his cheeks. Close enough to see the small scratch just below his brow trickle blood. Close enough for his hair to brush your forehead as it falls into his eyes.

For the first time that night, you don’t question him. You didn’t want to know what made him want to fight you, make you cry, or lose your friends. You didn’t want to know what made him so miserable that he wanted to cause you just as much pain that he was in. You didn’t want to understand him. If you knew, you felt as if the resentment you’ve held for years would simply crumble under the weight of his confession.

Your hand remained trapped under his, his chest rises and falls, and his hold on you is surprisingly gentle now. The echo of his confession fades into the silence of this decrepit room, and you realise— this fight, this bitter rivalry— it’s just as much a part of him as it was to you. And even in this messy, bruised, and bloody silence, neither of you are ready to let it go.

When you break apart, you slowly lay down on the floor and rub the palms of your hands firmly into your eyes. You were so tired. So tired of fighting, getting put into detention, cleaning floors, studying for exams, and always trying your best to survive. The exhaustion soon takes over, and you pass out.

He watches you the whole time. The way you grit your teeth in exasperation and groan, the way your chest is heaving in frustrated huffs before slowing down into deeper, slower breaths. He watches you until you fall asleep, and then, right by your side, he lays down and closes his eyes, joining you in sleep with beaten limbs and bloodied skin. 

The caretaker walks in when the sun begins to rise. The damage to the room was undeniable. The windows were still grimy, the cobwebs still hanging, and the floor littered with broken glass, ripped scrolls with boot prints, and two students, laying side by side, barely touching.

You guess it was inevitable for the both of you to get summer detention.

//

Year Six

The first day back at Hogwarts, you saw it immediately— something was terribly wrong with him.

His hair was longer, tangled and messier, and the shadows under his eyes were darker and bruised, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His face, once sharp with wit, looked gaunt, looking almost sickly. Something had changed over the scorching hot summer, like it had hollowed him out and left only a ghostly echo of the person you once knew.

And yet, he still greeted you, like he always did, almost endearingly so. “Mudblood,” he drawled. “Hope your summer was terrible.”

Your mouth opened, but the words snagged inside you, heavy and sour. It should’ve sparked that familiar flame between you, but you stopped yourself. His tone, his expression— all the life, the spark, the sickening thrill that always animated him when he saw you, it was gone. There was an uncomfortable ache in your chest, heavy and acidic. You almost couldn’t even recognize him.

For months, this feeling never went away. You never saw him around anymore.

In class, he isolated himself, working alone with his usual friends away at a distance. His head always kept down as he poured into his books in silence. Outside of class, he was nowhere to be seen. It became a whispered mystery in the hallways, one that no one seemed able to answer. You caught glimpses of his snake friends tucking wrapped bundles of food  into their pockets, likely sneaking him meals because he’s never seen in the Great Hall anymore.

Even Jeonghan didn’t know what was going on with him. They had barely spoken more anymore than you did with him.

He became a complete stranger to you, his silence louder than any taunt he’d ever thrown your way. When you tried to challenge him, sometimes even uncharacteristically in a playful way, he didn’t even acknowledge you. He would only look at you with a strange, vacant expression, as if you were miles away.

Every time he looked at you with those empty eyes, that strange feeling in your chest turned into a gnawing ache that only grew. Your curiosity on what happened to him over the summer was insistent, like a parasite digging deeper with each passing day. But it was impossible for you to ask, because to do so would break the unspoken, hateful relationship you’d build together after all these years. How could you reach out to him when all you’d ever known was fire and fury?

Then, one late Saturday afternoon, you were passing by the abandoned classroom near the Bell Tower when you heard something— a sound that stopped you cold. A low, guttural sob, the kind of anguish that would make your heart drop into your stomach.

You could have turned your cheek. You could have pretended as if you hadn’t heard anything. You could have walked away.

But the sobbing continued, those agonising, wrenching sounds so raw, so hauntingly familiar. You couldn’t stop yourself, you stepped closer, heart hammering as you pushed open the cracked door to peek inside.

There, huddled on the cold floor, was the boy you knew— the boy who taunted and tormented you, who laughed as he goaded you into every petty fight. He was now slumped forward, fingers clawing at the stone floor as his shoulder shook from the weight of all his miserable tears. Broken glass lay all around him— vials from this week’s Charms lesson, meant to turn water into wine, and his robes soaked with it had turned the air heavy and sour in the small room. The knuckles on his hand were blood, cut and stained, red streaks running down his fingers.

