#read however you want . it goes both ways. or neither /silly

[rigorousdoor21]

i'll put the post in the replies. but i've been haunted by it for the last 2 days until i finished this. i love you blue team

[missinghan]

falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending. 

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

“That’s an odd way to propose to someone, Y/N. And please, you’re asking an obvious question.” Chan looks up at you from his book. His smile is gentle, soft at the corners with his dimples sinking in—it’s how you know that he means it—the way it usually is these days. The way it has been for the past year. It is almost obscure, you think, how you both would have wanted each other’s head on a stick a year ago before one of you managed to make the other person cry out of gratitude.

You lift the book away from his face, glimpsing at the cover. Because Chan is an absolute heathen, he has been reading No Longer Human and you’re being annoying about it because he hasn’t come out to train with you for two days already. “Are you telling me you’ll say ‘no’?”

“We’re already doing laundry and taxes together. We will just have matching rings and a signed piece of paper,” Chan gives you a pointed look; he always looks so serious whenever he wants to correct you as if your sarcasm is that dry. “So it naturally implies as a ‘yes’, idiot,” he nags, even though he doesn’t mean the last part.

“Oh how you wound me, love,” you bite back, even though you don’t mean it either. “Chan, come on. You’re locking yourself up in a prison.”

Chan lets out a long, heavy sigh as if he’s insulted that you have just called his room a prison—which you never verbally hinted at, he simply interpreted it that way. He reaches over to grab the book from your hand, seemingly giving up his reading time for you, and places it on his bedside. 

“What are you–” You watch as Chan walks over to one of his mahogany drawers. “-doing?”

“I need caffeine to talk to you.”

Despite your bristling, he stays true to his words and finds himself a mug, a tea bag, along with a boiler. By the time Chan finishes filling up the boiler with water and turns on the heating switch, your legs are dangling over the edge of his bed as you puff up like a cat, baffled and offended. 

“So,” Chan inquires, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “What’s up?”

“I find your current state distressing to look at,” you elaborate with glee, a glint coming into your eyes that Chan knows you’re up to no good. “Take a week off with me. We can go anywhere you want, it’ll be a short getaway, just the two of us.”

Chan’s back is turned toward you because he’s too busy searching for a spoon but you can boldly assume that he’s smiling. It’s hinted in his tone when he asks, “You mean a vacation?”

“Brilliant interpretation, Chan,” you smile wryly. “Of course, I meant a vacation!”

“No, you can go have fun by yourself. You have my permission,” he shakes his head. “I have things to attend to. Meetings, banquets, important business transactions. You know how boring the mafia lifestyle is.”

You still, voice low and suppressed in something Chan can’t seem to grasp at. “You’re going back to your family.” It’s barely a movement, a small enough action. Any passerby would think that you have only faltered a little but Chan has observed you for a good while now to notice you’re holding your shoulders back from trembling. 

“I am going back to my family,” he repeats calmly. “Only for a week, though. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Chan, I know they want to see me.”

Chan tries not to let anything show on his face. “And they may very well kill you because that is what they are. Godawful, egoistic, and incapable of compassion.”

“Let me go with you, I—” you begin, though you cut yourself off almost instantly. The room is suddenly steeped in silence, unwieldy at the absence of your words. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet: the boys’ chatters echoing dully from the living room, the ticking hands of the clock, and every breath you take to calm the anxiety in your rib cage.

I do not fear death, sickness, or anyone’s hatred. What I fear most is losing you, Chan. It’s all so beyond you because a year ago, you were a thief, taking things as you please and sending them away when they’re no longer of use for your benefit. Now there is someone who you will live for and his kiss you will kill for, his laugh you will die for.

“Chan, do you have any idea what I would turn into if you left me?” You have always worried loudly, from the volume of your attentiveness and the anxiety beneath your skin all lie in the tender manner of how you love Chan—the same goes for him, that you can be certain of.

“I will never leave you, Y/N. We will be okay,” he assures you, unbearably calm.

Chan is a liar. 

second attempt —

Chan is supposed to go back to the Bang family’s estate with Yuriko for the New Year. Yuriko is the housekeeper whom he has retired for about a year ever since you came into the picture. The boys, especially Jisung, have been forced into keeping their surroundings clean because, for some wicked reason, they think you are absolutely terrifying when you’re upset about their muddy shoes dirtying the floor after a mission. Yuriko always giggles at that, her Young Master surely knows how to pick a partner. 

“I’ve got word that your father wants you to back to the estate, Young Master,” Yuriko tells Chan when she finds you and Chan in the archive because you have insisted on reading about something you won’t say a word to him. Surely, Chan recognizes what you’re searching for but he doesn’t mention it. 

“He said he wanted to make sure you are ready to take over his position. And there is a dinner he wants your attendance for,” Yuriko continues, hands clasped behind her back. You didn’t even realize when she stepped in and approached Chan—for a mere housekeeper to be so swift and quiet with her movements, you have long guessed that she’s not just any old woman to be hired by the Bang family.

The way Chan stiffens in his seat is telling all on its own. You are suddenly struck with the recurring memory of how Minho used to babble about how much of an ass Chan’s family is when he has had one too many drinks. “You don’t know how bigshot mafia families treat their children, do you? They kept the world from knowing for a reason. I’m surprised Chan didn’t turn out to be a monster like them.”

“Forgive me, Yuriko, but you can tell the old man to suck it up,” Chan says softly but his voice is dark, tense, riddled with a sharpness you haven’t heard from him in a long time—you were threatened just the same way when you had stolen his mother’s ring. Now you realize Chan only ever speaks so heartlessly if something precious to him is hanging on the verge of being taken away. 

“Young Master,” Yuriko frowns for two reasons; firstly, Chan has never been able to decline his blood family of anything and secondly, there isn’t much that she can do to solve the problem at hand. She’s a mere servant for the Bang family; she doesn’t have much power to begin with and therefore, she can’t exactly tell them ‘no’. 

“No, you can’t make me,” Chan grits because he knows, he understands it all too well. Unsaid words of all the things money can buy hang in the air like bile. 

“Young Master Christopher, you must know what happens if you defy your father.” And there goes Yuriko’s final warning along with Chan dashing out of the archive, straight through the hallway and the front door of the mansion, completely vanishing in the white curtain of December snow.

Yuriko murmurs something under her breath, unintended for you to hear her. You continue staring forward, the file in your hands completely forgotten. “He can come home with me,” you say without actually thinking about it until she turns to stare at you, expressionless before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I think Young Master would like that.”

With that, you set off to find Chan.

“No one will love you unconditionally like we do.” “You belong to us, so do as we say.” “Work to kill, kill or you’ll die. You were born to kill, it’s a gift that not everyone receives.” “The world will bow before you and sway the way you want it but you’ll have to-”

“I don’t want any of that,” Chan hisses but the voices keep coming back louder, harsher, with more bite than he has ever heard from them. “None of you ever gave me anything that matters! You just can’t admit that you made me a murderer!!” 

The snow around him sinks with each step he takes, their words still echoing in his mind and sending shivers down his spine, driven so deeply inside his skull that he wishes he could have nothing of this reality. “Be mindful of yourself. Control it.” “Your fangs and claws are too sharp for you to be swinging just at anyone,” he hears them again

His nose burns in the cold but Chan doesn’t notice something warm and wet trickle down his cheekbones. “You never cared about restraint. You said I must kill or I would die. You all just want to possess me, you want me not as an heir but as a commodity!!”

“It’s how we’ve been running this family. It’s how we keep things in order. You’re one of us, Christopher, you are this family.”

With a huff, Chan eventually gives in and listens because he has no other choice but to; he slides down against concrete with a white-out vision, a quivering figure with nothing on but his cardigan. “Then you’re just as godawful as any of them,” he tells himself, knees curling against his chest, almost justified in his own lie that he wants to burst out laughing.

Chan knows they have made him more of a weapon than a child, more of a monster than a man and he is stuck with it for good. He has been holding onto life just because he can, not so much that he wants to. Because he never truly wanted anything before or was wanted in any way.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking man-child!”

He hears someone’s nagging from afar and ignores it, hugging himself impossibly tighter because asking for comfort is unacceptable, they taught him so. “Chan!!” He hopes it goes away with all of the other voices. 

It doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer in a humane form, boots crunching against the snow and warm breaths sounding rhythmically. “It’s been an hour. Do you have any idea how worried we all were- how worried I was?! What the actual hell,” you snap. “Now I’m going to hear all this shit from Seungmin again because I let you run off and he’s too terrified of you to properly lecture you. God-”

Your rambles cut off when you kneel down next to him, rummaging for a scarf, a pair of gloves, yet another pair of gloves, his puffer jacket, and a hat from your bag. Chan quietly watches as he tries to blink away the oncoming tears but he can’t—they keep coming. He doesn’t reply when your scolding goes on because even though your voice is sharp, Chan can catch the worry hidden along the edges. Being cared for and cherished like this has made him realize how much he doesn’t want to come back to his family and he wants to cry like he’s the fourteen-year-old boy who used to refuse to pick up a gun all over again.

A child who was unable to stuff down the overwhelming agony and grief forced upon him. A child who was weaponized. A child who was threatened into killing his own mother. “If you can’t kill what you hold near and dear, you’ll never be able to kill anyone to save yourself.”

“Chan?” you call out to him, unbearably soft. There’s a certainty, a sort of gentleness in the way his name is said that only makes his tears come hotter, more and more of it because your love feels big, overwhelming.

Chan hates crying so he never did, not when they had locked him up in his room, not when they had starved him because of his disobedience, not when they had made him pull the trigger with the gun’s mouth pressing against his mother’s chest. Chan hates crying but it seems to be all he’s doing now. 

You’re wrapping him up so gently and trying to warm him up because you know he’s just as human as any mundane individual out there. Humans shiver when the temperature drops, they shed tears when they’re upset, and they bleed and bruise at the right amount of impact. That’s why humans are so clingy toward each other so they can prevent harm from coming the other person’s way. Because no one enjoys getting hurt and there is no good reason to voluntarily get hurt; it sounds like common sense but Chan never grew up with such things. He never came to think he was deserving of such things.

“Chan, come home with me. Forget your family. I don’t need to know about them,” you smile at him, somehow empathetic and so understanding when Chan has barely given you an explanation, when he is desperate to fill the silence but he knows his voice will be weak with tears, stumbling, and pitching all over the place.

Chan sniffles, finding the courage to say something back because he wants to, not because he feels like he has to, “Can I really…come-come home with you?”

“I’m sure the girls wouldn't mind, they might be a little annoying. Yeji, though, can be wary of strangers,” you shrug, something so relaxed about your posture tells him that you have learned to accept something without telling him. 

A breathy chuckle. “Especially when they’re a mafia leader.”

An exhale. Chan shudders when you embrace him wholly—every moment of pride and arrogance, betrayal and hurt that he has been boxing away—as the beautiful mess that he is. You’re the safest person on the face of Earth not because you are on equal terms with him in power but because you never care about those things. You will let him break something, burn something down, cry, and laugh however he pleases but you won’t ever let go of his hand. You never ask him for anything in return while continuing to save him over and over again.

He’s so unbelievably lucky, Chan thinks but doesn’t say it aloud, instead, he tells you, “If you’ll have me.”

The night after you drive Chan back to your mansion, the place goes up in flames. Only you are able to open your eyes to see the next daylight.

“Welcome home,” you want to whisper but can only watch a last smile bloom on the face of a ghost amidst the orange blaze.

third attempt —

You decide to come home with Chan.

For a non-mafia family, it might go like this.

Meeting Chan’s parents will be the hardest thing you have ever done—and that is coming from someone who has broken through the world’s most modern security systems and got your hands on objects worth billions of dollars. 

You will bow when you meet them, use the politest speech you have taught yourself last minute, and desperately try not to remember how Chan was forced to shoot his own mother as a child. They will pinch your cheek and call you lovely, chuckling at how stiff you are and offering you a ‘Come on in! Don’t mind the mess, it’s always how our house is.’

You will smile and you will play along because you want them to like you so badly it hurts. 

Chan will gawk at you without even trying to hide it because you have given him a completely different experience upon your first encounter. Casual, timid, and quick with your tongues when it comes to those witty retorts.

They will then ask you, ‘‘What are your hobbies? Any sports? Instruments?’’ Purely in the Asian parents’ style. 

You will be so nervous that you forget you play the violin and practice meditation occasionally. You will sit at their dinner table in their cozy, lived-in home, and rack your brain for a proper answer that might be deemed reasonable for a mundane girl. “It can be anything you do for fun, honey. No need to be nervous,” they will say again and you will give them a small grimace in return. 

It’s probably deeply fucked up when the first thing that comes to your mind is ‘I retired from heists a year ago because museums are fucking boring so I have moved on to finding new and creative ways to eliminate anything that might be the cause of Chan’s suffering.’

“…You play the violin beautifully,” Chan will suggest quietly beside you, his hand laced with yours beneath the table. “And you interrupt my reading time whenever you need attention.”

“I…I like to be with you,” you will finally find the courage to say with a firm squeeze of his hand, and the strength to smile when his eyes widen faintly, flustered yet not surprised. 

Still, it doesn’t matter whether Chan was born from a mafia family. You don’t hesitate to hold his hand beneath the table when Chan tenses up from the disappointed gaze of his father, lean over ever so slightly, and whisper, “I like to be with you.” He almost gasps but refrains. “Wherever we are. As long as you allow me to stay by your side.”

For once, Chan lets himself think that he won’t fuck up something before he even gets to have it in his arms. 

You did come home with Chan even if the dinner is anything but cozy and mundane. Their smiles are cold porcelain, a familiarity with death so staggering you feel nauseous. They are all here, though. Every single one of them. “I’ll be back,” you say and excuse yourself to use the restroom, he assumes.

Chan finds an uneasy slick in his throat, almost thick like blood when he sees a bright thing in your eyes. He lets you go anyway. Will things happen differently if he holds you back? 

Minutes after your withdrawal from the dinner table, an explosion goes off downstairs. The mansion quivers with a long string of rumble, a horrible feeling looming over everyone in the room like an ugly shadow. Though, no one bats an eye. Maintaining such a high position in the Underworld for so long is more than enough for the bounty on each of their heads to go up to millions of dollars. 

As much as Chan detests his blood family, he doesn’t want to die here, a horrendous place for his corpse to be found. So he stands as the rest of the room begins arming themselves, doing his best not to pay any heed to his father, and bolts downstairs. 

In situations like this, he is taught to close his heart and kill. Hence why there was barely any screaming when the commotion occurred, only the metallic sounds of bullets being clicked into their chamber. Truth be told, there is a weapon vault on the main floor of the mansion. Chan knows the most efficient shortcut there and can run through any hallways even without any lights on. He did grow up in this terrible place, and now he will make use of that to get you out of here before anything else. 

Chan arrives at the main floor and there is nothing but a giant hole and crumbled metal pieces in the weapon vault—or what used to be the weapon vault, blown up by a bomb it seems. Well, shit, he doesn’t even know how to register this. The entrance to his father’s most treasured place in the mansion has a three-layered door with an extremely lethal surveillance system, who and how the fuck-

He stops. He doesn’t so much as twitch. It gives him a moment of pure chill when the main floor has gone completely muted, both audibly and visually, like his life has just tipped off balance and leaned towards the bad part of a zombie movie. Upstairs, there is a cry for help and the sound of bullets continuously firing. 

“My fucking god,” Chan curses and turns on his heels, steeling himself mentally while rushing up the stairs. 

Upon arriving at the scene, it’s difficult to say whether turning up just five minutes earlier would have made much of a difference. Fuck, but if he had held you back, would things have taken a different turn?

There is a lot of blood. Too much blood to be explained away, and too much evidence to be traced back to no one else other than you. Well, to be fair, you’re the only person still standing and kicking aside from Chan anyway. The shotgun in your hand with a silencer attached speaks volumes, a knife between your teeth, and your left hand is fisted tightly. 

“…Y-Y/N,” Chan utters, in disbelief. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?” 

You release something in your left hand and several fifteen-bullet magazines drop to the ground, the sound scratching his spine in the wrong way. The knife also hits the ground, metal echoing loudly against hard marble. 

“You’re here, Chan,” you reply, like your hands and clothes aren’t painted red. Swiftly, you duck to fumble for something beneath the dining table. Chan’s gaze follows you suit, prompting uneasiness to crawl down his throat when he realizes everything is, quite literally, drenched in blood. When he manages to snap out of it, you are unwrapping something from a white blanket—Berry, his eight-year-old Spaniel. 

You don’t look one bit surprised to see him—you have been expecting him. You simply keep on tucking Berry neatly into the blanket, murmuring something along the lines of ‘it’s over now’ and ‘I’m sorry I scared you’. Berry offers you a small whimper in return, still startled and recovering from the loud ruckus. 

Chan inhales very slowly. Exhales. “What did you do?”

“I killed everyone here,” you say levelly, as if mass murder is no big deal. “You’re a little late. I thought your intuition would be keener than that.”

“This is no time for a fucking joke,” he snaps. Chan has snapped because he’s mad at himself. He has been living purely by his intuition for more than two decades already, without it he would have died a long time ago. Yet when it comes to you, he’s always the most irrational. 

Your lips twitch like you’re about to smile but realize he’s upset. “You’re right, sorry.” 

Chan moves further into the room, his shoes squelching with each blood-drenched step he takes. He takes the scene in once again and keeps calm because that is what he has trained himself to do ever since the first time he got kidnapped. When his gaze brushes over the corpse of his father, he tries not to think about anything just yet. What’s done is done but Chan can piece the scene together from the explosion downstairs—a bait that anyone will be eager to take and a good way to disarm your enemies—to the scattering of hole-filled bodies, their blood blooming against the marble floor like a grotesque bouquet.

The crux of it is you know all too well he will run to find you without question, lending you the space and time to kill whoever remains.

“Why?”

Your eyes sweep over the mass of bodies, dull and distant. “Does it really matter?” You don’t think it’s fair to say you did it because you love him; it will become a curse that haunts him for as long as he lives. Yes, you love Chan with your entire soul but you also simply want to act as you please, allowing yourself to have your selfish ways of declaring your love for him. 

His chest heaves without any stability. “I thought you said you’re used to taking many things but you don’t take lives!!”

You cut right in, all glass. “Will anyone be able to do anything about it? Can anyone possibly arrest me, Chan?” 

Chan shudders, a sour thing gnawing at the back of his throat. It’s a morbid feeling he knows will become recurring at night, on the bad days. Chan wants to be furious, it feels like a moral obligation to be. Then again, everything the world has learned about empathy is already torn up by his family, they smeared it beneath their feet like it’s common trash. In the end, all of his nightmares and source of fear amounts to this, a mass of corpses with no resolution. 

“Do you want to kill me, Chan? If so, do it. You’re your own person, you are free.” 

Your eyes have turned into ice, and suddenly you have become so intangible that Chan slowly grows afraid. He thinks of terrible things, Am I allowed to have you? What makes you want me so badly? Why am I different from any of them?

The sound of retching interrupts his train of thought. It takes him precisely half a second to stare at how you are folded over your knees, dry heaving at the marble floor with Berry fumbling for help right at your side. Chan rushes to you to keep your hair out of your face as you gasp for air, choking on stomach bile and body raking with shudders. Once his hand smooths over the fabric on your back, you eventually cough and hack out the last of whatever is left that your system rejects. 

You breathe as shallowly as you can. Quiet wheezes, hollow breaths that pull in and out of your lungs too quickly. Chan rubs small, gentle circles on your back and doesn’t expect it when you snap up to look at him with wide, pained eyes as though you didn’t just murder his entire family in cold blood minutes ago, like you didn’t just take out the Underworld’s most feared lineage of demons by yourself.

