#but ill see ig. ill try both ways.

[kerizaret]

keri i did not get any ohe cards in 150 pulls....... guess who's going to tier with a 2* emu as a leader...

WAAAH THAT SUCKS SO BADD :(( IM SO SORRY.. ITS SO ANNOYING... IK WHAT YOU MEAN...

Good luck tho soldier I believe in you 🫡

[birdricks]

getting sooooo emotional abt how like. when rick and bp meet again during the federation stuff its like theyre completely different ppl from who they were when they last saw each other. but it almost makes them become closer instead of driving them apart… until of course their values clash in the worst possible way

[inniave]

so fucking sick of the constant misgendering. it's exhausting. even from fellow queer people??????? who know me?????????? HELLO?????????????

[toytulini]

i may not be able to open posts from my notes or messages or get more context on posts via looking at the notes, but at least i can make fucked up coffee properly now

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[snekdood]

I for one enjoy creating things i feel proud of and dont want to have to go back and work on again 3738393873 years in the future

[sanjisblackasswife]

Things You Did Unintentionally That Turned Them On (NSFW-ISH)

Guess who was on reddit againnn…ill do part 2 soon

Ft. Sanji, Luffy. Zoro

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Mentions of Sex, Reader can speak another Language, Uhhh crack ig

Sanji

One time you were with Sanji on the deck chilling sharing a cookbook to read, he wasnt smoking so you were closer than usual and noticed his breath smelled like peppermint, so you told him he smelled nice making him swiftly grin and stick out his tongue to show the chewed gum. For no particular reason you hum and take the gum out of his mouth with your tongue in a heated kiss. To this day, Sanji doesn’t remember what happened between then and when you both woke up on his bed naked and sweaty.

You and Sanji were making out on the couch in his room and sanii being sanji wasnt as rough with his touch as you desired so you pulled him on top of you, looking him dead in the eyes and said “Sanji, stop being a fucking gentleman and kiss me like you mean it.” You stirred up an unknown fire in this man.

Zoro

You insisted to try roleplay once; you were a paid prostitute and you and Zo was going to have sex in a hotel when yall landed on an island. So the night comes and he plays the part relatively well if you ignore his stutters and blushes seeing you in nothing but thin fabric under ur trench coat. Once it gets hot and heated Zoro forgets about the roleplay but you dont, he does his usual grabbing you neck to kiss you but you push him back on the bed with your finger on his panting lips and say “Uh uh Roronoa…you didnt pay extra for kissing of the merchandise.” His eyes widened and pants got tight at your way of staying in character and in turn it was one of the best sex you both have ever had to date.

You once pressed your body against his when the ship shifted harshly. He know you didnt mean it but your hand landed right on his lower stomach and grazed it so softly he stiffened and he couldnt help but to move you closer. It’s embarrassing for him to think about but your soft hands on his bare exposed body made him want to feel you more that day.

Luffy

Luffy never knew you could speak another language, he didnt really care despite your heavy accent, but it wasnt until you were a bit tispy and swung yourself around on your boyfriend’s shoulder and slur in his ear “Paaaappiiiii i missed you.” In an instant Luffy’s smile faded and he looked at you. “What did you say?” And upon this discovery He makes you repeat that name. All. Night. Long.

You once licked his belly button all the way up his neck. Okay this wasn’t supposed to be too sexual, but you guys were playing truth or dare and Vivi dared you to lick some some whipped cream off of him and Luffy was excited and giggly, to then flustered and giggly seeing you on top of him not breaking eye contact and licking the whipped cream in one fell swoop. It turned Luffy on so much that later that night he came in your room with more whipped cream smiling, “Its your turn now!”

[angelismmm]

omg can i req x-rated: the queen, blade with 7 and 10(?) its fine if u can only do one of those 👍👍 take as much time as u need to write huhu 🫶🫶

— i deleted my progress on this like 5 times, thne i went to sleep HELP

☆ warnings. nsfw, sex, all that stuff, fluff and smut at the same time, breeding kink (always n forever), bdsm, hickeys, choking

You look so adorable with my hands around your neck. You know we're more than just friends with benefits, you know that. — headcannons on blade being into bdsm ig idk

definitely likes to choke you during sex. the bruise it leaves when he lets go turns him on, like super on. it's not like he wants you to get hurt, but when he sees the bruises or marks he put on you and you can't help but just take it all in makes him feel so good.

probably you both got on the stellaron hunter business together, meeting either as kids and been with each other since or, well, meeting in early adulthood. I doubt that he went to college or what, but he probably just met you at work too. then you both worked it up from there

had an insanely hard amount of time trying to get to know you as a person honestly, and while on a mission, you both just got so tired of competing with each other in silence, why not work together?

basically you guys had hate sex for no reason, that's it, and no one else but you two know about it. the way he breeds your hole should only be to his knowing. and that's how he's done it. but slowly he's started to be more publicly affectionate, and almost barking at anyone that flirted with you.

he just.. wants people to know you are not up for dating of any kind. but it's not like you guys were the one dating.. right?

jealous asf when he sees someone else makes you laugh, and fucks his frutration out on you when you both are in private.

but he knows you don't like it either when he's acting up with someone else, only you should make him feel like that, and letting him work so easily in and out of your hole is a good way to say you're mine!

he loves choking, like seeing you in pain isn't really what he prefers, but when he's the reason to cause that pain, and hearing your little whimpers when they're touched or what? damn!! do you wanna see mini carbon copies of him or what???

likes to see when someone notices the bruises around your neck from last night, because you were just so adorable with his hands around your pretty neck!

you both actually liked each other, but treated each other like just another one night stand, like no ❌❌ dont say that ❌❌ like you bth are in denial till he gotta say somthimg ☹️‼️

during sex, probably after filling up your hole w his warm cum n stuff, he'll finally say; "we are more than just friends with benefits, you know that."

and indeed you do, you both start going officially out together, starting at a little coffee shop. somewhere far and away from everything else.

as he worked so sloppily and messily in and out of your hole, he couldn't help but utter the words "we're more than just friends with benefits, you know that." your eager nods were enough for him to finally finish, feeling all his warming cum shoot up inside you. slowly you felt his cock go soft inside you, looking back to his gaze, "gotta make sure it sticks, babe."

im mentally ill 😘😘😘‼️

⟢ ⁺ ﹒ ₊ TAGLiST ◌ !!

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[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

4-5 I have been having a lot of thoughts about the franchise lately, tbh, mainly in line with

"Where is the leftist activism in their universe?"

"Where are the disability advocates talking about how people are dehumanizing people with mutations, or how all adaptation is s double sided coin or how being socially disabled is still a disability"

"Where is the Autistic mutant alliance?"

"Where is the Queers for mutant rights advocacy groups?"

"Where's the intersex mutant alliance groups?"

"Where are the people pointing out that the x gene is by far not the only human mutation that causes both symptoms and sometimes different abilities, and that maybe these are not issues we can separate?"

"Where are the people trying to point out that framing it as mutant vs human instead of human vs human is like when we let them start calling anti-fascism 'antifa' to sound scary?"

We always see either mobs coded as republican and American Christians of the worst sort or hate groups to the far right, but does leftism not exist in their universe, we hardly ever see a non mutant individual speak out publicly in their favour at all. I know the left is full of infighting and mutants would make terf's heads explode, but like... Where is the intersectionality?

And Magneto... My biggest gripe with him is how he never mentions the disabled or queer in the same breath as mutants, and it comes across like mutations with powers are the only ones he cares about... It comes off like eugenics which I feel like super would not realistically be his bit.

