#fuck is a proof read

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, fluff, suggestive

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: late night drive w/ a stranger

notes: i am very proud of this and i love this nigga atsumu so fucking much

may 25th – 8:38 p.m.

lsu campus, baton rouge

you didn’t plan to leave your dorm tonight.

you were supposed to watch boondocks reruns on your laptop with a sheet mask half-melted to your chin, bask in your edible glow, and fall asleep with your fan on medium.

instead, you’re digging through the bottom of your half-empty drawer, ripping through loose socks, a tangled charger, and a half-torn syllabus from february, cursing every decision you’ve made this semester.

FLO: your period may start in 2 days!

you blinked at the screen like it betrayed you.

you had three tampons left. maybe two if the box is lying.

and the vending machine in the dorm lobby? broken. and even when it worked, it only ever stocked off-brand pads that felt like diapers.

“god,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. the edible has you all floaty and warm, but it’s no match for the rising dread of that first cramp creeping up when you’re unprepared.

you sit back on your bed, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, and pull open your floor groupchat.

you: anyone driving off campus tonight? i’ll buy you food

you: i just need to hit target real fast

you: please i’m desperate i will venmo you five dollars and my soul

nothing. just the “delivered” tag mocking you.

you sigh. stretch out on your mattress and stare at the ceiling fan. the air is thick. sticky. the edible is kicking in more now; your limbs feel slow, sunkissed. your mouth tastes like the cherry lollipop you popped earlier just to have something sweet.

then:

atsumu: i gotta drop smth off to my brother

atsumu: store on the way. u good w that?

you stare at his name for a second.

atsumu miya.

that boy from your psych class. two rows back. always lounging like the seat owes him something. black t-shirts. cocky grin. never takes notes but always manages to answer questions out loud like he already knew.

you’ve never actually spoken to him—maybe once, passing each other in the student union. maybe not even then.

but he knows your name. you know his.

you shoot back:

you: that’s perfect, thank uuuu i’ll meet you outside in like 5?

atsumu: bet

atsumu: i’ll be parked near the quad. black honda. lights on.

you hop up. tug on your purple and gold lsu sweats—the ones with the cracked logo at the thigh, and throw on a tank top. you debate a bra.

decide against it. too hot. too much effort. and it’s just a ride.

you grab your phone, keys, and a mini wallet and step out into the hallway.

outside, the air clings to your skin like honey. thick, warm, slow.

it’s not fully dark yet, but the sky’s sliding toward purple, soft strokes of peach and navy bleeding out behind the buildings. the year’s bleeding out too, really. campus feels like a half-finished thought. windows dark. dorm doors cracked but silent. the echo of summer just beginning to stretch her arms.

you’re standing on the curb and your tank top’s sticking to your back where it meets skin, the fabric of your shirt brushing your chest every time you move. your nipples perked the second you hit the hallway air, and now they’re brushing against the fabric with every breath. every step. your arms are crossed tight.

your phone buzzes in your palm.

atsumu: you see me?

the bass from his car gives him away long before the headlights do: low and rolling, some beat-heavy loop bleeding through the speaker system. not obnoxious, just… lived in. the kind of car that’s seen late-night drives before. fast food bags in the backseat. dusty sports duffels. a hoodie curled in the passenger side footwell like someone tossed it off mid-drive.

you spot him through the windshield, one arm hooked out the driver’s side, fingers tapping against the glass, phone glowing in his lap. he’s got on a black tee, soft and worn, that clings to his chest and shoulders like a second skin. his sweatpants are gray and low-slung. thick thighs spread in the seat. blonde strands blow with the breeze.

you pull the door open and climb in, closing it behind you with a soft thunk.

and immediately—

air-conditioning hits you like a gust. cold and hard and perfect. it’s blasting full speed from the dash vents, and your skin tightens under it. a visible shiver runs down your arms, across your chest.

“seatbelt,” he says, not looking.

you buckle up.

he does glance over then, just once, and the look in his eyes lingers. not in a gross way, just… aware.

he clocked it. your shirt. the way you crossed your arms. the sudden alertness in your posture. you look back at him with a little raise of your brow, daring him to say something.

he doesn’t. just turns the music down and rests one hand on the wheel.

“you good?”

his voice is low and easy, eyes flicking to yours just briefly before returning to the road. he doesn’t sound worried, just tuned in like he’s been watching your body language the whole time. his hand shifts slightly on the wheel, thumb tapping once against the leather grip.

“yeah,” you say. “just cold.” your arms tighten a little over your chest. your tank’s thin, and the AC’s been hitting the same spot on your collarbone for the last five minutes.

you tuck your chin slightly into your shoulder, trying not to look like you’re reacting too much, but your voice still comes out a little breathier than you meant.

“mhm. i can turn it down.”

his hand is already reaching for the dial, fingers brushing the silver knob, but he doesn’t move it until you answer.

“no, it’s fine. feels good.” you glance at him as you say it, your tone soft. honest. something about the cold air feels grounding. like it’s keeping you sharp even as everything else starts to feel slow and warm and easy.

a beat. the kind that hums thick with unsaid things.

“you high?” he asks, casual.

his mouth curves just slightly, like he already knows the answer. he keeps his eyes on the road, but his posture shifts, more relaxed now. like this version of you makes sense to him.

you snort. “a little.”

the confession slips out with a grin, half-embarrassed and half not. your voice lifts on the end, playful.

his mouth twitches. “thought so. your eyes are red.” he finally looks at you again. it’s quick, but his gaze lingers just a second longer than before. not judging. not teasing. just noticing. and the way he says it? like it’s a detail he’s been sitting on since you climbed in.

you glance at the mirror. they are. not bright-red, just rimmed pink, soft around the edges. like your bones have finally exhaled.

“edible,” you say. “i earned it.”

he nods. “finals?”

“last one on tuesday. stats. i hate it.”

“but you studied.”

you shrug. “enough to pass. figured i’d celebrate a little.”

“respect.” he taps the wheel. rolls the window down two inches.

and the music’s back, some local r&b station, static under the beat, bass rumbling low. the kind of song you don’t know the name of but already like. you hum without thinking, tapping your fingers on your knee.

he turns onto a side road, past the edge of campus. the lights thin out. you smell grill smoke in the distance—maybe someone barbecuing near the dorms. maybe a food truck tucked near the rec center. it’s the kind of night where everything feels close and far at the same time. stretched. golden. soft around the edges.

“you always ride like this?” you ask.

“like what?”

“music up. windows down. driving aimless.”

“you callin’ me aimless?”

“i’m callin’ you vibey.”

he laughs under his breath, glancing at you again.

“nah. i usually ride alone. but this ain’t bad.”

you sink into the seat more. let your head rest against the window. the glass is warm from earlier sun. the car smells like pine and something sweeter. his cologne, maybe. maybe lotion. you glance at his hands on the wheel. veiny. strong. knuckles dark from sun.

“where you from?” you ask.

“hyogo,” he says, grinning. “nah, i’m playin’. nola. me and my brother samu both.”

“so you stayed close.”

“scholarship made it worth it. and i like it here. feels familiar.”

“i get that.”

a pause. the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

“you got any family out here?” he asks.

“my cousin. she’s in grad school up the road.”

“you like it here?”

“i like the food. i like the heat when it’s not suffocating.”

“but?”

“but it’s hard sometimes. feel like everyone here already knows each other, y’know?”

“yeah,” he says, after a moment. “i felt that way too, at first.”

you look at him. he looks at the road. the lines on his face are soft in the passing lights. like he’s thinking more than he’s saying.

you ride like that for a while. quiet. just the wind through the crack in the window and the occasional cough of static from the radio.

you pass target without realizing it.

he doesn’t turn in.

“wait—”

“i’mma hit samu’s first,” he says. “if that’s cool.”

you blink. “you were supposed to go after—”

“yeah, but i figured you weren’t in a rush. and i need to drop this off now before he leaves. won’t be long. five minutes max. you can stay in the car. i’ll leave the air running.”

you hesitate. you’re warm now. skin soft under the buzz.

he just nods, one hand loose on the wheel, his other fingers toying with the car’s AC dial like muscle memory.

the ride settles quiet again, not heavy, just full. full of the kind of silence that swells around two people still orbiting one another. you shift your weight slightly, arms crossed over your chest, chilly from the vent’s cold air but not asking to turn it down.

you pass gas stations and streetlights and the occasional beat-up sedan with no headlights on. the further you get from campus, the more the world softens: less concrete, more trees. more overgrown grass climbing fences. more sky above you, bruising deep with night.

you keep glancing at him in the low light.

the radio’s humming a 90s r&b loop now, a song you halfway know. his fingers drum on the wheel, a lazy rhythm, wrist flexing just enough to catch the veins on his arm. his nails are clean, cut short. the smell of him curls warm in your nose, faint cologne with a sharper edge of deodorant and skin.

not like he sprayed himself up, just like this is what he smells like after a day.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t fill space for the sake of it. just drives like he always does this. like driving late into southern dusk with a soft-eyed girl riding shotgun is routine.

“you sure your brother’s home?” you ask after a minute, eyes tracing the power lines out the window.

“yeah,” he says. “told me to bring his charger. left it in my room again.”

you smile. “he does that often?”

“every damn week.”

you laugh, then sigh, pressing your shoulder to the window.

he turns off the main road and coasts into a quiet neighborhood with narrow streets, older houses, cars parked half-up on lawns. porch lights glow dim gold. a sprinkler clicks on somewhere behind a fence.

when he finally pulls into a gravel driveway, you can hear it crunch under the tires.

“you can come in,” he says again, shifting into park. “or stay out here with the AC. i’ll leave the car on.”

you nod. “i’ll come in. i gotta pee anyway.”

his lips twitch up. “figured.”

you both climb out. the heat clings to you instantly, humid, heavy, like breath on your skin. the night smells like cut grass, faint barbecue, and the lingering burn of car rubber from someone doing too much up the street earlier.

he leads the way up the steps. knocks once, then turns the knob.

you walk in behind him, and the smell of the house hits you first. not bad, just lived in. clean floors, slightly burned incense, maybe a faint trace of jambalaya cooked earlier. you hear a tv on in another room, the sound low. footsteps.

“yo,” atsumu calls, voice deeper now.

a man appears around the corner, similar build, darker hair, towel slung around his neck like he just wiped off sweat, like he either just finished cooking or bench-pressing something in the living room.

he stops when he sees you.

dark eyes flick from you to atsumu, then back.

his expression doesn’t change much, but his eyebrow lifts. subtle. like he’s trying to figure out what exactly this is.

“this her?” he says, dry, low, like the words are exhaled more than spoken.

atsumu exhales a sharp breath, dramatic. “bro—she needed a ride to target.”

“mm.” osamu’s gaze lingers on you, not in a creepy way. just observant. assessing. he’s got that quiet, oldest-brother energy, like he’s already weighed three versions of this situation in his head and picked the chillest one to go with.

“bathroom’s down the hall,” he adds, eyes flicking away. “second door on the left.”

“thanks,” you say, stepping past.

the hallway’s narrow, the kind where your shoulders almost brush the walls. hardwood creaks a little under your feet. the air smells like clean laundry and whatever seasoning was left behind in the kitchen pan. you breathe in slow, skin prickling with the quiet intimacy of being in someone else’s home for the first time—barefoot echo of your steps, the soft hum of a fridge, low voices floating from the kitchen behind you.

you find the bathroom. close the door.

it’s small, but not cramped. blue towels, a little air freshener on the counter, toothpaste smeared near the sink like someone rushed out in the morning. you take a beat. wash your hands. splash water on your cheeks and look at yourself in the mirror.

your face is warm. cheeks a little pink. there’s a softness in your eyes, half from the edible, half from this night slowly unfolding like something out of a song you didn’t know you remembered.

you dry your hands on the towel, slow and quiet.

outside the door, you hear atsumu’s voice, low and smooth—then osamu again, louder this time.

“so… target?”

atsumu laughs. “she ran outta tampons, man. i’m bein’ a good samaritan.”

“that what we call it now?”

you stifle a grin, cheeks hotter now, and flush the toilet just so they know you heard. when you open the door, atsumu’s already near the front again, keys in hand, twirling them lazily around one finger. he glances over when you step into view.

“you ready?” he asks.

his voice is easy. nothing forced about it. he doesn’t ask why you took your time. doesn’t comment on the fact that you definitely heard his brother grilling him. just looks at you like you’re still in the middle of something. like the night’s only just started.

you nod. “yeah.”

he opens the door for you. steps out first.

the air outside has shifted. it’s still warm, still thick, but there’s a breeze now. soft and slow, brushing through the trees. you inhale deep. smell the moisture in it, the faint scent of something blooming. the sky’s ink-dark, scattered with stars above the treetops. somewhere in the distance, you hear a boom—low and muffled.

a firework going off early, maybe. or a backfiring truck. it doesn’t matter. it feels like summer.

you both climb back in the car, the seat warm from where you left it. the dashboard clock flashes 9:27. he shifts the car into reverse, rolls back down the driveway smooth as ever.

the silence that settles in the car this time isn’t awkward. it’s the kind that makes you want to fill it with a song. and like he’s reading your mind, atsumu leans forward, taps the radio.

“let’s see if this thing’s still got a good station…”

static. flip. flip.

then, something slow. smooth. bass-heavy.

break from toronto.

the beat creeps in like syrup, warm and low, just barely pushing at the edge of the speakers. the vocals hum through the air, wrapping around the cabin like a weighted blanket.

you smile. “you like this song?”

“who doesn’t?” he grins, one hand sliding across the wheel.

“valid.”

you glance out the window. the lights of baton rouge blur by in long, melted strokes. everything outside the car feels far away now—like the city’s paused for the night and let you have your own little pocket of air.

“you hungry?” he asks, voice still low.

you blink. turn to him. “kinda.”

“you want mcdonald’s or actual food?”

“damn. you just called mcdonald’s fake?”

“i called it what it is,” he smirks.

you snort, then shrug. “i could do actual food. if you’re down.”

“i know a spot. open late. drive-thru’s always fast.”

you nod.

he doesn’t ask if you’re in a rush. you don’t ask if he is either.

you reach target ten minutes later.

not the campus one that one’s always packed and picked over by five p.m.—but the quieter location off college drive, tucked behind an old smoothie king and a gym that never closes.

the lot’s mostly empty, just a few stray carts tilted sideways near the corral and a flickering overhead light buzzing above a cracked parking space. the red glow of the target sign reflects in the hood of his car when he pulls in and parks a little crooked, two spots from the front.

he leaves the engine running.