Chan decides not to say anything, lets you lean into him shakily, and tries to figure out what you’re attempting to do with your hands. Dry blood makes your skin itchy every time your fingers twitch but you don’t mind it. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he finally whispers with you sitting in the circle of his arms; you’re shaking like you’re sobbing even though you make no noise and cry no tears. Chan lets you squirm with a wild mania in your eyes, frantic and lost. He can’t quite pinpoint what you want until he gets it. 

You stop shaking the moment your head leans against the left side of his chest, right where his beating heart is. A pattern in his rib cage and a rhythm in your ears, relief so immense you feel like you can finally breathe. What you want is just to hear the sound of his heartbeat. It makes Chan feel a little exposed, somewhat scrutinized but he really doesn’t mind taking himself apart to hand his heart over to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your tone wet and warm with oncoming tears. 

Chan presses his lips into a thin line, feeling like a hypocrite when he keeps you caged in his arms. “What are you sorry for, silly?” From the bottom of his heart, it’s abominable, he thinks—that even amidst such gruesome bloodshed created by your own hands, Chan is relieved that you are not hurt.

“I’m sorry this isn’t real.”

fourth attempt —

Chan is coming home with you. The childhood home you used to grow up in with two extremely loving, a little too oblivious parents who never once questioned their daughter’s occupation in the big city. 

It takes time to adjust but Chan is sliding into your little family without noticing it himself. He manages to impress your mom with his cooking and discusses politics with your dad. You might be going delusional but you swear you saw him chuckling faintly at your parents’ terrible taste of reality TV. 

The house might only amount to one-tenth of his mansion but it smells like fresh laundry all around, tender and soft, smothered in the love of ordinary human beings. So everything just feels that much bigger, a love so warm and overwhelming it stains Chan’s eyes with unfamiliar myriads of emotions. It takes him a few days to finally laugh a little louder, not refraining his speech to specifically formal phrases, and allowing himself to nag you in front of your parents. He even makes a sound of disbelief when you keep telling them he’s only a friend from work.

“Oh my god, why are you so salty about it,” you chide and close your bedroom door. “If I had said you’re my boyfriend, they would have started interrogating you!” 

Chan sits on the duvet you have laid on the floor for him—your childhood bed is too small to share—and mumbles something morbid under his breath, “I am quite good at tolerating any methods of torture thank you very much.” However, he doesn’t miss the look your parents give you whenever you bid them goodnight with Chan hovering over you in a way that’s nowhere near platonic.

You snort, actually, no, it’s too bitter for you to even react. “The worst they will do is leave you out when we watch TV,” you grin to relieve the inevitably building tension, shit-eating and all.

“That’s cruel. You know I love reality TV,” Chan replies, completely monotone. He flings an arm over his eyes like he’s putting in effort to mimic a dying body trying to convey his love in a Shakespeare play. Wrestling with like ten other housewives to buy those eggs on sale for your mom was more of a workout than any gun fights he has engaged in.

“Sleep. Mom said we’re going outside tomorrow,” you huff, tossing him a teddy bear from your bed—the amount of stuffed animals you own is impressive, they easily take up half of your bed so Chan had to accept his fate with the duvet. 

“I thought we’re heading back?”

“We will after going out with her. She said she wanted something from the bakery.”

Chan hums in response, his gaze skimming over the interior of your room again. Light pink wallpapers, white bookshelves and wardrobe lining the corners, and soft hues of blue on your bed and curtains to top it all off. “Truly, you are the designer of a generation.”

“Toddlers usually don’t like black. And I was eight, Chan, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, the sound so hearty it makes him want to bottle it and keep it all to himself like a child hiding his favorite candy. 

“Hurts my eyes a little, but I like it,” he declares and unwinds for the day.

You never realize you don’t really walk around town every time you visit your parents. Maybe it’s because you didn’t have many friends growing up, meaning there’s no one to call up for a hangout, or maybe it’s because all of the memories you want to relive here are with your parents, in the warmth of their home. So you walk down the sleepy streets with laziness on your shoulders, somewhat at peace when Chan can’t seem to keep his eyes in one place, secretly comparing the imageries of bright, colorful Seoul with this hazy rural area.

“What is that place over there?” He asks when you stride past a sketchy-looking building when in reality, it’s a spa run by this really nice old lady upstairs.

“Did you go to school here?” He ponders when you glance at what looks like a middle school; no kids are running and shouting in the playground since it’s the New Year holiday. 

Your mom notices how much curiosity Chan has for an apparent mid-twenties young adult so she giggles, offering to point out something she thinks he might be interested in, “That’s a small park Y/N used to play at. She wouldn’t leave when I came to pick her up after work.”

You can’t decide if you should scowl at your mom or burst out laughing at her implication that Chan, the leader of a notorious mafia group, should go and sit on one of the swings while she heads inside the bakery. “Come on, Chan,” you quickly make your choice. 

Chan sighs, though the sound is fond because he sees a sort of excitement blooming loud and clear in your pretty eyes. You have observed Chan long enough to know when he has given in so you laugh, turning to your mom and saying, “We’ll be back in a minute.” The familiar promise melts Chan inside out but he doesn’t tell you that. 

You accidentally drop your phone while walking down the stone steps so you turn away for half a second. And when you look back, Chan is seated neatly on the swing which is definitely not fitting for his age—his long legs dragging against the soil as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. As serious as he tries to look, you find the whole imagery so ridiculously unserious. He senses your gaze burning holes on the back of his neck so he stands, reaches upward, and lifts himself to sit on the metal bar that the chains rain down from.

“Chan, what the fuck, that’s not how you use a swing,” you chide, nearly rolling on the ground and barking a laugh. “If I take a photo of you right now, how dead am I?”

Chan doesn’t even need to turn his head. “What do you think?”

He looks down when your footsteps squish against the snow and he tries to imagine how a little you would hang around this place for an entire afternoon, up to no good things while waiting for your mom. “Concise as always, boss,” you purse your lips at him, nostalgia a heavy weight on the curve of your shoulders as you peer over places you used to designate as your hiding spots. 

Chan catches something shifting on your face and he ponders; why would you voluntarily involve yourself in outlaw doings when you could have had a perfectly normal life? “When did you start stealing?” 

“Probably when my parents sent me away for university. I hated it. School was hard and the expenses were awful for their bank accounts but they wouldn’t tell me that,” you mutter and decide to join him, legs dangling over the edges, a confession dragged from your lips unwillingly. 

Chan scoots a little closer, a hand reaching over to your left side to keep you from falling. “And you figured you were pretty good at it?”

“Nothing to be proud of, obviously,” you shake your head and can’t help a small grin. “Okay, maybe just a little. I was making money from racing on the side as well.” 

It takes him a moment to register your words when surprise halts the words in his throat. No wonder you’re better at handling car chases than any of his teammates who have been involved in this business for years. You look over at him, seeing that he’s having trouble reacting so you pinch his nose teasingly, “I know, so sexy, ain’t it?” 

Chan rolls his eyes, neglects the warmth spreading on his cheeks, and simply sits with you. The swing creaks and groans beneath the weight of two adults, rust staining his hand when he lifts it to check. 

“It was enough money for me to graduate and I was fine with that. Mind you I was always the top of my class,” you scoff, thinking of long days when you used to get little to no sleep, of when you had mustered the best smiles for your parents through FaceTime, of how you had begun not caring for how much money the jewels you had stolen were worth. 

None of it matters anymore, you think as you lean into Chan, and he lets you. “I’ll guess this, you were homeschooled?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately as realization tightens his ribs. You don’t talk about home or how you grew up, and Chan doesn’t talk about his parents. Perhaps you both are similar in that way so neither of you mind when the other person never initiated it. “I was. Everything I ever learned was taught in that forsaken mansion. Most of it, actually.”

“Everything?”

“You can’t run away from what you’re surrounded with,” he says, and there’s a chilling edge to it, an icy kind of shiver that makes your fingers more numb than the winter cold ever can. 

“Chan, you’re not them,” you declare out of the blue, eyes crinkling up in adoration. “You are free, okay? No matter how hard they try to ruin you, you can’t become them.”

When you look up again, his eyes have a glassy shine when he says, “I know that now.”

“Don’t cry,” you huff out a breath.

“I’m not crying,” Chan shakes his head slowly, voice suspiciously shaky. “I guess I just thought you had a lot to live for and I was…you know, it was arrogant of me to keep you by my side.”

You laugh, a sharp, crisp bark of a sound that cuts right through his doubts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If I wanted to run, I would have and no one could catch me, not now, not ever.”

“Well, I did,” Chan retorts, though there is no bite to it.

“Only because I let you,” you play along sedately. It’s the soft hum of your voice that makes breathing for him feel easier, and his shoulders feel lighter. When Chan exhales, it no longer tastes like the unfathomable, untouchable nightmares that he was so used to choke down, swallow, and not allow himself to throw them up as proof to show anyone else. 

Your mom returns perhaps in about an hour, a box tucked in her arms and groceries hanging from her elbow. “Time to go back,” she yells from the top of the stone steps. “We need to cook dinner, kids!”

You don’t dare budge. Chan notices it and nudges your shoulder gently, sensing your discontent. “You heard your mom, come on now.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you disagree. “Let’s stay here. I want to go to the beach with you when it gets warmer. And diving, kayaking, too!”

“You told me to leave my credit cards back home. You’ll have to feed me and pay all of my expenses,” Chan reminds you.

“Guess what, I left mine at home too,” you reply breezily. Maybe you both need to find new jobs. You don’t think Chan should worry about that because there’s nothing that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it, he’s just that great. Chan is the greatest thing there is, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You watch rosy lips part, brown eyes widening as his grip on your shoulder falters faintly. “I don’t deserve good things, Y/N. I can’t stay here with you,” Chan says like he means it. “Tell me to leave.” He really is stupid until the very end.

“If you’re worried about that, I’ll kindly decline my spot in heaven and go to hell with you,” you assure him, your voice chirping with mirth but even that doesn’t seem to elevate his gloom at all. A groan. “Fine then, as the most wonderful person alive, I now denounce us of all our wrongdoings. And I announce us to be the best of normal friends as normal people!”

His solemn expression crumbles and now he just looks straight up insulted. “It’s supposed to be ‘husband and wife’,” Chan nags while fighting off a grin of his own.

A light feeling burgeons in your chest. “I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing? We’re already doing laundry and taxes together, right? It’s not like we have enough money to buy the rings either.”

“I suppose I’ll have no say in that,” Chan sighs in defeat, finally smiling brightly as he reminds himself of what he has, and what he wants to become for you. “But I like to be with you as well. If you’ll have me.”

You look back at him, wanting nothing more than to burn those words into the flesh of your heart. “I already have you right here, don’t I?”

Because Chan’s existence is etched deeply somewhere inside your soul. And you love him everyday for that.

❖ note (yet again) : hello there, if you have reached the end, thank you so much for reading! I wish 2024 will bring you and your loved ones nothing but happiness and great health! (no one asked but I really tried to simplify their speech of affection towards each other here compared to illicit & priceless because all they really want is to be normal people living a normal life)

[yisony07]

Wood in Half

Based on a story plot by @adonismask. Thanks to @greenface94 for the masked pics.

“Are you ready to go?” Nate asked somewhat eagerly from the door.

Emilio pulled out his left earphone. “Yep, I’m all set!” 

He grabbed his wallet and phone and headed toward the front door. Nate was waiting for him. Emilio and Nate have been friends since high school when they were paired up for biology. Nate had always been the more athletic of the two. He didn’t play any sports but he went to the gym often. Emilio, however, has been the shy one; he preferred staying at home and reading. They had always made an odd pair, but their differences made them better friends, somehow. After high school, they found an apartment to move into together. Nate found a job at a local mechanic, and Emilio studied at the college. 

“Let’s head out then,” Nate said. He has been pushing Emilio to get out of the house a bit more, so they have a weekly arrangement to go on an “adventure”. That was as far as the planning goes. Nate had casually referred to these as their “dates”. Emilio could only wish it were true. He has been in love with Nate for years but never wanted to tell him for fear of ruining their friendship. 

They locked up the apartment and headed down the stairs to street level. Once outside, Nate asked “Left or right?” Emilio looked down both ways. Both of them usually left to the right to get where they needed to go, so he really didn’t know what could be down the left path.

“Let's take the left today.” 

“Okay, we’re shaking things up a little. That’s more like it!” 

Emilio couldn’t help but roll his eyes. They walked down the street and caught up on work and studies. From time to time, they looked through the windows of stores, a pizzeria, a casual clothing store, an ice cream parlor... but nothing couldn’t grab their attention. 

“What about that?” Nate pointed to a costume store. 

Emilio sighed. He had never been one for dressing up. He never found a costume that fitted or looked good on him. He wasn't out of shape, but his body wasn't what you'd call "athletic”. Nate started pulling him towards the shop. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! We can try on all the costumes we want, and we won’t have to go out, so you’ll have no reason to be embarrassed.”  

Emilio couldn’t even think of a way to argue with his logic, so he reluctantly agreed.

 A bell rang as they entered the shop. Both Emilio and Nate were surprised to see how clean and modern the shop looked. They were expecting too many decorations and weird smells, but the place appeared to be a normal clothing store, aside from all the weird outfits on display, of course.

A shop attendant approached them with a warm smile. “Hello! How can I help you gentlemen today?” The woman asked.

Emilio involuntarily held his breath as his pupils constricted. He has never been that good in these kinds of situations. Nate cleared his throat and stepped forward to grab the attendant’s attention. 

“Hi, this is a really weird thing to be asking, but I’m trying to get my friend here to come out of his shell. Would it be right for us to try on a few costumes just for fun? We won’t be too annoying, I promise.” 

Emilio blushed as he subtly glared at Nate. The attendant looked at the two of them amused.

“It’s no trouble,” she said with a soft smile. “You would be surprised how often people do this. Just make sure to put everything back when you’re done.” 

“Of course,” Emilio said.

The guys decided to start with the silly hats and wigs first, before getting to the bigger costumes. They spent hours in the shop, trying on everything they could. They joked, they laughed, they did impressions and skits. Emilio couldn't help but blush occasionally, as he subtly peeked through the curtains when Nate was in the locker room. Nate sometimes did the same thing, but neither of them brought it up. 

It was only when the shop attendant told them the store was closing soon that they realized how late it was. They packed away the last things they wore and headed towards the exit.

“Wait,” Emilio said, stopping suddenly. “We have to at least buy something, it’s just polite.”

Nate agreed instantly. As they approached the counter, they looked around for something to get, but beyond funny costumes, they didn't see anything worth buying. The woman, who they learned was named Helen, saw them searching the shelves. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” 

“Hmm… We-we are just looking for… some kind of memento, you know? To… To remember the day,” Emilio told her with a stutter and avoided looking her in the eyes, although for a few seconds, he did.

Nate subtly nudged Emilio with his elbow and smiled at him, as if congratulating him on improving. Helen watched them intently as if she was thinking about something. Then, she smiled widely.

“Well, I have been observing you two all day, and I think I might have just the thing.” 

She brought out a box from behind the counter. When they opened it up, they found a wooden mask inside. Not the prettiest thing, but still pretty interesting. 

Helen witnessed their hesitance. “This one is a good option for friends," she said, emphasizing 'friends' with a perhaps suggestive tone, but one that Nate seemed to like. "It has a trick, see?” She banged the mask against the counter, and there was a cracking sound. The front and the back of the mask separated into two identical masks. “One for each of you.” 

Emilio thought that it was pretty cool. “So… What do you think?” He turned to Nate, but Nate was staring transfixed at the masks. 

Nate looked back at Emilio, he blushed and then slightly shook his head, as if to clear it.

“Yeah, I really think we should get them," he said slowly.

They paid Helen and said goodbye to her. On the way home, they stopped at a deli to get something for dinner. Nate seemed very fidgety as if he couldn't wait to get home. Emilio didn't know if he was imagining it, but on the way home he sometimes caught Nate's voice whispering his (Emilio's) name with a tenderness and anticipation that made the shy man's heart beat strong, with hope… However, Emilio played it down. It couldn't be like that because Nate was a lot braver to hide that kind of thing, right? Maybe one of those costumes was just a little itchy. 

They ate dinner at the kitchen counter, before deciding to call it a night. 

“Oh, here.” Nate handed one of the masks to Emilio. “I’m pretty tired, g‘night”. Then, Nate ran to his room and slammed the door behind him. 

He’s acting so weird, Emilio thought. He cleared up the kitchen before going to his room as well, with the mask in hand. 

After Nate shut the door, he leaned against it, breathing heavily. Finally, I’m alone. He couldn't shake the feeling he had since the costume shop. Since the moment when he laid his eyes on the masks, something had stirred in him. He knew that there was just one thing he must do.

He pulled the mask out from the bag. He held it in his hand, facing him. He stroked the side of the mask, feeling along the edge until he reached what would have been the jaw. The empty eye sockets seemed to look into his soul, and it looked like they were lighting up. He started feeling the face with his other hand, tracing the metal piece down the middle, until he reached his final destination: the mouth. 

He felt his dick stiffen in his jeans. It was decided, he had to do it. He tossed the mask onto his bed and started undressing. When he was completely naked, he jumped onto the bed and grabbed the mask in his hands. Keeping the face towards him, he lowered it until the mouth was in line with his throbbing penis. He brought the tip closer before finally shoving his dick into the mouth of the mask. 

Emilio closed the door to his room. As he started stripping for bed, he felt a strange pull. His sight landed on the mask. Could that be it? He wondered without looking away.

That sensation grew stronger. It was magnetic as if having the wood placed on his skin was his inevitable destiny. But believing it was just his imagination, Emilio shook his head, took off his clothes, then a shower, and tried to put on his pajamas. However, his gaze constantly fell on the mask.

But what is happening to me? He asked herself. He was breathing with difficulty, while his chest seemed to contract; his heart was beating fast, he was sweating coldly and he was moving his legs quickly unconsciously. I must… I must…

Then, before putting on the shirt, Emilio noticed a greenish glow fleetingly run across the surface of the mask. Without thinking twice, he threw the shirt aside, launched himself towards the mask, and put it on.

“Fuck…” he moaned as soon as he felt the wood. It seemed to exert a grip on the edges, like thin claws digging into the contours of his face.

But then…

“Hmmph…!!!” He moaned in a choked voice. He felt a somewhat stiff piece of meat invaded his mouth. Confusion filled him, for there was nothing there, and yet he licked it. It didn’t taste so clear, so he continued licking and sucking it, and after a while of excitement filling him and enjoying it, he couldn’t help but think it was a dick.

With that thought in mind, he increased his pace. Sometimes he felt the piece in his mouth go in and out more, and that excited him even more. Emilio couldn’t help but grab and massage his cock. He didn’t want it to end: he wanted to be like this for as long as possible.

Suddenly, Emilio felt a tug that took him to the floor. He didn’t know where he had to go but he did know that he had to walk. He wanted more, he wanted to go to the source…

Without even bothering to get up, Emilio walked down the hall on all fours. He continued sucking and sucking, leaving his mouth covered in saliva. Without knowing why, he went to Nate's room, and as soon as he arrived the door opened by itself, so he entered without hesitation.

It was in that place and at that moment that Emilio understood: he saw Nate in his bed, revealing his toned abdomen, his divine legs, and his strong arms. With his enviable hands, he moved the front half of the mask with the mouth hole around where his cock should be, which, given the space that Emilio felt it occupied inside him, must be enormous.

The halves must be together... Emilio thought, enthralled, sucking even more eagerly. Hearing Nate's moans made him hornier, demonstrated by the hardness of his cock as well.

“Fuck, Emilio…” Nate moaned, still with his eyes closed.

That gave Emilio the impulse to crawl to the bed. Then he climbed on top of it. Feeling the increasing weight, Nate opened his eyes, but the gasp that was about to escape his lips turned into a moan the moment Emilio reached for Nate's balls and pressed his head against the mask.

