#//If not for his inability to let things go; then bc he wants a nice big place that is both home for him but COULD be home for others

[dutybcrne]

Do we have any confirmation on any other Ragnvindr's? Like. Is Diluc it, or are there still other living breathing family members?

[starfxkr]

oh yes… tp!jj is finally suffering the way i want him to! thank you john b for this life changing opportunity. reader starting to look at him with resentment in her eyes… maybe in the way that she looks at her mom almost, which really solidifies how badly hes infiltrated her life nd doin her dirty with what seems to her with no remorse is just… ruining her. having her smell like john b unlocks that manic part of his brain he was able to lock away with age is very alarming nd kinda scary! because lets be honest, he could never actually grow out of that terrible side of his personality, nd to have john b, his closest friend, his confidant, nd the only one he can really call family, being the catalyst of this makes him feel backed up in a corner.

thank you to that anon for mentioning his control issues bc it rears its ugly head again— he gets horrible tunnel vision with her nd id like to imagine that he doesnt let her leave his side during those few days. the random splurge of possessiveness is just his insecurity nd inability to properly communicate his feelings to you, even at his big age lol. he needs to kick it into high gear nd fix this mess, bc upon realizing that apology fucks arent working but in fact strains their relationship even more? he loses his mind lol :3 our dear reader deserves to slap ts out of him at some point!

— 🦢

its what he deserves....because when john b's around and jj's nice you realize 'oh! he coulda always been this way but he chose not to' so its no fuckin wonder that not only do you prefer when john b is around you start to prefer being around him period.

you make no secret of it either and while jombee is smug about it first it doesn't take him long to pull jj to the side and tell him you're gonna go for good if jj doesn't get it together. because when its coming up on the day jombee has to leave you get depressed, you won't leave his side and you won't stop crying asking him to stay.

this in turn makes jj extremely anxious, and we all know his anxiety takes form as anger. it becomes why are you acting like this you know he has to go, and, so what you wanna be with him now? you're gonna fuckin leave me? when that's not at all what you said and now you're more upset because he's getting so fuckin aggressive about it. and jj has no problem basically locking the two of you in the room the day john b leaves, he might not even let you say goodbye because he's stripped the sheets and fucks loud and hard so john b can hear.

but the thing is? john b doesn't care. well of course he cares about you being upset and not being able to say bye because he's genuinely very fond of you and has grown to really care for you. but its jjs possessive behavior that doesnt move him, because when jj inevitably wears himself out, john b just comes around to the window and gives you a kiss good bye and little pep talk through there.

honestly jj's hit the self destructive "im gonna destroy all my relationships" stage by this point which he's aware of and it terrifies him because he only just got you back but it's like he's watching himself from another body and he cannot stop his actions.

[gold-rhine]

Sub! Ayato x Dom! gn reader

Warnings: not safe for work or minors, edging, bondage, overstimulation, slight degradation, power play, anal sex, spanking. I’m gonna mostly say “cock” for the reader, but it stands for both cock and strap, it’s just unwieldy to specify every time and I usually call strap “cock” irl anyway.

Words: 4k

A\n: repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned

Ayato is the biggest pillow princess out there. The entitlement on this one.

A connoisseur, seeks the thrill of new combinations of exciting experiences, both physical and mental, but is also a brat. Not in a usual sense of being deliberately antagonistic and difficult, it’s just that if you don’t keep him in check, he will steamroll you with sheer demanding presence, all with a pleasant little smile.

He wants to be surprised and lose control, but also has a compulsive need to plan and manipulate everything from the backstage. So he’s a handful for sure. If you’re into his kind of mind games, he can be exquisite like no one else, but he’s so high-maintenance, just energy and attention-wise, constantly testing your willpower.

“A luxury few can afford” meme, but it's on a diamond-encrusted choker.

You know how his story quest just stops dead to have a Boba Tea Interlude, where he orders tea with the weirdest ingredients and everyone around is openly disgusted? And they could’ve stopped the joke here, but no.

Ayato goes on to have a whole discussion about the nature of pleasure with Paimon, who is btw entirely out of her depth and can only master “Ugh?? Food should taste good?”

And this mf proceeds to argue that actually, things that just straightforwardly feel good are boring. And it’s better to experiment and seek out new interesting experiences that push your limits, even if they end up not feeling good.  And those things that don’t feel good, but in interesting and exciting ways, are better than straightforward good-feeling.

Like, just say you’re into kink and stop confusing poor Paimon. You don’t have to give a whole ass philosophical speech about wanting exciting things that feel bad to be inflicted upon you.

And he likes obedience, sure. A nice service top who just does everything he wants entirely according to a pre-approved script is probably his comfort zone.

But you know what’s a fun thing to do with a bossy brat like him? Tease him. Throw him off his script. Wipe that mild, confident, slightly bored smile off his face and see genuine emotions. See him come undone.

Also, you know he’s so used to being indulged. The experience of being challenged, loss of control, the inability to predict what’s gonna happen next is going to feel much more exciting than a bad-tasting boba tea.

Like, his only friend outside of the circle of people actively dependent on him, like Ayaka and Thoma, is Itto, the most irreverent delinquent in the city. And sure, Ayato tries to minimize the connection in his voice line (bc he’s a fake bitch), but from Itto’s line it’s clear that they are in continuous contact. They are actively hanging out, all the while Ayato doesn’t disclose his station.

Ayato found one dude in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is and is not gonna bow down to him. In fact, he’s gonna treat him in a way that would be considered scandalously rude for a head of the commission. But they are playing Magic the Gathering at a local McDonalds while Yashiro ninjas keep the cashier at a knifepoint so he doesn’t accidentally expose who Ayato really is to Itto.

He obviously wants to be seen for something else than the social image he created when he had to become the leader of his clan. He had to be so tightly wound up and in control all the time, impeccable and untouchable, or not only him, but his closest people would pay the price. Of course he wants to be able to let go, to feel human and imperfect, but accepted with the imperfections nonetheless. He just doesn’t know how, since he’s been living in nothing but a PR performance since he was a young teen.

Unless he’s literally forced to.

Ayato is never gonna admit that he wants to be put in his place, but he will certainly enjoy it.

Specifics-wise, I'm getting strong bondage vibes. Especially rope bondage, shibari knots. Popular choice for the pillow princesses in general, and rope instead of handcuffs gives both interesting texture and flexibility, you can change it up in many ways from session to session to keep it fresh.

But honestly, that’s details. What’s important is the mind games. The power play. The exciting stakes, even if inside of play. The rollercoaster of ups and downs. The push and pull of an invisible leash will matter much more than the physical one.

He’s so casual and calm when you start tying him up, even though he’s already naked. Sometimes you tie him in his clothes ruffled, halfway undone, but today you want his bare skin. You start with his chest and shoulders, and the purple rope looks amazing against his pale flesh.

Nudity doesn’t make him vulnerable though. He stands there languid, loose and long-limbed, follows your instructions to move his hands back so you can tie them with poise and elegance, like he’s getting an expensive suit tailored. Sometimes, you’d want to break his posture, throw him on the floor and fuck him until he’s a screaming mess, and only then finish the bondage.

There are always so many options to consider with Ayato.

But today you want to play the longer prelude. You know that the slow, almost ritualistic adjusting of the ropes over his body winds him up even if he doesn’t show it.

You work on tying his hands behind his back, then move to his torso. The ropes over ribs and stomach don’t actually hold much, but by god, they look pretty, the rhombs in the center and the violet lines going across his taut muscles.

You move deliberately slowly, handling him with long practiced firmness and effectiveness, except for the fleeting moments when your fingers linger, lightly trace the lines of his body, but leave before he can even react. A stroke from his sharp collarbones to the shoulders, a flick on the pink nipples, a caress across the sculpted abs.

This is a game where you almost pretend to be professional, and he almost keeps up the indifference. It’s a shaky pyramid of glass, barely balancing on the edge, the anticipation of waiting for exactly when it’ll fall down and shatter into tiny pieces.

The fun part about this is watching his cock hardening with your every move, how it slowly grows from soft to aroused, pointing up on his stomach. He can pretend to be indifferent all he wants, you have the evidence of how much he needs this right there.

He watches you intensely, even if it’s only in half-glances, his upper body is already covered in an intricate, beautiful harness.  

“Lean against the table and lift your leg, please”, you direct him to the high table beside the bed and he obeys with the same casual confidence. You tie his ankle to his thigh, moving the rope across the tender, sensitive skin of the inner thigh, and watch his cock twitch and redden. You then continue to fix his bent leg with ropes so that it’s pushed sideways and keeps his thigh open, working slow, methodical. He’s almost fully hard by the time you’re done.

“Violet really is your color,” you say casually, and slide the rope between his legs, under his balls and between his asscheeks. “Really brings out your eyes.”

His hips flinch, his cock fully erect now, but his voice is even and mild when he answers, “So nice of you to approve.”

It’s a stalemate of sorts, who is going to expose themselves first, but you have the advantage of not being naked, tied, and unable to close your legs. The chances are in your favor even against the calculating Yashiro commissioner.

You smile and lay your hand on his hipbone. He expects you to move to his dick and when you don’t, glances down and back up at your face in a politely hidden frustration.

“I’d prefer to continue this on the proper bed,” he says, still calmly, but with an insistent undercurrent in his tone, like a VIP client demanding a luxury section of the restaurant.

The fucking entitlement. Exactly what you were waiting for.

“Oh,” you smile, deceptively soft and lift your hand to stroke his sharp cheekbones. “You’d prefer the bed?”

He senses the shift in your tone, his muscles tightening, but he doesn’t flinch away. Not just entitled, but so self-assured too.

“Yes,” he answers, holding up your gaze. “I think it’d be beneficial to the both of us.”

You smile wider, from soft to mocking, “I wasn’t aware of your priorities,” your voice is calm, but when you swipe your thumb across his lips, it’s harsh, applying enough pressure to force his mouth open.

Your other hand finally grabs his cock, roughly, sending a jolt through his entire body. You stroke him and slide your fingers down between his legs, cup his balls and then move farther, to his tight hole, to show that everything he has is open to you.

“I was under the impression that you want to be fucked,” you say, looking into his eyes and he breathes out through the mouth you’re still keeping open.

You smile again and remove your hand from between his legs. “But apparently you just want the bed. Perhaps I should just leave you there alone like this.”

His eyes are stormy violet, but his body leans so receptively against you, shudders with obvious need. The tip of his cock is leaking pearly precum.

“I never said that,” he answers with strained tightness in his voice.

You sigh and lean into him, pressed close enough to feel him struggling not to arch into you, and tenderly kiss his lower lip, then the tiny mole under it.

“Then stop making demands or I’ll shut your pretty mouth.”

He looks so scandalized, it’d be funny if it wasn’t so hot. His mouth *is* really pretty, especially half-open and breathing heavily like this. It’s a challenge, almost a dare. ‘Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait for what I do next’.

You don’t tell him that, though. Why ruin a nice surprise.

You step back a little, grab him, turn him around and throw him roughly over the table, enjoying his shocked gasp. The elegant porcelain vase that was standing on the edge falls down and breaks, delicate petals of white camellias that were kept there scattering on the floor. You press your hand between Ayato’s shoulderblades, keeping him in place when he struggles to move, and hoist his tied leg up on the table, forcing him to balance on his free leg, his ass entirely exposed. He glares angrily at you over the shoulder, his cheek pressed to the table, but you just smile and arch your eyebrow expectantly, looking over him splayed like that in front of you.

It sends shivers to his core, the rough handling, demeaning exposure of being bent over the desk like a common whore, the anticipation of being used, but not knowing how exactly… But he will try to keep up the appearances even like that.

“This was an expensive vase”, he says flatly.

You lean down, still smiling, and close your hand over his dick, squeeze painfully so that he arches, his thighs shudder. “More expensive than this cock?”

“...No,” he finally lets out, strained.

“Then I can afford it,” you tell him with a smirk and watch with satisfaction an angry blush appearing on his cheeks. It’s only the beginning, though. Time to escalate.

You move away and and soon come back, catching his jaw and forcing a gag into his mouth. His indignant protests are muffled, but still loud enough.

“What’s wrong, your Highness?” you ask pleasantly, looking into his stormy eyes and stroking the exposed curve of his asscheek while he writhes in front of you. “I told you I’ll shut your mouth if you make demands, so you thought you can keep talking back at me if you don’t technically demand anything, because you’re so clever?”

You can see in his affronted glare that it’s exactly what he thought. You grin at him and slap the skin you were just caressing. He yelps, a sound choked by the gag, tries to move, but you press your hand against the back of his neck, pinning him to the table, as you keep laying blows across his ass and thighs. His flesh is so pale and tender, a true aristocrat, it turns a bright red immediately, in gorgeous contrast with the dark ropes.

When he shuts his eyes, long lashes squeezed tightly, and his grunts turn from protesting to shaky, you start alternating pain with caresses. You stroke the skin that is still stinging from a hit a second ago, slide your fingers between his legs to cup his balls, grab his painfully hard, leaking dick. The noises he makes, tiny muffled half-gasps, half-moans, are delicious. He bucks his hips as you twist the sensitive head of his cock with one hand and strike his ass with the other. This time his moan is loud, needy.

“So nice of you to approve,” you say teasingly and reach for the lube. You pour it on your fingers and press them against his hole. He tenses in anticipation, you see the muscles of his tied arms strain against the ropes. You start massaging his entrance and run your free hand over the sharp knobs on his spine.

“Relax,” you tell him softly and slide your fingers inside. Shudder runs through his body, his back arching, forehead pressed to the table and hair falling to cover his face. You lean down to kiss a small mole on the back of his shoulder, your fingers working inside of him, opening him up, hitting the sweet spot until he whimpers, his hips twitching under you. You lightly bite his shoulder and with your free hand you grab the criss-crossed ropes on his back and pull them slowly, making them taut, pressed harshly against his skin, so that he moans hoarsely, clenches around your fingers. You fuck him faster and faster, watch how the trembling turns into writhing and moans grow louder.

“Are you already close, your Highness?” you hook your fingers inside him, and he arches deliriously, exquisitely, thrusting into your hand. You can tell that he’s on the edge and you slap his ass harshly.

“Come on, cum for me then,” you tell him and drag your nails over his sensitive, stinging flesh. He comes with a long, shaky scream barely muffled by the gag, and goes limp under your hands.

You take your fingers out of his ass and gag out of his mouth, and smile, looking at his trembling form sprawled on the table.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I didn’t quite get it.”

He coughs a little, his throat dry from screaming, breathing heavily through his mouth to regain his composure, then swallows harshly and licks his lips.

“My title is not “Highness”,” he finally says, meeting your eyes, his voice a little hoarse, but still haughty. You can’ help but smile. He couldn’t very well say he screamed because he loved how you fucked him, but there’s no one else who could be bent over the table and fucked like that, turned into a screaming, writhing mess, and then still glare at you with this dignified primness, all the while with his ass still exposed and arched up.

“Why not?” you turn him over and pull him up by the rope harness on his chest, so that he’s standing up face to face with you.

“I’m not a prince, obviously,” he says calmly, rolling his eyes just so, and you chuckle, catch his chin and trail kisses down his jawline teasingly, your body pressed flat against him.

“You are to me,” you tell him, grinning, and this earns a fond, surprised chuckle from him. You kiss his smiling mouth, and he answers eagerly back, his tongue sliding against yours, his body arching in your hands.

Ayato doesn’t really have a praise kink, but he loves to be complimented and feel special for the reasons other than his heritage or political status, especially from the people who otherwise treat him as equal. The pointed irreverence is what makes the endearment count.

“I’ll even get you to the bed, isn’t it a royalty treatment that you wanted?” you tell him, breaking the kiss, turn him and push him down, so that he falls on the bed next to the table. He lands on the mass of pillows, and grins with a smug satisfaction, a cat that’s gotten what he wanted.

It’s worth getting him to the bed for the view alone, though. He’s insanely gorgeous, sprawled on the dark silk like that, pale sculpted body against the sleek black of the sheets, managing to look both elegant and ravished, the red marks from your touch decadently obscene on his tender skin, light hair looking even better when disheveled. The temptation to just fuck him right there, wreck him immediately, roughly, is immense.

But that’s obviously what he wants. He knows how exquisite he is, the honed, cherished masterpiece, the way he looks at you from under half lowered eyelids, languorous, confident, not even as much demanding, as sure you won’t be able to resist him.

Is he worth the trouble? Gods yes. But it doesn’t mean you’ll play along to his tune.

You kneel over him, kiss his soft, expectant lips, run your hands over him greedily. You move your mouth down, to claim what’s eagerly offered to you, the arch of his neck, the slopes of his delicate collarbones, the broad chest, heavily rising as he breathes feverishly, pink nipples, hardened under your caress, sculpted abs and carved hipbones.

He’s throbbing hard when you get down there, but you don’t touch his dick. You reach for the rope and start tying his free leg in the same position, ankle to the thigh.

He groans in frustration, rolls his head back on the silken pillows, he’s breathing heavily, impatient. You kiss the line from his exposed inner thigh to the tender juncture where his leg meets the torso, and finish up the knots. He trembles under your touch, arches as much as he can, fixated as he is.

You raise from the bed and step back, admiring your handiwork. He’s splayed on the bed, thighs forced open, shoulders slightly drawn back and chest arched due to his hands being tied behind his back, his gorgeous long cock is throbbing hard, violet ropes drawn over his body like the edges on the luminous stained glass, he’s breathing feverishly from his parted, swollen mouth, silver-blue hair falling around his face like a tangled halo, his eyes a wild, delirious lavender.

