#totally cheated as these ones are from a tube

[v4lde]

There's enough for everybody 🫶

[its-avalon-08]

ok but hear me out: y/n found a lipstick in his car and thinks he’s cheating on her but it turns out it’s his sister’s or something like that…angst with fluffy ending? maybe logan or oscar? but honestly i would read it with almost any driver lol x i really like ur work btw

lippies and lies (op81)

✦ pairing - oscar piastri x female!reader

✦ genre - misunderstanding, a little angst, alot of fluff

Oscar Piastri and his girlfriend Y/N had been dating for over a year, and their relationship was going strong. Today, they decided to spend the afternoon driving around, enjoying each other’s company. As Oscar navigated the roads, Y/N rummaged through the glove compartment, looking for a charger. Suddenly, her fingers brushed against a small tube. She pulled it out and realized it was a lipstick – a shade she never used.

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she examined the unfamiliar lipstick. Keeping her emotions in check, she put it back and closed the compartment. Throughout the rest of the drive, she remained quiet, her mind racing with doubts and suspicions.

Oscar noticed the change in her demeanor. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, glancing over at her with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Y/N replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Oscar frowned but decided not to press further, thinking she might just need some space.

When they finally arrived home, Y/N could no longer hold back her tears. She rushed inside, her eyes brimming with pain and confusion. Oscar quickly followed her, his worry intensifying.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

She turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I found a lipstick in your car, Oscar. It's not mine. Whose is it?"

Oscar's eyes widened in shock and realization. "Wait, what? A lipstick? Let me see."

Y/N retrieved the lipstick from her bag and handed it to him. Oscar examined it closely, furrowing his brows. "Isn't this yours?" he asked innocently.

Y/N's heart sank even further, her hands trembling. "No, Oscar, it's not mine. How could you not know that?"

Oscar's confusion deepened. "But I thought you used this shade. I've seen you with similar colors before."

Y/N shook her head, her voice breaking. "I don't wear this brand or this shade, Oscar. I can't believe you don't even know that."

Realization slowly dawned on Oscar's face, and he felt a pang of guilt. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I really thought it was yours."

Her eyes filled with even more tears, and she took a step back. "So, whose is it then? Did you have someone else in your car?"

Oscar's heart ached seeing her so upset. "No, Y/N, I swear. There's no one else. It has to be my sister's. She borrowed my car last week because hers was in the shop. She must have left it behind."

Y/N looked at him, her tears slowing as hope and relief started to creep in. "Really? You're not lying to me?"

Oscar shook his head and immediately pulled out his phone. "Here, I'll call her right now."

He dialed his sister's number, and after a few rings, she answered. "Hey, Oscar! What's up?"

"Hey, Sophie. Quick question – did you leave a lipstick in my car last week?" Oscar asked, putting the call on speaker.

"Oh my god, yes! I've been looking for it everywhere," Sophie exclaimed. "Why? Did you find it?"

"Yeah, Y/N found it and got worried," Oscar said, glancing at Y/N with a reassuring smile.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry! That’s totally mine. I didn't mean to cause any trouble," Sophie added.

Y/N sighed in relief, wiping away her remaining tears. "It's okay, Sophie. I just… I panicked. I'm sorry, Oscar."

Oscar pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's okay, love. I understand. I should have told you about Sophie borrowing the car."

Y/N clung to him, feeling the warmth and security of his arms around her. "I was so scared, Oscar. I thought I was going to lose you."

"You'll never lose me," Oscar whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, and I'm always going to be here for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with love and gratitude. "I love you too, Oscar."

They shared a tender kiss, both feeling the weight of the misunderstanding lift off their shoulders. The rest of the evening was spent cuddling on the couch, watching their favorite movie, and reassuring each other of their love and trust. The lipstick incident became a funny story they would laugh about in the future, a testament to their strong bond and the love that kept them together.

time skip

Later that evening, Y/N and Oscar were snuggled up on the couch, a comforting movie playing in the background. Despite the reassurance and the happy resolution, Y/N still felt a tinge of guilt for doubting Oscar. She shifted closer to him, burrowing herself into his side, seeking his warmth and comfort.

Oscar noticed her subtle movements and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her even closer. He gently played with her hair, his fingers moving in soothing circles against her scalp. "You okay, love?" he asked softly.

Y/N nodded, but her voice was small and hesitant. "I still feel bad for not trusting you, Oscar. I'm really sorry. I just saw it and I guess I jumped to the worst case scenario."

Oscar kissed the top of her head. "It's alright, Y/N. I understand why you felt that way. I would feel the same if I found a random male deodorant. I'm just glad we talked it out."

She looked up at him with sheepish eyes. "Umm, also Osc do you think we can go shopping sometime? I… I really did like that shade of lipstick. Maybe I could get one for myself."

Oscar chuckled, his eyes filled with love and amusement. "Anything for you, my love," he said, giving her a playful squeeze. "We'll go tomorrow, and you can pick out as many lipsticks as you want."

Y/N giggled, her spirits lifting at his response. "Thank you, Osc. You're the best."

"No, you're the best," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "Now, let's enjoy the rest of our evening, okay my love?"

She nodded, cuddling even closer to him, her heart feeling light and happy. They spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, the earlier misunderstanding forgotten as they basked in the love and trust that bound them together. The promise of a fun shopping trip tomorrow was just another reminder of how deeply they cared for each other.

[hotchfiles]

second. damn your love.

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 2,2k

chapter 2

      For some reason unknown to you, it hadn't taken James as long as usual to give you any sign that he still remembered your existence after being with you. Surprisingly, on the same day after dropping you off at home and rushing to be with his girlfriend, he sent you a message through his patronus (much too recklessly as you lived in a majorly muggle neighbourhood), apologizing for what had happened.

      Normally, you would believe his words, and then become disappointed. However, after what happened, you didn't believe anything he said, you knew he wasn't sorry and you knew you probably wouldn't be seeing him for a while.

      All you felt like doing was laying down, still feeling completely shaken, disappointed, angry... Betrayed, and it took you a while to stop crying, you couldn't believe how easy it was to manipulate you, two days together and you actually started to think things were changing.

      Ingenuity or just the hard truth: It was easier to let yourself believe it.

      Luckily, or not, you still had your commitment to your responsibilities, if not your pride, you would try to maintain that instead, so the best decision was to get yourself together as best as you could the next day and go to work.

      Even though you lived mostly among muggles, a decision you had made long before graduating Hogwarts, you still ended up in a Ministry job, an obliviator. Not the most glamorous, and a lot of times you thought about getting a muggle job, but years went on and you got comfortable with it. Sometimes being able to forget is the best option there is.

      So got yourself together you did, the best as you could included showing up office ready and giving off the obvious energy that you did not want to be perturbed, especially after taking the tube half an hour later than you normally would, too loud, too full, it was probably one of the few times over the last years you wished you could just apparate in front of the right phone cabin. But an obliviator risking wizarding secrecy would be too much of an hypocrisy.

      You made sure you wouldn't be making any field work, taking the liberty to be shut in your office filling paperwork and crying, as any mature woman would if they were in your shoes: Exhausted from hating yourself because you knew you were an excellent witch, a strong-willed independent woman and still, every time James Potter smiled at you, you felt nothing but weakness.

      And there it was, the weakness as soon as you left the Ministry building and felt his gaze upon you, simply leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face completely relaxed.

      Your hands went straight to your eyes, reminding yourself of their appearance, you looked up at the sky for a few seconds and wondered if there was a god, because it didn't matter how much you begged either Merlin or Godric, you still didn't get one single moment of peace.

      "Were you crying?" he asked straight away, without even explaining why he was there. You shook your head denying it and found refuge for eyes on your feet. "You're a terrible liar."

      "I don't think you know me that well anymore," you sighed and tried your best to look at him firmly. "No car today?"

      "I don't indulge on those very often, apparition is still a thing, you know?" You tried your very best not to roll your eyes at the arrogance he displayed, favoring instead the idea that he had the car for the weekend to please you. "You ignored my patronus, I feel like you probably didn't even check your mail, my poor owl working over time for nothing, and you're the only witch I know who doesn't have a bloody fireplace. Kinda got worried that you were mad at me." His lips formed the pout you knew so well, and you had to bite you lips to prevent yourself from smiling.

      "Not having the fireplace goes hand in hand with the anti-apparition charm on my apartment." You shrugged, it was a way to avoid unwanted guests, so he pretended to be the upmost offended by that. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the reasons why you were angry with him. "We need to talk."

      "We can do that in your apartment. Let's talk there." He nodded, and you agreed. It wasn't something to discuss so close to where you worked, for sure. He offered his arm so you would apparate together and you ignored it completely, stretching your arm to the street to get a minicab to stop for you both.

      "I'm not risking magic exposure and being fired because you rarely indulge on cars, Potter." Weirdly enough he doesn't try to convince you otherwise, getting on the backseat with you.

      On the way he told you he had been waiting for you for at least forty minutes, which you weren't sure was even true, but on any other day you would've swooned over, but his true intentions showing up came to light so quickly, you couldn't. James kept touching your thigh with his right hand slowly, teasingly, and a pantsuit was never as helpful as then, because of it you could ignore his touches or at least pretend to ignore it.

      Despite the touches, James maintained a casual conversation with you, talking about trivialities from his day, like forgetting to take his vitamin supplement in the morning and running less that afternoon so he could get home in time to take a shower and pick you up. At least that was the term he used, even though you were in a cab.

      You enjoyed having conversations like that with him, knowing how his day had been and how he felt about the team, the training sessions... It brought a sense of normality, as if you were just an ordinary couple talking about everything or just friends talking about your lives. But at that moment, you couldn't enjoy it the way you normally would due to what still lingered on your mind from the previous night, not to mention the fact that the words coming out of his mouth sounded innocent, but his eyes and hands overflowed with nothing but.

      You felt like you were under torture, the rational part of your brain competing with your emotional part, which was shaken by any touch from James, any scraps of attention. You even felt relief when you arrived at your building, especially because there were other people in the elevator, preventing him from grabbing you there and making you forget everything you so wanted to tell him. But it didn't last long. As soon as you reached your floor, you were grabbed from behind, his hands firm on your waist while his lips roamed your neck.

      "James, we need to talk," you repeated what said before, freeing yourself from his arms and walking towards the door. You unlocked it with a silent charm and left the door open for him to enter next.

      "Talk about what?" You heard the question, but his tone showed no interest in talking. In fact, he pulls you by the arm and pushes you against the nearest wall, trapping you with his arms. you lost your breath for a few seconds due to the proximity. "We can talk later," James whispers in your ear, brushing his lips softly against yours, one of his hands touching your waist under your blouse. You almost lose it, but finds the strength to get out of his embrace and leave to the kitchen.

      "I want to talk about us," you said seriously, resolute in your decision to give him an ultimatum, tired of being the mistress, but you couldn't deny that after his teasing, you just wanted to wrap your legs around his waist and hear him say your name in between moans.

      "Brilliant, let's talk," James begins, slowly moving closer to you. "But we could just go to your room and enjoy our time in a more pleasurable way."

      You feel his hands again grabbing you around the waist, and his lips brushed lightly against your ear as he detailed all the other pleasurable things he could be doing to you.

      You give up, defeated, letting out a grunt and pulling him to you, starting a desperate kiss as he takes off your pantsuit and leads you stumbling back to your bed.

      It was late at night, almost two in the morning, when the noise woke you up, almost frightened as you had no idea what it could be at that time. your first instinct was to obviously grab your wand and go to the living room, ready to disarm or worse if it was an intruder, but you noticed that it someone knocking frantically on your door.

      "Who is it?" you asked loud and clear, assuming it was a stranger trying to pull some kind of scam, you've heard of cases like that happening around the muggle neighbourhoods, the knocking then stopped and you thought you had scared away whoever was there, but you were wrong.

      "It's me…" The voice was familiar, but you doubted it was who the voice reminded you of, so you waited for more before you decided or not to open it. "James." You froze and held you breath, but still denying mentally that it could be him.