I have so many... Notes. Especially about a modern 2024 take on the x-men...

So like yeah I am invested in the franchise to a fairly high degree, but a lot of it is demanding they get better cooks. I am attached to these characters now and I want to see them written better.

You were never going to be palatable to the political right, unless they lack all media literacy at all. Stop tiptoeing.

Before kicking off a project I want to gauge what the heat will be like here so do me a favor and answer honestly on a scale of 1 (complete apathy) to 5 (devout enthusiasm):

[patchiko]

Imagine if, to save on the water bill/ they're just tired/etc, Jason (AK or comic really) and his S/o take an innocent shower together for the first time, yet the entire time Jason's trying his hardest to stay respectful and not stare, but at the same time wants to admire his S/o because he just loves how much they look. And possibly gets the shampoo in his eyes while distracted.

bear with me as ive been sick since wednesday and ive been writing this throughout my sick days. #fighting4mylife

Showering with Ak!Jason (SFW FIC)

ig their naked but its not ak!jay being horny just like in love so maybe nsfw nothing sexual happens mostly indirect tension soo??😭😭 ((tw: writing might suck))

JASON came home a little early from a bar. He went there for information on Penguins weapon deals. Jason would say something like, ‘it got a little messy,’ but a little messy to Jason was being covered in mud, blood, and clothes drenched from the rain that started on his way back. It was around 12 AM when he came back way earlier then his usual so you were hoping in the shower getting ready to go to sleep, not expecting him. You two saw each other just as you were walking into the bathroom.

“You look like shit—“ You turned your head into the bathroom so he couldn’t see your face; trying to bite back a cackle because of the words that slipped from your mouth,, “—I mean you can go first.” you looked back over at him,

“Well aren’t you the sweetest thing.“ He started taking off his gloves. “Go ahead.” He huffed.

“No seriously its fine, ill grab you a towel-“

“— The more you talk the longer it takes for the both of us.” He sighed, pulling off his jacket and folding it in a neat little square.

“Right, sorry.” You turn into the bathroom and pause. It was pretty obvious he was tired and wanted to get comfier then his muddied clothes let him; Thats when the thought hit you. “Unless.” You felt your face burn. You weren’t sure if Jason be comfortable with it, but it wasn’t sexual and it’d save you money from your water bill.

“Unless?” Jason questioned flatly, his back was turned to you and he was taking off his bloodied boots.

You slowly turned towards him, “You’d like to.. join me.” you had tried to sound as casual as possible. He paused completely, only getting half of his boot off before freezing. He looked back at you, like he wasn’t sure if he heard you properly. “LIKE—“ You raised your voice a little too loud on accident,”—Like, not like, you know. THAT. But like.” he took off his boot and started walking over to you as you rambled about how you didn’t mean it sexually it’d just be easier n’ y’know obviously he didn’t have to— You didn’t even notice the brick wall of a man making its way over to you until Jason stood in front of you.

”Yeah. Sure.” He replied flatly, your eyes meet his face, he was staring at your face completely stone cold. Maybe if you didn’t turn around to move to the door handle, maybe, just maybe you would’ve seen how his cheeks and ears were lightly dusted with red. But you didn’t.

You awkwardly shuffled to the side to let him in, closing the door behind you two. Back facing each other as you two undressed, you weren’t wearing a full outfit so you took everything off faster then him, yikes, awkward. You didnt wanna just stand there so you slipped past him with your head down at the floor to get the shower water running. Running your hand through the burning water just to push away the sound of him unbuckling his belt in the deepest part of your mind. “Uh, first-aid under the, uhm, fuckin- sink.” You stammered, still facing the shower waiting for the water to now cool down.

“You can get in first, i’ll patch myself up.” You did a little thumbs up behind your back, as if he saw, and made your way in, closing the curtain behind you. But he was totally lying. He should’ve patched himself up after you two had gotten out so he didn’t worry about anything washing into his cleaned wounds. But he needed to buy himself time to calm his nerves. You were so fuckin’ pretty, your skin brushed his as you passed him earlier and—its crazy how the Red Hood is single-handedly fighting for his life more now then when he was dealing with twelve grown men earlier.

After taking a purposeful three minutes longer then his usual, he stands up. He almost backs out as soon as he reaches for the shower curtains, he inhales then exhales, brushing his finger tips against the thin veil of cloth that just separates you two. “I’m, uh,-“ his voice cracks “-comin in now..”

“Hold on,” You quickly stepped out of the water stream, and leaned onto the back wall of the shower. “Alright, front of the shower where like, the, uh- water is, is all yours.” Jason cleared his voice just before he stepped in, being sure to keep his back turned to you. He let the water run over his marred skin, trying to ignore every scar on his back burning. After letting the water wash off the pieces of dirt that it could, or him finally succumbing to the sensation of getting the soap to scrub at his mangled flesh;

Jason turned his head to grab the soap— FUCK, he whipped his head back around into the showers stream. Scrubbing his face to try to wash the burning image of you out of his mind. The mixture of water and light highlighting your skin like an portrait. You’re staring down towards your feet playing with the water droplets on your crossed arms- fuck he needed to stop thinking about it. Jason pulled his head out of the water, croaking out ”Soap.” Yes, yes, wise words I know.

The next thing he knew, right by his shoulder was your hand holding out the soap. “Here, hope I’m holding it in the right spot.” You softly chuckled to yourself. He turned enough to see you covering your eyes with your other hand out of his peripheral vision. God he needed to stop looking. He took it from you and skimmed his face against the water before he grunted out a thanks.

He was questioning himself as he washed his blemished skin. He wasn’t a creep, he wasn’t staring at you because it was sexual. So what was he doing? What was this feeling? Why did he want to look at you anyways? Why did it remind him of the way he looks at marble statues? Was it because of the way your fingers dented your arms skin while you glide water droplets along your skin? Was it the way your head slightly tilted? Was it the was your body was effortlessly posed? Like you knew, like you were ready for every detail of your body was going to be eternalized into marble? Was it because of the urge to trace every part of your skin? Maybe to just get a feeling of what your sculptor felt? Was he being a fuckin creep?

He wasn’t sure, something he suddenly did become sure of was the fact you were probably cold as shit and he needed to hurry the fuck up.

guys idk how to feel abt this fic tbh

rq / inbox is closed

sorry i got like 12 i needa get done

[avengersassemble123]

Gift of remembrance

Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x reader (Bonten arc - slight spoilers ahead)

Genre: Fluff, Heartwarming, (Bonten Sanzu behaviour ig)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Im also planning to gift him the video game he had always wanted and maybe hold a surprise date night for him." Your best friend explained, as she talked about surprising her husband on their anniversary. "Aww (y/bf), thats so sweet. I'm sure your husband would love it." you complimented as we chatted and hung out for a while.

By evening you had returned home as you made way into the bathroom to get freshened up. You then changed into a new pair of clothes, as you went into the kitchen to reheat the food, when you heard your house's door open, signalling your significant other's arrival.

"I'm home." You heard your boyfriend speak, before some amount of shuffling and some moments of silence, before you felt arms wrap around your waist, "Hey baby." you acknowledged as Sanzu buried his face into your neck, as his muffled voice spoke, "Hey babe, missed you" You chuckled, as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grip, "Had a long day? Go take a shower and tell me about it because you stink of sweat and i just freshened up."

"What if i don't want to?"

"Ill drag you there myself."