“i’ll come in,” he says, already pulling his keys from the ignition.

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

he slams the door shut with his hip and meets you on your side.

inside, the air hits colder than before, grocery store cold, all artificial chill and soft overhead music. your skin tightens again under your tank, goosebumps rising like clockwork. you cross your arms as you walk, hugging yourself loosely, your steps echoing faint on the polished tile.

“what aisle is it?” he asks.

“ten,” you say automatically, even though you could find it blindfolded.

he trails a little behind you, pushing one of those hand baskets even though you told him you didn’t need it. his sweats swish quiet with every step. you pass a woman in pajama pants and a bonnet, a couple holding hands in the cereal aisle, and a manager restocking the travel-size body washes near checkout.

when you reach the aisle, you pause at the end—just a second too long—and he clocks it.

you turn to him. “i’ll be quick.”

he shrugs. “take your time.”

he doesn’t say it weird. doesn’t make a face. just backs up a few steps and turns to browse whatever’s next to the shelf—vitamins, maybe. chapstick. you breathe in slow, trying to shake the self-conscious edge prickling up your spine.

you grab a box. the purple kind you like. stare at it for a beat. then grab another, because last time you ran out too fast.

“you good?” he calls over his shoulder.

“yeah.”

when you turn back, he’s got something in his hand—cherry lip balm, and he’s squinting at the ingredients like he’s reading for class.

“you putting that in the basket?”

“nah,” he says. “my lips are soft.”

you blink. smirk. “okay…”

he grins. “feel free to confirm later.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s creeping in too.

you make a quick loop, all of your items small enough to finish before you’re off campus for the semester: travel-sized face wash, trail mix, a pack of gum, and he follows you, basket swinging from two fingers. the radio in the store starts playing “love galore,” and you catch him nodding a little to the beat, mouthing words like it’s muscle memory.

something in your chest loosens. the buzz is still sitting behind your eyes, soft and sweet.

at checkout, he throws in a bottle of gatorade and a king-size twix bar.

“you want anything?” he asks.

you eye the impulse shelf. grab a mini bag of sour patch kids. he hums like it tells him something.

he pays without blinking.

you don’t argue. just thank him under your breath as you head back to the car.

outside, the air’s even heavier now. summer pressing down like a hand on the back of your neck. it smells like pavement and distant water. sprinklers, maybe, or the bayou miles off catching breeze.

the sky’s darker, but not starless. somewhere far, another firework cracks.

he unlocks the car. you both get in.

this time, you peel the seal on your sour patch before the AC even hits your face. he takes a swig of his gatorade, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and glances over.

“still hungry?” he asks.

you nod. “you said you knew a place.”

“yeah. it’s a little hood, but the food’s fire.”

you grin. “good.”

he puts the car in reverse. pulls out slow. flicks his blinker, even though there’s nobody around.

you reach the restaurant a few minutes later.

drive-thru only, tiny neon sign above the window that just says WINGS & THINGS. a guy in a tank top and durag leans out the pickup window with a cracked phone in one hand and a bored look on his face.

“they got the best lemon pepper in the city,” atsumu says.

you order honey hot and seasoned fries. he gets lemon pepper, extra crispy.

when the food’s ready, he pulls into a half-abandoned lot across the street, just enough light to see your hands, not enough to see your reflection in the rearview. the windows are halfway down. cicadas buzz. your thighs are sticking to the seat a little now, sweat blooming beneath your knees.

he opens your box for you. passes it over. his fingers graze yours.

you eat in silence for a minute. licking sauce from your knuckle. the sound of chewing, the smell of fried food, the slow exhale of r&b through the car’s speakers. his head leans back on the seat, jaw working, the muscles in his arm flexing every time he reaches for a fry.

you glance at him. catch him looking at you already.

he doesn’t look away.

the food’s gone. wrappers crumpled, boxes empty but oily at the edges, tossed into the bag and folded neatly under your seat.

your fingers are sticky, and your lips are warm from spice, and your body? your body feels lazy and loose and alive in that particular way you only get when the night’s turned golden and you don’t know when it happened.

the radio hasn’t been touched since “break from toronto.” it’s playing something slower now—brent faiyaz, maybe, or tinashe. you’re not even sure. it’s just bass and breath and melody curling up against your thigh.

“you wanna stay out a little longer?” atsumu asks, voice barely above the hum of the AC.

you turn your head. blink slow.

“what’d you have in mind?”

he lifts a shoulder, eyes on the windshield. “fireworks show up by the levee.”

you blink again. “those weren’t just random ones?”

he shakes his head. “nah. they do a lil unofficial memorial day thing. nothin’ major. just people pull up, park, and watch.”

your stomach flickers.

your lips part before you can overthink it. “yeah. i’m down.”

he nods. puts the car in drive.

you roll the window down farther this time. let the wind rush in, let it ripple through your tank, lift your baby hairs. the air’s warm again, still sticky, but not in a way that makes you want to run from it. more like it’s wrapping around you, holding you in place. the breeze smells like wet grass and river water. and smoke. distant smoke.

you look at atsumu. his jaw is clean-shaven. his hands steady on the wheel. there’s a sliver of sauce at the corner of his mouth.

you lick your thumb. lean in and wipe it away without thinking.

he stills.

just a beat.

then exhales, slow and shallow.

“thanks,” he says, voice tighter.

“you’re welcome.”

the music keeps playing. you keep looking out the window.

when he pulls up to the levee, you don’t expect the view.

the sky is open here. wide. it yawns above you in deep navy, dotted with low, scattered clouds and stars that actually show. there are maybe four other cars parked nearby, spaced out. people sitting on tailgates, folding chairs, hoods. someone has a speaker playing old drake a few spots over, and you hear the fizz of someone cracking a beer.

atsumu parks near the edge and turns off the engine. leaves the radio on.

and then?

he hops out. opens your door.

“you good up there?” he asks, nodding toward the hood.

you climb out. stretch.

“yeah. lemme just—”

“here.” he shrugs off his hoodie, the one he’d tossed in the back earlier, and hands it to you without hesitation. “it’s getting cold out here.”

you blink at him. then take it.

it’s warm in your hands, still holding the heat of his body, the weight of it heavier than you expected. you slip it over your head slow, the fabric soft against your arms, the neck wide enough to drape loose at the collar.

it smells like him. clean and sharp and familiar now, and the sleeves fall past your wrists.

you pull your knees up slightly, climb onto the hood, and lean back on your palms. the metal underneath is warm from the earlier drive, and the night air feels softer now, hugging your body through the layers.

you look out at the sky.

he climbs up beside you. not too close. just close enough.

for a while, nothing happens.

just the sound of crickets. muffled bass. the rustle of trees behind you.

and then a firework pops.

it’s not huge. not coordinated. but it cuts through the night sky in pink and gold and green, crackling above the trees. you both watch it rise. then another. a few kids cheer in the distance. someone whistles.

you laugh under your breath.

“it is kinda ghetto.”

“yeah,” he says, grinning. “but it’s kinda perfect.”

you look at him.

his leg is brushing yours now.

you don’t know who shifted. you don’t care.

another firework blooms overhead, blue this time, long trails behind it like brushstrokes on velvet sky.

you both look up, breath caught somewhere between chest and throat. you feel the boom in your ribs more than your ears. the kind of sound that sinks into you, low and grounding. it lights up his face in flashes: blue, then gold, then green again.

and god, he looks good like this. quiet. soft-eyed. like he’s letting the night wrap around him just like you are.

you don’t speak. neither of you do.

not for the whole show.

you just sit there on the hood of his car, knees brushing, fingers occasionally twitching toward each other like they forgot how to hold still. the fireworks crackle and whistle and bloom above you in every color. people cheer. a dog barks. someone blasts “march madness” from a bluetooth speaker two cars down. but it all feels far away. like it’s happening through a layer of cotton.

your buzz has mellowed now. everything’s warm. slow. syrupy.

your lips part without meaning to.

you stand, slow and stretching, arms overhead as the last firework sizzles out above the treeline. your hoodie rides up a little, tank clinging underneath, the hem of your sweats resting soft on your hips. the sky’s quieter now, and your chest feels full with the kind of silence that makes you want to keep moving.

“i could go for something sweet,” you say, voice quiet.

atsumu turns, eyebrows raised. “you still hungry?”

you shrug, sheepish. “not food-hungry. just like… dessert hungry.”

he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “girl, you’ve been hungry all night.”

you grin. “i’m a growing girl.”

“uh-huh.”

his eyes dip, slow and obvious, lingering at the curve of your hips as you shift your weight. his voice drops, smooth as syrup. “yeah, somethin’ back there definitely been growin’.”

you blink at him, laughing once through your nose, heat curling up your neck.

he smirks, already turning toward the car. “c’mon. i know a spot.”

he drives you down a road that doesn’t look like it leads anywhere, trees on both sides, no real lights, gravel crunching under the tires like bones. your phone has no bars. the GPS would’ve given up two turns ago. and then, just when you’re thinking he’s made a wrong turn—a single neon sign flickers to life up ahead.

mr. spoon’s shakes & sundaes.

the building’s barely bigger than a shed. there’s a sliding order window, a laminated menu, and one fluorescent light buzzing hard above the roof. it smells like waffle cones and summer air and cheap cleaning spray. the kind of place you can only find if someone shows it to you.

atsumu pulls up and parks close. shuts off the engine.

the girl at the window looks half-asleep, nails long and red, hair in a puffed-up bun. her eyes flick over you both, unimpressed, and she slides the window halfway open.

“hey. how can i help y’all tonight?”

you lean forward to read the menu, eyes trailing over names like banana bonanza and strawberry lightning bolt and death by chocolate. but the words are swimming a little.

your high’s not loud anymore, but it’s still there, curling around your brain like cotton. you tilt your head. squint.

atsumu watches you for a second.

then turns to the girl.

“we’ll take a double swirl, chocolate and vanilla. extra whipped cream. with the waffle stick.”

she raises a brow. “you sure?”

he nods. “positive.”

she disappears inside and you blink at him.

“you ordered for me?”

he grins. “yes. because you were standing there like the menu was written in spanish.”

“it was blurry!”

“mhm. and you were moving like that girl wasn’t gonna fight you if you didn’t pick in five seconds.”

you cover your mouth, laughing. “she did look mad.”

“she was mad. i saw her grip the edge of the counter.”

the girl returns with your milkshake—if you can even call it that. the cup is massive. layered with thick swirls of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, piled high with whipped cream, fudge drizzle, crushed cookies, and a single crooked waffle cone sticking out the top like a flag. there’s one long spoon and a straw stabbed right in the middle.

“y’all got five minutes. we closin’ now,” she says, already sliding the window shut again.

“appreciate you,” atsumu calls, handing her a bill. she doesn’t answer.

you both climb back onto the hood of the car, this time settling closer without thinking. he balances the shake between you, and you take the first bite, ice cream already melting down the sides, sticky sweet on your lips.

“god, this is good.”

“let me try,” he says.

you nod, holding the cup toward him. but when you go to pull off the lid, he stops you.

“what?” you ask.

“what—you got cooties or something?”

you blink. then scoff. “no.”

“then gimme the straw.”

you hesitate. something in your chest tightens—not nervous, not embarrassed. just… aware. the straw’s slick. your gloss is still on it. your breath, your taste. he leans in and sips slow, eyes on you the whole time.

your thighs press together instinctively.

he pulls back, licking whipped cream off his lip.

“damn,” he murmurs. “that is good.”

you’re not sure he’s talking about the milkshake.

the silence returns, but it’s different now. thicker. your knees are touching. your hip’s leaning into his. and when you glance down, his hand is resting near yours again. closer this time. deliberate.

you look at him and he’s already watching.

and when he finally leans in, you don’t stop him.

the kiss starts soft. softer than you expect. just lips, brushing. then again. then again, deeper.

his hand finds your waist. yours curls behind his neck.

and when he tilts his head, breath sliding hot against your mouth, you open up for him without thinking, tongue brushing his, slow and sweet. like the shake you’re both ignoring now. like the fireworks that lit the night but couldn’t touch this.

he kisses like he’s learning you. like he’s waited the whole night to taste what you’d pick if you had to choose between chocolate and vanilla.

and from the way he groans into your mouth, you’re guessing he’d pick you.

his lips are warm, soft but certain, like he knows exactly how close to hold you without crowding. your fingers are curled in the front of his shirt now, tugging just enough to keep him there, and he’s letting you—leaning into it, mouth moving against yours like it’s instinct. like it’s gravity.

you shift a little, thighs spreading just to anchor yourself to the hood. the milkshake is still balanced between you, but it’s sweating now, melting faster than either of you are keeping track of. your left hand presses to the side of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. he kisses you deeper for it.

and then—

plip.

cold drips onto the back of his hand. thick and sticky.

you both flinch.

you glance down.

a long stripe of whipped cream and vanilla is sliding down his knuckle, slow like honey. it’s glistening in the soft light, pooling near the curve of his wrist. your eyes trail it. so do his. and for a second, neither of you moves.

then your gaze flicks up. you lean in. slow. you don’t even think— you just part your lips and drag your tongue up the stripe of cream, a clean, warm swipe from wrist to knuckle. his breath hitches. sharp. the muscle in his jaw flexes, and his fingers twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

your mouth lifts off his hand, slow. a faint pop of suction in the quiet air.

you swallow, eyes half-lidded, and tilt your head just slightly.

he looks stunned. then he laughs once—low and hoarse, and grabs the cup with one hand, sets it down hard on the pavement without even checking if it’s upright.

his other hand’s still slick when it slides to your thigh.

and now? he doesn’t sit back down.

he drops off the hood in one smooth step and steps between your legs, close enough for the heat off him to roll straight into your skin. his hands come up, bracing your thighs, holding you open just wide enough. the air sticks to your neck. your breath’s already shallow.

“you got a habit of lickin’ things that don’t belong to you?” he asks, voice rough, eyes fixed on your mouth.

“i didn’t hear you complain,” you murmur.

he grins.

