#yes i do have an awful fashion sense you can mock me now

[anne-ominous]

They finally uploaded it! The haunt i work at got to have Doug Jones come in and do a guest lecture on character acting and I seriously ascended when I heard the news.

I got picked during the Q&A, and out of the dozens of questions running through my head I wound up asking for skincare tips, because I love roles that require masks or heavy makeup and prosthetics to pull off, which absolutely wrecks my face all month.

His answer was exfoliate lots and use a dab of olive oil.

[daisyblog]

Send To All

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN joins Michael McIntyre for a game of Send To All.

Based on this video.

“Good evening everyone!”. The comedian greeted the audience that sat in front of him. “Tonight playing Send To All is…YN Tomlinson!”. 

YN walks out to the sound of the crowd cheering. She quickly greets Michael with a friendly hug, before sitting on the chair opposite him. 

“Welcome to the show!”. He greeted her with a large smile as he flicked his hair back. 

“Thank you for having me!”. YN mirrored his smile, as she anticipated what was about to happen. 

“YN…for those who may not know…tell us who you are!”. Michael encouraged her, as he held both his hands in front of him. 

YN let out a chuckle, as she thought about what she was going to say. “Uh…I’m YN…I’m a fashion influencer…but I’m probably more known for being Louis Tomlinsons sister”. 

The name drop of the boyband member caused a cheer from the audience. 

Michael pretended to cough into his hands. “And Harry Styles’ girlfriend”. 

“Oh yeah…and that!”. YN teased, as she pretended it wasn’t a big deal. Earning a laugh from the comedian and crowd. 

“I love how you were like…oh yes…I forgot that detail…I’m Harry Styles girlfriend too…like it’s not a huge deal”. Michael playfully mocked her, before continuing his teasing. “It’s a huge deal…you��re living every woman’s dream”. 

YN giggled, already knowing how funny the comedian was. “But he’s just Harry to me!”. 

“Awe how sweet!”. Michael placed his hand on his chest as he pretend to swoon. “Okay…back to the show…tonight we’re going to play Send To All!”. 

“I’m scared!”. YN revealed as she fidgeted in her seat. 

“Can you pass me your phone?”. Michael asked. “I’ve been excited for this one!”. He rubbed his hands together, excited to finally have YN on the show. YN reluctantly passed Michael her phone and he quickly began to tap at the screen. “Who was the last person you text?”. 

“Uh!”. YN thought about the question. “I think it was actually Harry!”. She watched as he began to scroll through the one thing that held so much of her life. 

“Let’s have a look what you said”. After a few seconds of tapping and scrolling, he spoke. “So…you text Harry saying”. He left out a chuckle as he read the texts. “You asked him…would you still love me if I was a worm”. The audience let out a roar of laughter, causing YN to let out a giggle herself. “and he replied…babe, how am I suppose to answer that?…I wasn’t expecting that to be your last message if I’m honest”. 

“Oh it’s a daily occurrence…he’s definitely used to my randomness now”. YN added, as she knew Harry wasn’t fazed by her random questions anymore. 

“Okay…so let’s see…you own your own fashion company and design your own clothing, right?”. Michael asked and YN confirmed with her a nod and nervously looked the audience. His fingers tapped against the screen and now and then he left out a little chuckle. “So…you’re going to message…As you know I am a global style icon. For my next project for Styles Fashion I am doing a feature where I help people with absolutely no dress sense and I immediately thought of you. What was that hideous thing you were wearing last time I saw you?? 🤦🏼‍♀️ In return you’ll get a whole new wardrobe! What do you say?xx..”.

YN’s mouth hung open in shock as she realised how unkind the message sounded. “I’m going to offend so many people!”. 

“Well I’m going to offended so many people…they’ll just think it’s you”. The comedian lapped up the fear on YN’s face. 

“I won’t be able to show my face again!”. YN dramatised as she sat back in her chair. 

“Okay…we have some replies”. Michael announced as he scrolled through YN’s phoning, looking at the responses. 

“Oh no…I’m nervous!”. YN hide her face in her hands as she waited to see who replied to the insulting message. 

“Don’t be…what’s the worst that can happen?”. The audience laughed at the comedian. “Okay…who’s Anne?”. 

YN eyes widened at the name. “Oh no! That’s Harry’s Mum!”. Whilst the crowd oo’d, Michael looked a little guilty. 

“Well she replied saying…YN is that you darling? You would never send a message like that. Call me when you can! Love you xxx…aww how sweet is she…even after you said her clothes are horrible she still tells you she loves you”. 

“She’s the sweetest woman ever…I’m just glad she knows I’d never send a message like that!”. YN dramatically pretended to wipe the sweat from her forehead in relief. “Anne you’re stylish and I love you”. 

“Hmm who’s next…oh Roman Kemp…he said…Harry, is that you?”. Laughter filled the room as the amusement of Harry being blamed was too funny. “So…so far everyone doesn’t think you’ve sent this text…are you just a nice person?”. 

“What a relief!…I try to be…I don’t tend to insult people on their outfit choices”. YN tried to gather herself thought after hysterically laughing. 

Michael scrolled a little more. “This is brilliant…this is from Louis…Louis Tomlinson your brother…he said…fuck off you cheeky fucker!!…that’s the best one yet!”.

YN held her tummy as she laughed out loud, the audiences laugher filling her ears. “Just to clear it up…he doesn’t mean that in a serious way”. 

“Oh I think he does…there’s two explanation marks!”. Michael fuelled the laughter and YN couldn’t help but join in. “Who’s Jeff?”. 

“Jeff is Harry’s manager and friend”. YN fiddled with the necklace around her neck. “I already know he’s going to give me as good back”. 

Michael gave the audience a knowing look as he hides the phone on his suit jacket. “Jeff said…This is a cheek considering the last time I saw you, you were wearing last nights clothes with your head in the toilet!”. 

YN and the audience burst with hysterical laughter as they imagined her in that state. As YN managed to pull herself together. “I was very…I mean very hungover…the night before we went out and I’d had a few too many”.

“We’ve all been there”. The comedian didn’t judge, as he continue to flick across the phone screen. “Let’s see who else has replied…hmm…oh…Niall…Niall Horan…hey we may get the whole band now”. He joked, making YN lift her crossed fingers up. “He said…I won’t say no to a new wardrobe but I will say that I am slightly offended😂…poor Niall!”.

YN’s lips pouted at the thought that Niall was upset. “Oh that’s made me sad…Niall’s me bestie…Niall if you’re watching your style is sick”.

“You really are finding this hard aren’t you?”. Michael chuckled to himself, finding this all too amusing.

“Yes!”. YN didn’t need to think about her reply. “Honestly I would never text like this”.

“You do now!”. YN looked out to the audience with a smile of defeat. “We have another reply…from Nan…so I assume this is your grandmother”. When YN nodded, he continued. “Your Nan said…Of course my love. Anything to help you. But I am a little confused because when I saw your last weekend I was wearing one of your dresses from your brand. Love you❤️”.

YN covered her face with her hands as she giggled into them. “This is horrible!”. The audience were amused by this side of YN that they saw. “I don’t like it��.

In between his own belly chuckles, the comedian managed to speak. “I love how your Nan was like…yes of course anything for you and then basically outed you for your own clothing brand…absolutely brilliant”.

“The last time she wears me brand ey”. She sarcastically joked, knowing her Nan would understand once she explained.

“Okay…last one…a very quick, simple…you could say this one is not amused…this if from Mitch”. At the mention of Harry’s friend, YN was already laughing as she knew he was a man of a few words. “I feel like you already know this one…Mitch’s very strong and detailed response says…no…two letters…nothing else just a simple no”.

“Uh Mitch is lovely…but he definitely keeps conversations minimal”. YN explained, still holding her tummy as she finished laughing along with the audience.

“I can see that…I think that was the smallest text we have ever had on this show!”. Michael was dramatic with his voice and actions, his pitch high in his voice. “It is the end of the show…YN it’s been a pleasure…everyone give it up for YN Tomlinson!”.

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[simonlynch]

drabblecember day #17 - laundry fresh from the dryer

ship: bedbugs

word count: 431

summary: "Please, god…If you're out there -- give me the strength to not find a way to kill someone who's already dead."

“What are you doing?”

“The laundry.”

He makes a noise of disgust.

“Why?”

“Uh, because I need clean clothes?”

“Uh,” Beetlejuice mocks them, “I get that, sunshine. But isn't it a waste of time to fold it all if you're just gonna wear it again?”

He picks up an old, ragged pair of boxers in intrigue, but Reagan quickly snatches them away, folding them neatly and placing them in their appropriate pile.

“How come you never fold my laundry?”

“You don't do laundry, bug. In fact, I don't think you've ever washed your clothes, ever.”

“You sayin’ I smell?”

“Yes, actually.”

Beetlejuice looks offended towards them, offput by their teasing grin.

“I started showering for you, you know.”

“No, you started showering with me, and only because -- I’m not having this argument. Point is, you haven't ever asked me to do your laundry. I always figured those were like…I don't know. Your only clothes.”

“What, like I don't own anything else?”

“I don't know. Do you?”

They look over at him, rolling their eyes as he suddenly stands, flexing in the mirror in an ill-fitted pair of khakis and a ripped, stained undershirt.

“Not your best look, bug.”

“Oh, like you know what fashion is.”

He turns, now in some awful pair of shorts and a blindingly ugly Hawaiian button-up.

“Sometimes I feel like I really am in hell, and that you're my punishment.”

“You wound me, babes, you really do.”

“Not as much as your fashion sense hurts me.”

“Well, gee, tell us how you really feel. If you want, I can just start nixing the whole clothes thing entirely, and --”

“No, thanks. I like the suspenders, really. I’m just suggesting that maybe you pass ‘em over for a wash once in a while.”

“Aw shucks, babe, you'd really do that for me?”

“If my other options are eternal torture, or you rolling dirt into my sheets every night, I guess I don't have much of a choice.”

Beetlejuice throws himself onto the bed, directly onto the laundry; He's back in his striped getup now, save for the blazer, and Reagan watches as their freshly washed laundry very quickly absorbs the dirt, dust, and grime that their demon rolls into the pile. They sigh, too tired to argue, and tilt their head back, Please, god…If you're out there -- give me the strength to not find a way to kill someone who's already dead.

“Aw man, this is really warm. I might have to do this more often, you know!”

Reagan closes their eyes, pleading.

“The things I do for love…”

[toa-kohutti]

A Gift The Great Spirit Left Unnamed Chapter 5:

Waves and Flames

Ohmeni and Pysie get a chance to talk, and the village has a celebration. Puigren wonders about the serendipity of Ohmeni's return.

This village had less than a hundred Matoran in it. Why in the name of the Great Spirit could they possibly need this much firewood? I thought to myself. As I hoisted my third armful of it across the open area bordering the village, I looked over the stack of it to try and get a sense of what was going on. I saw Pysie, crouched down to nearly the height of the Matoran, talking to them, seemingly directing them to do things. She turned to one, said something, and then turned to another as they walked off, several times in a row. Only when I got into earshot could I get a sense of what was going on, and even then, I was only catching the tail end of her particular plot.

"Good! Make sure he remembers." She said, patting a Matoran on the shoulder, to which she seemed to beam with pride. As I carried the fire over to the pit, the small series of benches, fashioned out of wood and stone and giving a head's height of space for the Matoran to see over each other, were already filling up, despite the sun only barely starting to set.

As I sat the armful of wood down on the pit, now stacking half a Matoran tall, I turned to Pysie, now standing and holding her hands close to her chest.

"So, now that I've hauled all this, are you going to let me in on what all this preparation is for?" I folded my arms in a bit of mock displeasure, a veneer of sarcasm over my genuine curiosity. "And what are all of the Matoran doing? There's a few hours til nightfall."

"You know, for someone who is so unwilling to impose, you ask an awful lot of questions." She folded her arms in a more exaggerated version of my own gesture, twisting her hips and shoulders for the full teasing effect. At least, until she burst out laughing, causing me to laugh a little along with her. When she finally regained her composure, she sighed happily and looked at me, that magnetic smile in her eyes. "Seriously, it’s more fun if you find out later.."

"Alright, alright, it's a surprise," I conceded. "But I do have a question I think I should be asking, though." I said, shifting my gaze towards the Matoran all abuzz at the seating structure, which grew more impressive for the context of the village. The structure's stone seats and bases were reinforced by wood beams with plenty of cord connecting them, forming a rigid structure that looked like it could hold steady with most of the village atop it.

"Go on," Pysie said, as I turned back to catch her eyes, seemingly studying me.

"I... uh..." When I finally felt the bravery to say what was really on my mind, it felt like it had gone away in an instant. "...Can we take a walk together?" I said, my sudden change in demeanor obvious enough. Immediately, I cringed internally, sounding like a recently-made Matoran falling off the assembly line with all the knowledge of how to work but none on how to socialize.

"Is that your question?" She chuckled. "Yes, we can. And then you can say what’s really on your mind.." She gently waved me over towards the beach, beckoning me to follow her.

We walked together, a little awkwardly, as I struggled to match her walking pace. Through no fault of her own, she was so much slower than I was - the amount of walking she and I were used to were quite out of step, and the natural gap in our height was no help either. When we were sufficiently out of earshot of the Matoran, I resolved to get over myself and ask the stupid question.

"...When I first came to the village, why were you so excited to see me?" I asked. 

The question hung in the air, like a Rahi bird gliding against the wind. I heard her breathe in before halting, clearly thinking a lot about it. After a time, she finally spoke.

"It's been a long, long time since I've seen another Toa." She said, although the tone of her voice made it clear that the answer wasn't the whole story. "That, and you're... so different from every other Toa I've ever met, I guess." She stared off the coast, watching the waves pass by. 

“I’ve probably met a lot more,” I said, my pace finally matching hers in a somewhat comfortable mask. “But you’re really different, too.”

“Really?” She chuckled a little. “How am I different, miss ‘I know a ton of Toa’?” She asked in a mock accusation. 

“I’ll tell you…” I said, thinking for a moment. “...But only if you tell me what makes me different after.” 

“I, well… “ Pysie stammered. “I… F-Fine!” Her last words were huffed out. Had I upset her? Accidentally backed her into a deeper corner? I prayed that I hadn’t. To avoid this trouble, I began to speak. 

“Alright. Well,” I took a deep breath. “You are…” I began to think aloud. “Gentle. You’re more gentle than so many Toa, for one. And generous, too,” I put my fist to the bottom of my mask as I thought. “I mean, you haven’t made me pay you for any of your services, and you saved my life.” 

“It wouldn’t be right to.” Pysie said, quietly. “If we can save a life, I think that the Great Spirit tells us that we have to. It’s.. our duty, right?” 

“The Great Spirit says nothing about widgets, and I’d be happy to repay you,” I grabbed the strap of the bag that was over my shoulder, and shook it a little, letting her hear the jingle of the meager widgets I had within. “I wonder if you’re too nice for your own good.” I said, quietly, but with a soft smile. 

“That’s what Turaga Puigren says, anyway.” She hung her head, and absentmindedly kicked a rock. “I don’t think I’m much of a good Toa, anyway. All I do is sit in my hut and fix things and Matoran.” 

“How could you possibly think that?” I asked, a little bit taken aback by the mere idea that someone as kind as her could be a bad Toa. 

“What if we get attacked, and I’m not strong enough to stop them?” Her voice was heavy and shaky, like her insides were grabbed and rattled, leaving her twisted and shaken. “I know others are afraid of it too. And I think that Turaga Puigren…” 

“Woah,” I said, quickly moving in front of Pysie’s path and stopping her. “Hey, Pysie.” I said, softly. “I bet you are. I bet you are strong enough.” I hoped my words, even if I didn’t have a reason to believe what I was saying, could calm her. And I did believe it, despite the lack of evidence. 

“I’m not.” She choked, before flopping down on the ground, sitting in the sand with her head in her hands. “I know it. That’s why Puigren is going to make another Toa. I’m not enough, I’m sure of it...” She trembled, clearly overwhelmed by emotion. “It’s what the village deserves. It’s better that way. It’s better that way.” Her last words were quiet, as if they were a mantra to herself only. 

I placed a hand on her shoulder. Her trembling seemed to slow down, her body reacting to my touch as if…  I was calming her. She looked up at me, eyes twisted with deep sadness, silent. She started to speak, but said nothing. Eventually, her head drooped back down again. I was no good at this, I knew. I was a fighter, and barely good at anything else. This didn’t come naturally to me at all, and I felt my stomach drop. 

“...Well, you’re enough for me.” I murmured, awkwardly. 

“W-what?” She croaked out, her voice straining against the heavy emotion. 

“I said that you’re enough for me,” I moved a little closer to her, and put my other hand on her back. “You saved me. You can’t possibly not be enough to me.” I hope that my emotion would get through to her, and she would know how grateful I was, how much I admired her. 

In return, I got a quiet, sad chuckle. “That’s not what I meant, Ohmeni.” She said, gently shaking her head. “But… it does mean a lot.” She looked up at me, her eyes looking a little less sad. The sun was beginning to set, and the orange waves painted upon her mask, in front of the shore where an orange light scattered over the waves, looked so beautiful, so free. And yet, the Toa wearing it was weighed down, a shackle of doubt making her wonder if she was anything other than her job. I looked past the waves, into her sad eyes, holding their own against the same weight as the rest of her. And before I knew it, my body was almost moving on its own. 

I moved closer to her, our armor now touching as we sat on the shore, the wet sand starting to settle around us as the waves rolled in. Both of my arms were around her, and I moved close, holding her like I was carrying a Matoran to safety close to my chest, but staying here, as the water washed over us. I didn’t understand why I was doing what I was doing, but I knew, somehow, that it was necessary. Some instinct propelled me to pull my arms tighter, the plates of our armor pressed together, and we sat like that, in silence. 