"Aww you're no fun, you wound me baby"

You rolled your eyes before pushing him towards you two's room, as he cackled on his way. After he freshened up, you both sat on the living room couch with your dinner, talking about each other's day and today's gossips from both of yours' workplaces, before the topic of your best friend came up.

"-and that's how she plans to surprise him."You finished explaining, as you finish off your food with the last bite, while your boyfriend listened patiently, before a sly grin appeared on his face,

"Well I've done a lot of romantic things for you. How come you've never done anything romantic for me?" Sanzu asked teasingly, poking your waist.

"'i do." You defended, as you whined dramatically.

"Oh yea? Name one."

" I can name a few-"

"Sex doesn't count."

"Oh"

You visible deflated, as you squinted your eyes, thinking what romantic thing have you done for him.

"Well what about the bed and breakfast you had in the beach house you rented from Rindou?"

"Well, technically i took you there, all you did-"

"Yea i know what i did." I stopped him mid sentence, as i slightly felt my face warm, but realising it was not exactly a romantic gesture without 'engagement of bodies'.

"I bet Rindou had to throw out that rocking chair." Sanzu snorted, giggling shamelessly, while you kicked him slightly, embarrassed.

"Hey I can be romantic when i want to." You defended.

"Fine." Sanzu shrugged, "But also not true" Sanzu retorted, teasing you slightly, making you roll your eyes.

"Okay, just you wait and see. I will romance your freaking ass off." you challenged, while Sanzu snorted.

"Hmm, i wonder how a baby like you would actually manage to romance a high profile yakuza member like your sexy partner." Sanzu bullied you, as he got up the couch to wash his plate in the sink, while you gave him the middle finger.

---------

"Well i know its unlikely for me to call you, but thank you so much for taking some time off from your schedule and coming over." You said, as you invited your guest over into the house.

"Well you called the right person fortunately, plus its a real surprise when a person like you is trying to 'seduce' a freak of a being like Sanzu." Kokonoi explained, as he walked in and invited himself over your couch.

"Ok so I've been really struggling with this, and you are the only closest person i know who knows Sanzu well, and has somewhat of an idea on the choices of gifts, than the rest of my options. You know what i mean." I said, as Kokonoi stoically nodded, as he seated himself on the couch, crossing his legs, his arms over it, holding one phone. He brushed his white hair back before continuing,

"Well the quickest way to a man's heart like Sanzu's is thr-"

"Pants. But Sanzu said sex doesn't count." I answered, as i got glasses of wine for both of us.

Kokonoi, looked at you blinking, his lips pursed, before taking a glass from your hand, "Aww you poor thing. You had one arrow in your quiver and you just can't use it." He nodded his head in understanding, while you replied back with a deflated nod.

"Well how about trying to cook something for him?" Well, its kind of hard for both of us to be present at home itself most of the time due to our works, and i wanted to do something different."

Kokonoi breathed out a deep sigh, "If this was some ordinary person, either this would've been easy to give advises, or i wouldn't have bothered showing up in the first place. But this is Sanzu, we are talking about. Nothing is normal with him, making me still hard to imagine that you managed to end up with him of all the people available in the whole of Japan, let alone the world. " Kokonoi sipped the wine, before continuing, "And i also want to see how this surprise and Sanzu's reaction turns out, and if the 'rapid dog' himself is capable of expressing emotions other than for our boss"

"Kokonoi.." i spoke out his name, making him raise his hands in surrender, "No offense sweetie. Anyways back to the topic."

"(NAME), if you truly want to be romantic, then this stuff need to come from withing you."

"I know, but its just so hard, I don't know why."

"I guess its probably because you never had to do this stuff because you're young and beautiful, and men, including Sanzu, must've thrown themselves at you." Kokonoi replied.

You pursed my lips, nodding in understanding before speaking up, "Yea I'm trying to feel sad about it, but i just can't."

"Thought so." Kokonoi rubbed his fingers at the bridge of his nose, "I can see why you two go well together."

---------

You and Sanzu were having a candle light dinner at your place itself, as you both chatted. "Have to say, i didn't expect you to manage this surprise without me knowing. And its coming from you of all people" Sanzu teased.

"Well, only learned from the best, and of course, i didn't forget my promise." You replied back.

As you both finished your dinner, you pointed your fork at him, "Alright Mr. Haruchiyo. Get ready because a crap storm of romance is coming your way."

Haruchiyo dramatically gasped, as he held his chest by one hand, "More romance? Stop it, you're gonna make me cry, sweet cheeks."

You stood up, as you smiled slyly, before walking towards the counter, picking up a small weaved basked.

"Sanzu smirked, as laid back on the chair, man spreading, his one hand on the table, while the other holding his face, rubbing his chin, squinting his eyes at you amused. "You seem pretty confident."

"Oh I am."

You then started dropping rose petals from the basket to the floor, making a path, "Maybe if you'll follow this trail, you'll know why."

"Ohh rose petals. Well now I'm just more excited for my girl's surprise." Sanzu said, whistling, slightly impressed, as he stood up and started following you.

As you led him towards both yours bedroom, he was met with a candle lit decorated room, "Wow baby, you really are pulling all the strings today."

You then set down the basket before picking up the wrapped gift placed on the bed, before gesturing it towards him, "Ok so i gave this a lot of thought, and i found something that might show you how much I love you."

Sanzu took the gift from your hands, before tearing the wrapper off and seeing the content inside it. His eyebrows slightly furrowed for a second before returning back normal, "Oh wow.."

"Its the ring which you had been eyeing for a while when you had spotted it randomly while you were out on a mission, and had told me about it that day, and i know how you like these kind of stuff, so i just thought maybe i could gift you something like this." You said with a smile, while you waited excitedly for his reaction.

Sanzu raised his eyebrows as he nodded and opened his mouth for a few seconds, before looking at you and giving you a smile, "I-its great. Thank you baby." He said, as kept on smiling, and looking at his gift.

You looked at him with confusion, as you had known him long enough to know something was wrong with his reaction. Even if Sanzu was Bonten's No.2, only few people could figure him out enough, if not all, and that included his boss Mikey, his brother Takeomi, and now you. His reaction could fool anyone, but you had dated and known him long enough to know.

Your smile deflated, before your hands fell to your side, as your tone changed, "What?"

"Nothing. I love it sweet cheeks." Sanzu said, as he held the gift in his one hand, while he wrapped his other hand around your waist, his face nearing yours, as he gave you a seductive smile. But you knew him better.

"No. Something's going on." You said, as you looked towards the gift, "Whats wrong with it. I remember you saying how you liked the ring when you had spotted your target wearing it, and that it would look better on you."

"You're right. I did say that. And here I am loving it. Especially since its a gift from you." Sanzu replied, not wavering from his stance and his usual demeanor, but then you felt him slightly furrow his eyebrows, pursing his lips, "...And that when i was returning to the headquarters a few weeks later, i spotted the same exact model in a jewellery shop...and i bought it."

You closed your eyes and faced the ceiling, groaning in frustration, as you let yourself out of his grasp and sitting on the bed dejectedly, "Oh my god...I'm the worst."

"Hey no baby, its really thoughtful." Sanzu said as he quickly set the gift beside and and reached towards you.

"No its not." You said, as you felt guilt fill you inside, "I mean, whats thoughtful is that everything you do for me." I said, my voice slightly quivering, as Sanzu sighed, as he knelt down on his knees, facing you, as he cupped your face with his one hand, while the other held your hand. "Its true baby, i did like your gift, and I'm glad that there is actually a person who cares for me like this in the whole world."