You stood frozen, your heart lodged painfully in your throat. You were never meant to see this. He was unravelling before you, stripped bare of all the pride and scorn he used to wear like a badge. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

You wanted to run to him, and grab him by his shoulders. Come back. You wanted to yell at him. Come back to me and fight me. Come yell curses at me, jinx all the hair off my head, or poison my drinks. Just come back.

But he never saw you. His eyes were as vacant as ever, the light in them extinguished. The boy with the crooked smile, the one who used to take so much pleasure in all your misery, was gone. He blinked once, swayed on his knees, and then, without warning, fell forward and collapsed.

You pulled away from the door, heart racing. You couldn’t bear to see him like this anymore. You just ran. You needed to find someone, anyone, that could help him.

You tore down the North Hall, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until you crashed headfirst into Wonwoo, almost knocking him over. He caught you, his fingers digging into your shoulders, eyes wide and frantic.

“Did you see him?” he demanded, his voice breaking, scared and desperate. You’ve never heard him this hysterical before.

Trembling, you lifted a shaky finger, your own voice sounding terrified. “The old room for Arithmancy… down the hall.”

Wonwoo ran.

It was the final week of Hogwarts. 

It was past curfew, and you were running, practically flying through the empty corridors as you tried to reach your Common Room. The halls were dark, steeped in an eerie silence, and you tried your best to be as silent as possible because it was three hours past curfew, and you could not risk another night in detention again— not now, not with exams pressing down on you. 

It’s been weeks since you last saw him. Classmates gossiped amongst each other that he had disappeared since that night you saw him in the abandoned classroom, and with how hectic the end of the year terms were, you woefully wondered if the exam season was a helpful distraction to what you had witnessed that night.

You kept close to the shadows, stepping as quickly and quietly as possible, you tried to reach the suspension bridge when suddenly, a sickening crack echoed through the air. A sound that was so unnatural in the usual stillness of the night, it made you stumble, gripping on the wall to steady yourself.

Dread twisted up in your stomach. That was the sound of something breaking— no, something falling.

You turned a corner, breath hitching as you reached the open space by the bridge. There, sprawled out on the cobblestone courtyard, lay a figure— a mess of long, white hair spread out like a gruesome halo, blood already seeping into the cracks between the stones. Grey eyes, which were normally so vibrant and bright, were glazed over as they stared straight up into the night sky.

The headmaster lay dead in front of you.

A scream tore out into the cold, dark night. Your throat was raw and broken, the sound of your cry ringing off the stone walls, piercing into the silence of the night. Your knees buckled, and when you fell, you pressed a shaking hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sob that clawed its way out your mouth. Your whole body was trembling, heart beating so fast, your vision blurred as you desperately scanned the darkness of any sign, any glimpse of whoever had done this.

Your breath came up in shallow gasps, looking everywhere until finally, you looked up.

There he was.

He was standing on the stoned dome above, looking down at you. His figure was draped in shadow, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moon. Your heart clenched, a sad comfort that he was finally looking at you in what felt like the first time in forever. But there was something terribly wrong. His eyes— his normally heavily, hooded dark eyes, were deliriously manic. The whites of them showing an intensity that you’ve never seen on him.

A chill seeped into your bones as he watched you, and when you stood back up on shaky limbs, your eyes never leaving him, you wondered if the boy you once knew had been replaced by someone else entirely. 

His face had changed so much.

You almost missed his crooked smile.

//

Year Seven

He never came back to Hogwarts.

[cuz-reasons]

wing aus my beloved. reading your fic makes me wanna draw wings stuff so here's a couple lads.

(the most recent chapter Really inspired me, but the sketches weren't coming out right, so here's some simple doodles instead)

AAAAAA OH MY GOD OOUUHGHHH

Okay that's out my system now (mostly). These are so cute! I love them! No one's ever drawn anything because of my fics before (as far as I know), I'm sobbing. And I know these are just some doodles but still! That's super kind of you!

Ingo's simple face in the first one is really funny to me for some reason, I love it. And the pose in the second one is so cool! I just really like all your art so this was amazing to wake up to this morning!

I'm so glad you liked the newest chapter of the fic! And I hope those sketches work out if you decide to go back to them!

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself

[wondrouswendy]

Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart Chapter 1 Fandom: Alan Wake (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alan Wake/Alice Wake, Fictional Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alan Wake & Barry Wheeler Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Romance, Humor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Miscommunication, Bisexual Disaster Alan Wake, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Study, Depression Banner made by: @rangerzath​

This story begins prior to the events of the original Alan Wake game. It'll focus on the creation of Alan's books and the roller-coaster life he leads prior to making his way with Alice to Bright Falls.