At that instant, the mask became one again and immediately began to extend tentacles that animatedly covered Emilio's head. Nate was in the ecstasy to try to stop it, and Emilio was too focused on Nate's cock to notice.

“I'm going to… cum…” Nate warned and, in a matter of seconds, he squirted a jet of cum directly into Emilio's mouth.

At that moment Emilio separated from Nate and the mask emitted a green glow that blinded both of them as Emilio's body fell to one side of Nate's.

When the light disappeared and Nate could see again, he stood up and saw his roommate beside him, who had long, loose hair and a green face, like a second layer of greedy skin, and a peculiar smile.

“What's the problem, babe?” He asked with a certain impudence and licked the remaining drops of cum from his face. “You don't think that was all, do you? Because my love for you is as hard and hot as we are right now.”

And, before Nate could answer, Emilio snapped his fingers. Then, Nate was magically pushed back onto the bed and received a passionate kiss from the green-headed man. With his heart racing and immersed in heat, the man reciprocated, and the couple kissed with passion that not only reflected their carnal desires, but the mutual feelings they had been harboring for a long time.

Then they separated and green-headed Emilio moved until he was on top of Nate, his ass aligned with Nate's salivating, big large cock. Emilio then took Nate's hand and placed it on his chest. Nate quickly removed his hand.

“It burns…” Nate said waving his hand as if that would cool his hand down faster.

“My heart burns with love for you,” Emilio replied with a smile and lowered his body until his hole was almost in contact with Nate's cock. “Let me make what's coming an explicit seal of our relationship, how about that?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Nate replied eagerly.

“Say no more, my love,” said Emilio and lowered his body until all of Nate's flesh was inside him, and began to vibrate as if it were a drill on automatic and Nate screamed with pleasure.

And the couple continued in the act, enjoying each other's bodies throughout the night and accompanied, for some strange reason, by cartoonish sounds that hid from the public the moans that were exhaled in the room.

It was uncertain how much time had passed, but Emilio still woke up tired, as if the hours of sleep had been in vain. His skin was the same as before, and his body the same as before. His head hurt a little and everything around him looked blurry. Emilio waited a few seconds until he could focus his vision.

He realized that he was in Nate's room, in his bed.

"Why...?" Emilio asked as he looked around, but he stopped when he noticed Nate's sleeping, naked body next to him. Between them, were the two pieces. The memories of what had happened occupied his mind at that moment, and in that long moment Emilio, blushing beyond belief, hid his face with his hands. Together... we are a couple... he thought, almost unable to believe his words.

His gaze fell again on his now boyfriend. Seeing him asleep like that caused a strange feeling in Emilio. Nate looked so pretty, so attractive...

Then the halves flashed fleetingly and Emilio remembered once again the preamble to the wild act that took place. A giggle left his lips as soon as he took the outer half of the mask and, remembering what his room... boyfriend had done, he inserted his cock into the hole in the mask that corresponded to the lips.

It feels so good... Emilio thought, moaning. It was as if an invisible mass was warmly embracing his meat provisionally, waiting for the real one. However, Nate was still snoring.

But then, Nate moved a little. The lower half of the mask was face down as if waiting for a face on it, and Nate's was temptingly close. But Nate didn't move any further… if only it were a centimeter...

With one of his hands, feigning innocence, Emilio touched Nate's upper shoulder a little. His movement brought Nate's face closer for a moment. The back half of the mask had taken advantage of this and jumped on its own to his head from his shoulder. Nate's body spasmed, but at first, he didn't wake up; but then Emilio increased the movements of his half and that's when he realized that his meat was inside Nate: it felt very warm, almost like a cozy home.

Nate moved his head from side to side several times, restless from the sudden invasion, before waking up with a moan. As soon as he sucked, he realized what was happening and, without waiting any longer, he moved towards Emilio and fused the masks once again. Immediately it hugged his head and Nate's body was transformed.

"This is the real deal!" said Masked Nate. "This feels amazing!!"

"Hey... I was doing the same thing, that's not fair," said Emilio pouting. Masked Nate couldn't help but laugh at the cuteness before giving her a lust-filled look.

"Don't worry..." Masked Nate said. "I'll make it up to you with a treat... What's next is going to be wild."

And they both had more than a second round.

[frozenjokes]

Hey, I binged read your cubscar(ian) hotguy au

And I LOVED it,

Cub's characterization is so precious, he's so autistic to me (I'm autistic so I kin heavily) the way you write him, chef's kiss and all that. Is Cub Demi? xx

Scar is so strong and yet so broken but he doesn't know it yet, I'm so glad he's in therapy now <3. I love that you wrote him this way, he's disabled (just like me) but he's not a child, he's whimsy but so life smart, I value so much when authors write him like this and his plurality is very relatable <3. And his friendship with Mumbo <3

Grian, well he's just so real, his need for a job ever tho Cub was happy looking out for him <3, his friendship just reconnecting with Mumbo so easily, warmth. I love how self aware he is, and the angst you wrote for him is heart strings shattering I loved.

Cub and Grian's relationship ahhhhh yessss. The commitment and devotion, how they are so connected they didn't notice it sliding from platonic to romantic. This just IS for me.

Cub and Scar, well (yes again 🤣) they are so sweet, and Cub holds 51% of the cards lol but Scar's 49% is really doing things for Cub wink wink. Some of the reasoning behind Cub's love is being loved. And Scar loving him because of his round edges and softness 🥹

Scar and Grian. I hope the flowers he got for them were poppies and lilacs /lh /nf; Scar's fear because of his sharp edges, Scar in other works has his weakness but he can always find in in himself to want to protect Grian almost as a superior?, but you write Scar so vulnerable and equal to Grian. They are enemies to frenemies to ... But really it's caused by the lack of knowing, eachother and their personal experiences. Again Scar and his plural view of people <3 I think Grian thought of Scar as stronger emotionally, physically, mentally then Scar ever was, and Grian used him because of this misconception. I'm glad they're getting there, truly. Did Grian feel dejected? when Scar didn't help with his wings? Angst <3

thank you!!! Cub could be Demi. So could Grian! They can be whatever your heart desires. Personally I don’t care to label any of them because it isn’t very important to me. I do think Cub would refer to both Scar and Grian has his friends even after years of being together and it drives Scar absolutely nuts. Why are you doing that. What do you Mean. Cub it’s been twenty years you can introduce me as your boyfriend I Promise no one here is going to judge you and cub just goes: ? oh right. and then he never does that. the word friend just comes easier. it’s cozy.

It’s very silly to me you pointed out scar’s friendship with Mumbo because they are not friends scar is Coping. /silly. I actually forget very often I write a lot of angst of these characters because that’s just not really how my brain categorizes turmoil. It’s always a jumpscare to see it pointed out /light hearted, joking. funniest instance of this happening 🔽

(from chapter two of the Jimmy decked out fic)

I was on call with a friend while reading this for the first time and for the life of me I Could Not think of what /nf meant and he didn’t know either so we came up with some ideas: NOT FUNNY. no fingers. non fungible. nut fart. NO FUN. no friends. Nice feet. never forget. nice flowers. new friend! NOT FAIR

it means not forced. we had to look it up LMAO /silly silly silly. thank you for the laughs

Grian thought of scar as a piece of shit self absorbed celebrity and this is true however it’s not everything. inside is a deeply, deeply, extremely deeply, unimaginably kicked puppy. he’s sad and pathetic and has big wet eyes. also he cares.

Grian wasn’t too affected by Scar’s not wanting to touch his wings, and in general the experience was a little more overwhelmingly confusing? Neither he nor Cub expected him to have such a strong reaction, especially when things between all three of them are getting better, but Scar is still carrying the weight of a lot of Grian’s poor treatment of him for weeks on end, and even though Scar’s forgiven him and understands where he was coming from, those aren’t things you can just brush off, especially when many of Grian’s gestures (good and bad) are sweeping and intense and unpredictable, and people pleasing for someone as unstable as that (less so now, but before it was bad) is Extremely Stressful. dealing with cuteguy (evil version) for months beforehand Did Not Help. there’s a reason Scar views Grian as Sharp and that’s because they have both beat the piss out of each other hundreds of times.

To a point Grian is aware of this. It’s a thing he’s discussed in therapy a thousand times, and something he had to confront directly with Jimmy. In his eyes, his friendship with Scar (despite blunders on both sides) is an act of Scar’s good will towards him as given with Scar’s forgiveness, and if Scar is having problems, then it’s not really something Grian can hold against him. Obviously that doesn’t stop feelings from being hurt, but this was more a result of The Panic Attack than the wing touching refusal. Which Grian dealt with by Pushing Minigolf Pushing Pushing Pushing Pushing. Grian’s reaction to guilt and/or rejection is I NEED TO MAKE UP FOR THIS RIGHT MEOW!!!!! and in doing so often fails miserably to read the room, which is why Cub steps in in that particular instance.

as far as wings though, if I were Grian, scar would be The Last Person I want touching them. Clumsiest motherfucker alive who in the case of this au, tends to be rougher with his affection because he literally can not tell what is too little or too much. Having someone nervous at your back probably isn’t a great feeling either, and for an activity that’s supposed to be relaxing, Cub brings a Much steadier aura. Cub also has the capacity to focus. Scar would probably need at least three other sources of stimulation to do a good job. And it would still hurt. Regular wing grooming is not supposed to hurt 💔

my rambling service comes free, well, perhaps at a small cost of a seemingly benign question. normal about her ocs frozenjokes back at it again

[glitter-soda]

I’d like to break down my current feelings and gripes about the trans movement, both to inform my followers and maybe start a discussion.

The vast majority of trans people are relatively normal and are just trying to live their lives in peace.

Trans women are trans women. They are male, and by definition it is much more accurate to call them men than women, but I do believe they are something of a separate category. The same goes for trans men, in reverse.

Definitions like “a woman is anyone who identifies as a woman” and “a lesbian is a non-man who’s attracted to non-men” are ridiculous and frankly offensive. The word lesbian is taken. It means “female homosexual”. Literally nobody is stopping you from making your own term, so stop trying to forcibly redefine ours.

Male socialization and female socialization both exist and are important. Trans women were socialized male and trans men were socialized female.

The sheer amount of vitriol towards “terfs” and anyone else who questions anything is just…disgusting. It’s acceptable to send them graphic rape and death threats, doxx them, assault them at protests, and celebrate when they get sick or die. I don’t know how to explain that that’s not normal fucking behavior, especially since “terf” is thrown around very casually these days.

Biological women should be allowed to have spaces that don’t include any males, regardless of the purpose. Lesbian bars, female only gyms, female only domestic violence/rape shelters, and literally anything else are fine and should be allowed to exist without being vandalized or threatened with shutdowns.

The former point includes female only sports teams. Males are biologically very different from females and it should’ve be offensive to anyone to say so. Both sexes have advantages and disadvantages over the other, it just happens that many sports are designed in a way that makes it easier for males to succeed.

Abolishing female only categories in award ceremonies, scholarships, and the like in the name of inclusivity is stupid and completely forgets the reason they were established in the first place. Male bias exists and women will almost never be included because of it.

I’m not against transitioning because I believe in total bodily autonomy and find language like “mutilation” to be incredibly gross and callous. However, I think it’s bad and dangerous to be presented as the literal only treatment for dysphoria.

Children who express any form of questioning or gender nonconformity should not be immediately assumed to be trans. A little girl saying “I want to be a boy” may mean “I want the freedoms that boys have and this is the only way I know how to express it because I’m six”. For actual trans kids, puberty blockers are dangerous and minors should only be allowed to socially transition.

The entire idea of being non-binary is frankly silly to me. I believe it to mostly be a poor coping mechanism for sexist stereotypes. Again, do what you want, but don’t expect me to take you seriously.

The way a lot of information and discussions that don’t support the current trans narrative are censored or lied about online is really bad and honestly borderline cult-like. Very few people actually know what radfems believe because people are discouraged from reading anything straight from the source. The Cass Review was picked apart in bad faith and many of the articles that “sum it up” are just straight up full of false information. Detransitioners are swept under the rug and told to shut up and stop trying to ruin things when they try to talk about their experiences. The trans community needs to do better.

And most importantly:

I do not want trans people dead. I believe in my heart of hearts that the vast majority of actual radfems and gender criticals do not want trans people dead. Neither ideology is hateful or inherently against trans people.

(Y’all just hate being told “no”.)

(Also I probably forgot something, so feel free to ask or discuss idk)

[ffviidirtyconfessions]

genuine question!! why do you care about sefikura so much when they are not real people? i get not liking a ship for whatever reason but your strong feelings on the ship seem unwarranted when you're literally running a dirty confessions blog. liking sefikura =/= condoning abuse nor invalidating real peoples trauma. cloud is not real. neither is sephiroth. thats why you can sexualise them silly style on a tumblr blog! i do not mean this maliciously, i am genuinely wondering

To start, above all of the other concerns, I don't like nor allow anything related to sefikura on this blog because it conflicts with the pedophilia rule. In game canon, Cloud and Sephiroth first met when Cloud was a young teenager, and Sephiroth was very much an adult.

That alone is enough to make it not the kind of content I want to promote to an audience. Though I do run a dirty confessions blog, I aim to make it as safe as a space as possible for everyone. Dirty, sexy, or NSFW spaces do not automatically have to be an anything goes, "you shouldn't have a problem with anything if you go here" place. In that light, I tag kinks that may be upsetting just as I don't allow underage, abusive, and other dynamics of relationships that can not only be triggering, but a bad, dangerous example for teens and other young people.

I am fully aware that fiction is not a direct equivalent to reality. However, I think it is very much true that it has a real effect on reality, especially in how individuals see themselves in it and relate to it. I've had a conversation on this same topic before with a veteran of the FF7 fandom who witnessed a Vincent/Yuffie roleplay couple online turn out to be a real pedophilic situation. Obviously, this is far from the case for every instance, but it happens. Just as I cannot allow confessions about underage characters to protect potential teenagers looking at this blog, I also cannot allow the romanticization of a relationship that could hurt or remind traumatized people of their own pain.

I do not believe that every person who ships sefikura "condones abuse" or "invalidates trauma". Likely, most don't even think about that aspect and simply like seeing the characters do whatever they want to together. I understand that. But speaking from the perspective of a traumatized person who has related deeply to Cloud Strife's story, I do believe that there is something to the dynamic that just isn't being understood if it's being ignored to play dolls. This is not to say that Cloud and Sephiroth being together is a 1:1 mirror that will remind anyone who's ever been in a bad relationship of their pain. Rather, it's what Sephiroth represents to Cloud, and how the games portray his feelings towards him. In some readings, you might even argue that Sephiroth is a metaphor for trauma: something unbeatable, always in the back of your mind, waiting to seduce you back to the patterns of self destructive behavior that the traumatic event might have created in you. I think that Cloud's struggle with this and his efforts to move past it are a large core of FF7's story, and to me it rings hollow to ignore that because neither character is, as you said, "real".

I don't expect to change anyone's mind, and my stance on this has already been clear on the front page of the blog for over a year now. I am sure that tens of dozens of sefikura fans who otherwise liked the blog have blocked me over this. And that's fine! Nobody has to agree with me, and there clearly will always be another space to go to for those that want to see that stuff. But it matters to me both on a personal level and as the mod of a public blog to talk about this stuff in a different light. Because if fiction can help people in a real way, it can also hurt them in a real way. I think that a level-headed perspective on all these issues can be reached. It's not all or nothing.

Thanks for asking.

[tinyvesselhearts]

Chapter 4: Thing is (Egon x Reader)

Happy❤️- Day, Folks! WITHOUT FURTHER ADO *drum roll*:

Egon x Reader/You No Y/N Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (references to cosmic horror)

The following weeks are a challenge.

Egon experiences plenty of previously unfelt symptoms. He isn’t sure how to classify them.

There’s a bunch of obvious signs of affection: blunt pangs in his chest every time you come down to the lab, a recurring hitch whenever you say or do something silly. And there’s a lot of silly. You brighten the room, make everything more vibrant. It’s quite ridiculous, frankly. He knows nothing’s changed. You’re still you, he’s still himself, the ceiling’s still burnt and the sooty armchair hasn’t been replaced. Still, he can’t help but gravitate towards you: the warmth, the heart and the laughs.

Thing is, there are times when much stronger waves of feelings wash over him. Egon finds them unable to process.

In the lab, for instance. At this point, you’re welcome here unannounced, even at his absence. You spend the mornings here (right after you’re done with the dishes), at his desk, reading his notes. No matter how much you try to clean up afterwards, there’s always something amiss: a skewed desk lamp, a tilted chair, a half- empty mug— and that doesn’t bother him in the lightest. What does, however, is that sometimes his sweater or lab coat are hung up on the hook or the chair. They’re warm and have a familiar scent. He puts them on and goes about his day, only calmer and slightly agitated.

A paradox, he observes. Still, he can’t help it.

He isn’t sure whether you’re crossing a line or not. Sharing clothes doesn’t classify as socially acceptable— not without an explicit permission. You don’t seem to mind though. It may be because he’s already lent you a garment once— and technically the offer’s still on the table (possible reasons: comfort, amicability, low temperature in the lab). What’s equally plausible is that his scent is as welcoming to you as yours is to him. It’s about familiarity, positive affiliations. Pheromones. You’re probably as much of a victim here as he is. Hopeless against biology— ah, yes. Must be that.

There’s an intrusive thought which prods at the back of his brain, however. A slim chance you might, somehow, reciprocate this state of madness.

He lacks data though— lots of data. He’s never seen you blush. You don’t initiate physical contact beyond close friendliness and utmost respect. You’ve never asked about his personal life (Janine used to do it— he’s learnt it’s a cue of romantic interest). You don’t put on more makeup than usual, neither do you seem overly preoccupied by his proximity— even though he’s been progressively invading your personal space in the lab for a while now.

He breathes you in. Melts in your warmth. Aches to touch your hand. He’s starving.

He wants to confront you about it. He does. It nags him in a way he hasn’t known before. But if his explicit confession brings and end to the comfortable intimacy you two have, he’d rather not say anything at all. It’ll pass. It will all pass. For the time being, he’s determined to wait it out.

There’s lots of road bumps, though. You— blissfully unaware of his discomfort— are pretty friendly with the others. Flirtatious, even, especially with Ray— you talk a lot, chat about the paranormal as you wash Ecto- 1 and he tinkers with the engine. Yes, you’ve grown familiar (eye contact, laughing, occasional hugs), albeit the relationship seems far from the wardrobe- sharing kind. That seems to be exclusive to Egon.

Oh, he likes that word. Exclusive.

An experiment is due.

---

It’s a big bust. Lots of trouble. A ton of money to be made.

Dragging you out with the team isn’t Egon’s idea— Ray suggested it. Naturally, everybody got aboard. It’s a perfect opportunity to run a few tests, both on the improved equipment (remotely operated traps! That’s the latest crown jewel of Egon’s ingenuity) and your bodily functions, a.k.a.: trying to elicit undisputable hints of attraction.

Needless to say, he’s thrilled.

You stagger towards the lockers where the boys are gearing up. If your body language indicates anything, it’s pure terror.

“I’ve only practiced on inanimate objects!”

“Ghosts are inanimate objects!” Ray beams. “We’ll need backup. Someone to set up the old- fashioned traps in case the remote rookies fail. If it goes well, you won’t even have to use the proton pack. Just, you know, move around a little bit, stretch some wires and stomp!”

“Yeah, sure. I totally won’t get tangled up in the cables”, you swallow a bile and laugh weakly. “You’ll be ordering a pile of wobbly thermoplastic haystack around for the whole gig, as per usual Friday night. What a time to be alive.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve done well on the training”, says Egon. “Get changed and we’re going. Here, take my spare.”

He hands you the jumpsuit. You take a deep breath and go to the bathroom to change.