I felt the waves around my legs start to move strangely, wrapping around me. Pysie’s arms suddenly wrapped around my middle, her head tucking into my chestplate between the two blades extending to my shoulders. I opened my eyes and looked around, trying to understand what was going on, what we were being pulled to do. When I saw it, I let out a silent gasp of wonder.

 The waves were not the ocean, they were Pysie, the power over water she wielded forming a gentle whirlpool around us. A spiral, a tiny piece of the ocean sparkling in the sun, wound around us, as if she were trying to draw in time, keep us here. The water was calming, healing, safe. And yet, in a moment, I could ruin it. My lightning could shatter our peace, course through us and harm us. But it didn’t. No involuntary spark scattered through the waves, making us jerk and shout in pain. We sat there, in the calming spiral, a moment lingering, time itself seeming to bask in it with us. 

The spiral softly collapsed, the water returning to its ocean home, and I gently released Pysie. She held onto me for a second longer before her arms fell back to her side, much like the water that wrapped around us. She looked up to me with that smile in her eyes, a weight lifted but not fully gone. She twisted over to see the sun, now sinking down towards the horizon, the whole ocean cast in an orange glow. 

“We should probably start back, shouldn’t we?” She said, softly. “Tonight’s important. We can’t miss it.”  

“Yeah.” I replied, quietly.  Let's get you up, okay?” I stood up and offered her my hand to help her up, which she took before barely putting any weight in it as she stood up gracefully, ready to walk us back to Gavo-Koro. 

The way she walked made it seem like she hadn't broken down at all, a quiet, elegant confidence only broken by a quiet sigh of relaxation. I saw her shoulders start to loosen, the gears and pistons around her frame moving freely. But my focus was on her strides, watching her legs move back and forth in rhythm. Something about her motions were hypnotic, calm and mundane yet incredible to watch, almost as if her steps channeled the waves that she could control. I couldn’t help but watch the pistons compressing and expanding on her thighs, watch the steps and feel some part of me move with her, whether it was somewhere in my body or my mind. 

I had little time to think about it deeply, as before I knew it, we had returned to the huts and were close to the fire pit. Most of the Matoran in the village were on the seating structure near the flame, although some seemed to still be working nearby on the other side of the fire. I noticed Puigren sat down, to the left of the structure, atop a stone. A Matoran pushed a similar, yet larger stone beside her. Pysie touched my arm, getting my attention.

“Usually, I sit on one side and Puigren on the other. I… think you’re invited to sit there,” She said, a bit of uncertainty in her voice. Or was it… disappointment? Either way, far be it from me to disrespect the Turaga’s wishes. “You’ll have to tell me what you think when we’re done.” 

“I will,” I said, looking at her, a soft smile forming from her touch on my arm. “You’ll know where to find me, I suppose.” I placed my hand atop hers for a second, until she pulled it away. I hoped she took that as appreciative. 

I sat down next to Puigren on that stone, a little too short for comfort, but better than the bare sandy ground. She acknowledged me with a nod, and I looked at her. The Matoran were all laughing and talking, but she was deadly serious. After a moment, I spoke to her. 

“...What is all of this?” I said, in a hushed voice. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything for you tonight.” 

Puigren let out a rattly sound, a chuckle, but missing a little of the warmth I’d expected. “It’s a dance, Toa,” she said quietly. “A ceremonial dance. Like a Takara, except instead of honoring the Great Spirit…” She trailed off. “Well, you’re a smart girl. You can figure it out. Just watch and enjoy yourself.” Her speech to me was finalized with that tic of hers, the bottom of her staff making a quiet tink! as it hit the stone she rested upon. 

On cue, that noise drew attention, an unspoken signal of silence spread throughout the night as the Matoran understood. A wave of quiet washed over us like the waves of the coast, leaving a hushed tension like the waves leave wet sand. For a few moments, the only sound in the air was the crackle of the fire, the wood that fed it snapping as it was consumed in the warm glow. 

 After hanging for what felt like a moment too long, the sound of a horn, a singular long and brassy note, cut through the silence like a blade through grass, wavering with the breath of the Matoran playing it. As it faded, drumbeats filled the void that it left, deep, woody thumps bringing rhythm to the open air, soon joined by the horn. Deep, colorful notes filled the village, and I could easily imagine being drawn in from kio away towards this ceremony. I leaned forward instinctively as I heard a new sound, the quiet sound of feet in the sand, belonging to a group of Matoran in well-decorated ceremonial clothing. 

The music ebbed as the six Matoran dancers turned to face the audience, each wearing the colors of different elements and painted Kanohi imitations above their own masks. I saw them all hold out ceremonial weapons, each looking fearsome in the unstable flicker of the flame. Their masks were carved to resemble Great Kanohi, full of power and befitting Toa, but imperfect enough to never be mistaken for a true Kanohi. Yet, with the fire’s light behind them and the magic in the air, they seemed more real than the genuine article ever could. 

In unison, they drew their weapons, slow beats of the drums drawing out the power in their simple yet dramatic movements. The horn launched from the slow music of the beginning to a braver, more purpose-filled tune, and their movement followed, spears and blades striking the air with bravery and determination, with confidence befitting Toa. I couldn’t let myself blink for a second, utterly enraptured in the performance these Matoran gave. As I watched their well-practiced dance, I studied their ceremonial armor, and a realization began to form in the parts of my mind that weren’t fully enraptured in the ceremony. 

One dancer wore a Great Pakari, colored in an inversion of the warm whites and dusty blues of the one next to me -  the Toa before me could only be playing the part of Puigren. Beside her, back-to-back, the vivid armor of a Toa of Water fought the imagined threats, the pair constantly checking each other and guiding their team in the dutiful dance. The actress seemed every bit as brave as I could imagine the Turaga sitting next to me was when she was a Toa, and the ritualistic motions she took seemed like second nature. She struck, blocked, and turned the attacks she took back out with poise I had rarely seen from a Matoran, all the while moving as one with the song that rung out from the passionate instrumentalists behind the fire. Some part of me knew that it was just a dance, a rehearsed routine, and yet my soul understood the bravery and harmony that the Toa of Puigren’s team fought with as protectors, as heroes. 

Even though I knew, deep down, that it could not last, I clenched my fist as the horns and drums changed to a darker tone, a serious mood sweeping through the magic cast in the unstable rays of bonfire light. A seventh approached, wearing a gnarled, pointed mask that could only be worn by a Makuta, its power likely a sick twist on the powers given to us by the Great Spirit. They remained unnoticed, and the six dancing Toa were unaware, still in unison but no longer with the music, all while the danger crept up behind them. My heart tugged at me to shout and warn them, to save them from this threat, but even if I had tried, I couldn’t have changed a thing. No, I couldn’t save them, like I couldn’t save them years ago… 

The Makuta dancer struck, a blade colliding with the Toa of Water. A singular deep note from the horn held, seeming to almost freeze time as the Toa dancer was slain. She fell in time with the life of that note fading into what could almost be a solemn wail, the horror of the moment cast through sound. The other Toa vanquished the Makuta with quick, sweeping attacks, driving him back in a graceful display, the anger and passion to protect their sister not breaking their practiced, heroic strikes. As the rage in the air decayed into mourning, they crowded around their fallen sister, and bid her a desperate final farewell. 

The horn was silent now. Puigren’s actress stayed, collapsed, even as the others carried her fallen comrade away and went in separate directions. She was alone, and only the crackle of the flame and the drum were with her, having now taken the role of a heartbeat. She turned to the heavens and pleaded, the dancer praying to the Great Spirit for guidance with her motions, alone, her team now long left her. There was nothing but her, a heartbeat, and a prayer.

A powerful, hopeful tone filled the air as she rose. Was that prayer answered? Matoran, with their normal armor, walked into the stage, all looking lost and alone. Puigren’s actress stood tall and proud, drawing these lost Matoran in with broad arms. They shuffled towards her with uncertainty in their movements, and were met with grace. The wordless song told the rest of the story, a modest but hope-filled climax underscoring Puigren’s embrace, the story coming to a close, a tale fully told. 

A final note was held as the Matoran in front of the fire knelt with Puigren in prayer. A rushing sound was what finally drew my attention away from the performance, and I turned to the source. A coil of water wrapped around the flame as the note held, flowing from Pysie’s outstretched hands. As the horn’s sound faded, the water struck with a final drum beat and snuffed the fire out in one quick hiss, leaving us shrouded in darkness and silence before our eyes adjusted to the light of the moon and the stars. 

The Matoran erupted with cheers, celebrating the ceremony and what was no doubt another job well done to them. But all I had was silence. The villagers clambered off the seating structure, all talking amongst themselves with excitement and amazement, but I said nothing, and Puigren noticed almost immediately. 

“Do you understand now, Toa?” Her creaky voice cut through the commotion to reach me. “Your expressions say you seem to.” My jaw must have been dropped behind my mask, and I quickly struggled to collect myself as I turned to her. 

“Gavo-Koro…” I murmured. “You… led this village after your team disbanded.” My voice quivered, the emotions the performance had drawn from me utterly impossible to conceal. 

“Founded it.” She said, matter-of-factly. “Today is the seventy-first anniversary of this village’s founding. And despite knowing nothing of our village's history, you came today.” Her voice took on the tone of questioning me, as if she was trying to prove me a liar. There was nothing I could do but give her the truth, even if it wasn’t what she expected. 

“I…” My voice creaked as the words struggled to leave me. “...It was our Toa of Earth.” 

“Your?” She questioned, her tone holding firm. 

“I-I was a part of a team. T-Talaimh, he was the soul of it. His bravery and kindness…” My eyes had adjusted to the starlight now, yet I was staring at nothing at all. The darkness in the night sky seemed to stretch on forever, and it was the only thing that I could look to as my own story began to pour from me. “Something killed him. I think it was a Dark Hunter. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

The commotion was dying down around me, Matoran returning to their huts, yet I remained with Puigren, my hands shaking, a beautiful performance unearthing memories I wasn’t ready for. And yet, she listened intently and quietly as I spoke. “We couldn’t look at each other and not see him. They all left for new teams,” my hand quivered as it wrapped into a fist. “And I was alone.” 

“Destiny,” Puigren said, her voice thoughtful. “In the end, Gavo-Koro was my destiny. Perhaps you were brought here to hear my story and find yours.” She stood up, hands wrapped around her staff, and began to hobble off in characteristic Turaga fashion, leaving me alone sitting on a rock by the embers of a fire. “But your destiny is not tonight,” her voice grew smaller with each step, “so sleep on it.” The Turaga I was used to were wise and gave passionate advice, and she was content to walk off with that.

I sat on that stone in the quiet and the dark, a great weight on my soul as I struggled to grapple with everything. The performance, my memory, Pysie’s touch… Pysie’s touch on my shoulder brought me back to reality. I looked up to her, and saw her yellow eyes glitter in the dark with a deeply concerned look in them. 

“Ohmeni…” She murmured, as my eyes diverted from hers in a moment of shame. 

“How much of that did you hear?” My voice was quiet, serious, and dry, my body deciding there was little emotion left to give. 

“I think I heard everything.” She said, moving in front of me and offering her hand. “Come on, Ohmeni. You need some rest. Let’s go back to the hut, okay?” I accepted it, my hand in her gentle grip as the rest of my body pushed me up without needing to pull on her, letting her lead me to the medicine hut to lay me down on the bed that barely fit me. 

We didn’t talk much that night, or the following morning. I needed quiet and time, which Pysie let me have, graciously. We said our polite goodbyes, and I left. I walked from the village to think, to give myself some space, leaving unsure of my return. If I had never returned, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life. I can’t imagine my life if I did. And I could never forget the next time I limped into Gavo-Koro.

[zuko-always-lies]

So, question, because I see people saying it often that Iroh has the right to feel animosity towards Azula because she made fun of/derided Lu Ten's death (or something like that), but does she actually do that in that scene? Or does she express disdain for Iroh's reaction, which considering the culture could easily be interpreted as Iroh being the one to make light of it? (Pretty sure there's at least one instance in _Romance of the Three Kingdoms_ where one character absolutely annihilates an opposing force because his brother/father/friend dies, if we want a real-world example of the mentality. Or, like, all of _The Hagakure_.)

Does Azula call Lu Ten a coward for dying? Or does she say that Iroh is for not "getting justice" or revenge for his son's death? For not finishing the task and abandoning the cause Lu Ten died for?

Because one of these means Iroh's dislike could be justified (nevermind the fact that he wasn't present for this conversation, so if he knew about it, he would have only heard about it from Zuko). But the other is an angry/disappointed/disgusted child calling an adult out.

Good question! I think I should start by talking about what Zuko and Azula actually say about Iroh.

"The Western Air Temple"(featuring 13 year old Zuko!):

Iroh: (Iroh looks on, concerned) Prince Zuko, it's only been a week since your banishment. (Cut to a far back view shot of the 2) You should take some time to heal and rest. Zuko: (turns around and raises his voice) What else would I expect to hear from the laziest man in the Fire Nation? (Cut to a close up of Iroh's slightly appalled face as he looks down and sighs) The only way (Cut back to a frontal shot of uncle and nephew) to regain my honor is to find the Avatar. So I will.

"The Headband":

Zuko: (standing at the bars) You brought this on yourself, you know. We could have returned together. You could have been a hero! (Iroh turns a shade further away from Zuko.) You have no right to judge me Uncle. I did what I had to do in Ba Sing Se, and you're a fool for not joining me. (Iroh is silent.) You're not gonna say anything? (Enraged, he kicks a stool and bends a blast of fire at the wall.) Argh! You're a crazy old man! You're crazy, and if you weren't in jail, you'd be sleeping in a gutter!

Zuko says some pretty negative things about Iroh, right to Iroh's face!

Now, what negative things does 14 year old Azula say about Iroh? Surprisingly little, even though she clearly doesn't like him. She implicitly calls him a traitor a couple times(during times when he is, in fact, a traitor by all reasonable definitions), but never really explicitly does so. Beyond that, there's very little. This is the only thing I can think of:

Azula: So...I hear you've been to visit your Uncle Fatso in the prison tower. Zuko: (standing, incensed) That guard told you.

Which is actually way less harsh than what Zuko says about Iroh! If anything, Azula's behavior in the present suggests that she only rarely criticized, much less mocked Iroh's behavior to his face when she was younger.

Now let's turn to the meat of your question, "Zuko Alone." There are two scenes in that episode where Azula criticizes Iroh. The first comes before Lu Ten's death:

Ursa: "And for Azula, a new friend. She wears the latest fashion for Earth Kingdom girls." (As Ursa speaks, Azula picks up a doll wearing Earth Kingdom green. The Princess makes a face of disgust.) Azula: If Uncle doesn't make it back from war, then dad would be next in line to be Fire Lord, wouldn't he? (In the background, Zuko runs around practicing with his new dagger.) Ursa: (disappointed) Azula, we don't speak that way. It would be awful if Uncle Iroh didn't return. And besides, Fire Lord Azulon is a picture of health. Zuko: How would you like it if cousin Lu Ten wanted dad to die? Azula: I still think our dad would make a much better Fire Lord than (looking at the doll with disdain) his royal tea loving kookiness. (She holds out the doll and makes its head burst into flame. The screen flashes white and the flashback ends.

There are several things which seem to be driving Azula's actions here. The first is a reaction to the massive favoritism Iroh just showed toward Zuko. The second is a belief, no doubt inspired by Ozai's poisonous statements about his brother, that Ozai, who Azula idolizes, would make a better Firelord than Iroh. Finally, Azula is a confused child who is asking inappropriate questions because she's too young to understand proper boundaries. Nothing she says here is actually that serious, and I would expect a responsible adult(i.e. not Ursa) to either shrug it off, or to carefully reason with Azula in order to explain why what she is saying is problematic.

Now we turn to the other main scene, the one right after Lu Ten's death, and the one you probably actually wanted me to talk about:

Azula: (getting up and walking over to him) By the way, Uncle's coming home. Zuko: Does that mean we won the war? Azula: No. It mean's Uncle's a quitter and a loser. Zuko: What are you talking about? Uncle's not a quitter. Azula: Oh yes, he is. He found out his son died and he just fell apart. (leaning against a nearby pillar) A real general would stay and burn Ba Sing Se to the ground, not lose the battle and come home crying. Zuko: (angry) How do you know what he should do? (looking down, sadly) He's probably just sad his only kid is gone... forever.

You might note that, again, Azula doesn't say anything negative about Lu Ten. You've already noted that Iroh is thousands of miles away at the moment, so having him be "justified" in his hatred of Azula by a conversation he didn't hear doesn't make sense.

Azula is also very angry in this scene, quite possibly the angriest we ever see her at any point. That does suggest that she's taking what's happened, either Lu Ten's death or the abandonment of the siege, very personally. I don't know enough to comment specifically on this, but you are right in that there might be cultural background which specifically proscribes the achievement of vengeance as being of particular importance, and Azula is thus outraged that Iroh failed to fulfill his duty to his son.

But that not at the core of Azula's critique here. What Azula is attacking Iroh for is that he responded to a personal loss by abandoning his duty in the heat of battle, and she is 100% right on this, not only by the standards of Fire Nation cultural but also by the standards of modern western culture. Fun fact: Abraham Lincoln, Jefferson Davis, and Robert E. Lee(screw the latter two, but that's another story) all suffered the loss of children they dearly loved in the middle of the American Civil War, yet none of them abandoned their duty. Archibald Roosevelt(another problematic figure) had two brothers die in WWII, yet he continued fighting on the front line. John W. Geary literally had his son die in his arms in the middle of battle, yet he continued commanding his unit well enough to prevail. Hell, we can even turn to Joseph Stalin here, to some extent.