"No, its not better. Even if you work for such a dangerous organization, you still do things for me, while here I am, not even worth it, You know what, here-" You say as you stood up and went towards the closet, as Sanzu stood up.

You removed a box from your closet as you set it down on the bed, as you picked up one thing after the other. "Look here it is, here's the plane tickets you bought me when i was too poor to fly back home to visit my family, here's a necklace you got me before we were dating, and the rose you left in my windshield..just because-"

Sanzu looked at you, as you kept on ranting, as he stared between you and the box which contained all the gifts he had given you, even before and after dating.

"A-and here's the letter which you wrote me to confess your feelings after visiting me numerous times in the coffee shop i frequented regularly, all the pages of it."

Sanzu silently looked at you, too serious for his usual demeanor, matching the attitude he would have when he would be sober and in meetings with the bonten executives.

As you held and looked through the pages, Sanzu silently spoke up lowly, "I can't believe you saved all of this stuff.."

You looked up, as you looked at him in slight surprise, "Of course i did...Its you."

Sanzu stared at you for a few seconds, before reaching towards you and hugging you tightly, before kissing you lovingly, which you reciprocated with the same intensity, before breaking the kiss and hugging tightly.

"That is the most beautiful and thoughtful thing anyone has done for me, and it means a lot for me." Sanzu said, as he kissed your shoulders, still hugging you tightly while you chuckled.

You both stayed like this for a while, basking in each other's presence and warmth, before separating a while later.

Sanzu's eyes gazed at the box, a tint of smile on his scarred lips, before looking at an object in confusion, "Is that a pregnancy test?"

"Oh yea, just the first one. I didn't save them all." I shrugged, making Sanzu shrug in agreement, before diving for a kiss again, making you both fall onto the bed backwards.

[hearts4leeknow]

memories || Bangchan X Reader

Warning(s): none(?)

Genre: FLUFFFF

idol!Bangchan X pregnant!Reader

Summary: After lunch you find your beloved husband, Bangchan and child upstairs in your shared bedroom watching videos on their ipad along side Chan. You admire them standing in the door way until you see your kid look over to Chans phone in interest, Channie seems to notice and he starts explaining what hes looking at. You look at them in awe, it was such a cute moment you had to snap a photo. And so you did!! You and him knew he would be the perfect father, what he didn’t know was he would be a father of 2 in a few months.

!!LOWERCASE INTENDED!!

a/n: got the idea from some friends while they were commenting on my baby photos iwth my dad! (guys i was gonna make this a new years post but ig nvm)

“baby” chan hums hugging your waist

“yes?” you smile while you finish up washing the dishes.

“me and naomi (ur child’s name) will go up stairs” he mumbled quietly resting his head on your shoulder.

“okay! ill come up soon” you kissed him on the cheek.

you then heard naomi run up stairs with chan giggling trying to catch her. oh how you loved them. a while later you decide to go upstairs to join them. You took your time walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom, you grabbed your phone from the counter then entering the bedroom. Suddenly you stopped in your tracks when you saw naomi smiling while your beloved husband was talking about what he was doing at on his computer. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene happening in front of you. You were quick to open your phone snapping a photo as a memory, they looked adorable and you adored both of them oh so much. naomi was your first child and you had yet to tell chan you were carrying their second child. You were surprised he hadn’t notice your stomach grow in size, you were 1 month and you had found out 2 weeks ago.

“baby!” Chan exclaimed, with a bright smile pulling you out of your thoughts.

“mama, look at what daddy’s doing!!” naomi called you over, you walked over looking at chans laptop screen. He was making a song.

“wanna listen to it?” he pinched you cheek.

“I wanna!!” she jumped on the bed.

“sure” you giggled at naomi’s behaviour. bangchan then played the song, it was beautiful, so beautiful you teared up a little. when the demo of the song ended he had then mentioned it would be releasing in an upcoming straykids album.

“waah!! dadas song is so cool!! i wanna be like dada!!” naomi exclaimed obviously showing her enthusiasm for chans song.

“thank you omi” bangchan smiled giving a kiss on the cheek to your daughter. you were in awe about the moment unfolding in front of you, you also wondered if it was a good time to chan that naomi will soon be a big sister. suddenly you were pulled out of your thoughts when chan asked; “baby, whats up? i can tell you’re spacing out there” you contemplated for a second before responding.

“naomi is going to be a big sister soon” you had a faint smile staring into bangchans now widened eyes.

“actually?” chan gasped in disbelief.

“yes” you looked at him with the most loving eyes as his eyes started forming tears.

“mama why is dada crying?” naomi had asked with concern written all over her face.

“omi, baby, your going to be a big sister” chan gave a bright smile lightly holding naomi’s shoulders.

“really? mama is this true??” she asked you jumping up and down holding your arm.

“yes omi, it is” as soon as you told her that she jumped onto to you hugging your arm. this time. it was chans turn to watch in awe, he took out his phone and took a picture of the two of you laying down as naomi was hugging your arm. this was a memory he wanted to keep forever;

“channie come join, its a group hug!” you waved your hand inviting him to join the cuddles. bangchan hugged your waist and you played with his hair, at this moment you two knew this is what you both wanted, a happy and loving family of your own.

FIN !!

a/n: FINALLY THE FIC IS OUT enjoy bbys!!

[sungbeam]

SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW — act I, scene v

nonidol!hwang intak x f!reader

when summit poster boy hwang intak's car breaks down in the school parking lot, it sets off a chain of events that leads to you, someone he was perhaps always meant to find. the only problem is that the two of you are far from the ideal couple, and your peers are apt to keep that status quo.

▷ genre, chapter warnings. s2f2l, classism and discrimination, forbidden romance au, minimal swearing, angst, humor, mentions of grief and terminal illness, written in third person pov

▷ word count. 2.8k

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a/n: whenever i come back to this series, i remember how hard it is to write it

SUMMER (RISING SENIORS).

Yn had not sent a picture back to Intak. In fact, she hadn't even opened his messages. Intak couldn't decide which was worse—being left on "read" or on "delivered." Both were equally quite horrible, but as the day went on with radio silence from her end, he continuously had to remind himself that she had responsibilities and a life. She couldn't be at his beck and call, and she certainly wouldn't ever entertain the idea of being so.

But one little text would have eased his mind. Just one, little text.

Intak flopped onto the couch in the living room of his house, the entirety of which remained just as cold and empty as it always was. In a way, the quiet was good because it meant that his father wasn't home, taking with him that thick, haunting presence of his. Intak sometimes imagined that he walked around with a massive cloud of fog clinging to his legs and feet, and that image had engraved itself into his head since he was an adolescent, more so now that his father's murky fog would soon consume Intak in all of those heavy expectations.

He lifted his phone up to catch a glimpse of the time. He would have to leave for that one dance class soon, the one that he and his friends had signed up for together to occupy themselves during the summer. If Intak wasn't forced to take over the company after his schooling, he would be dancing, or maybe even reading shit, like proper literature, and writing poetry about dead older brothers and forbidden friendships with strangers who felt closer to him than his own family.

He was tempted to text Yn just to check in. Something like 'hey bff i'm bored as hell and sad as fuck hbu' or 'miss u and worried about u text me back?' or god forbid, 'i've been trying to imagine what u look like but i have a feeling a picture won't do u justice.' God, he really needed to stop watching those cursed romcoms when he was bor—

Bzzzzz. Bzzz. Bzzzz.