Peter Venkman is an absolute slut for that.

“How chivalrous”, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Egon, isn’t your mood slime going to be jealous? Are you taking good care of your ladies, nurture them and all?”

“The slime’s never complained.”

“Ah, but you left it underground, didn’t you. Moving on to humans now. Hey, I’d call it progress, good for you.”

Egon’s a hair away from producing some sick, elaborate burn to put Peter out but you open the bathroom door— dressed in his uniform, eyes sparkling with playful glimmer, wide smile plastered to your face.

“Ha! I look good in your surname.”

Ah, how perfect. Egon smiles.

“Better than your own, I think. It’s a good surname. Quite versatile.”

“Mm! Goes well with a lot of names. Has a nice flow, asserts dominance.”

“Indeed. Very attribute-y. Lots of great qualities”, he raises an eyebrow. “Would be a shame not to pass it on.”

That was about as smooth as a speeding truck—hard to miss and heavily loaded. That’s the point. He looks at you: you’re absolutely aware of what he’s just said, covering your mouth with a hand and stifling a laugh. Good. No blush, though. Bad? You don’t seem too flustered either. He’s swarmed with mixed signals. The only thing he can go off of is a warm, bright grin stretching across your cheeks and a slightly scrunched nose (adorable) and oh no, his guts are churning again, that’s inconvenient, that’s, uh, it’s—

Peter, on the other hand, assaults Egon with his Shook Look (TM). Egon recognizes that: he’s asking The Question. He decides a smirk is enough of an answer. Vague. Evasive. That won’t solve any problems (potentially cause more— screw it) but it’ll sure as hell keep Peter away from explicitly taunting him, you and the mood slime. Let’s shut his mouth for a change, shall we?

“Ray told me about the place”, you say, getting into the car. “Seems to be littered with ghosts. He said there were lots of Class Fours and Fives so I read about them again. I hope I remember everything.”

“Going out in the field is a great way to learn.”

“Yeah, Egon’s right! You’ll be a professional in no time. It’ll be nice to have you fully on board, can’t wait to show you all the cool strategies we’ve come up with.”

Winston takes the wheel. Peter turns on the obnoxious siren and the magnificent Ecto- 1 leaves the station.

The loud wailing from the roof boosts New York City’s average noise pollution by at least 40%. Street lamps flicker as you pass by. Cars beep, tires screech and bumpy road is getting increasingly more troublesome with every turn. That’s understandable: the car’s designed for four passengers. There’s five. While Winston and Pete have plenty of room, Egon’s squeezed in the back, sandwiching you between himself and Ray. It’s snug, cozy. Like, military- truck sort of cozy.

He glances at you. A few minutes pass. You’re preoccupied with picking at your fingertips, face visibly contorted. Stress— yes, that’s stress. He’s capable of recognizing it by now.

Egon leans over your ear.

“Tense?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember Chapter Twelve on the Ghost Classes? Class Fours, specifically?”

“Established identities. Capable of communication. Historical figures and such.”

“Perfect”, he murmurs. “We’re going to try regular assessment and peaceful method of disposal. If that doesn’t work, we’ll resort to the streams. Unlikely but possible.”

“So, a proton pack for me as well?”

“I’d recommend it. Once we’re done with Class Fours, we’ll have to deal with Fives. No other way than to shoot them. No mercy there.”

He watches your face as you offer a small nod. Your shuddered breath tickles his skin.

“Okay. I just want to say that upfront: I’m scared, okay? I’m petrified. I may freeze or try to do the least logical thing at the least appropriate moment.”

“And I acknowledge that”, he presses his shoulder to yours a little tighter. “Stay close to me. I’ll guide you through it, okay?”

“Stop me if I attempt to do something stupid. Please.”

“I will. Trust me.”

“I do.”

The car keeps veering as if there was no tomorrow. Egon’s palm is laying on his knee, pressed against your side. Were you alone, he’d squeeze your hand— soothingly, with care and patience— but Winston is speeding, siren is wailing and the circumstances are off. Seeping warmth you share through layers of fabric must provide at least a shade of comfort. You’re wrapped in his jumpsuit, too. He truly hopes it helps.

Ecto- 1 pulls over with a loud screech. Everyone jumps out of the car and Winston is quick to distribute the equipment.

Egon’s used to the clunky shape of proton packs so he swiftly puts his on and helps you set up. He adjusts the belt around your middle, secures the grapples and makes sure it’s not too tight. Then he straightens up and inches closer to check the straps. He’ll optimize them for you. A few simple tricks can save your life. It’s not like he’s acutely aware of how close your face is. Nor is he tilting his head to brush your hair with the tip of his nose but—

“…Egon?”

The familiar scent keeps him pulled in. The warmth is magnetizing. It defies everything he’s learnt throughout his college years and he’s not used to it— to being so helpless— defenseless, pliant, weak— to yield to how your hair tingle his skin— your lips so close he can taste your breath—

“Hey, Spenglers!” Peter calls. “Both of you! Chop, chop!”

Crap. Peter. The guys. How could he—

Egon backs away.

“Alright. That should do it. Won’t slide off.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He grunts, breath short. Pulls on a pair of latex gloves. He’s just about to turn around but something clicks and he pauses.

“…Wait. Has Peter just coined a collective for us?”

“…Um. Maybe”, you say. “Sorry, I didn’t catch it. Wasn’t paying attention.”

Egon looks up to see your lips curved in a smile. It’s… small and tentative. Strange. What’s even weirder, you don’t meet his eyes and that fact alone strikes him as wrong. Something’s amiss— he barely understands anything anymore (are you just scared?) but there’s no time to ponder upon his personal issues right now. The Ghostbusters are on a job. This will have to wait until later.

The house might as well be the 8th World Wonder. Even the station wasn’t near as decrepit as this mansion— yeah, it was empty, dusty and almost irreparable (almost: he’d never quash Ray’s enthusiasm)— but at least it had a future. This mansion, simply put, doesn’t. Honestly, it’s a miracle this thing is still standing.

“Class Fours should be members of the Marsh family”, says Ray. “Two or three of them.”

“Wait, that Marsh family?” You catch up and grab him by the arm. “You know, the Innsmouth’s Marsh family who also happen to have been heavily involved with the Children of Dagon? The Sea People? The Marshes?!”

“Oh, you’ve read about them! That’s fantastic! One of the children moved here three generations ago. Apparently, they’d been performing rituals in this very house until their death in 1932. Or was it ’35?”

“Good timing”, says Peter. “Man quit before the Nazis.”

“Hey, ho, but… If Class Fives are still there, they were likely listed in, uh, that book you guys have, Whatnots of Koth… Something.”

“The Black Rituals of Koth- Serapis”, Egon supplies.

“Exactly! Whoever this Marsh guy is, he’s probably invoked, uh… non- humanoid entities? Literal, dangerous monsters? Tentacles? Floods of slime?”

Ray graces you with a smile and warm eyes.

“That’s exactly why we need you here.”

Egon’s brows knit. That’s strange. You could technically know a little about Dagon and the whole Sea People lot— you did read pulp magazines after all— but for you to be familiar with Koth- Serapis is suspicious.

Yes, if you peeked into his latest research on The Collective, you can be aware of The Great Old Ones. There are lots of loose notes and markers he’s scattered across his desk, after all, and you’re welcome unannounced. But, heck— even if you did take interest in that particular branch of his research— even if you did, in fact, learn his notes by heart, it’s impossible for you to know the author’s name. At no point did he mention Koth. There is no chance for you to know about that darn book.

He pulls out P.K.E. Meter and sweeps your back.

“I think we shouldn’t go head- on”, suggests Winston. “They’re gonna surround us. We know there’s many, right? And various types? So let’s be smart about it.”

“Lure them out?” Asks Ray.

Peter flexes. “I’ll lure them. Help me pick the strategy, boys. Male or female?”

“Um, neither, actually. Merozoites.”

“…Fuck.”

Egon shoots Peter a dead stare.

“Let’s not.”

“I think we should try talking to them first”, says Ray. “The Marshes were human once. A while ago. Not long, only a few decades at most! They were the cult leaders here so… I suppose they’re the ones to reason with.”

“You do realize you’ve just put cult and reason in one sentence, right?”

The P.K.E. Meter’s beeping speeds up. Egon looks at the screen— there’s a rapid spike in readings. It’s detected spectral motion. Sparks flicker around its metal wings. Signs of trouble creep just around the corner.

The sky’s darker and hauling wind pulls at bare trees. It gets stronger, tugs at dried branches, scatters dead twigs across the mansion’s lawn— a tangled mess which has stayed untrimmed for decades. What’s worse, an electromagnetic field is brewing above their heads. An impending storm is always a bad omen. Lots of ghosts. Mess. Moving targets. Pure luck. Occultic residue is always a pain to clean.

Ray hops onto the porch. Peter prances close behind like the smartarse he always is. Winston charges his proton rod, vigilant, focused. The whole ordeal seems to escalate rather quickly.

Egon turns to you.

“Stay here.”

“…Okay. What do I do?”

“Set the traps. All of them, place them on the porch. We aim to catch them inside but if they try to escape, they’ll be greeted with a surprise. We’re the frontline and you are safe here.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Egon. You’re my favorite person on Earth. Are you sure you’re going to be alright? This looks rather dreadful, if you ask me.”

“We’ve done worse. Hopefully it won’t take long. No matter what happens, don’t go inside.”

“Sir, yes, sir”, you chuckle. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. What I do want, however, is you all back in one piece. Are we clear? Seal the deal? Can I have an, uh, a fist bump or something?”

He smirks so hard his dimple shows.

“See you later, Spengler.”

Egon doesn’t see your face— he turns away and scuttles up to the gang. However, to his delight, a vibrant timbre of your giggle rings in his ears and the warm sound follows him. It’s there when he passes through the decayed doorstep— into the rotten foyer— onto the perished floor. He scrapes through the vapors and drowns in the shadows— surrounded by damp walls, ceilings and textile scraps. It’s like this place has been buried for years but still refuses to die. There’s nothing here. Not a shred of life.

He latches onto the fading echo of your laugh. It’s warm. Distant but familiar. It’s his way out.

Thank you for reading ❤️

AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44586838/chapters/113404459

[ibigrs]

Aligning Mission Statement with Consumer Values

Consumers are conducting brand research at an unprecedented level, and this trend shows no indications of abating. 

Throughout the pandemic, we discovered that individuals began to seek out brands that shared their beliefs in an effort to spend their money with companies that shared their concerns. Consumers are conducting due diligence on you on a variety of topics, including the environment, sustainability, black-owned businesses, whale conservation, and ethical fashion. 

Brands that ignore this stance risk losing customers to competitors who do.

Neither silence nor an antiquated purpose statement is a feasible option in this case. Forward-thinking brands who are aware of consumer trends have already made modifications and followed through on their commitments. 

If a customer visits your website and your mission statement reads like it was written in 1998, those funds will not make their way into your war chest. Consumers that are savvy today view brands as extensions of themselves. They’ve worked diligently to ascertain where their money is spent, and it’s critical to them. 

To them, it’s tremendously off-putting if your goal statement has aged like milk. They want products and services from a business that understands and addresses their social and environmental concerns.

That needs a new mission statement that is backed up by action. To truly go above and above, have your work independently certified by a third-party agency to establish confidence. Consumers are inherently distrustful of companies, and anything that can be done to alleviate that tension is a win. In any case, re-examining your goal statement is not a wishful thinking exercise. 

It remains true to your brand’s identity. However, demonstrating your interest goes a long way. In the eyes of the consumer, putting actions behind your words is the frosting on the cake.

Utilize market research to guide your efforts here, as making an educated guess is silly – and potentially detrimental. With a firm grasp of global trends, Patagonia’s mission statement could almost write itself based on the topic clusters alone. The social media conversations surrounding your brand will reveal which trends are most popular among your target demographic. In your mission statement, make a point of highlighting them. 

Demonstrate to the consumer that you’ve taken notice of and embraced their beliefs, and you’ll boost both your brand story and customer experience.

[bleachbleachbleach]

For @canariie​! &lt;3

I hope this isn’t read with any aggression or antipathy toward Kubo or Klub or anything else, because I have neither aggression nor antipathy about this. This response is going to be a long way of saying “Kubo doesn’t matter to me, so I often ignore him,” but I feel like that requires a disclaimer and some additional explanation or else I feel like it comes across as embittered and rage-y and I promise it’s neither. I am extremely neutral about this, I have a pH of 7 about this. XDDD

But my approach to fandom and fannish stuff is like... in “real life” you have to pay attention to and care about basically everything, even if you think it is silly and not worth the time. But if something is a hobby and for fun, then you’re under no such obligation. Given that free time is at an extreme premium, I try not to spend it on things that aren’t interesting to me. This goes for wank and shipwars and whatever, sure; but it also applies to pieces of canon that aren’t interesting to me, and it includes authorial paratexts like Kubo’s Klub thing. Because do I feel any particular reverence for things Kubo says? No, I do not. XD I think about Kubo, in any capacity, vanishingly little.

And where new paratexts are concerned, my view is that once a work has been published, it’s entered the afterlife of its text (citation: the ghost of Walter Benjamin). Particularly in a fannish space, it’s in the hands of its readers as much as its writer, and it is going to become a thousand things as it is translated through this community of readers (and in our case, literal translations too). Kubo’s paratexts aren’t by default any more important to me than someone else’s headcanons (and I say this with SO MUCH LOVE for many of Kubo’s paratexts, like Colorful Bleach! and a lot of love for the “non-canon,” like the anime filler arcs). In my thinking, I’m going to privilege whichever ones I find most interesting.

Kubo says in a locked forum that Hitsugaya is older than Hinamori? That’s not interesting to me. Slush pile-->Ignore. (For that matter, “Hitsugaya had bankai before entering Academy” or whatever the other one was? Deeply uninteresting to me. Slush pile-->Ignore.)

If, for fanfic purposes or something, I felt I had no choice but to bring Klub into the discussion, I’d probably just go the “Hitsugaya had been in Rukongai longer, growing up in slow long Rukongai time, and then Hinamori came over after him,” which I think is a fairly typical interpretation. But the Klub response itself, to me, manages to both foreclose interesting narratives while introducing ones that I find less interesting, so I primarily just ignore it.

*Your* thoughts (and this nonfictional environmental book), however, I am VERY INTERESTED IN AND VERY MUCH WANT TO READ. I am so looking forward to your post!!!

For the anniversary ask: how do you think the aging of Shinigami works?

@jiyle asked a variation of the same, so I will count this answer for both!

As you both know, there are lots of different shinigami aging theories out there, which I think is fabulous. Here’s mine!

I. BIOLOGY

How does shinigami aging work? My first impulse was not to try too hard to analogize it to human aging. I mean, how old is Lightning McQueen in human years? He’s a car, so why not just imagine him in car years? As someone who owns a car that is the same age as the cinematic masterpiece, Pixar's Cars, "16-year old car" carries a lot of meaning that is untranslatable to an approximate human age.

But maybe shinigami aging is more similar to human aging than it first appears. Sure, shinigami aging is wacky and non-linear, but so is human aging. Human aging sees periods of rapid development, and also periods of (seeming) stasis. Aging approximates different mathematical functions at different points in a person’s life.

Generally speaking, that seems to describe what we see of shinigami aging pretty decently, too. It seems like the three main distinctions between shinigami and human aging are:

Shinigami live longer lol.

Shinigami periods of development and stasis are more pronounced. Rather than just having their aging streeeeetched to fit the length of their lifespan, their periods of development are more acute/extreme.

Human aging is more readily generalizable to a population, whereas shinigami seem more variable. We have the Academy Kids + Hitsugaya more or less getting older at some kind of regular interval, even if maybe they are not quite exactly the same interval. But we also have Unohana. And Shinji, for that matter, lopsided man of mystery.

As for more specifics? Meh. People in Seireitei probably age differently than those in Rukongai. Shinigami probably age differently than non-shinigami souls. (Which I imagine could make for some interesting family dynamics!) The reiryoku you possess probably plays a role here, and perhaps even its expression as reiatsu plays a separate one. I think there are a lot of variables to play with here and I take a plot of pleasure in that. To add to the variables, I’m frankly not convinced that time is even linear in Soul Society, nor am I convinced that time (and space) are uniform ACROSS Soul Society.

One last thought to close this section: If we want to imagine the biological age of a shinigami, particularly a Captain-class shinigami, what analogy is most appropriate? Do we analogize age in terms of humanity? That thing shinigami echo/ghost? Or is it more appropriate to imagine their life milestones like those of a star, a ball of incredible and otherworldly energy?

The Hell Arc seems to strongly imply that the Gotei did not think about this. Or at least, possibly not enough.

--

Below the cut: Shinigami theories of development, age as an identity category and its relative importance (or lack thereof), and how human interaction might impact these ideas.

--

II. CULTURE

Because their biological age is harder to meaningfully quantify, I feel like it’s probably even less important, culturally, to shinigami than it is to us. As age approaches infinity, what is one millennium, or two? Things like your class/rank/reiatsu classification seem like they would be infinitely more relevant for anyone trying to figure out who you are, or how to interact with you. (Imagine GoteiMingle… instead of A/S/L you give your rank/gender/division. What a miserable little website, LOL.)

I think it’s also worth thinking about what Soul Society’s conceptions of these different, less culturally relevant life stages would be, since for humans, the concept of "childhood" (what it is, what ages it covers, why it matters) is already historically variable. Soul Society does seem to mostly acknowledge that children are different than adults, so there’s that. (Maybe because of the preponderance of ghost children they deal with?). Yoruichi understands Byakuya as an adolescent in TBTP, and Kyouraku and Ukitake express similar sensibilities in the Beast Swords arc.

But it also seems like Soi Fon is Yoruichi’s vassal before she’s understood is a child, and I imagine Byakuya is family head-in-training before he is a child, too.

This is an oversimplification, but in the Edo period, childhood/adulthood were understood as particular social stages demarcated by coming-of-age ceremonies. These did roughly align with biological age, though children transitioned into "adulthood" somewhere between ages 13 and 20 (in the scheme of things, a pretty broad range). As a child, you got to play and socialize. But you were also already understood to be in-training to become a samurai, or a merchant, or a priest, or family head, or marriageable, or whatever; and then you became that thing. You weren’t an adult because you turned 18, or 20, but because you acquired the ability to do adult work. (And/or your paranoid family really needed you, at age 3, to be family head, LOL. But let’s ignore those cases.)

This seems to track with Soul Society’s sensibilities, in the sense that shinigami adulthood would be less about your biological age than about having completed training (e.g. Academy). I’m not saying that this is how you *should* see things; I just think it’s likely that this is how they do. In a world where rank and/or class supersedes all, and adulthood is defined as the ability to do adult work, if you’re employed then you’re an adult. 

Like, I don’t think shinigami by and large see Hitsugaya as a child. We don't generally tend to see his authority questioned (at least in formal situations; antics happen in a different register). He probably did intentional work for this, yeah, but it’s not as though his youth were this insurmountable obstacle to achieving respect as a captain. I feel like most shinigami probably don’t go around thinking "what is this child doing here"; and moreover, they also probably don’t even think, even in a neutral way, "that one is a child." He's a captain.

Ironically, the two people who don’t ever seem to get on board with this* are Ichigo and Aizen, with Ichigo calling him "Toushirou" and Aizen calling him "Hitsugaya-kun" (both when they are celebrating birthdays AND when Aizen is repainting the Council of 46 chambers with fresh blood). Because, well, Aizen is an asshole, and Ichigo is on his own planet and has clear ideas about how that planet works, LOL. Which is fine because it’s a great planet.

And I think all of this can be true without having to be completely blind to Hitsugaya’s biological age, whatever it may be. He knows he’s young, and tends to be upfront about that as long as that’s not taken to be synonymous with not being an adult.