You sit back in a chair and watch over him with a smile, as he struggles and finally lets out, huskily. “What are you waiting for?”

“I remember we had an agreement. I get you to the bed and leave you there by yourself,” you say, smirking, and meet his angry glare.

“You wouldn’t,” he grits out.

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t…” he stops himself, takes a deep breath, licking his lips, realizing that saying ‘You wouldn’t dare’ could only spur you on. “What would you gain from it?”

He really thinks that fucking him is the limit of human aspirations. You smile teasingly.

“Oh, for a start, I’d enjoy immensely watching you writhe and beg desperately like a common slut, my princeling. Maybe I’ll roll you onto a pillow and tease you until you start humping it like a dog.”

His eyes widen, horrified, breath catching in his throat at the imagined humiliation. Oh, this is too good. You should absolutely do it to him. But not today. Let him stew in this thought, be both aroused when he thinks about it afterwards and appalled at his own desire, let him wait with a baited breath if you do it to him for the next few sessions, be both relieved and - secretly - a little disappointed that you don’t. Then you can spring it on him when he least expects this.

It always pays off to play the long game with Ayato.

You don’t show your decision though, sitting impassively yet, watching him squirm.

“Don’t do it,” he breezes out, looking you in the eyes, biting his lip, almost anxiously for someone always so confident as him.

“Convince me then,” you tell him with a smirk, move to sit on the edge of the bed, looming over him, but not touching.

“Please,” he manages, strained. “I’m so close. Let me finish.”

You scoff, lean down and run your thumb over his cheekbones teasingly. He trembles nonetheless, too overstimmed and wound up, raw and sensitive to every touch, his eyes hazy from desire, his breath laborious.

“Is that the best you can do? Is this your famed eloquence? If so, it’s not giving me much motivation.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, licks his dry lips. When he meets your eyes again, he doesn’t look necessarily calm or collected, but focused, determined, his raw hunger sharpened into a thin cutting edge.

“Please, I want you to fuck me,” he says, his voice deep, low, shameless, almost purring. “Take me, fuck me hard, wreck me, I beg of you. I am yours to use.”

You can barely restrain yourself to let him finish the sentence before you claim his mouth. You move to position yourself between his legs and slide your strap\cock into him, slowly, but forcefully, in one long thrust. He arches under you and you drink a sweet, shuddering moan from his lips. You fuck him hard, quickening the pace, gripping the ropes that are digging into his hips, and his moans turn into erratic, desperate screams, his head lolling back helplessly

You lean down to him, slide your hand into his hair and tug, forcing him to expose his throat, close your other hand over his leaking cock, feel him choke on his breath and tremble feverishly, his open, tied legs shaking.

“That’s right, come for me, baby,” you tell into his ear, his soft hair tickling your face as he leans into you. You roll your hips, cock buried deep inside him, and squeeze his dick. “Let me see you fall apart.”

He comes, crying out against your skin, trying desperately to thrust into your hand. You stroke him through it until pleasure becomes blinding as the pain and he starts trashing under you, whimpering incoherent pleas, completely unraveled.

He goes limp when you slide out of him and get to untying the ropes. You get to the knots on his upper back when he turns to you over the shoulder, catches your mouth in a softly tired, lazy kiss.

“How are you?” you ask, undoing the last knots. “Limbs didn’t fall asleep?”

“No, I’m fine,” he says mildly, but his fingers close on your forearm, asking you to stay close a little longer. You circle your arm around his shoulders in reassurance and he leans into you. You kiss his temple softly, and he smells of expensive perfume, sweat and an incoming summer rain, that didn’t yet catch you, but already echoes in the wind.

You glance down at him, because he is too quiet, and sure enough, he’s thinking. And not just thinking, his lips are pressed, eyelids half-closed, but tight around the corners, brows furrowed just so. Oh no. This is the Strategizing face.

“Ayato, don’t do your fucking deluge thing or I swear to fucking gods! No, it’s not a suitable substitute for a shower, you absolute…”

“I wasn’t going to!” he laughs with an exaggeratedly affronted look, breaking the concentration. “You made your opinion perfectly clear last time, no need to yell at me again.”

“Then what are you scheming about?”

He doesn’t try to deny that he’s scheming.

“I want you to choke me next time,” he says matter of factly.

“We’ve discussed this before. Your skin is too tender, marks are going to be too obvious.”

“I’m going to get a high-collared outfit.”

“Do they even make collars that go right under the chin?”’

“Of course they don’t,” he scoffs. “I will get one custom-ordered.”

You laugh. “Of course you will, your Highness. Is there going to be a new fashion trend in Inazuma city because the Yashiro commissioner really wants to have his pretty throat choked?”

“It’s a good look anyway, so I don’t see the problem. As a fallback option, there are some suitable paints I can get from our festival supplies. And of course, if all else fails I can always blame it on the assassination attempt.”

“I wish you were more careful about the assassins than the custom-made collars.”

“I don’t even get that many assassins these days,” he shrugs dismissively with one shoulder, the other pressed against you. “Just a few Fatui strugglers, grasping at the straws. They are bound to run out soon.”

“I still don’t know if you’ve planned this thoroughly enough,” you tease him. “What if you cause an international diplomatic incident by accusing the Fatui of trying to kill you by choking and spanking your ass?”

You catch a sharp elbow under your ribs, but it’s worth it.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

always always thinking about your post that was like “normal has a very high threshold for being loved that is nearly impossible to meet and he will do *anything* to feel validated” and then today in the discord during the part where willy reveals it could’ve been either normal or scary, will said “willy fucked up normal would burn the entire world down for the tiniest crumb of validation” and just. screaming screaming forever about this boy’s inability to ever feel loved enough, he is every webweaving post about always devouring and never feeling full from love, this boy is RAVENOUS and it’s hard to understand how the oak good-boy morality can even supersede that, he has every trait imaginable to become a villain and it feels like the only thing preventing that is the desire to be good, bc tbh I don’t think he wants to be good more than he wants to be loved

SORRY FOR TAKING ALMOST TWO FUCKING WEEKS TO ANSWER THIS ANON!

Eheh, firstly *thank you* because this message is very sweet and made me extremely happy. The post you’re talking about took a good while to write and came with a lot of anxiety so it’s very nice to hear that you’ve kept fragments of it with you, I really do appreciate that!!! 💜

I’d debated for a bit on answering this privately to be honest with you, as not every fire I’ve sparked is one whose flames I wish to fan, so to speak, but everything you wrote is just so on-point and well-articulated that I couldn’t resist. Otherwise. *Ahem*. I know it's very very silly to respond to a response about an essay with what is essentially another essay, but you see, in thinking of how to answer your message, I got a little caught amongst many other things that have been on my mind... And I've seen some takes that have annoyed me for one reason or another and couldn't decide how to address those and. Well. Ultimately I decided that the stuff I wanted to talk about was connected *enough* to the stuff brought up in your message (as well as in my original post) that I could put it all together, soooooooo if you'll entertain me rambling once more~

Let's start by saying that, I recently saw a take going around stating that “Scary’s internal issues caused her external issues while Normal’s external issues caused his internal issues” (among a number of other statements that I frankly found pretty questionable), and I must say, for reasons that I hope to explain, I disagree with this assertion on both accounts!

In Scary’s case, this statement completely erases and undermines the trauma of her dad walking out, and what that does not only to her confidence and sense of self-worth, but to her relationship with her mother as well. And the degree of the impact of this external trauma on her internal view towards and treatment of herself is clear as day just by looking at the stark contrast between Terri and Scary. Scary (Terri) is someone who once had confidence in herself and could find validation and motivation internally, most recently evidenced by Terri's words of encouragement to Scary whilst under beacon of hope:

But then her dad leaves, and things get harder at home, and Scary starts to fight with her mom (her mom who she once called her best friend!!!), and she starts to feel worthless and unlovable- something that only gets worse with time as Willy alienates her from the rest of the group, case in point with this revealing exchange:  

No one’s told her they’re proud of her in a long time (sound familiar??),

her teachers at school shut her down when she tries to speak her mind or otherwise dismiss her behavior as “acting out” seemingly without any sort of intervention or attempt to actually check in with her,

[the above teen fact is from episode 31]

Only then, in response to her diminished sense of self-worth does she begin to cut herself off from the rest of the world and from her former self, most importantly quitting soccer (which we know matters a lot to her!),

and those things leave her even more vulnerable and supportless and ashamed. Not to mention all the mixed emotions she must feel when Terry walks into the picture, between actually liking him but not being able to see his love as genuine due to her relationship with her bio dad and all the frustration and shame she must feel as a result.

This is not to claim that Scary’s internal struggles do not inform a lot of what happens to her and the people around her over the run of the season- of course they do! (In fact some of the later things mentioned above are examples of that- I guess I got a bit carried away). But Scary’s major internal struggles that affect her throughout the course of the adventure are preceded by a slew of important external events that negatively affect her psyche and are in many cases out of her control. Scary’s internal struggles did not originate in a vacuum, and I absolutely would not say that they “caused” the bulk of what she has been through.

Unlike Scary, Norm’s excessive dependency on external validation to feel like he’s worth anything begins when he is very young. [Emphasis on “excessive” here, since obviously everyone requires validation from others to some degree, the point being just that this trait is so very pronounced in Normal and, as I argued a bit in the post anon is referring to, usually the most important factor informing his courses of action, superseding (but not implying the absence of) any desire to be good and help those around him. Will’s statement (the one which anon quotes) seems to corroborate this.] We know that things go so far back from Sparrow’s account in episode 17:

It’s important that this is about Normal’s kindergarten experiences too, because it tells us that Normal’s predominant internal issues go back farther than this and hence were not caused in and of themselves by his peers- instead being perhaps more fundamental to who he is as a person.

This is not to say that external events do not exacerbate the state of Normal’s psyche. In his youth most notably, we can infer that he interpreted Hero’s treatment (which of course he did not understand at the time to be her training) as favoritism, and I think it’s pretty clear by this point that his resentment of her is tied to the degradation of self-esteem that he experienced as a result.

Then of course there is the dance. Sparrow’s words to Normal during the dance obviously consist of a very pivotal moment for Norm within the context of the season, but I think it’s important to remember and not erase the fact that Normal’s internal issues with validation do not begin at the dance, as established in the kindergarten case but also further exemplified by Norm’s primary motive in becoming the school’s mascot in the first place (to get everybody to like him). I think it’s important to remember this in part since it informs so much of Normal’s reaction to what his father has to say, immediately afterwards but also throughout the whole rest of the season. No kid wants to hear that their parent isn’t proud of them, but the severity of the response to this sort of statement is going to vary drastically depending on the person, and in Norm’s case, given his natural disposition, it’s devastating. [and I swear there’s a teen talk moment where Will says basically this but I can’t find it for the life of me rn damn it lol maybe I’ll edit in the clip later if I do]

Of course in this specific case, one can still mostly say that the problem stems from outside of Normal, and that his preexisting issues exacerbate his response but are definitely not the cause of it. Outside of this instance, however, this is not always true! In fact, Normal’s excessive dependency on external validation and related rejection sensitivity (negatively) inform a large amount of his interactions with those around him, particularly Lincoln and Taylor (imagine me underlining “Taylor” several times as I say this). Truthfully that’s a whole ramble on its own, but with respect to more recent events, I have to admit that I was genuinely quite irked to find a lot of people blaming Taylor and Lincoln for Norm’s response to their uh. mech shenanigans in episode 37, choosing to frame this as an act of moral failing or even malice on their part, rather than a reflection of Normal’s own issues and room for growth. Lincoln and Taylor were simply focused on the mission at hand, and there was no good reason realistically speaking to have expected them to be aware of Normal’s emotional state at that point in time (or in general, to be aware of the jealousy their bonding moments evoke within Norm- particularly when Normal consistently fails to communicate and address those emotions with them in a manner that is direct and not passive-aggressive). Lincoln in particular is very clearly stated as not even having fun in that moment, very understandably being focused instead on the fact that his friend Scary is around his father, who he just witnessed, you know, murder someone. This is not an instance of the world going against Norm for no good reason other than to put him through it, this is a very clear example of Normal’s internal issues affecting the way he perceives external events in a manner that is not actually very reflective of the reality of the situation, and which of course feeds in further to his cycle of self-loathing (and I won’t go into it here since I sort of did in the post anon is responding to- but Normal’s negative reaction to Lincoln breaking the pick to gain Scary’s trust is another important example of this [tbh all the more so now coupled with the hypocrisy of how he handles the anchor in Goofs but that’s a tangent]). As aforementioned, Norm also struggles a good chunk of the time to actually explain his feelings in a manner that is direct and does not rely on blaming others for not picking up on his dejection, as exemplified in how this discussion goes with Lincoln in the most recent episode:

The treatment from fandom of this whole instance being reflective of a reoccurring issue I tend to have with a large chunk of the fandom, wherein the collective memory of canon tends towards getting warped to account for Norm’s mental state. Sometimes that’s hailing him as some morally-perfect, emotional reincarnate of Henry (as though the pride layer didn’t happen, as though Goofs didn’t happen, as though all of Norm’s relationship with Taylor isn’t what it is- …I feel like I should stop implying stuff about the significance Taylor and Norm’s relationship and not elaborating but it really is an essay in and of itself LOL), other times it’s just downright turning everyone around Normal into a villain, a persistent phenomenon which I sort of illustrated in the above example but also touched upon in an earlier essay (arguing that despite the fandom’s quick jump to villainize him- Lincoln breaking the guitar pick would prove to be an act of love). Sparrow also takes a good brunt of the damage from this. Sparrow saying he’s not proud of Normal gets turned into Sparrow not loving Normal (despite an abundance of proof in canon to the contrary), his apology for what he said and the support he shows for Norm in light of his alternative plan on dealing with the Doodler are completely ignored by most of the fandom, as are any other demonstrations of emotional availability and shows of growth that he displays throughout the course of the season, and the true motives behind Sparrow’s insistence on Normal living a “normal” life- to protect him from the childhood that he but also that Hero had to undergo- is somehow framed as Sparrow actually holding some kind of favoritism for Hero. It’s as though there is a complete inability on a larger scale within the fandom to see Sparrow as separate character outside of the filter of Norm’s emotions, and the other teens (including Hermie) get a similar if less pronounced treatment.

[Actually, I would argue that to some degree all of the kiddads except Terry (and Lark since he’s not officially a dad) tend to be perceived and criticized predominantly through the noise of their respective child’s emotions/behavior. In Grant’s case, Lincoln 1. spends a good part of the earlier half of the season asserting that his dads are the best dads in the world despite everything going on and 2. has a very unfortunate tendency to compartmentalize and push down his negative emotions as much as possible- in typical Wilson fashion- so the complexity and severity of Lincoln’s issues with his dad generally go understated, and only now that Lincoln has begun to be more vocal and upfront about his issues has some of Grant’s parenting finally begun to come under fire, and even then mostly only his more recent transgressions. In Taylor’s case, Taylor’s emotional security/stability and general fondness for his dad mean that Nicky is being hailed by many people as “the best dad” where in fact Nicky- while certainly helping the teens out in many ways and perhaps even acting as a friend to them- has done just about jack shit for Taylor as a *father*, and really if Taylor has anyone to thank for being as well-adjusted as he is now, it’s definitely his mom! But I digress.]

Normal and Scary are very similar, but the way fandom treats them is very different. People (mostly) seem to be able to acknowledge that Scary, in spite of her mistakes and flaws, is a scared, tired kid with a good heart who is capable and deserving of love. In Normal’s case, I just can’t seem to shake the impression that the fandom (in general) would rather strip Norm of all the things that make his character complex, and nuanced, and flawed, reducing him to an utterly uninteresting husk of a character before depicting him as anything other than a perfect goody-two-shoes who has never hurt anybody in his entire life or daring to acknowledge the fact that “Normal has been through a lot, is hurt, and deserves a good support system and emotional validation” and “Normal can at many times be his own worst enemy, sometimes makes mistakes that affect those around him, and has room to grow emotionally” are notions that can and should coexist. Or at least, that's my two cents on the matter.

[martianbugsbunny]

Rainbow Mists In Which He Stands (A Kalluzeb Fic)

Had to do something short and sweet for these guys, I'm being consumed by them. I haven't decided yet if I might expand this into a three-part series, with this one, a Kanera one, and a Sabezra one (which, fair warning, would probably be platonic bc I have complicated feelings about them being a couple). The point is, this is a delightful little break for Kalluzeb and they're having a nice time together. IN case you were wondering, the title is another Wayne Visser reference; that part of the poem kinda melted and gooified together in my brain like crayons left in the sun with that art @kappamelone did of trans kallus a little while ago to create my favorite scene in here (which will be terribly obvious when you see it). Read on and enjoy!

The crew of the Ghost had been offered (ordered) shore leave for a few days after a stunning misadventure involving Chopper, a bag of explosives, and a remarkable inability to count. Kanan said it was because their nerves were all stripped after that; Hera muttered about being put in time-out and kicked a couple of crates.

Zeb, like Ezra and Sabine, didn’t really care why they had been sent away to a remote moon for a bit of quiet time. He joined them in making excited plans about how to make the most of it, especially after learning that Kallus had been commanded to go with them.

“They want me to keep an eye on you,” he said, then a little more irately, “I’m pretty sure Rebel Command is as sick of me as they are of you.” Having been recruited into the Rebellion by the Specters, he had picked up their annoying habits of rarely listening to orders in the way in which they were intended.