This story is as much a character study of Alan as much as it is a story focusing on my interpretation of his complicated love life. Whoever you prefer Alan to be with, I hope you’ll give this story a chance. This piece was very experimental for me, an intimidating monster in its own right. It’s deeply personal as a writer myself, for Alan’s mental and emotional struggles are very relatable to me (and to countless other creatives out there).

If you click through, I hope you enjoy!!

[clumsy-words-again]

I cried so so hard reading your tags you rlly made all my childhood poet dreams come true bc rlky to me they’re not fully real or not fully breathing until someone shares them and you gave that to me thank you so so much I love you <3333 (literally writing through my tears rn bc HOW CAN I EVER THANK YOU AKSJSJDJ)

every time you're in my notifs i get so excited and you truly are one of the sweetest people ever thank you so much for existing I love you and one day if you publish a poetry book or a book on foraging or a book of Adventures of Lovergirl lore (love that tag) i'm gonna go crazy and get a hundred copies to hand out to people on the streets and some elders often tell me that the world is a cruel place and everyone has to struggle and In Real Life everyone will try to push me down and that I'm immature and too weak and too soft. and all that sometimes really messes with my head and then I remember you and I think. hell no. i'm gonna be kind to everyone despite everything and it's gonna be okay. people like you are the reason I could never believe the Everyone is Selfish and Evil stuff.

I hope you have the bestest life ever <333

[pineappical]

I always thought is very tricky to draw that wrinkle that goes from the nose and around the mouth and still male it look good, but gosh you nail it in every art, super expressive and pretty. Looking at all your drawings 🔍🕵‍♀️ to properly appreciate and study it. But wow really in love with your art style is so expressive and pleasing to look at, and the colors are so pretty 👌👌👌👌

i LOVEEE drawing wrinkles!!! it makes faces soso so expressive and i try to add wrinkles to every character i draw whenever i can. and the fact i also love drawing characters smiling (they make me happy, so i want to be able to share my joy to other people by drawing them smiling too!) which of course makes that wrinkle around the nose and mouth more prominent :-)

im not a person that can draw well from memory, i use references excessively even if it doesnt turn out the same way from the reference im copying from in the end 😊

i drew these out real quick but i have no clue how to explain any of these so i just thought about sharing it with you anyways!

call it "cheating" or whatever, but most of the time i even trace over the reference just to have a base i can copy the expression im trying to draw from. i do art for fun and if it makes my process that much easier then. well!

anyhoo, ignore the fact these are all mr lassos... i just love him a whole bunch 💛

[mandiemegatron]

More requests being fulfilled tonight, keep your eyes peeled 💖 thank you all for your patience, I love yall ! 💖💋

[good-beanswrites]

There haven't been any Milgram headcanon requests so far, right? How about 🧸 and 💔 for Mikoto?

Mikoto time!! Thank you for the request -- I know it's risky posting headcanons so close to Double, but I'll come back and ammend anything that might be proven wrong on Wednesday 😂

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood: Through his early schooling years, Mikoto was present for a lot of extracurricular activities. He didn't always care/give his all, he just enjoyed hanging out with others and fooling around. The reason he can be such good friends with everyone is because he's picked up on tons of little things over the years by dabbling in all those arts, fields of study, sports, etc. Once he finds out your hobby, he can immediately retrieve some bit of knowledge/memory to get a conversation going, or even join in the activity. Mahiru is pleasantly surprised by his classic literature references, gardening club gets him on Shidou's good side, Muu likes talking to him about fashion tips, he can play sports with Fuuta, he tries to bond over band memories with Amane, and so on. When he was a kid he was just trying things out for fun, but as an adult he's grateful he picked up on so much.

💔 An angsty headcanon: He's accustomed to, and expects, bad separations. So many friendships and relationships ended on a very sour note, so now he's used to pulling away first. (There was no aggression or violence, but) the appearance of different alters followed by the host's insistent denials would make others think poorly of him. The more he claims ignorance, the more it seems like he's just gaslighting/manipulating, so there have been a few explosive separations in which he had no idea what went wrong. Because of that, it's been harder to get close to anyone, and he will start pulling away the minute things show signs of trouble. It's why he left the smoking group so quickly, and doesn't hang out with the other prisoners as often in T2. Instead of waiting for an inevitable fight, he ends things immediately and peacefully.