“i’m not complainin’.”

and then he kisses you again, deep this time, hotter than before. his hands drag slow up your sweats, thumbs stroking the insides like he’s marking territory. your whole body arches forward. your hands grab fistfuls of his shirt. his mouth opens against yours and you taste sugar and skin and something feral rising between your ribs.

he licks into your mouth like he’s chasing the last of the whipped cream.

the metal beneath you is warm through your sweats. the air smells like sugar and pavement and the sweat sitting in the bend of your elbow.

he looks up at you for a beat—really looks. lips pink, mouth slightly parted, pupils blown wide.

and then he leans in again.

his mouth catches yours hungrily, like the dam’s cracked. his hands continue to slide further up your thighs, gripping—not rough, just intentional. his thumbs brush the inside, higher and higher, like he’s testing what he can get away with. you shiver. briefly regret wearing sweatpants.

he kisses like he’s tasting something rich, slow licks into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, teeth just barely grazing your bottom lip. your hips roll without meaning to, just once, right against where he’s standing between your legs.

his breath catches. he presses in closer.

the heel of his hand lands against the hood on either side of your thigh now, boxing you in. your legs tighten around him instinctively. your tank shifts higher beneath his sweatshirt. you can feel your pulse in your neck.

he pulls back for a split second, and then mouths along your jaw, down to your neck. kisses there, slower. firmer. like he wants to memorize the curve of it. his breath fans hot over your skin.

“it’s so damn hot,” you murmur, voice breathy.

he huffs a grin against your collarbone. “so are you.”

your head tilts back when he finds the spot just under your ear—sucks there, gentle but deep. your fingers tighten in his shirt again. your thighs flex around him.

his hand slides up again. this time, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie. resting there. not rushing. not asking.

just waiting.

you press your mouth to his again before you can think better of it.

he groans—low, ragged. his hands slide up your waist now, warm palms beneath your hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your sides. you gasp into his mouth. he eats the sound.

his body is all heat, all pressure. his thigh brushes right between yours again and lingers. not grinding, not humping, just there. like a placeholder. like a promise.

he pulls back, just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“you good?” he murmurs, voice rough.

you nod, dazed. “yeah.”

his hands pause. “you sure?”

your eyes open. you find his. something in your chest tightens. not with nerves, just with want.

“i’m sure.”

he kisses you again. slower now. deeper. your arms loop around his neck. your whole body is arching into him. he shifts closer, one hand bracing your lower back, the other cupping your jaw. he kisses like you’re a song he just discovered, like he wants to learn every note by heart.

and when he pulls back again, finally—finally, you’re both breathing hard. faces close. noses brushing. your lip’s kissed pink. your pulse is skipping.

“that milkshake,” he murmurs, eyes still locked on your mouth, “didn’t stand a chance.”

you giggle, quiet.

he smiles. not cocky. not smug. just soft.

and then he kisses the corner of your mouth— once, gentle.

like he wants this to keep going long after tonight ends.

[omega-e123]

Warning: Suggestive (nsfw)

Based by: “I wanna be your slave” by Måneskin

I love you since this morning, not just for aesthetic. I wanna touch your body, so fucking electric. I know you're scared of me, you say that I'm too eccentric I'm crying all my tears and that's fucking pathetic

Every time you and Shadow get heated up, he backs off. It never gets past a make out session. Once it feels like he’s gone too far, he pulls apart and apologizes. Opting to distract himself from you.

You thought that maybe there was something wrong with you. That’s not right. The theory was easily written off seeing as Shadow has chosen to stay with you all this time. He’s blunt. Most of the time, you don’t need to ask what’s wrong because he’ll straight up tell you. It’s what you love about him. No need to walk on eggshells or play the guessing game.

So why… is it when it comes to this, he’s dodging the situation like he’s in the matrix?

It came up again. You two were on the couch, supposed to be watching a show. One thing led to another and now here you are, straddling his lap. Bare hands graze along your spine. Lips connected in an intimate tango.

He wants to pull you closer. Tighter. Shadow needs to feel more of you. An animalistic growl escapes him. Your touch is a drug he’s horrendously addicted to. You are his lifeline. Separated, he’s nothing. Yet..

Shadows fingers twitch, feeling the need to claw up your back. To mark you so everyone knows you’re his. Fuck, he wants to sink his nails and fangs into you so bad.

Abruptly he stops. Eyes snap open and his hands rest on either of your shoulders, pushing you away. Breathing synchronized, panting, slowing down into a steady rhythm.

Your dumbfounded expression twists into a worried face. It’s your chance to ask what’s wrong. This time you will get an answer. Shadow is not allowed to leave until he spills.

His gaze goes everywhere but you. He can’t bear to look at you. It’s almost as if he’s.. ashamed? No. Under careful observation, the look on his face appears more afraid.

Once confident hands now tremble. Shadow’s head hanging low as his forehead rests on your chest.

Quiet as a mouse, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Clarify. Please. Those words sound awful all on their own. There are a million different things that sentence could mean.

'Cause I'm the devil who's searching for redemption. And I'm a lawyer who's searching for redemption. And I'm a killer who's searching for redemption. A motherfucking monster who's searching for redemption

“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I hurt you. Physically,” Shadow adds, finally making eye contact. A stray tear or two has found its way down his cheek.

“Trust me, I do want you..” Fangs sink into his bottom lip, drawing blood. He sighs, admitting, “I’ve never— done.. with anyone.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to chuckle. Not when he’s in this state. Cupping his face, you wipe the tears with your thumbs, giving Shadow a reassuring smile. There's no need to rush things. Take it slow, take it easy. You're perfectly content with waiting however long. Silence follows after pecking his forehead.

Chaos, he doesn’t deserve you. Every fiber of his body screams at him, ‘he doesn’t.’ After all he’s done in the past, what he’s been through. Shadow is so lucky to have you. It’s a wonder how you could love a ‘monster’..

That’s not who or what he is. Not to you.

Shadow the hedgehog.

The ultimate life form.

For you he’s… your partner. Your lover.

A friend. A rock.

The one who has been by your side no matter what.

To him, you are a beacon of light. One he should protect. Another reason for him to keep existing. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth.. Like a.. Well a shadow, of course.

I wanna be your sex toy, I wanna be your teacher

I wanna be your slave, I wanna be your master. I wanna make your heartbeat run like rollercoasters

“Teach me,” Shadow speaks up.

Tilting his head, he leans in towards so that it rests on your shoulder, breath hitting your neck. The urge to bite and suck on your neck is overwhelming.

Shadow tentatively licks your throat before placing a kiss.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.”

[sincerelybubbles]

btw Spencer would always know when you’re feeling sad

He would practically smell it walking in the door — it’s his job to notice the signs

The indent on the couch, your favorite blanket discarded on the floor instead of tucked neatly away

The way your smile doesn’t tilt up on one side like it does when you smile in genuine happiness

The way laughs come out just as frequently as before, caught with a too small smile and just loud enough volume

The way you take deeper breaths then normal, regulating yourself quietly

The way you linger in your head a little more then usual, hesitating before doing little mannerisms you usually do without thought, habitually (tapping your toothbrush on the sink, filling your water bottle, tracing a finger along the spine on the back of his neck)

Little things, minuscule, that you don’t think about. It goes a step beyond his training and further into knowing you. He has the instinct built specifically for identifying everything about you, a draw from his center to catalogue every movement you make. Any variance in movement, any insincerity in your bones, any wariness clinging sharply in your heart, is noted and filed away in his head

He loves you, achingly so. Enough to know not to say anything. Enough to notice, to know so instinctually that pointing it out will only make it worse. Somehow, he knows how to make it better, too.

He can’t say what part of him tells him the right things to do, he just does. He makes your tea slightly sweeter without thought. Picks out a comfort show for you without having to be asked, no conversation about it. Places the blanket from the floor onto your lap when he settles down next to you. Traces fingers through your hair and lets his touch linger

Hands, tired and built for turning pages and work from the handle of his gun, settle on your back as you cook. In your hair as you brush your teeth. On your calf as you read on the cough with him. On your shoulder blades, gently, not prodding, as you fall asleep.

“I love you,” he murmurs in as many languages he knows to soothe you to sleep, lips catching on the skin between your earlobe and jawline. He wants to tell you that you matter more than it all. That he’s a first of what he would do for you. That he’s takes every breath in anticipation of using the air to talk to you. That he thinks of you, always, in a gentle hum turned on low in the back of his mind.

“Te quiero,” will have to do, though, in a butchered accent, one exaggerated enough to bring a genuine, sleep scented, giggle from your chest

[screamingintotheneverendingvoid]

Getting dressed up in your fanciest and nicest outfit for Carter’s graduation and afterparty, not only because you want to look good enough for your boyfriend to want to take it off of you later, but also because you know all his extremely wealthy family is going to be there and it’s the first time they’re suppose to meet you, so it’s the first impression, and you want it to be a good one. The best one. Not wanting them thinking you’re some poor gold digging nurse trying to corrupt their precious son.

You get back to the hospital to wait for Carter and you can’t find him anywhere, until Jerry tells you he thinks he went upstairs to talk to the parents of ‘the kid with the liver failure’ from earlier, so you book it up there because maybe he just got stuck in a round of questions and can’t get out of it and you’ll be damned if he’s late for his own graduation that he’s worked so hard for.

Then you, with what you hope somewhat graceful movements, even though the heels you chose to wear where not meant for hospital floors, make your way to the pediatrics unit. You wave to a few of the nurses on duty, thanking them for the gushing compliments they relay over your outfit before you continue on. You took a few steps into the main room and stopped when you saw the sight of your boyfriend in one of the smaller rooms off to the side, standing to the side of a little girl. His suit jacket discarded off to the side, and his sleeves rolled up. From the looks of it, John was starting to shuffle some playing cards, as they laughed over something.

Whatever this scene was brought a smile to your face. You could’ve just stood there forever and just watched in awe of him, but he must’ve caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye because he looked over for a moment and turned back to the girl before doing a almost comical double take at you. That million dollar smile of his now just for you, and maybe still being in the hospital was for the best because you could’ve sworn your heart rate had to be well over 100. John gestured for you to come in and you happily compiled, moving from just standing still to walking into the room, giving a small wave to the girl laying in the bed as you made your way to his side.

“TC, this is my girlfriend.”

He said to the girl, gesturing towards you before he leaned over to give you a peck on the cheek and whispered in your ear as discreetly as possible, his warm breath brushing against your ear was more distracting than you’d like to admit, “Just some change of plans.” A small pause, “You look breathtaking.”

You feel your neck flush but try not to let it show as you shove him gently and playfully back and turn to face the girl with a smile that you hope comes off sweet and not as flustered as you feel, “Okay, TC, so what card game were you two planning to play and can I join?”

[an-eggs-quest]

It’s difficult to think about Jack because of how much yet how little we’re given about him. He’s the only child of Doey that has a canonical appearance, voice, and in some aspects personality prior to his untimely transition.

Once again- this is all rambles so just hear me out. If you have any other thoughts let me know!

Both in game and in the fandom he’s often just seen as the pure one. He’s childish, silly, and experiences his emotions very strongly. But I think there’s just a little more to be explored with that!

I have a headcanon that the Jack side of Doey is just a little more unhinged compared to the others. He’s the youngest and he’s the one who’s been in dough the longest. Doey watched Susan and George die by his own hands. He lived through the HOJ, was tortured by playtime employees, and experienced the horrors of playtime. That shit does things to you. as well adjusted as Doey is.

Jack is younger than the other boys, more impressionable so to speak. If he, now Doey, was raised in a hostile environment where consumption of human flesh and hunting for food was the norm, it’s not irrational to assume he’s used to this and finds ways to make it fun. His intro in game for example: he completely demolished and devoured a toy in front of the player and cracked a joke about it.

A lot of this spawned from Micheal Kovach’s description of Jack as Doey’s “innocent” side. In his innocence he takes horrific moments such as that as just another Tuesday. He giggles as he slaughters pianosaurus. Now, it’s also fair to assume that the other boys had an influence here, which I can agree with! Doey (in my interpretation) is much more one mashed up being instead of three distinct ones so who knows where one boy ends and where the other begins (although it can be clear at certain points). But! I still think it’s fun to think about.

Even as Doey, Jack is still young and childlike but that doesn’t mean he’s a baby ya know? He’s been through his own traumas and complex emotions, even if he can’t fully understand them. I just think it’s fun to think about those implications on his mind, even if it really isn’t his anymore. He still experiences emotions very strongly. He still knows what’s going on around him. He has had the same experiences as the other two boys over the last decade. He should show that more. I think

[cyberghouleo]

Any Tim content pls pls 🙏🙏

Maybe a sweet innocent reader 🫶🫶🫶

Would make jokes and innuendos that you don’t understand, he likes watching you stare back at him puzzled as you try to put it together.

SUPER protective over you. He knows others will see your kindness as a weakness and knows he has to be on guard when the two of you are around the others, proving that you are off limits. 

Will wrap an arm around your shoulder and bring you close to him while around others. Also will occasionally press a quick kiss into your hair when others aren’t looking, that’s as much pda as he’s willing to do. 

If you try to hold hands together around others, at first he moves his hand away. He thinks it’s too vulnerable and the other guys won’t take him as seriously as a leader. But if you are persistent with it, he will slowly start allowing it to happen and won’t inch away, wrapping his hand around yours. Then it turns into his hand slowly inching over to yours first, trying to subtly hold hands under a table. 

While your kindness is a big contrast from his brashness, he actually likes how kind you are. It reminds him of a part of his old self, the type of person he was before the Operator got involved with his life.

Deep down he wishes he could protect you from the life and job he has, but he knows he can’t. He’s too far under the Operator’s control to do so, and he finds himself resenting it when he watches you sleep peacefully next to him. You make him realize just how fragile normal life is, and he wishes he could have met you under different circumstances, before he lost his former life. 

NSFW

To him, it’s a turn on how innocent you are. He’s into corruption so it’s his goal to turn you from innocent into his personal whore. Also gives him an advantage in power over you, something he won’t complain about. At first you are shy, covering yourself up with your hands and hiding your face while he’s deep inside you. But slowly you start opening up to him, to the point you are laying down and spreading your legs wide open for him. He’s going to make you a complete slut for him sooner or later. 

He loves making you tell him what you want while he’s fucking you, stopping his thrusts until you tell him how badly you want him to fuck you. He’s obsessed with how sweet and innocent you are to everyone else and how pathetic you get as you beg him to fuck you senselessly. 

“Tell me exactly what you want” He will say as he bottoms out inside you, completely stopping his thrusting.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say sheepishly, hiding your face behind your hands.

He grabs your wrist, pinning them down to the bed before speaking. “Say it the way I taught you, baby”

If you're inexperienced it makes him fall ten times harder, he loves the idea of being the only one to have you and his dick being the only one you know. He will make you grind down onto his fingers, enjoying how embarrassed you are and how clumsy your movements are. He finds it hot to be able to teach you exactly how to touch yourself and watching you try to stuff all of him into your mouth. 