But once again, Zeb didn’t care why Kallus had been packed up and shipped off with the Ghost’s crew, and he convinced Kallus to stop caring at least until they got back from leave. Then he could be annoyed about it all he liked.

The minute they landed, Ezra and Sabine raced out of the Ghost, shoving each other to the side, to take in the view. The planet was warm, covered in tall trees with vines hanging from the branches and brightly colored spiky flowers. Zeb had never seen another planet quite like it; the kids probably hadn’t, either.

Kanan and Zeb sat down together on the ramp, while Hera went through her post-flight checks and powered down the ship. “I used to go camping with the other Honor Guards,” Zeb said. He was still a little bit surprised, himself, every time he mentioned his life on Lasan. It seemed to happen more frequently these days; he wondered if maybe letting go of his pain enough to make room in his life for Kallus had helped him be more at peace with it in general. “I could show the kids how to set up tents.”

Kanan smiled, his head tilted towards where Sabine was gushing over how good the spiky flowers would be as pigments for her paints. “They’d get a real kick out of that,” he said. “You’ll probably have to drag Hera off the Ghost by her ankles, though.”

“What about my ankles?” Hera sat down between them, leaning against Kanan’s arm. “I guess—to spare you boys the effort—I could be convinced to spend the night outside. Sleeping among the stars is one thing, but there’s something special about sleeping under them, too.”

Kanan’s grin grew wider, and he kissed the side of Hera’s head. “You old romantic,” he teased.

Zeb rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch. “I’ll get the tents,” he said. Let those two have their moment. He went back into the Ghost and hefted the top off of a storage crate that he’d stuffed a couple of tents into before leaving the base. He’d only been able to find three; he expected Sabine and Hera would probably share a tent and leave Ezra and Kanan to commune with the new planet’s nature in that Jedi way of theirs—and of course he and Kallus would bunk together.

Speaking of Kallus, where had he gotten off to? He was prone to sort of drifting off while everyone else was busy, and half the time he neglected to even mention to Zeb where he was going. It was hard for him, Zeb thought, when he was with the Spectres; they had been a family unit when he met them, and he hadn’t figured out how to integrate into it just yet.

Zeb stopped to set down the tents outside before following the path that Kallus’s boots had left in the soft grass. Ezra and Sabine had stopped their frenzied exploration to lay back on the ground for a minute, and he gently nudged Sabine’s shoulder with his foot as he passed. It was good for them to enjoy themselves. They didn’t get to be kids often enough.

He didn’t mind getting the time to relax himself. He didn’t really care how long it would take him to catch up to Kallus, with fresh, greenery-scented air to breathe and nothing to distract him from appreciating the scenery. There were certain bright orange flowers that reminded him of ones that grew on Lasan, and soft white ones that looked like the drifts of snow on Bahryn.

Zeb finally stopped when he saw the waterfall up ahead. It was one of the most stunning views he’d ever seen.

Standing at the very edge of the fall, feet submerged in the pool it created, was Kallus, shirt, jacket, and boots discarded on a nearby rock, his head tilted back ever-so-slightly and his damp hair clinging to his face and neck. Where the water spilled across his freckled shoulders, it shifted and shimmered in the light, the mist forming a rainbow in the air like a cape.

There was that feeling Zeb was still trying to get used to: looking at Kallus and being sure that his heart was going to beat against his lungs so hard he would pass out, like there wasn’t enough room for love and oxygen in him at the same time and his body would rather go without the oxygen. It was easy to say he had never been in love with anyone the way he had fallen for Kallus. He wondered sometimes at the designs of the Ashla, but he was certain it had guided them towards each other, softening each of them in turn to make what they had now possible.

Zeb released a sigh and walked across the clearing to stand at the edge of the pool. “Enjoying nature all by yourself, handsome?” he teased. Kallus’s face instantly broke into a wide, unguarded smile, such that Zeb only ever saw when they were alone together, his amber eyes lighting like sparks from a flint. There weren’t many lines by those eyes yet; like Zeb, Kallus had spent more of his life frowning or scowling than he had smiling, but he was making some progress. A few of the worry lines, at least, seemed to have become less pronounced, now that Kallus was a little bit less tense than he had been as an Imperial agent.

“I don’t have to be,” Kallus said. Zeb stepped into the shallow water and waded over to Kallus, ripples fanning out around his legs as he walked.

Zeb cupped his hands around Kallus’s upper ribcage, thumbs covering the beautiful twin scars beneath his pectorals. The lines were thick and pale, mostly even; only jagged at the edges. “Have I ever told you how much I like these?” he asked, leaning his forehead against Kallus’s.

“Every time you see me with my shirt off,” Kallus answered, resting his hands on Zeb’s forearms.

“Which isn’t often enough for my taste,” Zeb said. Kallus laughed (Ashla, did Zeb love that deep, hoarse laugh), fingers playing across a set of dark purple stripes that were a little bit darker still than the others on Zeb’s body.

“How long do you think we have before they miss us?” Kallus asked. His face was flushed from sun—it made the freckles on his face seem just a little bit more vivid by contrast.

“A half hour before the kids hunt me down to set up the tents.”

Kallus smiled at him, more softly than before, but with just as much earnestness. “Ever the family man, aren’t you, Garazeb.”

Then he put his arms around Zeb’s neck and kissed him, and there was nothing on the planet except the two of them and the stones beneath their feet and the mists spilling across their shoulders, and for just a moment nothing could ever be wrong again.

[royrockstone]

treat it as a prompt to spread your food motifs thoughts, would love to hear some (especially after finale)

ty for askinggg <333

4x10, as told through food:

Caribbean Air Clear was a big win for caroline ed truthers. caroline’s food stuff has always been a stand-in for her failure to parent— she is either resentful of having to, or unable to, nourish them; she gives food in paltry amounts because that’s how she parcels out affection. and the kids find what she does give them inedible. at the Peter Munion Pitch Dinner, she announces that the portions are going to be small, and the only thing that looks like palatable food in her kitchen (the cheese) is reserved for peter— a person she actually chose to put in her life and seems to be happy with.

in contrast to logan, who tested and punished them around food, i read caroline’s inability to nourish them as more unintentional— she just can’t do it because she feels so much bitterness about her family. i also think there’s gender stuff in there— she's not Womanly bc she can’t cook (or, more likely, have someone else cook) properly, she’s like if the wire mother didn’t even give milk. in some ways, she’s sort of girlish rather than womanly (expressing in chiantishire that she wants to like have fun and drink and fuck and gossip rather than settle into being an older woman who’s best days are behind her. and she gets along best with her girliest kid, roman.) it always makes me feel crazyinsane that the one moment In The Light that roman seems to have gotten is laughing with logan about caroline’s inability to feed them (“three muddy trout for six and fill up on mustard”) those kids had no chance to be fed emotionally or physically lol </3 

meal fit for a king! lets talk about it. it is, first of all and foremost, sweet! it’s a time when food is being used playfully and you’re expected to eat rather than expected to abstain. but theres also such a dark side to it imo, as with all affection for the roys. 1. shiv spits in the blender (in a mirror of when she spit in kens notebook in s3) which is meant to be at least a little bit degrading 2. the whole point is kind of degrading (the name sounds like something logan would do — see boar on the floor, dinner for winners and mole in the hole from the script books) make kendall eat something disgusting, not as a test per se, but as a way of humbling him just a little. food is still lowkey a weapon even when it’s sweet and silly. (also theres some kendall jesus motif— roman crowns him but in a way that’s mocking etc) 3. it’s sweet specifically because the foods are a) unwanted— the roy kids have been starved, of affection and literally of food, and they’re making something genuinely nice with scraps and b) not luxurious— it’s not ortolan or kendalls endive salad, it’s bread ends and cocoa powder. 

there was an interesting moment that mirrored my 4x08 food lore thoughts— ken offers roman rum punch when he’s still trying to woo his board vote against shiv, and roman ignores the punch, pours himself a shot, then grabs a beer. kendall is the one who locked him in a cage and made him eat cake, he’s the reason they had to eat roast chicken, roman experiences his brother as always trying to subordinate him by controlling what he consumes (which is obv a corollary to trying to control him in business.)

on the less thematic/more personally self-serving ed headcanon side of things, nothing has contradicted my hc that roman hasn’t eaten solid food since logan died. all he does is lick Peter’s Special Cheese, drink coffee (sleep deprivation won succession, actually), and drink alcohol. we see roman eat cake at connors rehearsal dinner, pre-logan death and during what he thought was a secure time in the sibling alliance, then never again. his habit of snacking on little bits of fruit and desserts has totally disappeared. tho it's not shown, i could see him eating the night of the election when he realized he won at something and was expecting to crush it at the funeral the next day. if hes becoming logan, hes allowed to eat. but the second he flames out at the funeral and realizes he is, in fact, still a dead man walking, he’d go back to not eating. trying to please the dad in his head, or to express his essential deadness/emptiness without his dad. 

ofc, we don't rlly see the other siblings eat, either (i have laser-focused Roman ED vision so something might have slipped past me. does shiv taste the breakfast tom brings her?) notably, no one ate at the Funeral Planning Committee breakfast, they don’t eat at the tailgate im p sure, i don’t think anyone touched the food at the Munion Pitch Dinner. (tbh concerned for shiv’s fetus re: having adequate calories.) i think part of it is grief and part of it is collective family Disorder and part of it is the good old competitive strong dog weak dog stuff.

i made a joke that roman is going to end up like caroline, but i kind of meant it? i can see him having no food in his house, cocktail in hand, snugly burying himself some place out of the way and fucking around with mild self-destruction for the rest of his life. (altho rather than a failhusband i think he’d try to replace logan yet again and end up with a partner who was pretty brutish or domineering) 

ty again!

[golbrocklovely]

For me, Sam’s “Dumb and Wise” is just dumb. He never acknowledges he is privileged and most of his advice involves not having to worry about basic needs. I can’t respect someone who idolizes Bezos and Musk because Tesla drivers in my area suck and Amazon jacked up the price of housing in/around Seattle where I live and I can’t even afford a studio apartment an hour away (and I make $35/hr working 40 hrs/wk). I don’t have much respect for him anymore. (You rock btw.)

i think sam's main issue is that he is very much wrapped up in the idea that he can and is going to be that successful. he sees himself as a billionaire to be, and bc of that, idolizes those that are that successful. and look, if you want to make a fuckton of money, i get it. but there is no ethical way of making that much money without stepping on the backs of those that work under you and not paying them a livable wage. he is such a capitalist and a "live to work" person and it pisses me off to no end.

let me just step off my soap box real quick lol

sam's inability to see his privilege definitely does make his advice a lot less meaningful. some parts of his advice aren't that bad, but when combined with the overall message - which sometimes doesn't seem like even he gets - it's empty or not as well intentioned as he hoped it was gonna be.

for example: the vacation one. we all love to come back to that one bc that is just such a neon sign into the way he thinks. it's one thing to say "hey, instead of just constantly living for the weekend or when you get time off, try to look for the small things in life that bring you happiness." and that message is lovely and very true. but…… instead he worded it as "don't live for vacations." and while i get what he means, the fact is he is not the mouthpiece to be saying something like that. he can take a vacation whenever he wants bc he has the money and means to do so. telling us fans, that collectively are poor and will be lucky to have at least one NICE vacation in the next 10-15 years, that we shouldn't live for the moments when we can relax is not the best philosophy. now, do i think he needs to take into account everyone's lives before speaking (aka how every twitter interaction goes)?? no. but, at times, it might be best to realize that what you are saying, sam, only really reflects your reality and not ours.

i mean this with all the respect in the world but i genuinely don't believe sam has ever interacted or knew someone deeply that suffers from depression or really any mental illness. i just have a sneaking suspicion that ppl like that aren't close to him. and he would benefit greatly from knowing someone's pov that sees the world that way. maybe he wouldn't have such questionable takes then lol

[agent-cupcake]

hiii big fan of ur work! I have a modern fe3h vampire au and wanted to hear ur thoughts on vamp!claude :3 (I adored ur vampire dimitri) IN RETURN I offer u my current hc for vamp!sylvain:

-felix lives in sylvains penthouse bachelor pad

-sylvain doesn't bother to hide he’s a vampire

-just bites people

-MESSY DRINKER

-*felix looking dispondent as he wipes blood off slyvains mouth with a tissue*

-wanted in 50 countries

-to him he's wanted bc he's sexy not bc he's murdered people

-"most wanted list? nice " and felix is like . “im turning you in”

-SYLVAIN listens to vengaboys felix listens to deftones

-like sylvain does felix’s emo eyeliner in his bedroom while deftones plays in the background

keep sinning xo

These are very funny, thank you

~Off the cuff, I'll posit that Claude would be one of those mysteriously reappearing public figure types. Like "wow, doesn't he bear a striking resemblance to this Elizabethan mystery gentleman who somehow had a huge political platform?" He's been politicians, military leaders, scholars, maybe even the spare actor or other, less serious lives to keep things interesting.

~He spends all the time between resurfacing keeping up with the current world events and planning who he's going to be next. No rest for the wicked.

~He tries to hide his vampirism about as well as he hides his heritage. That is to say, he never says anything damning, but also talks about the past in the first person. If he gets called on this he just falls back on being a history nerd and winks.

~He wouldn't really take a huge amount of pleasure in the blood drinking specifically but I also have a hard time believing there wouldn't be a line up of freaks who would very willingly let him give the 'ole succ for the sake of a good time which would be quite pleasurable so, yeah.

~Whatever moral hangups someone might have with being a vampire would be pretty insignificant considering the good he can do in the world, although he would have his moments of trying to reconcile it and failing ESPECIALLY when people he cares about die or leave. Claude would probably try to numb himself to that.

~His biggest hang up would be his inability to go out in the sun.

[reidyoulikeabook]

hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

--

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

Permanent tagslist: @reidingmelodies @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187  @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reidsnose

(message/reply to this to be added or removed!!)

[imasimpforshanks]

Heyyyyyy hiiiiii hope your having an awesome day drinking that water getting hydrated 😗. I was wondering if you could do a Law Angst alphabet please. But only if you feel up to it and have time. If you don’t feel free to ignore or do it later here now have a cookie 🍪 because your awesome 😊

Angst Alphabet - Trafalgar Law

a/n: HI HI!!! thank you for your kind words!! I hope you are looking after yourself <333 here is the law angst! Please enjoy 🥰

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

He would only blame himself if any of his actions led to the accident that caused your death (we’ve seen him blame himself for that very reason about Rosinantes death). If his actions weren’t directly correlated to your death in any way then he would not blame himself, though he would kick himself for not being able to help you in time. Other than that, Law is painfully aware of the harsh reality that is life.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

Law would break up with you in a seemingly emotionless way. He’d mask his true feelings, while telling you a whole bunch of excuses why the two of you could no longer be together. He doesn’t believe any of them, but he’s got to do what he’s got to do.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

I feel like I’ve used this one in a few other character alphabets but it really applies to Law too. He would cause you to stress and panic so much over his health and wellbeing. He’s a literal doctor. He should know to take better care of himself, but he just doesn’t seem to care about himself the same way you do. So it isn’t until you’re crying in front of him, spilling your heart out about how concerned you are for his safety that he realizes his health is important to more than just himself.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

My god, if Law was to lose another person that he loved, he literally would never want to let himself get close to anyone ever again. Your death would be it for Law. He’d basically be on the verge of giving up himself. What other reason does he have to go on.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

He tries to hide every emotion. Law doesn’t like to be too open, out of fear of people using it against him or it simply being too much of a sign of weakness. So, very rarely does he let his emotions show. He also tries to divert attention away from himself in hopes that people won’t focus on him or his emotions for too long.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

This was covered in his fluff alphabet! But here it is again:

Your fights tend to be pretty short lived resulting in forgiveness and apologies from both sides relatively quickly. He really doesn’t like to stay mad at you for too long – he’d much rather have you two on the same page.

Most fights are caused by stress and concerns of health and safety, so Law does a lot of eye rolling and using his title as a ‘doctor’ as justification that he knows what he’s doing so you just need to chill – but like I said these fights are very short lived.

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

Law will never forgive himself for Rosinantes death. He will forever feel responsible for his death – it was all his fault. If only he hadn’t given that note to Vergo, then Rosinante would still be alive. He died because of Law’s incompetence (at least that’s what he tells himself).

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

During a break-up Law would act pretty normal. He wouldn’t behave any differently until he’s left alone. Only then would he let himself go and truly feel that heartbreak.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

Thanks to the doctor in him, Law is able to remain calm. He can keep his composure until he administers whatever treatment necessary. That’s not to say he isn’t worried though. He’s just capable of focusing on the injury right in front of him.

Only once he is certain that you are stable does he (or potentially his crew) go and hunt down the cause of your beating.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

When Law does get jealous (which is rarely), he gets quiet. His fists clench a little more, and his frown deepens. He also speaks less than usual (which is already pretty hard to beat). He only gives you short snippy replies until he eventually gets over it.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Law would kill for revenge, yes. He literally wanted to kill Doflamingo as revenge for Rosinante. However, it was in Law’s plan that Kaido would be the one to kill Doflamingo (after they fought) – so I believe that is how he’d kill for revenge as well. He would devise a fool proof plan (okay maybe not fool proof, bc if the straw hats are involved who knows what could go wrong).

In short, yes. Law would kill for revenge.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

This poor man has suffered so much loss in his life that it’s actually really difficult to choose which would be his greatest loss. He lost his entire family as a young boy while also having a shortened lifespan himself. Losing his family, and the realization that he only had a few more years to live, really made him lose his will to live a good remainder of his life. Young Law literally became a pirate.