Again, the core of what Azula says here is absolutely correct. Iroh is a "quitter" because he responded to Lu Ten's death by falling apart and abandoning the siege when it seemed on the brink of success, rather than continue the operation until victory. I don't think we need to go further than that to establish that Azula is entirely justified calling Iroh out here. And again, she doesn't criticize or mock Lu Ten at all, instead only attacking Iroh's reaction to Lu Ten's death.

[jesswritesthat]

Hey, I just read your headcanons with the hairy insecure reader....If it's not to much to ask could you do something similar where the reader doesn't shave her legs? As a female I simply can't be bothered to do that, but I can't help but feel bad about myself when people look at me as if I'm disgusting or point it out/shame me. But only if you're comfortable, of course. You can choose whoever characters you want to write for, have a great day ♡

A/N: Honestly if it’s any consolation - me neither. A smooth leg is nice and all but if I’m wearing jeans no one is going to see them. Don’t feel bad about yourself, people are far more attracted to the smile you wear 💕

Warnings: Suggestive comments

Bokuto, Daichi and Terushima with s/o who hasn’t shaved their legs Headcanons:

>>>>——————————>

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ:

• The Ace is trying to be affectionate with you, being a fan of skinship and physical touch. So there's a flash of hurt when you recoil away from the hand softly running up your leg.

"What's wrong, are you upset baby?"

"No, I just, I haven't shaved my legs so..."

• Bokuto stares at you blankly, squinting slightly as he's trying to work out the issue you're currently having.

"...I haven't either?"

It's so innocent and confused, tilting his head slightly with furrowed brows that make you smile.

"It's different for you though."

"Eh? Maybe, but not in this house, equal rights and all - we love each other regardless."

• You were tackled to the couch then, your startled laughter fuelled his own as he began to tickling you - fingers dancing across your skin with not a care in the world.

• Stupidly offers to try wax strips with you one time, and he screamed. You had to stop. He survived one, fortunately under his kneepads so his teammates wouldn't wreck him for it - not that he'd care.

• Now, if you hold a wax strip in your hand intending to maybe do your own, Bokuto is giving you worried eyes.

"Baby no... you don't need to suffer! I don’t want you going through that pain!" And slaps the strips outta your hands, assures you it's perfectly natural to not shave.

SAWAMURA DAICHI:

• Once you'd told him how conscious you were feeling, dodging his sight after hopping out of the shower - and proceeding to cover your legs with a blanket afterwards.

• Out of caution Daichi asked if he could join you, though hesitant you agreed and received a soft smile in return, as well as warm arms around you.

“What’s bothering my partner in crime?”

“This from a police officer?”

“I’m skilled at detecting personal quirks, and you are criminally beautiful (Y/n).” A smile and chasté kiss were placed to the side of your head even as you playfully pushed him away.

“That was awful!”

• With the lightheartedness and gentle traces, you feel comfortable enough to tell him, careful embarrassed whispers not escaping his finely tuned ears.

• "You truly believe I'm only with you for smooth legs (Y/n)?" It was feigned hurt, brow raised in confusion as he moved to face you more.

"Well no, but—"

"No ‘buts’, your smile, your kindness, all the little things that make you you are what I'm here for. A little bit of hair isn't going to scare me away." You smiled at his sincere justification, falling into his side with a satisfied hum.

• "Alright... but what if it's like, a lot, how much are we talking here Daichi?" It was the fun lilt to your voice that allowed him to release a relieved breath.

"Look, my legs are hairier than yours and if you stuck around for that, you've got nothing worry to about." With a swish of the blanket, he displays his own as evidence with an awkward grin on his features.

• Daichi assures you often he doesn’t mind, as long as you’re comfortable. Plus if needed, he often states that the ‘natural look’ is in this season - all seasons. You love him and he loves you back, it’s so simple as he puts it.

TERUSHIMA YŪJI:

• He's suggesting clothing choice to complete your outfit, some are serious - others are items he just thinks you look hot in. Notices that you pass on anything revealing your legs and isn't shy about asking why.

• "You don't like my fashion sense? That outfit looks great on you!"

"Yes... but my legs..." Instinctively your hands move to cover them, even he hadn’t noticed the hair on them - purely enamoured with the sight of you alone.

"Exactly~"

• "They're... I haven't shaved or anything so I can't wear something like that Yūji."

"Just wear tights underneath - no one will know babe."

Still you remain unconvinced, and he gestures for you to come closer, hooking his arms around the back of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

• "You realise cavemen were hairier, right?"

"Are you comparing me to a caveman to make me feel better..?" Though the embrace was nice, you pulled back in mock offence.

"No, you're more like a Shewolf."

"Yūji?!" With the playful tug of his hair Terushima is quick to remedy himself.

"Like that Shakira song, I meant you're sexy!"

"Jus-just stop digging, please." You kiss him to shut him up, he’ll keep spewing compliments otherwise.

• It’s a bit later, after you’re settled that he brings the topic back up, fingertips ghosting over your thigh.

“Both Cavemen and Werewolves still got laid though. Since you're much prettier, you've got nothing to worry about~"

"Hm, I'll got out and get laid then."

"Wha- no! You've got me, I'll do it! Hair or not, that's not gonna change how my name sounds on your tongue~"

You didn’t reply, nor did you have to as Terushima simply smiled so earnestly and rested his forehead against yours with a gentle smile.

“I love all of you.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[adelindschade]

Moroha doesn’t recognize her dad when he’s human.

Edit: I got hit the angst train. And some fluff. (lots of it) 

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not!!”

“Yes, I am.”

Kagome fought a smile as she watched their daughter expressed her frustration. The toddler was adamant; pointing a tiny, accusatory finger towards her father. Her (temporarily) human father.

Inuyasha merely grinned in the face of the girl’s intense interrogation.

“Nuh-huh! You are not!” She shrilled. Had he been armed with his usual acute hearing, maybe he’d wince, but he was not moved in slightest.

He leaned against the wood of their hut comfortably, as he usually did when the day receded and a calm night resumed. His wrist rested on his bent knee, just within reach of their daughter to tugged on his sleeve with as much ferocity a child she as she could muster.

“Moroha,” Kagome intervened. Her tone was soft but reprimanding. A sigh followed – knowing all too well the girl was as stubborn as they could get. Kagome was no more to blame for that trait than Inuyasha either.

Their daughter hadn’t yet grown accustomed to his change. They happened so few in between cycles that she often missed his transformation altogether. She’d sleep soundly while Inuyasha would anxiously guard their home, knowing all too well of the heightened risk, but assured slightly by a confident Kagome that she, too, was capable of defending their abode.

Moroha would not sleep that night. She was met with a stranger in her father’s favorite place. He wore her father’s robe. He even had the audacity to lay a casual hand on her mother – a certain move that would condemn him to the underworld should her father catch him.

“Yes, I am,” Inuyasha repeated, humored by her display.

“You’re not my father!”

“Of course, I am,” he chuckled.

“No, you’re not! You’re different!”

Inuyasha snorted. “Hey kid, look at a mirror. So are you,” he redirected with a straight finger. He was aiming at the mirror besides Kagome.

Moroha was so focused on the imposter that she heeded little attention to the fact her hair had changed, too. She bore the same shade of gold as he did; the striking white strands of hair highlighting the small sliver of demon than run through her veins; and her baby fangs that Kagome cooed over were on full display.

“You smell different!”

“I can barely smell you at all,” he made a motion to sniff. She scrunched her nose and crossed her arms.

“You don’t have ears!” She pointed to his head.

He scoffed. “Yes, I do. See?” He lifted his hair ever so slightly.

“Those are mommy’s ears!”

“You got some of your own,” Inuyasha encouraged. He reached out to gently pinch her own ears – the ones he usually bore – and grinned when awe overwhelmed her face. Her small hands replaced his – feeling the fur of her newfound ears and gasping upon the discovery.

“Mommy! I have ears!”

“Yes, you do,” Kagome coddled. She swaddled up her daughter and nuzzled into her cheek. “You look just like your dad.”

It always endeared her. She swore Moroha was her father’s daughter despite the lack of apparent coloring. Yet, as she glanced at her husband, she knew immediately that Moroha was a mere reflection of her father. As a human, the similarities were uncanny. How she didn’t pin it sooner was beyond her.

“For now,” Inuyasha corrected. He nodded curtly. “Wait until daybreak. You’ll look normal again.”

Normal. He used the word so often to describe her. He was projecting his wish for her to be accepted into society. Sure, she was, within the village limits – but beyond that? He wasn’t naïve to think her oddities wouldn’t be noticed by keener senses. Humans would take heed of her aura, her pointed teeth, and wild streak. Demons could smell her a mile away.

One look was all it would take to confirm she was his and, despite the anxieties that came with raising her, he was elated to know no harm could come to Moroha. Not with him and Kagome around to ensure she’d grow up safe and strong and, most importantly, loved.

“I don’t want normal. I want big ears.”

Inuyasha sighed. She would say that now and cry her heart out when her beloved ears disappeared at daybreak, but as she’d grow older, she’d appreciate the subtlety of her demon heritage. Inuyasha couldn’t deny his. He couldn’t forget the torment that came with being alienated for his unusual eyes, his dog-like ears, and claws.

Kagome could coo over her baby fangs – and Inuyasha would be content to know his daughter was adored for just the way she is, beloved by a woman who had more heart to give than anyone he’d ever known – but Inuyasha also knew beyond the barrier of the village was a cruel world ready to admonish her for those very same features.

“What about the ones your mom makes you?” Inuyasha teased.

This was not the first nor the last time she’d be upset over her lack of ears. Kagome resolved her plight by fashioning a large bow to tie back her hair – a bow that purposely resembled the same pointed arches that mimicked her father’s natural assets.

“These are real!”

“And I bet you can hear a lot with them, too,” Inuyasha grinned.

“Yeah!”

“Yet you can’t tell your old man’s voice apart from an imposter? Hmm,” he played along. He reclined his head back, closing his eyes in contentment. “You’re breaking my heart, Moroha.”

“Sometimes, just like you, your dad changes, too. He can’t be a demon all the time,” Kagome assured. “Let him be human for one night. It’s very exhausting chasing demons all day and then having to chase you, too,” she laughed along.

Moroha scampered onto his lap, unafraid of his embrace – all too accustomed to his protectiveness when he carried her around in similar fashion. She peeked up, still bewildered by his new look. She tugged on his hair, palmed his cheek, and giggled brightly when he bent his face to nuzzle into the crown of her head.

“Are you still sure I’m not your dad?”

“Yeah,” she squealed. He found her weak spot – tickling her sides mercilessly.

“If you rile her up, you’re putting her to sleep yourself,” Kagome warned quietly. Yet, she couldn’t help but glow; she was always put at ease whenever she saw how affectionate he was with her – how gentle he was, too.

“Understood,” Inuyasha beamed.

“I think tonight is the only night you may actually be stronger than me,” he humored. His hands combed through her hair, puzzled by how odd it seemed in contrast to the darker strands he so often saw.

“Wait until she’s older,” Kagome relished. “Try to keep up with her then!”

“Let’s not think about her growing up so fast,” Inuyasha frowned, “let alone running out on your old man,” he added with warmth when the girl looked up with big eyes. “Promise me that, will you? You won’t grow up? That you won’t disappear on me in a blink of the eye?”

“Yeah!”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Inuyasha smiled. Moroha raised her small palm and compared it to his. “And promise me you’ll keep these sharp things to yourself, okay? I don’t want anyone losing an eye anytime soon.” He tapped her claws one-by-one.

“No!” She giggled.

“A real killer, aren’t you? A feral child, huh? Who’s raising you??”

“You!”

“Me? Nah. But I think your dad will be here tomorrow and he’ll set you straight! I don’t have claws or teeth or anything like you but your dad? He can be really scary.”

“No!”

“No? He’s not scary? Well, aren’t you fearless?”

“Let’s not forget she has a mother, too,” Kagome harrumphed. “I’m not raising a feral child. I’m raising a girl with rules! Like bedtime!”

“No!”

Inuyasha laughed. “We have a rebel!”

“Rebels have rules, too, and you, sweetheart, have a really big one to follow.”

“No!”

“How about you sleep and when you wake up, you can your dad all about the stranger who slept over? How about that?”

“Mm.” She mocked deliberation and then flashed a smile. “Okay!”

“Alright, then,” Kagome decided. She plucked Moroha from her post on Inuyasha’s lap. She had a mat already prepared. “Would you like another story or are you all tuckered out from pestering your dad with questions?”

“Story!!”

“Alright then,” Inuyasha began. His hand hovered over her head, only to pat her crown, and tap her nose. “It’s your mom’s turn to tell a story.”

“What about the one with the butterfly?”

[gigglinggoblin]

Getting a Little Familiar

Image used with permission from the amazingly talented Deepdiscourse, whose breathtaking hypnotic audio files and gorgeous photos (and video clips) are equally worth your attention and money! Go check out their work!

[pov: any, nsfw, 2nd person, reverse corruption, (initially) evil POV, hypnosis, magical mind control, mutual nonconsent (heavy), dolly, gender-neutral forcefem, pet play, breast fixation, kitten play, dressup, witch, femdom, praise, syrup mention, intelligence reduction]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oh, you poor, hopeless little thing. This didn’t go quite how you’d planned, did it?

Don’t feel bad. It was a really very lovely plan to try and hypnotize me! And really, even if it’s not working out quite as you’d hoped, I think you’ll be much happier this way, don’t you?

Aww. Look at you. Trying to put words together when all you really wanna do is stare at my lovely breasts like a helpless, needy little toy.

So cute.

So helpless.

And so adorable, thinking you’ll be able to put any words together at all that aren’t “yes, Mistress” and “yes, please, Mistress” when I’m through with you. Maybe some soft mewing. Mm, yes, that sounds just lovely, doesn’t it, sweetie?

I can already see all those silly thoughts glimmering in your eyes, rising to the forefront, rising to the top of the waves like soft, pretty pink jellyfish. All those plans for posing as a sweet, obedient little apprentice, pretending to be all silly and dumb and pliant, all eager to please while you worked your little schemes.

Now, now! No need to speak, kitten. Those pretty lips of yours look so much cuter half-parted like that, breathing in nice and slow. Nice and slow. Matching my breathing. In and out. In… and out.

Watch... my breasts… rise… and fall~

Good pet!

And doesn’t that feel nice? That’s right. Just keep watching my tits and listening to my words. They look so soft, don’t they? So smooth. So easy to get lost in.

And it feels so good to listen to Mistress and let her words fill your pretty empty head, trickling in heavier and heavier by the second, like sweet syrup, just... drowning all those thoughts in pleasure.

Isn’t that right? Hush-hush, kitten. Of course it is.

Good pets love to listen to Mistress. Mistress has such a pretty voice, doesn’t she? So nice to listen to and sink down-down-down-down-down, so deep, all those thoughts tugging you deeper, and deeper, and deeper, so heavy and cumbersome, getting heavier with every deeeep breath you take in, and out, and in, and out, and...

*giggle* That’s right! You’re doing so well! Goodness, you’re so adorably suggestible. So pliable. I’ve barely had to work any magic; I just suggested you’d like to look at my tits and let my sweet voice do the rest... and down-down-down you went. I just told you to listen like a good pet, and you nodded along with every single word…

… and happily allowed aaaaall that sweet, slow, heavy syrup to flow into your silly open mind.

Isn’t that right, pet?

Aw, hush, kitten. Of course it is~

[Thanks for reading! There’s more after the break, but if you enjoyed this story and want to read more like it, there’s tons more content on my Patreon. For just a few dollars a month, you gain access to alternate Bad Ends, bonus stories, polls on future content, early updates, erotic text-based roleplay/D&D games, and much, much more! If you can afford to, consider pledging, so I can keep posting Tumblr fics like this one on the regular! Thank you! <3]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Salamander folk” are a curiosity largely unique to witchcraft, homunculi created when a willing (or “willing enough”) mortal entices a witch into transmuting their being into something else. In this way, a witch can make a human something like a fey, and can change just about anything else she likes about the human in the process. Many witches favor catfolk and other beast-like features, but the witches have many options. Many, many options.

They just... they just really like catgirls, okay?

And in fairness, so do a lot of the girls who go to witches seeking transmutation. The transformation does not change gender, obviously, but it can be used to change certain physical aspects to be more within a person’s preferences, or, say, to make a cisgender boy look more feminine for the witch’s amusement.

(When a demon does this to a mortal, they are usually called cambions—true cambions, not the mock cambions arising from demon-mortal partnerings. It’s a much more... consuming process.)

Why are they called “salamander folk”? Not all labels make perfect sense. In this case, a “salamander” is old-fashioned magic slang for a partially-finished spell, implying a malleable sort of magic that has yet to be fully shaped. It’s almost never used in that sense anymore, though. It might be distantly related to the famous total immunity newts have to magic.

Many mortals deliberately seek witches out for this reason, desiring some manner of change to their form beyond mortal means, or else to become apprentices. Or, often, both. Many witches charge apprenticeship for a certain number of years in exchange, which isn’t always as mercenary as it seems. Apprenticeship allows a witch to guide and protect the salamander person through their transition, as well as to make sure that the transformation really is what they want. It can also make the transformation itself easier to effect—it’s not easy to change someone’s true form, and it often takes time and a mutual familiarity.

Notably, the reverse dynamic is quite common as well: Many would-be apprentices are expected to allow the witch to transmute them into different forms as a condition of being taught. This is ostensibly because the process of being transmuted involves tying spirits to the subject’s soul, and tends to make their overall form and connection with magic very malleable and easy to work with. These kinds of apprentices are called familiars.