Uses your innocence and sweetness against you while degrading you, using fake pity against you whenever you act embarrassed. “Aw, can the poor baby not take it? Don’t tell me you’re fucked out already, hmm?”

[wandixx]

Christmas in Mount Justice

cartoon version of Young Justice, written instead of sleeping and I'll be honest, I kinda run out of steam at the end, but it'd take me until next year if I didn't push through, so here it is, and hopefully it's not quite visible where I started pushing through it, I hope you'll enjoy

words: 4633

“Since, hopefully, this is the last time we're seeing each other before Christmas–” Black Canary announced, stretching after finished training“ I wish you all merry and healthy and boring Christmas” she finished with a wide warm smile. Danny barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. This goddamn worst time of the year. He checked once more if his mental shields were up. According to M'gann, ghosts were really loud on mind reading wavelengths so he needed to keep them up most of the time. He wasn't an asshole to drown his friend in absolute hatred of Christmas.

“You too Black Canary!” Wally yelled, running like the earth was burning to get cookies M'gann baked “By the way, what are your plans?” he asked upon his return.

Did they really have to keep talking about it? Danny was half considering just dropping through the floor to escape this conversation but chose against it because he really didn't want to answer all the questions it would cause or hear a ‘you can't deal with all unwanted conversations by escaping them’ lecture again any time soon. He could and he would, the Freakshow incident was just one way to prove it.

“B and I have to attend some stuffy rich people party” Robin said with clear displeasure “I still need to plan what mess to stir there. Chandeliers swinging are banned and so is arson so I have to get creative.”

“You actually set something on fire?! That's sick as hell!” the speedster's enthusiasm didn't waver as he threw a few cookies at Danny. It was nice that someone remembered about Danny's slightly enhanced metabolism. They (both Young Justice and Amity squad) still didn't understand it completely but the working hypothesis was that he needed to eat more to make up for ectoplasm he couldn't consume in quantities big enough for his ghost side since it was poisonous to humans and he had to dose it carefully. Being a halfa was rough like that some(most)times. 

“Well, lighter is easy to sneak inside–” Robin explained and honestly Danny never expected to hear Gotham’s feared vigilante go over logistics of arson but he guessed it was his life now, he could use this info to do something about at least one Christmas tree in Amity or share it with Sam. She mentioned some upcoming rich people party too”–and amount of alcohol there is astonishing, really you'd think that people would try to stay sober on event like that but apparently–”

“I'm having dinner with my mom and some family friends–” Artemis interrupted “Can't wait spend God knows how many hours with all of them talking over each other and asking awkward questions” she tried to sound displeased but there was no way she could hide her fondness and wasn't that a wild thing to see. Seriously, he almost choked on a cookie. In theory Danny knew some people genuinely liked Christmes but–

Just like that? Just happy to–

Yeah, he knew but couldn't quite comprehend. Sam was exactly like that, found but trying to seem annoyed to keep up with her goth persona. Tucker was way more open about his delight.

For Danny Christmas was only too loud because everyone was singing badly and too bright because of lights and too stuffy and there was this damned argument about Santa and yelling and fe–

“Oh, me too! We also planned a movie night with Central Rogues, this time it's Cold’s turn. I wish he won't pick Die Hard again…”

Well, Danny guessed movie night with Rogues, that clearly meant an off evening since they wouldn't try to stir things up while watching the movie, sounded like a really nice idea. Personally he would do without people who try to turn him into a pulp every other day but apparently things worked differently in Central.

“King Orin wanted to introduce me to some surface celebrations as well,” Kaldur said with a warm smile and halfa forcefully stopped himself from giving their leader a weird look. Even him?! Betrayal, absolute betrayal! 

“Well, I don't really celebrate so I'm staying here, maybe training a bit, I'm not sure yet,” M'gann announced shyly and it took all his willpower to not hug her for being the only sensible person in the room.

“Yeah, I'm staying too. Apparently I'm not invited to family gatherings” Conner added bitterly. 

“Honestly your not missing much,” Danny muttered “It's just perfectly prepared and measured argument breeding space, believe me”

Wally tried to protest but one pointed glare and it dissolved through power of ‘don't make Conner feel about it any worse than he already does’. Danny felt a little guilty for using it to sooth his own hatred towards Christmas but not too much. He really wanted to reassure his friend and ways he went about it were no one else's business. 

“And what are your plans, Danny?” M'gann asked gently after he didn't continue. He really wished he didn't have to answer but keeping his emotions hidden meant nobody could see that something was up and say ‘you don't have to tell if you don't want to’ or other shit like that.

“Not sure yet. I think I will crash with you here honestly. If we believe this magic book we found, there is a Christmas truce in Zone, so there shouldn't be any ghost attacks and your company is always great,” he smiled sincerely.

“Wouldn't your parents ask questions if you just skipped Christmas, though?” Wally asked a bit cautiously but Danny waved his concern off with a vague ‘eh’ sound.

“Will you show us some Christmas traditions then? As a part of ‘earthly traditions’ course?” M'gann's eyes almost shone with excitement and Conner looked hopeful and it made him feel conflicted. The whole point of crashing in Mount Justice with two aliens was to not touch anything Christmas related with thirty feet long stick but alas M'gann asked nicely and was pretty. These were two big ideals fighting inside of him then and there while he tried to keep his face and outer mind blank enough to not bring any suspicion.

Betrayal to second, no third, power! He wanted to escape this hell of an experience! 

But well, he could shape the experience in a way that's the least painful and M'gann and Conner were really great friends…

“Sure”

He couldn't quite match her enthusiastic grin or even Conner’s bit smaller one.

He was going to regret it, wouldn't he?

***

“Guys, I messed up so bad…” Danny whined,  curling on Sam's enormous bed covered in fluffy blankets and nice pillows.

“What did you do this time?” girl asked with a smirk. Halfa was sometimes mad how well his friends knew him and didn't take his dramatics as seriously as he would like to.

“I wanted to have a sleepover at Team's HQ during Christmas, you know, to escape it. Only ones who will stay are Miss Martian and Superboy, aliens, so I thought it's a good idea. And then they asked me to show them ‘earthly Christmas traditions’ and I AGREED!” he yelled, his hands flying dramatically at the confession.

His friends, little traitors they were, just laughed.

He came to get some help, advice on either doing this introduction well because Danny Fenton was known for a lot of things but half-assing projects he agreed to do wasn't one of them (homework was obligatory without his consents ergo didn't count) or gracefully getting away from mess his idiocy brought onto him, not to be laughed at! He had enough of it at other times.

Though they got to work when they calmed down, making Danny revisit the idea of not talking to them ever again and throwing it out of the window.

“Alright,” Tucker started, preparing his note and planner apps before continuing “what do you want to show them? Gingerbread house?”

“Of course” Danny huffed because as much as he hated Christmas and its traditions, gingerbread house was decent one. Making one at Tucker's place three years ago when he had been introduced to the idea was one of his best memories related to the holiday. Even though it was cut short by trip to the ER because dumbass little Danny had wanted a little gingerbread man he set aside and he had eaten him still all fresh and 350°F hot and got severe burns in his mouth and throat because apparently his instinctual response to burning in his mouth was to swallow instead of to spit.

“Gifts.” Sam raised in a way that meant she was not taking any complaints and Danny didn't really want to argue. His track record with gifts from his parents wasn't too good ever since he had a brief just-like-dad phase and they didn't realize it ended after a month but other people knew how to fix it. The Voyager Lego set he got from Sam the year before still made him smile when his eyes landed on it. 

Tucker noted it down. “What else? Christmas tree?”

Danny winced but nodded. He wasn't too fond of it but it was too big to miss it.

“Ugly sweaters?”

“Superboy would actually develop laser vision if I tried it”

“Movie marathon? I can lend you some DvDs”

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea. Kid Flash mentioned it too.”

“Santa Claus?” Sam asked with a smirk and Danny threw a pillow at her.

“Who is Santa Claus? I never heard of him, must be a Rhode Island thing” he answered with a straight face, not knowing how many times he will have to repeat it.

**

Phantom: hey guys!

Phantom: want a Crisscross Christmas

Phantom: ?

Artemis: The what?

Phantom: oh, you know

Phantom: this thing were we draw aech othres names anf have to buy a gift

Kid Flash: you mena Secret Santa

Kid Flash: ???

Phantom: never heard of that

Phantom: thats a wierd naem

Phantom: but if rules match, call it whatever yoyu wnat

Aqualad: I like this idea

Robin: GIft drop-off on 27th is okay for everyone?

7 people liked this message

Robin: i take that for yes. 50$ budget?

Kid Flash: Robin, Rob, Bob, my best pal. I have 5$ and single slice of bubblegum to my name rn

Kid Flash: No, actually no bubblegum anymore

Kid Flash: 10$ is top I could spend

Phantom: Same

Artemis: Same

Aqualad: Me too

Miss Martian: I'm not sure if me and Superboy have any money, actually

Phantom: See Rob?

Phantom: just be a good samamritanina and give them 10$ instead og flaunting batmans money

***

"Important question. How do one pick a present?"

"You know, it's good if it's something personal, either in a way that it's something they want or need, a gag gift that'd be funny for both of you, or just something that made you think of them"

"Yeah, yeah, I read the mom blogs, none of this actually helps, what am I supposed to get for Artemis?!"

***

"Alright, so. I have a list of things I think you need to learn about Christmas. We're kinda late to the party, so I cut off some stuff because there is no way we would make it in time."

"Sounds about right, what do we start with?"

"Most classic of classics, the Christmas tree, Batman already greenlit it, so it's waiting outside"

***

"So, Christmas tree is evergreen plant, conifer, sometimes only branch or synthetically made model, that, if living, is cut down from Christmas tree nursery, and then put inside the house, usually in the living room or other space that is considered repre-"

"Danny, we live in society, we have basic knowledge on American traditions that is literally everywhere. We don't need it to be spoon fed to us in a voice more robotic way than Red Tornado, literal robot"

"Conner!"

"What?! I'm not wrong"

"Sorry. Let's get to decorating then?"

"If you want to ramble, we'd be more than happy to listen. It's obvious that you took a lot of care to learn everything."

"Speak for yourself"

"Conner!"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, with what exactly do we plan to decorate it?"

"Oh, this one is easy. I asked around people to donate some stuff, and Batman got us few things after I asked for permission for the tree. He even asked Justice League to drop us some things too."

"That's nice of them"

"Yeah, though I'm a bit worried about gifts from Arrows and Robin, y'know. They all had this type of smile that means either a gag idea, merch or exploding glitter and I'm not sure which option scares me the most"

"Glitter"

"Glitter"

"Yeah, you're right"

***

"Did… um… did Superman bring anything?"

"Yes, actually! He brought pretty big box of stuff and mentioned dropping of some food for Christmas in the morning or the afternoon of the first day. He said he was happy that you got the experience even if he isn't able to be the one to give it to you. I think he is coming around"

It was an interesting thing about Danny. He wasn't all that good with authority figures or frankly adults in general, and he never passed on the chance to tear in Superman for his treatment of Conner, if he saw the man, but in private he was surprisingly pro-Superman and tried to make them "see his perspective" with some pretty convincing arguments. Everyone else was still unimpressed but Danny never gave up.

M'gann still wasn't sure if in these circumstances she found it cute or annoying.

"Bullshit"

"If that's what you want to believe in"

***

"Oh, hello Megan! Red Tornado, would you like to join us in decorating the Christmas tree?"

"This… seems like a decent idea. What is the procedure of it?"

"We already put on the lights, so now we're placing baubles and other hanging decorations, before we finish off with paper chains and these fuzzy boas. We need them evenly spread out on all of the tree, preferably in a way, that things in similar colors aren't right next to each other, alright?"

"Yes, Phantom, instructions are clear"

"Great. Do we want some music in the background? My friends usually play some Christmas songs to get us all in 'the right mood' as he calls it?"

"Good idea, I'll play something."

"Thanks Meg"

"Just hear the sleigh bell jingling…"

"Is this… yeah, it's Carpenters, it's Jazz's favo- oh shit"

"Got it!"

"Nice catch Conner! Red Tornado, sorry I didn't clarify before, we're not decorating the side by the wall."

"Understood"

***

"We have only one last thing left then"

"Yeah?"

"The star at the top. The youngest child of the family usually get the honor. Conner, it's you time to shine~"

"Shut up already"

"How is he supposed to reach the top though? He can't fly"

"Step stool or someone has to hold him up lion king style"

"Lion king- Don't you dare! Keep those hands to yourself! Danny!

***

"So, what's next on your magical list?"

"Gingerbread house. It's a moment for you to shine Meg, because I'm absolute mess in the kitchen and I don't think Conner is much better"

"Actually-"

"blah, blah, blah, absolutely perfect, could be hired at Michelin star restaurant right this instant blah, blah, blah"

"Oh, you little-"

"I believe the arguments are supposed to start at the Christmas table and not before. It seemed to be consensus in my sources. Was I mistaken?"

Conner stopped dead in his tracks, as confused as M'gann at the question.

Danny laughed so hard he fell on the ground.

"Red Tornado, what does that mean?"

"There is no need to spread misinformation until we can get confirmation whether my sources were correct or not"

"Danny? Danny?! What does he mean?! Why are you laughing?!"

Danny just stayed curled on the floor, almost wheezing.

***

"So, we have all of the ingredients, right? Flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves-"

"I think it's still in the cabinet, let me grab it real quick"

"Alright, other than cloves, do we have salt, vegetable shortening, granulated sugar, molasses, an egg- I mean, applesauce? Yeah? Let's hope it'll work. Okay, I think were ready"

"Ginger?"

"What?"

"Do we have ginger ready?"

"I don't think so, I'm pretty sure we've run out about a week ago? Why- oh wait"

"Did we seriously forgot to get ginger to make The Gingerbread House?! It's literally in the name!"

They all just stood in silence for a long moment.

"We're idiots"

"Well said, well said"

"I believe there are better names to describe you in this situation. Unfortunately, I cannot recall them"

"Thanks Red Tornado, that was helpful"

"Maybe we can still buy it?"

"It's 10:34 PM, December 23rd, M'gann, what shop would even be open?"

"Shut up Conner, it's actually not a bad idea. I think I've seen- yes, there is something open until eleven, about five minutes out if I fly"

***

"There was no ginger at the shop, but I got cranberry for later, if needed, and some chips to snack on"

"It's fine, we found unopened pack of powdered ginger in the back of the cabinet"

"That's great! Give me a minute to return this packet I liberated on my way home?"

"Danny!"

***

"Hey, M'gann!"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to invite your uncle to our dinner?"