In Chapter 80 Renji refers to him as 例の天才児 (rei no tensaiji), or "the model child prodigy." Mildly derisive, but I’m pretty sure it’s the "model" part rather than the "child" part that Renji finds annoying. (Though the Viz omits both of these, so perhaps they had a different opinion, XD.)

In Chapter 208, Shawlong Qufong also describes Hitsugaya as 幼い (osanai), "young," in the sense of not being fully-developed, which he links grammatically to a description of Hitsugaya’s bankai. I think it’s intended more a statement of fact than it is an insult—osanai doesn’t have an inherently negative connotation, though maybe it’s worth mentioning that it appears to evoke the idea of literal babies more than say, a young man or even a young boy.

AND SURE, what does Shawlong know about shinigami. What does Shawlong know about anything? But I think we can throw Shawlong a bone and take this to mean that Hitsugaya’s biological age is unambiguously young. But in spite of this, it may not be functionally relevant or "read" socially in shinigami day-to-day.

* NB: Hinamori is in her own category!! And omake Ukitake, who I'll reference later. There’s also the bathhouse lady from Shinigami Cup 74, who reads Hitsugaya as a child in spite of the fact that they are in the Seireitei (I assume—how far would Hitsugaya have agreed to walk with all their paperwork in hand??) and he is literally wearing his Captain’s haori. I think about her all the time. She keeps me up at night. 

III. HUMANITY

This isn’t to say that referencing someone’s youth can’t be done derogatorily. Byakuya shouts at Ichigo during their big pre-execution fight, and called him 小僧 (kozou), "boy." Which I mean, Ichigo is literally… 15… And Byakuya is what, more than 10x that?

More to the point, I think it’s really interesting to think about how shinigami specifically think about human age, too. All humans are younger than anyone in the main cast, and the Karakura Kids are BABIES. But they are also human adolescents, on the cusp of childhood and adulthood at once, and I imagine that’s often baffling and/or fascinating to the shinigami. I mean, I think Ichigo is baffling to Soul Society for a lot of reasons, LOL, but this would be another one for the bingo card.

Additionally, during the Edo period, the concept of adolescence as a "thing" was kind of on-again, off-again, and inasmuch as we can play with Soul Society’s Edo references that one seems fun to me, in terms of whether or not a shinigami believes that there’s anything between childhood and adulthood. Especially when you think about what the modern vs. Edo expectations of different biological ages and their relationship to adulthood might be. And ESPECIALLY ESPECIALLY when you think about the ways those differences are countered by the fact that they are living a manga series, and fifteen-year olds in manga series are a whole other Thing. I mean, even in the most slice-of-life corner of Bleach, half of Ichigo’s friends are living independently at 15!

I’m also interested in shifting ideas of childhood in Soul Society as a result of ongoing contact with the human world. Being a shinigami is by and large defined by services rendered. It’s in the name! And if you’re not doing that, then what are you doing. But if you’re an "adult" after six measly years of Academy, potentially for thousands of years, and being an adult is defined by doing work, I imagine it’s difficult to remember what childhood even is, or what forms of play/pleasure/curiosity were part of it (and perhaps should still be cultivated, even on the other side of the divide). I know they have clubs and whatnot, but I don’t think that means this difficulty does not exist. Does contact with the human world help? (Or do they just end up ferrying a bunch of extremely sad overworked salarymen ghosts across like, "That’s rough, buddy.")

Did the development of children’s literature as a form inspire Ukitake’s "Sougyo’s Refusal!" serialization? What about his (somewhat haphazard) gifts of candy? The fact that he actually knows everyone’s birthdays and puts them into the SC? Is this the way Ukitake, as a thousanty-something year-old shinigami, courts modernity?

[lavendertales]

shut up & listen—Eddie Munson x f!reader**

summary: weeks worth of tension, accumulated throughout your blossoming romance with Eddie, finally blow up one evening.

word count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, piv (safe), cunnilingus, fingering, slight male masturbation, Eddie likes to tease you. song inspo.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

A/N: well, you asked, and you shall receive! this is part 2 of Tongue twister, but it can be read as a standalone as well. thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown the first part, it’s insane! hope you enjoy this one as well 😌

gif: @nowadayz​ 

Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover what goes through your body right now.

Though unspoken, the tension burning in between you and Eddie had been raised to a boiling point tonight. The date had been utterly beautiful: you spent the whole afternoon at a carnival, playing all those silly games that you can never win at—and yet somehow he managed to win you a stuffed bear— eating corndogs and laughing at all the cheesy couples over there. You didn’t say a damn word about you low-key wanting that same thing with Eddie.

But neither did he.

It’s not like he wants to keep things from you. Not even in the slightest. He’s simply afraid to come on too strong and screw things up with you. There are plenty of things swirling inside his head, some real and serious, and others less than decent.

He doesn’t tell you that his mouth nearly waters every time he sees you, or smells you. He doesn’t tell you that he wants to take the hand that holds yours and bury it in between your legs in hopes of releasing the sweetest, sheet-clutching moans he could think of.

Not yet.

Truth is, he’s not sure how much more of this inner torment he can handle. He would never do anything out of pocket, anything that might hurt you in any way and he’s glad neither of you rushed into anything physical. But Jesus Christ, each time he saw you, he reminisced of that night when you talked about your feelings and made out as you straddled his lap, and he could get hard on command.

And tonight is no exception. You’re wearing a cute skirt and a relatively tight top, and he’s doing his very best to be the perfect gentleman and leave his own little fantasies abandoned in some corner of his mind. He drives you home in that rusty truck that belonged to Wayne, and electricity prickles your skin. You steal side glances at Eddie handling the steering wheel with one hand and you gulp, feeling heat travel all the way to your nether region, and you try to shake off the near loud gasp you let out.

When you arrive, Eddie takes a big, deep breath and looks at you.

“Here we are,” he says with a wicked smile.

“I’d invite you in, but then I’d have to introduce you to my family as my boyfriend and I feel like neither of us is ready for that.”

“Yeah, let’s not put ourselves through that just yet.”

You both giggle, and you clutch tighter onto the teddy bear as you glare lovingly at him.

“It’s still pretty early,” you say. “We could… do something else.”

“Yeah? What you have in mind?”

The simple way he says that, so smooth and yet so intrigued already, lets you know he’s up to no good. One might argue that neither are you.

“Maybe a nightcap in your trailer… some music… and then—“

Your voice dies down as desire takes over, but luckily, Eddie can pretty much tell where all this is headed. He smiles reassuringly, taking your hand in his.

“Sounds amazing,” he says.

You smile brightly. “I’d still need to be home before midnight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do you, and then make sure you get home safe.”

This time you laugh wholeheartedly, stroking his hand.

“You’re terrible,” you tell him.

“So I’ve been told.”

Oh, but he’s a sucker for you. He’s simply incapable of doing anything less than pleasing you—however that may be. Though right now, that desire to please manifests itself in an almost cruel form. It feels downright painful to spend any more time away from you.

So he drives back to the trailer park, truck now resting in front of his home. His heart lies in his throat still, but the more he glances over at you, the more relaxed and ready he feels.

“Alright,” he announces. “Home sweet home!”

You don’t say anything; you enter the trailer first as he holds the door open for you, and you look around, thinking of all the nights you’ve spent there, getting high and listening to Eddie play his guitar. You can’t help but think tonight will be much different memory to behold once it’ll be done with.

“So, what’s your poison of choice?” he asks you.

You’re not really there, in all honesty. You can’t stop staring at every feature visible on him, eyes landing inevitably on his plush lips as you bite on your own.

“You,” you boldly answer.

That earns a naughty chuckle from Eddie’s side. He inches closer to you, hand trailing down your arm and landing on your hips, pulling you in. Then, he takes another deep breath, eyeing you up and down.

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t know half the things I have on my mind right about now,” he mutters.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The things I wanna do…”

“Instead of talking, why don’t you show your work?”

Playfulness sips through your smooth voice, and it gets Eddie’s motor running.

“I sure will, don’t you worry about that,” he smiles and kisses you.

His mouth practically devours yours and his body grinds into yours. Your hands cup his face, a few locks of his curly hair entangled in between your fingers and you chuckle into the kiss. The sound reverberates throughout his whole body, setting it afire at the same time.

Music is long forgotten, and so is the teddy bear Eddie won for you that evening; there are nothing but your breaths to fill the room, the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric, the warm bodies beneath them longing to be discovered by the other.

Every nerve in your body simply boils alive when the kiss deepens, getting sloppier with each passing second. Your body bounces against the mattress, with Eddie’s atop of you. His lips pepper the same sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck, stopping only to steal another glance at you. A smile erupts from the corners of his lips, one of those wicked ones that you simply could never get enough of.

“You’re the prettiest girl in this godforsaken town,” he says, leaning over to undress you.

“And you’re a pretty good liar.”

He tsks, and you giggle. “You’re so pretty, too.”

He lifts his head again from in between your breasts.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks, astounded by your confession.

“Yes.”

You both smile as your hands run eager on each other’s bodies, removing the fabrics standing in the way of utter pleasure. There’s a brief pause in between ministrations, Eddie’s eyes gone dark by now, driven with lust. Then, his hands part your legs, causing you to tremble with excitement. You gasp, already in a spiral of frenzy, but when he buries his head there and you feel his tongue circle around your clit, you moan out loud.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie smiles. He’s long craved to taste you in the most intimate way he knew of, and now, he’s like a kid loose in the candy store. He needs to scoop up every ounce of sweet arousal he can get out of you, like he can’t breathe otherwise.

You moan brokenly, on a loop, and he coos you gently. To no avail, though; you can’t stop the sounds emerging from your throat for the life of you. Especially not when Eddie adds a finger to his filthy torment. It nearly causes you to black out, this combination of his tongue’s slurping sounds on your clit and his index pumping in and out of you.

“Eddie—oh God—“

He hums something against your folds, God knows what, but you don’t really care. You start to feel the impending buildup in your belly, threatening to burst at any given point, yet Eddie doesn’t stop. Not even when you grab a handful of his thick locks of hair, pulling him in as much as you can. He eats you out relentlessly, hungrily, the main cause of the obscenely glib sounds from your cunt.

You grunt, almost on the verge of tears at how intensely you can feel every flick of his tongue. It’s only now that Eddie stops. You see him fleetingly licking his lips and staring at you with those big, dark eyes, looking you over in the most hungry, yet oddly appreciative way.

“Shit, you taste so good,” he smirks.

“Why did you stop?” you complain.

Eddie cocks his head to the right, his hands reaching to unzip his jeans and strip out of his clothes. He doesn’t break eye contact with you for even a second, as if he fears he might lose you completely.

He could never, though.

“Because I wanna feel you when I make you come,” he replies.

No argument there, you think.

You swallow harshly around the knot in your throat as Eddie stands before you, finally naked, carefully yet somehow eagerly at the same time taking out a condom to place on his erection. You watch intently, and he catches your eyes just as he strokes himself twice. A smile breaks from his mouth, repeating the motions as he inches closer to you, holding back his own grunts.

“You like watching me do this?” he cheekily asks.

You nod, speechless from the previous overstimulation. You’re watching him jerk off with slow, precise motions, stuck in a trance as you feel yourself get even wetter—if possible. It felt like he was drinking straight from you mere seconds ago, soaking up every ounce of arousal you got for him, and now you’re all wet again.

“You like seeing how hard you make me, huh, sweetheart?”

You could easily cry out from the overstimulation and the anticipation, so you cup his cheeks and pull him down, one leg curled around his waist. Eddie nearly goes ballistic for that particular move: he groans in your mouth, so hard by this point that it hurts to even touch himself. He does it anyway, merely to guide himself to your opening.

You moan in tandem at that first push of his cock through your walls; the rush you both get is simply electric, delicious in its minimalism and almost enough to tip you over the edge. Almost.

Eddie could’ve came right then and there, just sheathed around your warm, tight walls. He takes a breather, locks of curly hair covering his face, but you reach to kiss him again, thus encouraging him to move.

“Fucking hell,” he cusses under his breath. “Fucking hell, you—you’re so warm and—and so—“

“You’re so fucking pretty, Eddie Munson,” you whisper, all in one breath.

He smiles so widely your heart could stop, and he starts to roll his hips against yours. You reward him with moans and breathless encouragements that you know he needs, nay, craves. You know he’s weak for any saccharine words from your side, so you give him—and yourself—exactly what you want.

“You’re the pretty one,” he retorts.

You smile as well, body rocked under the weight of Eddie’s. His pace is slightly disordered, curtesy of your leg curled around his waist to allow him to reach deeper inside you. Your cunt aches for more of him—though you’re aware that that’s physically impossible—even as his thrusts are faster and a little rougher, too. The movements are bred out of pure love and trust, but mostly, an ardent desire to simply have each other.

“Shhh,” he shushes you again, though neither of you has spoken for a while. “Do you hear that?”

You only hear your and his erratic breaths, alongside the hot, squelching sounds emerging from in between your legs. You moan brokenly again, the concoction of sounds creating another pleasure wave that hits your body unexpectedly.

“So wet, baby,” he chuckles—deep, nearly manic and even cocky—and gives you a particularly deep thrust.

“For you,” you coo. “Always—just you.”

“Good.”

There’s jealousy nested inside of Eddie as well. Who would’ve thought?

Maybe he didn’t have a proper reason to be jealous until you entered his life.

You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his arms, and Eddie pushes forward and backward, on and on till he feels that familiar burn in his belly, the one he’s been longing for so long.

But he decides to hold back as much as he can. He needs to feel you come first. He just needs to feel that tightness pulsating around his cock before anything else.

“Eddie—ohhh—Eddie, please, pleasepleaseplease—“

“Please what, sweetheart? Hm? What do you want?”

“Shit, I just—“

“I got you—I got you, c’mon—be a good girl and come for me, hm?”

He’s losing his breath and nearly his consciousness too, but he powers through, struggling to ignore how badly he needs to come. He can tell you’re close, just as he thrusts faster, reaching some hidden spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

The sweet release builds in your belly, then it’s detonated in your cunt as you finally come with a loud moan and the shout of his name staining your lips. The tight feeling of your fluttering walls around him is too much to handle—Eddie comes almost simultaneously with you. His whole body seizes up, and he allows himself to be wrapped in the intoxicating sweetness of you and the pleasure you inevitably bring to him.

You feel like he leaves your heat far too soon, though in reality it must’ve only been like a few seconds. You make a sound to let your complaint be known while Eddie disposes of the condom and chuckles mischievously in your direction. Then he crawls back in bed with you, and you hold your breath. It suddenly hits you: this is the most intimate you’ve ever seen him, and he looks so damn beautiful with his lit up face, completely spent and fucked out. He’s simply mesmerizing.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

You bite down on your tongue to prevent the words that threaten to leave your mouth so unprompted, it scares even you. Then you shake your head, thus prompting him to not ask any further questions.

He only stares at you, a goofy smile on his face. He says your name, and your heart skips a beat.

“I am… stupidly in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since we met.”

Your heart stops altogether. Your chest feels tight with plenty of emotions that you try to prevent from blasting all at once.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask instead.

Eddie shrugs. “I may not be the bravest guy on earth. Call me a coward if you must.”

“I would never.”

You chuckle as he pecks your lips, nose and forehead, and you cuddle at his chest. Eddie smiles; he knows you love him, too.

previous 

tags:

@dumplinshee​​​ @spitfire4life​​​ @mfoxbaby​​​ @melaniehere91​​​ @poppadomps​​​ @fckyeahlames​​​ @samunson83​​​ @specialsnowflake-gabbi​​​ @maddyloveswanda​​​ @quicksilversleatherjacket​​​ @dotslabyrinth​​​ @ooo-protean-ooo​​​ @hellfiressweetheart​​​ @kittsu-makes-glass​​​ @eloisegrant​​​ @deez0ballsacks​​​ @ainsley-official​​​ 

[lesbianjunimo]

That time you and your demon boyfriend went viral

hi yes hello obey me fandom!! my name is Gabbi and i have never played a single second of the actual game but i have read enough fanon content for the past year to have this idea swimming around in my head and now i am finally letting this accursed thing out of my brain and putting it in yours

also i’m only doing the brothers because any more than that and i’d have an aneurysm probably. oh and shoutout to @obeythebutler and @beels-burger-babe for inspiring me with their works to feel brave enough to write for this fandom

Lucifer:

You and Lucifer go viral on Asmo’s Devilgram story!

You’re in the kitchen helping Asmo with dinner duty and singing along to one of your playlists of human realm music that you like to show him.

Asmo starts filming your cute little dance while you stir the pot on the stove because you are just adorable!

About ten seconds into him filming, Lucifer appears in the doorway with quite the stern look on his face. You know, the one that comes right before a “MAMMOOOOOON” and strikes fear into the heart of all those with functioning eardrums. That one.

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell y’all to shut the fuck up, but then there’s a lull in the music and the eldest can hear your voice ever so slightly above the song’s vocalist and he freezes.

Man stops in his tracks like someone just smacked him in the face with a midair volleyball.

Asmo can be heard stifling a laugh behind his phone.

Lucifer’s face gets so soft and he almost, almost, loosens his metal-rod-through-the-ass posture before you notice him and give a little wave and ask if you and Asmo were being too loud like the considerate darling you are.

Lucifer clears and his throat and says something like, “No, you aren’t. I was just coming to check on how dinner is coming along,” and leaves, after which Asmo immediately presses the post button.

Screenshots of Lucifer’s heart eyes for you go absolutely viral because every demon on Devilgram goes absolutely feral for seeing the eldest demon brother lose his dignified composure. It becomes a meme template. “Get you someone who looks at you like Lucifer looks at MC” and “me at the delivery demon when he shows up with my spicy bat wings” posts become commonplace. (Asmo thinks the memes are totally worth getting strung up with Mammon for laughing at them.)

Mammon:

Much like Lucifer, you and Mammon end up going viral off Asmo’s Devilgram. (Noticing a pattern here?) 

He pulls a silly prank on your asses and honestly I don’t know how you fell for it. But hey, they say “idiots in love” for a reason, so...

You and Asmo are sitting in the common room of the House of Lamentation just chillin. Well, he’s chillin, you’re on the floor studying for an upcoming exam.

The video starts in the middle of a conversation you and the avatar of lust were having.

“No, Asmo,” you say. “Mammon and I don’t use pet names for each other.” Now that’s just a darn lie, and every demon and crow within ten miles of Mammon and you together knows it.

“Really? I find that very hard to believe, MC.~” 

You sigh in response to Asmo’s teasing. “Okay, he has a lot for me but I’m just not much of a pet name person, y’know?” The rest of the exchange goes like this:

“Oh, I totally get it.” *pause* “Hey MC, what do human world bees make again?”

“Honey.”

Cue a sheepish Mammon sticking his head in the doorway at the bluntness of your tone when you answered Asmo.

“Yeah, babe?” he looks like a puppy left on the side of a highway oh my god hUG HIM-

Asmo turns the camera back to his smug ass face and in the background you can be heard tripping on the damn carpet trying to get up and hug your mans. (”MAMMON GET OVER HERE SO I CAN HUG YOU” “W-WHAT? I THOUGHT YA WERE MAD AT ME?!?!?!?!”)

Leviathan:

Streamer Levi? Streamer Levi.

You guys go viral the first time you make an appearance on one of Levi’s weekly (insert cool Devildom streaming service name here) streams. 

It’s completely unintentional. You had been asking him for weeks to play with him on there, but he’s the avatar of envy after all. He doesn’t like sharing his partner, even if it’s with random strangers who have no real access to you.

However, he has his stream on a Thursday instead of a Friday one week, and you come into his room carrying dinner because 1) You didn’t realize he was streaming and 2) No matter what he was doing, the boy needed to eat. It wasn’t unusual for you to bring him dinner, so you had no idea why he was blushing and stammering even more than usual this time in particular. Boy was speaking in beached whale trying to tell you what was wrong.