[ratatatastic]

scare the hoes more and keep yapping about ekky (& others) getting used to maffhew, it delights me. and say even more about how sasha handles this feral and sweet omega that gets dropped into his orbit. smth smth “feels like i’ve known him 10 years” or whatever vows sasha recited to the press, cameras, and god

apparently we are taking more tumblr user ratatatastic abo yap thoughts for 500 may god hear our screams up wherever he is. big man in the sky you fuckin owe me one.

i think theres so much in particular to say in concerns of 1619 and how quickly they gelled irl but even more so in an abo au

ive always enjoyed when people assign matthew stronger scents that take getting used to if you don't like it already and i know ive read a fic where his scent notes did skew towards stronger cinnamon foods/drinks

anyways on that note it wouldnt surprise me that sasha takes so easy to this spicy little omega.

Like of course he does, he smells like the pastries he used to eat back at home, the pastries he eats now because he's found an established Finnish bakery down here that makes them homemade every morning, the bakery he likes to frequent with the other Finns when he can.

Is it ever a wonder that the cute omega that sent him such a terribly sweet text when the trade news broke out (you know, after the initial excitement worn off because Sasha does chuckle at memory of the brash "Fucking, right!" that pinged on his phone the very first time from an unknown number) smells like... home... No matter all the rumours that have swirled around Matthew, the rumours Sasha has personally experienced himself playing against him...he smells nostalgic. Like Sasha could be at home right now—you know, home home—lounging outside his cottage with tea and pastries on the little table that he's set out. The warm cinnamon that wafts from the typically sterile room they've assigned for pressers smells divine, for lack of a better word. It smells indulgent. Because Sasha can't have those homely pastries all the time, what, with his training regiment.

It's why he doesn't quite believe it that Matthew's the one that's the centre of it all. He's absolutely convinced he's hallucinating because the season is about to start and he's had to cut back on all his favourite sweets as much as it pains him to but for the betterment of the team? He'd do anything. And yet despite the way he rubs at his nose to at least try to clear it, he smells that cinnamon. That cinnamon that's definitely coming from new omega they traded over who's laughing so obnoxiously at the lectern they have set up that if his scent didn't catch your attention, his loud mannerisms certainly did. His voice is practically bouncing off the walls in big loud echoes that should hurt Sasha’s ears. Emphasis on should. As it is he finds his heart melting more than it should instead.

It's been quite a long time since someone's scent has moved him this much. All the people that have, have been in his life for so long he's forgotten what it's like to feel instant scent compatibility. His nostrils are flaring and he's trying his best not to open his mouth to huff in big gulps of it because it's rather impolite to be so obviously scenting the new guy. It could be misconstrued as Sasha taking offence to the new presence in the room.

Some part of his brain is still trying to catch up to the idea that Matthew even smells at all because the first time he met him (down here for some joint offseason ice-time) he didn't particularly smell like much, if at all really. Whether it's because he put on blockers to not intrude on pack territory until he smelled more like them, or he was still on suppressants even in the summer, Sasha wasn't sure and he definitely wasn't going to ask about it.

Known him for 10 years? He feels like he's known him his whole life. But 10's a safe number, 10's a number that won't scare off this new omega, right? 10's a number that conveys "As Captain I want this to work out, I'm opening up my pack for you, I won't shun you, you're welcome here," and not "If I stick my nose in your neck right now to scent you, they're gonna have to forcibly evict me from the new home I've found in you, and it's not gonna be a pretty outcome."

It's also why he's a little nervous when Media Day is over because despite how much it dragged along in years past it practically blitzed by and now Sasha has to—

You know, properly scent the new addition. Give them the purring acceptance of their Pack leader's scent to carry with them. And it's nothing big, it's just some chaste wrist rubbing... something subtle and not too overwhelming for everyone: the pack, and the newcomer alike. It's not like Sasha is going to mouth at Matthew's neck glands. He doesn't think he can even handle that right now but that's a problem for future Sasha—for when Matthew is really part of the pack and not like a goldfish in a plastic bag being dunked into an aquarium to get used to the water temperature. He just has to rub his wrist against his, it's like basic Alpha etiquette. It'll be fine, mostly. He hopes.

And it's as anticlimactic as he thought it'd be: gentle reintroductions and reignited chatter of excitement about the new season that's about to start... maybe just with the new lingering scent of sweet and spice in the background as if someone lit up a candle without Sasha even noticing it. It's a struggle to keep his eyes from closing from how heavy they feel, from how relaxed he feels in the presence of this new omega he knows has pissed him off on several occasions as composed as he was about it.