"That's a great idea Conner, thank you!"

***

"Okay, wait, wait, wait, before you two get weirdly aggressive about it again-"

"We're not that aggressive and it's a serious matter"

"I don't have any ghosts to get of my misplaced aggression out on so I'm funneling it into cake decorating instead"

"M'gann, you literally are trying to choke him right now, Danny, even I know it's concerning and I have less than half a year of learning what is considered normal under my belt. Anyway, before you escalate it again, how about each one of us gets one side of the house and then we work in pairs on the roof?"

"I like that"

"But what about aesthetic integrity!"

"It's quite literally against the point of gingerbread house"

***

"Before we go to sleep, I believe it's a widespread tradition to leave milk and cookies for the Santa Claus on the Christmas Eve evening"

"Huh"

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing really, chill out Conner, I just never heard of that"

It was so clearly a lie it probably couldn't even be called that, but at this point everyone realized, that for some reason bearded man in red was a sore subject, and they stopped trying to learn why. Maybe some day he'd tell them.

***

"Sorry. This person is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"Hey Dani, it's Danny. Merry Christmas, please let me know when you get that. I'm celebrating outside of home, safe, with some friends, so if you want, I can give you an address and you can drop by. They're all more than okay with ghost stuff and have a history of accepting someone similar to you without any questions. I'm sure they'd love you. Let me know you're alright and if you want to join us. Sorry I keep calling, I'm at the worrywart stage. Love you, please stay safe."

Danny was doing pretty well with this whole "organizing Christmas". Really. M'gann did kick him out to breathe a bit of fresh air (and wait for the Superman and food he was supposed to bring in) because his hands were shaking too much, but other than that he was fine. Really. He was getting a bit panicky because he didn't hear a word from his sister in the past week and usually she let them know if she knew she would go somewhere where that could happen but she just as often didn't because she spontaneously decided to do something else. Trackers they made her wear showed she was fine.

It didn't really help, he wasn't sure if there was anything less than actually hearing or preferably seeing her that could reassure him.

It wasn't even talking about all of the trouble that was a bit closer to home, because Christmas never meant anything good for him, with or without his parents stirring up the Santa-fight. They weren't there and yet, he still couldn't make himself believe it could be any better this time. For Ancients sake, he made sure there was no Santa Claus in whole Mountain, nothing to remind him of how it always was and his brain still decided to be stupid about it.

So now he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, in hopes that cold would shock him out of spiraling, trying to keep his breaths even and not fly away because it felt all like a little too much at the moment. he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, waiting for a man who would awkwardly try to do the whole 'I'm an adult you can trust' routine and then treat him like messenger pigeon to contact the child that actually wanted and needed him. He couldn't entirely blame him but-

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine"

"Are you sure? It's quite cold to be dressed like this and your heartbeat is quite erratic."

"I'm fine as old wine Superman, please say your piece before someone comes to see what took me so long"

"Danny-"

"I'm serious. Leave it alone and just give me the food"

Superman looked a bit conflicted, clearly considering all of the potential pros and cons of digging in further and choose wrong.

"You're worried about Dani"

"You're the last person I want to talk to about her," Danny spat out, anxiety quickly turning into anger.

"Of course, but-"

"Have two civil conversations with your clone before trying to tell me how I should handle mine" As soon as these words left his mouth, Danny regretted them, if only a little, but he kept pushing "I told you about her to explain why I'm willing to vouch for you. It doesn't make you someone I'll confide in. It doesn't make you someone I trust. It doesn't make me approve of the way your handling it. It just means I understand. But you're an adult man and experienced hero with stable job and adult shit figured out and I'm a teenager with home just safe enough for me to stay and family that'd question how third child just showed up. We are not the same."

Superman flinched away at some point during the rant, looking properly humbled. He avoided eye contact and just reached forward to pass him hard plastic case filled with food containers and smaller boxes wrapped up in nice Christmas themed paper.

"Alright kiddo. Get it inside before you turn into a icicle. And tell Conner I wish him Merry Christmas, alright? I mean, I wish it to everyone but…"

Damn, if the "never meet your heroes" person wasn't right.

"You're a coward Superman. Come in and tell him that yourself"

***

Conner lashed out, as expected, but it was far more subdued than it would be just few month before. To his credit, Superman stayed the whole time it went down and only left when boy mostly calmed down and wouldn't feel like he was being ignored. Man even tried to respond to some allegations, though he wasn't really heard. Conner ranted some more after hero left, but overall it went better than Danny thought it would.

Then they had dinner, which went… surprisingly well. Apparently, not having to worry about being attacked by the main dish did wonders to Danny's overall jitters (and didn't everyone get super weird when he mentioned it). Not having people start nonsensical fights also helped. He knew better than to mention that.

Also, turns out that Superman or whoever he got to make them food was freaking amazing cook, thank you very much. Danny wasn't necessarily fasting, not in a way he knew some people did in the period preceding Christmas or at least on Christmas Eve, but the tension of past few days made it hard to eat a lot. It definitely lessened now that the thing was happening and seemingly going well, so he was absolutely ravenous. To be completely honest, as far as he could tell, everyone else matched his enthusiasm.

There was a bit off moment at the beginning, when Martian Manhunter asked him if he shouldn't be with his family during holidays, but Danny quickly and subtly brushed it off and nobody mentioned that afterwards.

He may have overeaten, actually, for once in his live, which he may regret in the morning, but at the moment, it made him quite content.

Then came the gifts, which also went better than he expected. For once there was no need to act like he enjoyed the gift despite already planning on how to get rid of it. Even better, focus was almost fully removed from him, obviously, because it wasn't his first rodeo.

Conner looked so lost and confused with the gift he got from Superman's mom, it was almost heartbreaking. It was beautiful crocheted scarf, black and red, with his symbol on each end, and an apology note explaining that Mrs Martha Kent would give him something more note worthy but she learned about him way to late to make something better. There was also promise of more worthy gift in near future. Danny knew all that because Conner read it out loud, asking everyone to help him make sense of that. There was only so much they could do.

Other than that, he got some nice flannel shirts from M'gann, quite a few sweets. He also got a book from Danny (it was a sin he didn't read "The Martian" before) and concepts of new hero suits for him, that Sam somehow sneaked between the pages. It was certainly a lot to explain without making anyone angry.

M'gann got two different cook books, that unfortunately didn't include Fenton fudge recipe (Dad was really protective over it), some surprisingly obscure merch from "Hello Megan" and more sweets.

Red Tornado got an apron and few tokens of appreciation, that robot quite liked, as far as Danny could tell.

Martian Manhuter, due to how rarely he visited, was the hardest to pick presents for, which resulted in some general little trinkets.

Danny got night sky projector, which was really cool, and potted plant, for some reason, which, while also cool, because plants are cool (Sam would rekill him if he thought otherwise), he knew far too well, would not survive until July. It wasn't only because he could barely take care of himself, let alone whole ass plant (see also, that one time he either drowned or dried three cacti), but also because of the times ghosts (or home security) attacked him in his room. He was thankful anyway. Maybe it could push him into finally getting some contingencies against that, that’d actually work. After all, it was quite a pretty plant.

By the time they moved to the couch to watch “Die Hard” of all things (it was only DVD that Tucker provided that didn’t have Santa Claus as a prominent character, because of course that little traitor would do that), Danny had to admit that this Christmas was… nice. Enjoyable. Pretty amazing actually. Good enough that he could understand people waiting for it the whole year. He couldn’t tell that he joined their ranks, but he certainly could understand them.

It was also downright exhausting and at some point even dynamic fights of John McClane couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was fine though. He was safe, he was warm, almost squeezed against his friends. It was good place to just relax.

It’s been first time in a long time since he felt that on Christmas.

********

I'm not sure if I managed to properly Conner's... whole thing, if he turned out too hostile, let's just say he was still pissed about the whole "wasn't invited to Clark's family gathering" thing and it made him a bit more antsy.

I'm not sure how well I managed to handle it, but I don't want to bash neither Clark nor Conner. They're both victims in this situation and while the way Clark handled it was far from ideal, it's also far from worst he could do and I believe he deserves a bit more grace. In the end, on psychological level he is just human and humans don't always handle being baby trapped perfectly. Maybe I have more understanding towards him because my prefered way of handling conflicts is walking out and locking myself in my room, but idk. Maybe I'm capable of more coherent explanation when it's not 3:44 AM

Ginger shenanigans were inspired by my own Christmas preparation adventures, when I was making bread dough for the Christmas Eve and decided to add rosemary to make it more ✨festive✨ and got really attached to the idea. My mom agreed, then it turned out we didn't have any, then I went to the shop like twenty minutes before it closed at 11PM so at least one guy was there to replenish his alcohol suplies. My mom called to tell me to also buy some powdered garlic and beetroot. Turned out we had rosemary at home. At shop I only found garlic. I also brought energy drink, because I was tired but had more stuff to do and some snacks just because.

Bread turned out pretty good.

I sincerely believe if I was solely responsible of making gingerbread, I would forget to get ginger (or like, to fit with "it's in the name" thing, pepper, because in Polish it's "piernik")

I'm really sorry if the drop in quality by the end is noticable, if this thing stayed unfinished whole another year i'd do something I'd regret later.

[starry-bi-sky]

miscellaneous danyal al ghul things

specifically about the danyal al ghul from my post/prompt here and i wanna get my misc. headcanons/thoughts on him (especially in his early stay with the fentons) out here before i make any other danyal al ghul aus

list under the cut because whoops this got longer than i expected. which really i should have expected

the Fentons are unaffiliated with the League, which was perfect for Danny faking his death.

he struggles with empathy. Empathy was not taught nor encouraged while he was with the League, so it's a skill that's been pretty stunted. At 15 he's better at empathizing with people, but he still struggles with it. He's pretty bad at reassuring/comforting people and usually acts as an emotional rubber duck for Sam and Tucker to vent to if need be. He sometimes offers blunt and sometimes mean opinions, especially if its about another person.

Sam and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin, they are however, pretty positive that he used to be part of an eco-fascist cult with a focus on martial arts?? They've been helping him tone down some of his more,,, extreme views on humanity ever since they caught wind of his more extreme ideologies.

He and Sam are still avid environmentalists and feed into each other quite a bit. They spend plenty of time at protests and pestering the school into more eco-friendly options.

Dash is not dead on the sole fact that Danny knew he had to lay low in Amity Park and killing someone was not, in fact, 'laying low'.

he did, however, traumatize him when Dash first tried to bully him. Safe to say, Danny is not bullied at school and neither are Sam and Tucker.

Danny didn't make any friends in his first year at Amity Park. He was surly, grumpy, standoffish, more stubborn than Sam, and pretty self-important about himself. Jazz was trying to teach him against these things, but she is a 12 year old unaffiliated with the League. Danny did not respect her nor listen to a word she said. It wasn't until like, year two that he finally started paying to mind what she was saying and slowly started to improve on himself

Sam approached him first, he rebuffed her quite harshly, and then Danny approached her sometime afterward when he overheard her talking about environmental rights. Sam completely ignored him though when he agreed with her, and Danny had to later learn that he needed to apologize for being rude to her when they first met. He did so eventually, and they started to talk more with Tucker and Sam.

Danny's a bit more reserved than he is in canon, although he steadily learns how to act as a regular teenager when he's out in public. He's a bit more friendlier at least, although when he's around Sam and Tucker he drops the act. He still has a somewhat formal way of talking, it's just become more casual after a lot of ribbing from Sam and Tucker. When he's angry or annoyed he starts talking poshly though.

His humor is relatively the same as in canon, if somehow dryer and more insulting at some points

Those rare moments where he gets really pissed usually ends up with him insulting someone in arabic or any of the other languages he picked up from the league. He is the go-to for Tucker's Spanish homework. (Tucker makes that mistake and learns that Danny is a very strict teacher)

while Danny doesn't view the Fentons as his parents, even five years after living with them, he does respect them to some amount. He respects them enough at least that when Vlad Masters comes sniffing around, he is suitably offended on both Maddie and Jack's behalf. And when he finds out Vlad was the one who tried to kill Jack and tried to tell him to renounce him as his father/parental guardian, danny threw a suitably sharp object at him and insulted him quite horrendously

Vlad still wants him as his kid. In fact perhaps even moreso after this.

Danny trains with Maddie to keep up with his training. It's not quite the same but it prevents him from getting completely rusty

Sam and Tucker know that Danny has a little brother, but nothing else beyond that other than Danny cares about him quite a lot and that he got his facial scar from keeping him safe.

Danny cares about Sam, Tucker, and Jazz quite a bit, but he struggles to convey it. Especially early on when he realized he cared about them and like instinct started being harsher to them and more critical of their actions. This resulted in quite a few arguments with Sam and Tucker and Jazz until he got sat down and told outright that the way he was treating them wasn't okay. It's a process he's still trying to unlearn even at 15. He has become kinder towards them as a result, and has begun looking for what they did right rather than what they did wrong.

He harbors a lot of guilt over how he treated Damian in the League, and its a pretty big conflict he has with himself since he's torn between telling himself it was for the best to make sure Damian survived the League, and feeling like crap over how harsh/critical of Damian he was and realizing that he probably could have come up with a better way of training him despite being a child himself at the time. Danny comes to the realization that more than anything, that he just wants to apologize.

His ghost form, specifically is outfit, is a combination of his hazmat suit and his uniform from the league, and he carries a sword with him. He also doesn't know how to react to Dani, honestly. Although it is fair to say that he figures out she's a clone instantly because of her whole 'I'm your third cousin once removed' thing and he freaks out. She spills the beans pretty quickly after that. And Danny is pretty skittish around her - or the equivalent of skittish. Her being younger than him kinda reminds him of Damian, so he's uncomfortable by her presence but learns to warm up to her.

[jinlin-at-the-moon]

Hi I'd LOVE to hear ur thoughts on transwoman shen qingqui

oh my god its actually happened. someone gave me an excuse to talk about this. holy shit lets go

the Thing with shen qingqiu is, as many of us know, that if anyone out there holds the crown of sheer denial, it is in fact the superior qing jing peak lord. shen qingqiu has a couple incredibly specific quirks to her internal monologue, and for the purposes of this mini essay (which will likely not go as in-depth as i'd like as i haven't had time to re-read the books recently and also don't have them physically with me right now so an actual essay-may-come this is not), i specifically note a few patterns with her thinking.

THE DENIAL, AS AFOREMENTIONED - we all know about this one. sqq, is, dear god, really good at being absolutely balls deep in denial about both her own feelings and also the feelings of others (especially when it comes to luo binghe, who i will also get into at some point in this).