Then you notice his screen. Oh! “Hi chat!” You wave, setting Levi’s food down on his desk in front of his keyboard. “M-MC!” He full-on whines, slamming a hand over his mouth afterwards when he remembers his viewers could hear that.

Honestly, they’d meme the fuck out of him if it weren’t for the fact that they are FINALLY SEEING HIS HENRY!!! THE MYSTERIOUS MC!!!

Chat is bombarding you with questions while you make Levi eat dinner. And by make him eat dinner, I mean literally feeding this man forkfuls/spoonfuls while he games because you love how flustered he gets when you do that. 

Does it impact his score? Absolutely. Does he care? Not really when you’re pampering him like that.

You start answering chat’s questions about you while he’s chewing so he can’t tell you to stop LMAO-

You’re a natural on stream. The VOD becomes the most popular on Levi’s account in a matter of hours and soon cute highlights compilations of you and him on that stream start making the rounds on Devildom Twitter.

Satan:

There was buildup to Satan going viral, similar to Levi in a way. 

Satan does have a Devilgram, but it’s basically a white woman’s Instagram with added book reviews for variety. Unless you’re a reader his account is pretty boring: candles, books, fireplaces, and cats.

However, after you two started reading together fairly often he began posting pictures of your legs draped over his while you sat together. They’d always be captioned with vague ass pretentious literary criticism. 

This goes on for months, and he gains a lot of (horny) followers after the leg pics start up. He doesn’t really get why but you both joke that it’s because you have some damn nice legs and I mean neither of you are complaining about the new following.

You two go viral when he finally shows your face, entirely by accident.

The post is a video, which is already strange for him and grabs attention. In it, you’re scoffing and reading an excerpt of a book, mocking its understanding of female anatomy.

“I’m quoting here, Satan: ‘her breasts bouncing around like giant pacmen.’ I’M SORRY?? THAT ISN’T HOW BOOBS WORK SIR. WHY ARE MEN ALLOWED TO WRITE?” 

(fun fact that is a very real quote from a very real book I really read last month pls save me)

Originally the camera is focused on your body, with your head out of frame to protect your privacy, but your righteous anger made Satan laugh. Like, a real laugh. The one that makes you and everyone in earshot wonder if he truly was never an angel cause he sure as hell laughs like one but anyway-

When he threw his head back, his DDD angled up just a tad without him noticing, and your face was in view for like .2 seconds. Screenshots of it are making the rounds on Devilgram almost immediately: FINALLY THE LEGS’ OWNER HAS BEEN FOUND.

Satan apologizes profusely but you honestly find it funny and you two opt to just start taking selfies while reading with both of your faces in them from now on. 

Asmodeus:

I’m gonna be real with you: you and Asmo go viral all the time. Pretty much everything Asmo posts can be considered viral because of his social media following and his status as one of the seven avatars of sin.

However, there are some fairly cute highlights to be pointed out among the times you were both featured in a post that blew up.

Your favorite is probably that time Asmo livestreamed on of you guys’ ‘Nail Nites,’ as you call them.

You’re both on the floor, doing your nails and kicking your feet back and forth while talking to chat. A lot of the questions are about your relationship, and there’s a lot of flirting back and forth between the two of you.

A particular clip of the stream does blow the fuck up on Devilgram, though, when someone screen records it and posts it with a bunch of heart emojis edited over it.

“’What colors do you think best describe each other?’ Ooo, that’s a good one, chat!” Asmo claps his hands together excitedly, making sure to be  careful of his nails.

Pretty much everyone expected you to say pink, but you surprised both your boyfriend and your viewers when, after a pensive few moments, you replied with “Hmm...probably yellow or orange.”

“Can I ask why, darling?” Asmo tilts his head in confusion. I mean, yeah, those colors look good on him, but he doesn’t wear them often so he’s wondering about your thought process. 

“Well, in the human world those colors often represent happiness, optimism, and positivity. You’re always the cheerful presence I need in my life when things get hard, so you have the vibe of those colors.”

Asmo proceeds to burst into tears and hug you, messing up both of your nails and prolonging the stream since you both have to start over. But neither of you particularly care. 

Fun fact: Asmo has the clip that demon made of that portion of the stream saved on his DDD and watches it whenever he feels sad.

Beelzebub:

Beel and you probably go the most viral out of everybody. Like this moment is an entire phenomenon across the Devildom internet. 

It’s a video, or well, multiple videos, taken at the end of a Fangol game that Beel’s team had just won. Everyone is cheering and going crazy, yourself included, and you just really wanted to congratulate your boyfriend.

So, like the rational person you are, you elect to climb up onto the railing of the bleachers and wave to get his attention. 

You were absolutely fine up there, and sat all comfortably motioning Beel over to you. He notices, of course, and jogs over, standing right beneath you and looking up. (Back where you were sitting, Mammon is screeching like a hyena in heat and Belphie, who is laying down, has one eye open to glare at him. The youngest knows Beel would never let you hurt yourself; you’re fine.)

A bunch of assorted demons at the game has started filming while you were sat atop the railing since you were rather noticeable. Therefore, there’s a shit ton of different angles of the adorable events that follow:

You slide off the railing, landing right in Beel’s waiting arms bridal style. You’ve got this brilliant smile on your face as you pull his helmet off. None of the DDDs filming can hear it over the crowd noise, but Beel asks you why you just went through all that trouble and you tell him it’s because you wanted to tell him how proud you are.

Soft boy’s chest puffs up and he smiles this big cheesy smile at you reach up to run a hand through his hair. You feel him practically purr at the contact, and with a laugh you pull him in and plant a big ole smooch on him.

The crowd, at least those of them that can see, scream. Everyone is running high on adrenaline and happy emotions; something that cute causes a ruckus!! When you pull away Beel proceeds to put you on his shoulders and you celebrate with him and the rest of his team.

The videos of you two being adorable go completely viral and there are some threads dedicated to stockpiling every single angle taken of the event. Beel is completely oblivious to the attention but you have a lot of them saved on your DDD.

Belphegor:

If you think Belphegor has any sort of social media presence whatsoever then you are sorely mistaken. (Well okay he actually does run some anonymous troll accounts to meme on Lucifer’s posts but that’s neither here nor there-)

Therefore, naturally, you two go viral off of Asmo’s Devilgram. 

Okay so someone in the obey me tag the other say headcanoned that Belphie will go out of his way to nap in ridiculous places and my brain really took that and RAN WITH IT.

So what happens is that Belphie will fall asleep in the fucking weirdest places. I’m talking on top of the fridge, underneath the dinner table, on top of bookshelves...you name it, he has slept there, no matter the effort it takes to get there in the first place. 

And, ever since you two started dating, you would join him. Sometimes it involved putting yourself at risk of great bodily harm, but the little smile he gave when you he saw you fucking scaling the countertop to reach him made it worth it.

So anyway, since Beel adores the both of you to no end, he takes pictures whenever he sees you two napping together, whether or not it is in a crazy place. He sends these to the family group chat because he thinks they’re adorable.

Over a span of weeks to months, Asmo has built up a stock of images of you and Belphie cuddles up in seemingly impossible places. Once he has about ten or so, he posts a compilation of them to his Devilgram with some cheesy ass caption like “The things we do for love <3″.

They become a meme SO QUICKLY. Like UNBELIEVABLY quickly. 

The picture of you and Belphie sleeping on top of a bookshelf, in particular, is a big hit. Memes abound.

“If my girl doesn’t climb up a bookshelf to cuddle my ass, she don’t love me.” “Get yourself a partner who scales bookshelves just to be with your ass.” Etc etc...Belphie doesn’t give a shit but you laugh at a lot of them so he sees that as a good outcome.

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

READ NEXT PART

[kiitoskiitos]

what did you think of quackity’s final lore stream omg!! i know you’ve been busy so get back to this ask whenever you can!

<3 <3 <3 <3

cc!quackity did an incredible job, his passion and dedication is intoxicating. hearing him shyly yet so excitedly address chat after an emotionally heavy creative project like that is one of the best things in the world. simping, parasocially obsessing, maybe a little horny grip, you name it, i do it.

thoughts-vice it took me a while to process this lore stream actually. i get too lost on how annoying big-bad-dream plotpoints are even if this time it was fully justified (it does work since dreams need for revenge is based in quackity's horrible actions, it's one part of the massive house of cards now falling on Q).

As it often is for me, only the writings and reactions i read here on tumblr actually end up solidifying how i feel. This piece is incredible.

I do respect the concept of Slimecicle being just an embodiment of everything wrong with Quackity's hardened cruel current personality and actions finally catching up to him and ending him. But I've mostly seen slime as way more independent and emotionally mature, hiding an immerse character behind his "malleable" form. So I think he kills Quackity out of empathy in the end. He realises nothing less severe than death will be able to change Quackity. Even Slime's own death couldn't do it, actually only hardening the dis-illusion and trauma coping mechanisms, as seen in the way Q creates the slime army (i'll be real this was a bit too silly for me at first. mcrp, never change. bless up.) mixing the way his self worth is tied to his accomplishments (he needs for las nevadas to succeed) to his unresolved mourning for his dead friend (he isn't thinking clearly, he's literally recreating zombie version of slimecicle). this is not hot girl behavior. your employees are feeling very awkward rn. (also love the way people pointed out that foolish doesn't confront quackity in any point no matter how wild he goes, since they are not real friends, he's only there due to manipulation and business.)

(and i think there is obviously the compicated way the slime and Q relationship was.... not good. i still don't know how to view it. did quackity truly have someone he treated as an equal and trusted, or did he see slime as someone trust worthy only because he was, in his eyes, innocent and controllable. I think it is very fresh for slime to kill him, it's a clear switch of powerbalance between them -> at least in quackity's eyes, since i see that slime has always had way more self control and choice among the two of them aka power)

god, im so happy how this ended. i was fearing it would end in either only punishment and crucification or acceleration of greed and power. but these creators truly love their characters so much, its beautiful. Quackity going around and apologising, both for his own sake and others. HOT GIRL MOMENT!!!

also, i genuinely adored the scene between ranboo and mexican dream. they really went to limbo just to perform a boke and tsukkomi routine. though i don't even know which one is which because ranboo is the one being ridiculous tbh. Just truly... the visuals in that scene, the ways they both cope with being there, how neither's way is better, ranboo's "acceptance" which grants him no clarity or peace, Mexican dream's fragile denial which however makes him more versatile in this situation. It is probably one of my all time favorite scenes from dsmp. wanted it to last for way longer and it wont leave my head :D

[fortuositywritings]

I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 5

Pt 1,  Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, House Map

Summary: Movie theater, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and the county fair

“We can come back to get the rest. I don’t understand why you’re doing that.”

Wanda watches you struggle trying to carry everything you brought from the store but two bags that Wanda herself is carrying. 

“Because, my young Padawanda, it is one of the most important rules of the Jedi Code. One must never make a second trip to the car lest he be a nerd.”

“Oh my gosh! Have you seen Star Wars?” You and Wanda turn your heads towards the porch where Sam and Peter reside. Peter runs down to you in excitement. “Which ones have you seen?”

“Only like all of them!” you answer, just as excited as Peter to have someone else here who likes the movies. Laura finds them boring, Clint thinks they’re too long, and Nat says she’s not a child. You tried watching them with Cooper and Lila but they fell asleep halfway through. So no one can blame you for getting excited. Unfortunately, the little bounce that accompanied your answer causes a few things to slip from your arms, but Peter, given his incredible reflexes, catches them all before they touch the ground. “The force is strong with this one,” you tell him.

“And a second trip is what makes you a nerd.” Sam mumbles under his breath on his way over to help by taking the bags from Wanda. “What’s on your neck?” He asks her. Her hand flies up to her neck only to find it sticky.

“It’s what happens when you mess with a Jedi,” you answer for her in a silly voice making Peter laugh. You also make Wanda blush as she recalls how it happened, but you don’t see this since you and Peter are already making your way to the house. Sam, however, does notice Wanda’s face and recognizes that look, leaving him stumped. Wanda only snaps out of her trance when the door closes behind you and Peter. 

“I don’t get it,” he says to Wanda. “What is it about her? Is it the confidently flirty but still kind of geeky thing that does it for you ladies?”

Wanda, embarrassed at being caught, heads to the house ignoring Sam’s questions. She can still hear him as he yells after, “Don’t walk away! I need to know if nerds are the thing now!”

Sam catches her in the kitchen along with you and Peter putting things you bought where they’re meant. Instead of asking Wanda anything, he turns his questions to you and Peter, who you all find out has a girlfriend now. Sam guesses his “nerds are in” theory correct based on that and soon he is agreeing to watch Star Wars with you, Peter, and Wanda. He threw Wanda a subtle wink when neither you nor Peter were looking as if to say ‘you’re welcome’ for including her in those plans. Clint, coming in from the side door, catches the ending of that conversation and groans. 

“No! Laura! Peter and Y/N found an interest they can both be annoying about,” he goes to complain to his wife. Later though, he as well as everyone else joins you to watch the movie. You and Peter thoroughly answer all of Sam and Pietro’s questions and hush everyone at your favorite parts, mouthing the lines along with the scene. Wanda ends up not watching the movie anymore but watching you and she begins to wonder if maybe Sam was right.

***

“How much longer?” you find yourself asking the next morning trying not to sound as out of breath as you are. You’ve been jogging for you don’t know how long now but it feels way longer than what Nat had promised it would be when she woke you up at six in the morning.

“Another mile,” she answers, no sign of struggle in her voice as if this is a cakewalk. You suppose it is for her since she’s had to slow down numerous times for you to catch up.

“Another mile?!”

“Hey, you said you would keep up today,” Nat reminds you.

“You know you can’t trust anything I say during my haven’t-had-caffeine-yet hours. Don’t I get points for trying?”

“Like your little green friend says, ‘Do or do not, there is no try’,” Nat retorts.

“I knew you were paying attention last night!” You increase your pace to jog beside her. “You can act too tough to like Star Wars all you want around everyone else, but I’ll always know the truth.” You can see her shake her head from the corner of your eye. You don’t say anything for a moment, but being one who cannot let the quiet linger too long, as Tanya would attest to, you speak up. “So, how’s your little green friend doing?”

You turn your head for a second to show Nat you were genuinely looking for an answer and in the next she’s practically running away from you. She went fast but not quick enough for you to miss the little redness creeping up on her cheeks. You have never in your years of knowing her seen her blush before. You have seen her sweat after a sparring match with Clint, get a bit of a sunburn, and get so angry she looked like she would pop a vein, but not one of those times were her cheeks turning a rosy color. Aww, Romanov’s in love. Once you’ve come to that conclusion, you go to tease her. Wait, where did she go?

“You asshole!” You yell at Nat who you finally find casually leaning on the car door watching you storm up to her. It took you an hour to find the car after losing the trail you were on trying to find Natasha. She doesn’t even flinch as she reaches over and pulls a twig out of your hair. “What happened to you?”

“You left me!” You huffed, walking around to the passenger side while Nat got in the driver seat unfazed. Truth be told, after 30 minutes without any sign of Nat, you thought she was putting you through some kind of test. You were getting paranoid, so it’s not surprising you took a tumble when you swiftly tried to avoid an attack from what turned out to be a squirrel running up a tree. But you’ll just keep that to yourself forever.

You head straight to the shower when you get to the house ignoring the morning greetings from those you pass on the way. “What’s up with her?” Sam asks Nat in the living room. “She hasn’t had her caffeine yet.”

You let the shower wash away your moodiness which, you can admit to yourself alone, stemmed for the most part from embarrassing yourself. Afterwards, you head to the kitchen ready to eat whatever everyone had for breakfast, but come up empty. You guess they’d finished all of it if the plates and pan left out to dry say anything. You open the fridge looking for something to eat. Maybe there is something in there you can heat up. Unlike Laura, Wanda, and self proclaimed chef Pietro, you cannot cook to save your life. 

“What’s cooking, good looking?” Speak of the devil. Maybe he can make you something? You know all it would take is some batting of the eyelashes and a compliment. No, Wanda said no. But there is nothing in the fridge to heat up and you were hungry. Wanda would surely understand it was for the greater good, right? Already breaking the first rule, I see.

Caught red handed, you look over Pietro’s shoulder to see Wanda walking into the kitchen to join you two. She’s raising her eyebrows at you waiting for an answer. 

“Okay, new rule,” you say. Pietro is confused at what he assumes is your response until he sees that you aren’t talking to him. “No more reading my mind,” you say sternly, pointing at Wanda. 

Pietro smirks. “Yeah, I don’t need you to hear what goes on Y/N’s mind when she is thinking about me,” he says to Wanda. Both you and Wanda roll your eyes. “Sam is asking for you outside,” is all she says to him and off he goes with a groan.You groan as well, the chance of getting someone to make you food leaving with him.

“You could have just asked me, you know?” Wanda says, leaning against the sink. 

“I thought I said no mind reading,” you remind her. She chuckles when you close the refrigerator door and hit your head against it in defeat.

“I wasn’t,” she defends. “I was serious when I said he can’t cook. I may have saved you from food poisoning.”

“Maybe, but I would have been full and happy for a moment. Since you chased away my shot at food, I think you should make it up to me by making me some breakfast,” you try, leaning against the fridge.

“Oh? I should, should I?” You nod confidently thinking it might just work, but she tears that thought away when she continues, “Cause I remember you still needing to make it up to me when you didn’t buy the ice creams.”

You frown, “I thought you’d forgotten about that.” She smiles, with nose scrunch and all, shaking her head. “Fine, you want to go to the fair? I’ll take you to the fair tomorrow!”

“A fair? I want to go!” you hear Cooper shout. He is coming in through the back door with Lila who looks just as excited and with Nat who does not. You ignore Nat’s face when you tell Cooper that you can all go to the fair. He and Lila run off in excitement to tell the others. Nat glares at you as she takes a seat at the kitchen table. 

“See,” you turn to Wanda. “Now I have to take you for sure. Make me some food now, please,” you beg her, drawing out the word please. She squints her eyes like she’s thinking about it and then, “Only because you asked so nicely.” 

“Thank you,” you throw her a huge smile at which Wanda rolls her eyes.

“But if you are going to be here,” she says pushing you away from the fridge, “you are going to help. You’ve got to learn how to cook for yourself.” And you do just that. You nod along intently listening to all her instructions, not wanting to miss a thing. Sometimes you’d interrupt to make a joke and when one is about her brother, she playfully punches you. You are so immersed in your little bubble, you forget Nat is not too far away watching your interaction with curiosity. She has you try the food first and you could almost moan. You notice a blush creeping up on Wanda’s face and suddenly she’s avoiding your eyes.The food is so good and you were so hungry that maybe you did let out a little noise of satisfaction. Before you could say anything, another voice interrupts, “What’s this I hear about a fair?”

You turn slowly recognizing the tone your cousin uses. It’s the who-made-these-plans-without-asking-me-first tone. You smile at Laura, mouth full of food. You see Nat point at you but Laura was already looking at you. “Yeah, I think she knows it was me, Natasha.”

***

A few uneventful hours go by and you are bored out of your mind. You have a sudden urge to go out seeing as the sun was still shining. You pull out your phone having an idea of what to do to kill some time. You scroll through your phone to see what movies are playing at the only movie theater in town. You see that the next showing is for a horror movie. 

“Do you like scary movies?” you turn to the group playing Uno in the living room. Pietro gets up in excitement when you mention going to the movie theater. Sam agrees to come as well and drags Peter out the door when Peter wants to stay claiming it’s to keep the kids company. You are about to head out with everyone but you notice Wanda still sitting on the couch. You wait for her to get up when Pietro says, “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s too chicken to watch scary movies.”

Wanda, offended, gets up quickly from the couch, “Am not. I just think they’re boring.”