Intak leapt out of his skin in surprise.

He reached into his pants pocket to withdraw Jaehyuk's phone. The notifications from Yn came in rapid succession at the top of the screen:

yer a wizard yn!: sorry i went mia for like a day

yer a wizard yn!: smth came up

yer a wizard yn!: cute pic btw :') ig i owe u a pfp too

yer a wizard yn!: *sent a photo*

Intak held his breath, then forced himself to turn away from the phone screen. Was he ready for this? Was he ready for her reveal? This felt like an invasion of privacy, especially with how carefully she kept her identity hidden the first few weeks they'd been texting each other. It hadn't been until recently that Yn had begun to let him learn things about her.

It wasn't like he forced her though… right? It was out of her own want and will. It was her choice and he—

He was going to fully indulge in that.

Intak finally opened up the full chat to view the messages she'd sent.

And lo and behold, there she was. It was a casual selfie, seeming to be taken in front of a window by the way the sun shone over her face in a gold-colored glow. She wore a dark T-shirt with a logo Intak couldn’t quite make out from the way her arms and hair were positioned. In fact, he could only see about half of her face from the way she hid the lower half behind her pulled-up knees. But her eyes crinkled enough that he could see that she was smiling.

The soft smile on his face was a stark contrast to the sharp palpitations of his heart in his chest. Before, he could never imagine the face he was speaking to across the phone—rather, it had always just been a person with blurred features. Now that he could put a face to the name, and the voice, and the character…

Intak saved the picture and set it as Yn’s contact photo. He wondered if he should have even been doing this since Jae didn’t even have a contact photo saved for her. (But now that she had sent it, it wasn’t like Intak was going to resist setting that photo as her contact, especially since it was an excuse to stare at it while he was texting her.)

jae’s phone: that photo is not fair that’s like… half ur face dude >://// /j

jae’s phone: but thank uuuuuuu i KNEW u were cute

He chewed on his bottom lip, quickly adding onto his previous texts since it seemed like Yn wasn’t going to reply back any time soon.

jae’s phone: ik ur the one who suggested swapping photos, but i hope u didn’t feel obligated to. ik u were never super comfortable w sharing personal info abt urself w me, but i’m genuinely really happy to get to know u better

jae’s phone: lol idk y that got kinda sappy ? but i hope everything’s good on ur end!!

jae’s phone: i’ve gotta go to a dance lesson rn tho so ttyl ynieee!!!!

Intak sighed as he forced himself to click out of his and Yn’s direct messages, and to haul his ass off the couch. He had, at multiple instances, contemplated why he felt so attached to Yn. Perhaps it was because she was so close to his brother and this truly was just his own kind of closure. Or it was something else, too.

Yn's eyes burned holes through the notifications that sat at the top of her phone screen. It had been several hours since Intak had sent them, and she knew exactly what they said. She'd even mentally written out and sent several replies, but never physically carried them out. She just couldn't bring herself to do it.

The heavy weight that had settled on her chest from a day ago still rested there. Usually, privileged shit Summit kids did to her and in front of her were annoying, but she'd learned to grow thick skin. She didn't know why this time affected her so poorly. Then again, the fact that neither Jongseob nor Shota had gotten over it could have contributed to her own mood, too.

Her brothers in arms had been quiet since then, barely speaking unless necessity prevailed. The shop had never been so quiet before, and even when customers and neighbors came by with a friendly word or joke, they would force a smile onto their faces or a laugh from their throats. She could hear the strain, the grudge and emotions tugging at the corners of their mouths.

"If I had the money…" Yn remembered hearing Jongseob muttering under his breath the night of the incident. She knew exactly what he was thinking then and there. All the bitterness in the negative space.

They'd all grown to have thick skin, but it was bound to crack at some point. They weren't made of steel, after all.

After a long, grueling day at the shop, Yn, Shota, and Jongseob returned to Yn's house to wash up for the evening. The walk home had been quiet, and she'd been itching to reach for her phone and finally open up Intak's messages…

She cleared her throat. "Go get cleaned up and meet me in the living room," she voiced aloud to the two of them as she unlocked the front door.

Jongseob grunted, "Why?"

"We're watching Clueless."

Shota let out a snort as Jongseob threw his head back in a loud groan. "You're shitting me. Any other movie than that one, Yn. We've watched that, like, fifteen times."

With her back still to them, she could let herself smile just a little. All she had been looking for was that reaction from him. "Okay, well, if you can be on the couch in fifteen minutes, then you can choose a different—"

She hadn't even finished what she was saying when the two of them bolted past her, exclaiming at each other as they raced for access to the closest bathroom. Yn laughed under her breath, nudging the door closed behind her with the toe of her shoe. She hadn't even been sure whether or not the two would stay here with her or not since they basically stayed shut up in the old extra bedroom instead of hanging out. Though they would have been in the house, it had sounded like no one else was home.

But now? Yn made her way into the kitchen to get dinner started. Hopefully she could get something on the stove by the time one of them hopped out of the shower. Knowing Jongseob though…

She estimated that it was about five minutes later that Jongseob's elephant stomps sounded down the hall, nearing the living room and kitchen at high speed. Seconds later, a blur of orange and white launched himself over the back of the couch. As she expected, it was Jongseob with that freshly showered glow, damp hair, and a white towel hanging around his shoulders.

Her amused gaze clashed with his, and though his face was pressed into a deadpan, she saw the glimmer in his irises. He told her, "We're watching Star Wars."

Yn grinned. "Deal's a deal, kid."

Right on cue, Shota came sliding into the living room with his dampened locks tied up and out of his face with a Hello Kitty hair tie he no doubt found in the drawers of the bathroom. She wondered how he found stuff like that, stuff that she had ditched so long ago when she was much younger. She raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m starting to think that neither of you actually use soap when you shower.”

“I’m productive when I’m given motive,” Shota replied, collapsing onto the couch next to Jongseob. She could already hear the tell-tale explosion of sound that was the Star Wars main theme.

It was several hours later when dinner was eaten, dishes were washed, and the lot of them were one and a half Star Wars movies in that Yn stared at her notifications again. Intak hadn't sent anything else since those last messages, and there was a distinct feeling of guilt stewing in the back of her brain. At this point, it overpowered any feelings of annoyance or bitterness from the other day's incident. It was always at evening hours when the overthinking started.

Intak had been good to her thus far, though, and it wasn't fair that she took out her annoyance on him. He had done nothing bad—a part of her countered with “yet.”

She could see the start of his messages: That photo's like half your face dude… I've got to go to a dance lesson though so…

It was all completely harmless, and yet, her heart pounded in her chest from not being able to fully read his reaction to her face reveal. Of course she cared what he thought. She chalked it up to the fact that Intak himself was a pretty face, and it was perfectly normal to be self conscious.

Yn raised her head for a moment when she caught a flash of quick movement from the TV, then felt a pair of eyes on her.

While Shota was curled up at the far end of the couch, Jongseob was seated next to her and saw who's messages sat at the top of her screen. The two of them connected gazes; he said nothing, showed nothing.

A different type of guilt rushed into her head.

Jongseob turned back to the screen, and she was back to square one.

The house was quiet by the time Yn tucked her friends beneath quilts on the couch. Her mom had come home sometime between Return of the Jedi and The Phantom Menace, then crashed immediately after disappearing into her room, leaving Yn to haunt the hallways of her house in the dark and silence by herself.