      "James? Need to be more specific."

      "Don't remember me anymore?" It was him, surely. James Potter. You hadn't seen him since the turn of the previous year, but truthfully, you hadn't really spoken to him in years, you couldn't even imagine how in hell had he found your address. "Potter."

      "What you doing here?" You open the door, giving him the space he needed to enter and smelling the alcohol invading your apartment. "It's two in the morning."

      "Not sure…" He seemed a bit disoriented, obviously because of the alcohol, but he wasn't about to fall over drunk and you mentally thanked him for that. "Was in a pub having a few, but they closed…Kept thinking about you and here I am."

      A shiver ran through your whole body and you cussed yourself, it was pathetic how he could still cause such a thing so many years after your relationship, after your last kiss, unfortunately you had never really managed to forget him, but instead you hid him deep in your memories, that way you wouldn't have to deal with your true feelings for him when you saw each other at a mutual friend's house or anything of the sort.

      But still, you did to this day found yourself thinking about him at times, but that didn't help you understand why he would be there at such a time, or why he would be thinking about you when in fact the only reason you had left his life was because of him, because if he wasn't such a dick, you might still be in a relationship today, or at least be best friends like you used to be.

      "Know what…" Even though you haven't responded to anything he's said before, he sits down on your sofa awkwardly and you feel completely uncomfortable with the situation, crossing your arms, unable to move more than that. "I'm such a twat." James lets out a weak laugh of discontent. "Letting you go that day… Mum told me what happened, but I still didn't look for you." It was amazing how he could form sentences almost perfectly even though he stank of alcohol miles away.

      "James, what do you want?" you sigh, still not understanding anything that's going on. He simply gets up and walks towards you, making you instinctively move away until you reach the end of the line, one of the walls of the living room. "Potter?"

      "I want things between us to go back to normal." His perfume takes you over as he gets closer, replacing the smell of firewhiskey, and you try not to get dizzy. "Just want you." Panic is your first reaction as his lips come close to yours and you push him away.

      "You have a girlfriend." You look into his eyes, being as serious as possible without showing how tempted you were, making exaggerated gestures with your hands to show him how wrong it was.

      "Shh, forget it, just f'now. I'll fix it, swear I'll fix everything." You soften at his words and sigh, you're probably losing your mind but still you walk towards him with your arms open for a hug and he immediately finds himself taking the chance.

      "Missed you." Your voice nothing but a whisper and James nods in response, stroking your hair.

      The affectionate embrace evolves quickly into a quiet kiss that becomes more and more desperate and before you know it, you're both on the sofa, blending into one.

      You woke up the next day feeling partially satisfied, but guilt consumed you entirely, you had slept with a committed guy, what kind of woman were you? And not only that… What would James and you be from then on?

      "Bloody hell." And there you were, waking up after given in to James' charms again, just like the first time, just like every time after that, it was frustrating how much power he held over you, you couldn't take it anymore, you were done.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[feederheart]

The Five Stages of Weight Gain,

CW: weight gain, feederism, some humiliation.

Denial

Jen couldn’t believe it; 200lbs! Jen’s wide brown eyes looked down at the bathroom scale in total disbelief. She brushed her braids out of her face and looked again just in case she read the numbers wrong. She did not; as a matter of fact, the scale finally settled on 201.5 after a few more seconds. After starting her new desk job, she hardly had any time to maintain her usual regular workouts and found herself chained to her desk for most of the day. She knew that maintaining her toned body was going to be difficult but not this difficult. She tried to find time for a run here and there but work was so exhausting that she could hardly find it. She knew that her new method of coping with the heavy workload, eating copious amounts of delicious snacks as she typed away, would ruin all of the hard work she had put into maintaining her figure but she just couldn’t help herself. She also knew that she could just lose the weight if things got out of hand.

That was it, she was going to go on a diet. No more sugary bullcrap, no more fatty garbage, only real, lean, green, and high protein dishes for her. Even if her coworker offers her snacks, the one that keeps offering her pastries and treats every now and then, she would say no. She was still the athletic beach babe that she worked so hard to be, she just had to drop a few pounds.

Anger.

250lbs. 250lbs. TWO-HUNDRED-FIFTY…

Jen still couldn’t believe it. She started a diet after hitting 200 lbs six months ago and not only has it failed but she actually GAINED fifty pounds! She was getting fatter and fatter and it seemed as if there was nothing she could do about it. Her breasts and belly were starting to get in the way of the scale’s numbers; she had to lean forward just to see the nail polish on her toes. Her arms and legs had completely lost all muscle definition, making it impossible to tell that she was once a soccer player and cheerleader just a year ago in college. She was now covered in a thick and jiggly layer of fat. Each of her butt cheeks touched the armrests of her chair now and her thighs rubbed together when she walked, ruining her favorite pair of daisy dukes. Climbing up to her fourth-floor apartment was now far more difficult than it had ever been; she was always out of breath by the time she climbed the last of the stairs. Her runs became more infrequent and much shorter thanks to how poor her fitness has become.

It did not matter what she tried, she just couldn’t help but pack on the pounds. Food was the only thing that helped with her stress; she had been sneaking a few too many cheat days in the name of relieving her stress and treating herself for working so hard. Why couldn’t her body just stay the same way, she wondered. Why did the food in her new city have to be so good? Why does working out have to be so hard? Why did that guy at work keep bringing her donuts nearly every day? It was all so infuriating.

Bargaining.

It was seriously time for Jen to try something new. She was nearing 300 lbs and for the third time, in need of a whole new wardrobe. Her belly could not be contained by any of her pants, shorts, or skirts; it hung over the waistband of all of her bottoms. The only shirt that still fit her was her tube top, leaving her entire soft, stretchmark-covered belly exposed for everyone to see. The only pants that she had that could fit over her fat, celulite-covered thighs was a large pair of sweatpants that she stole from an ex-boyfriend and even those were showing signs of being outgrown soon. Even her feet seemed to be getting fatter; the softness on top of her feet dug into the straps of her favorite flip-flops and her favorite high-heels she sometimes wore to work. Her face was swelling up with fat too; she had accumulated an extra chin and her cheeks were rounder than ever, almost like a hamster’s. Her shiny black hair still shone in the bathroom light; the one part of her that couldn’t get fatter.

Jen contemplated what to do but she was out of ideas. She tried to get on Ozempic but her health insurance providers were playing games with her. She tried intermittent fasting and getting used to not eating, but when she tried, she lost control and ate double her usual caloric intake for dinner because she was so hungry. She tried cooking her own food and starting a mediterranean diet but that didn’t seems to work either; perhaps it was because she would always douse her food with too much cheese and olive oil. Regardless, she desperately needed to find something because she was getting fatter fast and couldn’t figure out how to lose the weight. Maybe she should ask the donut guy at the office to bring fresh fruit instead.

Depression.

Well, it was offical, Jen was a fatty. At 360lbs, she was now a waddling bloated blimp of a woman. She needed to use a hand-mirror to read the scale because her belly and breasts were just too big. She only had three sets of clothes that fit her, all purchased in the last month and all slowly getting tighter with each passing day; a blouse and pencil skirt for work, a casual t-shirt and pair of shorts for errands, and a large nightdress that looked more like a tent. She spent her days working away and eating whatever she could get access to, having given up on her diet completely. She was easily the fattest girl at the office, especially now that Donna, who was 400 lbs with an even bigger belly, moved on to a different job. She felt everyone’s eyes as she waddled down the hallways. Her massive belly turned heads in cubicles, paused conversations, and even became the subject of gossip around the office. She saw one coworker looking at an older picture of her on the wall, one where her face was still thin, and did a double take as she walked by her. Her ass and hips have knocked over office supplies and framed photographs several times much to her embarrassment. A coworker once declined to step in the elevator with her despite the fact that Jen was the only other person on it. Jen even saw some pictures from her competition days and wanted to cry.

Fortunately, her luck began to turn. No, she didn’t lose any weight, she actually got a promotion that enabled her to work from home. No more walking up and down the stairs every day, no more walking to the train station, no more walking through the city, and no more being humiliated at work for her blimp of a body. All she had to do was sit on her gargantuan ass at home where she had access to all of the snacks she wanted. A welcome change, now she did not have to deal with the judgment of her coworkers. Shortly after this change in her life, she found herself sitting on her couch craving donuts. Perhaps she should give the donut guy at work a call, he was the only one who still treated her the same and did not make snide remarks regardless of how much she weighed.

Acceptance

A year and over a hundred pounds later, Jen was living the life. Her belly, now spread out all over her fat juicy thighs, served as a table as she happy scarfed down a dozen donuts. Her fat arms jiggled and swayed each time she grabbed one and put it to her fat, greedy mouth. Her fat, heavy legs were kicked up onto the coffee table and spread open so that her portable fan could blow underneath of her belly and right at her hot and sweaty crotch. She remained still so that the couch supporting her massive ass did not creak and groan so much, threatening to break right underneath of her. Her laptop was on the desk beside her, sitting dormant until she has another task to complete for work. Working at home has been great for her; now that she did not have to deal with her judgemental coworkers, her stress levels have gone way down and she found herself enjoying it a lot more. She was now able to do her work as well as relax and eat all day.

Jen was fat and there was nothing she could do about it nor did she want to; her cravings were just too strong. Even though she had received her less stressful promotion, it was too late to change, her fat and growing body now craved fatty sugary treats more than ever. Her appetite could only be sated by constant snacking, which she was more than happy to do as she typed away. She knew she would never get her toned body back but she stopped caring months ago. She was happy with her donuts and pastries.

Speaking of, she received a text from her boyfriend, the same guy from the office; he had just finished making an entire cheesecake and he was walking up the stairs now. Her overfed stomach, still ful of donuts, growled at the thought of the thick, decadent, creaminess of the cheesecake and her mouth salivated hungrily. She got up, still naked, and waddled over to the door, her belly swinging back and forth and her ass shaking up and down with each step. She didn’t need to lose weight, she didn’t need her toned body back, and she didn’t need to play sports ever again; she just needed that cheesecake.

[misseviehyde]

INSTITUTIONALIZED

Michael was smart - real smart. But he also knew that he lived in a society full of institutionalized racism that made it harder for a black kid like him to make it in the white world.

He wanted to go to University, but he knew he would be competing against a lot of spoiled white kids and his family didn't have enough money to support him through even the cheapest college.

True he could skip college and get straight to work but he didn't want to end up like his Uncle Luther who was a petty criminal and a bad role model.  Just this morning Luther had woken Michael up and demanded he hide a cache of guns in the house.  Michael was afraid of his uncle so he had obeyed.

It was whilst he was looking through the guns, wondering what he had gotten into and where to put them where his Mom wouldn't find them, that he came across a weird looking blaster.  It looked more like something from a science fiction film than a real gun so he found a serial number on the base and googled it on a black market page.

The info read - "The Costume gun. Stolen hi-tech weapon. Turns anyone fired at into an empty skin that can be worn to allow a person to adopt their identity. Highly dangerous experimental weapon. Can cause identity dysmorphia."

Michael was astonished. He checked a bit further and soon became convinced this was the real deal.  A gun that could let him take another persons identity was now in his possession.  A lot of things began to click in his mind. What if he used the gun to steal the life of a rich, privileged white person about to go to college?

It seemed evil to steal another life, but Michael was sick of being denied opportunities because of systematic racism. He could zap some dumb frat boy - study at university and then one day reverse the effect perhaps. He could work it out as he went along - he just knew he needed to get out of this life.

But where was he gonna find a frat boy?

He put the gun in his bag and went out for a walk to think it over.

It was whilst he was walking down an empty street that he saw Madison Laine - the richest bitch in the neighbourhood approaching. She was walking and talking on her mobile phone to her slutty friends whilst chewing gum. Her tight outfit left very little to the imagination - a tiny pair of daisy dukes and a tight pink boob tube.