Of course, some witches just want cute catboys and ravenpeople and dollygirls to toy with as they please.

Katrina of the Thousand Names is a particularly skilled witch, known less so for her raw power so much as her cunning, vast arrays of knowledge, and general good-naturedness. She knows hundreds and hundreds of spirits well, and is one of the most famously easy-going when it comes to transformations. If you know what you want, she’ll see it done for as small a price as cooking her meals for a few nights while she works the spell.

Of course, many seek to be her apprentices even if they aren’t looking for transformation, and she’s quite reasonable about this—as long as the apprentice acts in good faith. Many seek to steal her repository of powers to use for wickedness, even trying to hypnotize the witch into yielding them. These ill-behaved apprentices tend to find themselves serving a very different role indeed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My, my. Such an adorable, hopelessly malleable plaything you turned out to be!

I think this is all for the best, don’t you? You’re much better at being my pliant little doll than you ever were at being my apprentice. You’ll be so much cuter as my obedient, mewling, empty-headed kitten. And so much happier, too!

Oh, come now, kitten, none of that fussing. Kittens don’t need words, and neither do helplessly adoring little dolls. Doesn’t it feel so good to be nice and sweet and good for me?

No more schemes. No more plotting to steal all my secrets. Those all required thinking, and thinking is hard, and listening like a good pet is easy.

So... so... sooooo easy~

And listening feels so, so lovely, doesn’t it? Just letting my words take over. Breathing in and out so steadily, so hopelessly enthralled by the soft, gentle motion of my soft breasts rising… and falling...

All those plans required so many confusing thoughts, all swirling around in that silly head of yours. But all those wicked thoughts are being drowned in the sweet, wonderful syrup of my words now, aren’t they?

Can’t you just feel all that syrup flooding your mind, submerging every thought in a heavy, heavy sugary brainless docile trance?

All those thoughts about betraying me? All submerged, and so, so hard to pull up to the surface now, so deep, deep down as my breasts bounce slowly, softly, so, so softly...

All those thoughts about using my powers to make trouble? All drowned in warm, gentle waves of delicious syrup, caught like butterflies in amber, deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper as my voice goes on, and on, filling you with sweet, sugary obedient pleasure the longer it goes on, getting so, so hard to even remember anything else...

And oh... doesn’t it feel so much better to be sweet, kitten?

So much easier to be sweet.

So much easier to be a nice, happy, obedient bubbly helpful kitten for me.

And it feels so good to please me, doesn’t it, sweet thing?

So good to nod passively. So good to take my hand, so deeply hypnotized now, so deep-deep-deep under the honeyed waves and not even trying to resist anymore. So happy and dumb and heavy-headed now, just staring at my tits like a mewling, helpless kitten.

Aww, look at you squirming. So cute! Such a sweet little plaything I’ve found. Would you like to be a good pet for me?

Good pet!

Such a good, happy, obedient, needy, sweet little pliant kitten.

Aww, and don’t worry, sweetie.

I know how excited you were to use all my magic, to dress yourself up in my glamors, to bewitch and ensnare whoever gazed upon you. Of course I’ll be happy to let you! Oh, hush-hush, I insist!

Let me lead you into the dressing room, now, pet. There’s a good plaything.

I’m going to dress you up to look so pretty. I’m going to make you so gorgeous and adorable and eager to please. You’ll just be my cute, obedient, sweet dolled-up kitten. Just a happy little maid for me, isn’t that right? Hopelessly eager to help anyone who comes by. Helping others is going to feel so good for my good, obedient kitty.

I promise you’ll be every bit as spellbinding as you planned, sweetie. A pretty spellbound doll for everyone’s amusement. Everyone’s going to love you, and that’s going to feel soooo good.

Let’s go get you all dressed up and pretty, sweetie. There’s a good pet.

And maybe, once you’ve learned your lesson in a year or so…

… I’ll let you decide whether or not you want to stay that way forever~

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[vivvyinvienna]

the night we met (draco malfoy)

A/N: heyo! this is my first fic so pls be nice :) i hope you guys enjoy it! xoxo 

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Draco is haunted by the memories of his dead lover. Post-Battle of Hogwarts. Inspired by the Lord Huron song “The Night We Met.”

Warnings: alcohol, cursing, depression, angst, violence, blood, major character death

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

  Draco languidly twirled the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He watched as the amber liquid clung desperately to the sides before unfailingly slipping back. His drunken mind and hazy thoughts found amusement in it. They found amusement in a lot of things now. Like how he sat in front of the fireplace in a grand leather chair downing firewhiskey by the bottle every night; being every bit of the rich, spoiled Malfoy heir he was. Y/N would have told him that he was trying too hard to mourn in an aesthetic. And she would have been right. 

The thought of her lifted him from his reverie. The glass of liquor stopped turning in his hand, instead it was brought to his lips, quickly downed in hopes of expelling her from his mind. In hopes of keeping out all the feelings that came alongside memories of her. It was why he drank in the first place, why he sat drunk and unrefined with his hair messed, shirt untucked, and suit rumpled.

But it didn’t work. It never really worked. Not even the strongest liquor from his father’s collection could rid his mind of her. Her lips, her touch, her soft breath on his shoulder from their last embrace was all tattooed on his soul. He didn’t really mind those. But it was the memories of her death, watching her body crumble and blood pour from her wounds, that made him want to obliviate himself. They stained his mind, weakened his body and ate at his soul. 

After losing her at the Battle of Hogwarts, he constantly felt like he was a wandering traveler who’s path had run out. He was riddled with these feelings of guilt, sorrow, longing, and depression. There was always this painful feeling in his chest, like someone had a vice grip around his lungs and heart. While he was with Y/N there was always a nagging feeling that he was in debt to her. She had taught him the invaluable, that he could love and be loved. She had saved him in every manner a person could be saved. The feelings, thoughts, and pain he now faced was unrelenting, incessant, and unforgiving. He supposed it was a method of repaying his debt. 

Looking towards the fireplace that was softly raging, he put down his glass. Chasing away the memories never worked, he didn’t know why he bothered trying every night. And with that, he resigned to his thoughts of her.

 I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  Draco was laying on her bed in her Hufflepuff dorm. The windows facing the rolling hills were drawn up, letting in the warm glow of sunset. It bathed the room in this honey tint that made him feel warm and blissful. Laying on his side, he stared at the Y/H/C haired girl at the desk who was intensely focused on her books and notes. 

“Angel?”

Your quill paused and you turned to let your Y/E/C eyes meet his. He thought your eyes were the most beautiful thing, they held the beauty and intensity of a thousand stars in his mind. He found everything beautiful about you really. The way your hair framed your face. Your delicate fingers whenever they entangled with his. The way your rosy lips tilted into a smile when you looked up at him. 

“Yes, Draco?”

You had a slight smile and an extra twinkle in your eye as you answered him because you knew exactly what he was going to ask next. 

As predicted, the blonde boy strewn across your bed softly, adoringly, and a tinge whiningly said, “Come lay with me for a bit.”

Looking back and forth between him and the DADA homework on your desk, you pouted while responding “I still have so much of Umbridge’s work to do though.”

Draco let out a dramatic groan and flipped onto his back before answering, “ You’re killing me, Y/N. What do I need to do to convince you?” 

The truth was Draco didn’t need to do anything to persuade you, you were sick of Umbridge’s busy work. And after feeling his gaze caress you all afternoon, you craved his touch. But you decided to have a bit of fun.

“It’s killed meh. It’s killed meh.” You mocked.

You never let him live down that accident from third year. He covered his eyes and laughed in embarrassment before retaliating, “At least I didn’t get sent to the hospital wing because of a plant. You’re supposed to be good at herbology, badger.”

You feigned offense, “That’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t put on an entire theatrical performance like you felt the need to.” And with that, you started to walk towards the Slytherin boy on your bed. He pulled the covers back for you to join him when he noticed your approach. 

“Ok, ok, fine. Just get in already, I’m getting cold.” 

Once you settled into his arms, he watched as you snuggled deeper into his chest. With your guys legs intertwined and his arms encasing you, his heart felt content and at peace. He had everything he needed and wanted right in his arms. 

You tilted your face up, and while looking adoringly at Draco you whispered,  “I love you, you know?” 

He gave you a soft smile that made the cold ice of his eyes melt. Putting his forehead against yours, he gently nudged your nose with his. 

“I know. And I love you...” he paused, refocusing his gaze into your eyes, “more than anything.”

You smiled as he captured your lips in a kiss.

 I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

 Back in his leather chair in the cold drawing room of the Manor, he barely noticed the silent tears that escaped from his eyes. Tears seemed to be a constant now. The beautiful memories of her angelic voice and soft kisses and honey tints were once things that bewitched him. Now, they only served as an agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He craved, he so utterly craved for her tender caress. He could feel his own desperation causing aches from his chest all the way to his finger tips. What he would give to feel her presence wrapped around him one more time. 

With his head hung forward and his hands tugging at his hair, convulsive yet inaudible sobs wracked his beaten frame. He wanted her back. He wanted to hold her hand as they walked in the garden. He wanted to pepper her face with kisses until she playfully pushed him away. He wanted to hear her gleeful shouts as they rode his broom together. He wanted to meet her again for the first time and relive their time together. Merlin he just wanted her back. 

All he could do now was reminisce of his memories of them together. He was faced with a constant inner battle. Reliving their memories eased the hurt for a little while. But when he came back to his senses and his reality, it brought a raging pain of its own. 

Some nights he couldn’t help himself. He drank until his vision blurred and then walked around the Manor looking for signs of her, to spark memories that he watched like movies. Tonight would be one of those nights he realized after stumbling onto a very specific patio. It was the patio where they met. 

 When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Your family had been invited to the Malfoy Summer Solstice Ball, as were all the other notable pureblood wizarding families. You had your mother’s penchant for fashion, choosing to wear a champagne colored satin gown from one of your favorite designers. You quite enjoyed the dressing up and the excessive extravagance, but it was the company that was pitiful. The lavishly decorated ball room was filled with witches and wizards either trying to produce marriage arrangements or devise business contracts. Despite being freshly 14 and only going into your fourth year at Hogwarts, you were approached with multiple horrendous proposals. 

Sometime during the night after Rowle Sr. suggested your hand for his 22 year old son, you slipped out of the ballroom in search of some quiet. What you found however, was Draco Malfoy on a patio. As awful as his reputation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. It almost felt sacrilegious being so encaptured by the chisel of his cheekbones and the subtle arch of his brows. But he had the type of beauty that got into your bones and the moonlight only made him more enthralling.

Draco’s gaze settled on you a couple seconds after you had walked in. He recognized you, you were in the same herbology class. He’d never admit it but he always found the way your eyes flicked up from your paper to the person you were talking to, to be so subtly alluring. 

Skipping over a normal greeting, his first word to you was merely, “Hufflepuff.” He had meant for it to be a question, but it came out a bit rougher than he anticipated. At least he hadn’t sneered. 

True to your house’s values, you responded good naturedly, “Yes...and you’re in Slytherin.”

 He nodded, pausing for a second as if contemplating whether to continue the conversation before asking, “Why are you out here?”

“Got tired of talking to old British men.” You answered honestly. “What about you? Why’d you come out here?”

He walked closer to where you were standing. 

“Trying to get away from the witches,” he said as he leaned against the terrace railing. 

You laughed lightly before jokingly asking, “The mothers? Or the girls?” 

“Both,” he fiddled with his cufflinks. “Were the old British men trying to get you to marry their sons?”

“They were. None of them were very convincing though.” 

“I hope my father didn’t try.”

“Would it be so terrible to be married to me?” 

You could see a quick eyebrow raise from him, pleasantly surprised. 

“I’m just concerned that our home decorating styles won’t match.” His voice lacked his usual bite and his face was without his habitual sneer. 

“You know most people don’t choose their life partners based on interior design styles.” 

Your comment elicited an amused huff from the blonde boy. “I wish my mother did, then I wouldn’t have to live in this ghastly manor.”

He was right, filled with antiques and dark artifacts, the manor was downright depressing. “It’s...” you struggled to find a non offensive description. “It has its own charm. You just have to romanticize it a bit.” You were unconvincing.

“This is why the sorting hat put you in Hufflepuff.”

“Better than Slytherin,” you retorted. 

He wanted to laugh, even the idea of you in Slytherin was amusing. “You’d get eaten alive by our first-years.” 

He was right, but that didn’t mean you let up, “Funny. Have you made anyone cry yet today?”

“No, but luckily it’s only 9 o’clock.” 

The two of you talked long into the night. As he listened to your stories, random literary interpretations, and takes on the world he found himself more and more enamored. He was enamored with the little shrug you seemed to always end your rants in. Enamored with your laughs that always came at the right time when he talked. Enamored with the strange feeling in his gut he didn’t quite know how to identify when your hand briefly grazed his thigh. 

Draco found your company to be tantalizingly novel. Sitting on adirondack chairs, sharing nothing but stories with you felt weirdly intimate. It felt like friendship, a word woefully foreign on his tongue. Perhaps it was because he met you in a setting outside of Hogwarts, a place where he didn’t have to puff his chest and wear his Slytherin crown. But for the first time in maybe his entire life, it felt like he made a friend. And it wouldn’t be until later when he realized that Y/N was also the love of his life. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

Draco sat in the same adirondack chair he had the night he met you, looking at the empty chair to his right. A sullen expression was permanently etched on his face as he ran through the same thought over and over and over. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. Lost in a trance, he didn’t notice his mother enter the patio until her shoes were in his line of sight. 

Narcissa’s heart ached to see her son this way. So lost and so resigned. Every ounce of spirit and hope seemed to have vanquished as he processed Y/N’s death. She remembered the struggle of tearing him away from her dead body and bringing him back to the manor. 

As the battle was in its final moments, Narcissa knew that her family needed to leave to avoid Azkaban. But Draco hadn’t wanted to leave her yet, he wasn’t ready to let go. Her and Lucius were forced to physically rip them a part. With Lucius holding him down and Narcissa prying her from his grasp. He pleaded and begged and cried and screamed. The raw pain and desperation in his screams as Y/N finally slipped from his grasp was something Narcissa would never forget. Once the three of them were apparated into the manor’s drawing room, Draco had collapsed in her arms choking on sobs and violent words cursing them. He was inconsolable, Narcissa tried. She held him, comforted him, but she knew it wasn’t her arms he needed. There was only one person who could rid his pain, but no amount of money in their Gringotts vault could bring back the dead. 

Back on the patio, she quietly approached him. 

“Draco?” 

He looked up. Behind the sorrow in his eyes there was the slightest bit of resentment. He still hadn’t found it in himself to fully forgive her. It was even worse with his father. He couldn’t look at Lucius without turning breathless with anger. 

“Draco,” she placed a hand gently on his shoulder, “it’s late. We should get you to bed.”

He merely blinked away, looking back at the empty chair instead. Narcissa noticed that he did that often, looking at the empty spaces next to him. Spaces that she was supposed to be in. He did it at the dining table on the rare occasions he’d join her for meals. He did it in the library, riveted by the black couch they frequented. And he did it while laying in his bed, always slightly off center, as if leaving room for someone. 

It took a bit more coaxing from Narcissa to get Draco to his room. After he was settled in his bed, he closed his eyes succumbing to the nightmares that would undoubtedly come. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  “Dra...Dray. Dray, ho..hold me. Please.”

He knew the end was nearing, white hot panic flooded him. Blood surrounded you, coating the dirty cement floor and his hands. He lifted you gingerly into his arms, scared to hurt you even more. 

“Ok. Ok. Of course, Angel. I’m right here. I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna be ok.” He was rambling now.

His hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. Rocking back and forth, he looked into your eyes and studied your face. 

“Angel, don’t do this to me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You brought your hand up, grabbing onto his wrist. You were too weak to respond at that point, you were too far gone. You both knew. But a small smile ghosted your features as you looked at your love. Your love, your love, your love. You kept looking at him as you felt yourself slip farther and farther away. It was just like sleeping.

Draco’s silver hair fell into his face as looked down at the girl in his arms with an ocean between his lashes. He watched as she gave him that last little smile, with his hand still cupping her cheek. First, her hand’s grip loosened on his wrist. Then, her face went expressionless. And too sudden and far too soon, the light in her eyes were gone. 

Y/N Y/L/N was dead. 

A guttural, visceral sob erupted from the silver haired boy. He cried out, cursing the gods above and cursing fate for taking her from him so soon. His screams were strained with an indescribable and insurmountable amount of pain. He clawed at his chest, hoping he could somehow rip out the searing feeling that riddled his shattered heart.  

He pressed his face in to the crook of her neck, sobbing thickly, muttering desperate pleas of help. But it was pitiful and it was nonsense, for death was unforgiving and death was final. Her arms, which once were used to caress and comfort him, now hung limp at her sides. There was a fiery anguish in his chest that was so colossal he could feel it radiate all through his body. Draco clung onto her dead body with as much strength as he could muster, as if sheer willpower could revive her somehow. The blood from her fatal wound covered Draco’s hands and clothes. It was a gruesomely harrowing scene: a forever broken boy clinging to a dead girl. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, kneeling on his knees while clutching his dead lover. The battle raged on around him as he remained in his penitent posture, praying to every deity, God, and powerful being he could think of to bring her back. When he finally found the strength to lift his head from the crook of her neck, the sight of her clouded eyes and paling skin sent another volley of shards into his chest. With an unsteady hand, he shut her eyes.

Draco gently pulled her into his lap, moving with the same amount of attentiveness as if she was still alive. His hands, still trembling, carefully smoothed her hair. He drank her face in more fervently than ever before, for this would be the last time he saw her. This would be the last time he could hold her. His angel, his beautiful angel was dead and soon he would be forced to let her go. He pressed his lips on hers as he’s done a thousand times before, but when her lips remained unmoving and were cold against his, a new set of sobs wracked his body. 