Matthew presents his wrist in a flourish successfully managing to divert his attention back to what they're supposed to be doing all alone like this in the dressing room like this, "I'm sure you've been dying to do this huh, Cap?"

Sweat starts to break out at the back of his neck. He knows? Sasha doesn't think he's been sending off any signals that could've hinted otherwise but Sasha admits that he's well out of practise, he hasn't had to reign in his scent this much in such a long time, and maybe Matthew picked up his weird fixation—

Matthew waggles his eyebrows for extra effect an offbeat later when the joke doesn't seem to land the way he wanted it to.

Oh, thank Christ, he's just teasing him. It's a joke. He doesn't actually mean it in the way Sasha thought he meant.

"Yes. Yes, I have," Sasha chuckles in relief, shaking his head at Matthew's attempt to lighten the mood.

"10 years, or so I've heard, bud."

"You heard? Uh, listened to the..." he trails off.

"Kinda hard not to when the setup made it sound like you were in the middle of the Earth, my guy. I don't think my ears are ever gonna recover from that."

"It's the first day for everyone," Sasha lightly chastises, not particularly aggrieved at all but wanting to keep up the banter to stall for time, so he can prepare himself. Quite honestly he feels like travelled back in time to the young anxious Alpha he was breaking out into the league for the first time.

"Be gentle, I bruise easily."

"Right, gentle. I'll treat you better than my clothes on the delicate cycle."

"Is that supposed to be a line?" Matthew says in glee, his voice pitching into incredulity.

"Line like fishing?"

"Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about! You've been in this country long enough to pick up on that!"

"Yes, yes, that."

Matthew shoves at his shoulder playfully. "Just go on and do the thing already."

"Doing the thing."

Matthew snorts but his wrist is limp in Sasha’s hold. And as much as it was a dumb joke he does feel delicate between his fingers like that. So delicate that when he rubs his own wrist against his—to transfer over their pack scent—he feels like he's going to break it if he holds onto it for too long. It's why he drops it as quick as he took it, hands scrambling to his sides in an effort to remain polite but also to get a handle on himself so his pheromones don't go haywire with the new stimulus. It's a bit of a losing battle because he knows his scent just. But he can play it off as the excitement of an Alpha being able to claim another member to his pack, it's a possessive kind of thing.

"Well, see you around! Call it a hunch but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other." And the joke wasn't funny the first time, truly the equivalent of leaning on the office fax machine and going "You come here often?" to your coworkers who just want to get their work done—and just as sleazy too with the greasy grin Matthew has permanently stuck to his face but Sasha still laughs like he did the first time he heard it.

And it's only now that Matthew is gone that Sasha realises the room smells strongly of cinnamon, so potent that anyone with a working nose would be able to tell that. Like Matthew was doing his best to ease Sasha’s obvious nerves when Sasha should've been the one to calm the omega who's been uprooted from their own pack and thrown into a completely new environment, himself.

"Jesus, it reeks in here. Smells like cinnamon," Aaron wrinkles his nose, wandering back in after his own media duties were done, finding Sasha all alone in the locker rooms.

"It does?" Like he can't tell the room smells like the equivalent of someone knocking over a Yankee Candle into an open fire.

"Yeah, like an awful lot." Aaron scrunching up his nose, trying to fight off an incoming sneeze. "It's strong," he says without thinking, swallows before his eyes shift over to Sasha and then to the floor, "Not bad just... strong..." The I can get used to it is left unspoken between them.

"I like it," Sasha admits because if Aaron is confessing to things without thinking then he might as well too. They've known each other long enough.

"I can tell." Aaron snorts, "You reek too."

Sasha lets out a questioning little noise, tilts his head to the side as he silently urges Aaron to continue.

"You have no idea what cinnamon and cardamom smell like together, do you? I feel like I walked into a bakery when I should be at the gym right now."

"Is that bad?"

"For you? No, of course not," Aaron's eyes soften, and while his scent wasn't anywhere close to abrasive, it does lighten up just a tad bit in the presence of his pack Alpha. "For me? I'd rather dunk my head in a bucket of coffee beans." A bit of an exaggeration on Aaron's part but the wry grin he has on really adds to the fact he's just joking—just a little, maybe there's some truth hidden in there. He knows how Aaron is, the way he tries to downplay anytime he bristles about something. Peace and vibes, and all that.

So Sasha can joke as well, "Forsy's stall is over there," and motions his head towards it across the room.