She was the same age as Michael but they were definitely not in the same social circles. Madison went to an exclusive private school and her Daddy was a multi-millionaire oil magnate.  She was spoiled, beautiful and rich and already had a place at an Ivy League University.  He had read about her online - she was already a semi-famous instagrammer and aspiring model. Everyone in the area lusted after her in one way or another.

She was also a total bitch and as Michael approached the look of total disdain in her eyes made something in him snap. She giggled and a sneer appeared on her pretty lips. "Oh my gosh girls, I thought all black guys were fucking hot - but I just saw this TOTAL fucking nerd. What a LOSER."

Madison had quite the taste for black guys. She apparantly only fucked black cock and could be found out in the clubs cheating on her white boyfriend nearly every night. That would have turned a lot of black guys on - a perfect blonde snow bunny ready to give herself to superior men.

But Michael was sick of privileged sluts like this one treating black guys like they were either nothing, or simply big dicks to fetishize over. He walked past Madison in barely contained fury and she caught his expression and scowled.

"Hey you... you fucking nerd. How dare you like look at me like that. I'm your fucking superior and you better fucking show it."

Michael ground his teeth. "You're not my superior, you're just an over-privileged white girl that thinks she deserves all her Daddy's blood money."

"Hold on girls, I just need to deal with something," grinned Madison as she hung up. Advancing on Michael she jabbed him hard in the chest with a long acyrillic nail and giggled as he yelped in pain. "Haha, listen dork. All I have to do is make one call to the cops. 'Ohhhhh, help me help me.' Who knows what those racist fucks will do when they see me, the scared innocent white girl being pestered by you."

"You fucking bitch," snapped Michael and suddenly the gun was in his hands.

"What the fuck is that? A toy? Ohhhh this gets even better. They'll probably shoot you when they see you're 'armed'." Laughing Madison began to dial 911.

With a gasp of panic Michael pulled the trigger.

The gun whined and a pink ray leapt out and engulfed Madison. Her face turned suprised, then the beautiful slut moaned softly as her body deflated and in an instant she was just an empty skin lying on the pavement with a discarded handbag and phone next to it.

Michael felt a cold moment of panic - what the hell had he done that for?

He immediately considered flipping the reverse switch and transforming her back - but he knew full well Madison would call the cops. She wouldn't be grateful for him reversing the rays effects.

In a panic he reached down and gathered the skin. It was impossibly soft and her skin smelt amazing. Her hair was even nicer to touch and still felt warm. He stuffed the skin and all the skimpy clothes into his bag and ran home.

On the way, Michael imagined what would happen if a cop stopped him and searched him. How would he explain this situation. He felt more anger than ever.

Safe back home Michael laid Madison and her things on his bed. What was he going to do? If Madison didn't turn up, her bitchy friends and family would stop at nothing to track her down. They'd easily track her back to him and he'd be screwed. If he turned her back, she'd just call the cops on him. He had no choice... he was going to have to become Madison.

A shameful part of him was excited at the idea as he examined the tiny skin and all her girly clothes.

Michael stripped off and then picking up Madison, examined how to wear her. There was a slit down the back of the suit - so he opened it and slowly pushed his feet inside. The skin was soft and warm and his feet slid easily inside. It felt like the skin was eagerly welcoming him inside and clinging to him possessively.

It looked weird as his feet and legs slid in and Madison's skin overrode his. Not only were his legs now perfectly smooth and sexy - they were white. His feet were tiny now. Somehow the skin was making him smaller, fitting him inside. He wiggled his toes and gasped to see the ten perfectly pedicured toes wriggle with their white nails and toe rings.

"Hmmmm this feels pretty good," groaned Michael as he pulled the skin up to his waist. He thrust his cock deep inside the groin of the skin and snapped Madison's taut buttocks over his own. His cock tingled and then sensation vanished, instead replaced by Madison's pampered pink pussy - freshly waxed and shaven.

"Holy fuck I have a pussy now,"  grinned Michael sliding his fingers in and gasping as he felt them slide deep into his own velvety softness.  This was the real deal - the skin was reallt making him into a girl.

He quickly pulled the rest of it up, tugging Madison's big heavy boobs into place. They felt amazing on his body and it was weird to look down and see them hanging there - but also kind of nice. Each one was full and round. Rubbing the nipples felt good.

His whole body was tiny and curvy now. Entirely hairless. A bellybutton ring twinkled in his toned abdomen and washboard tummy.

His arms were now slender and lightly tanned, the fingers ending in slutty acryllic nails and ornamented with rings.

Only one thing was left to do.

With a tingle of excitement Michael slid his head inside Madison's beautiful face and shivered as he felt the slot on the back seal up and the suit tighten.

Blonde hair fastened to his scalp and his eyes rolled up as his voice box changed and he moaned in feminine pleasure as the suit completed transforming him into Madison.

A hot flush ran through him and his head tingled. A host of unfamiliar memories throbbed in his mind and he realised he was gaining all of Madison's knowledge and memories along with enough of her personality and mannerisms to pass safely as her. 

You naughty boy... how does it feel inside me. Good huh?

A voice seemed to whisper in Michael's head telling him he was someone else now. Someone better.

Yesssss Michael. You're a naughty white girl now - you're a slut and a bitch. Your Daddy is rich and you can be a spoiled little whore, every single day. This is what you wanted all along. You're Madison now!

Turning to the mirror the new Madison; giggled as she saw her reflection. A pretty bitch used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. It felt good to be Madison.

"Ohhhh fuck I feel like sooooo fucking naughty, mmmmmh I am sooooo hawt now." 

Michael smirked at how big his white titties were and how sexy his manicured nails felt. It was amazing to be this beautiful.

Yessss that's it. You're me now loser. You love being me.  Your mind is becoming my mind. Our thoughts and desires are as one. You are inside me and you never want to leave.

Muchael purred as he accepted these strange new thoughts. Whilst in the skin it was so easy to think, act and feel like a naughty bitch.  All thoughts of taking the skin off were burned away by Madison's intrinsic narcissism. Why would anyone NOT want to be her?

Michael knew inside he was still Michael; but right now Michael was enjoying being Madison too much to care. Taking control of Madison's white privilege was making him feel dizzy.

Eughhhh I have to get out of this dump and back to my mansion. I totally have plans to make and college is going to be so much fun now I'm an Alpha bitch.

Picking up Madison's phone Michael laughed delightedly as it unlocked via face recognition. Her life was his. He WAS Madison. He hadn't meant to use the gun on her, but he had and it was too late now.

"Yessss, as Madison I can have it all. I deserve to be the pampered spoiled brat who gets what she wants. Being a mean, white, brat is gonna be so much fun. No wait... what am I saying? I hate girls like Madison."

That's why you wanna be me so badly dweeb. You lust to have my white privilege and get it all. You can't fight me Michael, you're already under my control. Give yourself to me and take your place as the new Madison.

Lying on his bed Michael began to helplessly play with his new body. He was being overwhelmed by Madison's bratty personality, he was becoming her.

You are ME loser.

Michael/Madison opened her eyes and giggled. Of course she was her. Who else would she be?

Her personality now in flux she was about to play with herself some more when she suddenly heard a creak downstairs and her heart skipped a beat. Who the fuck could that be?

The answer came as the door opened and Luther suddenly walked in. He was back to collect his guns, but he gawped and looked amazed as he beheld the gorgeous white girl in his dweeby nephews room. "Hey gorgeous who the fuck are you?"

Michael was usually scared of Luther but now he was Madison, he felt different. In fact Madison felt turned on by this situation. She had never noticed how big and strong Luther was.  She bet he had a big dick too.

"Ohhhh hey, you must be Luther.  I'm Michael's friend from school Madison. In fact we're like actually we're fuck buddies. Mmmmh you see, I can't get enough of black guys you see - I love a big black cock, it's what I live for. Michael is totally average but he's still superior to some white loser."

Michael was amazed at the slutty trash coming out of his mouth - but the Madison part of him was just turned on by it. She felt her pussy get wet as Luther looked at her appraisingly and he unzipped his fly slowly.

"You little white slut - you think my nerdy Nephew is a good fuck, you should come suck on a real mans cock."

"Mmmmh like ummm okay," giggled Madison without hesitation as Luther's massive black dick flopped out and she hungrily advanced.

Michael found his mouth salivating. He couldn't control himself. He was a horny white size queen now and he needed big cock. He couldn't control his new body as Madison's instincts took control.

Meanwhile Luther groaned happily as Madison lowered herself to her knees and slid her hot wet mouth around his dick.

He had no idea his dweeby Nephew had such great taste.

Licking and stroking Luther's cock - worshiping it in delight - Madison giggled as it got bigger and bigger for her. She knew this was twisted and wrong - potentially incestuous even if Luther was a distant 'uncle', but in this skin she wasn't Luther's Nephew anymore - she was a spoiled size queen who loved a big black dick and Luther was all hers. The sense of power - of knowing Luther wanted and needed her mouth and pussy so bad was intoxicating.

Madison got to work sucking and slurping on the monster cock before her.  She had memories of sucking lots of cock - but this was actually the biggest she had ever had and of course in reality - for Michael this was his first. The skin gave him the muscle memory and skills of a practiced college cheerleader - Madison had learned to suck cock years ago and she loved to swallow cum.

Luther moaned in pleasure. This bitch was amazing. "Yesssss that's it baby. White sluts like you live to suck black dick. Work that tongue baby, suck it real good."

Yesss Michael. You really wanna know how it feels to be a slut and be me, hurry up and get that cock inside you. This monster is all yours and it's going to feel so good stretching your tight young pussy out. You're such a bad girl and you love it. At college there will be even more cock to ride. I know you can't wait. You're Madison now so enjoy it!

"Yessss I love being Madison, oooohbh I need you to fuck me Luther - I want your cock so bad," whined Madison as she finished slurping and looked at him endearingly. The voice in her head made her want to do such deliciously nasty things. "Please fuck my pussy." 

Luther bent Madison over and slapped her ass hard. She moaned and pushed her back up - presenting her tight pussy to her lover as he growled in appreciation and slowly pushed his massive cock inside Madison's super tight teenage pussy

"Ohhhhh fuck yes -  ohhhh its so big!" moaned Madison in joy as Luther began to slide in and out of her soaking pussy and thrust harder and harder into her.  It felt so good and her huge tits jiggled as he fucked the shit out of her.

Being a white slut feels good doesn't it?  You love being me.

Luther pounded Madison and she squealed as she orgasmed over his dick. Then he picked her up and fucked her even deeper till she came again.

Madison's pussy juices were dripping down lubricating his cock and making him slide so deep into her perfect pussy and fucking her felt so good. Luther couldn't take much more of this insatiable slut. She was a sex machine.

"Shit baby - I'm gonna cum," he grunted.

"Yessss do it all over my face; I want all that cum,"  begged Madison. Luther was happy to oblige and she squealed in delight as he unloaded all over her pretty face. Thick globs of warm cum erupted over her lips and her chin, dripping down onto her large firm tits.

With cum dripping over his outer body and making him feel like such a delicious whore - inside the skin Michael had accepted that this was his new life now. 

Being Madison felt amazing. The devious slut wondered whether there was even a way to make Luther appear responsible for Michael's inevitable disappearance in a few days.  Maybe she could engineer something after all she had Luther hooked now. 

"Damn girl that pussy is fine. Are you in town all summer?"

"Yeah; till I go to college. We can fuck again if you like baby?"

Luther grinned. He was all for more but he had no idea the horny slut in front of him was already planning to make it look like he killed Michael in a fit of jealousy and her Daddy's lawyers would make mincemeat out of this idiot and keep the story out of the papers. Money and white privillege always won in the end.

"Ooohhh and in the meantime we can fuck that big dick and cum all night.  Hehe we're so bad."

Michael had become exactly the sort of white privileged manipulative bitch he had always despised. As Madison he would go to University, join a sorority ride a lot of dick and party. It was gonna be fun.  Michael was now Madison and he had definitely been institutionalized.

She was gonna use the system to get what she wanted and spend her days filled with big black dick. Fetish or no fetish she was an evil blonde whore and college was going to be a blast.