“Sure,” Pietro chuckles as he heads out the door.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” you tell her. You think she is going to stay, but she starts heading out the door to the car. 

“You sure that’s not enough butter, Y/N?” Peter asks you when he sees how much butter he’s already put in the bucket at your insistence. He can feel some of it through the bucket already. 

“Fine, that’s good. You grab some napkins. I’ll hold the bucket,” you tell him after you see his eyebrows scrunch. You all go to the designated room and pick a row to sit in having pretty much any seat you want since it was practically empty. You sit down next to Peter and notice Pietro’s eyes falling to the empty seat on your other side. He aims to sit next to you but his sister who was sitting next to Peter before beats him to it. He throws her a confused look as he shuffles his way down to sit in her abandoned seat. “Real subtle there, Wanda,” you say, amused more than anything.

“I can see the screen better from here.” You let her bad excuse slide and turn to the screen as the movie begins to play. Between you, Peter, and Pietro, the popcorn is gone in record time. The jumpscares begin halfway through the movie. Peter holds the empty bucket as a safety blanket which you find adorable. You don’t even know if Wanda is watching the movie. She’s got her eyes somewhat hidden behind her fingers. You want to tease her, so you reach to take her fingers away from her face, but another jumpscare happens and she takes your hand in her free one. You feel her squeeze the life out of your hand in anticipation of another jumpscare. 

Your palm begins to sweat and you start to feel uncomfortable with all the butter on your fingers, so you slip your hand out from hers. She turns to you in question. “Sorry, my hand’s full of butter,” you whisper. She reaches over you to ask Peter something. Without a word, she leans back in her seat with napkins in her hand and cleans all the butter off your hand before taking it in hers once more, this time interlacing your fingers. She turns her focus back to the movie. You feel you should just do the same, so you follow her actions. You let her hold your hand for the rest of the movie until the lights come back up.

Wanda shouldn’t have watched that movie. It is much too dark in the bedroom. It is much too quiet. She can hear Nat’s soft breathing from beside her. The silhouettes of various items around the room are creeping her out. She doesn’t think she is going to be sleeping any time soon. Maybe some tea will help. She gets up quietly trying not to wake Nat, but when she’s at the door, Nat asks, “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom,” Wanda lies easily. She’d rather not let Nat know that she couldn’t sleep because of some scary movie. What kind of superhero would that make her? As she heads downstairs, she wonders if you were still awake. She turns down the hallway to peek into the living room and sure enough you were still awake watching television. She walks over to you behind the couch. “What are you watching?” she asks. You feel your soul leave your body not having heard her approach. She giggles as she walks around to sit next to you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, just warn a girl next time.” She turns her attention to the show. “It’s Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. It’s really good. I used to watch it with Laura when she would babysit while my mom was at work. Some of the jokes I wouldn’t even understand but I’d laugh ‘cause she was laughing,” you reminisce. 

“You and her are very close.”

“Yeah, well, she’s practically the only family I have. My mom passed not so long ago and seeing as there was never a dad in my family picture, my aunt and uncle took me in. I don’t have any siblings and neither does Laura so, she’s kind of it.” You add, “Well, apart from Clint, Nat, and the kids of course.”

Another two scenes go by on the show before you ask, “Did you have a nightmare or could you not fall asleep?”

Wanda looks down embarrassed so you add, “I promise I’m not teasing. I’m just asking.”

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet and dark and Natasha was already asleep, so I thought I would come down here,” she replies.

“Oh, so you thought I would definitely put you to sleep. Wow, I don’t see how this friendship is going to work if you think I bore you to sleep,” you tease. Upon seeing her tired smile, you take pity and pat your thighs and gesture for her to lie down. “Come here.”

When she lays her head on your lap, you begin running your fingers through her hair. You hear her yawn and a few minutes later you find her sound asleep. Careful not to wake her, you reach over to the blanket you were meant to use on you and throw it over her body instead. Another two episodes play before you fall asleep.

***

You wake up once again with a sore neck and you feel that your body might be as well, but when you remember the reason, you don’t find it in yourself to complain. You look around prepared to see Nat in gym clothes holding a coffee cup but you find the living room empty apart from you and Wanda. You look out the window and see the sun is barely about to rise. Surprised to have woken up before anyone else, you decide to make the most of it but you are quickly sidetracked getting distracted by Wanda’s sleeping form. “I can feel you staring,” she says, her voice husky which you try hard not to find attractive. She turns her head to look up at you with sleepy eyes. “Friends don’t do that.”

“I was not staring. I was admiring,” you respond. “And friends can admire their friends.”

“Well mine don’t the way you do.” 

“Ain’t that a shame.” You boop her nose with your finger making her scrunch her nose.

“They do, however, let me sleep,” she jokes. She turns her head back as if she was to go back to sleep and you decide this might be the best time to get up. You gently lift her head from your lap and swivel your body off the couch. “Where are you going?” she whines, when you place a pillow under her head.

“I am going to wake Nat up for once in my life,” you reply with determination. You stretch and shake your legs trying to get the feeling back in them.

“Good luck with that,” is the last thing Wanda says before closing her eyes and going back to sleep. You head to the kitchen to start the coffee pot and then make your way upstairs. Luckily, the door was left open so you don’t make any noise on your way in. You tiptoed your way to Natasha and bent down so your face was eye level to hers. You honestly can’t believe you’ve made it this far since she is the lightest sleeper. This is the spy they chose for the Avengers? You giggle to yourself imagining the face Nat is going to make when you scare her. Oh, if they could see her now…they would be satisfied with their choice, you think as you try to choke out, “Uncle. Uncle.” Nat somehow has you in a choke hold and you are tapping furiously on her arm. Once she realizes it’s you she lets go.

“Y/N, what the hell! I could have hurt you!” she yells at you as you’re coughing. You stare at her unbelievably, rubbing at your neck, and once you can speak again you say, “Then what was this to you? Some light foreplay?”

Once you both settle down, she realizes you were up before her. You take some exercise attire out for yourself from your luggage. You might not like to exercise but gym clothes are sure comfy to lie around in. “You gotta keep up, Natasha. You don’t want the boss man to catch you slacking. Oh, I’m also making coffee so don’t worry about that.”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing. You smile in turn. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ll catch you downstairs.”

You leave her to change and head downstairs with your clothes. You go to the kitchen first and make two cups of coffee. Then you go to the restroom to change. After she finishes changing, Nat goes to the kitchen and sees you were not kidding. Natasha takes her cup of coffee to the living room as she always does and finds Wanda asleep on the couch. She sighs as things start adding up. She guesses this is the reason for the lack of a grumpy attitude from you so early in the morning. She wants to say something but Nat would rather take a motivated Y/N over Y/N complaining every five minutes on their hike. So, she doesn’t say anything for now.

You actually keep up with Nat this time and to top it off you don’t talk too much like you always do. Nat thinks it’s because you're in a good mood giving you motivation, but the reason for keeping her pace and keeping quiet is your fear she’ll leave you again if you say something to set her off and lose her like yesterday. Nat even goes as far as giving you a compliment at the end. Well, semi-compliment, but her “Not too bad, Y/N”s are few and far between so you return to the house feeling proud of yourself.

This time you’re the one saying good morning to everyone when you enter. You see a few of them still eating breakfast in the kitchen. You hope there will still be leftovers by the time you come back down after showering. Knowing how some of the guys eat, it is going to have to be a quick shower. Laura sees you eyeing the food and says, “Don’t worry, we saved you a plate.” And here you thought Wanda was the mind reader. “Wanda told us you were grumpy yesterday from not catching breakfast so we made sure to make more.” That explains it. You smile, happy someone kept you in mind. Now you can shower in peace. You thank her and head upstairs.

“You saw that, right?” Laura turns to Clint and Nat who walked in not too long before you left.

“She’s been like that all morning. Not one ‘Are we done yet?’ or ‘Why do you hate me, Natasha?’ on our hike,” Nat replies in a hushed tone as if it’s so unlike you to be agreeable in the morning. 

“Do you think it has anything to do with a certain somebody?” Laura felt the need to ask.

“Well she didn’t just find a love for exercise,” Nat sarcastically says.

Clint sighs, “Do you think we have to talk to her again?” 

Nat goes to respond, but Laura cuts off whatever Nat was going to say, “No, if anyone is going to talk to her, it’s me. And it’s not going to be some crappy ‘no dating’ rule type of conversation. You two are great when it comes to getting someone to talk with your intimidation, but save that for your job, which speaking of, Wanda is your coworker, so you may want to talk to her as well if you had to talk to Y/N because last I remember it takes two to tango.”

Nat and Clint stare at Laura in shock, embarrassment and guilt rightfully taking over their bodies. “Are we clear?” Laura asks them though it’s more of a statement leaving no room for argument. 

“Yes.” “Yeah.”

Upstairs, you make your way to the guest room to grab some clothes. Wanda is sitting on the bed reading her book. She is still dressed in her pyjamas, which makes you smile. The sound of her turning the page shakes you from your thoughts and saves you from staring a bit too long. Wanda smirks without bothering to look away from her book and you know she caught you.

“Morning, I’m just gonna get some clothes,” you explain as you move to where your bag is. Wanda speaks up while you zip your duffle closed, “I’m sorry for bothering you last night.”

“Come on, Wanda. You could never be a bother,” you say sincerely, giving her a smile that she shyly returns. “Alright, the shower is calling my name.”

“Yeah, I can hear it screaming,” she jokes and laughs when you take mock offense, “Hey!” She goes back to reading when she sees you heading out the door but you call her attention once more, “Oh! Thanks for telling them to save me a plate.”

“Of course,” she replies like it wasn’t even worth mentioning. You nod at her and then go to shower, closing the guest room door behind you.

A few seconds later, the door opens up again and Wanda amusedly says, her eyes never straying from the page she’s reading, “Did the shower call the wrong name?”

“No, it was definitely calling Y/N’s and mine too, I’m sure, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

Wanda’s head diverts to the door at Nat’s voice. 

“And you needed back up for it?” Wanda looks over to Clint who awkwardly stands behind Nat.

Clint clears his throat, “Well it was only fair if Y/N got both of us, you did too.”

Wanda straightens her posture as she places her book beside her. “Ah, so this is about Y/N. I had a feeling.”

Nat and Clint come into the room, Clint closing the door behind him. Nat goes to sit on the end of the bed and Clint stands behind her. “Look, we were wrong to tell Y/N what to do or rather not do. She is an adult and has the right to do whatever she wants, but you have to understand she’s someone who tends to get ahead of herself and we didn’t- we don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Nat starts.

“So you’re saying she is getting ahead of herself with me? That what? Come two weeks, she’ll realize she doesn’t want me?” Wanda starts to get visibly upset.

“No, that’s not what-” Clint tries to speak but Wanda is not done talking. “Even if that was the case, it would be her choice. It would be my choice.”

“Wanda, you are not going to be here in two weeks. You are not going to be here in a few days,” Natasha calmly says trying to reason. “Look, we love Y/N, okay? But she often finds herself making mistakes-”

“So I would just be another mistake? 

“No, you would be a dangerous one,” Nat says trying to get something through to Wanda.

“I would never hurt her.”

“No, maybe not intentionally,” Nat continues, and when Wanda looks like she is going to argue, Clint interrupts, “Wanda, just let her finish.” Wanda takes a breath to calm herself down and then nods for Natasha to carry on.

“Being in our lives more than she has to could get her hurt. Even this morning, I hurt her when she was probably just trying to play some stupid prank. Being around us is dangerous. Why do you think Clint kept all this a secret,” Nat motions around the room. “Why do you think I was so upset about her and Yelena? Why do you think we haven’t said anything to Y/N before? Those other girls aren’t you. Those other girls aren’t Yelena. I don’t even know where she is right now. We live different lives. Say things do work out with Y/N. Much like I don’t know where my sister is, there will be times she won’t have a clue where you are or if you’re okay. When Clint and I say we don’t want anyone to get hurt, it goes both ways.”

“Wan, have you seen my blue shirt with the buttons?” Pietro storms into the room like a man on a mission, not even bothering to acknowledge Nat and Clint are in the room as well. “I know I packed it.” Not until he reads the hurt in Wanda’s eyes does he read the room and like the protective sibling he is, he is quick to get defensive. “What’s happening here?”

Her brother’s interruption could not have come at a better time. Wanda didn’t know how to respond to Nat’s explanation. She was feeling herself choke up, Vision’s voice springing in her head again. She’s happy to have Pietro here so willing to jump in to defend her but she doesn’t want to drag him into it, so she clears her throat and says, “Nothing. We were just talking.” He still looks unsure, so she gets up from the bed and offers, “I’ll help you look for it.” Her eyes plead for him to let it go. Luckily, he does and heads out the door.  Clint and Nat watch Pietro leave and Wanda stop by the door. “You don’t have to worry. Y/N made it clear to me that we’re just friends,” she says in defeat, then turns to follow her brother.

“Well, that went well,” Clint says sarcastically. 

Wanda spends the next two hours helping Sam, Peter, and Pietro get ready. She helps Sam pick an outfit first seeing as he was the first to shower. She has to pry one of Peter’s t-shirts from his hands saying he’s twice Peter’s size and he cannot pull the nerdy look. She helps Peter next. It’s mostly just styling his hair he needs help with. At last she helps her brother after having knocked on the bathroom door four different times telling him to hurry up. 

“How does the one with superspeed take an hour in the shower?” Sam asks rhetorically. Sam, Wanda, and Peter are on the bed in Cooper’s room watching Pietro straighten out his shirt.

“Hey, it takes time to look this good,” Pietro says as he fixes his collar. All three of them nearly roll their eyes. “Do you think Y/N will like this shirt?”

“Yeah, if it was on Wanda, maybe,” Sam snorts. Peter holds back a chuckle while Wanda tries not to react. 

“You look nice,” Wanda says, not wanting to tear down her brother’s confidence. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the closed door when someone knocks. They hear you ask if you can come in. Pietro responds, “One second.” He goes to lean against Cooper’s desk casually and all three on the bed try really hard not to laugh. Peter has to shove his face in a pillow. “Okay, come in.”

You let yourself into the room, your eyes falling on Wanda immediately. “Not that you don’t look nice in them, but do you really plan on wearing your pjs to the fair?” you tease her. “I mean, you’ll for sure be turning heads, if that’s the plan.” 

She replies, “I was waiting on the shower. Someone was taking their time.” She points her head in Pietro’s direction who gives you a nod in acknowledgement and a “‘sup?” Sam’s mouth forms a line trying so hard not to laugh out loud. Peter’s face stays hidden behind the pillow but you can see from the side of his neck his face was getting red. You feel like you walked in at the wrong time given everyone’s behavior. You tell Wanda, “You might want to hurry. Clint says we’re leaving soon.” With that you turn to leave wondering what you had walked in on. 

When you shut the door, everyone in Cooper’s room excluding Pietro bursts out laughing.

“What the hell was that, man?” Sam asks between fits of laughter.

Peter gets up and leans against the desk to mimic Pietro, “‘Sup?” Everyone laughs again, Pietro leaning over to slap Peter in the back of the head.

***

They take the family car and Nat’s car to the fair. Sam and Peter ride with Nat while the rest of you ride with Clint driving. As you wait in line to buy tickets, you lean over Wanda’s shoulder, who is standing right in front of you with her back to you, and say “I meant to say this earlier but you look nice.”

She smiles and then turns around to face you as you take a step back. She jokes, “I thought I looked good in my pyjamas but someone implied it wasn’t appropriate for the fair.”

“Oh definitely not appropriate. It was way too sexy. We couldn’t have that around the children,” you reply making her giggle.

“You don’t look too bad either,” she returns the earlier compliment, taking in your outfit as you shuffle forward with the rest of the line. “Your outfit is very nice.”

“Oh, this. I just threw it together.” No, you didn’t. You took your time with it. “But thanks,” you wave her off. When you reach the ticket stand, you rush in front of Clint to pay for yours, Wanda’s, Laura’s, Nat’s, and the kids’ tickets. You explain to him when you are all walking together that you kind of owed Wanda for something and you were the one who promised to take the kids here much to Nat and Laura’s displeasure so you kind of owed them too. 

You make it inside the fairgrounds. A giant banner that reads “WESTVIEW COUNTY FAIR!” greets you overhead. Everyone gets excited upon seeing the banner and all the lights in the background. Well, everyone but Nat and Laura, Nat not ever a big fan of fairs and Laura not a fan of taking care of kids at a fair. Out of all the lights shining on the fairgrounds, your favorite is the one shining through Wanda’s eyes as she takes everything in with wonder. 

“So what do you want to do first?” you ask her.

She turns to you and almost looks embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a fair.”

“What?” you ask in shock. She shrugs not knowing what else she could say. “Well, it’s settled then. We are not leaving until you get the whole experience. Let’s go buy some wristbands for the rides. We are going on every single one.” Her eyes widen and the wonder in them from earlier shifts into nervousness. “It’ll be fun, come on,” you reassure as you drag her to another line, leaving everyone else behind. 

You and Wanda get on every ride but the ferris wheel telling her you have to leave that one for last. You even ride some twice, but you get hungry and ask Wanda if she wants to eat yet. She agrees that she could take a break for food. You try various things the fair offers wanting Wanda to try everything. “You Americans like to fry anything you can,” she comments as she takes another bite of her fried oreo. She hums as she finishes it off. “I understand why,” she says, making you laugh. 

You spot Laura and Nat sitting at a table near the stage where some band is playing music. You and Wanda head on over. Soon everyone regroups there, finishing off the food they bought and watching people dance. Clint pulls Laura to dance with him. You all sit at the table watching them with a smile when someone obstructs your view of them. You look up to see a tall guy in a black cowboy hat smiling down at Wanda beside you offering his hand out asking her to dance. She looks at you, unsure of what to say. You give her a smile that admittedly took you a second to form and nod encouragingly for her to accept. She smiles politely at him and takes his hand. You watch them dance, your eyes only ever straying when you see Wanda going to look at you. You watch when he leans down to tell her something in her ear and she laughs. You wonder what he told her that was so funny. Your eyes roam over him. He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. He has a nice face, good posture. You note he is also respectful with his hand placement when dancing, so you can appreciate that. It seems like Westview County has their own Steve Rodgers. The thought bugs you.

Someone blocks your view once again, only this time you are kind of thankful for it. You look up to see Pietro asking you to dance. “Why not?” you say, wanting to do anything rather than stare at Wanda dancing with some guy. He pulls you to the dance floor. You enjoy your time dancing with Pietro though you get dizzy from how quickly he spins you. You’re a little disappointed your dance is cut short when Lila taps your arm asking if she can dance with Pietro. You smile at her saying of course she can. With your distraction gone to dance with Lila, your eyes search for Wanda once more but you cannot seem to find her. You feel someone grab your hand and you are spun into that someone’s arms. Your eyes fall to familiar green ones and you smile, “Smooth moves, Maximoff.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile as she starts to sway with you to the music. “You let me dance with a stranger.”

“You’re dancing with me now and we were strangers not so long ago,” you rebuttal. 

“But at least we know each other’s names.”

“Did you not get his name?” you ask.

“I never asked for it,” Wanda returns simply, shrugging. You find it hard to believe that his name never came up so you say, “That was a lot of talking for him to not have given you a name.”

“You saw us talking? I would not have guessed you were paying attention. Every time I looked at you, you turned to look away,” she teases you.

You swallow, choking on the embarrassment of getting caught. “Doesn’t matter. His name’s probably Brad or something. He looks like a Brad.”

She laughs then catching on to your tone she asks, “Y/N, are you jealous?” 

“What? Me, jealous?” you ask, astonished. She nods, smiling like she has her answer. “Wanda, I could never be jealous of some Brad. Dance with a Marcus and then maybe, but a Brad? Pfft. No.”