She perched on the edge of her bed with the light of her phone screen illuminating her face. There were those unread messages at the top of her screen again, yelling at her to just take a peak. There was no harm in seeing what he said—but there was. He would see the Read sign beneath his messages and think the worst.

With nothing else stopping her but her own thoughts, she tapped the notification.

The text chain opened up before her in full. There was nothing out of the ordinary, as she expected. He was just being his bright, sweet self here. Her lips pursed into a slight smile as she read over his sappy talk at the end; it was appreciated though.

But now it was a matter of replying.

He probably thought she was busy all day again, but the guilt of “punishing” him for something that people from his community did and not him personally was eating her up inside.

“Ahem.”

She stopped, eyes widening as her head shot up like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. A drowsy Jongseob stood in her doorway with his eyes at half-mast and his mouth widened in a yawn. Sometimes she forgot that her friend was still a kid—that they were all just kids. “Hey,” she whispered to him. “Did I wake you up or something?”

He shook his head and suddenly looked a lot more awake. “The text messages you got earlier,” he drawled, inclining his chin at her phone.

“Oh.” She glanced down at the screen, then back up at him. “Seob, I—”

“He's gonna hurt you, Yn.”

Her chest felt so hollow all of a sudden. What?

He folded his arms in front of himself, cupping his palms under his elbows. Jongseob's eyebrows furrowed together as if in thought or in an attempt to look firm. “He's gonna hurt you like Jae did.”

No, the hollow feeling was because her heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Everything felt like it was falling out from under her with that statement. Yn said slowly, gently, “Jongseob, Jae didn't mean to hurt us. He didn't mean to get sick. He couldn't control it, Seob. You know that that's not fair.”

Sometimes it was hard to not let the anger seep through into blame and misunderstanding. That was just the grief talking. When those thoughts resurfaced, it was just as difficult to deal with the resulting guilt of ever blaming them later on.

Losing someone was just devastating.

Jongseob sniffled though, and she backtracked on her previous thought. But this wasn't that, was it? “Yeah, well—it seems whether they do it on purpose or not, that's all they do up there: hurt people.”

Her mouth felt so dry then, so helplessly wordless. Her throat was just as voiceless. These kids—her friends—had gone through all that pain just as she had. She couldn't blame them most of the time because she knew where they were coming from.

Jongseob poked his tongue in his cheek. “I know you miss him.”

Yn's fingers curled around the edges of her phone, like she could hold onto whoever was on the other side.

“I miss him, too,” he said.

A stinging sensation erupted in the corners of her eyes and she reached up to staunch the tears like they were cuts, and they were bleeding.

“But no matter their intention, a ghost can only haunt,” he muttered. He let that thought simmer for a second before citing his source, “Got that one off of Pinterest.”

The last comment made a laugh sputter out of her mouth, wet but touched. She sniffled at the same time he did. “I was gonna say,” she said, her voice watery, “when'd you get so smart?”

“I've always been smart,” he scoffed. He exhaled, still lingering on the threshold before waddling over to where she was perched on the bed. Awkwardly, he brought his arms around her upper body and gently patted her back. “Is this helping?”

Yn wrapped her arms around him to reciprocate. “Yeah.”

“Thank god.”

A ghost can only haunt. Maybe it was how fast it had all happened that none of them really got proper closure or got to say goodbye. They would never get a chance to see him ever again, to tell him they felt something for him close to love, and enjoyed his company despite his being from the Summit. There was no chance they'd be invited to the funeral, and there was little possibility of ever visiting his grave. There were only memories and a phone number.

One day he was here, and the next… well the next, Yn was texting Intak. Was this history repeating itself, or would this ending turn into a new beginning entirely?

When they both pulled back from their embrace, Jongseob poked her cheek. “You know I never know what to do when you cry, right?”

She reached up to swipe her palm across her dampened cheeks. “Yeah. You did good, kid.”

That made the corners of his mouth curl up a bit. “I just don't want this guy to be another reason you cry.”

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[neuroticbookworm]

Another Thai BL, another Asian parent-child conflict that enrages the audience and yet, is extremely nuanced. I’m gonna try and speak on it as an Asian kid who grew up in the East, but currently lives in the West, carrying complicated feelings on the Asian parenting I received.

I’m seeing a good discourse in the tags from @lurkingshan, @respectthepetty, @bengiyo, @heretherebedork and @williamrikers, among others, on the hypocrisy of a dad who hit his son in anger and is now lecturing him on the importance of controlling one’s actions when angry. I agree with everyone that the dad is being a hypocritical piece of shit. But I do not think that this is a failure in the writing of the show. Quite the opposite, actually. Because of how Ten responds and acts in the face of this hypocrisy.

Ten comes across as belligerent and confrontational in every interaction he has had with his dad, but it is never uncalled for, and he never seeks it out himself. He tries to stay out of his dad and his stepmom/his dad’s girlfriend’s way as much as possible, and only responds in a defensive manner when provoked. And in today’s episode, he even kept himself open enough in the conversation with his dad, despite his anger, to concede and accept a very good point when raised. Ten understands his dad’s hypocrisy but refuses to stoop to the same level of pettiness because he knows being a good partner and a good friend is more important than being right. This is a mark of excellent writing, in my opinion. The main character is fiercely loyal to his partner and his friends and does not let his baggage with his dad cloud his course of action.

I also see calls for an apology from the dad already brewing in the fandom. And I understand the instinct to want that. It is always so satisfying when mistreated children finally get the apology that’s been long overdue. But it’s rarely this simple in an Asian household. Times are changing faster than most people can in a lifetime, and there are systemic, cultural flaws in how an Asian society understands and teaches parenting. And if we factor in the social, economic, religious lines that heavily influence how an Asian person forms their social circle, it would’ve left these parents with little to no peers who can tell them what they’re doing is wrong. Parents striking their kids is clearly considered evil nowadays, but only a few years ago, it would’ve been a perfectly acceptable response to control a bratty child, on and off screen (and it still is in some Asian cultures).

Now, NONE of what I said above is an excuse to write off the behavior of Ten’s dad as acceptable, just because it’s very Asian. As an Asian who grew up in the East, the demand for an apology does not particularly resonate with me, because Ten and his dad both know that their problems are not gonna go away as soon as Ten’s dad apologizes. Because:

If Ten starts demanding an apology for every shitty thing his dad has ever done, where should he stop? Should he demand an apology for the time his dad probably struck him as a kid when he was trying to get him to memorize multiplication tables, as is wont of every Asian parent ever (it is such an ubiquitous experience to Asian kids everywhere that there are reels with millions of views on IG, referencing this experience. Does this mean every Asian parent is evil and must be put on trial by their kids? Holy moly, think of all the money therapists would make if every Asian kid in the world decided to call out their parents on their shit. Entire economies would crumble to dust from the sudden disruption in cashflow.)

Is an apology going to comfort Ten? Asian parenting warps the sense of self of both the parents and the kids, because of the levels of abject sacrifice involved in it. It is extremely possible that Ten’s dad had worked day and night to provide well for his family, for his son, before Ten’s mom fell ill. It’s the same choice he made for his wife, but in this case, it paid off, because now Ten is financially well taken care of, and he is privileged enough to pursue a career in medicine. If Ten demands an apology from his dad for not being there when his mom was dying, do we know for sure that when he gets that apology, his mind won’t conflate the sacrifices his dad made for him, thus making him feel guilty for forcing someone who clearly cared about him enough to work hard for him, into defeat (look at this rich soup of Asian parenting misery, yum yum yum. I know it’s delicious because I’m paying my therapist weekly to make the broth less spicy).