THE END

[petrichor-idyllic]

HI i love ur writings for minho so much oh my god they keep me thriving. i was wondering if you’d be up for doing like a modern highschool au with minho where he keeps trying to ask the reader out, and she keeps saying no because she thinks it’s joke, until she confronts him and he gets all serious and tells her it’s not a joke and then there’s a little bit (a lot) of spice at the end🤭🤭

Ooo okay okay, my first AU story, this is definitely going to be a bit different.

Again, assuming fem!reader because pronouns used in the request.

HIGH SCHOOL NOT-SO-SWEETHEARTS

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Fem! Studious! High-school! Reader x Popular! High-school! Minho.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, the American education system which I simply do not understand or what is taught in American classrooms, spicy content, terrible teenage flirting, kinda of insecure reader, guilty pleasure high school drama tropes, I do not condone Minho's constant questioning of the reader- no means no, guys. No Glader slang here, folks- they ain't stuck in the Maze now.

You are not a popular person.

Not that you mind. You have your small circle of friends and staying out of the typical teenage drama really is a blessing, especially during your Senior year.

It's not like you're disliked, you're just not someone most people pay attention to, and you like it that way.

You get to focus on your studies, your family and your close friends, which is more than enough to keep you happy.

Well, it would be if you weren't kind of a hopeless romantic. No matter how many times you tell yourself you don't want a boyfriend and that you don't need one, you spend a lot of time fantasing about what it would be like to be in a relationship. Like going on dates, having cute inside jokes, meeting your partners parents, and... other things.

In typical horny teenage fashion, you do spend a lot of time thinking about the more intimate parts of your desired relationship. But, alas, you simply do not have anyone interested in you, nor do you have the time.

(You totally do have the time; you're way ahead of your classes and are passing with flying colours- but you tell yourself that.)

Except that's actually not quite right.

"Dude, I am totally fucking up this titration, are you gonna help me or not?" Gally mumbles from behind the desk of the chemistry lab. How Gally and Minho got into AP chemistry is beyond me, and the teacher, and the whole entire class.

Probably to do with them cheating on their mid-terms. But that's irrelevant.

"Minho, dude," he shoves his friend, who has been casually leaning on the desk staring off into space, as per usual.

Well, not into space exactly.

"What? Huh? Oh, right, yeah." He clears his throat. "Acid in the... tube thing and we put that in the base and bang, shit changes colour- it ain't that hard."

"It's an acid-base titration."

"So?"

"So, we're seeing how much base it takes to neutralise the acid- the acid goes in the beaker!"

"What's the damn difference?"

Gally pauses.

He does not know.

"Whatever, the titrate is already in the shitty tube and now we gotta drip feed it in."

"Sounds like you know what you're doin', then." Gally frowns at the boy.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea for them to both cheat when the only thing they have in common is being friends with Siggy (aka Frypan, the groups best, and only, cook.)

"Yanno, maybe if you didn't spend half your time staring at your nerd crush, then we might actually get past this with a C."

Minho glares at his friend. His crush on you is very much a teasing point in his friend group.

It started when he was struggling with an equation in Sophmore year. He'd just sprained his ankle after a training session with the Track-and-Sprint team and was particularly stressed about it. So, anything remotely out of his academic field was bound to make his day worse.

It's not like Minho is dumb. He's actually incredibly intelligent. He has a great memory and can understand people with little to no effort- anything scientific really isn't his thing though.

So, when you felt bad for him, watching him anxiously tap his good foot and spin his pen in his hand, you slipped him your answer sheet. He was stunned, especially since you'd never spoken before. But, when you smiled at him, giving him a reassuring nod, he never really got over it.

"Shut up, man."

"You know, actually, that's not a bad idea."

"What?"

"Yo, (Y/N)!" You perk your head up, flashing a concerned look at Harriet, your lab partner, as Gally shouts you. "Could you help us out? You're like smart, right?"

"Gally! Dude-" Minho whisper-yells at the boy, ducking into himself when you respond.

"Uh, sure," you walk away from your perfect set up to the chaos of the boys'. "What's up?"

You stand with your hands behind your back, looking between them. "Minho," he nudges his friend, "tell the girl what's wrong."

Minho blinks. "Well, uh, I don't know- you're the one who said there's a problem."

Gally scoffs. "The fucking thing won't change colour- ain't it meant to go pink?"

You glance between them, suddenly feeling very small.

You're not popular, which means guys like these have often teased you or do things like this because they think it's funny. It's gotten better over time with age, but you still feel like the scared little freshman that would get teased by older boys.

"Well, did you put the phenolphthalein in the beaker?"

They both blankly look at you. So, you pick up the small, dark bottle. Shaking it at them, you open the bottle, letting the liquid fall from the dripper and into the clear acid, which immediately turns a bright fusia.

You pull your lips into a thin line as they both stare at the beaker, no thoughts behind the eyes.

"Ah." Gally says after a couple of seconds.

"Yeah." You respond.

"Uh, thanks," Minho awkwardly stands up properly from his leaning position over the lab table.

"No problem."

You turn to walk away, but as Gally makes shifty eyes at his friend, Minho finally takes the hint. He's been crushing on you forever, he might aswell do something about it.

"Uh, wait, hold on," you turn to face him as he walks around the desk. "I gotta ask you somethin'."

"I'm sure your titration's fine, just don't pour it too quick or the results will be wrong."

"No, uh, not that." Gally snorts, not at you but at Minho's awkwardness, but it still makes you feel very insecure. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out maybe, sometime?"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah," Gally laughs, covering his mouth and turning away, "Gally, shut up, bro." Minho is quick to snap at him. "Like... a date, maybe?"

You scoff, anger swelling inside of you. This isn't the first times it's happened, but probably the worst because you actually like Minho.

Sure, he hangs out with douchebags like Gally, but you thought he was cool. Say, you may even have a slight crush on him. He's handsome, funny, and, for the most part, kind.

Well, you thought he was at least.

"Real funny, asshole."

You walk away, returning to a very confused Harriet.

Minho stands in stunned silence. He's never been rejected before- nevermind like that.

Gally bursts out laughing.

"What just happened?" Minho asks no one in particular, visible confusion washing over him.

"You just got fuckin' rejected, bro! Ha!"

"No, that was weird." He's never heard of anyone being rejected like that before.

"Well, try again, then, pretty boy- it's nice to see someone knock your ego down a peg." Minho gives a sarcastic grin to Gally before shoving him. "You gonna help me with this damn titration, now, or what?"

"Dude, what was that about?" Harriet whispers as you immediately go back to your third reading.

"Minho just asked me out." You state, matter-of-factly.

"What?" She says a bit too loud, making multiple heads look at her. "What?" She repeats, quieter.

"It was a joke- Gally was laughing the whole time. I hate guys like that."

"Are you sure?" You glare at her. "I'm just sayin', I didn't think Minho was that typa guy, that's all."

"Yeah, neither did I."

"Pricks."

You scoff before she smiles at you.

You finish up the lab session, and you're quick to leave, meeting Sonya and Aris at the door as you all share history together.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" You keep walking, ignoring Minho's voice from behind you. "Yo! Hey! Wait!"

"What?" You snap, turning around suddenly to face him, making him jump as Sonya and Aris exchange glances.

"Did I, uh, did I do something? 'Cause back there you-"

"You think you're funny, huh?" Harriet butts in, defending you. "That's a sick joke, yanno; give it up now before you become even more of a dick. C'mon." She grabs your wrist, pulling you away from him, your other friends left even more confused.

Later, in the cafeteria, Minho sits with his friends, silently picking at his food.

"Okay," Newt finally breaks the tension, "what's going on? Why are you sulking?"

"He got rejected by his long-term crush," Gally sneers, earning a glare from Minho.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)?" Teresa leans forward in her seat. "You actually asked her?"

"Yeah, and he got completely rejected."

"What? Why?" Thomas pipes up.

Minho shrugs. "She called me an asshole and walked away. Tried to talk to her after, and Harriet dragged her away."

"What?" At least three people ask.

"Yeah, so, that's three years of my romantic life wasted."

"Nah, man, you gotta ask again," Frypan says between mouthfuls of his homemade pasta, which is worlds better than the cafeteria food.

"What?"

"Keep askin', you'll either get an explanation or she'll say yes."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Teresa mumbles.

"Yeah, me neither," Newt mutters, and Frypan shushes them.

"Trust me, bro, chicks dig a guy that doesn't give up- ain't that right, Gally?"

"Oh, yeah," Gally agrees, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "That'll work."

And, for some God forsaken reason, Minho actually listens to this.

So, every day, for the next two weeks, Minho asks you out.

You think it's some kind of unruly on-going inside joke, and Harriet is practically frothing at the mouth, ready to rip Minho to shreads the first chance she gets. Minho, at the point, would just like a reason.

Not that he's owed one. But, Teresa and Newt's voices of reason keep getting drowned out by the other dumb boys, so he's still going.

That is until you have literally the worst day ever.

First, your Mom's car broke down, and she normally drops you off at school on her commute to work, so you arrived at your first period late. It also means she can't pick you up, it's not like you can't drive, but you don't have your own car, and now she doesn't have a car either.

And now it's throwing it down.

You then dropped a whole beaker of hydrochloric acid down your leg in chemistry. Which meant you had to borrow Sonya's PE shorts because you can't wear dangerous chemicals all day.

Then you left school- forgot you were tutoring Winston for extra credit, and had to run back to school, soaked, to spend another hour there.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho has extracurricular activities being captain of the Track team- which is taking place inside the hall because of the weather.

So, when you're walking through the parking lot, dressed like a drowned-rat and Minho pulls up beside you, you've just about had enough.

"(Y/N)?"

"Piss off, Minho! I won't tell you again!"

He slowly drives alongside you from his beat-up, old range rover, the window rolled down but he still has to shout.

"Okay! Okay! Dude, you're drenched, wearing shorts, okay? I'll give you a lift home-"

"No way- I'll walk."

"You're gonna get sick, man- I'll shut up and just take you home, alright? I'm not letting you walk in this- I'll feel like a dick."

"You don't already feel like a dick?"

He groans, tapping on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable- I didn't mean to. But the weather's shit, and you can't play top-student if you're off 'cause you're ill."

You pause. He makes a good point. You turn to look at him, sighing. He puts the hand break on when you start to walk around the side of his car, dumping your bag at your feet as you open the door.

"What's your-"

"I'll give you directions."

"Okay..."

The ride is mainly in silent, with some old-school songs playing on the radio. Minho taps the steering wheel to the beat of "Eye of the Tiger" to try and distract himself from the awkwardness.

Your phone buzzes; it's Harriet calling you.

"Shit," you mumble.

"You good?" Minho asks you.

"Yeah, Harriet's calling me- we're meant to be figuring out our history project tonight but I forget to tell her I was tutoring."

You swipe across, pressing the phone to your ear. "Hey, man."

"Dude, you were meant to call me half an hour ago- we gotta brainstorm."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm just on my way home, now."

"Did your Mom sort her car then? Doesn't sound like you're walking through a storm."

"No, I, uh..." You trail off. "I got offered a lift, I'm fine, I'll be home in like five minutes."

"A lift? Off who? Sonya has work so she couldn't of?" You hesitate. "Dude?"

"Uh, Minho, he caught me in the rain and offered to take me home."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know-"

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Look, it's fine, I'll call you when I get home."

"You better." You hang up the phone, taking a deep breath.

"Sounds like she doesn't like me," Minho attempts to say.

"Yeah, I wonder why."

"Do you have a problem with me, or some shit? 'Cause I thought we were cool and then you just started acting like I was a dick."

"Because you are a dick!"

"What?" He looks at you for a second before returning his eyes to the road.

"Doesn't matter; pull over, it's my house on the left."

He does as he's told. There's no car in the drive so your Mom must've managed to get someone to take care of it- which means you've got an empty house.

Thank God because you're going to need to de-stress after the day you've had.