"Oh, hilarious."

"If I was funny I would say jock."

"You know, what? I think I will hit the gym today, thanks for reminding me."

"Mmm, anytime." And when Aaron's half out the door he adds, "Ask the staff where they put the jerseys we used today!"

"I'm going! To the gym!" he echoes back, not bothering to turn around as he shuffles down the hall in a hurry, and decidedly not going in the direction of the gym. It's not surprising when he hears chatter pick up and shoes scuffing briskly into the direction of the laundry rooms.

[ragnarokhound]

I’ve already left a comment on intricate rituals, but I just realized I forgot an important part. Having experience with toys but not other people is such a fun solution. My fave. Yes he can take it (yes you will be the first). The possessiveness of it all!!

But also from author’s perspective being like. Nah I don’t wanna deal with That. Absolutely valid <3

-🦇🐺

wAUGH THANK YOU!! <33

frank discussion about sex & the porny bits of my fic that got. really long somehow? below:

Hehehe yes - when I was writing, I hadn't necessarily intended that to be read as 'Tim's never bottomed before', but I realized belatedly that even if he's bottomed in the past, he certainly hasn't ever bottomed for an alpha >:3c

a lot of Jason's 'we don't have to, babe 🥺' came from anxiety about pushing for too much too fast as much as it came from the practical sentiment of 'knots are a lot to handle when ur body isn't made to take them' lmao

(because, well. look at his behavior for the entire fic, the boy spent six months gently boiling the frog of their relationship. the kind of wretched anxiety that spawns that behavior doesn't go away after one lousy love confession OTL TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE)

And Jason's been all up in Tim's business, so he KNOWS Tim hasn't been having a lot of sex because uh. He'd be able to smell it for one fjdslafjs and Tim would probably tell him about it for two fdjlafjk they talk about everything ugh they're soooo married in this fic it's disgusting lol

but like! Tim's never been with an alpha before!! of course he's never taken a real knot!! Jason would be the first OwO And it was one more way to shove another possessive omegaverse trope about Jason being jealous over Tim without it actually being awful fufufu

Hearing that Tim would be able to take his knot gave Jason extreme whiplash from 'wait what, how would you know that, who's been touCHING YOU' to 'holy fuck you've been prepping yourself? for me? that's so hot' and I am very here for any opportunity to indulge in possessive tropes with mostly just sexy consequences, especially with these two ;)

On another note, I genuinely think toys are great for testing out what you like, without fear of judgement and without worrying about 'doing well' or whatever. You can focus on yourself! You can see what works for you! You can discover your size kink-

- or lack thereof without it being tangled in complicated feelings or anxieties.

I looove the image of control freak Timothy Drake figuring himself out with toys once he knows that's an option (though imo he also doesn't give a fuck about what other people think enough that he'd be fine exploring with another person djslfa but i digress) and I love the image of control freak Timothy Drake wanting to experiment specifically with his partners to figure out all the ways they experience pleasure @_@ he wants to know how they're compatible, and he wants to know what makes them tick!!

*COUGH* anyway thank you!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the fic, and that you enjoyed that part specifically <33!!

[conkers-thecosy]

I am so blessed 💛

[blooisasleep]

a tribute to A Breach of Trust by @phantomrose96

ritsu's whole role in the fic breaks my heart again and again, and the whole story itself is SO GOOD, if you like angst and haven't already read it, you absolutely should

a few of the frames from this i really like under the cut

[conanssummerchild]

now that im getting deep into my community hyperfixtation i dont wanna lose my byler hyperfixtation but just in case i do i wanna express my deep appreciation for byler and the fandom, i'd never felt like a part of anything before but even tho it's gotten toxic at times the byler fandom gave me a place to be silly and myself and it meant everything to someone who always felt alone and different, it gave me a sense of community (no pun intended 😭)

and i mean byler literally saved my life, i was going through one of the worst times of my life the past two years and byler pulled me through it, it was all i had, i cant tell you how many times putting mike wheeler in my situation made me feel better about it, because i imagined that he at least had will byers holding his hand. i also used to promise myself that i wouldnt kill myself until season five came out, and yeah thats not um the best i guess but it was the only thing i felt i still had left to live for

and now ive started to heal, ive found other reasons to live, ive found my irl will byers and though days are still hard as fuck its not like it was before and i know ive made it this far because my own hard work on myself but i still wouldnt have made it to here if i hadnt had something safe to cling to, an anchor in a storm if you will, and for me that was stranger things and byler, so yeah :)