The dialogue in the show whenever Ten’s mom is brought up and discussed is always very carefully worded:

Not “because you did not act”, but “because you took so long to act”. Looks like Ten’s dad made a choice that ultimately did not pay off. He cared, and he wanted to do something to save his wife, but whatever he chose to do ultimately did not help. And now she is dead and he has managed to not help and comfort his wife in her final days AND unwittingly traumatize his son with his absence. The show has painted this storyline with enough nuance that I don’t believe we are meant to read Ten’s dad as a simple villain, but rather a father who does care but has made some serious mistakes. This situation is so emotionally complicated and realistically, it’s gonna take years for both of them to find a middle ground. Ten is gonna have to grow up and make a few mistakes of his own in life to develop proper empathy for his dad, and that’s gonna put a couple things into perspective for him (I’m not saying Ten is bound to make mistakes because he is bad. He is going to because shit happens in life and human beings always do better in hindsight than in the moment). And the dad is gonna have to grow old and let his aging body humble him a little and shrink his ego enough to see that he had failed his son by not being emotionally available to deal with their trauma, together.

I’ve been watching Kim’s Convenience, a Canadian sitcom that follows a Korean-Canadian family and their shenanigans. I’m only on S04E02, but there is a father-son conflict at the centre of this show that is still not directly addressed by both the dad and the son. It’s been years (almost a decade, I think) since the son has been driven out of his home by his dad for a dumb mistake he made as a teen. And the way the show works on it is so infuriating, because it is so Asian. It is rarely addressed aloud in the presence of the dad or the son, lest it leads to anger and screaming and storming off. The path to reconciliation is built with mom calling her son for help to fix something in their home because his dad is too stubborn to ask for it. With the son visiting the hospital when the dad had to undergo surgery, and having their first real conversation in years which the dad forgets after waking up from the influence of pain drugs. With the daughter’s old phone passed down to the dad with her brother’s number on it, which leads to them texting each other. It is all extra frustrating for me because I’m extremely straightforward in my conversations with my parents. I do not like ambiguous endings to verbal conflicts because they are a ticking time bomb and I do not have the capacity to forget its existence and let it tick away in the background. But, I understand it when my friends, and Asian characters in TV shows, don’t want to force things out in the open if it can be swept under the rug for the time being, because peace of mind in Asian households is fleeting and you would be wise to take what you get.

Good TV shows can best serve their audience when they serve their characters, and stay true to the experiences of the people they are trying to represent. My teen ass was regularly shocked, appalled and intrigued by the sexual liberation promised by Western media I consumed while I was in school and college. I was surrounded by a sexually repressed society that was convinced that the only moral way to enjoy pleasure was after marriage with your partner. And very predictably, this means a lot of dead bedrooms, unhappy marriages and kids growing up with no real understanding of what romantic love looks like. I would’ve never had the courage to move my entire life to the West, if the Western media I watched had not represented its people in all their messy, horny glory, albeit with a rose-tinted lens on gender, race and sexuality.

Some Asian parents in media need to fall at the feet of their children and apologize. I remember being absolutely fucking enraged while @lurkingshan and I watched Double Savage at the behest of our friend @waitmyturtles, and in the finale, Korn was the one who fell at the feet of his absolute piece of shit of a dad to apologize for FUCKING NOTHING. And after Shan and I were done surviving that show, I remember telling my friends that most Asian media does not have strong writing whenever Asian children need to defy their shitty parents and come to terms with their destructive parenting, because chances are, most Asian creators would not have successfully done it. Hence, intergenerational trauma (gasp! It’s all connected!).

So. I would never demand to see Ten’s dad apologize to him to consider Cooking Crush a successful show, because that is not the cultural context this story operates in. Would I enjoy it if he does? Hell yes. Would I be mad if he does not? No, because Ten is proving him wrong time and again, and that’s a constant reminder from the narrative of who is in the right.

[tonkatsubowl]

coffee beans.

blade x trailblazer!fem!reader sfw themes (some cursing ig). read at your own risk. english isn’t my first language, so please don’t mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ our beloved trailblazer and blade meet up at a cafe behind everyone's backs. a little secret date.

TERM DIRECTORY ◖y/n: your name ◖e/c: eye color ◖h/c: hair color

one thing you always ask yourself on the daily is...

am i a bad person?

you were a pure person at heart, being a trailblazer and all. you were sent out to different worlds and universes under the command of himeko and welt to save them and to learn more about yourself. and never once had you done anything ill-intended. you probably did some trolling here and there, but you never once did anything that was truly evil...or anything that's remotely considered as evil. you ask yourself that because you are in a relationship with blade. the man that is the archrival to dan heng, and the enemy to the astral express.

how you got here was a different story; how you fell in love, how you and blade were able to establish a relationship somehow, yet you both were considered enemies. you always told yourself that it wouldn't work out because of his association and the team that you practically live and die for.

but, in a way, kafka was getting suspicious, or she knew of it, rather. knowing kafka, she did things that she believed were best for her own sake...and perhaps yours. maybe that is why she is never truly involved in trying to separate both you and blade, but you knew if the astral express team found out, you would most likely be...well, doubted. feared. and yet, blade tells you not to worry, and if they had touched you, he would kill them all.

the worst part about that is that he was serious. dead serious.

but you sigh, looking down to your favorite drink that you ordered in a cafe located in belobog. you and blade (mostly you) decided to meet up here in the cafe for a date. you told the astral express team that you wanted to take some time away for yourself and to just relax...and also, you had some personal duties to attend you. of course, they respected your privacy.

and now here you are, trying to stop yourself from overthinking about everything. you wanted to physically slap yourself in the face to just stop these thoughts. stop overthinking so much, y/n. everything will be fine.

"overthinking again, are you?"

a familiar voice snaps you out of your own inner prison, saving from the turmoil that you would suffer from at night. your eyes dart towards the direction of the voice, feeling your shoulders relax and your body easing itself when you see the love of your life. he walks over to you, placing a hand on top of your head, his fingers gently caressing through your scalp.

"ah-" you began, "i...i guess." you murmured, looking down to the drink that blade had ordered. a black coffee, you would assume. he wasn't much of a coffee drinker, and adored tea. but when it came to you, he would want to try something similar to what you drank...but nothing too sugary. but blade can read you like an open book. if you seemed stressed, tired, sad, angry...or anything, he can read you. and he would be there for you to the best of his abilities.

he raised a brow, looking down at the drink that was in between your hands. retracting his arm from your head, he sits across from you, looking a bit sour.

"you bought a drink? you need to stop doing that and at least wait for me to buy you one," he murmurs, a quiet sigh leaving his lips, "now i really know that you are overthinking, y/n."

you huff, "look, i don't want you to spend money on me."

"too bad."

well, you couldn't exactly fight against blade's wishes. if he wanted to spoil you, he will do so regardless or not you like it.

"what are you overthinking about anyway? same stuff?" he would say, taking a sip from his black coffee.

"well...yeah." you say, slumping back against your seat.