You immediately get out of the car, slamming the door behind you. But Minho is quick to follow you.

"Hey!" He shouts as you march up your front door steps. "Hey!" He grabs you wrist and you turn around, pushing him.

"What's your problem?" You shout. "I don't get why you think this is so fucking funny! Like, sure, have your one dumb joke where you ask out the freak to make your friend laugh! But why keep going! What's the point? You don't have your little audience now, do you? What? You gonna call them after and tell them how much fun you had pissing me off on our little drive? Or is it the fact I got in your car to begin with? Is that the joke, hm?"

Minho stands there, in the rain, his brows furrowing slightly as he takes in what you've said. It's an expression you've never seen on him before, but you don't plan on sticking around to find out what it means.

You turn, fumbling with your keys to unlock your door, managing to push it open.

"Wait, what?" He stops you in the door, and for some reason, you turn around.

"What?"

"You thought it was a joke?" His voice sounds sincere, almost sad.

"You and Gally were laughing at me-"

"No, Gally was laughing at me," he sighs, dropping his head. "He was laughing at me."

"What? Why would he-?"

"Because I've had a crush on you since I was fifteen. Ever since you gave me those damn notes, a-and I guess I never got over it. I just finally got the courage to say something and Gally thought it was funny- for some reason, I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "But I- shit," he throws his head back, letting the water wash over his face. "I was never joking."

You don't know what to say. It's like your body relaxes, your shoulders dropping as you shuffle forwards.

"I get it, if you don't like me- and I'll leave you alone now. Teresa gave me some lecture on how to treat girls," he lets out a soft chuckle, "Newt sounded like he was gonna rip my head off. But I was never joking, (Y/N)- I really fuckin' like you."

"I don't get it," you mumble. "Why would a guy like you like me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're... popular. Everyone loves you- you're hot and athletic and you could get anyone you want. I don't get it."

He smirks, his shirt is starting to stick to him thanks to the rain and his hair is starting to flatten. "You think I'm hot?" You glare at him. "Right, yeah, not the point, sorry."

He takes in a deep breath. "How could I not like you? You're pretty, and funny, and passionate- and you try so hard and you help people whenever you can. You're... incredible."

"You barely know me."

He scoffs. "Maybe. But I think I've paid more attention to you than I have any of my classes. I know you're good at science, but you hate physics, even though you're good at it. But I know English is your favourite subject. I know that you became friends with Sonya and Aris because Harriet made you after you sat next to her in history. I know the only class you've ever skipped is PE, but I don't know why 'cause you'd actually be pretty decent on the girls' basketball team. And I know you're tutoring Winston after school because he doesn't shut up about it half the time."

He pauses. "I know about you- but I want to know you."

You're completely stunned. The fact that he's paid so much attention to you, and knows all of this makes your stomach flip and your heart rate speed up.

When you don't respond, Minho sighs, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Sorry," he mumbles, "this is dumb; I'll leave you alone."

He steps away, turning around when you step forward. "Minho," you grab his wrist, making him turn around to face you fully. "I, uh, I have a crush on you, too."

He blinks. "What?"

"I thought you were cool, and I think I was only so upset that I thought it was a joke... because I actually like you, too?" It comes out as more of a question as you avoid his gaze. But when he doesn't say anything, you look at him.

He's smiling. It's a genuine and earnest expression. "Yeah, you actully-?"

"Just shut up and kiss me," you don't know where the surge of confidence came from. Maybe you can't take this sappy talk anymore, or that Minho looks too good being soaked wet through.

Stepping closer, he brings his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips as your faces are inches apart. Finally, he leans in, closer the gap and kissing you.

Your hopeless romantic heart can't take it. Kissing the popular hot guy in the rain after what was basically a love confession? It's like something straight out of a movie.

He breaks the kiss for a second, eyes fluttering down at you before his kisses you again. This time, it's hungrier, pushing you back as you grab his shirt. Pulling him back and into your house, he slams the door behind him as you drop your bag on the floor with a heavy thump.

Almost immediately, he grabs you again, pushing you back into the wall of your hallway. You hum into his mouth, his hands coming to your waist, yanking your body closer to his. You're both damp and in uncomfortable clothes, but neither if you could care less as you drip on the floor.

Feeling more bold, you pull on his bottom lip with your teeth, making him grunt slightly before your tongues brush against one another.

Make out session is quick to become more heated as you graze your fingers over his abs through his shirt, which is sticking to him like glue. He senses your want for more, moving one of his hands to lift his shirt (struggling because wet clothes suck) before firmly pressing your hand to his mid-drift.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes flickering as you gently touch his bare skin, your eyes on his chiselled form. He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling.

It's almost like a drug. You're barely doing anything but he's never felt like this before. It's not like Minho is inexperienced due to a few hook-ups at parties. But, this is new.

He's literally getting drunk off of your touch. And you can tell.

Having Minho reduced to putty in your hands sends a flush of heat to your core. Dangerously lowering your hand, you brush against the V line poking out of his tightening trousers.

He mumbles your name, a rasp to his voice, almost like he's in some kind of pain as he speaks into your mouth. He dips towards you, but instead of kissing you, his lips come to your neck.

You exhale, the air shaking at it leaves your lungs. He moves lower, your free hand coming to back of his neck and playing with his wet hair.

When he reaches your collarbone, your phone starts buzzing again.

Harriet, again.

He pulls away, raising an eyebrow at you as you pull your phone out of the baggy pocket of the gym shorts. "Sorry," you mumble, "I gotta..."

He nods. "Yeah, go ahead."

You inwardly cringe as you pick up the phone.

"Bro, are you alive?" She says the second the line connects.

"Yeah, I'm alive, Harry- I'm home now."

"Great, well I was thinking we can do out project of the Battle of the Somme, or maybe-"

"Wait, I'm, uh, I'm a bit busy- can I call you back?" You definitely have to have that interesting conversation with her, but hopefully you don't have to do it in front of Minho.

"What? Why? Why do you sound like you've ran a marathon? What's going on with you?"

"Look, I'm fine. I'll call you back."

"Wha-" you hang up, taking a deep breath as you lean back against the wall.

Minho chuckles. "We should, uh, probably take things a bit slower."

"Yeah," you clear your throat, "you're probably right."

"So, about that date- you down?"

You smile, nodding. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Cool. I should probably get your number, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be smart."

You exchange numbers, making some small and slightly awkward small talk when the door opens.

Your Mom, who looks like she's just had the worst day, freezes. Her eyes flickering between you and Minho.

None of you say anything for a good thirty seconds as your mother takes in the scene of her daughter and this random boy dripping in her hallway, both clearly flustered whilst Minho's shirt is still slightly raised.

And where are your pants?

"Hi, Mrs (L/N)," Minho gives an awkward wave to her.

"I can explain." You say.

"I don't want to know," she brushes past you, going further into the house, leaving you be.

Both you and Minho exchange looks before bursting out laughing.

Maybe Minho wasn't joking, but you have a feeling that this specific moment is definitely going to be in the future.

This was actually very fun to write, and I actually got to use my actual science qualifications to use for a change. It's nice to change up things now and then.

I hope you guys enjoyed :))

[the-technicolor-whiscash]

me reading your posts about astronaut history (i literally do not know anything at all but am drawn in by your thoughts and read all the posts all the way through)

Thank you lmao I know too much about the early astronauts and have no one to subject to my knowledge so I bring it here. I cannot deny i definitely have a little bit of a parasocial thing going on there but unlike many who blindly deify these men I at least acknowledge that many of them were extremely flawed (which speaks to why so many of them got divorced because they were workaholics riding death machines for a living) and while i greatly enjoy learning about them and poking fun at them, I will be the first to admit that some of them should not be admired for anything other than the work they did. Alan Shepard was a total dog who cheated on his wife obsessively (and he was also kind of a bitch if you didn't play his game right), Buzz Aldrin's a notorious shithead who was a raging alcoholic and even the other astronauts couldnt stand being around him, Jim Irwin was an abusive husband before having a religious experience on the moon and becoming an evangelical, and several of them went on to become republican politicians. These guys were a product of their time and their upbringing. Nearly all of them were former military test pilots. None of them were good at expressing human emotions except for maybe Alan Bean (whose artistic spirit caused him issues in the astronaut office but resulted in some of the most beautiful space artwork) because they effectively had the emotions beat out of them by the nature of being a test pilot and watching up to 50% of your coworkers get turned into ground beef.

The early astronauts were an interesting crowd in a totally unique time in human history. That's why I like learning about them, learning about their dynamics, their personalities. Do I think I'd be capable of being friends with many of them? Absolutely not. Truth be told I get on pretty well with former military folks but what I can't stand is an ego. These sons of bitches had egoes that stretched up to the moon and back. And part of the issue is that the astronaut selection process back then was looking for the all-american boy (preferably with a degree in engineering) who just so happened to have a personality capable of being stapled into a capsule with as many as two other dudes for a week or two with no private toilet. I am extremely glad that we've moved beyond that in our astronaut criteria and have gone on to hire people who can express human emotions. And also gay people shoutout to Sally Ride for being the first known queer person to fly in space (even though she wasn't out at the time she flew). We may not have gotten the first man in space but we did beat the Russians on gay people in space so I'd consider that a space race victory.

Oh also don't take my word as gospel here much of my knowledge comes from firsthand sources which have a certain degree of bias from whichever astronaut has chosen to write a memoir to capitalize off of the last successful thing he did in his life because he figured it could net him a little cash (Buzz has done this many times, Fred Haise has done it most recently albeit with a fair bit of success because at least his book is pretty funny) and every single one of these guys has a different description of events depending on the angle he's coming at it from so while I try to read as many different perspectives as I can, outside of video/audio footage, official documentation, and mission transcripts you are never going to get 100% of the story from just a personal account. That's part of why i read the transcripts I didn't even know about the piss tube problems on Apollo 7 because as far as I can remember Wally didn't even mention it in his memoir but it takes a prime seat in the transcripts. But that's also a point of view you should take to all historical research there is never just one perspective and each perspective outside of the genuine technical facts has biases and opinions one way or another.

Anyway this got long but I'm glad you enjoy my carefully curated astrodrama

[myneckmybackmyanxietyattack]

Thoughts part III! This one is longer, so I’m putting it under a cut. To summarize: this is my argument as to why Actor! Mark is not the villain of AHWM or ADWM. Thanks to you lovelies who do read this!

-Void

To start, I am making a couple assumptions for the sake of my argument. 1) I am NOT saying that Actor is not the villain of WKM, because he definitely is. The circumstances were messed up, and he is the total bad guy in that story line. This is about AHWM and ADWM though, not WKM. 2) I am taking the liberty of assuming that the ‘everyman’ in the stories (Partner for AHWM and Darling for ADWM for future reference) is the DA from WKM. This may not be canon, I haven’t looked, but once again, this is for the sake of the argument. 3) This is also me stating that Head Engineer! Mark from ISWM is not Actor. I’m pretty sure that is canon, and that those events are in an entirely separate universe, but if not, I’m still saying that HE! Mark and Actor are two separate entities. Different, but parallel, universes (which is why my other Thought about the Captain and Hermit still applies), with similar people. And with that long intro, let’s get started!

Let’s start with the end of the beginning, the events after WKM. As far as I know, Dark left after trapping the DA in the mirror to get his body back from Actor. I also am pretty sure he never came back. Now, the amount of time is a bit blurry, considering that everyone who left the mansion didn’t have to worry about physics. But, I’m going to place it about 100 years after, with WKM taking place in the early 1900’s and ADWM taking place in the early 2000’s. This is plenty of time for Dark to come back and free the DA from the mirror, which he does not. This is also more than enough time for the DA to become bitter and spiteful towards Dark, presumably forgetting that Actor is the reason they were in this situation in the first place.