RELATED, THE MENTAL GYMNASTICS - at surface level, it seems like the denial and the mental gymnastics are one and the same - however, i generally pose that they're not, exactly, but the mental gymnastics are still derivative of the denial; and by that i'm specifically counting 'mental gymnastics' to mean all those instances of thinking one thing that is actually true with her actually really good deduction skills not enough people give her credit for, then IMMEDIATELY following it up with a "haha but surely that cannot be true because i read pidw and i know better than my initial assumptions" (which is, in fact, precisely why people don't give her enough credit for those initial deduction skills. i love this woman's bullshit so much)

THE PROJECTION (wife edition) - in svsss, there are multiple, multiple instances of this one; it's specifically all those moments where sqq thinks about Luo Binghe's Many Wives™ when if you read past the 5 layers of self-bullshitting you immediately realise that she's just straight up talking about herself. she's awful, really.

THE PROJECTION (binghe edition). see i told you i'd get to him. this one is harder to explain without concrete examples actually, which is why i'd love for this to be a comprehensive essay after re-reading the books, but alas it is not. basically, shen qingqiu does this Thing (primarily after the kiss in book 2 happens and onwards, but it does show up earlier in smaller doses iirc) where she projects all of her wants onto binghe - particularly when it comes to sexual/romantic endeavours, but this happens just… in general? again really hard to tell you what exactly i mean without examples, so i gotta source: trust me bro on this even though i don't like doing that, but. trust me bro.

so, that's the foundation, right? where all of these patterns are used in the book is quite obvious - and that is, well… all over the place, really, but what immediately does come to mind is The Queerness - and specifically, its repression by shen qingqiu herself. in the story, The Queerness of it all is primarily taken to mean specifically homosexuality, and the values superimposed on sqq's psyche clashing with her own repressed sexuality and current situation, and also that she very undeniably loves binghe both like a child and a lover. (this is NOT about to turn into one of my freudian musings, but that's mostly because someone has already done that way better than me. shoutout to tshirt's svsss freud essay it's deeply important to all of my svsss beliefs btw it does also touch on the trans woman sqq thing which is fun. anyways.) …actually, no, the milf thing is relevant. we'll get to the milf thing. but back to talking about gay shit, shen qingqiu makes…. a lot. of references. to being a woman. and all of her thought patterns become Relevant while doing it- y'know, those same patterns she already uses for homosexuality, quite famously a queer thing to be, so it's like. The Queerness:

while the denial doesn't quite come into play directly, for obvious this-is-not-canon-and-i'm-just-insane-but-will-nonetheless-make-my-point reasons, it's present all throughout this reading - she's already really, really good at being in denial. it's not just a river in egypt to her, wait does egypt exist in svsss's specific setting actually? like this is a different can of worms but while mdzs does directly take place in china and tgcf is slightly less so but also implied to be in a very fantasy time period but still china i legit can't remember if any of those kinds of geographical references exist in svsss or if pidw was just straight up in the same sphere as The General Fantasy Setting is to western medieval fantasy? i'm getting way off topic here, it's a lifestyle. the mental gymnastics are relevant in that sqq is generally very prone to adjusting reality to her own mindset wherein she's self-assured that the reality she imagines is the true one, as well as her own dissociation from her own wants and needs covered up by But I Cannot Be Thinking That (most relevant example i can think of being her real grief over binghe she refused to acknowledge for fear of acknowledging her own feelings as a whole, while SPECIFICALLY also referring to herself as 'alike to a grieving widow', which is just further fuel for me) and her later projections of her own issues on binghe. that being said, i do think being post-canon will do her a lot of good. babygirl please get your brain out of survival mode and do some introspection. anyway, the projection (both kinds) is where Shen Qingqiu Is A Trans Woman is the most prevalent in its theory, because the projection allows for…. a lot of woman comparison that sqq may make. ESPECIALLY the wife thing. i've never counted how many times sqq either directly or indirectly compares herself to one of Luo Binghe's Many Wives™, and right now the only time that happens that comes to mind is during the dream demon arc - which, by the way, is absolutely full of sqq comparing herself to a woman, and it's also (iirc) the first 'maiden luo' comparison appearance, so it's just, like. the first scene i ask anyone who asks me about this headcanon to read while keeping "but what if she's trans" in mind, really.

speaking of the 'maiden luo' comparisons, that's the only concrete number in this essay i can give you, because i counted it a while ago. shen qingqiu refers to luo binghe as a 'maiden' 11-12 times across the four books. and while you'd THINK most of those would happen pre-abyss, a vast majority actually appear after the kiss in book 2, which is the moment where sqq imo honestly starts (admittedly still through 50 layers of self-bullshitting still) begrudgingly making the shift from the m to the f in milf. this is hilarious for a number of reasons, even transgenderism theory aside, but this post is not about putting transgenderism theory aside, so let's just. look at that. and think about it. really think about it. because maybe, deep down, what shen qingqiu might just really want, is a dedicated lesbian relationship with luo binghe. god bless. jokes (?) aside, the fact that sqq starts doing all the comparison of either herself or binghe to women way more often specifically after she is made to realise the true extent of binghe's feelings for her feels really important here. it's almost like, the second she begins letting up on her queer repression even a little bit, some other feelings escape. curious, isn't it. it's great.

now, am i going to address the perhaps-elephant in the room? as in, you know. the 'as long as she's a real woman' line? actually i am, but specifically because that line made me laugh and then immediately start considering this theory in the first place. i'm not kidding, that's where it started, and then i slowly went insane over time. it really does fit sqq's particular brand of repression, though. like damn girl, they gave you internalised homophobia AND internalised transphobia? how much shit do you have internalised? many shits, probably. god knows what else is there.

oh, and speaking of iconic lines. well. this whole essay, had i the ability to add in direct quotes, absolutely would include Every Single Time Shen Qingqiu Compares Herself To Su Xiyan, You Know, Famously Luo Binghe's Mother. THIS is where i talk about the milf thing, actually, because it's still absolutely INSANE to me that that shit is just, In The Text. like. wow. i both question my own sanity and keep being like it's mind boggling how much the text itself wants to prove me right. anyways, sqq and sxy have extremely deliberate set up parallels between them - in particular with the tlj/lbh parallel added in as well, but also with bingqiu themselves, which. hilarious. and freudian, again. go read the freud essay. sqq is compared to sxy a LOT, she both does it herself and other people do it - which does lead to the infamous 'i wouldn't have aborted you' line, which is just…. the quintessence. of why i love this book so fucking much. and also the milf thing is evidence for my crazed mumblings so whatever. i think you get my point here

(…and since we're talking about other people comparing sqq to a woman, because it's somewhat relevant. this happens. quite significantly. with one other character in particular. like most sqq woman references are mostly either from her own weird twisted mind with the "The Wives™" thing or with the su xiyan thing or the forlorn widow after binghe's nightmare road trip started thing. but there's. one person. who. weirdly consistently does this? and i truly don't know what to think about it but. hey airplane why do you forcefem cucumber-bro in your head so much. there is generally a lot of things wrong with airplane, but the '[peerless cucumber] is alike to a wife married to a disappointing husband' in regards to pidw readership line literally lives in my head rent free all the time forever and everything that's around it is just…. it's bad even with context. what. this isn't an airplane essay but with the knowledge that luo binghe was to some degree airplane's self-insert does make me feel some kind of way in addition. airplane. please. like airplane was trans(masc) in his past life in my head which is also an interpretation essay i wish to write one day but that doesn't make anything better. this whole paragraph is just an unrelated tangent. i'm sorry airplane-bro is my second favourite character and his sqq woman references are Numerous i can't do anything about it)

--anyways, so. this last point i'm going to make is one that is honestly less about the trans thing in general, and moreso a general take i have, so. here goes,

putting the trans in transmigration: i think there is a lot of merit to observing transmigration/isekai-type stories as a sort of allegory for queerness in general. while svsss is, on its level, already an exploration of this, i do wish to on my own terms also give a thought or two i've had about my reading. shen qingqiu is, in my honest opinion, sort of misrepresented in the fandom quite often. it's not even a case of blatant mischaracterisation (even if that also happens sometimes), but rather a case of 'what's in a name'; or rather, what's in an identity. i opened this post by calling shen qingqiu, as we know her, the main character of svsss, "the superior qing jing peak lord" -and while some would see it as a comedic jab to lighten the mood, it's really not such in the long run of this specific meta. becoming the peak lord of qing jing, becoming shen qingqiu, is the best thing that could have happened to peerless cucumber, internet critic, 'pretty-boy wasting his life away', IRL ID 'shen yuan'. see those air quotes thats right bitch this is going to be my hottest take in this essay: shen yuan is her deadname. i am both dead serious AND alive silly.

i actually wrote a post about this on my old account here, and to be quite honest i still stand by that my thoughts there - if you look closely, shen qingqiu never refers to herself as 'shen yuan' post-transmigration. she's fully locked in. she has accepted that courtesy name with grace and immediate acceptance, and in general doesn't… think much? about her old life and name? in fact the only other reference i can think of to the name 'shen yuan' is with the mushroom arc, where the mushroom body's appearance is based on her old body in part - and it's also particularly interesting to note that she doesn't feel one way or another about either of her appearances, which is food for thought no matter which way you take that! point is - shen qingqiu is shen qingqiu. she fucking LOVES being shen qingqiu. she goes from 'wasting away' in her old life to being a good teacher and finding joy in her work, having actual friends besides one weird guy online she had a parasocial hatred for, having a partner who cares for her, and a life she actually likes, and while i do think that angst may come from coming off survival mode and properly processing all those deaths she had, that angst is not going to be about 'impersonation' of any kind - because, well, shen qingqiu is shen qingqiu, and she's happy to be shen qingqiu and stay Shen Qingqiu Specifically forever. am i annoying with the emphasis on purpose, maybe? this goes beyond transgender interpretation thoughts this is just my hot take post right now - people love to give sqq name drama or transmigrator angst that just, in my take, doesn't actually work for her - she is no longer shen yuan, and she is not shen jiu (who, nota bene, she doesn't refer to as "the real sqq" ever), and while she feels momentary regret for getting all in sj's business, it's ultimately but a part of her experience in the world she lives in now; the world she's building a life in, the world which in spite of all of its contrivances she likes living in far more than her old one, the world she's been able to craft her own identity in. and that's really the core of it all, honestly- the point of this meta, i mean, though we got quite far away from it for a second there for the sake of my own grievance, so. sorry. this is a transgenderism essay, i promise. because shifting into a new name and identity without hesitation and finding yourself in a whole new reality you come to love far more than the depressing life you've left behind is, in my opinion, an EXTREMELY trans narrative, and in the end, that's the true point i wish to make-

(-well, that, and ALSO that people should stop a-yuaning her ass because thats her deadname that she hasn't thought about in years, but that's another one of my personal old man yells at mountain type fanon grievance-)

-so, in conclusion. my fun guy trait is dragging people in with memes then making it profound - and that's, hugely, why i adore svsss so much; because it really does the same thing. thank you for enabling my bullshit. if anyone wishes to argue with me about any of this you are Welcome To btw i love debating on the internet. cya around when i actually write a proper essay with quotations on this <3

("by the way, koi," you may ask, "by making shen qingqiu a trans woman, aren't you making bingqiu straight, and doesn't that impact/undermine the whole sexuality realisation sqq already canonically has?" to that i answer, no. sqq is right with all those maiden luo instances. because to me, too, luo binghe is a he/him lesbian*. thank you for coming to my ted talk)

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

i think that one of the most tragic aspects of venti's character is the fact that no matter how hard he tries, no replication that he can make of the bard will ever be perfect because for a single image or concept to be long-lasting and static goes entirely against the nature of the wind.

it has been consistently emphasised throughout the game that "seeds of stories brought by the wind" will be "cultivated" by time - in other words, they will grow, but they will never remain the same as they were when they were first told; to try to remove that element of warping and artistic interpretation that is inevitable as a story is passed on is like trying to bottle up a storm and hoping that'll stop it from damaging the surroundings - instead, no one will ever know about it, and the only thing that it will have left to destroy will be itself.

venti is basically doing exactly this by trying to preserve the bard's memory - the only way to stop it from being warped would be to remove it from any kind of environment where that could happen, which would require taking the story out of circulation, which then means that he is the only living being who knows it in its whole detail and entirety. he understands, however, the fallibility of his own memory, as can be seen in how reminders of it seem to shake him; in his story quest, he seems strangely unguarded after resolving the situation with hans (whose story is massively identical to venti's for a reason - having a mirror can be very useful for storytelling, and genshin relies on it perhaps a bit too much), describing the barbatos statue as "the usual place" despite the fact that for our traveler, it is not (this ties into another theory that i am Not going into here lol). we know that venti prizes being able to keep a certain level of anonymity, with him describing the traveler's high level of intuition as "scary", so for him to show even the slightest level of disregard for maintaining his façade suggests that being faced with the reality of the impossibility of his self-imposed purpose is something that did really bother him (which tbf makes sense now that i write it out).

comparisons have been made before between venti and zhongli wherein the irony of having a god of wind whose appearance is unchanging and a god of stone who is (supposedly, if we assume zhongli's teasing about his own past forms to be reflective of the truth) in contrast constantly shifting is often key, and in a lot of ways zhongli's situation does mirror venti's in many ways; he theoretically has the ability to accurately preserve history as one would by carving it into stone, and yet it is almost as if he lets it slip through his fingers instead - he finds humour in inaccurate historical accounts and allows himself to change, not just physically but in terms of attitude (the whole point of the liyue aq is for him to be able to do this; to live as a mortal after millenia spent overseeing as a god). in many ways venti and zhongli are polar opposites, but the theme of wanting to transcend one's physical constraints, of wanting a state of existence that the other already in theory has, is consistent throughout both.

venti, however, seems to be so much more uncomfortable with this than zhongli is, and this awareness of the issue while still being so bothered by it to the extent that he pushes it away even more, causing the pressure in that jar to by extension increase too, is where the true point of tragedy lies.

maybe, though, by deciding to share the bard's story with the traveler, he is beginning to accept the necessity for change.