The grieving boy sat in the midst of a battlefield, uncaring that he was defenseless. Draco sat there, silently hoping that someone would take mercy on him. Silently praying that someone would see him wandless and alone, and slay him. He knew this pain was carved into his heart and engraved in his soul. He knew that he would only be relieved of it when death came for him too. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Dear Y/N,

You’re dead, you won’t ever read this. I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s a plea of help, maybe it’s how I’ll heal. Either way, it makes me feel like I’m talking to you, like I haven’t lost everything. But I’m just deluding myself. 

It hurts to live without you. Time keeps ticking forward, the world moving with it, but all I can think about is when I was last with you. Every night I slip into dreams of you. Sometimes, rarely, they’re good ones. But I wake up and you’re not there. Most nights, I’m watching you bleed and die in my arms. That dream never fails in hurting me. But what really breaks me, is after I drag myself awake, I realize I’m already living my worst fear. You’re already dead. It’s not a nightmare, it’s a memory. 

Everything died with you, Y/N. I thought that once the war was over, my life could truly start. I’d finally be free from that world. I didn’t realize that the end of the war meant the end of us too. Every single plan we made for the future is gone. All my someday’s and one day’s died with you. I no longer have anyone to marry, to have children with, to grow old with. I feel robbed. I was supposed to have a whole life with you, not just a few measly school years. Even a lifetime wouldn’t have been enough for me. I want every lifetime with you, on this earth or the next. 

I’m still holding you tight in my mind, it’s strange you’re not here with me. My heaven was here on earth with you. But ever since you’ve gone, the days have been getting darker and darker. I love you, I miss you. 

Yours Forever,

Draco

[notchesandbullets]

Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

Part 6: Shopping for clothes, food court and boba experience served with Ashido’s endless shipping and topped off with an incredibly protective Dadzawa.

Word Count: 5.8k

After another hour of shopping around the huge mall, Aizawa decided now would probably be a good time to try and round his students up. Since if there were any problems tracking down those problematic and ridiculously talented children, he could deal with it before it got too late and past their curfew.

Besides, you still needed clothes and he was not equipped to handle that. As Kayama said, he had the fashion sense of an emo teenager going through his rebellious phase. The thing was, she had been saying that since she met him, so it lost its effect a long time ago.

"Heeyy, Ojiro-kun!! Y/N-chan!!!"

The both of you turned around to see Uraraka waving enthusiastically at you. Yaoyorozu and Ashido were with her, along with Shoji, Asui and Hagakure coming from the opposite direction.

Ojiro had spared his teacher from having to call all of them and simply sent a message in the group chat.

You didn't even want to know how often they used it based off of the glance you got when he pulled out his phone and let you see. In the span of the six-inch screen, you had caught a glimpse of topics ranging from food to homework to bodily functions and your head was spinning.

Aizawa sighed boredly and you threw him a sly side glance as Jirou, Kaminari and Ojiro ran out to meet the rest of the group once the boy by your side ensured you would stay with the only one responsible here.

"You're not really tired, are you, Aizawa-sensei?" You asked cheekily, skipping over to him.

He huffed out a laugh as he leaned against the wall. "You're cute, kid. Cut it out."

"I can't help it~" You whined, pouting childishly.

You protested as he ruffled your hair. Unlike when Ojiro did it, he was rougher and always messed it up. Nearly patting it down so it laid flat, you glared and the nerve he had to laugh outright at you had your mock frown wavering into a bright smile.

The sound made your eyes sparkle happily and he caught on quick.

"You did that on purpose, kid." He stated with a sigh, already feeling himself succumbing to your adorable nature.

No one should be that cute. It wasn't good for his heart.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you scuffed your feet on the ground, a cheeky smile still plastered on your face.

Aizawa ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. You were cute, even with how reluctant he was to admit to sometimes. Damn, he was getting a soft spot for you.

But the instant Ashido cooed, he returned to his stiff, normal, rugged teacher self.

"Alright, get going." He said dryly, gently redirecting you towards Ojiro who was holding out his hand to you before following. "We don't have all day."

"Technically, we do." Kaminari whispered in your ear and you giggled, covering it up with Aizawa fixated a glare on the two of you.

You held up your hand in surrender. "We are innocent."

"Yeah, yeah, likely story." Aizawa didn't believe you for a second. "Just go."

You skipped on ahead, Ojiro glued to your side. The girls flocked around you, Yaoyorozu leading the group to a different clothing store that she and her companions had been at earlier. This seemed much more suited to you, not to mention, a lot more affordable.

You were picking out a couple of things that seemed nice but you were really taking a gamble. You never had been clothes shopping before and weren't really sure what to expect. People mostly dressed you in whatever they wanted you to be presented in.

Luckily, Yaoyorozu swooped in to help.

Ojiro was surprisingly pretty knowledgeable about fashion too and when asked, he had blushed before proudly gushing about his little sister who he usually took on all her shopping trips when their parents were busy working. She had quite an acute fashion sense.

A huge pile of clothes later, you were shoved into a fitting room, with Shoji, Kaminari, Ojiro and Aizawa all waiting outside like some kind of odd band.

Either that, or a very disgruntled dad who was forced to tag along with all his unusual children.

The girls were gushing over each item that you put on, rushing out to get different sizes if the ones they picked didn't fit, making you show the boys and guardian everything that you liked.

You tended to gravitate more towards comfy clothes but there were a few Yaoyorozu and Hagakure found that were both beautiful and versatile. Those were an immediate yes from Aizawa and Ojiro, wanting you to have as much variety as possible.

Everything the girls had picked out that you show them complimented your figure beautifully but was still modest.

While you weren't looking, Shoji had selected some shoes for you, noticing that the ones you had one were practically falling apart on your feet. They were sturdy but had a geometric pattern that you found you rather liked a lot.

Thanking him, you beamed and he hid a smile.

Aizawa paid for all of it without batting an eye and you felt guilty for making him spend his money.

"You're not making me do anything, kid." He called out, as if he could read your thoughts. "I'm doing this because I want to provide for you, not because I feel forced to, got it?"

Besides, he had more than enough thanks to his hero work and teaching at the school. He rarely splurged on anything, the last thing being his old yellow sleeping bag which he had gotten years ago.

This wasn't even going to make a dent in the funds he had saved up.

You sniffled, nodding once. His bluntness took you by surprise but you concealed it well. You had no idea he could be so caring. You were overwhelmed by his generosity and the kindness of the people that surrounded you.

How did I get so lucky? What did I do to deserve this?

Aizawa's hands grasped empty air where the bags had been a minute ago, glancing at his students who were now in possession of your newly purchased things but shrugged, leaving them to it. Less work for him.

He watched them stumble one after another, all of them eagerly making their way to the food court. He checked the time on his phone, suppressing a yawn. It was about time to eat anyway.

Finally. He could sit down and take a nap.

You yelped as Ashido suddenly grasped your arm, pulling you along and you stumbled a few feet before righting yourself. Your hand slipped out of Ojiro's and you shouted in surprise as she took off like a racecar.

"Wha... Where are we going?!" You exclaimed as she sped ahead, dragging you along with her and leaving everyone else in the dust.

She excitedly pointed up ahead and you followed her finger.

"What's 'bubble tea'?" You asked innocently, never hearing of it before.

Your friend gasped in shock that you had never had the pleasure of experiencing the best thing in the world but then the wicked smile that crossed her face as she got behind the line was borderline evil.

"Oh, you're going to love this!!" Ashido said, her eyes gleaming.

When it was your turn, Ojiro finally caught up to the two of you. He was out of breath but all the tension in his body dissipated as he spotted you, safe and sound next to the pink girl. Unknown to you, he had zipped after you the second your hand slipped out of his but he had gotten swarmed by the crowd and lost sight of you.

Thankfully, Ashido hadn't taken you too far.

You squeaked, drawing your hands into your chest as you were crushed to his chest. "O-Ojiro-kun?"

"Geez, Y/N." He breathed, exasperated. "Don't scare me like that."

His scolding was light since he obviously knew it wasn't your fault but he was still concerned. You mumbled an apology and he hastily corrected his mistake, reassuring you that you didn't do anything wrong and you sank into his embrace, relieved.

Seeing as how it was your turn to order, he reluctantly let you go. You wandered up to the counter to shyly ask the barista what was good for someone who hadn't tried boba before and the girl launched into an advertisement of all her favorites.

Ojiro was busy sending a quick message to Aizawa to let him know that he had found you when Ashido slinked into his field of vision.

She bumped his hip with hers, pumping a fist into the air. "Oh, lighten up Ojiro, she's safe with me!! I won't let anybody take her!!"

She knew of the people after you but she had no idea about the incident that had occurred inside one of the stores just hours ago. As Ojiro clued her in, her eyes went wide and filled with guilt.

"Holy... I'm so sorry, I had no idea." She said, shoulders dropping as her usual energy dulled down. "Is she okay?"

Ojiro nodded, not once taking his eyes off of you. "Yeah, she was a bit shaky at first, but who wouldn't be? I think she's okay so long as we don't leave her."

Ashido nodded understandingly.

Seeing as how you were having trouble deciding what to get after a multitude of options from the enthusiastic barista, you turned back to Ojiro helplessly.

He slid up behind you, hands on your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Can we please have one regular milk tea with tapioca, a chai milk tea, and a taro milk tea with no ice, half sugar and tapioca, please?" He requested of the nice girl behind the counter, squeezing your side to let you know that everything was alright and you relaxed in his embrace.

Talking to strangers freaked you out even though she seemed nice enough. You just didn't like looking like an idiot who didn't know what they were doing, lacking the social skills everyone else seemed to have no problems with.

Ashido beamed, hopping over from looking at the menu to where the two of you were standing.

"No way, you remembered my order?!" She shrieked in disbelief and awe as she heard the complicated order. "Ojiro, you're amazing!!"

You had to agree with that statement. She proceeded to tell you of the time when she ordered it back when they were at Yaoyorozu's house to study for the upcoming exam, saying that there's no other way he could've heard it if it wasn't from back then.

You latched onto her story as if it was the most incredible thing in the world.

As Ojiro paid for the drinks, you helped carry them back to the table where Aizawa was sitting, Ashiso slurping on her drink already with a dazed look of joy on her face.

The underground hero looked out of place with children, families and teenagers milling around him.

He was sitting at a table by himself with several huge bags from various stores, most of which were very girly in design, signifying everyone's purchases. Seemed like everyone had left their stuff with him. You felt kind of bad but he looked like he didn't care so you suppressed it.

You set down the cups, glancing around the packed food court.

"Where's everybody else?" You asked.

Aizawa gestured to the ramen stands on the opposite side of the food court. "It's close to dinnertime, so they went to go get some food."

On cue, Ashido's stomach rumbled loudly.

"Oops." She grinned, tossing the now empty cup in a nearby trash can. "That's my cue!!"

Your eyes were as wide as saucers. "You finished it already?! It's been two minutes!!"

Flashing you a megawatt smile, she flounced off in another direction, presumably to get some food.

Uncertainly, you sank down in a chair across from Aizawa. Now that you thought about it, you were kind of hungry, but this was normal. All you had to do was not think about it and then the urges would go away.

Eventually.

You really didn't want to ask them to buy you anything, they didn't owe you anything and they've already done so much for you. One day without food wouldn't kill you.

Aizawa could read you better than that.

"Ojiro."

The boy looked up as his teacher called his name.

"She's hungry. Go get some gyūdon for her." Aizawa instructed without batting an eye at your flabbergasted expression.

It would be easy enough on your stomach, since he was sure you lacked the proper nutrients you needed for a girl your age. This would suffice for now until he could come up with a meal plan for you to get adjusted to your new normal. He was not going to have you starve from now on.

Nodding once, Ojiro sped towards where they were selling it but not before his teacher halted him to hand him ¥10,000. His eyes widened as he took in the hefty amount.

He looked mildly uncomfortable. "Aizawa-sensei—"

"Get something for yourself too, I don't care what you choose." Aizawa interrupted swiftly, his hard stare leaving no room for argument. "Make sure it's an appropriate enough meal for dinner though."

As Ojiro left to go hunt down some gyūdon, you swung your legs happily, beaming at the gruff man sitting across from you. His rough exterior and indifferent demeanor hid it well, but you still saw it. That softness in his gaze when he thought no one else was looking. He loved his students.

"Stop that." He said flatly as he caught you staring but you just giggled.

"I can't help it." You countered, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, your ears swiveling easily. "It's cute."

Aizawa snorted at that. "Enough, Y/N."

You conceded but the laughter in your eyes didn't fade and he shook his head, already done with your antics.

You knew exactly how much you were annoying him, which is why you were surprised when he suddenly asked you,

"How are you doing with all of this?"

He scrutinized you closely and your mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words. The possibility of you having done something wrong crossed your mind and your anxiety spiked.

Glancing down, you squeaked. "What do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed at you and you gulped.

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his hair. He should've phrased it better. He knew by now you were insecure of your place, still figuring things out for yourself. His class had been a culture shock to you.

"How are you adjusting?" He corrected himself quietly, studying your facial expressions.

You contemplated his question before giving your answer.

"I think I'm doing okay," You said slowly, scratching your fluffy ears in thought. "It's been kind of weird having a place to call home and people who actually don't see me as a pet but it's nice."

Aizawa's jaw ticked and he clenched his hand into a fist at your honesty, overcome with the sudden urge to hunt down the Quirk Traffickers right then and there. He was taken aback by such a strong feeling.

The last time he felt something like this was when the League of Villains threatened his students at USJ.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. He was a pro, he knew how to handle himself better than this.

However, all logic and reasoning fled the instant he saw it.

Aizawa moved faster than you could blink, catching the wrist inching towards your ears in an iron grip and stopped them from making contact.

"Don't touch her." He seethed, warning coming through clear as his eyes flashed red, the pressure on the boy's wrist making it clear that he would snap it if he so much as looked at you again.

As a pro-hero, he wasn't allowed to threaten them with bodily harm, but he couldn't help the anger that bubbled up when the gang of boys tried to lay their filthy hands on you.

"Are you okay?" He asked again but for a different reason than before as security intervened and took over.

You nodded, slightly dazed at how fast it happened.

You hadn't even sensed them behind you, caught up in your conversation with him that you had lost awareness of your surroundings. You felt a bit ashamed of your own helplessness but grateful that he had protected you. Your ears were sensitive and touching them was an intimate gesture reserved only privileged for certain people.

"Do you want to leave?" He asked caringly, eyes concerned, not taking any measures to hide his worry.

You shook your head. You weren't that shaken up. He took care of it before anything even happened. You almost were completely unaffected.

"I'm okay..." You mumbled, fiddling with your hands in your lap as your fingers shook. "Thank you, Aizawa-sensei."

He nodded to you before sinking back down in his chair. You picked up where he left off, asking about his well being. He seemed surprised to hear you ask about him but he answered that he was fine.

You seemed disappointed in his reply but before he could follow it up with a very brief elaboration, you cut him off.

"Do you think anyone will want me?" You asked, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as the more recent development started to catch up to you.

You were sure that if you didn't have these ears and tail that people wouldn't just try to touch you out of nowhere. You were sure that if you had a different quirk, maybe your parents wouldn't have given you up.

"What did I do wrong?" You whispered brokenly.

Aizawa's heart shattered as he heard that. "You didn't do anything wrong, kid."

You sniffled, ears drooping sadly. "But... But if I—"

"It's not your fault that they left, they were shitty parents for leaving you." He interrupted brazenly with a fire that took you aback as he swore in front of you. "You deserve someone better than people who leave at the drop of a hat."

He seemed like he was speaking from experience but you didn't pry further, certain he was already uncomfortable with all your anxiety and insecurities.

"You didn't have to do all of this, you know." The defeat in your small voice made him bristle.

Who the fuck treated you so bad that you didn't expect decent respect and kindness?

"You signed the paper but you don't actually have to do any of the stuff it says." You continued quietly, not noticing how the man across from you was shaking with anger. "I can find another place to stay, you won't have to pay for anything, I can manage on my own. I don't want to be a burden to someone as nice as you."

If he was angry before, he was livid now.

You jumped as he suddenly stood up, chair falling over from the force, drawing the attention of a couple of bystanders.

He strode over to you, crouching down in front of you. The bags piled high on the table obstructed the view for most of the people around you and they begrudgingly went about their business when he glared at them.

You, however, couldn't look away.

"You better listen, kid, because I'm only going to say this once." Aizawa ground out, jaw ticking. "I didn't sign that agreement out of pity. I signed it because I want you to be able to live a life not hindered by fear. I don't want you to have to live looking over your shoulder everyday because you're scared you're being followed, that's why I signed it."

You were at a loss of words by how passionate he was. The emotion cracked his steady tone and betrayed his true state. He was frazzled by your half-conscious words you spewed out, taking them to heart and relating to you on another level entirely.

"Were... were you..." You trailed off.

You couldn't bear to say it.

But he shook his head. "Not Quirk Traffickers. But I was raised by people who weren't exactly kind or the forgiving type."

He didn't divulge anything else and you didn't point it out, knowing he said that to you more for your own benefit rather than your own. Similar to you, he didn't seem like he wanted pity. He said it so that you saw that he understood.

"You're not living out on the streets. I'm not doing any of this because I feel like I have to, I told you, I want to do it." He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Look, kid, you might not see it yet, but I actually don't mind taking care of you, okay? If you find someone else you want to live with, that's fine."