Then, like the hero he is, Actor swoops in and saves the DA. This may seem manipulative, but the way I see it is through a place of honest intentions. Actor doesn’t need the DA to keep Dark as his villain. If anything, the DA would be a possible redemption arc for him, which Actor would definitely want to avoid at all costs. Actor saved the DA for good reasons, possibly a place of guilt. From what I remember in WKM (I did not do enough research for this rant, but it’s okay), the DA is the only person Actor didn’t have any reason to hate. He hated William for stealing his wife, Celine for cheating on him then running away, Abe for seeing these signs but not telling him, and Damien for being Celine’s twin, considering he was probably aware of the whole affair. The DA is the odd one out (TheOdd1sOut is a great Y-Tube channel by the way, go check him out after reading this. I’m going to digress a LOT, so buckle in folks), because as far as I can tell, Actor has no anger towards them.

So then, why invite the DA if he knew how the night would end? Realism. If Actor hosted a party full of people he hated, that would be weird and no one would go. But if he had a ‘get together’ with his old friends, including someone he still liked, there would be almost no red flags. I mean, the DA is canonically pretty smart, so my bet is that Actor thought they could get out unscathed, maybe even right after he ‘died’. But they didn’t. Dark took their body and trapped them in a mirror, taking advantage of their kind heart and trusting nature. So, when Actor finds out, he immediately realizes that the DA is stuck in that mirror because of him. So naturally he feels awful and frees them. Not for manipulation or evil intent, but because he felt guilty for what they went through after his plot.

Now onto ADWM and AHWM (remember, the everyman in ADWM will be referred to as Darling and AHWM will be Partner). Let’s begin with ADWM, and just how wonderful Actor is in this.

The thing is, Actor is a gentleman at heart. The way he treats Darling in this is pretty hilarious, if not spectacular. Yes, forgetting your wallet on a date is a pretty jerk move, but a little endearing if you think about it. Date! Actor seems genuinely excited to be with Darling. He is passionate about theatre and wants to share that passion with someone else. He is always trying to do what’s best for Darling, always giving them the choice, no matter what path you choose. He sits back and just simps for Darling the entire time. Outside of the story, I feel this is Actor’s apology to the DA for what happened. This entire sequence of events is just Actor trying to make the DA feel better after the mirror. Now the other can of worms, Dark’s appearance. That is a LOT to unpack. More than I have the energy to type about. Let’s just leave it at this: Actor wants Dark to leave not just because he is ruining Actor’s image in front of Darling/the DA, but because he also wants to protect the DA from Dark and the harm he caused them.

Finally, AHWM. This is one of my biggest points in this. The deaths. Partner dies only a few times throughout the story, no more than 10. Actor? He dies SO MUCH. This is a big deal for a reason. The DA has died before, they know what it’s like to die, especially by someone you know. So for Actor to go and let himself die in his narrative constantly, it’s almost sweet. He is saying to the DA, “I know what you went through, but I want to understand and FEEL what you went through.” He is trying so hard to make everything up to the DA through these games. And Dark’s involvement in this one seems outside his control. Actor is trying to leave his conflict with Dark out of the story and just focus on making the DA happy and somewhat normal again.

To conclude, is Actor a horrible person focusing solely on revenge and manipulating others? Not necessarily. He didn’t have to free the DA, yet he did. He makes worlds to apologize for what they went through. He is kind and genuinely seems to have good intentions. He allows himself to die in his own narrative (something that got me started on this whole idea) when he could have easily let the DA die or have them both live. Actor is a hero in ADWM and AHWM, and I hope this mini essay helps you see that.

[holopossums]

Heyo! For the artist question I was wondering about 3,4, and 8! I love your art! Its so dynamic and nice one my eyes ^^

Aww thank you so much for the compliments! (I'm actually a bit insecure about that stuff, so this is very nice to hear!) c:

Anyway, your questions!

What are your favorite subjects to draw? (OCs, your fan faves, etc.)

This comes as no surprise that I draw the blorbos the most! Krow/Casey Jones Jr. and Baron Draxum live in my brain rent-free 24/7 and they haven't left for years. Beyond the obvious, I like to draw my fursona as well as a few ROTTMNT OCs, and occasionally my current D&D character. Generally most of my posted art is fan art, but who knows if that will ever change. In terms of broader subject matter, I really like drawing figures/portraits and facial expressions. I love exploring the range of body types/looks and emotions in people. I like drawing non-figure subjects too, like landscapes, but it's difficult to me to feel as satisfied with those.

What's your least favorite part of the body to draw, if any?

Definitely the feet! While hands are complex, for the most part they can be broken down into simple but flexible rectangle and tube shapes. I can deal with that. But feet are kind of weird shapes - they're like long pyramids but slightly warped and rounded in various places, and they look totally different at different angles. It's difficult to get the hang of them. Shoes follow the same form as the foot and are just chunkier, so you can't really cheat by adding shoes. In fact, I hate drawing feet so much that one of my bad habits is not attempting full body as often as I should and cropping the art simply because I don't want to deal with the legs/feet. I'm getting a bit better about not doing this as much, though.

How would you describe your art style?

Bright/colorful, hard lines, blocky shading, dramatic lighting, cartoony/anime, emotional, often detailed, many pieces tend toward cooler tones but not always. Sometimes takes inspiration from aesthetics from the 80s, 90s, and 2000s. Evokes some sort of strong mood with color choice, lighting, and character expression/pose. I think that's the best I can do lol.

[anotherfauxredhead]

30 Reasons Why I'm Childfree: #2

Props to anyone still following this countdown, for it's my last full day with the tubes. I'll be watching a pretty sunset with them one last time.

Anyways,

FUCK THE LIFESCRIPT!

That outdated AF Lifescript that adults must, among other things, marry the love of their lives and pop out 2.5 kids (by the way, the fuck does 2.5 kids mean? How the fuck do you get half of a human being?!) before turning 30 or whatever is somehow still accepted and carried out without question by plenty of people out there. It's more pathetic when you see some following that Lifescript and the characters involve a young, gullible woman who got raped by her manipulative boyfriend, then he marries her to "clean up his image" but is just doing so because she's now carrying his kid and she can't get an abortion because they're in Florida, and after a long, rough labor in which she tore her clitoris and perianal pushing her kid out the baby finally arrives, and months later the couple is struggling because the baby is already costing them a lot and not just financially. Oh, and the husband is cheating on his wife with a barely legal hooker...and he also knocks her up.

(I can go on with this, by the way.)

Hear me out, people: you don't have to follow the Lifescript to be successful in life. I sure as shit didn't. Never married, will never have kids, got my own place, and a pretty good job that pays nicely. It was tough getting to where I am today, and it's still tough maintaining where I am. But I know how my life would be if I followed that Lifescript and I would NOT be happy with it.

Years ago, I had a former BF who had thoughts about living life with me and wanting me to be the "mother of his children". (When he said those words, by the way, I was all "slow down, dude" since I wasn't ready to have kids then.) I was in my early 20s at the time, and, to this day, I'm quite grateful to know what I wanted from a man then, because this BF did not fulfill me at all. Nah, he was a man-child, a total wuss and not in a good way, and oh lordt he was lousy in the sack. I gotta say, I wouldn't have this blog if I had no standards then!

"Because it's what you're supposed to do!" devout followers of the Lifescript would say to us Childfree folk. Um, no. You're supposed to breathe. You're supposed to have some water when you're thirsty. You're supposed to brake when there are pedestrians crossing in front of you. But have kids?! That's a choice, not a have-to. Tell that to those who are unable to have kids.

Besides, just like pissing off pro-baby misogynists, it's more fun going against the Lifescript and living life on your own terms.

[dealgemeneverwarring]

De Algemene Verwarring #104 - 8 January 2024

Episode one hundred and four of De Algemene Verwarring was broadcast on Monday, January 8, 2024, and you can listen to it by clicking on the link below that will take you directly to the Mixcloud page:

Pictured below is the Swiss all girl punk-pop band Chin-Chin, I just recently got to know them and I think I heard them first in one of Erika Elizabeth's curated Maximum Rock'n Roll radio shows (who arz, by the way, highly recommended if you're into that kind of edgy post-punk and girly pop and all). Erika used to host the Futures And Pasts podcast, and is also a member of the band Collate. Chin-Chin was formed in 1982 in Biel, Switzerland and released two singles and a full length (reissued by Slumberland Records and Mississippi Records), and now there's also a compilation released by Sealed Records, which includes the unreleased four track Janice Long Session recorded for the BBC from 1988, never released before. I'm playing the song Cheat Boy Cheat in this episode (it has a Ramones bass riff yes!). Other tracks in this episode come from a few of the records that I listed in my best of 2023 posts last week (Sheaves, Famous Mammals, Blod, Drifting, and the anarcho punk compilation on Optimo Music) and older and newer tracks from DAF, Suburban Lawns, Violent Change, Maan, Current Affairs, The Shapiros, and a brand new single from Swedish legends Brainbombs! And beneath the photo you can find the playlist for the show. Enjoy!

Playlist:

The Weedons: Shimmy Shimmy (LP “The International Vicious Society Vol. III” on University Of Vice Records, 2016, originally released on a 7” in 1964)

Brainbombs: Hello From Hell (7” “Blackout Ripper” on Skrammel Records, 2023)

Suburban Lawns: Flying Saucer Safari (LP “Suburban Lawns” on Superior Viaduct, reissue 2021, originally released in 1981 on IRS Records)

Honey Bane: Girl On The Run (2LP “Cease & Resist - Sonic Subversion & Anarchy Punk In The Uk 1979-1986” on Optimo Music, 2023, originally released on a 7” in 1979 on Crass Records)

Chin-Chin: Cheat Boy Cheat (LP “Cry In Vain” on Sealed Records, 2023)

Flux Of Pink Indians: Tube Disasters (2LP “Cease & Resist - Sonic Subversion & Anarchy Punk In The Uk 1979-1986” on Optimo Music, 2023, originally released on a 7” in 1981 on Crass Records)

The Suburban Homes: I-Phone Suicide (12” “…Are Bored” on Total Punk, 2017)

Current Affairs: Right Time (LP “Off The Tongue” on Tough Love Records, 2023)

DAF: Liebe Auf Den Ersten Blick (LP “Gold Und Liebe” on Virgin, 1981)

The Sheaves: Mid English Perversion (LP “Excess Death Cult Time” on Minimum Table Stacks, 2023, originally released on cassette in 2022 by Moone Records)

Famous Mammals: Comets For Poets (LP “Instant Pop Expressionism Now!” on Siltbreeze Records, 2023)

Violent Change: McCartney The Fox (LP “Starcastle” on Sloth Mate Productions, 2023)

The Shapiros: Gone By Fall (LP “Gone By Fall: The Collected Works Of The Shapiros” on World Of Echo, 2022)

William Henry Meung: Airport Song (LP “Hiraeth And Limerence” on Horn Of Plenty, 2023)

Maan: Love Lost (LP “Manifold” on Kraak Records, 2013)

Blod: Ondskans Frö (LP “Ondskans Frö”, self-released, 2023)

Drifting: Sun Sings A Song For No-One But You (LP “Dream Autopsy” on Förlag For Fri Music, 2023)

Jef Mertens: Hapering (LP “No Mathematics” on Kraak Records & Feeding Tube Records, 2023)