However, he did meet Rosinante (Corazon) and he gave him another reason to live. Furthermore, Rosinante actively sought out a cure for Law so that he could continue to live a long life. Basically, Rosinante became a father figure/older brother to Law. So, losing him – another ¬person he loved so dearly – would have been beyond devastating.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

There was one day where he spent the entire day ignoring you. It was completely unintentional. His mind was swarming with plans and all this other information that has just come in. He got so immersed in it that he didn’t talk to you or tell you what was going on for a whole day.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?)

Nightmares are one of the many reasons Law hardly ever sleeps. He’s haunted by his family’s and Rosinantes deaths. His nightmares get particularly bad around the same time each year (that is, around the time of year that they died). He wakes up trembling and on the verge of tears (but he never lets them fall). Instead of even trying to go back to sleep, he’ll make himself a nice hot cup of coffee and immerse himself in a book or work of some kind – anything to avoid going back to sleep and risking a re-run of that horrible nightmare.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

Sometimes his exhaustion catches up to him and other times its all the stress building up that finally he snaps and all the emotions are too overwhelming that he just directs it to the nearest outlet, which just so happens to be you.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

You walked in on him absolutely breaking down over Rosinante. One evening Law retreated to his room while you and the rest of the crew were eating and drinking. He didn’t think you had noticed him leave, but soon you were following after him. You opened the door and found him breaking down in the middle of the room. You completely forgot that it was the anniversary of Rosinantes death. It was the first time you had seen him this distraught and it broke your heart.

It really cemented into your brain that no matter how tough he may look, he still suffers (probably more so than anyone). But, you were also grateful that you were able to see him like that, as it allowed him to start relying on you a little more.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

His inability to openly express his emotions. Sure, now he will share with you how he is feeling, but that is with you and ONLY you. He still insists on keeping everything else bottle away from the rest of the world which is a really unhealthy way to deal with things. It’s not that you dislike being there for him, in fact, you appreciate how trusting he is with you. It’s just, what if there comes a time where you aren’t around and he’s in desperate need of someone to confide in?

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around)).

Law would wait until he was 100% certain you returned his feelings to confess to you. So, if you were to reject his confession he would be really confused for a while. He’d let it go because well, everyone has their own reasons – its not his place to tell you how you feel. All he can do is tell you how he feels and then the rest is up to you.

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

He has no self-inflicted scars, and to my knowledge he has no battle scars either. But, his arm did get cut off and then reattached during the Dressrosa arc, so it actually is likely that there is a remaining scar from that (although I’m not certain).

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

Nope not at all. In fact, the only instance in which he would possibly break your trust, or lie to you, about is when he went to Punk Hazard and sent his crew to Zou. Some would assume that he wouldn’t tell you his plan out of fear of your safety, but that’s not true. He had to tell you. You taught him to be open and honest, and to trust. So that’s exactly what he did.

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

Law has gotten so comfortable around you that whenever you aren’t there, he gets unbearably anxious. Your presence is soothing, even if he can’t see you, even if he can only hear your voice echoing throughout the Polar Tang, it’s enough to put his mind at ease. So, if you are separated for a while… oh boy does he want to see you badly.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

He tends to yell at you. He tells you to “piss off” and that “you’re only being a nuisance right now”, despite you only wanting to help him.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

Not being able to control things makes Law feel really weak. Weak may not be the right word, but it definitely makes him feel unprepared. He doesn’t like when things are out of his control and he can’t account for things. Which is usually why he always does extensive research and preparation before constructing a well thought out plan.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

Well, I mean other than his obvious hatred of bread, Law also really hates when he works extremely hard on formulating a plan only for it to be completely thrown out of the window by a reckless straw hat wearing captain and his entire crew. (and somehow everything still ends up working out!!! That is the part that frustrates Law the most HAHAH).

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

One of the only things he’s ever really wanted was for Doflamingo to be taken down. He’s been partially successful in that sense, seeing as Doflamingo is in prison now. However, he wants more than that. He wants Doflamingo to suffer the same way he has.

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

It may seem a little out of character but… I believe Law would be borderline desperate/inconsolable. There would be a lot of clinging on to you, begging you not to leave him like everyone else he’s ever loved. He can’t handle another person leaving him, it’s too much. It’s far too much.

He wouldn’t cry (just yet), but his voice would tremble, and his hands would be shaking. His mind would be racing with all sorts of theories and possible ways he could save you. How could he possibly prevent the inevitable?

[butterbeerblurbs]

‘1+1 drabbles’ Hullo! I don't really know how it works, you're my first ask, but here it is, for your event I was thinking about this: 24 - Right before a passionate/first kiss 9 - “I wish I never met you.” I let you decide what you want to do with it ahah . I love your work, thanks :*

aw! hello! i'm honored :") thank you for sending one in! and such sweet words as well ahhhh thank you so much. i hope you enjoy this! (and i also went with fluff bc i'm such a softie) ✨

[you can still send one in here!]

a small little drabbles game based on this list! [web masterlist] | [tag: 1+1 drabbles]

situation: 24 - right before a passionate/first kiss sentence: 9 - “i wish i never met you.”

fred was nervous. cross that, fred is nervous. in his mind, there was a hundred and a billion ways that things could go wrong. little did he know, it does and you’re still smiling at him like it’s all the things that went right. crushing on you for the longest time, growing the pair of balls to ask you out for the yule ball and you saying yes? it’s been a hurricane of events.

he didn’t get the right corsage because he was too nervous (but you assured him his red flower matches your navy blue dress nicely. his coordination was a mess, bumping into you or accidentally nudging your knees with his on the dance floor (but you laughed it off, keeping the mood light as if you two were on cloud nine). he’s a stammering mess, awkwardly cut you off when speaking, unable to use his words, something he does quite often but now all of a sudden he’s malfunctioning (but you’re still so patient and laugh at every joke he says).

he doesn’t know why–merlin, godric, neither of them knew either–his mouth is spewing out words that portray the opposite of what he means. when your lips brush over his, his anxiety skyrockets at the thought of messing things up that he blurts out: “i wish i never met you,” 

because you’re way too perfect for me. 

too out of my league. dunno what i was thinking.

his confession leaves you breathless, stunned almost as you blink at him. he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your throat. your hands falter from behind his neck, so close to pulling away and fred feels his gut dropping to his core at the sight of your eyes watering.

fred’s mouth opens, intending to continue his thoughts when clearly–clear as fucking day–that’s not what he meant! shit, pull yourself together, fred weasley!

a hiss escapes his mouth as he instantly regrets his inability to speak properly. the way your eyes gaze away from him, leaning away from almost kissing him; altogether pained him. instead of hoping to see that gorgeous smile of yours, a frown slowly embeds in your features. here you were looking like you’re about to make a bolt for it to the nearest exit.

he knows if he lets another moment slip, that’ll be it. that becomes the booster for his newfound confidence from within. he squeezes your waist and tries to redo what he had intended to express. a hand of his reaches up to cup your cheek, luring your eyes back up to him. 

“h-hey, that’s... not what i meant. swear on my life, that’s not what i meant,”

even though you look like you’re about to cry, you still manage to look so adorable–okay, focus, god damn it!

“then, what did you mean?” your voice is soft, so gentle. like a feather fleeting over his heartstrings. fred swallows and dips down to brush his lips over yours this time; taking the leap that you tried to earlier before his... you know... slip of tongue.

inevitably, your mouth gapes at the feeling of his warm lips barely touching yours. he eyes your lips then back up to your eyes, as if he’s silently asking for consent. when you nod twice, almost immediately fred covers your lips with his. your heart feels like it’s about to fly out of your chest, landing into fred’s hands as he cradles your face. gently luring you closer to him as he tilts his head, kissing you deeper.

you feel his tongue at the seam of your lips and soon, it’s colliding against yours. tenderly, softly, perfectly.

fred pulls away with his eyes opening to gaze into yours. it’s as if he’s able to wipe away your doubt and it makes him smile when you move to bury your face to his chest. he chuckles and welcomes you, certain you can feel his heart hammering in his ribcage but it wouldn’t be a problem. it was the exact mirror to yours as you hug him a little tighter; relieved. his hands rest around your waist once more, curling around, keeping you near.

“i was gonna say that i wish i never met you because you seem too perfect for me. and it feels like... i’m wondering how i managed to land you as my date to the yule ball and–”

“freddie,” you’re looking up to him, a hand of yours now pillowed to his cheek.

“yeah?”

“shut up and kiss me.”

just like that, the nervousness bubbling from within disappears. replaced with this warmth rousing in his chest at the sight of your eyes sparkling at him; lips inviting him, enchanting, so kissable.

and that’s exactly what fred does.

the night hadn’t panned out the way fred thought it would. but with you, it’s all the reasons why it did anyway.

[quokki]

well so i know you didnt ask me specifically but u did give me an excuse so: let me just talk abt hanji because i need to, bc i've been thinking aand

why i bias him: when i first fell into skz as i was just making my way through their mvs, didnt even know names yet except for chan and felix, id literally always turn around at han's part if i was doing sth else, and i'd be like 'oh its that guy again, he caught my attention again wow'. like i say this to all my friends but i really didn't know skz personalities at first, i was JUST watching MVs and performances for like a month and they just captivated me so much and he did the most. then my friend sent me a gifset of the 'happiness is a visiting friend' vlive (a life changing moment) and i was like 'ah fuck this is gonna be the guy isnt it' and i watched a bunch of his older solo vlives and i just... could not fight it anymore. I get so overwhelmed watching those lives because of how he oscillates between being deeply uncomfortable abt the attention and basking in it? it's really fascinating and i can never look away. it's also just a way he speaks, i understand like 4 words for every half hour i watch him but something abt the cadence and rhythm and the way his voice gets animated or when he starts really thinking abt this words and gets quiet again but still comes out with beautiful things to say.... it's really very special, just the level of excitement he brings to this job and this world, it's so beautiful.

2. favorite dynamics

binsung binsung aaahhhh..... listen like, the way jisung DEEPLY loves changbin but can never be... normal abt it... i like to compare the way felix and jisung interact with changbin bc its so funny to me, felix just goes in with all the love and warmth that is so inherent to him and changbin absolutely is ready to match it, even if it's more subtle, but that's what changbin does, right? he meets people where they are, when they show him love he gives it right back. but jisung.... he can't. he asks 'why don't you hug me more?' and pouts. he calls him a walrus and then gets surprised when changbin matches that energy... he tries to make fun of him but then can't fully commit bc he looked at changbin too early on in the bit and can't finish it now. he says 'don't look at my back i'm shy' but when changbin tells him to flex for the camera, there's no hesitation (last example pointed out by my friend tumblr user alexenglish) like.... he wants changbin to love him so bad but he just cannot get it out properly and i just.... feel a lot of things for that. the best part abt it is that changbin already loves him so much, han doesn't even have to worry abt it, changbin just does, but han worries anyway...

and then him and felix aahh, felix disables that inability to say nice things. like i don't think han is unable to, he just does it so awkwardly, always telling people he admires them or randomly thanking them or getting serious with compliments when it's supposed to be funny. but with felix, because felix just has that warmth: the love just spills out of him and he accepts it so effortlessly too, he plays along when han gasses himself up, he is so supportive even when jisung is objectively being a pest. so jisung can just... let all that love out. he can hug him and compliment him back and just let all the love that is WANTING to escape him (with all the members) flow freely. because felix does and felix will not make him feel weird for it and it makes me very emo tbh.

and then finally just as a last note: han was chans first kid. they picked each other. they chose to stay together. chan was the first one to say 'you're talented but also i am going to rely on you and you will have to deal with that' and han was the first one to say 'i trust your talent so i will try' and then they did it.... they recognised that their talents complimented each other and then they became friends after... but they really became friends. it's funny bc han seems like someone a lot of members want to protect in their own ways but funnily the guy who protects everyone else (chan) sees him as a friend first? as a dumbass he has to deal with bc he's so awesome that he wouldn't want to live without him anymore? i'm big on being friends on purpose, on picking each other over and over and i think those two do it? a lot?

I don't have any pictures, none whatsoever, i have like 5 saved on my phone but the rest just live somewhere in my head, the day you sent me your pinterest link... i was overwhelmed for hours... i can't handle having pictures of him i'm sorry

oh boy it’s hanji time...

bruh i get you cuz i literally chose him for his voice alone by listening to their songs before i really learned anything about them. and yes omg i need to finish his lives lmao (but they’re so long D:) and he’s soooooo cute. i like how he pays attention to his own behaviour during it and he tries to act in ways that he thinks we enjoy seeing? idk i just think it’s considerate

ooo the binsung bit is so interesting...

“he calls him a walrus and then gets surprised when changbin matches that energy... “ lmaooo

idk i guess maybe han just has a difficult time expressing himself or his feelings?

felix is soooo sweet and loving pls hes love shaped 🤍

omg i love how han was chan’s first pick like yes!!!!!!!!!!!! lol

oooh it’s okay! i have too many pictures of him lmaoooo... as you would know... so i picked a couple for you 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

send me a love letter about your bias 💌💌💌

[omgreally]

You're awesome and I love everything you write. I was wondering if you'd be down to do some head cannons. This has to do with depression so if you'd rather not read it think about that please just delete this ask.

I've been having such a hard time over the last 9 or 10 months dealing with depression. I don't want to burden you with what I'm going through, so I won't. I know everyone has had a lot to deal with over the past year and a half. I'm just wondering how you think Din might be supportive through a time like this? He's my comfort character and I know it's kind of lame to turn to a fictional character but it's nice to have a bit of an escape from real life sometimes

Hey anon. I struggle pretty badly with depression and I feel you (oh man, you have no idea how much!) I hope you're hanging in there and I hope this little headcanon/drabble thing also helps.

It never feels like it'll end, but sometimes there are moments that help me get by, so my only advice is to focus on those moments if you get them. It's not lame at all for fic to be your way of getting by - it's definitely one of the ways I do!

If you ever want to talk 100% dm me even if it's to gush over fic or Din or Pedro or to rant or what have you. I'm an internet stranger but I am here! <3

As it Should Be

Din Djarin/F!Reader - Rating: E - WC: 1465 - TW: Depression, mental health, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and a small smattering of smut (bc it's me)

Din notices that you’re off.

It’s little things here and there - you refuse food, you’re sleeping too much; you’re found more often than not taking up most of the cramped space in your shared bunk. You tell him it’s nothing - that everything’s fine, which it is; you’ve finally found a place you belong, albeit with a strange armored bounty hunter and his green space baby.

Things are good between you - he gives you his hands, his body, eventually even his name and glimpses of his face in the dark as he kisses the back of your neck and cups your hips with the welcoming grind of his. Din makes love to you slow when you need it, rough when you want it - and he never fails to make you come, gasping on the syllable of his name. But there are other times he can’t reach you, when you’re quiet and staring off into space, and you tell him it’s nothing - because it is.

It’s nothing, this feeling: a persisting numbness where there should be joy, or love, or fierceness. You fight to emulate the emotions because you know they should be yours, but your laugh as you play with Grogu is hollow, and your smile for Din is forced. He notices, because you have spent months together by now, because he is trained to notice these things: things out of the ordinary in places, things, people. And you are, besides being quite extraordinary, not yourself.

You’re not sure when it started, or why. You wanted to get away - your most fervent wish to abandon your former life and start anew. You never thought it would be with a Mandalorian, but you are grateful, and everything is different. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard - accepting that things are different, accepting that things could be different, could be good.

Maybe that’s what it is; an inability to believe that you deserve this, these soft moments that feel like they’ve been stolen from another’s life and inserted into your own. It’s hard having a place to sleep - arms to sleep in - warmth and food and love where before, you had nothing. The dichotomy of your life is startling: half of it spent in darkness, going hungry too often, cold too often, the places within you that you thought were strong crumbling away beneath the relentless march of terrible days with no end. Suddenly being whisked away from that is like whiplash. You’re thankful, but you’re floored by it. It will take time to stand up.

Somehow, Din knows this, and he helps without helping. Whether it’s letting you sleep - bringing you food - volunteering to watch the kid himself, giving you time alone when you land on a new planet and he ventures out for supplies. You’re glad he doesn’t push you, and you show it as you begin to emerge from the shell you’ve built yourself, the layers of misery cracking like sediment breaking free underwater.

It’s slow, the erosion of this feeling - this not-feeling - but you catch glimpses of light here and there: the baby tugging on Din’s pants leg, chanting ‘Batu, batu, batu’ until he picks him up and holds him close; Din bringing you something he calls Tusken stew he made himself which tastes awful but you force it down because he made it for you; waking up with the baby on your chest, the tip of his ear tickling your chin; going to bed with Din, helping him remove his Beskar, piece-by-piece. Always hesitating when you get to the helmet.

“Let me,” he says, and you hear the pneumatic hiss as the seal releases, and he lifts it from his head. You take it from him and set it aside, always surprised by how heavy it feels. To Din - to Mando - it seems to weigh nothing at all.

You set it aside with the rest of his armor; careful, reverent even. You still don’t know much about the Mandalorian Creed, but he’s told you enough that you know to respect it. You know that him showing his face, even in the dark, is a big deal. You don’t comment on it, though - you accept the gift without drawing undue attention to it and for that, Din is thankful.

“Are you okay, mesh’la?” he asks the question casually, as if he’s asking you what you want for breakfast tomorrow, but your stomach drops immediately. He senses your trepidation - feels the way you shrink away from him, suddenly shy to the touch. “I’m sorry,” he adds hurriedly, hesitant - quite unlike the usually stoic Beskar warrior. But there’s no Beskar, just the two of them in the dark, undressed and undressing in other ways.