She just laughs and pulls you closer. You let yourself go and dance with her until whatever song the band is playing ends. “Let’s go play some games. I feel like shooting something,” you say, making her laugh loudly. 

Everyone decides to play with you as well so you all head over to the different stands. Nat wins the shooting game, Clint coming in close. He wins the popping the balloons with darts game. They give their prizes to Cooper and Lila. Peter and Sam spend some time with the hammer and bell game; Peter hitting the bell every time garners some attention especially from some girls which frustrates Sam. Pietro wins a fish when he plays ring toss. It seems like everyone but you has been winning something. Even Wanda won a stuffed panda she gave to Lila after playing a water shooting game. You were getting frustrated trying to knock some blocks off a stool. You’ve spent a good $20 on this game already. Wanda catching your frustration decides to help you out. When you are down to your last ball, you try your best to focus and throw the ball. Two of the three blocks fall down. The last one is teetering on the edge. You think you’ve lost but a second later it falls over. You shout with glee. You ask the attendant for the keychain that has the letter W on it.

Wanda watches you with a smile as you approach her. “Thank you for that,” you say, and when she tries to play naive, you continue, “I know you knocked the last block.”

She gives you a sheepish smile. You hold out the keychain to her. “I figure this only rightfully belongs to you. May it proudly hold your keys until you lose it.” She tries to say no but you take her wrist and place the keychain in the palm of her hand. “It has your initial. You have to keep it.”

“I’m pretty sure the W is for Westview County,” she counters.

“A happy coincidence.” You don’t take no for an answer and she finally smiles and thanks you, putting her new keychain away so she doesn’t lose it. You look around to see the others still distracted with the games but you also catch your cousin yawn. You know this means you’re leaving soon so you grab Wanda’s hand and head over to the line for the ferris wheel.

You thank the attendant when he checks you have your belt on and pulls the bar to your lap. The wheel starts turning and when you are midway to the top, it shakes a little as two people get on the final empty cart. The shaking makes Wanda nervous. She grabs your hand almost protectively as her posture turns into one that looks ready for a fight. You turn your palm over to interlace your fingers and rub your thumb on her hand to try to soothe her nerves. “Hey, it’s okay,” you say. She turns to you and you see her irises are red. “They always do this. We’re okay. Just don’t rock the cart and we’ll be good.”

She takes a breath willing herself to relax. The red in her irises fade back to her green. She sits back and the ferris wheel moves again, this time not stopping for people to get on. You keep holding her hand squeezing it from time to time in reassurance. You can see Clint and everyone from the ferris wheel and point them out to Wanda. The only ones to see you are the kids who wave to you. You wave back. 

“Do you come to the fair every year?” Wanda asks.

“Pretty much. There’s not much else to do,” you shrug. She ponders this for a moment and then, “So you’ve brought dates to the fair before, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah?” You say more like a question wondering where she was going with this.

“In the movies, people on dates always kiss on the ferris wheel. Did you kiss them?”

“Wanda,” you say her name but it comes out more like a warning.

“Sorry, I was just wondering,” she mutters, then turns to look back at the fairgrounds. 

“No, I didn’t.” You answer sincerely. She looks back at you. You explain, “The two other people I’ve taken to the fair on a date were too afraid to get on the ferris wheel.”

“You said ‘other’,” she says smiling at you.

You look at her confused. “What?”

“You said ‘the two other people’ meaning other than me. So is this date?” she raises an eyebrow, an amused expression on her face.

“A friendly date,” you say, making her frown. She huffs in defeat letting go of your hand and hold the lap bar instead. The night had been going so well, you didn’t want this one thing to ruin it, so without letting yourself think it over, you wait until you get to the top of the ferris wheel. You lean into her space and look her in the eye to show her you are serious when you say, “Don’t tell Nat or Clint.” She looks confused but the confusion quickly turns into a pleasant surprise when you gently grab her face and lean in to kiss her. It doesn’t last long enough to give her a chance to kiss you back. You pull back with a cheeky smile and say, “I did promise the whole experience.” 

The kiss may have ended too quickly for Wanda but it was long enough for a few people to catch it. One of them being your cousin whose kids were pointing to you and Wanda on the ferris wheel in excitement. She just shook her head in amusement when she saw you kiss Wanda. The other person to catch you was Wanda’s brother who, when seeing you kiss his sister, just whines, “No, Y/N.”

______________________________________________________________________

I'm sorry this took so long. I got sidetracked and then when I started I got stuck and in my true fashion, once I started writing, I couldn't stop and I couldn’t leave you without taking you to the fair. So, I hope the length of the chapter makes up for the wait. Oh, Happy Mother's Day to all the mom's out there doing their best to be good moms! I created a house map of how I picture the inside to look, you know without the fine details.

Next chapter bring your bug spray, you’re going camping.

Taglist: @madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovepoem @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission 

[sinisterexaggerator]

Okay, so how about Shriv and his s/o are able to take some leave and have a vacation on Glee Anselm? And maybe they start talking more seriously about their future together? I feel like vacation adventure Shriv would be so heartwarming and adorable 🥰

I’m deep in summer vibes right now and would love to read some of your headcanons (or anything else that you feel like writing) for this idea! However if this ask doesn’t vibe with you, no worries at all.

Ooh, I love it! I foresee FLUFF! I threw together some headcanons and a fic because I could not resist:

Warnings: None! Fluff, kissing, love confessions, and one sweet, sweet Duros

Word count: 1.7+

If Shriv took you on a vacation to Glee Anselm, he would pay for everything.

He would try his best to make it special since you rarely get any time together as is.

He’s a bit of a romantic, but he doesn’t show that side of himself as often as he might like because ultimately he is afraid of rejection.

I headcanon he wouldn’t be the one to make a love confession; he would wait on you, but I am going to break my own HC for fun here.

If you rile him up, he might chase you down the beach and tackle you ( gently ) into the sand dunes so you can make out under the warm rays of the sun.

He probably wears a goofy hat to shade his sensitive eyes. I can see him with a streak of sunscreen down his rostrum.

He’ll definitely have a splash fight with you once he gets you in the ocean.

If he feels something, anything, brush up against his leg unexpectantly he’s getting out ASAP.

The first time he sees you in your bathing suit he goes bluescreen for a  good ten seconds.

Cuddling with him on a hot summer’s day is actually quite pleasant. His microscales are cold, thus cooling you down.

Shriv has broad shoulders and muscular arms, and he looks AMAZING without a shirt on. His pecs are firm, but he has the tiniest hint of a pooch and it’s the cutest thing when he’s only wearing his swim trunks.

Shriv can actually catch fish with his BARE HANDS. He does this to impress you. His expert eyesight and quick predatory reflexes enables him to do so, as Duros were avid hunters back in the day and Duro was a subtropical planet with beautiful oceans. Too bad its gone to snot.

He’ll watch the sunset with you and pretend to yawn so he can wrap his arm around you. Not that he hasn’t held you before – maybe he just feels like being silly.

Expect a purr or a rumble out of him at this point because the day has gone perfect, and he is one content Duros.

Shriv just couldn’t take it anymore; the stress was killing him, and the fact you two hadn’t been able to find any time together. He had begged General Merrick for a few days off and his request was granted; the Alliance favored Shriv enough to give him what he wanted on this occasion. Besides, the Death Star had been destroyed; the fleet had all fled from Yavin 4. They were safe for now; the Empire had lost your scent once you left the surface to make your way towards Hoth.

Now was as good a time as any, besides, Leia had struck out on her own adventures against the wishes of the leadership. Neither of you wanted to be there for the drama that would undoubtedly unfold. Sure, you had left your cohort in a lurch, but you’d be gone less than a week! You both might have felt guilty, but this was a necessary evil for your sanity; the show would go on, as the saying goes.

Glee Anselm was an oceanic planet, speckled with sparse Islands that was home to one of its native species, the other living beneath the waves; Nautolans, who were a rather peaceful bunch.

Shriv had shelled out the credits and you had hitched a ride off planet. You had flown to the Fath sector, found your way to the THX1138 Spaceport, then boarded a StarSpeeder 3000 to begin your vacation hosted via the Space Tours Travel Agency. It was aptly named the “Getaway package” and you both were thrilled to do just that. This vacation was well-deserved, and you were already beside yourself in happiness.

You had both taken a dip beneath the waves; you had splashed each other, and you found yourself giggling all the while. As it turns out, Duros were excellent swimmers; faster than you could ever be - you felt that you learned something new about Shriv everyday; you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was just so … fascinating; captivating, but there was more to it than that. You loved him; he had a good heart and he filled yours. You were nervous, but you had questions, ideas, and you weren’t trying to rush him, but there were some things you had to know.

He had chased you through the sand, declaring he was going to catch you; you did your best to escape his clutches, but you had wanted to be apprehended; to be encased in Suurgav’s big strong arms.

He had tackled you in the sand dunes; the moisture of the sea still clinging to your warm, soft skin. The tiny granules stuck to you, but in that moment you didn’t care.

He had playfully nipped at you, but he caught thin air instead. He was very aware of his reptilian-like teeth and would never dream of hurting you.

You had a picnic; foodstuffs picked up from a local market stall. It was something light, as he said he had dinner plans for you…

You felt so relaxed as you sat beside him, more so than you had in years. Your eyes briefly focused on something else as you watched an elegant avian flying out above the sparkling blue of this planet’s ocean.

You glanced to him and smiled; he was wearing nothing but his swimming trunks and a goofy bucket hat to shade his eyes, overly large to accommodate his head - he had picked it up at the local gift shop.

The sun was bright here; his vision was sensitive, especially after residing most days in the darkness of deep space. He was caught off guard by your sudden appraisal of him, though he cracked a joke – he knew you well enough.

“There’s more interesting things to look at here than me, sweetheart. We paid good money for this view! Don’t let it go to waste! Who knows if we’ll get another chaance.” He was being honest; the truth was harsh, though he broke through the sad reality by masking it with his sense of humor.

Being part of a rebellion meant that you could die at any time, maybe you wouldn’t have a future, but it would be nice to contemplate it; to lead a full life with Shriv at your side would be sublime.

“The only view I care about is you.”

The Duros had drawn a canteen to his lips; he sputtered, nearly gagging on his water. You never failed to make him blush, despite having been a couple for a year now.

His cheeks had turned a darker shade of blue. He set his canteen down. He motioned for you with both hands. “Come here, you.”

You crawled forward across your beach towel to sit closer to him. He used the muscles of his broad shoulders and his well-toned biceps to sit you on his lap point blank. He drew you in; he placed his forehead against yours the best he could while still adorned in that silly hat, then he gently pressed the smooth plane of his uniquely Durosian features across your human nose.

“You’re too nice to me. I’d ask what the end game is, but sometimes I think you actually like me.”

“I know you’re just kidding, Shriv.”

He was quiet then; the silence bothered you. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah …” The single word trailed off; your heart was aching. He thought so lowly of himself sometimes. It made you sad, and you were empathetic. You shed a single tear, though Shriv had felt it. It wetted his bare chest as it rolled off and down your face.

He shifted, pulling you away from his naturally cold embrace, though in the heat of the noonday sun it had felt so good. “Did I – are you - I’m s-sorry…It’s just …”

You were frowning at him; pouting, and it only made him match your expression. He suddenly felt terrible, though he had to get it out.

“It’s just I really, really, like you and… well, I’m lying. I don’t like you.”

You mildly gasped – was he breaking up with you?”

“Wait, no!  - What I mean is…” Suurgav bit his lip, the tips of his pointed fangs appearing. “Fierfek, I’m no good at thiss…”

You lightly touched his cheek; you guided him to look into your eyes. He felt choked up, though he finally managed to say his piece.

“I-I sort of … love you…I … hope t-that’s OK.”

He saw the look of shock across your face; you had waited weeks; months to hear this. What felt like ages. You had loved him from day one, though you had kept your mouth shut – Shriv took it the opposite, his brow ridge knitting as he looked down and away; suddenly ashamed.

“Ah hells, I’m s-sorry.. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. Of course, it’s totally fine if you don’t feel the saame. I just… daydream sometimes, about the future, and-”

“Shriv…” You took his chin up and made him look at you; you were crying fully now, yet it was out of happiness.

“I love you too, you laserbrain.”

He mildly gasped, his eyes averting for a moment as he was overcome. He slumped his shoulders as he unexpectantly felt shy, though his crimson gaze rose to meet your eyes. 

“Oh …” he trailed off, seemingly embarrassed; lost for words; incapable of coherent thought as it finally registered.

“Hey, don’t cry …” He wiped your tears away with his spindly thumb, mustering a smile though he felt like crying, too.

“Look at us, a couple of sappy dweezers.”

You couldn’t help yourself; you lurched forward and encapsulated his cheeks between your hands. You kissed him with such force you knocked him backwards. His hat fell off; he blinked in surprise before he closed his eyelids. He melted into it and sighed.

You pulled away to tease. “Come on Shriv, let’s go get a room.”

“But Fullua, we already have a-” he caught himself, catching on rather quickly for once. He smirked at you, shaking his head an iota in a façade of disapproval.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

“The best kind.” you replied.

-----

Masterlist

[jupitersmiles]

haikyuu boys as

little things i think they’d do with you

a/n: this is pure chaos and was built off of a single intrusive thought that has extended into something bigger (yeah it was the one about screaming HAGASH) i love all of these. and yes, one of tadashis was inspired off of strawberry mentos !!

also this is my first time making one of these and im not too confident with it so if you have any feed-back for the kitchen, let me know !!

KARASUNO

─ kōshi sugawara

◟ gives up his seat on the bus for you <3 

◟ lets you ramble on for hours. you’re rambling and sometimes you hesitate because you’re scared you’re talking too much, but he just smiles at you and tells you “go on, im listening.”

◟ plays the tambourine for you during karaoke, occasionally joining in to sing the lyrics with you

◟ buys you lunch when you don’t have one

( bonus: if you forgot yours, he’ll share his with you. he does not care if you say no, hes sharing and thats it. he’d also bring you lunch if you were in a different club/place as him, if possible )

─ asahi azumane

◟ he !!! he plays with your hair when you get anxious !!!

◟ also absent-mindedly fiddles with your hand/fingers :,)

◟ he likes to compare hand sizes with you

◟ lets you sleep on his shoulder on the bus !!

( bonus: one time, after practice, he and you sat beside eachother on the bus. you were both exhausted, and before you knew it, your head was on his shoulder, and his head was atop of yours. sugawara took a photo of it and teased asahi for it HAHA asahi still asked for it and made it his background on his phone )

◟ sometimes you catch him staring at you and he just quietly mutters, “can i kiss you?”

◟ sometimes the both of you wake up at dawn just to scream at the sunrise. when he’s frustrated and doesnt know what to do or how to express it, he just goes to his roof top and just... screams. the both of you thought of it as therapeutic and honestly, it felt rejuvenating

─ yū nishinoya

◟ SCREAMS song lyrics with you

◟ the type to go on 7-eleven runs at 1am to get slushies and go on spontaneous road trips to the city with you

◟ also the type to run over to your house when its pouring rain and you’re sad. he’ll stand outside and wait for you to unlock the door for him.

( bonus: one time he and you got into an argument-- it was over something dumb, and it spiraled out of control. to apologize to you, he ran over to your house, held a boom-box up, and started playing stupid romance music whilst screaming “im sorry” and, “i love you” at the top of his lungs. you ended up forgiving him LMAOIASU )

◟ makes you laugh at 2:30 in the morning because you were feeling anxious </3

─ tobio kageyama

◟ teases you for small things but ends up apologizing a million times when you act upset

◟ gets really annoyed when he has to untangle his headphones so he has you untangle them for him

he’s baffled by how easily you disentangle them. appreciates it way more than he should, its gotten to the point where he just wordlessly hands them to you and waits HAGJHSA

◟ bashfully holds your hand

hes so awkward about it sometimes :(( he tries to reach for your hand, hesitates, goes for it again......

◟ gives you blunt compliments all of the time LMAO

─ kei tsukishima

◟ rests his head on top of yours just to make fun of your height

◟ pokes fun at you when you’re mad at a videogame

◟ he covers your eyes and gives you forehead kisses

he’s kind of embarrassed to let you see him do it directly LMAO

◟ he holds your hand in crowded places because he’s scared of losing you to the mass of bodies he wont admit to this even though you know it

◟ sometimes he claims he doesnt know what you’re talking about just to watch you struggle to explain it even further. he always knows what you’re talking about, he just thinks its cute when you’re a bit exasperated and pouty

─ tadashi yamaguchi

◟ always scared to kiss you because he doesnt want to fuck it up

◟ takes you out for ice cream at ungodly hours of the night because you asked. he’s always tired in the morning, but he doesn’t mind

◟ he likes to eat your favorite candy so when you kiss, it tastes like them

◟ takes you to on silly and cute dates !! 

◟ stands on the edge of the sidewalk so you’re not in danger 

◟ gives you giggly kisses !!

FUKURŌDANI

─ kōtarō bokuto

◟ absent-minded touches <33 he doesnt mean to startle you, but he just wants to feel you there beside him. whether it be brushing his hand against yours, holding your hand, playing with your fingers... baby just loves to know you’re right there beside him

◟ stays up late until you fall asleep because he just wants to talk to you

◟ reciprocates your rambles !! when you get going on a topic, he will happily listen and/or provide his own opinions

◟ will talk to you about animals for hours

◟ takes you to the zoo specifically to pet the goats 

◟ holds your hand on rollercoasters, especially if and when he gets scared of the tall drops

◟ spontaneous facetime calls at any hour !! 

◟ lets you ride in the shopping cart and he pushes you around, vice versa !! 

he’s crashed into things more times than you can remember, but neither of you mind !! the employees, however....

─ keiji akaashi

◟ insists on buying you that one thing you loved even if you say you dont want or need it that much 

◟ HE READS !! YOU !! TO !! SLEEP !!

◟ answers your 4am calls and listens to you when you’ve had a nightmare :(

◟ takes you on picnic dates. he’ll pick you up and he’s already packed snacks and lunches !! 

◟ gives you wrist kisses <3

INARIZAKI 

─ astumu miya

◟ plays footsies with you while on a date LMAOSHAK

◟ looking at you with suppressed laughter when hearing a reference to a private joke. one of you always ends up busting out with laughter whilst others remain confused as to what was so funny

◟ watches movies with you, even if he doesn't like them

◟ plays games with you COMPETITIVELY. sometimes he shoves you to get an advantage when hes losing like the cheater he is

◟ has playful arguments with you about board game rules. he often says that you “rigged the game” because you were winning, or vice versa. 

you always accuse him back, though, given he has tried to make you fail numerous times

◟ he takes you on late night drives all of the time. sometimes, the two of you will park on the side of the road, headlights on and the radio playing your favorite song. he’ll drag you out of the car and dances with you, albeit sloppily, but the both of you are laughing and having fun :,)

─ osamu miya

◟ makes you homemade breakfast, lunch, or dinner

◟ he slow dances with you in the kitchen when its way too early in the morning. you’re both just lazily swaying back and forth, but it doesnt make it any less special

◟ has you taste test food for him <3 

◟ loves to cook with you. sometimes in the morning when he wakes up after you, he’ll find you in the kitchen, bed head and all, making something for breakfast. he wordlessly joins you, slack in his own pajamas, and you both exchange sleepy “good mornings” and tired smiles as you work your way in the kitchen

BONUS

─ takanobu aone

◟ wordlessly ties your shoes for you when he notices they’re untied

◟ loves to listen to you ramble. he isnt much of a talker, but when he hears you going on about something you love, see’s the way you’re glowing with passion... he swears he falls even more in love every time

◟ COMPARES HAND SIZES ALL. OF. THE. TIME. SOMETIMES HE DOESNT EVEN MEAN TO BUT IT BRINGS HIM SO MUCH JOY

◟ also loves to absent-mindedly hold your hand <3