[2womenforme]

yes the irealies-jews are chosen to be heavily wiped out 3 times in human history so i hear from various people,but u are in usa and may not have to worry about being one of them wiped out unless china or N. korea or russia or iran start a war that reaches usa also.            so how is the otherside play going do u still get paid to get rid of or to take down idiots that get out of control in some usa cities n other countrys once in a while jumping right into their ego play around them and going like crazy tearing it apart .              and i knew and no one told me in person since i was a young child i did not have to believe in a god to be part of all things land water air clouds animals people skys moons planets space n universe, i saw and heard how bad the world was as a child and knew things should be way better for most plant animal n human fair n far more equal for most but the worst criminal category n same on soul side also.                i knew we had bad people in charge and that was of companies n countrys n if their was a real god he was a meany  and in adult terms an asshole n should care for plant animal n human not be a abuse machine more then be ok created planet for most as warmonger planet no true equal rights planet greedy bully enslaving most planet.                  and many on the internet talk about how criminal and evil any god is if their is a real god .                we know there are many god players like the bible says there will be many false gods n i have only heard of false fake phony liar con cheat rip off abuse destruction killing immoral inhumane god players so far ,.                just look at the way the world is and always has been as gods creation and listen to the various atheist channels on you tube to know what is another side of the information that is often debatable yes but so is science n basics economists ways medical ways political ways etc.                and many people going to church do seam to try to be decent people more than most not going to church even though most in churches are hypocrites n not close to being perfect followers or god rule followers but i don't expect people to be so called perfect .        but the worst as ; well over 10 million total or warmongers mass murderers serial killers mass shooters mass killing bombers worst of terrorist worst drug lords worst gun lords violent rapists etc should be gotten rid of so the rest of us can have an ok life on this planet ,,,   and whites are not the only enslaving people or greedy people or warmonger people in fact many places before usa was usa they enslaved warmongered and where greedy as less then 10% that should have always been ganged up on and gotten rid of so plant animal and humans as gods creation could be properly cared for.          so i feel ok about myself as an imperfect person that has never played the otherside yet in this life time .                    and from what i hear and see feel read understand from the bibles of various religions tv radio movies books n books of the soul that otherside players time spenders are often more a bad person or do bad or immoral  things or criminal than themsleves while on on soul side or others while on soul side  as more n worse than while living in the human body on this side we where all born on.                so the soul side is not more important and the body is not just a suite to step in an out of it is a temp of foundation to spend lots time in and not get out of touch spending too much time on soul side mostly like some do and start thinking they are a god like way to many do.          but the basics of caring for plants animals n humans n reasonably fair n equal should be taught better in schools colleges churches tv radio movies songs etc

[edgelordfucker]

Wait omg what would reader and Belos dress as for Halloween

I feel like Belos would either go really simple or not dress up at all (being puritan and whatnot probably doing this for reader)

Reader would do a sexy costume but not like a simple one where you stick on some cat ears and whiskers put on lingerie and call yourself a cat (I honestly think she would do like a sexy witch or devil costume because…the irony)

MDNI - Minors Do Not Interact

CW: slight cheating mentioned, voyeurism, stalking, dysfunctional/abusive relationships

(this is honestly really fluffy, but I'm mentioning those things just in case!)

Hi, anon! This has become the "Mors throws up about Behlip and Halloween, because she's been fucking DYING to do so" hour. Thank you for your service!

(this is also taking place in my 'Caleb is alive in the human realm' AU)

Philip (because I imagine that, while the Isles probably has a similar holiday, it doesn't have that je ne sais quoi that the human version does, so the two of you really only celebrate it properly when you cross back over, and the Belos shoe has dropped) isn't thrilled about Halloween, but he hates the Catholics more than he doesn't care for it, and the idea that their All-Saint's-Day has become fully secular and totally divorced from the remembrance of their martyrs fills him with a sense of schadenfreude so complete and delicious that he's absolutely down to get fucking silly on some pumpkins and bats and vampires, or whatever, especially because it's your favorite holiday.

(but he is a full on curmudgeon about Christmas)

((until it comes time to decorate, because he has strong opinions about How Things Should Look))

((and when there’s mistletoe))

((or hot chocolate))

((or cookies))

Halloween in your household starts at about the beginning of July, when the very first end-caps in the HomeGoods are starting to sprout cheap plastic pumpkins, generally kicked off like so:

"Oh, fuck me," you sigh, watching the glittering fountain of sparks fly out of the cardboard tube from a safe distance, elegantly holding the punk between two fingers like a cigarette holder with one hand, the other fisted at your waist, "I can't believe it's July." There's a beat as you consider this. "Time is a flat circle."

Philip chuckles, carefully hooking his arm around you to pull you close so that he can lean down to kiss the top of your head. "It slips you, that's true."

"It's almost Halloween."

"It really isn't."

"It's like, what, one-hundred and eighty days until Halloween? That's basically Halloween." He knows that number is wrong, and does a quick calculation.

"One-hundred and nineteen."

"How do you know that?" The way you say it is playfully accusatory. "Like, off the top of your head?"

"I didn't.” You snort.

"Okay, mister math wizard, suck-" Sotto voce, so you're not overheard, "suck my dick." He exhales in amusement, prepared to shoot back, but there's movement in the corner of his eye.

A moment of silence passes as the two of you watch as Gus quickly approaches, lights, and gets clear of the fountain-style firework set up on the wide concrete driveway, Hunter standing tensely a few feet away, poised like he’s ready to shield his friend with his body at the suggestion of something going wrong. 

It goes off smoothly in a shower of white gold sparks, lighting up the encroaching blue-gray gloom of Summertime twilight. 

“Oh, that’s pretty,” you breathe. He hums in agreement, fascinated. Philip had heard tales of these as a little boy from Caleb, who had been born in England and seen a display himself, and he’d always dreamed of the spiraling lights and colored rockets from his brother's stories, eventually inventing a version of them with the material he’d had available to him during his campaign on the Isles.

Nowadays, they were common and inexpensive - Caleb had purchased enough to fill the bed of his truck to celebrate the Fourth, and the children were setting off the smaller ones before it was time to travel to the park to see the Gravesfield display, and then back to your home to light the big ones.

“It's simple math,” he finishes, when the sparks finally stop.

"I would call calendar math unsimple math, actually."

"It's really very easy," he disagrees, "you add the months from the first of January to the thirty-first of October, and then you add the months from the first of January to today, the fourth, and subtract January-to-October from July-to-October, which is three-hundred and four less one-hundred and eighty-five, leaving one-hundred and nineteen." He shrugs. "Simple math,” he repeats.

”It’s honestly really impressive that you can do that without, like, paper, or something.” You say the words with that crooked grin. Philip feels a little swell of pride in the middle of his chest, and he hums in humble acceptance of your praise, giving you a squeeze.

“Thank you.” 

"What do you want to be this year?” You bounce subtly at his side, already unable to contain your enthusiasm. It’s very cute. He valiantly resists the urge to eat up that lovely grin, something that would surely draw boos from the assorted teens - as little as Mrs. Noceda liked having ‘her kids’ anywhere near him, she was very practical, accepting the support that you and Caleb offered when it came to their care, and she allowed them to come over, especially when you were throwing a party, like the one tonight. “We should probably start thinking about it now... Oo!" You glance up at him, eyes bright. "Dracula! You make a sexy vampire." He's pleased by the compliment.

"Weren't we Dracula and his bride last year?"

"You could be a different Dracula this year. Frankenstein? You would actually be a really good Frankenstein. You're already a-" You stop suddenly, and in that heartbeat, he cuts in, dry as bleached bone.

"Green?" The curse is mostly under control, and he hides it away when he's in mixed company, but it's a better use of his energy to leave the evidence of it when it won't cause any uncomfortable questions, like right now, at home.

Pivoting like a dancer, you ignore him and continue, "-very tall, you wouldn't need the platforms-"

He adds, "And minimal make-up."

"I didn't- I'm enjoying July,” you bluster, trying not to laugh. “It's nice, there are lightning bugs, fireworks. Plain fire." You vaguely indicate the fire-pit with it's crackling flames, where Luz and Willow are setting up things to make ‘s’mores’, Mrs. Noceda supervising the boys from one of the camping chairs set up in a semi-circle around the pit with a red plastic cup in her hand. She gives you a light cheers with it when she notices your glance, and you wave back, a little shyly. Philip chooses to ignore the way you absently nibble your lower lip.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Wittebane?” You grimace. Amity approaches a little stiffly with a couple of long gray sticks in her hand.

“You can just call me-” 

Bang! 

Philip goes very still at the sound, relaxing when he realizes that it was just a firecracker.

“Anyways, what’s up? Need a light?”  

“Yes please, Mrs-” Bang! Amity’s lips shape your first name instead of your married one, and you seem to take that as a victory, not bothering to ask her to drop the ‘Mrs.’ as well.

”Here ya go!” You hold the punk out for her to touch the tips of her sticks to, and then she takes a swift step back when they burst into sparkles. 

“Thank you!” she calls, jogging over to where the basilisk - Vee - stands, gingerly holding one of them out for it - her - he really is trying, honestly - to take.

“For sure, darlin’!” You watch them with a look of quiet joy as they trace shapes in the air together, leaving trails of light in their wake.

Philip kisses his teeth in pleasure as an suddenly idea hits him, drawing your attention. "Jareth and Sarah?" he posits.

You gasp softly, and he grins in response to the smile you give him. "Oh, that's so good!" And then, brows furrowed, "oh, that ballgown is going to be a bitch to make." It's contemplative, he can see in your face that you're already coming up with solutions in that rapid, chaotic way you work things through.

"You know," he starts, smoothing his free hand over his chin as he turns the gown over in his mind, "I don't think it's all fabric - the biggest obstacle, I think, would be the sleeves, and if they're some sort of... cellophane?"

"Oh, like those bags you can put gift baskets in?"

"Exactly!"

The two of you spend the rest of the evening workshopping the idea between the festivities and making sure the kids don’t set themselves on fire.

Philip actually really enjoys going through the whole process with you. You insist on making your own costume every year, and he loves spending time doing something challenging and creative together. You both have a strong sense of aesthetic and style, and your combined flair for drama is nearly nuclear.

The two of you will choose a theme - always a couple's costume - and he'll make up some sketches that you'll go back and forth about, picking over samples of fabric and lace and netting until you both are satisfied, and then you'll start on the mock-ups, taking each other's measurements and working together in your sewing room - he has a talent for hand-sewing, and you tend to work best on the machine. Most of the fun comes from the problem solving, and the time you spend together, but the final product is just the perfect finishing touch, a tangible reminder of all of the memories you’ve created.

Day of, you're helping each other dress and do make-up first thing after breakfast and showering, and you don't take your outfits off for the rest of the day. Halloween is big in Gravesfield, so candid photos of the best dressed are common. There’s sure to be Instagram pics of your costumes - the Phantom and Christine getting coffee, or the Devil and his succubus (he'd very nearly nixed the idea on principle, but WOW had he been popular that year and loved every minute of the attention) on a last minute candy run, or of Lydia and Beetlejuice at the early afternoon trunk-or-treat.

And then there are always the costumes that come out at eleven o'clock, when the last trick-or-treaters are on their way home, and the real fun can start. If you're in the know, you can count on an invitation to some 21+ party going on in Gravesfield, and they get... pretty rowdy.

Philip doesn't partake in those late night costume changes, preferring to wear the ones the two of you make together for their coverage and quality, but you always have a second one hidden away that are, politely put, 'economic' in their use of fabric, that he has come to anticipate and dread, as the first time he sees them are when you're already dressed and descending the stairs to leave for, or, on some years, to join the party.

Witches and devils are absolutely in your evening rotation, but there's also a lot of joy in costumes that are diametric to your usual aesthetic, like a hot pink Barbie in a latex mini-skirt, or a cute little cow with a bell on her collar and a hem that doesn't cover her ass, or a Playboy bunny with a perfect cottontail, or, notably, an angel with fluffy white wings and not much else.

That first human Halloween had ruined angels' wings for him, as a matter of fact. He hadn't been invited to that year's party, exactly - you still had your nose rather out of joint with him at that point - but that costume...

It had been a sinner's vision of how to clothe a heavenly body, all in snow white, a pair of short stays held together at the shoulder with long ribbons, your heavy breasts jiggling ever-so-slightly in the cups with any move you made, this little joke of a chiffon skirt that sat at your natural waist, clearly showing the thong cut panties with decorative ruffles along the high cut hips underneath, all topped off with the most darling pair of feathery wings and a golden halo, and these maddening platform heels, tied to your ankles with yet more ribbon, that he knows are going to look so good pointed straight up in the air when he puts you on your back, pins your knees to the mattress on either side of your chest, and fucking plows you fucking stupid later on that evening.