“I don’t want to - to scare you off - but I worry,” Din continues haltingly, stumbling over his words. You imagine his hands steady on his rifle and can’t reconcile that with the slightly awkward man sitting knee-to-knee with you, and your blank heart warms a little.

“Din,” you say, taking his hand, and he flinches like he always does at first - you imagine him closing his eyes at the contact before he accepts it, turns his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. “You could never scare me off.”

It strikes you as funny all of a sudden - comforting him, but it gives you something to focus on other than the feeling like you’re fading away piece by piece. He puts you back together with a kiss - slow and deep and soon turning molten, the slick sweep of his tongue waking you from your indifferent haze. You respond in kind, curling your fists into his shirt, and he urges you back - fills the space above you, eclipsing what feels like the entirety of the cramped, closed-in bunk.

You don’t feel trapped, though; on the contrary, you feel freed. The sweep of his bare hands up your torso, lifting your shirt over your tits has you keen; the feel of his mouth dragged forcefully from yours, down your neck, descending on your nipples makes you a little feral, a little uncontrolled in a way you know he likes. It’s you, and you’ve been missing for a while.

Clothes disappear with frantic movements - you slide together, naked at last. Din’s cock is so hard against your thigh that you wonder if it hurts, but you don’t wonder long before he’s pushing it into you with smooth, shallow, stretching thrusts until you wrap your legs around him and urge him on with a whisper for “More, Din. More.”

He fucks you like it’s the first time - like it’s new, and you don’t miss the tremble in his hands as he works one between your bodies and thumbs at the throbbing point of your clitoris. He draws your orgasm from you without effort, gives in to his, spilling with a gasp into the welcoming grasp of your cunt.

The post-coital high fades eventually, and he slips from you, cleans you up, and instead of rolling onto your side you settle over him with your head on his broad chest, listening to his heart beat beneath the scars.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in the dark, where you feel safest, where the words won’t hurt - where you don’t need to hide them or take them back. “I haven’t felt right for a while.”

“I know.” He strokes your back, and you feel the brush of his stubble, the press of his lips against your forehead. “You’re allowed to feel like that if you want.”

“Really?” you sniff, and there they are - the tears - tears you haven’t shed since leaving your home planet, as awful as it was, behind. Tears you haven’t allowed yourself your whole life, because they mean nothing, they fix nothing - and yet, as you let them flow, something fragile and tangible inside you shifts. “You’re not disappointed in me?”

“Never.” He lifts your chin with a finger for a more solid kiss. “You’re the strongest person I know, mesh’la.”

You smile, even as the tears break your dam, send you crumbling and insensate as you sob into the Mandalorian’s chest. He lets you, stroking your back, your hair, murmuring platitudes and assurances that would be meaningless from anyone else but aren’t now, because they’re from him.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, as the sobs ease to hiccups, as your tears dry sticky on his sternum. He kisses them away from your lips and together you taste salt and regret and things that don’t make sense, but are, and they’re wonderful. He’s wonderful. “It’s okay.”

“Yes, it is,” you agree, settling in his arms, eyes red, throat raw; you feel, impossibly, better.

Because you know now: It’s okay for you to not be okay. Din Djarin is not going anywhere.

And all is as it should be.

[jishyucks]

Eight Count ‣ lmh

‣ genre: fluff, enemies-to-lovers, hogwarts!au, I think it's a slow burn

‣ wc: 10.8k

‣ summary: "There's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." ; in which fate decides to be an ass and make you and Minho dance partners

‣ an: I'm sosososo sorry @ whoever requested this bc of how long it took. I didn't mean for it to be so long but it kept going and uni is to blame bc all of the work :(( but anyways enjoy !!

i.

You feel the beat of your heart quicken as you maneuver through the maze of corridors that you had begun to approach. Time was ticking. The first classes of the day had already started about half an hour ago, and here you were, racing down the stone hallways, tardy and a bit dazed.

It had only been a mere five minutes since you had woken up in the dormitories in pure panic, the realization that everyone had left and you were still cuddled up against one of the pillows in your bed driving you to act quick. You could accuse your housemates of not even bothering to check if you were alive, but you soon decided to place the blame on your body's restlessness and inability to go to sleep when you wished. You wouldn't call it insomnia, but your sleeping patterns weren't normal either.

Approaching the dance room with a quiet sigh of relief, you tug at the wooden door and peek in, hoping that you weren't barging in at such a humiliating time.

Scattered around the rather room, students were paired in twos. Each couple's bodies had been facing each other, hands sitting awkwardly in the other's while their faces were turned towards the dance instructors, Professor Shin and Professor Na. By the look on Professor Shin's face, it was evident that she was about to continue speaking, but the door swinging open had caught her attention.

"Ahh Y/N, nice of you to finally join us," she clasped her hands in genuine excitement, passion towards dance obviously bubbling up inside of her.

You grinned crudely and bowed your head, "W-what should I do, Professor?" Spotting your best friend Felix within the group of students, he tried his best to send you a look of 'we were supposed to be partners'. You shot him an apologetic expression back before turning your attention back to both professors.

After a brief pause in thought, Professor Na's face lit up, "Ah yes! Lee Minho lacks a partner as of now!" Following the eyes of your teacher, they brought your line of sight to the far corner of the room where Minho had been sitting. At the mention of his name, he raised his head to see that everyone had been gaping back at him in what seemed like total silence.

A sharp intake of air through your nose had replicated a gasp, eyes growing wide, "P-pardon?" Out of all the boys in the class, an amount you couldn't keep track of with your fingers, you had to end up with Lee Minho? The human embodiment of a wet sock?

Minho was… unbearable, to say the least. It wasn't that he had done something for you to hate him, which made you seem like a bad person, but in all honesty, your guys' personalities didn't seem to match. He was too arrogant, in your opinion. He has this energy that he carries that really didn't sit well with you, and by the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. It was as if you both ended up on the opposite bc end of everything.

It really doesn't help that you're a Hufflepuff, and he's a Slytherin. For some unknown reason, they always loved teasing the people from your house, though Hufflepuffs chose not to return their actions.

"Mr. Lee is the only student remaining with no partner."

You gulped and slowly approached him, only because your professors had motioned you over to him. If you could protest, you would, but what was holding you back was the attention given by the entire class and the teacher's who seemed too excited for their own good.

Minho pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, eyes lighting up in wrongly-fueled happiness. He hopped from the upper bench and down across from you. You blinked back at him dryly, maintaining calm yet trying to speak to him with your eyes.

Crossing his arms, he leaned forward and smirked, "Why the bitter face? You should relish in your luck for ending up with me."

"Stop talking, dead cells are coming out of your mouth… Luck my as–"

"Now! That everyone has a partner, I'd like you all to stick with these individuals until these classes are finished," Professor Shin had announced. It was quickly followed by groans and whining from many of your classmates. Though you hated your partner and wished you had arrived earlier and paired with Felix, you stood quiet, isolating the anger within your chest.

"And before we begin once again," Professor Na added, "I'd like to point out that this is still a class. We will be holding a class particularly focused on evaluation and your grade will be heavily based on participation over the length of this course." Once again, a chorus of grumbles had flooded the room.

You hear Minho curse under his breath, only because he was now two steps too far into your bubble, "This is utter bullshit."

This time it was your turn to taunt, "Why? Are you scared or something? Can't dance? Can't keep up with everyone?"

Narrowing his eyes, he scoffs, "Oh, shut your mouth, bumblebee. Just wait and see."

ii.

"Get up!" Felix tugged at your arm, voice sounding louder than it actually was. When you hadn't shifted at all in your bed, he sighed and tugged once more, "Y/N!"

"Wha– Felix you're not allowed in here!" You kicked at your blanket and sat up.

"We need to get to dance class," he clicked his tongue, "Let's go~"

"I really don't want to go," you whined, "I'd rather fail a class than hold hands with Lee Minho for an hour and a half." Felix dragged you out of your bed to see that you were already dressed in your robe, only your yellow and black tie had been carelessly tied.

"Wait, did you not change out your clothes from yesterday?" Felix jumped back in exaggeration, alarmed and slightly grossed out. His nose scrunched while he judged you through his eyes.

You glared at him and scoff, "Of course I did, you idiot. And don't act like you haven't done that." You take this as your victory as it was true, Felix had gone two days without changing, and it was a bit nasty considering all the places he's gone to in a day.

This time it was his turn to glare at you, "You shut your mouth! Now let's leave before Snape sees us roaming the halls once class starts."

Minho winced slightly, trying not to let your feet ruin the simple waltz routine that the class had finally run through, "If you step on my foot one more time, I'm shoving yours up your arse." His teeth were gritted in frustration, looking down at you with narrowed eyes.

"Then stop stepping on my feet," you muttered back, hoping that no one else, especially the professors, were hearing you two bicker.

It had only been about two lessons into the class and that amount of times that Minho had purposefully disrupted the routine… as if it were good, to begin with.

The two of you found it difficult to fall in sync with each other. It was always either going too fast or too slow, someone making an 'accidental' mistake, and Minho's favourite, holding your hand and hip with a tight and stubborn grip. It wasn't evident whether he was doing it on purpose, either, but you had pointed it out plenty of times, and he never seemed to loosen them.

"I'm not stepping on them," he pushed you back a little too early in the dance, causing you to stumble on your own feet. This caught the attention of those around you, though they carried on almost immediately after.

"Tell that to my bruised toe," you argued back.

As if you were being blessed, the music had finally come to an end. You promptly retracting your arms and to your body and taking a step back from Minho. He had done the same, going an extra mile to turn away from you and to the professors.

"Perfect! Perfect!" Professor Na's face lit up from excitement, "Now that we have learned this simple routine, next class we are moving on to one of the actual dances done in the Yule Ball as tradition. I hope you all are excited as I am!" Very few students had taken time to let out a "whoop" while everyone else, including you, chose to retrieve their books at the seats.

Felix approached you with a pitiful smile. He already knew what you were going to say, patting your back gently, "So how was it?"

Exhausted, you just shook your head and shrugged. Being partners with Minho honestly had been completely draining for you, mentally and physically, which was unusual as you could often live through such situations without feeling the need to scream.

"What else do you think?"

Felix nodded apologetically and puffed out his cheeks, "Is it as bad as the potions exam we had in fourth year?" He shuddered subtly and led you out of the classroom. Just thinking about that exam made Felix want to claw at his brain. If there was a way to take a particular memory and make it disappear from the chamber of long term memories, he would. Maybe then he'd be able to get a few more hours of sleep.

"Yes," you replied simply. The test was equally as horrible for you, but a test didn't force you to 'create chemistry' with a certain Slytherin.

"You're lying… can't be that bad," Felix laughed lightly.

"Easy for you to say," you sighed.

From behind, you feel someone bump your shoulder and pass by you, "Oops," he snickered, walking backwards to watch your reaction. The only thing he was missing was popcorn.

You turned to see Minho and rolled your eyes, "Ha-Ha, you're so funny, Lee Minho." Such a childish joke and you guys were almost leaving Hogwarts.

Though your reply had been dripping in sarcasm, Minho's wit had dodged it entirely, "Well thank you very much," he bowed, more like a manly curtsy, before he ran off, leaving Felix slightly puzzled at what just happened.

"Don't you see how much of a dingbat he is? He constantly chooses to pick on me just to get a reaction out of me," you utter, "He should be glad I was raised to be patient, if not I'd be hexing him like the world was near its end."

"I see a pattern," Felix hummed. The expression on his face looked as if he had come to an incredible epiphany.

Making a face, you click your tongue, "What do you even mean by that?" What pattern? Green, white, green, white? Minho and his constant need to be the crow to your crops?

Felix patted your head, "You're slow sometimes, you know that right?" He puffed his cheeks up and raised his brows as he looked down at you as if you were a kid.

"Can you just spit it out?" you narrowed your eyes at him before you physically pried his hand off your head.

"Minho does all of that just to get a reaction out of you," Felix presses his lips into a thin line, slowly forming a smile.

Finally arriving at the next classroom, you groaned, "You basically repeated what I said earlier…"

"If you didn't know this already, boys love getting attention from someone they are attracted to," Felix plopped into his seat. You followed right after, "I should know… I'm a boy."

You almost laugh at the tone of his voice. The confidence and the look he gave you to emphasize his statement; was all too funny, "So what you're saying is… Lee Minho has a – and god forbid– crush on me?" Felix nods like a young child, with eyes wide and a tight-lipped smile.

"Bollocks," You burst out laughing, "Felix, I love you, don't get me wrong, but you've never said anything more rubbish in the years I've known you."

"The chances are never zero," Felix put his index finger as if he were saying it in 'a matter of fact'.

You lean forward and sit your chin at your folded forearms. You eyed the teacher as she made her way into the room, "You're right there, Lix, but there's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." You locked that statement in, feeling your words and emotions contradict.

Right?

iii.

"And then Y/N had the audacity to step on my foot," Minho kicked at the bench across from him, frustration released after what seemed to Seungmin was years of ranting. He didn't mind though, in years of being in the same house as him, he learned how to block him out yet still know what was going on when Minho asked for some sort of reply.

Minho tapped the end of his pencil against his textbook, eyes drifting off elsewhere in the grand hall. Students were clumped at their respective tables, studying for whatever class they had. Minho was trying to do the same, but his state of mind was not in the mood. But he was trying, he was pushing himself, that's what mattered in his opinion.

Turning his attention to Seungmin, who was seated next to him, he jumped, seeing that Seungmin's eyes were wide and directed at him, "What the hell!?"

"What?" Seungmin shifted back forward, facing his own books. In a sense, the scene was hysterical. He acted as if he hadn't done anything wrong or out of the ordinary, but Minho still tried to push an explanation out of him through looks.

"What do you mean what? Why were you looking at me like that?" Minho put his pencil down and closed his book on it.

"I was trying to see something," the boy shrugged and got back to his own work.

Again, Minho furrowed his brows at Seungmin's lack of detail in his response. What in the world was he even trying to do? "Trying to see what? If you don't answer me properly–"

"Okay! Okay!" Seungmin exclaimed a little too loudly, earning looks from other wizards in the room, "You know that saying that if you're in love, you start to glow?"

"No? What type of nonsense are you saying?" Minho scoffed, "Love? Are you sick or something?" Roughly, Minho brought the back of his hand to Seungmin's forehead, which Seungmin had thrown off almost right away.

"You've been talking about Y/N this entire period, you haven't stopped until moments ago," wiggling his eyebrows, Seungmin whispered his reply to Minho, making sure no one would be able to hear him this time.

Minho's face had contorted into one of disgust and confusion, "And?" Where was Seungmin even going with this? He was just relieving stress. It's not that deep.

"My point is that they're the only thing you've been talking about lately," Seungmin scribbles his pen at the top of his paper to get it to work, "Even if I start the conversation, it somehow just shifts to Y/N. Normally I'd be mad, but since you're in love, I'll let it pass."

"In love?" Minho's jaw dropped, a mixture of emotions swimming around inside of him, "In love!?" Trying to find words to perfectly reflect what he was saying, he fails, shoving Seungmin off the bench. Actions spoke louder than words, right?

Seungmin smirked and chuckled, unfazed, "What? Cat got your tongue?" He gets up, dusting his robe off before sitting back down, "It's because I'm right, aren't I?"

Minho gulps, "Will you quit it? You're…"

"I'm…?"

"You're confusing me. Quit it," Minho huffs, gathering all his things as he was planning to return to the dormitories. This was a different way of playing with emotions. There was a zero per cent chance that he liked you, or worse, loved you. That word was way too strong, dangerous like amortentia.

"I take that as a yes!" Seungmin stood his ground, just letting out a genuine laugh.

Minho held a finger up at Seungmin, who still laughed, unbothered. He didn't like you. And if he did, it wasn't wrong to do so. It was an ordinary mortal thing to have feelings. But that didn't matter right now because he didn't like you, not even a tiny crush.

But that slight state of unfamiliar panic in his heart says otherwise.

iv.

The muscles in your arm were aching from the horrible fact that Minho had been purposefully letting his arm go limp while he was holding your hand, which somehow led to you holding up his arm with your arm. You frowned at him, tempted to let your arm fall in the middle of the routine.

"Can you actually put in some effort?" you whispered through gritted teeth. Squeezing Minnho's hand, you directed a look of annoyance that only returned with an amused look. Underneath his robe, you could tell he had been intentionally dragging his feet, causing the both of you to slowly hold those partnerships behind you up.

"I'm not wasting energy on this," he shrugs quietly, "It's ridiculous."

"What don't you find ridiculous?" you rolled your eyes, "You Slytherins and the lack of interest in anything but yourselves. Where's the excitement in that?" No, you didn't want to generalize the entire Slytherin population, especially since you had family members from that house, but you knew exactly how to rev up Minho's engine. Just by the way his face twisted, you knew damn well you hit the right spot.

"Shut your mouth before I spin you a little too hard…" he said a little bit louder, "I don't find it ridiculous, I just find that us being partners is ridiculous… who in this entire school would want to be partners with you?" Before you could even reply, he had caught you, "That's not from your house."

"Jokes on you, I know plenty of people who would be partners with me," you scoffed, and it was true. There was Jisung who had somehow been sorted into Gryffindor, Hyunjin and their seniors, Bang Chan and Changbin. And there was Jeongin, who was a Ravenclaw. You could list a handful more, but that's beside the point.