You were about to object that you couldn't envision someone caring for you like he had but you couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"I will talk to them first, though, before you go with them." Aizawa continued authoritatively, slipping into da— teacher mode. "If they're unsuited to care for you or if they're criminals then you can't go with them until they prove to me that they can take proper care of you and keep you safe. If you— Why are you laughing?"

You had doubled over in a fit of giggles, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes as you laughed uncontrollably.

He lifted an eyebrow, unamused. "Kid, what are you doing?"

You bit your lip but your eyes creased, giving your smile away. "I-I can't breathe!!"

It took a couple seconds and several deep breaths but you finally got ahold of yourself and cleared up his confusion.

"It's just... you sound a lot like a dad, or at least, I think that's what a dad sounds like." You tapped a finger to your chin thoughtfully, mulling it over.

You completely missed the way he froze when he heard you say 'dad'.

Swinging your legs, you ducked your head. "I... I know I didn't say this before, and you could definitely say no if you want to!! But, I-I d-don't really want to have anyone else be my guardian."

Aizawa was able to breathe a little bit better after hearing you say that and his eyes softened.

You squeaked as his hand plopped on your head, ruffling your hair and being careful not to knock into your ears.

With great difficulty, he held back a smile. "Alright, kid, we can do that."

Your ears perked up and he gave you a lopsided smile, but the fondness in his gaze was unmistakable. Goodness, he would put away all the villains in the world just to see you this happy.

"Really?!" You practically shouted and he chuckled, not even caring about the dirty looks the two of you were getting as a result of your loud volume.

He shrugged to hide the skip his heart did when you looked up at him so lovingly. "Sure, I'll talk to Principal Nezu later and see if we can work out a more permanent arrangement."

"Adoption?" You asked curiously.

The innocent question sent his heart rate spiking and he nearly choked on air. You had no idea just how bad he wanted to adopt you.

"Don't you want me to foster you first, kid?" He joked but it came out strained.

That was a pretty big decision to make and usually the adult was the one to decide to take on a kid. For you to bring it up so casually caught him off-guard.

You frowned, pouting slightly. Maybe you moved too fast. Obviously, he wanted to see if he could even handle a mutt like you before he even though about adopting you and—

"Stop that."

His sharp command whistled through the noise in your head and you blinked, focusing on his face and wincing at the intensity of his narrowed eyes.

"Whatever you're thinking, I didn't suggest fostering because I don't want to adopt you. I just want you to be sure you want to have me as your... parent." Aizawa finished, unsure if he had earned the right to call himself your dad yet.

He shuffled over to the other end of the table and righted his displaced chair. "You'll turn 18 soon enough and by then you could live on your own if you want."

Ah, there it was.

Your expression cleared. He was worried you wanted him to adopt him only to find out you guys couldn't get along for whatever reason and then up and leave. Whether it was you or him doing the leaving, it would impact you both and he didn't want you to make a mistake you would regret.

Adoption was a serious decision and it wasn't like either one of you could get out of it if it didn't work out.

You weren't completely oblivious. You knew there was a chance of this failing, but you were willing to take this chance and he was willing to accept you into his life more permanently.

To know that he was thinking of you first only sealed the deal.

You swallowed hard. You only had courage to say this once.

"I don't remember my parents or what they were like. I only know what it's like to have friends because Ojiro-kun showed me how. I don't know what to expect when it comes to having a dad to depend on or anything like that." You took a deep breath, growing quieter. "But... I do want someone like that one day."

Even if it didn't come right away. You could wait. You waited an eternity, what was a little longer?

Aizawa nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "Well then, I'll talk it over to Nezu and make sure my adopting you won't affect you getting into UA."

Your jaw dropped to the floor. "What?!"

"Uh huh," He clicked his tongue absentmindedly as he scrolled through his texts on his phone, completely disregarding your shock. "He said you could enroll in the general studies but off the record, you'll be taking hero courses."

They didn't want to attract the traffickers' attention. They would keep you under the radar as much as possible while you attended.

Pocketing the handheld device, leaned back in his seat. "You're a good kid, Y/N."

You beamed at him and he cracked a smile. No matter what you went through, you always seemed to bounce right back. No matter how bleak the darkness was, your light burned even brighter.

One day, you were going to be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see it.

"You'll still have to take the entrance exam." He stated and you nodded eagerly.

"I'll do my best!!" You cheered.

He chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. He had no doubt about it.

By the time Ojiro got back to your table, he was surprised to find you and his teacher conversing as if it was the easiest thing in the universe. He was certain Aizawa didn't have it in him to openly express emotions other than exhaustion.

Well, that and boredom.

Ojiro tilted his head at the two of you in confusion, holding a tray that contained three bowls of steaming hot food. "Did I miss something?"

You bit your lip to suppress a smile and Aizawa raised an eyebrow but neither one of you answered him.

Setting down the tray, he served the food. His gaze fell on your tail, which was happily swishing behind you and he decided that it didn't matter if you didn't want to tell him, he was just glad to see you enjoying yourself.

Your mouth watered when the food was set down in front of you but Aizawa was surprised to find three helpings of gyūdon rather than just two.

Reaching into his pocket, Ojiro pulled out the remaining yen he had stuffed there earlier to his teacher and your eyes went wide.

Similarly, Aizawa's eyes narrowed in suspicion at the amount left. There was no way there should be this much left after buying this much food.

"Ojiro..." He warned with a sharp look, daring him to confirm his suspicions.

The boy had an apologetic look on his face but stood fast. "I used your money to pay for Y/N's but I used mine to buy ours."

Before his teacher could say a word, Ojiro rushed out. "You haven't eaten anything yet so you must be hungry too!! I'm sorry Aizawa-sensei, I just thought—"

Aizawa held up a hand to stop his rambling. He was nearly as bad as Midoriya.

"It's fine. Thank you." The man said curtly, reaching over the table to split a pair of chopsticks for you. "But you're not allowed to do it again."

"But sensei—!!" Ojiro protested.

Aizawa gave him a look that shut him up quickly.

You had been trying to ignore their disagreement. Tension never did sit too well with you and even though you knew that Aizawa wasn't really mad at Ojiro, you couldn't help but flinch at their raised voices.

So when they finally took notice of your unease and quieted down, you could focus all of your attention on satisfying your rumbling tummy.

You stared at the big bowl before you. Rice and beef soaked in aromatic broth had you salivating. Garnished with steamed edamame and a sprig of parsley, the beef bowl almost looked too good to eat.

But it smelled so good.

You were about to take a huge bite when Aizawa firmly instructed you to blow on it first. Pouting, you did as you were told and by the time you did eat it, you didn't burn yourself.

You laughed at him sheepishly as he sent you a knowing glare afterwards, knowing full well that you would have burned your tongue in your eagerness if he didn't stop you.

Kicking your feet happily, you took a sip of bubble tea for the very first time, beaming brightly at the two of them as the sugary drink flooded your taste buds.

You almost poked a hole in the straw with your canines by accident when you bit down in your haste to chew the tapioca pearls.

Ojiro looked on excitedly as you experienced boba for the first time, matching your energy and Aizawa's gaze was soft, fatherly. But he was not going to admit that to either of you.

You wiggled in your seat, vibrating with energy after that meal and the drink that you counted as an unofficial dessert.

Aizawa even ate, begrudgingly, but it still counted since you refused to give up on him.

You were slightly concerned when he still didn't touch his food even after you and Ojiro were almost done with yours. The way he picked at his food disinterestedly was a bit alarming. It was as if he hadn't been doing a good job of taking care of himself.

You frowned as you watched him longer, only for nothing to change.

Aizawa had been startled when you grasped onto his arm, pleading with your eyes for him to eat what Ojiro had so thoughtfully bought for him, saying that you were worried about him. He had tried to shove you off, change the subject or even get Ojiro to pry you off of him, but you persisted.

Finally, Aiawa sighed, giving into your puppy eyes and ate his portion.

You cheered, high-fiving Ojiro, the victory in your eyes not dimming even as he fixated a glare on the two of you.

It lost its potency as you flat out ignored him, giving all of your attention to the blushing tail boy beside you.

Everyone else that came with you to the mall had finished eating faster than the three of you did since they had gotten theirs earlier, so they went looking for you. Imagine their surprise when they saw their teacher laughing for the first time after you cracked a joke.

The girls had gathered around you and you had to admit, while you never had gyūdon before, it was now your favorite food.

You had waited to try the bubble tea until Ojiro got back, unsure which one was yours at the time since they were vastly different in color and you didn't want to accidentally drink the wrong one.

Aizawa was no help since he didn't drink that stuff so you were forced to wait until your friend returned.

Of course, this led to you trying to guess which one Ojiro had intended for you while he was still gone, your guardian looking on in amusement as you went back and forth between the two options. You weren't even trying to make him smile and yet, he couldn't help it.

Aizawa shook his head at you when you had practically pounced on the cup as his student pointed out which one he had ordered for you, his amusement only increasing when you drank it so fast that it almost came out of your nose when something he said made you laugh.

You cried at the uncomfortable sensation, willing it to go away as everyone chuckled at the expression you were making.

Ashido gave you a hug to make it go by faster. But once you could breathe again, a sly smirk crept up her face as Ojiro offered you a sip of his.

You were curious so naturally, you accepted. Only after you took a sip did Ashido crack.

"That counts!!!" She shrieked excitedly, Uraraka and Hagakure squealing alongside her and you were left in the dark.

"Huh?" You squeaked, blinking down at the drink in your hand, wondering if you had done something wrong.

You glanced at Ojiro but he looked just as puzzled as you.

He shrugged at you helplessly, turning to the pink girl practically vibrating in the chair she had stolen. "Mind clueing us in?"

The smile on Ashido's face could only be classified as devious. "YOU KISSED!!!"

It was indirect but it still counted!!! And she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Ojiro nearly choked on his saliva and you violently coughed, the boba going down the wrong way as she declared it so loud every single one of the surrounding tables heard her.

Aizawa almost fell out of his seat.

Needless to say, for the rest of the time you were there, Ashido wouldn't let it go and relentlessly teased the two of you until you were both cherry red from embarrassment, refusing to look at each other.

But as you filed out of the Kiyashi shopping mall back to the car, his tail crept around your waist to guide you in the dark and you couldn't see it, but his bashful smile matched yours all the way there.

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel​

[truth-and-lies-drv3-imagines]

Hey! Can I request Rantaro, Kokichi, and Shuichi with a female S/o that is wearing their clothes and pretending to be them but then the boys walk in on her? I hope this makes sense. Thank you!

Gotcha, that makes perfect sense! they are very drippy, good choice lol

-mod Hajime

Rantaro-

Rantaro was incredibly smart, yes. But a complete scatterbrain at the same time. He always lost things due to the fact that he would leave them lying around. You being his kind beloved, you always brought back the misplaced item if you found it.  

You had spent half the day with him at the pool the day before and Kirumi had let you know she found his shirt and a couple of his rings there after her routine sweeps. 

You thought about bringing it straight back to him but something inclined you to slip on his shirt and rings right where you stood. Kirumi gave you a confused look and you naturally struck one of Rantaro’s poses where he held his arms out menacingly. 

Getting the typically stoic Kirumi to let out a sniffle of a laugh made you feel pretty good about yourself so you kept going. Kirumi politely excused herself all of a sudden and you wondered what you did wrong, opening your mouth to ask but only a gasp escaped you as you felt arms wrap around your waist. 

“I see you found my shirt.” Ah, there it was, that deep, sultry voice you lived for. “We need to work on your survival skills, someone could’ve easily snuck up on you like I did just now with intent to kill.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to see Rantaro smiling back at you,“and you need to stop losing things.”

He chuckled at the retort, “I think next time I’ll lose my whole outfit just to see you in it.”

Kokichi-

The night before, you’d gotten into a heated argument, ending with both of you yelling “maybe you should walk a day in my shoes, huh?!” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that because now you were staring at your closet in awe with all your outfits gone and a row of Kokichi’s outfits hung up in their place.

And it was just your luck that you’d already taken a shower and thrown your clothes in the hamper. Annoyed and still slightly irked with yesterday’s bickering with the boy, you put on the clothes, turning side to side to admire the fit for a second.

“Little bastard,” you scoffed, pressing a finger to your mouth mockingly and forcing a taunting smile and adding a higher pitch to your usual tone, “I’m the Ultimate Supreme leader, come join me, blah blah blah blah, blah-”

Too preoccupied with mocking him, you failed to notice Kokichi walk through the door (as he did regularly without permission because as your certified boyfriend, he reserved the right to break into your room whenever he wanted) and hear your entire imitation monologue. 

He caught your attention when he gagged loudly, “do you really think I sound like that?”

You turned around to make a snarky remark but he caught you off guard with him wearing your clothes, and confidently at that. “I know, I know. I can pull just about anything off. You on the other hand...” he eyed you up and down and you couldn't help the flustered and irritated blush that rose on your cheeks.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Kokichi frowned, walking closer to you “I was just kidding! Here, let me retie that scarf, you did it all wrong.”

Still feeling rather hot seeing him in your clothes, you let him slowly unwrap his checkered scarf and tie it back, his fingers grazing the back of your neck a few times and in that momentarily silence, you forgot about your stupid little squabble. 

He patted your head when he was done, dusting off his hands as if he’d done something laborious, “now it’s time to show everyone how absolutely adorable we look.”

You were planning on avoiding people until he gave your clothes back so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the teasing and that did end up happening but hey, at least Tsumugi liked it. 

Shuichi-

When you two weren’t sleeping or using the restroom, you were together. So it made sense that you were in Saihara’s room during nighttime just before his nightly training session with Kaito and Maki (to which you refused to go to because there was now way you were going to do 300 pushups). 

With Saihara gone and you bored out of your mind, you explored his room until a funky idea hit you. In the excitement of it all, you didn’t bother to lock the door, it’s not like anything dangerous ever happened at the Academy for Gifted Juveniles right? 

Maybe it was because he carried himself like a dork but when you saw it on yourself, you finally appreciated how fashionable his outfit actually was. You grabbed his old hat just to add the cherry on top and smiled to yourself contently before changing your demeanor to imitate Saihara’s.

You looked silly, walking around the room and making animated (and accurate, dare I say) impressions of Saihara in different situations. 

You froze immediately upon hearing the click of the door. For some reason, the first thought you had was I’m gonna get murdered in Saihara’s clothes!

But lo and behold, it was just Saihara, and somehow that made it worse?

He was so awkward about it, he stood there for a full two minutes just staring at you wide eyed, breathing heavily from the intense workout. “U-uh...”

You were about to explain yourself when he quickly sped to his bathroom, mumbling under his breath something along the lines of, “you can keep it.”

[straykats]

to love // fallen angel au.

pairing: bang chan x reader

wordcount: 2.7k

warnings: alcohol ?? i think that’s all

a/n: requested! if at any point you wonder “wtf does kat mean by this?” then dw i wondered too. I know what i want to get across but as always, execution is not my forte

“How lucky you are, to be able to love freely.”

You’re aware that someone stood by you - a respectable, conversational distance from you, but you didn’t know this person. He could have had a very husky and enticing voice, you thought, had he not sounded so mocking. You continue to stare venomously at who you had considered a close friend, dancing in the arms of your ex.

Using the half empty glass in your hand, you gesture at the two of them. “If that’s what it means to love freely, then I want no part in it.”

The man scoffs and leans his elbow onto the table at which you stood. “We all want  part in it, and even more so when we can not have it.”

What a strange man, you think. You go to take another gulp of the alcohol - which was really not doing its job - and frown when the glass is plucked from your hands. The man examines the contents, letting out an amused chuckle. 

“Really, you think this will drown out your love?”

“What ‘love’? I think I made it clear I want no part in this whole ‘love’ business.” 

You glare at the man and attempt to take your glass back, but he moves it out of the way, as if to examine it under different lighting.

He was a very fine man, you had to admit, dressed in peculiar clothes for a nightclub. He wore a dark suit jacket over a white shirt. He dressed somewhat professionally for someone his age at a club.

He had very pale skin, contrasting with his brown hair in a way that had you thinking about dark corners of quiet libraries. Even under the bad lighting of the nightclub, you could see that he had very plump, very pink lips, and his eyes were bright, almost as if they glowed… You had to force yourself to look away. 

“I think it is quite clear that you have had part in this ‘love’ business. Not only is it evident in the way your eyes follow your friends’ every move, you reek of heartbreak. And you swivel this beverage like you’re to drown out all your sanity in due time.” 

“Well, damn.” The man’s eyes flicker momentarily with amusement, but you don’t notice. “Unfortunate that you won’t let me do it. And for the record, they’re not my friends. Not anymore.”

“May I ask your name?” You don’t reply, eyes still trained on your ex. “I’m Chan. I would like to get to know you better, if you’d let me.”

You give him half a laugh at that. “You’d like to “get to know me?” I’d thought that someone as good looking as you would have been smoother or more subtle.”

“I do find that being upfront is the most efficient method of doing most things.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes - out of amusement, for you didn’t think this man could bore you so easily - you turn and offer your hand. “I’m y/n.”

He takes it, but instead of shaking it, he brings your knuckles up and brushes his lips against your knuckles. “A pleasure, y/n.” Letting your hand go, he looks you in the eye - and again, you’re drawn in by them, the strange glow they seemed to have. “Would I be overstepping my boundaries to ask if you would like to… get out of here? And maybe you can tell me about the two who were once your friends.”

It was easy to take Chan up on his offer. The nightclub was only fun when you were there with someone. You had come with the intention of distracting yourself, but instead had come face-to-face with the very cause of the need for distraction. 

Chan had a way with his words, and old fashioned as it may have seemed, he was able to weasel out the full story.

“So he didn’t cheat on me, he just… left me. For my friend.”

“Well, dear, it would seem that love has not been fair for either of us.”

