#and keeps touching his arm but esp his bicep.

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

all of the friend group knows bryce is completely whipped. btw. it is a running joke bc as confident and flirty as this bitch is if jensen is in a room he Will find him in less than 20 seconds. they catch him staring All the time. like he is well and truly losing the unbothered king competition

[pepperyduck]

pins & needles

summary: how various jjk men react to ur new/unnoticed piercings! incl. nanami, gojo, geto, choso

warnings: veryyyyyyy suggestive (esp in nanami's), (new) piercings, geto's & nanami's is a new relationship type thing. excuse any typos pls😞. 18+ mdni!

a/n: i got like 3 new piercings over the weekend, this is just self indulgent and cute methinks. also tyyy for 700 :3, i'm trying so hard to get over the writer's block. love u all!

choso + smiley piercing!

"i've never been happier to see you," choso groans as soon as he enters your dorm, kicking off his shoes at the door. though his voice is monotone, you can infer he's tired, worn out from a day's work and fighting curses.

"rough day?" you scoot over in bed to allow room for your boyfriend, smoothing out the sheets and flipping your blanket up.

"very." the singular word is the only response choso gives before beginning to strip his uniform right in front of you. as you're watching intently, choso gets almost completely naked before grabbing some clothes he'd left over; a pair of baggy pants and an "i heart my girlfriend" shirt that you gifted him, and lazily putting them on.

"i did something today, cho," you inform him, and choso’s attention immediately snaps to you, eyes showing that he was obviously wondering.

"what’d you do?"

you give him a bright smile, all the teeth in your mouth shown to him, the shiny ring glistening atop your pretty gums. choso’s brows furrow together, his pupils coming to realize there was something new in your mouth, something different about your smile.

"what’s…that?" he asks, stepping closer and closer and eventually sitting on the bed with you. you giggle at his curious looking, his eyebrows still knitted together in an inquisitive way.

"a piercing, silly," you inform him, carefully flipping up your top lip to show where the jewelry went through the frenulum of your inner lip.

"does it hurt?" choso leans in even more, straightening his eyes with the freshly pierced hole in your mouth.

"not really, just a little bit," you tell him, letting go of your lip and pressing a quick peck to choso’s lips. it catches him off-guard, choso’s face lights up red because he thought he couldn’t kiss you. smiling triumphantly, you pull away from your boyfriend.

"it—um—it looks really pretty on you." choso compliments, "can i kiss you again? please?" and he’s so sincere and sweet, always asking permission for everything. so endearing, really, even with his deep, dark voice.

needless to say, when he kisses you again, choso is making sure to flick the jewelry all around with his tongue, faintly enough to not hurt the new wound. and it becomes a habit from thereon.

gojo + bellybutton piercing!

"i missed you so much, baby."

satoru is on top of you, arms caging you in while you lay underneath him, smiling and feebly grasping the biggest part of his bicep. it had been over a month since you'd seen your husband, he'd been away on a business trip for far too long.

"did you miss me?" his words are drawn out and dramatic, like always, like he was teasing you—but he was practically always teasing you.

"yes, satoru," you blankly reply, "i missed you."

just before you can roll your eyes, gojo's kissing you, a bit enthusiastically, but you quickly melt into his touch. as annoying as he could be, you loved him, you missed him. you had longed for him the moment he left—that was a fact you couldn’t deny.

as quickly as he meets your lips, satoru leaves, disconnecting himself to trail down your torso that was draped in a way-too-expensive t-shirt of his. but the one thing that doesn't leave you is his eyes, he keeps an intense stare on your face as he moves lower and lower towards your waistline. his fingertips dance along your sides before pinching the fabric of the bottom of the shirt and slowly lifting it up.

his eyes are no longer able to stay on yours when he catches a glimpse of the sparkly blue rhinestones on each ball of the jewelry stuck through your navel. of course, you chose the shade that best matched satoru's eye color.

"no way!" satoru exclaims, beaming with a new-found excitement for the little hole in your tummy, "you actually did it?"