"Silence is deadly," he stifled a laugh which had driven you to 'accidentally' stumble over your own feet. This caused him to stumble himself, only he wasn't prepared for it, "I'm blaming you for ending up being my partner. I was hoping someone else would've entered the room. But no, it had to be you."

"You're blaming me? For this?" You shake your head out of disbelief, not noticing that your voice had gone louder. You were catching the attention of those around you and the professors at the front of the room, "You could have found a partner you wanted in the first place but you probably decided to stay back and wait for someone to go up to you. No one wanted to be partners with you, which is why you ended up alone in the first place."

Minho's eyebrows furrowed, eyes almost on fire at what you had just said, "You know what?!"

Before he had been able to continue the banter, Professor Shin had cleared her throat. The glares that they both were sending your way had caused the both of you to stop with the squabbling, "Y/N, Minho, I know we've never talked to the two of you about your constant bickering, but it is simply interrupting the atmosphere of my classroom."

Taken aback, the both of you had stumbled over each other's feet, falling to the ground and causing a domino effect among the rest of the students.

Flustered, you turn to Minho, "That was all your fault, Lee Minho." You huffed and attempted to get up, failing once you noticed that Minho was practically lying on your leg.

"Oh be quiet," he rolled his eyes and dusted himself off, "That was all you! You and your two left feet." The rest of the room was silent, regardless of the incident. All ears and eyes were on the 'love birds,' not entirely sure whether or not they should blame you both on what had just happened.

Sliding out from underneath him, you scoffed, "Don't speak so highly of yourself, Minho."

Minho cackled, "Highly? Of myself?!"

"Stop this instant!" Professor Na had finally mustered up the courage to intervene, anger bubbling in his stomach, "Enough!" The two professors began helping the students up, scolding both of you as they did.

"Five points deducted from your respective houses," Professor Shin said sharply, "And you both are now in charge of polishing the floor every Friday for the following three weeks."

"But professor–"

Minho was cut off, "That, or ten points off for your houses…" And without another word, you both chose to polish the floors after all classes were done for the day.

Day one of polishing the floors was practically the most difficult. Not only did the professors restrict using magic to finish the chore, but the overall idea of doing something alongside Minho aggravated you, which was why you hated dancing with him so much. The comments he'd make, the taunting looks he'd give you, the jokes that were obviously uncalled for, they all were honestly bringing you to the point of near insanity.

At first, both of you had decided to start off on the same side, almost the same corner. But the moment you noticed Minho constantly glancing your way in the corner of your eye, you decided against it, "How about I start at that end."

"Whatever floats your boat," he mumbles, "I don't care."

The tone in his voice hadn't matched yours, which you assumed was polite enough not to spark some type of that energy in him, but it did.

"Whatever," you make your way to the other end, sliding your robe off on the way. You let it hang off one of the benches, making sure it wasn't touching the floor. You rolled up your sleeves and started polishing the further end of the room, a bit relieved that Minho wasn't hovering anywhere within your line of sight. It was better that way.

The second day, you were hoping that you could get through a period of cleaning without hearing Minho's ungodly voice. He had been moving back and forth from one corner to the other, feet squeaking seemingly endlessly against the floor. You wished that the volume of the music could be turned up louder.

"I'm doing more than you are," Minho pointed out. You turned to find that he was standing in the middle of the room, hair messy and beads of sweat lining his hairline. His collar was out of place, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows just as yours were. Did he, for some reason, look attractive, or was it the lack of light in the room? Probably the latter.

"What do you mean you're doing more than I am?" you feel your eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I'm doing the same amount of work as you." And you were, but you were working just a bit slower than he was. He had probably sped through his area with the idea that the sooner you both finished, the sooner you were able to leave.

"Just hurry up," he groaned. Minho dragged his feet over to a lone stool, pushing it against the wall before plopping into it. The music continued to play, drowning out the shuffle noises of his feet.

"No," you replied, keeping your speed consistent. It wasn't like you wanted to stay longer. It was the fact that Minho couldn't leave until you were finished that was making you act this way. Maybe if he did his job well, he wouldn't be sitting around doing nothing.

Tile by tile, you continued to carry out the chore given to you, not paying mind to the pair of eyes that were burning holes into your back. You ensured that the areas you had worked on were basically spotless, reflection or not, you assumed that shiny meant clean.

Minho had been humming along to the somewhat catchy tune, foot tapping to pass the precious time he believed you were wasting. Nonetheless, he leaned back and sighed, hoping you could finish in time, so he had time to nap before dinner.

"Why do they even need classes for dancing?" He sighed out. At first, you weren't quite sure if he was speaking to you or if he was just thinking out loud, "I feel like we'd be fine either way…" You turn to look at him, seeing that he was already staring at you down.

"I mean it's going to look nice at the Yule Ball,"

You replied.

"Yeah but not everyone's going… it's a waste of time," Minho had a point, yet you still found it somewhat amusing that the school would want to organize such things.

"I don't see why you don't just skip class if you find it a waste of time," you moved onto another spot and sighed, "No one's stopping you."

"Yeah but who'd be your partner then?"

Not knowing how to react to his question, you keep quiet. Minho decided not to follow up on the problem, thinking that he had said something out of the ordinary.

The sun had reached the horizon when you finished your portion of the room. You stood up to stretch, hearing the joints of your knees and back pop out of exhaustion. It was satisfying to see the difference between the used, scruffy floor and the clean, polished floor.

"Okay Lee Minho I'm finished," without taking a glance at the boy, you made your way over to the record player. You lifted the needle off and picked the record up, slipping it into its sleeve. It didn't occur to you that Minho hadn't shifted in the past thirty minutes, silence filling the room because you turned the music off.

"Minho?" Finally turning to him, you found him sleeping with his head sat back against the wall. His mouth was wide open, practically becoming a makeshift trap for bugs that happened to be flying around. The rest of his body was limp, legs spread out beneath him. It was surprising that he hadn't fallen off yet.

You walked up to his sleeping figure and laughed lightly, wishing you had a camera to capture this moment. It would've been great blackmail. Maybe then he'd start being nice to you. Naturally, your eyes followed the slope of his nose, then to the two front teeth that stuck out from underneath his top lip.

He had bunny-like features, and you didn't mean that in a wrong way. His face was still sculpted nonetheless. Anyone with eyes would have to admit that he was attractive.

"Done staring at me yet?"

You screamed and jumped back, pressing your hand up to your chest as if to calm you down. Looking back at Minho, you find that his eyes were still closed, yet a smirk had replaced his gaping mouth. The number of curse words that threatened to leave your mouth was countless, the embarrassment creeping up to your cheeks. He finally lifted his head to look at you, eyes still a bit droopy from his nap.

"I-I wasn't staring at you," you denied, shaking your head a bit too aggressively, "Well I was… but because I was laughing at how foolish you just looked."

An offended look surfaced Minho's face, scowling at you as he stood, "I have this feeling that you're lying, bumblebee… Anyways, this is where I leave. Finally, after years." He shook his rolled-up sleeves so that the cuffs slid back to his wrists. You let him leave without another word from the two of you, still in a bit of shock at what just happened. You knew he was never going to let you forget that.

You slumped next to Felix as dinner was being served, an expression almost as heavy as your posture. He looked down at you, debating whether or not he should interrupt the mini montage you were probably playing through your head.

"I want to ask you how the cleaning today was but I think I already know just by looking at you," he stated, sliding a piece of roasted chicken your way, "Unless you do want to speak about it. Just eat and the day's over."

You gave him a grateful smile and gestured for him to eat too, eyes lighting up slightly, "I'm actually not tired from cleaning that stupid dance room, but it's just… this thing that happened. It was beyond embarrassing."

Felix snorts and stuffs his cheeks with food. His words came out muffled as he still chose to reply with a full mouth, "What happened this time?"

You glanced towards the Slytherin table, eyes scanning it quickly to get one quick look at Minho before you whispered, "Minho fell asleep waiting for me to finish cleaning. He looked idiotic as he did so I sorta just—how do I say this— stared at him? But it wasn't like I was admiring him, it was more like I didn't want that stupid look on his face to go away. It was amusing."

"And?"

"In the middle of that he went, 'are you done staring yet?' It was like he had a sixth sense or something," you muttered, "Now I feel like he's making fun of me."

"Doesn't he always make fun of you," Felix had yet again stuffed his mouth, so his words were still muffled, "Why does it matter this time?"

"It's different. It's not some useless situation… it was genuinely embarrassing," you poke the food before taking a bite of your own, "He's going to it against me, I already know."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure he'll forget it sooner than you will."

"Hey remember when I caught you staring at me?" Minho's voice echoed faintly throughout the room. He stood up to stretch before he crouched back down.

"I never stared at you," you sneered, "And why are you talking about that as if it happened years ago. That was literally last week."

"That's long enough in my book," he retorted, "Good times." A small reminiscing type smile appearing on his lips.

"Can you not start? I sorta want today to be stress-free and you're literally ruining it," you roll your eyes and move onto the next tile on your side. Minho had decided to choose a different record to play today, one the professors had never played in class. It had been hidden behind all the other records being used, and it took Minho a good five minutes to rake through all of them just to get to it.

The songs were more upbeat than the waltz music you were forced to listen to, which was actually much more perfect for cleaning to. It made it a bit more bearable than the last two times you had to clean.

Minho didn't reply, though you didn't see how he switched glances between you and the mechanical polisher in hand. The track had shifted into a faster song, something that was easy to dance to. From where he stood, he could see your knitted eyebrows, eyes dropping from the slight fatigue blanketing over you after a long school day.

Upon awareness that his shoulders were slumped, he straightened himself and sighed. This week had indeed been a long week, and it was evident in some way in both of you. This was the last of the week's labour before he could go and relax while mindlessly saving his homework for Sunday.

The music had been tempting to let go earlier than he should for the week, the steady beat and the catchy melody filling the room.

Putting the polisher and the rag down, he took a few steps towards you, still contemplating whether he should do what he was thinking or not. He was unsure whether it was bizarre for him to pull such a thing. But you did say you wanted a stress-free day, so he thought he should switch up a bit.

He started moving his body to the rhythm of the music, head bobbing as it took over him naturally. It was easier dancing alone than with a partner, that's for sure, but he wanted to invite you.

"Y/N!" He was freestyling, arms flailing and legs bringing him across the room with a swift movement.

You sighed, "What now?" Turning to Minho, you find him in the middle of the dance room, doing what the room was made for. He had a foreign smile on his face, not the usual smirk you'd find him sporting.

"What the–"

"Join me!"

You went through several different emotions in seconds, confusion, amusement, joy, contemplation… how were you supposed to react to a goofy Minho?

"Join me!" He repeated. This time he approached you, hands out in invitation, "C'mon it's fun!"

"Minho, we have to finish this so we can leave, remember?" You tried to keep a stern look on your face, yet you couldn't hold back the smile that had been forcing itself out. Minho suited this look; It was happier and carefree. You didn't know that his eyes would light up when he smiled a somewhat gummy smile.

"I know, but let's take a break," being the impatient boy he was, he took hold of your hands and pulled you up. He led you in a dance that probably wasn't considered a partner dance. He just pushed your arms back and forth like those scenes in the movies.

"Minho!" You finally let out a laugh, feet unable to keep up with his. He was sidestepping left, then sidestepping right, then back and forth, all unplanned. You stumbled, letting out joyful laughter that was rare around Minho. He laughed along with you, eyes disappearing the bigger his smile got.

When your legs had gotten worn out from constant movement, you tripped over one of them, sending you and your dance partner to the ground. Instead of erupting anger that would have usually washed over you, fits of laughter fell in its place, echoing throughout the room.

Before you could ask if he was okay, you hear footsteps enter the room, a confused Professor Shin staring the both of you down, "What are you two doing?! This is not polishing the floors!" The exasperation changed the normal hue of her skin into a shade of crimson.

Quickly apologizing, you get up and return to your so-called 'stations,' not being able to say another word about what had just happened to each other.

You wouldn't admit it out loud, not in front of Minho at least… but that was the most fun you've had in weeks.

Little did you know, Minho felt the same way.

v.

There was a part of you who had gotten used to Minho's horrible dancing after two weeks of dancing classes. After what happened last week, there was a tiny sliver of toleration that had surfaced from both of you. It was mutual. But obviously, neither of you were going to admit it.

Though Minho was starting to get somewhat bearable, there were still days when he'd begin to act up, smirk pinned tightly on his lips while he mischievously pranced about in the dance room. Today was one of those days.

When Professor had slipped the record onto the play, dropping the needle onto the very edge and starting it, Minho had chosen to let his body go heavy, relying on you to haul him around like a giant, weighted ragdoll. You knew he wasn't tired, just judging by the look in his eyes.

"Give it up," you tugged him roughly in one direction, then again towards another, feet hardly following the steps the class was taught the past few weeks. If Minho let his body grow just a bit limper than it already was, his head would have fallen directly onto your shoulder. If you were being honest, you didn't want any attention from anyone else in the room, "Lee Minho, I'm not in the mood for this today, okay?"

Minho's ears perked at the foreign tone that had slipped from your lips, sensing that you were being serious. You would tell him to quit it most days, but never with that tone; It was no fun if you weren't fighting back. Sighing quietly, he had picked his body up and started to follow the eight-count that Professor Shin was practically yelling out.

This minor change didn't go unnoticed by you, feeling his body grow lighter just moments after you'd ask him to quit it. Did he just…?

Other students in the room were surprised that you two were going more than thirty seconds without arguing like a married couple. Many sets of eyes didn't bother leaving the both of you, watching what would happen next in the twist of events.

Minho's feet carried his body swiftly; for the first time, he was guiding you like he was supposed to, but his eyes were glued to his feet, not wanting it to become weird if he were to make accidental eye contact with you. He didn't like how quiet it was between the both of you. The music didn't even do its purpose by filling the silence.

"Are you going to the Yule Ball?" Minho asked awkwardly. He twirled you as part of the dance. He recognized that look on your face which was basically a wordless reply, "That was probably a dumb question." Shaking his head, Minho mentally slapped himself. Never in his life did he fail with words.

"Of course I'm going," you replied rather expressionless, "Why would I not?" You were almost as confused as earlier. Minho trying to make a civilized conversation. Who the fuck was this? It wasn't Minho.

He shrugs, "I don't know… I guess you have a date…?" Minho, what the fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut as if the stone floor would swallow him wholly to take him away from this situation.

As puzzled as you were, you still decided to keep the conversation as it was, "Nope… I think I'm just going with Felix for fun." You tried to keep your tone calm when really you were freaking out. The only thing was you had no idea why you were freaking out, "Y-you?" Facepalm.

"No one."

None of you chose to speak after, not knowing where the conversation was going. The song was slowly reaching the end, which you had wished came sooner. Minho's hands were growing sweaty, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe your hand off. It was getting hot in the room too. Your collar was growing tight, throat itching for water.

Minho's heart was beating a bit too fast for his liking, but it was probably because he was growing tired from the moving. He wondered if you could feel how sweaty his hands were getting. Embarrassing.

"Final counts!" Professor Na called out before the static of the record player replaced the music. The two of the professors had clapped in adoration, overlooking all the students in the room.

Professor Shin had a broad smile on her face, "Beautiful! Gorgeous! Best one so far!" She twirled in place, "Thank you everyone! The Yule ball is in two weeks so I am very pleased with the effort you all are putting into this class! Remember we still have the final class in which you are graded, which I'm sure you all will ace."

"I couldn't care less," Minho mumbled, only so you could hear.

You turn to him, squinting your eyes and tilting your head to express your slight frustration, "You know I'm your partner right?"

"Oh no~ really?," he stuffed his hands into his pockets, "And?"

"And? I don't want to fail this class, even though I'm forced to dance with you," you stated, "So don't you fucking dare fail us both." That tone in your voice was evident once again, catching Minho off guard. The only reason that it had this effect on him was that he was so used to you choosing to fight back. It was like some sort of reminder that everyone around him was getting old, and soon all those around him were expected to be serious.

Nevertheless, Minho shrugs to annoy you, "Whatever."

Instead of answering, you eyed him once more. Your dancing just a few moments ago says otherwise.

You had practically sighed out the total capacity of your lungs as you hung onto Felix's arms on the way out the door.

"What are you sighing about?" He chuckled.

"You already know," you elbowed him.

Felix rolled his eyes and sang, "I saw you guys dancing earlier~."

You pushed him away gently, shock littering your face and posture, "What the bloody hell are you on about now, Lee?"

"You guys actually look cute together when you aren't babbling and all," he grinned innocently. Your heart had the audacity to skip a beat, startling you just as much as Felix did.

"Cute?" You scoffed, "First you said you think he liked me, now this? Are you his wingman or something? Are you trying to get me to like him?"

Felix skipped in his step, "I don't even talk to Minho, Y/N, don't be ridiculous… wait… did you basically just say you're starting to like him?" He gasped, hand slapping over his mouth, which had fallen in shock.

"No," you say flatly.

"Liar," Felix poked at your rib, "Liar. At least confess that you find him less bad."

"Sure, whatever makes you happy, Felix."

When you had fallen out of Felix's line of sight, you let the corner of your mouths turn up slightly. He said we looked cute, you think, only followed by you flicking yourself in the temple.

-

"I thought you were staying here until it closed?" you frown at Felix, who started gathering his stuff. You both had planned on cramming everything in for a test the next day, but plans didn't go as planned when Felix was eager to go back to the dormitories to sleep until the morning.