You look at Chan, urging him to go on - his words had sounded dark and bitter - but he continues to walk down the street. A disappointed pout appears on your lips as you catch up to him. What was the fun in you telling him about yourself but him not telling you anything about him?

“So, what do you do for a living? Wait, let me guess!” You catch him eyeing you with laughter in his eyes. “You’re the son of a rich CEO, currently in training to take over the company in a few months?”

Chan entertains the idea for a second, before shaking his head. “No, unfortunately I’m in no such position.”

“You’re a barista at a corner cafe? And there’s hanging plants outside the cafe window.”

“Very specific, but no to that too.”

“Well, then you have to be an idol or something- No way, don’t tell me you’re a trainee-”

He spins to face you, and offers you a polite, charming smile. “The night is not so young, y/n. Should you really be wandering around with a man you just met?”

“Well, that was the initial plan before you stole my drink,” you murmur glumly. “Besides, if you were gonna take advantage of me, wouldn’t you have let me keep drinking? No use depriving a heartbroken, innocent and vulnerable maiden like myself of alcohol, dear sir.” You drape a hand over your forehead, twirling yourself around a nearby lamp post. You open your eyes to see Chan suppressing a smile. “Oh, but kind sir, if you insist, I shall make myself scarce! ...Why do you talk like that, anyways?”

“Like what?”

“Like an overpolite butler.”

“An overpolite-” Chan seems like he’s about to protest, but he quickly composes his features with a shake of his head. “You should be getting home, y/n.” 

“Oh, so the butler does insist that the maiden go home.”

With a lop-sided smile, Chan offers his arm and you feel the pull again, the strange attraction he draws from you. “He also insists on walking the young maiden home, if she will allow him to do so.”

You do.

Chan doesn’t talk much as he walks with your arm in his. He lets you lead the conversation, occasionally letting out a hum or a comment to let you know that he was still listening. 

Walking with him felt like walking between old buildings with cobblestone paths winding between them. You enjoyed his company immensely, but there was something… old about him. And not just the way he talked. 

Under the steady light of the moon, you saw that your earlier observation had been right - his eyes did glow softly around the irises, as if behind them was a light source, silhouetting his dark eyes. They seemed to have an unexplainable depth to them, the type of depth and knowledge that you associated with growing age. Chan had that, despite how young he looked. He held a certain sense of immortality in his eyes, looking as if he had seen the darkest sides of humankind. 

Your walk with Chan soon comes to an end as you stand before your apartment complex. It rises up behind you as you turn to face Chan, a sad smile on your face.

“I don’t suppose I could invite you inside? For… Coffee, or something?” 

It was a pitiful attempt to spend more time with him, and he must have noticed it. Afterall, who would invite someone for coffee at midnight?

“I’m afraid not, y/n, dear.” Chan looks hesitant as to what to do next. “Although I do suppose I could come by tomorrow, if you are free?”

You’re aware that your mouth had opened in shock. So it was a mutual feeling, wanting to spend more time together. “I am, yes, that would be- That would be really nice!”

“Then I shall see you tomorrow, y/n.” You’re left speechless as he once again lifts your knuckles to his lips, bowing his head and letting the kiss linger for a second longer. “It has been a pleasure.”

He straightens, gives you a polite smile, and turns to go.

Watching him walk away, you’re left feeling warm and excited inside. Tomorrow was so close yet so far.

Your stomach flips as Chan freezes and then turns, making his way back to you. You’re worried that he’s had a change of mind.

“Can I.. Would it be improper to-” He cuts off with a frown, then slowly opens his mouth. “Would it be alright if i kissed you, now?”

It catches you off guard, but you can’t help and think that… oh, this was the plan for the night anyways, was it not? A means to distract yourself?

So you nod, and you’re aware of a feather-light sigh before Chan bundles you into his arms and you confirm the softness of his lips. It’s nothing more than him pressing his lips against yours, but it sends a spark through your body, like someone had lit the wick of a candle and your body was being engulfed in warm flames. 

When he pulls back, you find yourself moving forward and looking for more. It takes you a moment to realise he hadn’t moved back in, despite your attempts. 

You open your eyes and almost lose your breath - he was gazing at you, the moon behind him, full and bright. He was silhouetted against the moonlight. His eyes seemed aflame - but no, you had determined they had their own glow… it made him look ethereal.

Like an avenging angel.

“Perhaps… we should go in?” 

The trip to your apartment had the possibility of turning into a messy elevator make-out session, had it not been for the middle-school kid who stood in the corner, eyeing Chan with some awe. When Chan gave him a smile, the kid ran out of the elevator. You were sure he’d gotten off a floor too early.

You’re calmer when you’re back in your apartment. Chiding yourself for not cleaning up before leaving, you quietly lead Chan to the couch. Chan has your fingers clasped in his hands - loosely, but it was enough that he still felt connected to you. 

He falls next to you on the couch, moving in at the same time to kiss you again. It was light and teasing, yet he seemed restrained, hesitant and conscious of your reactions. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whisper, but you’re not sure if it’s for him or for yourself. “We don’t need to do anything more than this, if you don’t want.”

Chan places a hand under your chin, tilting your lips up to meet his in a brief kiss.

“Y/n, do you trust me?”

Your brows furrow, and you’re unable to answer. You’d like to say yes, but the reality was that you’d only known him a few hours. However, his eyes pull you in, and you remember the sincerity and care in the roaming of his hands, of his lips. Your body warms over, and you tell yourself it’s the remnants of the alcohol in your veins. You nod. 

Chan places two hands in front of him, palm-side up. When you place your hands in his, he guides them around his waist, and rests them on his lower back. 

His face was close to yours, his breath warm on your cheek. 

“Up, y/n.”

You’re scared to take your eyes off of him as shaking fingers move up his back, and you almost freeze when you feel them - two lines, each between the shoulder blade and spine. As your fingers trace up along the scars, a surge of sadness washes over you, and you see in your mind’s eye a flash of light, and you can feel it, the anger and the confusion and the pain. 

“I told you, didn’t I? We all want to love freely, even more so when we can not have it.”

“What… happened?”

Chan looks shattered for a moment, but he straightens his back and sits tall, keeping a steady gaze on you. “I was once an angel, I suppose - yes, the angels in your old literature, angels that stood by God - although I suppose I was never in such a high position.” He pauses bitterly. “We angelic beings… we’re forbidden from feeling love. Any type of love. It misguides us, they say. Makes us biased.”

An angel, he had said. Something clicked in your mind, and you were surprised at how calm you were reacting to this news. It made sense, afterall. Explained the scars, the eyes. The over-polite butler personality.

“Love doesn’t misguide you.” Raising a hand to cup his face, you brush a thumb under his eye. “It makes you-” Human. “Alive,” you say instead. 

Chan has a solemn look on his face when he turns his head and kisses the inside of your palm. Then, he moves forward and kisses you - the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your eyes, your lips. It was no longer teasing and fun, but instead, bittersweet, as if he was aware of the consequences of love.

And he was, you suppose, aware of the consequences. 

For him, it had been the fall from heaven. But for you… Well, he hadn’t been wrong when he’d said everyone wants a part in love. 

Your hands loops around his neck and you pull him on top of you, falling back onto the couch. You wanted to prove that… well, that even if he was a fallen angel, even if he saw love as something that could cause so much harm, that it was also something worth fighting for. Worth living for. 

-

Sunrise was only a few hours away, but you had never felt quite this awake before. The calm that washed over you now was something you had rarely felt before. Your back was to Chan’s chest, a blanket resting over the both of you. 

Chan had a hand in your hair, fingers combing through it. It was soothing, tempting you to close your eyes and rest.

You would have, had it not been for the questions in your head.

“Did it hurt?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Did what hurt?”

It seemed wrong to smile, but you couldn’t help it. “When you fell from heaven.”

Chan’s hands freeze in your hair, and you worry that you’ve overstepped your boundaries.

“... It’s hard to recall. Perhaps it did, for the scars are too ugly for it to not have.” His hands resume their stroking, before he places a kiss on your head and pulls you in. “But I do not think it hurt in the way that humans experience physical pain. I remember a column of fire coming down on me, but I can only remember thinking that the fire was colder than I had expected.” Chan sighs. “Perhaps you should rest now, y/n.” “... Just one more question?”

“Well, alright. I suppose one more won’t hurt.”

“If angels are forbidden to love… why are they still able to do so?”

It’s silent for a few seconds.

“I suppose it’s because we’re able to love that it’s forbidden. I’m not sure what you think of it, but fate is a real thing, and everyone is fated to be with another.”

“Even angels?”

“... It’s rather cruel, isn’t it? To forbid something meant to be?”

You can’t do much else other than curl into Chan’s chest. It was cruel. 

Chan’s arm pulls you in tight, and you feel his chest chest push against your back as he inhales. The exhale tickles the top of your head.

“Hey, Chan?”

He lets out a hum, and you let yourself soak in his warmth a few seconds second longer.

“You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?”

“I’m a fallen angel, love,” Chan says with a soft smile. “Not a ghost.”

“Of course not… you’re not even that scary.”

Light laughter tickles the top of your head as Chan pulls you closer. 

“Maybe all those years alone were worth it, even if just for this one moment.” His hand trails down the side of your face, and as if it pulled a curtain down with it, you feel your eyelids grow heavy. “Now sleep, love, and wake when the sun does.”

[peachyteabuck]

just tryna f☆ck you and your bestie

summary: harley did save helena’s life, wellbeing, and family fortune...so she kinda owes the crazy-ass psychiatrist, right? right?

or, harley asks to fuck you, helena can’t say no, and you’re all too happy to be caught in their shenanigans. 

(a commission for @domromanoff​)

pairing: harley quinn x reader x helena bertinelli 

words: 1,202

trigger warnings: cuckolding, mean dom harley, established helena x reader, verbal humiliation, mommy/daddy kink, face riding, strap ons

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Arousal floods your senses, a ringing in your ears nearly blocking out whatever Harley is saying to you.

“Do you like it when I’m mean to you?” she coos, slapping your ass once more.

It’s hard to nod with your face shoved into the expensive silk sheets, your ass stinging and back arched to chase Harley’s touch. Still, you try, just as you desperately search for the words that have found themselves caught in your throat. “Yes, Mommy.”

Harley smirks, looking up to meet Helena’s eyes. Your girlfriend in one of her large, gilded chairs. Usually tucked into the corner, it now sits close to the end of the bed as she sits cross-legged, her own arms resting on the arms of the chair. “You like it when Daddy’s friends make fun of you? You like it when she wants you get fucked by someone else?”

Harley pulls at the thick collar she’s placed around your neck before you can respond, the other hand grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet the heavy-lidded eyes of your girlfriend.

“Tell your Daddy how much you want me to fuck you,” Harley purrs just loud enough for Helena to hear. “Tell your Daddy how bad you want her friend to fuck you while she watches.”

You see Helena’s pupils swallow her irises completely, watch as she squeezes her own thighs together. “I want Mommy to fuck me until I’m crying while my Daddy watches,” Harleys grip on your throat gets tighter, a sign that she wants you to continue. “I want Mommy to fuck me until I’m weeping, like the dirty slut I am, all while my Daddy watches.”

Harley laughs – snickers in that maniacal way she always does. “Aw, you can do better than that,” she punctuates it with another harsh SLAP! to your ass. “C’mon, say it. Say Daddy I want your bestest friend in the whole wide world to fuck my tight little cunt until I can’t talk no more. Or something like, Mommy I want to be able to feel you every time I walk or sit down or breathe for the next-“

“Harley,” Helena warns.

The woman in question rolls her eyes and sighs in her classically dramatic fashion. “Fine, whatever.”

Harley bunches up your hair in her fist, pushing you back down into your previous position, ass grinding on Harley’s strap.

It’s one she brought on her own accord. Unlike all of Helena’s matte black and deep purple toys, Harley’s strap is bright pink and glittery with a multicolored dildo. It’s so beautifully and wonderfully and perfectly her, and it feels even better than you thought it would as she easily slides into you.

“Aw, the little slut is so wet,” Harley laughs as she bottoms out, mocking your guttural moans. “The way you moan is so cute, darling. Makes me wanna fuck you until you can’t walk.”

A moan catches itself in your throat, cut off as Harley begins to fuck into you. One hand presses into the side of your face for balance, the other keeps a tight grip on your hip.

It’s good, it’s so good you’re biting into the sheets as she fills your pussy with her cock.

“Oh God,” you nearly scream when she lets your head rise from being pressed into the sheets so she can rub at your clit. “Oh my god!”

Harley just laughs again and fucks into you harder. “C’mon baby girl, don’t bring the ole big guy into this. It’s just me and you, right?” she slows her thrusts, makes them more purposeful and forceful as she continues. “Just you and your Mommy, who fucks you so good, isn’t that right, baby girl?”

Within an instant you’re flipped around, legs pushed to your chest and arms trapped under your back. One of Harley’s hands grabs at your chin once more, haphazardly painted nails digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Never once does she stop thrusting into you, smiling wide as your eyes screw shut and your jaw goes slack.

“C’mon, tell your Mommy how good I fuck ya,” she murmurs, voice low as to not crowd out your beautiful moans of pleasure.

“Mommy you fuck me so good,” you rush out, terrified the words will get cut off once more. “Please, fuck me harder!”

Harley puts the hand that grabbed at your face behind your head for leverage, fucking into you so hard you can hear the headboard banging against the egg- shell painted wall.

“Gonna make you cum so good,” Harley says through grit teeth. “Gonna make you see fucking stars.”

A vibrator – one you didn’t notice Harley grab – is pressed against your clit, ripping a deep moan from your heaving chest.

Your orgasm feels like a punch to the gut, as if someone was ripping all of your skin off and sewing It back onto your body with a blunt needle.

And holy shit, it feels so good.

Harley continues to fuck into you as your world is shaken, not stirred, and your legs and arms go numb. Each muscle tenses and relaxes at the same time, your hands desperate for purchase while your fingers refuse to grab onto anything.

“You feel good, baby?” Harley coos, pulling sweaty hairs from your forehead. “Does your Mommy make you feel good?”

Your mind, cloudy and foggy and overcast, doesn’t allow for much to escape your mouth. “Yes, Mommy!”

She laughs at your state, running her hands through your hair. “Oh, you’re such a good little girl. Now I’m gonna ride your face to get myself off, mkay?”

You nod silently, panting as she takes the strap off and tosses it aside. She climbs on top of you – making sure to face Helena while grinding her pussy down onto your face.

She’s wet – so wet – you can feel it dripping down your cheeks as she rocks back and forth across your tongue.

“So good at this, aren’t ya?” she purrs. “Gonna make me cum on your pretty little face?”

Nodding is futile, instead you fuck your tongue in and out of her soaked pussy harder.

Harley cums with a deep moan, grinding down even harder on your face as her pussy twitches on your lips.

“Fuck that’s good,” she praises, dismounting from on top of your face to hovering over your stomach. Harley moves to grasp your face in her slick-soaked hands and leans forward until your noses touch. “You’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t ya?”

You nod – voice hoarse and strained. “Yes, Mommy, I’m a good little slut for you.”

She kisses the tip of your nose before standing back up and reaching to grab another toy.

“So, you ready for another round?”

You throw your head back and groan loudly.

Helena laughs, shifting in the chair. “Can I join in on this one, Quinn?”

Harley smirks and perks up, batting your face lightly between her hands. Literally toying with you. “Hmm, does that sound good, kitten? You want your Mommy and Daddy to fuck your tight little pussy at the same time?”

You throw your head back and moan deeply. Somehow you know this is going to be a long, long night.

[tiriansjewel]

find it here on Spotify!

lyric explanations below the cut! (click images for better quality)

~~

~~

1. The 1 by Taylor Swift

“But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one”

As we start the playlist, Luke and Alex are taking a wistful look back on their relationship in the 90s now that they’ve moved on to other people.

2. Coming Clean by Green Day

“Seventeen and strung out on confusion

Trapped inside a roll of disillusion

I found out what it takes to be a man

Now mom and dad will never understand”

Back in the 90s, both Luke and Alex are coming to terms with their sexualities.

3. Smells Like Teen Spirit

“With the lights out, it's less dangerous

Here we are now, entertain us”

Sunset Curve were working towards popularity right at the height of the grunge scene, and I would assume that both Luke and Alex heard quite a bit of this song as teenagers.

4. Now or Never by Sunset Curve

“Keep dreaming like we'll live forever

But live it like it's now or never”

How could I not include Sunset Curve’s own song? They like living in the moment, and that includes their love lives.

5. Everlong by the Foo Fighters

“And I wonder

If everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again

The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when”

When you go through adolescence, you crave intimacy with other people. This song exemplifies what Luke and Alex want from each other- to be able to feel, and to be able to experience those feelings on a deeper level.

6. Ocean Size by Jane’s Addiction

“Wish I was ocean size

They cannot move you, man

No one tries

No one pulls you

Out from your hole

Like a tooth aching a jawbone”

Jane’s Addiction was another LA rock band of this time period, and these lyrics about wanting to be powerful like the ocean and having to leave your home really remind me of Luke.

7. All Apologies by Nirvana

“What else should I be?

All apologies

What else should I say?

Everyone is gay”

This song is Kurt Cobain ironically apologizing for his cynical attitude, including the line “everyone is gay” to mock homophobes. It reminds me of Alex- he doesn’t want to be “married and buried”; he is rebelling against his parents’ definition of a correct lifestyle.

8. Freaking Out The Neighborhood by Max DeMarco

“And I know it's no fun

When your first son

Gets up to no good

Starts freaking out the neighborhood”

Emily Patterson and Alex’s mom were probably both pretty appalled by their sons effectively joining the counterculture. At this point, both Luke and Alex are starting to express themselves more, comfortable in who they are and what they want.