[prettybbychim]

[this became much longer than i intended whoops]

u know i think it would’ve been much better if the ode of resurrection was not shown to us immediately, and wasn’t a main part of their culture. have people die throughout the archon quest, make us believe that there’s no saving them. kill off kachina at the start and convince us that she’s the first playable character in genshin thats not alive.

build up these bonds, forge these friendships, make us care.

just to take it all away

that’s war.

but there’s a tiny flame, that glimmer of hope. maybe it’s something the pyro archons have been working on, passing it down to their successors. something mavuika has been working on. yeah u heard that right she’s actually doing something wow get citlali in there to help out. get the whole goddamn tribe involved idc

there’s a scramble to find the last of the heroes. they don’t want to force it or fuck something up but they’re running out of time. the abyss is coming. it will consume the nation. they need to fucking buckle up and get down to it.

they could probably still go into the night kingdom to search for kachina, so that mualani can get her ancient name. or it can occur under entirely different circumstances. haven’t given that much thought yet. do they find her?

do they find her and can’t actually bring her back to the surface?

for the next part, we’re gonna have to shake things up because we need the captain on our team sooner rather than later. how that happens is up in the air but regardless, we put aside our differences to save natlan.

so, we help the captain find old dragon tech. maybe we enlist the help of kinich and ajaw, maybe we go into ochkanatlan, tie some of that shit in. we can take iansan along too, who is super duper strong and can carry all our fancy dragon tech or smth idk the three of them need more involvement !!! ajaw would drive me up the wall but it’s a necessary evil

in ochkanatlan, we see how the abyss can mimic lifeforms. the twin is in irminsul right? maybe it’s steals the twin’s image, but the traveler knows it’s not them because their twin would never say things like this. we learn that they abyss manifestations are (always?) twisted and mutilated.

we see the dragon. we don’t defeat it, that’s for the world quest lol but we get the image of the dragon in our minds so that when it shows up later down the line, we know what the fuck is happening lol

on our trip, we learn bits and pieces about the captain. it’s all disconnected, nothing makes sense. and since we’re nosey little fuckers, we find correspondence with the tsaritsa in his belongings.

capitano is gentle with his body. maybe a little too gentle. it catches the traveler’s eye but they don’t know what it means, they have no grounds for suspicion. it’s blown off as recovering from his duel with mavuika. (little do we know that he was hit directly in the heart and he’s worried, goddamnit)

ororon lets it slip that something feels off with the captain’s soul. (could the captain be using ororon’s sensitivities to monitor the souls housed inside him? would he eventually tell ororon what’s going on? or would that be too risky?)

ororon receives ancient name same as before, nothing really needs to change there i suppose. more suspicion is thrown on the captain because of the identity of the soul trying to possess ororon. maybe the captain didn’t share his plan in its entirety, he has a lot riding on this, he can’t afford to fuck it up, and keeps his cards close to his chest. he and mavuika can still argue in front of ororon like mom and dad lol

chuychu dies. she doesn’t get to give a long goodbye. she bleeds out in her sister’s arms. (they actually try to stop the bleeding and give her medical care) chasca goes berserk hell yeah, there’s a struggle. she manages to rein herself in, the love between sisters reigns supreme. chasca gets her ancient name

boom u got all ur heroes. they supercharge mavuika to beat back the abyss core thing. what was its name? gilgamesh? i don’t fucking know

the losses are extreme

fast forward a bit bc i’m losing steam and attention span here

we dive back into the night kingdom to track down the “brain” of the abyss corruption. the people we’ve met and lost in natlan help us out. kachina can be added to the mix. the gay lovers, chuychu and her pokémon team, boba and coconut — the whole gang’s here yooo i actually loved this part. favorite section by far

and after our trip in ochkanatlan, we know that the dragon we’re fighting is an abyssal manifestation. the voices of the previous pyro archons are their own but the words are all wrong, designed to discourage and distress us.

we defeat it using the power of friendship (i’m gonna kms)

also mavuika’s kit is completely different. i’m giving her a redesign fuck it. but that’s a post for another time.

traveler seems pretty good ngl i just wish the cons aren’t limited to fighting the dragon. i really liked what i was seeing and then they pooped all over my party (what’s the point!!!)

instead of a big parade, we gather around together at the stadium to finally try the thing all the pyro archons have been cooking. the heroes are a necessary component.

the incandescent ode of resurrection

among the many, kachina comes out of the flames. mualani sobs her heart out and vows to never let her out of her sight ever again

chuychu perhaps? 👀 pls pls she’s the only one besides cap and ororon that i give a shit about pllssssss playable chuychu when? her design is fantastic as is u dont need to touch it PLEASE—

now we can have a party!! after everything is all said and done, we can have One party instead of the five or so we’ve had since we came to natlan. (nation of war? more like nation of fiestas)

ororon, though, feels uneasy, and not because of the atmosphere. he says he’s going to find the captain, but he can’t explain why. concerned, the traveler and paimon try to follow him but are intercepted by citlali, who is for once not freaking out about ororon’s whereabouts, instead…

oh but wait. where’s mavuika gone? oh nooo

plays out relatively the same i suppose. could use some tweaking but not anything significant enough to mention right now.

except now we have somewhat of an understanding of the captain already, all the little bits and pieces we noticed, and the clues we (so rudely) discovered, it’s all starting to make sense now. we’ve also spent more time w him, the emotional attachment runs deeper, and it’s much more painful to experience.

bittersweet

mavuika is confused, especially in the days coming after. she had planned to die then. she said her goodbyes in a roundabout way. she finished the painting of her family, so they’ll never be forgotten. she saved her nation from the oppression of the abyss, resurrected so, so many. there was only one thing left to do… she was supposed to be the one to do it.

what does she do now?

what does she do with herself now, when she hadn’t planned for her own future? it was supposed to end, she was supposed to die. could she have reunited with her family? could she have seen them once again? she’s sad over what could have been, she’s confused because how did it end up like this, she’s mad because the captain stole it from her, she’s guilty because he was ultimately the better choice

what do you do when you’ve spent hundreds of years waiting for your destined day? when you’re only ambition has been this.

it’s time to learn how to live.

the end~

[dekusleftsock]

I think that there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what exactly is…happening with Izuku’s character. Specifically in regards to chapter 425.

I’m glad that a lot more people generally recognize that Izuku is not a character that can be read at a surface level, given that he’s both a repressed person with built up emotion of basically everything and also a very glaringly HUGELY unreliable narrator, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I agree with the ways I’ve seen this most recent chapter spoken about.

I see posts, comments, etc with ideas like “Izuku don’t suppress your emotions! Open up with people! It’ll be okay I promise!” When that’s fundamentally not what is happening here.

There’s always always ALWAYS been a distinct difference in character throughout horikoshi’s writing when he is showing that a character is:

A—Avoiding emotions, thoughts, ideas less than ideal for them. Not opening up when they probably should about their problems given that they’ve been handed the space to do so. Just genuinely not acknowledging, feeling, or expressing emotions that they don’t want.

B—Reflecting on the ways they feel about the world, themselves, or other people given their new perspective on a situation. Not outright reaching out to others to talk about these problems/feelings, but instead waiting until the moment they feel they have the most confidence to do so with their new outlook on their own life.

And genuinely, guys, to grab your BkDk attention rn, this is the exact reason why Ochako’s reflection on her feelings for Izuku and thereafter decision to pull away from them WAS NEVER GOING TO END IN OCHAKO EXPLODING WITH HER LOVE FOR HIM.

This was another common interpretation I saw of Ochako and Izuocha for a long time. That because she pushed these feelings away, they were somehow going to explode in this unbelievable way and she would “get the boy” because of it. That her arc would surround accepting her romantic feelings and that she can’t just push away how she feels for a career.

But yk. That didn’t happen. At all. Nowhere close even.

The same kind of goes for Katsuki, allmight, etc. They all had moments in their arc where it was spent genuinely reflecting, and the only reason we as the audience never connected it in the same ways we do ochako or Izuku was ALWAYS BECAUSE the narrative showed their inner thoughts while doing so (mostly because Allmight’s arc after losing OFA and Katsuki’s arc on what it means to be a hero were so intrinsically tied, both starting at the same time and ending at the same time during the final war. And because they were so tied this caused their own reflections, development, and thought process to be broadcasted to us frequently throughout their arcs… to each other. They also somewhat shared aspects with Izuku, but these were cherry picked more often than not, like dvk2 for example).

To us Katsuki never seemed to be.. idk, suppressing his anger in any way because we were always told what he was doing and why (side note: this is why I’ve always thought arguments against Katsuki were so weird, bc unlike characters like endeavor or Ochako he wasn’t like… hiding who he was and how he was changing. Ever. Like the audience knows at all times past basically season 3 what Katsuki is thinking and doing. Like how do you watch this happen, stare me dead in the eye, and tell me how much of a terrible and awful teenage boy he is. Like damn I didn’t think we were this dumb. This is also my theory as to why he’s most popular, his arc is very… in your face if that makes sense). Katsuki’s entire mini arc on reflecting his mistakes and his childhood and his future is spent TELLING YOU that it’s what he’s doing. (I’m referring mostly to the endeavor internship arc, the provisional license exam makeup, and basically everything in the war arc related to him leading up to bakugou Katsuki rising here)

And see, Horikoshi will stare you dead in the eye, tell you “this girl has taken into consideration that she doesn’t want to waste her time training her career focusing on a boy because he kinda caught her fancy”, and y’all will still say that this will explode in her face.

Y’all this is a series about learning how to manage emotions, maturity in relationship to one’s emotions, how to feel an emotion, but in a way that is helpful. Horikoshi isn’t telling you “go buck wild, feel everything all the time and always express it”, in fact he explores why you DONT do that! Through Toga or Shigaraki, they show how grief and anger can genuinely consume you. But he also shows why you shouldn’t just put everything in a box to never look at or acknowledge, or why you shouldn’t just let your grief destroy the world around you, or pretending that some emotions simply don’t exist.

I can’t say this enough, so let me say it now, mha is about the extremes of your psyche. That you should control something, but not too much. Everything can be harmful. Everything can be good.

Izuku is not controlling too much, he’s expressing just enough.

I LOVE shaming this dickhead at all times in all my posts. I love saying he’s an ignorant dipshit with a weird amount of distaste for a girl who just confessed to him. I’ve joked that chapter 348 is basically an entire chapter spent on Izuku calling Himiko a mean dyke. And yet I also believe he’s doing nothing WRONG here.

In fact, I’ll even say that this moment right here?

ISNT EVEN IZUKU DOING THE SOCIALLY APPROPRIATE THING ABOUT IT! But he’s still TRYING to reach out to someone he thinks MIGHT be able to understand. (And frankly, this moment is far deeper than what it’s being made out to be, to me it reads more like an unrequited friendship that Izuku both desires and has thought of them to have, while simultaneously showing the distance Ochako has successfully wedged between them for her own sake. Maybe it was always there though, maybe in weird, miscommunicated Horikoshi fashion, this is a representation of how Ochako always read all those “fun friend hangouts” as a little more than that, and without those feelings the friendship never really held any substance to her in the first place. Where Izuku saw his first real friend at UA, she saw little more than acquaintance)

Simultaneously, Izuku is genuinely reflecting on what it means for the world to change, to be a hero, to live after loss—and trying and failing to gain the connection he desires from individuals who can not and will not afford him that.

Izuku is ready for the world to change, a few select characters are also ready for the world to change (mirio, for example), but not nearly enough are. So maybe I’ll have to take this back if I’m proven wrong and I accidentally looked into this far past what everyone else did for no reason, but I genuinely believe with moments like this

And this

Aand this

That Izuku has come forward with that aspect of his character development. He’s reflecting on his new beliefs, not repressing his emotions for them.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Behind Closed Doors (A Daichi Sawamura Ficlet)

Synopsis: Despite the rowdy beginnings of your relationship, you and Daichi Sawamura (the sweetest of husbands and the best father a child could wish for) were going strong. So far, didn't seem to slow down—your love wasn't faltering or fading away. This man was your ride-or-die. Your future. Your everything. Until your daughter's kindergarten called with unsettling news—the suspicion of domestic abuse inside your household.

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x afab!reader

Warnings: minors do not interact | miscommunication | mentions of nsfw and explicit themes | mentions of kinks | mentions of adult toys | mentions of domestic abuse (NONE IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING) | profanity | established relationship/marriage | post-time-skip spoilers (asahi & daichi) |

Author's notes: I yearned to write something for Daichi and I came up with a story this ficlet eventually spins from. But IDK if anyone would be interested in reading it haha? But yeah. I think that Daichi's very well-kept-up goody-two-shoes police officer persona hides a freaky motherfucker that loves to get down to business. And if he gets a wifey who matches his freak? He's worshiping the ground she walks walking on. Also, he doesn't strike as dom—he just needs a wifey who can also come with freaky, kinky shit. Someone defying him and going against his rules would actually be a huge turn-on for him. So no—Y/N isn't a sub and their kinky fucking DOESN'T leave the bedroom.

Warning: This was written in one sitting and is not proofread.

Word count: 3K

It started with a call in the middle of the day. You'd been at work, just wrapping up an order of baked goodies when your phone buzzed in your back pocket—usually, you didn't pick up calls amidst a busy noon shift. Upon seeing the number of Haruhi's kindergarten teachers, you realized it wouldn't be the case.

"I really need to take this." - You muttered toward your co-worker, wishing the customer an amazing day. - "It's Hari's teacher. Might be important." "Go for it!" - Ren, your long-time friend and co-worker called out as she checked what little pastries you still had. - "Let's hope the little bean isn't sick." "Yeah, hopefully."

Mrs. Chiba sounded strange—she was a woman around your age, usually gentle, bubbly, and energetic. Her engaging personality was perfect for a kindergarten teacher and the kids loved her. This time, her voice was flat, almost careful. Too gentle as she invited you for a late-afternoon meeting. It was serious and acute—she even specifically asked for Daichi's presence. That hadn't ever happened before. You'd usually come to the meetings separately depending on what was on the agenda—if Daichi had overtime or other plans? Your time to shine. It also applied the other way around. You worked as a unit, ensuring everything went smoothly, always watching each other's back and rotating on the clock as needed.

Walking back into the chaos of your workplace, you exchanged a few confused texts with Daichi, arranging the details—when'd you meet, where'd meet, and most importantly, who'd take care of Hari for the afternoon. Just like every once in a while, you'd ask Uncle Asahi to step in. As per usual, Asahi agreed the moment you asked for his help, ever the knight in shiny armor. Asahi and your six-year-old were actually a dream team—she always spoke so highly of all the fun activities Asahi came up with. They'd both be in their element inside Asahi's little fashion design studio—Hari could sketch into hallelujah with various super-expansive fixes and Asahi created a few pieces based on her drawings already.