"i'm telling you. i don't give a damn if they find out. if they hurt you because of it, then it only gives me another reason to put their hands on a silver platter. do you understand that, flower?"

and he wasn't wrong. he would hurt them. he would maul them. even if you didn't want him to do it, he would do anything in his power to ensure your safety and to kill those who try to harm you. the man is extremely protective of you, after all. never once had he shown this side to anyone else but you. you were special...and you were his. a man's treasure, pride and joy should never be touched.

you were silent, looking down to the latte heart of a cat that was destroyed from you sipping at the mug. now it was just an awkward foam that is sitting on top of the surface, staring up at you in its own shame and disgust from ruining its art.

you hear a sigh from blade as he sips once again from his black coffee, eyeing at you carefully. "anywho, i saw your 'adorable' little wanted poster here in belobog. at the walls."

he changed the subject, and that's when you smiled a bit, laughing softly to yourself. yeah, when you, dan heng and march first got here...you were chased by the silvermane knights, causing you three to get a silly portrait of wanted posters. it was quite funny, and adorable.

and best of all, blade loved hearing you laugh. but he would never admit it.

"they gave you a big nose for no reason," he said, his lips tugging to a faint smirk, "and they messed your hair up. makes me wonder if my wanted portraits are drawn by little brats, too."

your smile widens a bit, "i don't think i've ever seen a wanted poster with your face on it, but i hope you're way uglier than me in those," you tease, "maybe i should draw one and slap it here too..." then you pause, realizing you should add, "ah, right...i think they forgot to take those down. they cancelled the bounty and everything on my head after i helped this world."

"they better." his tone stiffened, freezing itself, almost threateningly.

one thing you loved about blade is that he was very protective of you. a man capable of destroying worlds and universes on his own would make anyone feel safe if he decided to ally up with you. but it was a little scary at times. but you couldn't help but admire his strength and dedication to you, anyway.

"...u-um," you began, "do you... want to go on a walk? well, i mean it's...cold outside."

blade nodded his head, standing up. he crushed the empty plastic cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trash can. unfortunately, you had a glass mug, so you couldn't exactly just...toss it. instead, you would leave it on the table for the baristas in the cafe to pick up.

"cold, hot. doesn't matter to me."

as long as he's with you, it didn't matter.

hiding your smile, you got up, shyly inching your hand towards his. he looked at you with a mildly puzzled look, watching as your fingers playfully inch at his own. then, he would take your hand with a sigh, looking away as he began to lead you outside of the cafe.

being hit with a cold, wintry breeze was something you would never get used to. but it seems blade was already used to fighting under extreme weathers and temperatures. the man was a killing machine, after all. a machine that was adjusted to many environments, worlds, its laws and more. you would cling to his side, holding his arm for warmth. the scent of his herbal cologne, the warm that protruded from his limb...everything about him was just so perfect. you felt so safe. you felt so...at peace.

the two of you were walking in silence, basking in each other's presence. sometimes, you two didn't always need to talk but to just enjoy each other's companies. blade took you somewhere, anywhere in the city. you both watched as the snow began to fall, as it decorated your hair like little stars sprinkled throughout the night sky. you both would stop a little food trailers, being served hot and warm foods...and of course, blade would pay for all of it. he disliked you taking in charge of everything, after all. he would rather do everything for you.

night fell, and the man finally spoke, shattering the silence that you both shared amongst each other, "don't go home yet."

you blink, your eyes darting to him with confusion and surprise. his eyes soften as he looked towards you, admiring the snowfall as he observed the beauty that was laid before him.

"give them excuse. that you're too tired to leave. stay the night here. i'll buy an inn room."

you blink. what was with this sudden change of behavior? retrieving your phone from your pocket, you look at blade with wide, curious and surprised eyes. you weren't against it, so you sent a text to the groupchat that was shared between you, dan heng, march, himeko and welt.

➜ y/n: hey, i'm a little exhausted from running errands here... i think i'll stay here for the night and come back to the express. zzz

➜ march: huh?? damn, what have you been doing?

➜ y/n: enough for my legs to scream at me

➜ welt: i'm not surprised, considering every world we go, you're always running errands. feel free to rest for the night over there. let us know if you need anything.

➜ himeko: oh geez. learn to say no to these errands sometimes, okay? you need to have some time for yourself.

➜ dan heng: rest up, y/n.

to your relief, you gave a nod to blade, assuring him that you would stay the night here in belobog. but one thing that concerned you was...

"what about kafka and silver wolf? wouldn't you need-"

"don't worry about them. they already know not to disturb me for a bit."

you blinked, letting blade rest a hand on your shoulder as he gestured you to the direction of the inn building.

"come. let's get some rest."

the rest of the night was peaceful and loving. the two of you shared each other's warmth in harmony, snuggling up in each other's arms holding each other close. you would talk away at blade's ear as he sat there in silence, listening to every word that left your lips. he listened to every story, every rant that left you, and everything that you just wanted to talk about towards blade.

the one thing you loved about blade was that you can talk his ear out about anything, and he would always listen to you in silence, and speak his thought if it was needed. never once would he show disinterest towards you. he loved hearing you talk about your day.

finally, letting out the bundle of emotions had tired you out, as well as the fun you had today with your significant other. his arms were wrapped around your waist as your were deep asleep against his chest, quietly listening to his heart beat as he protected you from everything in the universe. aeons, the supernatural...nothing would be bold enough to face a man who was capable of annihilating it all. nothing would separate you both, and best of all...

...blade wouldn't want to let go of you, ever.

as you remained deep asleep against his chest, blade's eyes were still awake, thinking about situations, future decisions and other things related to your... no, to your and blade's future. unbeknownst to you, he would most likely have to plan to get rid of the astral express team if it meant to have you as his...and his only.

your presence was everything to him.

and nothing else would matter.

unexpected yandere tendency at the end oops ♡(>ᴗ•)

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror. 

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.” 

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.” 

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?” 

You smile softly. “Sure.” 

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs. 

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside. 

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed. 

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat. 

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock. 

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up. 

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in. 

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head. 

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment. 

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute. 

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!”  _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is. 

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was. 

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses. 

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess. 

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands. 

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected. 

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way. 

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter. 

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you. 

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake. 

It��s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak. 

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless. 

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door. 

“And when Mary birthed the-” 

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-” 

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows! 

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service. 

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then. 

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here. 

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.” 

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained. 

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially. 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?” 

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it. 

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..” 

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little. 

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-” 

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully. 

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.” 

“What?” 

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.” 

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.” 

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?” 

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat. 

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..” 

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.” 

“What about you? Keep busy?” 

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.” 

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.” 

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof. 

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-” 

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?” 

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.” 

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.” 

“Okay. See you then.”  _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!” 

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.” 

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.” 

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.” 

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college. 

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed. 

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then. 

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?” 

Oh.

Shit. 

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-” 

“Shut up.” 

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.” 

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff. 

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.” 

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.” 

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.” 

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee. 

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.” 

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.” 

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.” 

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” 

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.” 

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.” 

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock. 

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you. 

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about. 

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.” 

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!” 

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.” 

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants. 

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously. 

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.” 

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?” 

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.” 

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-” 

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!” 

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon. 

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage? 

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself. 

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse.  _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again? 

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly. 

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection. 

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs. 

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?” 

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain. 

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor. 

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary. 

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.” 

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t. 

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously.  _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together. 

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement. 

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.” 

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.” 

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas. 

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad. 

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.” 

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you. 

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?” 

You nod. “We are.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.” 

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-” 

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours. 

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard. 

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his. 

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups. 

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down. 

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands. 

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly. 

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents. 

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.” 

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment. 

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.” 

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly. 

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity. 

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.” 

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.” 

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less. 

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.” 

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness. 

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor. 

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.” 

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.” 

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock. 

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way. 

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.” 

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.”