9. Hangout With You by Diners

“All I want

Is to talk with you now

And I know that you've got time

You are constantly on my mind

Yes I know that you've got time

To hang out with me

Tonight”

Luke has begun to realize that he likes Alex, and in true Luke fashion, can’t stop thinking about it.

10. Affection by Between Friends

“I'm laying on the floor

We're drinking 'cause we're bored

Oh, I'm looking for affection in all the wrong places

And we'll keep falling on each other to fill the empty spaces”

One night, it all comes out- their feelings and desires- and they decide to begin some kind of friends with benefits type of situation. This song feels like it’s from Luke’s perspective to me.

11. gold rush by Taylor Swift

“What must it be like

To grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominos

I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

At dinner parties

I call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We wandered 'round had never

Seen a love as pure as it

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea

'Cause you know it could never be”

Luke is a magnetic person, attracting everyone, and Alex finds him beautiful. He is in awe of him, but he’s also scared about having feelings he doesn’t know how to handle. This song kind of shows Alex’s internal monologue.

12. Can We Kiss Forever? by Kina

“I tried to reach you, I can't hide

How strong's the feeling when we dive

I crossed the ocean of my mind

My wounds are healing with the salt

All my senses intensified

Whenever you and I, we dive”

This song describes their first kiss, obscured from the world, in my mind. Plus, there’s ocean metaphors. You can’t go wrong with that.

13. 18 by Anarbor

“So if you wanna piss off your parents

Date me to scare them

Show them you're all grown up

If long hair and tattoos are what attract you

Baby, then you're in luck

And I know it's just a phase

You're not in love with me

You wanna piss off your parents, baby

That's alright with me”

Luke knows Alex isn’t in love with him, but they both want to try new things. Bonus points for this song having references to frayed parent-child relationships.

14. Boys Will Be Boys by Miles McKenna

“That graduation day, it never came for you and me

Couple drop-out kids, a shotgun wedding's all we need

Sorry, Mom, Sorry, Dad

Better luck next time

A couple packs a day, pierced nose and tattoos on our legs

No strangers to pretend, we've always been too proud to beg

Sorry, Mom, Sorry, Dad

Better luck next time

Boys will be boys”

This song referencing a “couple of drop out kids” just going with the flow made me think of how Sunset Curve probably never would have finished high school.

15. Just Like You by Three Days Grace

“You thought you were there to guide me, you were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

I could be mean

I could be angry

You know I could be just like you.”

Both Luke and Alex have tons of resentment for their parents, obviously.

16. Sunstroke by Less Than Jake

“We've all been living proof

That time won't wait or choose

We know it ticks on without me and you

And I can't have both sides

Letting go or holding tight

I'm burning bright tonight”

This song about being stubborn and time not waiting really reminded me of Luke, plus the foreshadowing of them becoming ghosts and adapting to a whole new world.

17. Saint Bernard by Lincoln

“Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you

But he's got his own things to deal with

There's really just one thing that we have in common

Neither of us will be missed”

This song just made me think about Alex and his Catholic guilt.

18. Bedroom Hymns by Florence and the Machine

“This is a good a place to fall as any

We'll build our altar here

Make me your Maria

I'm already on my knees

You had Jesus on your breath

And I caught Him in mine

Sweating out confessions

The undone and the divine

This is his body, this is his love

Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough, oh”

Part 2 of Alex and his Catholic guilt. Their relationship has become more carnal, and this song maybe gives a little of Alex’s perspective into that time.

19. Church by Fall Out Boy

“And if death is the last appointment

Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room

I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom

If you were church, yeah

I'd get on my knees”

Here ends the trilogy of songs with religious references. This song is heady and sensual and also includes some nice foreshadowing of their deaths.

20. Bros by Wolf Alice

“Shake your hair, have some fun

Forget our mothers and past lovers, forget everyone

Oh, I'm so lucky, you are my best friend

Oh, there's no one, there's no one who knows me like you do

Are your lights still on?

I'll keep you safe

If you keep me strong”

Here’s another song from Luke’s perspective- talking about forgetting mothers, being best friends, and keeping Alex safe, as long as Alex keeps him strong.

21. Slip Away by Perfume Genius

“Don't look back, I want to break free

If you'll never see 'em coming
You'll never have to hide

Take my hand, take my everything

If we only got a moment

Give it to me now

They'll never break the shape we take

Baby, let all them voices slip away”

Alex struggles with losing his family over his sexuality, and Luke helps him through it.

22. Make Out In My Car by Sufjan Stevens

“I'm not trying to

Go to bed with you

I just wanna make out in my car

And though I'm dying to

Fall in love with you

I just wanna make out in my car”

Another great song about just wanting to exist with someone, about wanting touch and feel and create. They don’t want to fall in love, they just want to be.

23. I Exist I Exist I Exist by Flatsound

“I remember the way you shook

Its a shame that we're not soul mates

Because if i didn't know better

I'd say this feels pretty good

How could i be scared?

When i stretch and feel that you're there

So shut your mouth

Because these words will speak themselves

I can feel them in these blankets

And they're surrounding your figure

Embraced in the quilts

And i cant help but think

You're my missing puzzle piece”

This song is so beautiful- with references to helping a partner through anxiety, and being just like ones mother... a lot of this dynamic in my mind is Luke and Alex reminding each other that they exist, that life is wide and bright, that they’re alive. This gives a window into Luke’s inner feelings as well.

24. Come on, Mess Me Up by Cub Sport

“I found comfort, I fell in love with avoiding problems

But I want this, you know I want this

So come on, mess me up

And you can break me, if you'll still take me

Ruin me, if you'll let me be one of the ones you say you won't forget”

At some point, they become more reckless about their feelings, a little less level headed about their arrangement. Intimacy is an escape.

25. Please Never Fall In Love Again by Ollie MN

“This is what it's like to be lovers

You and me need never be lonely again

Spin with me endlessly or at least until the end

Please never fall in love again”

As usually happens with these arrangements, feelings are caught. Luke and Alex consider making things more serious.

26. Can I Call You Tonight? by Dayglow

“Batteries drain, I get the memo

I think that I might have to let you go

So can I call you tonight?

I'm trying to make up my mind

Just how I feel

Could you tell me what's real?”

The end of their relationship is near, and Alex is unsure. You can decide if this takes place before or after they die.

27. Wicked Game by Chris Isaak

“I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you”

Eventually these relationships all start to feel like games, don’t they?

28. Perfect by The Smashing Pumpkins

“So far I still know who you are

But now I wonder who I was

Angel, you know it's not the end

We'll always be good friends”

Another song about the end of a relationship, and finding yourself again. There’s a bit of resentment there, but they are learning to be friends again.

29. Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy

“Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight

Let the fire breathe me back to life

Baby you were my picket fence

I miss missing you, now and then”

They’ve gotten over each other and become friends again, but are still nostalgic for the past. Bonus points for references about coming back to life.

30. Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day

“For what it's worth

It was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable

But in the end it's right

I hope you had the time of your life”

Ah yes, the song everyone uses to commemorate bittersweet ends- it’s the perfect clincher for this playlist.

I hope you all enjoy listening!

[shes-an-oddbird]

Time or Quake

Daniel tries to determine what are normal behaviors of this time versus what are Daisy's own unique odd habits. 

Dousy Week - Day 6 Prompts - Time & Quake

Daniel Sousa was in fact fazed by everything but to be fair he thought he was handling the transition to the 21st century as well as could be expected. Better even to some extent. It helps greatly that Daisy is more than happy to teach him all about it, especially if it involved laughing at him along the way. At some point, after he begins to recognize habits and behaviors that are considered normal for the time, he starts to notice odd things about Daisy herself. He doesn’t worry over most of them but sometimes he finds himself unable to not ask if it’s a time-thing or a Daisy-thing.

He has to have a cell phone and he has to know how to use it. This Daisy insists upon. In case of an emergency she wants to be able to reach him and wants him to be able to reach her or another member of the team. It will also help him blend in. Teaching him to use it actually hadn’t been that difficult. He likes to think that he picked up on the tech quickly enough. It was the smaller irrelevant things that confused him.

“Apps?”

“They’re mostly time wasters.”

Not his favorite. He didn’t care much for wasting his own time.

Books though? A library’s worth in his phone? Fantastic. He’ll admit he still likes the feel of old paperback books best, but the convenience was unbeatable.

On that same note, he also still preferred talking to people on the phone versus the short exchanges of text messages. The endless abbreviations, the lack of replies, the incessant beeping from group messages. He didn’t mind so much the ones from Daisy. They usually consisted of checking up on him when they were apart, links to articles she thought he might like and reminders. Specifically, those reminders were for him to remind her to show him some movie or book or tv show. Those were his favorite.

But it was at the end of many of her messages that he first noticed something odd and unique to her texts and one day he finally asks her about it.

“Daisy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why is this at the end of so many of your messages?”

“Why is what?” She leans over his shoulder and he points to the odd little colon and parentheses at the end of her most recent message. He hears her try to stifle a laugh and looks up at her. She’s grinning down at him, her shoulders shaking gently.

“What?”

“Okay, here,” she takes the phone and turns it in his hand so that it sideways. He thinks maybe the screen will rotate like it does when she shows him pictures, but it doesn’t. “Do you see it now?”

He does not.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?”

She doesn’t answer just continues to smile at him. He looks back at the screen and then back at her until it hits him. “It looks like a smile.”

“There you go.”

“But why?”

“Because I was smiling when I wrote the message and honestly you’re not ready for emojis.”

“Emojis?”

She taps a button on the screen and up pops hundreds of yellow circles with faces on them. Most of them are smiling but some he supposes looks angry or sad or even confused. “You’re right, I’m not ready.”

He mentally marks the symbol down as a time related oddity, even if its already a dated one.

He notices one day while holding her hand that she has her shirt sleeve tugged down over her palm. He writes it off as her hands being cold and doesn’t think much of it until it until it happens again on a warmer day. Out of curiosity he tugs her hand up to look at it and notices her shirt is actually made with a little hole to slide her thumb through.

“What’s up?” Daisy asks. He does this often, stopping dead in his tracks to inspect something that is new or unusual.

“Why, is this like a fashionable thing?” It must be if they make the shirts that way.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily, I think it’s just comfortable for some people.”

“People with perpetually cold hands?”

“Maybe, among other reasons,” she looks down at the hand he doesn’t have grasped in his own, “I like how familiar it feels, it reminds me of my gauntlets.”

Well that made a lot of sense. Her gauntlets protected her arms so there was a level of safety and comfort in having her palms covered.

So not just a Daisy thing but with a very Daisy specific reason.

Daniel hears a frustrated shout from the other room and its not the first one. For at least the last half hour it sounded like Daisy was arguing with someone but as best he can tell its only a one-sided conversation. When he hears a loud thump he decides he better check on her. He pokes his head into their room just as she mutters another irritated sentence. “Why are you so useless?”

He knocks on the door frame.

“Hmm?” She answers without moving her eyes off the screen.

“Were you just talking to the computer?”

“Yes.”

“Are you on one of those video calls?”

“What?” Daisy finally looks up at him. “Oh no, I was, it was just being uncooperative.”

It? The computer? “So you yelled at it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s an inanimate object.”

“So?” She asks.

He almost doesn’t ask. “Does it understand you?”

The next thing he knows is a pillow is being hurled in his direction. “Don’t tease me, the damn thing is pissing me off, I’m supposed to have this done for Mack by the end of the day.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I promise that was a genuine question.”

She sighs heavily and falls back against the remaining pillows on the bed. “No, it does not understand me, god help me if it does, I’ve called it some pretty awful things.”

“I heard.”

She sits up and looks at him as though something has just occurred to her. “Wait, have you never yelled at an inanimate object before?”

“Yelled at? Yes, but I’ve never had a whole conversation with one.”

He marks this one down as a normal behavior of the time and dodges another pillow that comes his way.

He thinks her most unusual habit may be the odd places she sits.

She sits on the floor a lot. Which he doesn’t think is all that odd, it’s just not something he’d voluntarily do himself. But sometimes he returns to their tiny, shared apartment and finds her comfortably situated anywhere but in a chair. She sits on the back of the couch, on the counter in the kitchen, on the stepstool she used to reach things.

When they’re on base she sits on desks or on crates and on the rare occasion he finds her in a chair its almost always sideways or backwards or with her legs and feet pulled up underneath her.

“Do you have something against chairs?” He asks when he finds her sitting on a crate instead of doing inventory on the zephyr.

She looks at him funny. “No, why?”

“You just never seem to use them?” He gestures to the boxes beneath her.

“I didn’t even realize.” She replied honestly. “Maybe its a subconscious rebellion, the nuns tried to instill us with good posture or maybe just habit, I didn’t exactly have proper seating in my van.” She pauses. “Is it weird? Now that you bring it up, I feel kind of like a child.”

“I don’t know if it’s weird,” he laughs and steps up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she drapes hers over his shoulders, “you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching me what’s normal.”

She considers this. “Unclear.” She tells him.

Unclear.

There is one thing that he knows is distinctly Daisy even from the very first time it happens.

She’s been gone for nearly two weeks. Sent with Elena’s team on a mission involving a whole family of inhumans who were being threatened. Definitely their area of expertise. He spent a much quieter week at the academy, assisting Coulson as he prepared to take on a semester of SHIELD history classes. The pair had joined May for lunch when the text messages started coming in.

We’ve landed!!!!

Are you still at the academy?? I’ll meet you there

Where are you both the classrooms are empty

He considers calling her but she’s taken to answering the phone in mocking tones when he does that instead of just writing back to her. Stopped for lunch, we’re on our way back to May’s classroom

:) :) :)

He rolls his eyes and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. They’re only just around the corner from the classroom. May has a lecture in a few minutes and the halls are filled with cadets moving around in a rush to get to where they need to be.

“Finally!” Daisy jumps up from her spot of the floor and starts to sprint towards them, dodging the students who didn’t get out of the way fast enough. She slams into him and they stumble backwards a couple of steps.

“Hey I missed y – “

She cuts him off, dragging his lips down to meet hers. He knows she’s had a long couple of weeks so he tries to pour as much love and comfort into the kiss as possible, pulling her as close to him as he can.

A shudder runs through them and they break apart. Daisy looks up at him wide eyed and cheeks reddening. People have stopped and are staring at them startled and he realizes that it wasn’t a shudder than separated them but a quake.

“I’m sorry, I just really missed you too.”

A Daisy thing. Definitely a Daisy thing.

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|  

words: 6k 

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :) 

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne. 

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.  

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi 

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok? 

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u? 

  Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now 

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon :// 

  You (2:51am): I still have hw :( 

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too 

  Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw 

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;( 

  You (2:54am): yes sadly 

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt 

  Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you 

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means. 

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from 

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out 

  Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/ 

  You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep 

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class 

  Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:( 

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have 

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl 

  You (3:18am): aw have i been bad? 

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry 

You (3:19am): gn 

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious? 

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him. 

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands. 

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are 

  Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax 

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad 

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you 

  You (3:29am): u wish 

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”( 

  Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you 

~

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis. 

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now? 

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now. 

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety. 

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless. 

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream. 

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.” 

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this. 

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance. 

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated. 

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture. 

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up. 

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

~

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down. 

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants. 

  do you have any idea what is going on 

  He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back. 

  No, stop writing on my stuff 

  Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

  don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag 

  You write back on the scrap of paper: 

actually you could learn a thing or two from her 

  Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion. 

You know I would rock a long skirt like her 

  Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook. 

~

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students. 

 He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.” 

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.” 

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful. 

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall. 

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy. 

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway. 

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?” 

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi. 

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.   

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him. 

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this. 

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice. 

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is. 

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway. 

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?” 

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least. 

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?” 

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying. 

~

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions. 

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise. 

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all. 

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment. 

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench. 

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother. 

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary? 

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts. 

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now. 

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this. 

~

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey 

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :] 

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room. 

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow. 

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…” 

You (5:15pm): maybe 

You (5:15pm): what time? 

  Yoongi (5:20pm): like now 

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy? 

  You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson 

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me 

  Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :( 

  You (5:31pm): why not 

  Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment 

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold 

  After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

  You (5:35pm): fine 

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner 

  Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will 

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off. 

~

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here. 

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?” 

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback. 

I expected better. 

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones. 

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you. 

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?” 

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod. 

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch. 

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says. 

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence. 

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?” 

You snort. 

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days. 

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.  

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you. 

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I…  got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better. 

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay. 

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration. 

“Are you that nervous?” 

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend. 

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.” 

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.” 

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.) 

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.” 

~

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground. 

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors. 

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together. 

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.” 

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it. 

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era. 

~

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump. 

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him. 

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there. 

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put. 

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it. 

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you. 

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes  you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you. 

 It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks. 

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first. 

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy. 

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make. 

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up. 

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes. 

“Brahms?” 

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?” 

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless. 

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture. 

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons. 

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. 

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin. 

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…” 

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath. 

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting. 

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances. 

Would it compare? 

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now. 

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head. 

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he. 

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in. 

There’s no hiding it now, you concede. 

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.” 

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning. 

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out. 

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh. 

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point. 

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway.  You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not. 

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say. 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.  

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together. 

Then he starts laughing. Again.  

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration. 

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.” 

“It’s not!” 

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him. 

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with. 

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?” 

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback. 

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you. 

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.” 

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?” 

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions. 

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.” 

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.” 

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…” 

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line. 

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret. 

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing! Nothing.” 

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now. 

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you. 

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.” 

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now. 

“Can you refresh my memory?” 

“Like… you know.” He shrugs. 

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?” 

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?” 

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight. 

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.” 

Oh.