"yes, satoru," you repeat, threading your fingers through the white tufts of your husband's hair.

gojo's nimble fingers come to play with the jewelry—the size comparison comedic from how large his hands are. he studies the now fully healed wound, moving the jewelry all around and practically forgetting the previous heated mood.

"do you like it?" you somewhat nervously ask, intimidated by the tedious investigation of your bellybutton.

"yes, duh," satoru dramatically quips, "you think i should get one next?"

nanami + nipple piercing!

kento had tried so hard to ignore it.

you didn't mean to distract him, really. it was a simple mishap at first, not wearing a bra when kento came over. but after the first time, he didn't seem to mind, he was gentlemanly enough. his eyes stayed averted—when you were looking at him, at least—so you took it as a green flag to remain braless when he was at your house without worry.

but nanami's only a man.

so here you are, after work, after your boyfriend had come over, ranting to him in your kitchen about your boss and whatever bullshit you had to put up with that day. but your words land upon deaf ears, noise drowned out by the sight of the little hearts poking out from the shirt you're wearing. he's sat at your dining table, legs lazily spread as he half-listens to you.

"—like, what?! what else am i supposed to do in that situation?"

for the first time in your venting session, you lock eyes with kento, noticing how they flash up quickly from...your chest.

"ken?"

"um—yes?" he chokes, a little too obviously for him to not be embarrassed over.

a smug smile rests over your face, nanami was caught red handed, ogling at your boobs and the cute heart-shaped jewelry that adorned them.

"what'cha staring at?" trailing closer to him with a teasing tone in your voice, you're killing him, embarrassing the poor man as the seconds roll on. kento doesn't reply either, only a raspy breath leaving his lungs as his response. his face heats up and his expression drops, shamelessly glancing down at your chest once more—one, two—counting the peaks of your nipples through the shirt.

"i'm sorry," he finally chokes out, unable to keep his eyes from flashing up and down, to your eyes then to your chest, again and again.

without any words, you slot yourself between nanami's legs, inching your chest closer to his face. it was so funny how easily his stoic persona disintegrated under your presence. he'd never been this close to your chest—to you. and it's intoxicating to him, he's ashamed how he loses himself by simply being eye level with your boobs.

but that guilt quickly washes away when you take his hand and place it perfectly to cup your tit—index finger and thumb resting right around the pretty jewelry under your shirt.

tdlr; that's the first night your boyfriend stays over at your place.

geto + clavicle piercing!

"you look lovely tonight."

smooth as ever, geto compliments you, his voice dripping with a sweet nectar. your insides warm up despite the harsh cold outside, the thick coat draped over your frame doing little to combat the weather.

"thank you," you whisper and smile at him, stepping into the door of the fancy restaurant suguru had chosen for your date. third date, to be exact.

once you're at your table, suguru helps you shimmy the bulky jacket off your shoulders, revealing the tasteful, deep-cut top you had chosen for your date—along with the two studs on each side of your collarbone that your clothing showed off rather perfectly.

it takes suguru a few moments to notice once he sits down. he tries to strike up conversation, relying on the simple questions and responses he can utter without getting too distracted. however, within a few minutes, geto is cracking, eyes every so often flickering down to the gems that aligned your clavicle so prettily. he can't help it, because with every slight movement you make, the jewelry sparkles in the dim light of the restaurant—it's hard to ignore.

"are you okay?" you interrupt your previous dialogue when you take note of geto's increasingly hazy replies, and how he seems a bit spaced out.

"yeah," suguru swallows deeply, "i really like your—um," his pointer finger vaguely motions to his own collarbone, and you have to look down at your chest before you realize what he’s talking about.

his mouth is dry. he’d already thought you were, like, the sexiest woman on earth, but this, oh this, was just too much. geto was unsure as to why he found the piercings so distracting, so hot, but nonetheless enjoyed the view he had.

"oh, thank you!" you giggle, smiling brightly and ghosting your fingers over the piercings—you’d honestly forgotten that this would be the first time he’s seen this much of your body, and the piercings ended up being the perfect touch to make suguru lose his mind.

and he can't wait until he's able to feel on 'em, too.