"My eyes are going to fall out of their sockets if I don't go and sleep, Y/N," he pats your head as if he were talking to a young child, "You can stay if you want. I know how much you hate studying in the common room." He double-checks his area to ensure he hadn't forgotten any of his belongings before patting your head once more. He grins and turns towards the door of the library, leaving you sitting alone at the table.

"Felix ~" You called out quietly, only for him to wave with his back facing you. You sighed and slumped back in your chair, resting your arms on the handles. Libraries were so much better when you had company.

The words in the textbook were starting to turn into blobs of ink, and for a second, you were thinking about following in Felix's footsteps. After moments of consideration, you shook your head and sat up. You'll stay, even if it was against the will of your fatigue self that had been prompting you to leave. This was all your fault anyway. Procrastination was a cruel thing.

Hunching forward, you let your eyes trace over the words, trying to process the information. You rewrote the info you wished to remember carelessly. Your notes resembled chicken scratch, but at this point, you didn't care because it was simply supplementary to your studying. The sun was close to its horizon, and the library was close to empty. It was somewhat more motivating.

Slowly the information had started to get more interesting. It was easier to run through the key terms and ideas listed in the textbook, and you could feel the exhaustion simply leaving your body. I'll finish this one last chapter and then save the rest for lunch tomorrow.

Your focus on the book had hindered your peripheral vision that the presence of another wizard floating over your shoulder went unnoticed. It was only until they had sat down next to you when you finally noticed.

You jumped in your seat, eyes growing wide. You had luckily suppressed your scream with your hand, which you had, out of defense, swung forward, slapping the person in the chest.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You don't sneak up on people like that, Minho," you rolled your eyes at the Slytherin, shifting away from him before turning your attention back towards the textbook. He scooches closer with intentions of irritating you, pushing his face towards your book, "What are you doing?"

You push him away and stick one of the thicker books between you both, "What does it look like?"

"Studying?"

"You're smarter than I thought, Lee Minho," sarcasm dripped from your voice as you glared at him. Attempting to continue with the final chapter, you miserably fail when Minho interrupts your concentration by tapping his fingers loudly against the wooden table.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" you say numbly, voice muffled by your robe, "I was literally just sitting here and you decide to do this."

Minho shrugs and uses his arms as a makeshift pillow, "I was bored, saw you, here I am, I'm here to stay."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the fact that Minho decided to 'spend time with you upon seeing you. You had no idea whether to feel flattered or irritated, but you knew you were confused. He could've just gone back to the Slytherin dungeons to sit with his housemates, but he saw you and decided to sit with you.

Staring blankly at the bookshelves across from you, you huffed out the corner of your mouth, blowing a stray strand of hair by your cheek. You did say you wanted company. You just weren't sure if it was Minho's company that you wanted. Glancing down briefly at him, and looked back up to the bookshelves.

"Fine," you say after pondering about the idea.

Minho's ears perked up, raising his brows, "Fine?"

"Just don't be loud."

Minho's head tilts in confusion, though he still complies, sitting next to you patiently. You continued to read through the final chapter, which you had underestimated in length. The chapter was a good half a centimetre in thickness. Though it didn't seem as much at first glance, the pages were practically dipped in ink, words covering it from one corner to the other.

You could feel your eyes grow heavy as you delve deeper into the chapter. Your bed was calling for you, but there was no way you were going to give. Not until this chapter was finished.

The library had been silent except for the occasional click of the pen from the librarian's desk. You had been mentally counting down the number of pages left to skim over, eager to feel that feeling of satisfaction you usually get once you finish a task. It was the same feeling as crossing or checking off a chore on a to-do list.

Minho had settled his eyes on the centre of your book, keeping them steady even as you flipped the pages. He felt the lids of eyes gradually get heavier as each page went by, and by the time you shut the book in delight, he had fallen asleep.

"Again?" You furrowed your eyebrows, remembering the last time he had fallen asleep in your presence. You darted your eyes away from his dormant figure, not making that same mistake twice, "Minho, wake up."

He stirs right away, head rising from his arms. This time he says nothing, pushing himself off of the library's chair before stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to your side. He looked like a toddler, and it was admittedly adorable.

"Why didn't you just go straight to the dorms if you were tired," you snorted at his dumbassery. Some students still littered the halls even if curfew was nearing. Instead of parting from your side at the library's entrance, Minho stuck by your side.

"I wanted to spend time with you outside of class," he grumbles. He blinks at the long corridor in front of you two, eyes barely staying open from exhaustion.

Feeling your heart skip a beat, you tried to pick out if he was joking or not, but his tone screamed, 'I'm tired.' Any other emotion was hard to comb out, so you sighed and shook your head, pressing your lips into a smile, "Sleep that cheesiness off, Lee Minho."

Minho continued to walk next to you, silent and confused about what you just had said. It wasn't like he was drunk. He was well aware of what he just said. Nonetheless, he subtly walked you to the kitchen corridor, parting ways with you with an uttered 'goodbye.'

vi.

Sitting against the stone wall, you watched the rest of the class carry out the dance routine, formation changes and all. You ran through it with them, only mentally as your partner was nowhere to be found, and the class was halfway done.

There were barely any classes left before the final graded run through, and Minho really thought it'd be funny to skip? You would have let it pass if you guys weren't the worst duo in the room, but you guys are the worst duo in the room, which made the situation different.

"Professor Na," You asked quietly, "Has Lee Minho been excused from today's class. Is he ill?" You didn't want to jump to conclusions, keeping in mind that people did have their own reasons. Maybe he had caught a cold or was doing a missed exam that was far more important than dancing.

"No word from Minho, Y/N," the professor hummed back.

You frowned and thanked him, turning back to the main dance floor, students moving in sync. Where was he?

Just as you had finished your train of thought, the door had swung open just like it probably did on the first day of class. Minho stumbled in, hair a mess and a rather sheepish smile stamped on his lips.

"I apologize Professors," he bowed deeply, following the perimeter of the room. He bowed again as he reached the two instructors at the front of the room.

Professor Shin stopped her counting, "No need to apologize to us, apologize to your partner." She gestured towards you, already looking back. Minho nodded and approached you, though when he did reach you, he didn't apologize.

"And?"

"And what?" Minho ridiculed.

"Aren't you going to apologize like what the Professor asked?" You tried not to laugh at how Minho had been acting.

Minho let out a cackle, “No? Why should I? Can you stand up so we can start dancing or something?" His hand was itching to reach out for yours, feeling like he should pull you towards him, but he hindered himself from doing so, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Instead of pushing the apology out of him, you decided against it, not wanting to waste any of your time, "Why are you even late?"

The two of you followed the crowd, joining in at the perfect time. Minho smirked, "Worried about me or something? I know I'm in your head twenty-four seven, but I didn't expect you to be so obvious about it."

Tightening your grip around his hand, you gritted your teeth, "I wasn't worried about you, nitwit."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because you made me sit, doing nothing for nearly forty-five minutes?" You reply as if you were pointing out the obvious, "So why are you late and coming to class looking like a mountain troll?"

"Wow, ouch," he sighed, "I slept in. Am I going to hell for doing so? Because I can recall you did the same the first day and got us into this mess."

"This is about you, not me," you applied pressure onto his hands, causing him to stumble back slightly, ruining the rhythm he had built up. He furrowed his brows at you and did the same, only you were somehow ready for it.

"Oh please," Minho rolls his eyes, "You've done the same so you shouldn't even be mad at me."

"I'm only frustrated, not mad, there's a difference," you point out, "And I'm frustrated because we have that graded dance next week. If we fail, it's going to be your fault."

"It takes two to tango," he quoted, "And you already know where I stand on that. I don't ca-"

"Shut up, the professors are looking," you warned, flashbacks to the three weeks you had to polish the floors.

Minho laughed slightly, letting air blow out of his nose. He let his eyes drift down at you, keeping them there for a little too long.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, spinning you along with the other students, "You just looked way too terrified." The next move had the two of you closer than the initial space between you.

"I don't want to be spending an extra three hours with you after classes polishing the floor," you retort sharply. Instead of holding eye contact with him, you stared at the Slytherin crest on his uniform.

"I know you liked spending time with me, don't lie," he rolled his eyes teasingly.

"I'm not lying."

"You staring at me says otherwise."

"Oh hush about that already, I literally told you that I wasn't staring at you," Inwardly cringing, you felt relief once the music had stopped. You stepped back and eyed down the boy in front of you, "Why do keep bringing that up?"

Before Minho could give reasoning, Professor Na had spoken up from across the room, reminding everyone that the next class was the graded class. Though they wouldn't be strict with grading, he still wanted to see the students' effort 'flowing'. After a chorus of groans, class ended, allowing you to avoid Minho and find your way to Felix.

-

Someone tapping your shoulder had woken you up, head jolting up as if you were frightened.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Chaeryeong gasped sheepishly. She was hovering over you slightly, eyes wide. She was changed into her nightwear.

You sat up, only now realizing you had fallen asleep in the common room, "It's alright. What time is it?" You didn't even remember how you fell asleep, but you sure did have a good sleep.

"It's almost midnight," she replied, "I needed to grab water from the kitchen, then I saw you here and figured it'd be more comfortable for you to go to sleep in your own bed rather than this tiny couch."

You grinned, "Thanks Chae… I'll probably get something from the kitchen as well."

She nods and mumbles out a quick goodnight before disappearing to the girls' dorms. You return her farewell before standing up, eyes drawn to the wrinkles your nap had made on your robe. Attempting to straighten the robe and yourself out, you stumbled towards the Hufflepuff house entrance, exiting promptly.

The fireplace had been lit, a few house elves roaming about and carrying out their own duties. They paid no mind to you, as midnight snacks weren't out of the ordinary for Hufflepuffs.

You asked for what you needed, then was given it with no delay, "Thank you." The house elf nods before turning away with a grunt.

You sit at one of the tables, zoning out as you stared at the blazing fire across from you. School was getting a bit more stressful than it usually has, which was probably the reason why you had fallen asleep without knowing. You remember coming back from a long library visit. Maybe you collapsed on the couch once you did.

You made mental notes on the work still yet to be done before the following week, spontaneously creating a headache. Standing up, you figured it was best for you to go back to sleep. Slipping the dish into the sink, you started making your way back to the dorms.

You rubbed your temples and shook your head as you closed your eyes. It probably hadn't been a good idea to be wandering with your eyes closed as you had immediately bumped into something firm.

"Y/N?"

Looking up, you came face to face with Lee Minho, who was just as shocked as you were. He had been dressed down in a knitted Slytherin sweater and pyjama pants.

"Minho? What in the world?"

He backs up after noticing how close you were to each other, "Could say the same 'bout you."

"My dorms are right there," you point just down the corridor, "While yours is in the dungeon…"

Minho blinks before he tries to move around you, eyes avoiding yours.

"What are you doing here?" you grab his wrist, eager to find out why he was roaming the halls. It wasn't unusual for students to be breaking the rules, especially Minho, who loved living up to the stereotypes of a Slytherin. He smirks at the skinship, which prompts you to let go of him, heat rising up to your cheeks without warning. You're suddenly glad it's dim around the two of you.

"I was… taking a walk," he successfully pushes past you and into the kitchen, a glass of water already there for him. He thanks the house elf, leaving the glass, before turning back to you. By the looks of it, it seems like he's been doing this before, like a routine.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed, "Taking a walk? You're painfully awful at lying." And the pause in his speaking gave that away. You followed behind him, expecting an honest answer as if you deserved to know.

"Weren't you just leaving?"

"But my question is unanswered," you shrugged.

"I answered you, I was taking a walk," he pushed the answer. Putting the cup down, he turned to you, "I have… sleeping problems."

"You just lied again," you nonchalantly, "Just tell me the truth. No judgment. A Hufflepuff's promise." You weren't usually one to push an answer out of someone, but this situation was different.

"You say no judgment but I already know how you're going to react to the truth," he takes another sip of water.

"So you were lying!" You raised your brows, "I knew it!"

"You don't deserve the truth," he sighs. Finishing the cup of water, he starts to make his way out, not even turning to look back.

"Lee Minho!" You groaned. Maybe it was your fatigue self or the fact this felt like some sort of game, but you weren't holding yourself back, "When I said I wouldn't judge, I won't. My mind's open to whatever you're going to say."

Minho spins around to face you, stumbling backward a few more steps before he halts, "I was practicing the dance steps."

No judgment.

The flat expression on Minho's face indicated that he had no intentions of lying this time. He had his hands hiding behind his back, eyeing you just to see if you would live up to your promise. Instead of his expected reaction, he finds you smiling, something he'd only see when you were around your friends.

"Wipe that smile off of your face, bumblebee," he mutters.

"Didn't you say you didn't care about that class?" you quoted, a smirk slowly replacing your smile, "Why are you practicing the steps?"

Minho licked his lips. He was at a loss of words, nothing but the truth occupying his mind… Why the hell not?

"Because you care."

You blinked back at him, lips parting and meeting several times as you tried to find the right words to say. The silence was deafening. "What?"

"Because you care," Minho repeated. He kept his expression still, eyeing you, trying to figure out how you were taking this in.

How would he further explain it? He didn't know. All he knew was that ever since that specific moment between the both of you the other day, he took it upon himself to better his partner dancing. He didn't want anyone else knowing, not you, and especially not his housemates, which was why he chose to stay up late to do this; it was the real reason why he had shown up late to class.

You weren't sure if it was because it was quiet, but you could easily hear your heartbeat as it quickened. You try to cover up the fact that you wanted to freak out, "I don't know whether I should laugh or–"

"Yeah, whatever, shouldn't have told you in the first place," he mumbles. For some reason, he felt his heart lub-dub in a way that it shouldn't. He frowned and sighed, "Just forget it."

"Wait, Minho," you call quietly. He stopped in his tracks and turned, partially facing the wall and facing you. He stared back at you with a vacant look, waiting for you to say something. If you weren't going to be saying something nice, he didn't want to hear it after exposing himself like that.

"'Because you care?'" you frowned, "You can't just say that and leave." You already made up a possible answer to the countless questions through your mind, but it was still unclear whether or not that was it.

"What else do you want me to say?" Minho stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"I just want you to explain it," you reply quietly.

Minho glanced out the window sitting by you both before sitting down on its pane, "Remember that other day… when I told you I didn't care?" You nod and move closer to where he sat, unsure whether or not you should sit next to him or not, "I don't know… you were really serious back then… I guess I wasn't used to that. So I figured…"

There was a quick moment of silence before he huffs, almost sounding defeated.

"Did you know that I genuinely don't dislike you as much as you think I do?" He says out of the blue, throwing you off. You wanted to tell him to sleep it off again—why did moments like this always happen at night?

"I don't either," you say back, "At first I did… but I matured."

"I only ever argued with you out of amusement. You're the only person outside of Slytherin that could out-talk me and it bothered me for some reason," he laughed as if he recalled a memory.

"Me intimidating a Slytherin? Just wait til the others hear about this," you joke. He glanced towards your direction and saw a clever glint in your eye.

"Don't you dare," he holds back a smile before standing up to face you directly, "Or…"

"Or what?" You challenged, "Imagine how Seungmin would react! Donghyuck and Renjun? What about Yeosang and Wooyoung?" You start listing the other well-known Slytherins off of the top of your head, holding back a laugh as you watch Minho's face crumble into an expression that looks far too close to fear.

Minho recollects himself and shakes some sense into himself, "Or I'll make you go to the Yule Ball with me." He hadn't planned on asking you today, but the timing was perfect. It fit with the situation. If you were to react unfavourably, then he could just joke about it.

His question shut you up. Your eyes widened at him as you processed what he had used as a threat, "What if I want to go to the Yule Ball with you?"

Minho takes a step towards you, a smirk appearing on his lips. His confidence was skyrocketing, and you can tell, "Then I guess it's a date?"

Rolling your eyes, you let a smile grace softly onto your lips, nodding, "It's a date."

Bonus:

"I told you to wear something with gold," you whined jokingly as you were greeted with Minho, who had completely dodged your request. Instead of the black and gold look you were going for, he decided to wear a black suit that had traces of emerald. As much you wanted to match with your date, you had to admit that he still looked as handsome as ever in the attire. He looked like a prince.

"And look like a Hufflepuff? No thanks," he scoffed teasingly. He pulls out a corsage, one that matches the clothes he wore, tying it gently around your wrist, "You look very beautiful."

"Well, you look very handsome."

Minho laughed as he sticks out his forearm, a brow raised in your direction. Music being played by the live band had been spilling out of the ballroom; the voices of everyone attending gave the ball more life. It was exciting.

"Minho!" Seungmin had called. Felix, who had slipped from your side the moment Minho approached you, was standing by Seungmin, smiling brightly. He had been hyping you up the entire night, telling you that there should be nothing to worry about.

He was right.

"Shall we?" Minho asked. It was cheesy, but it worked.

"We shall."