He still gets this quiet intensity when he thinks about it, an echo of how deeply he had been struck by a twisted version of his hunter's urge to pursue, knowing with a sublime clarity that he would catch you, that it was predetermined that you'd wind up underneath him, no matter what.

Sure, you'd specifically left him at home alone with no means of conveniently getting to where you were going, but he was resourceful, and, moreover, could figure out how to get an Uber, thanks.

It had been concerningly easy to slip into the party unnoticed, dressed in his "witch hunter costume", especially considering how indisposed the people there were, many either drunk, or high, or, ahem, preoccupied, or all three. There were those who were sober to keep an eye on the revelers, but they had been more focused on the people who were already inside the house at that point in the night, and what was one more body added to the crowd, really? Philip had fit right in, propositioned at least three times before he had found you in the living room, on the couch.

Oh, it was agony, catching you in the lap of one of your friends, grinding against their thigh, pressed closed against them, their mouth at your neck, your décolletage, your little white wings bobbing as you circled your waist, their strong fingers digging into your skin and highlighting your softness as they used their grip there to meet your rhythm. Philip had taken a seat in one of the arm chairs a little ways away from you, features obscured by the shifting lights and unnoticed due to your... involvement, to watch.

He had never been so jealous while being so turned on.

Philip was somewhat soothed by your careful avoidance of certain acts. The touching stayed over your clothes, however scarce those were, and you never kissed their mouth, even though it was clear you were dying for the feeling of lips on yours. He wondered if you were thinking about him, wanting him, even in the arms of another person.

Eventually, you'd squirmed in a tell-tale way, and Philip had quietly slunk into the guest bathroom, hiding behind the shower curtain to surprise you while you were washing your hands, and well... It's easy to fill in the blanks. Now that the two of you are on better terms, it's become a yearly game - you, having your fun with anyone and everyone that you'd like, within certain boundaries, until it's too much for him to bear, and he finds a way to give you a little... fright. In the spirit of the holiday, of course.

[locker42]

Hey love! Can you do something with jj dating a kook and her brother being totally against their relationship, and one time he tells reader she has to choose between him an jj, please? 💙

For A Reason

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, mentions of drugs and alcohol, cheating, sexual harassment.

Word count: 2212

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!reader

I got a little carried away. I really hope you’ll like it!

Masterlist

Being a Kook wasn’t as easy and joy filled as it seemed, it came with many other unfortunate things. Responsibilities that were expected of you from a young age, and if you didn’t follow them that meant your parents would be disappointed in you. That part was extremely hard when you twin brother, Jace, was the perfect son. Good grades, well behaved, a good future guarantied, and the worst of all, your dad wanted him to be his heir for his company. So it was safe to say you were the black sheep of the family.

Even though your parents tried their best to raise a perfect daughter, you turned out to be a rebellious. Not dressing like the other girls who wore pretty and shiny things, almost always in a dress or a skirt, when you wore jeans and a t-shirt with old boots you had for a couple years. The only time you would actually wear something ‘fancy’ was at your dad’s important dinners. You got a few tattoos after getting a fake ID through Rafe, but the nose piercing seemed worse to your parents. That way you weren’t just the black sheep to your family, you were the black sheep of the Kooks.

The only Kook friends you had were Sarah, Rafe and Topper. You knew Rafe and Topper were just assholes but Topper was really sweet to Sarah and you were close with her so you didn’t completely hate the guy. And Rafe wasn’t exactly your friend, you just got stuff through him, like the fake ID. Besides that, you didn’t have any friends. You weren’t sad about it, you managed. You preferred one friend over ten fake ones.

Growing up you only had your brother to keep you company, but after he started working with your dad you two drifted apart. You still talked, but much less. However, you knew he loved and cared about you.

One night Sarah convinced you to go to a Kook party, saying that you needed to hook up. You agreed with her, getting laid never sounded bad. Little did you know that night was going to be a nightmare. You were dancing, trying to have fun and let loose. You felt two hands on your hips and a solid chest pressed against your back. You went with it, maybe you found your hook for the night. But when his hands began to wander upwards, settling just under your breasts, you tensed but didn’t move just yet. When his hands started to grope your breasts you turned around, hoping he would leave you alone. But his hands didn’t leave you body and went down to your ass, squeezing hard. You winced and pushed his chest away from you but he didn’t leave you. He leaned closer and whispered in your ear, “come on, babygirl. I heard you were a bad girl, you enjoy this, don’t you?” You shook your head and pushed his chest again but no avail.

“I don’t want any trouble, just let me go.” You said. He laughed and squeezed your ass again, harshly sucking the skin of your neck. You tried to push him off you again but he didn’t let go. After seeing as he didn’t plan on letting you go, you raised your knee and kicked his crotch as hard as you could. You did fight before, but never did you kick someone’s balls, so you just hoped you hit him hard. He groaned and immediately let you go, you took your chance and ran away from there.

Your whole mood was ruined so you decided to go home, trying to keep the tears and sobs in. You finally arrived at your house, relived no one saw you. You couldn’t deal with that, not tonight. You walked in and took off your boots, leaving you with your red flannel skirt and a simple black tube as a top. You climbed the stairs, feeling your body beg for rest.

As you reached the hallway to your room you heard groans. At first, you thought someone got hurt. Form what you knew your brother was at the party and your mom was out on a business trip so it was just your dad home. You were worried he might have fallen or something. You walked to his office, the source of the noise, and found the door slightly opened. You peaked in and saw your dad with another woman on the table, fucking. You put your hand on your mouth to contain your gasp. You turned around and ran down the stairs, putting back your boots and ran of the house.

Your breathing was uneven, your whole body shaking and your tears finally escaping your eyes. You managed to walk to the beach before having to sit down on one of the rocks to try and calm yourself down. That didn’t work, seeing as you kept sobbing and shaking from the earlier events of the night. In your panic mode, you completely forgot that the Pogues were having a kegger. Every time the Kooks had a party, the Pouges had a kegger. So when you heard cheers and people talking from afar, you cursed yourself for being stupid. You put your head in your hands to tried and regain your control over your breathing.

“Come on! Just one, I swear.” You heard someone yell. You quickly lifted you head to make sure you were far enough so they won’t see you. “No, JJ! Stop being stupid. I can’t believe you even brought that here!” Another person yelled. From what you could see from where you were was two guys arguing, the brunette one walked away. The other one, JJ Maybank, you presumed, turned around and threw his head back in desperation. You wiped your head back to stare at the sea when he turned to you.

At first, judging by what you were wearing he thought you were a lost turon. But when he got closer he registered you by your hair and the tattoo you had on your arm. He knew you, Y/N Y/L/N, the black sheep, the bad Kook, the unsuccessful twin. Yet he didn’t know anything about you besides the rumors that were going around about you. His slightly high mind decided to walk over to you and start a conversation. When you noticed the boy walking towards you you quickly whipped your tears and hoped he wouldn’t see your red eyes. “So,” he sat down next to you, “what brings you here?” You were shocked. Why was JJ Maybank talking to you? A Kook he probably already hated.

“Nothing, just watching the waves.” You responded, your voice still scratchy from your crying.

“Really? Because there aren’t any waves tonight, the sea is dead silent. Flat.” He said and motioned with his hand.

“Whatever.” You mumbled.

“You okay?” He asked you, turning his head to look at you.

“No offense but why do you care? Don’t you hate me or something? Shouldn’t you be back there with your friends?”

“Nah, I’d rather be here, you know, watching the waves.” He said, making your lips turn slightly upwards but you fought the smile, not wanting to let off anything. “Besides, I don’t hate you. It’s pretty hard to hate someone you don’t even know.”

And that’s how you met him, JJ, the love of your life. You two continued to talk more, becoming friends and eventually a couple. You kept your relationship a secret, knowing that if someone found out it wouldn’t be good. Especially for you. You weren’t ashamed of JJ in any way, you wanted to show him off, letting all the island know he was yours. But if your family found out you were not only a ‘disappointment’ to the family but you were also dating a Pouge? They would lose their shit. So you and JJ continued sneaking around, getting more risky as you two wanted to expand your relationship.

After almost a year of dating you finally told him you loved him, it took him some time but he said it back. You were finally happy, finally feeling like there was hope for you. You opened up to him, trusted him. And after he told you about his dad, you knew he felt the same. But it all went to shit when your brother walked in on you and JJ having sex, the scene was the most embarrassing moment of your life. You knew Jace was mad, really mad. He knew something was going on with you as you left the house more often, but he never, in a million years would’ve guessed that. JJ quickly got dressed and ran out the window, using the latter he always used to get up to your room. You too got dressed, preparing yourself for the fight with your brother.

“Are you dressed?” He yelled through the door.

“Yes.” You answered. He walked in, well more like bursted in the room. “Where’s that Pouge?” He asked.

“Jace-“

“Where is he?!” He yelled in your face, making you jump.

“He left, will you please just calm down-“

“Calm down? You want me to fucking calm down?!”

“Yes, I want you to fucking calm down.” You snapped.

“I find out that some dirty Pouge is fucking my sister and you want me to calm down?”

“First of all, don’t call him that, secondly, I’m not fucking him, he is my boyfriend.” You said more calmly, trying to get him to relax as well.

“Your boyfriend? Really? You really think he wants you?” He said, unaware of his words. When he was angry he spoke without thinking, hurting people on the way.

“Jace, you need to understand that you don’t know everything that’s been happening. I love him and he loves me-“

“So now It’s love? Now you’re suddenly in love with him? That just makes everything so much better.” He said sarcastically.

“Yes I am, and you need to accept that because I’m not going fo try and convince you to let me date him.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to see him again, that’s funny.” He laughed darkly. “Does dad know?”

“No, and you’re not going to tell him.” You said carefully, not wanting your dad to know because that would mean the end of your relationship with JJ.

“Says who?”

You didn’t respond, you just sat on your bed, head hanging low. You couldn’t believe him, you thought that if you would explain to him that you love JJ he would support you or at least accept it. Boy, you were wrong.

“Please, Jace, just let it go.”

“I’m not going to let it go, Y/N. Not only were you fucking some Pouge, not to mention you just had to choose JJ Maybank, you-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You fucking brought him home, here. Are you crazy?!” He yelled, ignoring your question.

“He’s my boyfriend, I have the right to bring him home.” You protested.

“Not when you’re dating a Pouge. I don’t want that trash in my house.”

“He’s not trash and it’s not your fucking house. As much as you wish you were, you’re not in charge here.” You said, getting up from your bed.

“I don’t care, as long as he’s here, I’m not.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means, it’s either him or me, you can’t have both. You’re either a Kook, my sister, or a Pouge, his girlfriend.” You were shocked to your core at his words, you couldn’t believe he’d actually say that. You couldn’t possibly choose between JJ and your brother. He was your brother, your blood, what you’ve known your whole life, and JJ was the love of your life, your reason to keep going. You believed you met him that night for a reason. And you weren’t ready to let him go.

“This is ridiculous, I’m not going to choose between you and JJ. This is childish.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I’m not willing to stay here when you’re with a dirty Pouge as your boyfriend.”

“Stop calling him that!” You snapped. “I love him and if you can’t accept that it is your problem. But making me choose between my own brother and my boyfriend is more than unfair. If you don’t want to be here if he’s here, then don’t.” You said and walked to your door, putting on your jacket.

“So you’re choosing him?” He turned to you. “You’re choosing a Pouge over your brother?”

“I’m not choosing him, I’m choosing to not let you ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me in years.” And with that, you walked out, slamming the door behind you. You knew you had to get out of there fast, you were furious but you didn’t want to say anything you might regret. Jace has changed, a lot. You tried to deny it but now it was clear as day. The more time he spent with the Kooks, the more arrogant and cocky he became. You were upset, confused, angry, sad. You didn’t know what to feel. So you went to his house, hoping he would be there.

You just hoped he would stay.

[obeymeluv]

QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

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Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

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Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public. 

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.  

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy. 

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm. 

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads. 

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude! 

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.   

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

[lizbotw]

it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.