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Villains

Request: im obsessed with your aphro induced brothers !!! can i request the same scenario with the leave of villains + overhaul and chrono?

Word Count: 1K each

A/N: Sorry for it being so late!! I love aphrodisiac plots and I think I’ll never stop thinking about them. (esp moth shig and spinner during a heat)

-

Every breath is like water that fills his lungs, suffocating and one step closer to some hellish end. They aren’t usually so clumsy, so blindsided by rage. They’re tactical, able to evade heroes for as long as they live and yet- here they are, slumped over some alleyway, dirt sticking to their clothes and the noise of the outside so deafening that they can’t even hear their own blood rush in their ears. It’s horrific, even more so than anything they’ve ever endured in their life; this need to feel so cold and hot at once, their body so off putting that you’d think he’d shed his skin and become a new man simply because they are unable to think of anything coherent at that very moment.

Their hand cups over their face, bumping and squishing their nose and the scent of the damn quirk is still strong, still heavy against their body. It’s sweet like vanilla, and strong like peppermint, sticking to their skin and invading their body. His eyes flutter to a close, thinking of the scent that is consuming them, burning them from the inside. The sweet aroma that filtered out of the hero’s body like perfume. The way that their defenses dropped, how their mouth salivated, and the only thing on their mind was primal, something so animalistic that has now taken over. What type of fucking hero even has an aphrodisiac quirk? What good is it unless you want a bunch of salivating and aroused villains in your custody? The other hand clutches over where their heart should be, where they hold on so tightly to their shirt that they stretch the fabric and ruin it. His heart beats erratically, pounding and bruising their ribs, and this quirk truly is ruining them from the inside and out.

Slowly, their hand falls from their face, bumping into their other hand that falls from their chest and they rest heavy on the ground, weighing him down like anchors. He can’t think straight, not with this burning desire inside of him that makes it so impossible to think. With a groan, he stands from the floor, uncaring of the dirt and mess that has stuck on him, uncaring of how sweat falls and drips from their nose and chin. The only thing on his mind right now is to rid himself of this quirk, to ease the ache between his legs and stomach, to finally think straight. At this very moment, the only thing on his mind is to go to you, to stagger and kiss your lips and have his own desires just flood out of him.

Bubaigawara Jin:

There hasn’t been a time in his life where he hasn’t had to fought for survival. He’s been in desperate situations before. Clawed and fought his way through and for survival, for the sake of not only him, but for his sanity. He’s been through the worst of it all. He’s felt betrayal, felt blood rush and blind him as he stayed strapped to a chair, unable to even realize if he was real or not, and yet, it’s the aphrodisiac that makes Jin fall to his knees just before your door. He’s knocking rapidly against it, banging the end of his fists against your wooden door and your name is a godforsaken cry that tears through his throat. He can’t think of anything else but you at this very moment, to collapse onto you and rest his weary head on your shoulders. The only fear that courses through his body is the fear that you won’t answer the door. Jin is at your door, his erection bulging against his suit and every movement is sweet friction that his heart racing and blood rushing. You open the door to him and he does just as he pictured- he falls into your arms and holds you tight while he kicks the door close and pushes you further into your home.

When you bring him, your hands wrapped tightly around him, it doesn’t take much for the man to confess what happened. All the details told to you without question- the scent of the aphrodisiac, the strong sensation, the way that he feels so pulled apart and grounded all at once. He is a weak man at the very end of it, wanting nothing more than to bring you and him down to your knees, as he;s held in your arms. You pull him to your room, telling him to not worry as you’ll be here for him and he knows that you don’t know the severity of the aphrodisiac. The way that it pains him, how nothing is on his mind but the way that your lips look so cute when in a pout, the way the soft pink muscle flashes out to wet at your lips and he can only nod. The back of his knees hit the bed and your hands are coming up to his neck, peeling off the mask and he’s so drunk on lust, that he doesn’t even realize that the simple graze of your knuckles against his neck is enough for him to fall to his back on the bed.