Hope you enjoyed it! A like would be appreciated <3

[wistfulrat]

a 4-part rec list of my fave drarry fics - the thrillers, dramas, soft bois, and wankbanks getting me through 2020′s shitstorm

[ for my fellow fledgling drarry stans! the drama list is here and, well. like i didn’t initially intend to go off in the mini-reviews beneath every rec but it’s just that you can't nOT yell about drarry as classic literary foils!! also it’s my dumb sideblog so i decided there are no rules and i get to be annoying about good writing.

but rly, the whole premise of the drarry pairing is shaped by this genre and if the ~serious world of serious published writers~ weren’t absolute cowards, they would admit that drama fic authors have contributed more to the genre than the average shit you can find at your local chain bookstore. so that's that on thAT. & if you love a fic here, don't forget to follow the authors, leave kudos & comments on their work, send them nice msgs bc they do all this shit for free xoxo ]

part 2: dramas

mood: for when I need emotional catharsis and maybe 7 hours to sob/brood about loneliness, the cost of love, & the perpetual fear of being truly known

includes: angst, hurt/comfort, reconciliation fics. it’s cruelty o’clock folks and someone is about to say/do something Fucked Up that they can’t take back. but don’t worry!! there will be a Reckoning feat. hamlet-worthy monologues, ugly truths, unbridled rage, trauma, insecurity, and just a fuck ton of tears!! but maybe even tender apologies and mended things.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil​ - 36k - E | Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected. | --- can a fic be tender and unflinching at the same time? bc this story strikes that balance rly well and for a piece about unwantedness, it is incredibly humanizing. ginny holding her own, draco being gentle but not letting harry play victim, hermione calling harry “hazzah” and just the way this friendship insists on the validity of found families even when harry is spiraling?? and you’re forced to consider that no one has the monopoly on fucked-upness and that doesn’t absolve us of the ways we hurt each other but it means that everyone has the same potential to be better after being broken. goD JUST READ IT, OKAY.

Blood Magic, the series by @houseofhebrideanblacks and @thestralsofspinnersend 335k - E “Later that night. . .Draco wondered at the depths of magic, its breadth and scope. The ways in which life pervades and eludes death, the ways in which they endure all manners of small and large deaths within their lives.” -- if you don't read any other fic on this list, i hope you read this series bc holy shit it’s breathtaking. harry’s a recovering addict, draco’s recovering from abuse, and in a cottage within the forbidden forest begins an unlikely partnership as the boys take up the tedious work of healing. there are thestrals and everyone's in therapy. there are whole chapters of cottagecore drarry. it's a beautiful exploration of how we bare the immensity of loss against the miracles of birth and regrowth. 

Ship of Theseus by GallaPlacidia - 18k - T “A ship in a full sail, a ship in a state of decay, a ship that had been rebuilt, slightly different. A repeating cycle. “What makes the ship the same?” asked Harry. “I don’t know. There must be something in it that lasts across the changes.” -- DO YOU KNOW HOW THIS QUOTE LIVES RENT FREE IN MY SAD, SAD BRAIN. DO YOU KNOW HOW I LOSE SLEEP THINKING ABOUT THE FUCKING SHIP OF THESEUS. it’s a memory loss fic and everything is so unFAIR. you want to murder harry sometimes bc he’s such a shiT and you suffer through the ways he questions desire, penance, redemption, true love. and by the end, you want to believe in those golden slumber lyrics: “once, there was a way to get back home” 

Yours to Keep by @dracoismytrashson​ - 135k - E i love the university setting, i love getting to see harry and draco’s first forays into a real LGBTQ community, the class and race structures outside of the wizarding world. i love that this is the context in which they’re allowed to confront the shittiness of PTSD, anxiety, depression etc. as they come together and fall apart against each other’s traumas. it makes the ending feel earned af. “Baby, we’ve been easing into it for a decade.” -- my god this line

Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered​ - 153k - T  this fic is devastating. like, completely forget whatever reticence you might have towards a de-aging fic and read this. the de-aging premise allows the author to cut through the ways harry and draco hold each other at a distance and you end up with these stunning moments of clarity where they’re truly seeing each other for the first time. and suddenly everything makes sense. i won't spoil it here but there’s a scene towards the end where harry is talking to hermione and ron about realizing the first time he felt what its like to be loved and I fucking SOBBED. an all-time fave fic about learning how to belong.

Had To Be You by @lettersbyelise​​ - 59k - E a genuinely excellent slow burn about absolute fucking morons who refuse to express their mutual love over the course of literal years?? HOW MANY TENDER MEET-CUTES DO 2 GAY IDIOTS EVEN NEED. a car ride a bookshop a street corner -- when harry met sally is my enemy. but you know what? this fic is masterfully written, it’s an epic tale of unexpected friendships and the inability to say the things we feel. also its very much also a soft boi fic if not for the Major Fuck Up that pushes it into drama territory for me. so worth the turmoil tbh.

Hurricane by phrynne - 120k - E auror partners terrified of love. it’s a fic about walls - where the emotional landscape of this fic is occluded by dishonest words so you feel the tension play out in hollow voices, shuttered looks, emptied eyes. it’s like watching two ppl get flayed alive in slow motion and everything is SHIT for a little. it’s mean, it’s ugly, it doesn’t let you give the characters an out when they’re being cruel - to each other and to themselves. but harry and draco are two violent forces hurling toward each other’s walls and the inevitable reckoning comes and it’s so very worth the ending. the hospital bed scene to rule all hospital bed scenes.

Returning Tides by @zigster-ao3​ - E  “Is my timing that flawed? Our respect run so dry? Yet there's still this appeal That we've kept through our lives” --those fuCKing ian curtis lyrics in the summary!! p a i n. why do i put myself through getting-back-together fics knowing full well i’m gonna be Sad As Hell during the not-together portion of the story?? we are all unfortunately hoes for heartache. anyway this fic is beautiful. draco’s a dad and recently widowed, harry has a thestral reserve, the settings here are stunning. a story about grief and love that lingers.

A Piercing Comfort by @talithan - 44k - T “There is no objective scorecard. There isn’t anything that a person does that tips the balance from ‘deserving’ to ‘undeserving’, or vice versa. A ‘deserving’ person will not run out of worthiness after a set time of happiness and have to then go about working to deserve it again. And an ‘undeserving’ person does not have to suffer at length before having the opportunity to be ‘deserving’.” -- the heart of this fic. harry’s in therapy, facing depression, and learning how to accept love he doesn’t think he deserves. (also draco is harry’s therapist but yes, that power dynamic is handled ethically-well imo and addressed in the author notes I promise!!).

Borrowing Courage by @xx-thedarklord-xx​ - 70k - E |After years of being a Magical Artist and painting for other people, Draco decides it’s time to paint for himself for once. The secrets pile up as he tries to unravel the mystery of his relatives but the only thing he didn’t count on was having to go to Potter of all people for approval.| --god i love this fic. the thing about drarry here is that they never mean to hurt each other but they do. they do and draco’s trying to do the right thing and he wants so badly for good family but harry’s never rly stopped grieving sirius and it’s this whole unintended mess of festering wounds forced to heal. everyone needs a hug. also ron/blaise pairing and ron+draco’s friendship here is everything!!

Reparations and the sequel, Foundations by Saras_Girl - 320k - E | Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.| -- incredible. harry and draco’s dynamic as healers, the cast of original characters, the boys learning what it means to trust each other, draco building a rehabilitation center, harry falling in love with him, and “meus fabula est mei ut dico: my story is mine to tell.”  i cry

The Ties that Bind by phoenix_writing (not on ao3) - 61k - T | Upon Andromeda’s death, Harry and Draco are given custody of Teddy. Their lives will never be the same.| -- harry’s got major abandonment issues and he’s just trying to be a good co-parent with draco but everyone is being the woRST and you want to murder them on behalf of harry. but then, the boys learn to listen to each other and god it all becomes so tender. also harry has a gay panic. things are awful but it all works out. -

[part 1: thrillers | part 2: dramas | part 3: soft bois | part 4: wankbanks]

[plus-ultra-oof]

Pretty | SakuAtsu | Haikyuu!! | Tickle Fic

A/N: Ok hi so I wrote this a little while ago bc my SakuAtsu brainrot never stops and I figured I might as well share it. This is my first time posting a T-fic so please be kind lol. Also, sorry if the formatting is a mess I am on my phone.

Disclaimer: This takes place post timeskip so minor spoilers for Haikyuu! It’s nothing to major other than some vague things mentioned in passing. Also includes swearing and centers around tickling within a romantic setting (all sfw).

Summary: Sakusa’s stubborn as hell, but Atsumu is more than willing to get his boyfriend to go to sleep by whatever means necessary. Especially if that means he gets to see that pretty smile of his.

——————————————————

“Ya know, yer hair is really soft Omi,” Atsumu said, breaking the calm silence that had settled over the room. It was actually Kiyoomi’s room in his apartment this time. Atsumu was lying on his bed, running his hands through Kiyoomi’s dark curls as the other man laid across the bed, head placed conveniently in the setter’s lap as he attempted to read a book. He was far too tired to do so, in Atsumu’s professional opinion. The way his eyes kept falling shut for longer between blinks and how his grip on the hardcover kept shifting until he was barely holding it open where it lay against his propped up legs supported it too.

“You already- said that,” he replied, trying for flat and uninterested but the cute yawn that interrupted his sentence completely contradicted his unbothered persona.

It’d been a long practice for everyone, but especially the spikers. Both Bokuto and Sakusa had to run an insane amount of cut shot drills on top of their usual work. Just watching it had made Atsumu tired, so he could only imagine how Omi was feeling. The man had been practically dead on his feet when they’d gotten back to their complex, so the way he had melted into their bed upon finally brushing his teeth was unsurprising. His attempts at staying up were though. Atsumu blamed that on his insistence on keeping his routine no matter what.

The stubborn bastard could barely keep his eyes open, but sure, making it through a whole chapter of that thick ass book was totally plausible.

“It’s true though,” Atsumu was quiet for a moment and then, when he got no response he added on, “and it’s so pretty too,” For that he received a half hearted glare that was dampened by the way he could feel the man leaning into his touch as his fingertips scratched lightly again his scalp. The twin smiled, his boyfriend really lost his filter when he was this tired.

Gone were the biting remarks and cold expressions, leaving him far more pliant than he would ever admit to. Hell, here he was, letting Atsumu play with his hair and letting out little sighs of contentment. His eyes were even gradually falling closed as he relaxed into his boyfriend’s touch.

The harsh lines of his face were softened by the low light in the bed room, and with his brows uncreased by any worries and his hair pooled around his head like a dark halo, he looked almost angelic. Like something out of one of those fancy paintings.

“Yer so pretty Omi,” Atsumu murmured absently, the words falling from his lips easily. It was a statement to him. A simple truth of life.

The sky was blue, volleyball was the best, and Atsumu’s boyfriend was a damn masterpiece.

This was only proved further when his cheeks began to warm, the pink flush only complimenting smooth skin and pouty lips, twitching down into a petulant frown despite his flustered state.

“Shut it,” he mumbled in reply, unable to come up with a proper comeback in his half asleep state. Atsumu smirked. Another thing he loved about sleepy Omi was his inability to disguise any of his reactions. It always made messing him even more fun.

“Omiiii, Yer so cute m’gonna dieeeeee,” he teased, leaning down to admire his expression more closely. The new angle let him see the minuscule twitch of the corner of his lips, a sign that his adorable boyfriend wasn’t really as grumpy as he was trying to appear, “Aw is that a smile I see?” Said boyfriend had abandoned all hopes of reading his book in favor of moving off of Atsumu’s lap and onto his side of the bed, laying back and closing his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Atsumu,” he stated, his voice still managing to stay level and unaffected, a true testament to Sakusa’s insane amount of self control, “Now its late, let’s go to sleep,” Too bad Atsumu was too much of an asshole to let him be. And, he knew him well enough to chip away at that carefully crafted mask until his boyfriend was puddy in his hands.

Miya pouted and moved closer, letting his right hand come back up to rest in his curls again and the other land at his back, rubbing slow circles into it the way he knew Sakusa liked.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that, I just want ta see that gorgeous smile of yers,” he let his chin rest on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pressing close to his back as his arm trailed down to wrap around his waist. He placed a light kiss against his boyfriend’s temple. The first in a trail that led down his cheek to his jaw and then took a detour down and up his neck to reach his ear again, earning soft sighs and hums as he went. Atsumu smiled, his Omi really was sweet like this: All peaceful and relaxed and unassuming, “Do me a favor and lemme see it?”

He shifted from kissing at his neck to mouthing lightly and letting his lips graze the expanse of soft pale skin at his disposal and the reaction was immediate, even if Sakusa tried to hide it. Sure, he stayed quiet, but Atsumu could feel the shivers that ran through him when he started and how his shoulders began to shake the longer he went on. He felt him jump when he let the fingers at his waist trace lazy shape into his toned stomach.

“Atsumu-“ His name was rushed out in a breathy way that only Atsumu got to hear.

“Yes Omi?” He purred, directly into his boyfriends ear, savoring the little squeak that came from the man shaking in his arms.

“N-no,” he whined, actually whined, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the tingly sensations that were quickly perforating his sleep addled mind and making him want to give into the bouncy feeling rising in his chest.

“Why not Omi? M’just tryin ta kiss ya?” He followed his movements easily, continuing the playful torment of his boyfriend.

“You- you know exActly whehy not!” The squeak was louder this time and Kiyoomi even let a few titters loose as Atsumu started using his other hand to lightly scribble at the other side of his neck while simultaneously blowing into his ear.

“Ooh was that a giggle there Omi? What’s happenin’ baby? Somethin’ funny?” Atsumu knew that if he could, Sakusa would be griping about the teasing and how this whole thing was immature and unfair. For now though, he was too busy trying (and failing) not to devolve into a ticklish mess, so Miya was content.

“Nahaha stahahap yohuhu bahahastard!” He forced out through his giggles. The sound was light and filled with gasping breathes and squeals. Kiyoomi hated it, but it was one of Atsumu’s favorite sounds. Especially when he knew he was the cause of it.

Whether it came from unraveling him like this or timing a sarcastic joke just right, he savored it each time he got to hear it, so he didn’t appreciate it when both ungloved hands flew up to muffle it.

“Hey what’dya do that for?” He asked, his own pout forming on his lips as he leaned up to see his boyfriend’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut again and the flush was even brighter now. What was really captivating though, was the way his whole face seemed to brighten, even with his open mouth smile covered up.

Atsumu couldn’t help but stop and stare for a few seconds before remembering the task at hand. To see that pretty smile for real.

“C’mon Omi, just pull yer hands away or m’gonna haveta resort to extreme measures,” Atsumu increased his effort at leaving barely there kisses along Kiyoomi’s neck, feeling his heart race against his lips when he reached the pulse point. This got a cacophony of muffled squeaks and giggles before he finally gave into instinct and moved one of his hands away to push at his face.

As soon as it came up, Atsumu saw his chance and took it.

The hand that was drawing shivery patterns over sharp hip bones immediately skittered up Sakusa’s side to find its mark just above his ribs, sending the arm crashing right back down with a muffled shriek.

“Pffft phmp uff,” Came the dampened response as the other hand stayed stubborn in its quest to deprive Atsumu of his happiness. He decided to take it up another notch, because despite his tiredness, his Omi-Omi was still able to put up a good fight. He wouldn’t have him any other way: As headstrong as he was talented.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Atsumu leaned back just enough to leave some space between himself and Kiyoomi’s back. For insurance and safety purposes, he threw a leg over his waist to make sure he would fall off the bed.

Then all bets were off.

He started actually scratching at his armpits in tandem with leaving sloppy kisses along his spine and shoulder blades and any other part of his back he could reach at the moment, and the reaction was instantaneous and oh so satisfying.

“Mmmmphhhuhuhuck AtsuhuHU! NaHAHA STAHAP!”

“What babe? Somethin’ wrong?” He made sure to speak against the skin of his back, his words sending ticklish tremors through Kiyoomi as his worst spot was attacked.

“NOHOHOT THEHERE AHATSUHU!” Something seemed to switch off in his brain as his arms finally fell limp at his sides and he threw his head back against the pillows, laughing fully now. When they did, Atsumu immediately toned it down, abandoning his underarm in favor of leaving feather light scratches down the sides of his boyfriend’s back, making him shiver and keeping him caught up in his giggles without torturing him too bad.

Omi could never say that he was anything but nice about this....Well at least at this particular moment. Sakusa definitely kept a dated list of the times that his boyfriend had ruthlessly abused this specific weakness, but that was besides the point.

“Ahatsuhuhu,” Atsumu looked up at the sound of his name falling from upturned lips and found himself mesmerized by the sight.

Now that Kiyoomi had given up on stopping him he’d shifted to flop down on his stomach, bracing his head on his arms as he tried to contain the shaky laughter still spilling easily from his mouth. His hair was tousled from the struggle and his eyes were teary from laughing so hard and he was in an eternal state of flushed and fuck he was beautiful.

Too pretty for his own good. And Atsumu’s. At this rate, he was gonna die before he got to the Olympics.

He could just see it now: Miya Atsumu, beloved son, brother, boyfriend, and teammate. Cause of death: Seeing his godlike boyfriend laugh his heart out.

Shit, ‘Samu was right, he was whipped.

“Tsuhuhuhumuuu, m’tired,” Whiny giggles followed by a familiar yawn brought him out of his thoughts and he let his fingers slow to a stop, moving up in the bed to be beside his still giggling boyfriend. He turned him over onto his back before placing his book onto the nights stand and turning out the light.

“A-asshole,” Sakusa groaned, through breathy pants, giving him a half-hearted shove as he turned to face the blonde.

“But ya love me,” he teased moving in closer to lay his head on the dark haired man’s chest, listening patiently as his heartbeat finally started to slow down.

“You suck,” he murmured in response, his tone empty of any real malice. Plus, the way he was snuggling closer and lacing their hands together across Atsumu’s waist contradicted his words anyway.

Atsumu smiled and took a final look at his boyfriend before closing his eyes to follow him into sleep. And as a man of a limited vocabulary when it came to most things other than volleyball, his last thoughts prior to drifting off were as simple as they were true: Omi’s so pretty.