Your stomach grumbled with nerves as you waited for Daichi in front of the kindergarten. You were looking at your phone with a slight furrow—Asahi and Hari just made it to his studio, sending you a goofy selfie. The man was furrowing while Hari pulled her mouth open with her index fingers, showing off her missing front teeth. Don't worry! The text under said. When you're done, we'll all go for some ramen. Hari can't wait! That was Asahi for you—a supportive, gentle giant. Putting the phone away with a sigh, your eyes trailed toward the man who was walking toward you at a measured, authoritative pace. Fuck. You still couldn't believe that you pulled Daichi Sawamura.

Standing tall at 5'9 with a broad and impressive build, Daichi became the embodiment of discipline and unwavering dependability after nearly ten years of working in law enforcement. He carried himself with effortless confidence—his posture always straight, movements precise, and presence reassuringly firm. The occupation of a police officer and years of hard work sharpened his instincts, toughened his physique, and honed his ability to command a room without raising his voice.

His features sharpened with age, giving him a strong jawline, faint lines of stress near his eyes, and the kind of gaze that sees right through people. After a decade spent as a police officer, his brown eyes beamed with quiet intensity—calm, calculated, and capable of dark amusement when called for... burning like ambers whenever he looked your way, his gaze dancing on your body. Despite five years of marriage, his eyes still adored you like the night you first fooled around. He kept his jet-black hair shorter and neater than a few years back, but he still let it slightly tousled—framing his face in an infuriatingly attractive way.

His shirt and trousers suited him almost too well—the trousers hugging his thick, muscular thighs so fine it nearly made you groan and the issued shirt stretching over his broad shoulders and sculptured chest, begging to be torn off. "There you are." - Your husband chuckled as he approached you, stealing a gentle peck off your lips—his seemingly stoic face lighting up a smile that'd melt an iceberg. And fuck, Daichi's voice—deep and measured, dripping down your ears like honey. - "Hi, wifey." "Hi, hubby." - Giggling along with him, you'd steal a quick peck too. It became your daily ritual—mutually greeting each other with lovey-dovey pet names that made one's teeth rot.

"Did you speak with the teacher yet?" - He asked, putting on the black tailored blazer he'd gotten as a birthday gift from Asahi. - "Any idea what's this about? Is Hari okay?" "Mhm. She's with Asahi. Look." - You'd pull out your phone, showing the picture of the duo to Daichi. His eyes immediately softened, a soft grin unwittingly tugging on his lips. - "We agreed to meet up for ramen once we're done here." "That sounds... heavenly." - Daichi groaned. - "I had to pull through my lunch break today. Also—Yuto won't forget this, I had to take a few hours off my holiday subsidy on short notice and he wasn't happy with me." "Awh, I'm so sorry to hear that!" "C'mon. Always remember that you and Hari are my priority. A few hours of overtime won't stop me, baby." - Kissing your cheek, Daichi's palm settled on the small of your back—he led you toward the entrance.

The meeting had already started off on a strange note. Clearing your throat, you straightened and watched Mrs. Chiba sitting over the table. Her expression was serious, stoic, and... something was off. Secondly, you've been called in alone. That was the first red flag.

Whenever you got called in together (this wasn't your first rodeo), Daichi was usually the one to handle these kinds of things—he was great with the teachers, always polite, and always reliable. For Mrs. Chiba to insist on meeting with you first, one-on-one, without him felt... off. But still, you didn't question it. Maybe it was about something small—you tried to fool yourself as you sent the woman a nervous smile. Maybe there was an upcoming event, a parent volunteer request, hosting a BBQ... something. Anything.

Sitting primly across Mrs. Chiba, your hands were folded in your lap, ready to listen. She watched you for a moment, exhaling softly before speaking. Her eyes traveled to your wrist—it was covered with a noticeable mark reminding you of your and Daichi's last... rendezvous. You'd cover it up with an innocent smile. "Mrs. Sawamura... There's no easy way to say this, but... your daughter has alarmed us about a potential domestic abuse situation."

Her words flew right through your head at first. You froze, your breath hitched and your eyebrows knitted slightly. Oh. Did she notice something at school? Were some of her friends in danger? You panicked a bit, trying to keep it together. The gravity of the meeting, the situation, hadn't dawned on you yet. "Did she... notice something about her friends? Was the telling stories again? Mrs. Chiba, you know that Hari's a kid with a very vivid imagination..." - As you've said, you weren't a stranger to getting invited to the kindergarten along with your husband—this wasn't your first rodeo. "It regards you and your husband, Mrs. Sawamura." "I—what?" - The world seemed to tilt ever so slightly, your breath growing shallow as you pressed on the bruise on your wrist a bit tighter. That's why Mrs. Chiba noticed it—she was looking for it.

But... Daichi? Your Daichi? The man who actively and openly worshiped the ground you walked on? The man who still at you like you hung the stars, five years into your marriage? The same Daichi who cried when your baby's first into the womb, who read bedtime stories in ridiculous voices just to make your baby girl giggle? That Daichi?

... An abuser?

"I know this is a lot to process." - Mrs. Chiba continued, her voice gentle and careful. - "We don't know how serious it is or how long the... the situation lasts." - The abuse. She meant to say the abuse. You simply stared at her and let her speak softly, carefully... you were absolutely fucking baffled. Usually, you'd stand by Daichi's side—you'd be screaming, fighting for him and his innocence. But frankly? Mrs. Chiba caught you off-guard. "As a mother, you'll surely understand—it's my duty as a teacher to ensure my pupil's well-being and a safe home environment. Especially when the matter regards young children." "Yes, yes." - You nodded, trying to sort your thoughts. But it was impossible. - "I understand, but..." "We know Mr. Sawamura personally and we're aware that your husband is a police officer. Your daughter brought him in for last month's job fair and spoke very highly of him. However, because of Hakuri's recent behavior and stories, we felt compelled to act. That's why I contacted you today. If Mr. Sawamura is applying any sort of violence—whether mental, physical, or even economic—we are ready to help you and your daughter out of this situation."

A panicked scoff of disbelief left your mouth. Oh. That's when it clicked. Oh, no. You knew exactly where this was going, covering your mouth preemptively as your eyes hung on Mrs. Chiba, your head nodding along in silence.

"The details Hari provided were... concerning." - She continued, tapping her pen into the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm. - "According to her testimony, there are multiple pairs of handcuffs and other movement-restricting devices hidden inside a certain closet inside your home."

Your soul left your body as you closed your eyes, whining silently. It needed to be said that your reaction could've looked like someone saved after years of torment—but thankfully, this wasn't your nor Daichi's case. This was about the closet incident. The one that happened right before Noya, Daichi, Asahi, and Hari's fishing trip. The moment when Daichi's life and ancestors flashed in front of his eyes when your daughter found the closet unsupervised and unlocked—the handcuffs, ropes, see-through lacy lingerie... and more. An enormous parental mishap—over which you and Noya descended into hysterical laughter. Daichi'd explained, albeit horribly and he was lucky that Hari was as gullible as she was.

And, well... Hari had snitched—probably just shared her discovery with a teacher, not thinking much of it...unwittingly putting your husband's entire career and your marriage in jeopardy.

"She also mentioned that lately, your husband doesn't shy away from calling you names..." - Mrs. Chiba added, her expression darkening—yet another nail to your coffin. It happened on the same morning, half an hour apart. Another mishap, just a slip-up. Hari was supposed to be dead asleep. Once, you weren't careful enough and didn't take all possible precautions just for it to turn out like... this. - "She mentioned he uses particularly degrading terms, such as... 'whore' and 'slut'."

Now, you nearly choked on air. Your entire face was warming up, gentle sweat running down the side of your face, eyes widening, and heartbeat stuttering.

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Not because it wasn't just wrong—it was horrifyingly accurate.

You and Daichi did have handcuffs... many of them, a whole variety. Honestly? You also had ropes (varying colors and materials—velvet soft, rough, short, even rolled on a spool) and you couldn't believe your daughter didn't mention that too... when she was at it.

And the name-calling? Well... That was... A very specific part of your private life. One that you never intended to let slip out. Daichi and you could rejoice and congratulate one another Hari didn't overhear the names you called your husband in the heat of the situation.

This was stupid. So fucking stupid. Just one huge misunderstanding. You had to fight to keep the laughter in, clearing your throat, your eyes swelling with tears as you tried to stay serious. You were sweating, genuinely sweating. "Mrs. Sawamura..." - Mrs. Chiba pressed gently, watching your reaction closely. - "If there's anything you'd like to share..." "May I call my husband in?" - You interrupted, gasping for air, still battling the urge to lose it. - "I think we can explain everything."

The moment Daichi walked in, it was over. You were dead. Gone. He looked confused, like a deer in the headlights, repenting preemptively... worried. His eyes slid to you, teetering on the edge of losing it. Your shoulders shook as she tried—and failed—to hold in the absolute hysteria bubbling inside you.

The look on Daichi's face when he was called in? Priceless. He walked in all serious—brows furrowed, stance firm, his usual commanding presence in full effect, and despite all that, he came across as a Bambi in the headlights. He probably figured Haruhi had gotten into a fight or broken a school rule.

But oh. Oh. He had no idea what was coming.

"Mr. Sawamura..." - The teacher began, folding her hands on the desk, her voice steady and professional. - "We wanted to speak with you today because we have concerns about your home environment." Daichi's frown deepened. He wasn't catching the drift. - "Concerns?

Despite your best efforts to keep it in, you let out a choked, strangled noise. Not a sob. But the kind of suppressed laughter that could only come from someone trying to keep it together desperately. Daichi glanced at you briefly—confused, worried—but you couldn't look at him. Your cheeks turned a few shades darker, droplets of sweat ran down your forehead, and your eyes trained to the tips of your shoes. Your entire body trembled with the force of the laughter you could not, under any circumstances, let escape.

Mrs. Chiba continued, giving Daichi a deep furrow. Her eyes jumped from your discombobulated form to confused Daichi sitting beside you. - "Haruhi shared information that raised a few red flags for us. She mentioned your household contains multiple pairs of handcuffs, as well as other devices designed to restrict movement..."

You squeaked. You actually squeaked. Daichi, meanwhile, went rigid. His entire body tensed. The shift in him was instant—his jaw clenched, hands forming into tight fists in his lap, sweating profusely.

Oh, fuck.

"Oh?" - Daichi finally said, voice tight, controlled. "She was quite detailed with her testimony." - The teacher went on, reading from her notes. - "Saying, and I quote, 'They were hidden inside a closet'." - Mrs. Chiba looked up at him, pausing.

A slow, horrible realization dawned on Daichi and crept up to his expression. Oh. Oh, fuck. The closet. The one he'd forgotten to lock after your latest entanglement. Shit.

"... And your daughter also mentioned they all belong to you. Even specified they're used by police forces." - Daichi nearly perished when the words left Mrs. Chiba's mouth. He knew the pair she was talking about—he knew it well, intimately. It was your favorite. The pair he'd stolen from the station a few years ago—because of your batting, wide pretty eyes. You'd mentioned (again and again) that they looked... enthusing. So, naturally, Daichi got you a pair—as any loving husband would.

His ears turned bright red, fingers twitched as he stared at his daughter's kindergarten teacher utterly mortified. You snorted. You couldn't help it. You were dying, perishing. Why? Because the look on Daichi's face was a mix of sheer horror, regret, and 'oh my god, my child had ruined my dignity and my life'.

"And there's more." - Mrs. Chiba continued as if it wasn't already bad enough. You, already knowing what was coming, buried your face in your hands. - "She also mentioned that you frequently call your wife degrading names, Mr. Sawamura. Specifically a 'whore' and a 'slut'." Daichi's soul left his body. You were wheezing, actually fucking wheezing. And suddenly—the waterworks broke. Your shoulders shook violently, and your entire body convulsed as you collapsed forward onto the desk, crying.

Not from fear. Not from distress. But from the sheer level of mortification and embarrassment. "Oh my god." - You gasped between hiccups of laughter, gripping your stomach. Daichi's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again... And nothing came out. He was stunned into silence.

Mrs. Chiba, meanwhile, looked deeply concerned—eyeing your breakdown with a careful hesitation. - "Mrs. Sawamura?" You waved your hand at her, trying to catch your breath. - "It's fine—it's fine—I just—" - Another choked laugh. A gasp. A snort. Daichi groaned next to you, dragging his hands across his face. His ears were burning. - "Fucking hell." - He muttered.

"Mrs. Chiba... This is all a misunderstanding." - You finally managed to squeeze out, your words half-giggled and barely coherent. Mrs. Chiba seemed deeply skeptical. - "... Is it?" "YES." - Daichi interjected quickly, finally snapping out of his stupor. - "It is. I—we—ugh..." - A pause followed. Then a deep sigh. Then, with the most pained expression known to a man, he started explaining.

"Y/N... I mean, Mrs. Sawamura, my wife..." - He was stumbling on his words so much that Mrs. Chiba furrowed again, leaning back into her office chair. - "She's the best thing that ever happened to me. And Hari's the greatest blessing in our lives. We love our daughter more than anything and every day, we are providing for her, making sure she has everything she needs. But we're... human, Mrs. Chiba. Even though we try our best to be the best parents, mishaps happen. Some are bigger than others. Therefore, let me just say... The handcuffs aren't for police work, but private use."

Daichi couldn't believe the words leaving his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking seconds away from throwing himself out of the window. There was silence. Absolute silence while Mrs. Chiba processed the confession. Then, she blinked, her face turning crimson red. You howled.

"... Oh." - Her eyes widened. Then, finally, it all clicked. - "Ohhhh... I see." A beat of silence followed. "This is so fucking embarrassing." - Daichi groaned while as kept on wheezing, convulsing—Mrs. Chiba who leaned her forehead into her hands, was laughing along now despite being embarrassed.

The meeting, for the lack of a better word, was an absolute disaster. Some secrets were better kept behind closed doors.

[pinazee]

Kirk could have greeted Spock with the vulcan salute but he chose a handshake. This way Spock thinks he’s more ignorant than he is and will lower his guard for when they eventually do play chess, and he’ll have the advantage. Kirk is out here playing the long con ;)

[2000sscribbles]

i actually can't believe there are people on this website that can read an article where dt talks abt how his family says "i love you" to each other all the time and how that's a strange and wonderful new thing to him but like they ignore this super sweet and touching thing he's saying abt his loved ones and instead they completely laser the fuck in on him going "losing awards sucks" n then they pull out like year old screenshot from her instagram stories where georgia is like "my favorite awards loser omg <3" as evidence that she's an evil manipulative bitch who's abusing him and like it would be really funny if there wasn't a whole clique of people doing it