Depravity is not the thing that ails him. It’s the burning desire to be by your side, to continue to feel your hand knits through his and the gentle way that you call his name. He can’t remember when his name was said with such adoration, and now, it just makes his cock throb and he’s thankful for wearing black or there'd be such an obvious stain on him. The bed creaks under his weight and the scent of you on the sheets is enough to replace the scent of vanilla and peppermint. It’s much sweeter, stronger and much more intoxicating. You reach over and your hand is curved over his forehead, the scar pressing against your palm and when you pull away, he grabs your wrist. He can’t be alone. Not right now. Not when his erection is aching and causing the worst pain that he’s ever felt. Everything is too much at this moment. Coming to you was a mistake, but it was the best mistake that he ever made. You’re the only thing keeping his grounded at this very moment.,

With your wrist in his hand, he pulls himself up, and pulls you closer to him, your knees bumping against the edge of the mattress and he pulls you down. His lips are on yours and it’s messy, spit slipping between the corners of the lips, his hands clawing and tugging off your clothes and he doesn’t have the patience to take off his. His bulge is pressed against your thigh, rocking back and forth. It’s a steady motion at first, something so sweet and slow that it leaves him groaning out your name filled by a lovely curse. Soon, everything becomes filthy. Heavy rocking motions that leaves him panting and drooling over your shoulder as his hands palm over your breasts and tease at your nipples and his face i flushed, a deep red that paints him in a heavenly glow and he’s begging for you to remove his suit, to touch him and kiss him. You cry underneath him, try to latch onto him for another kiss but his eyes are half lidded, his hips thrusting until he’s he’s crying your name and holding you close, his breathy moans echoed into your ear and it’s the sweetest thing when he looks at you, and his first thought is kiss you once more as he shudders above you.

Jin wonders how he must look to you. So desperate enough that you’d listen to him without another command. You’re quick to pull his clothes off, the black suit leaving nothing to the imagination already exposes his muscular body, but without it, he stands proud with a dark blush over him. He’s beside you, and his cock springs free, pre-arousal drooling onto your stomach as he rises above you. Sweat is already on his body, faded scars that curve around him and he’s toned, sharp and rugged while you are soft and everything nice. It makes his heightened arousal feel all that much filthier. He’s a gentleman no matter the situation, his lips on yours as he shares a passionate kiss with you, sucking on your pink tongue as he fingers at your hole and he’s so close to spilling when he hears you squeal and open your legs, stretching your hole to fit more of his thick fingers and he spills over your stomach in hot seed, painting you white. His fingers leave you and he can feel your hole flutter against the tip of his cock and it takes just a single push to bury himself inside of you, your back arching and hands clamping down on his biceps as you call his name. His smile is wide, charismatic and holds all the charm of the world as he ruts against you.

Dabi:

Dabi is burning, his body is hot and it’s absolute torture. His erection is pressed against the inside of his jeans and His body is hot and it’s not in the way that it is, so consuming so heavy, full of dread and he goes to you because in the end, he has you all to himself. The man who tries to hide all his emotions is breaking, ripping apart- figuratively- and he’s racing towards you, running and pleading to make it you and he’s knocking on your door, trying to fight the urge to seem so desperate and pathetic when you don’t answer. He can’t seem desperate, not when you’re so close, not now. He’s lasted for this long, he can last for just a few more seconds. The moon is high above him, and his clothes smell like vanilla and peppermint mixed with cheap alcohol and smoke and it makes his stomach churn and acid laced on his tongue. He knocks once more, his nails scratching at the door and he doesn’t beg, but the plea is so thick in your name, that he might as well be on his knees and ask for forgiveness if it meant you’d welcome him into your arms.

The door opens and half his face is shrouded in shadows and the other is illuminated by the dodgy street lamps in your neighborhood. You welcome him inside and he brushes your touch away and he’s never been so thankful before to wear a jacket. He isn’t sure how he would react to having you touch his bare skin, not when it's painful enough for him to touch himself. Concern is laced thick in your words and he shakes his head, trying to fend off your worry as goes to your bedroom. His straps are staggered, his hand on the wall as he walks to your room, and in the room, the scent of the aphrodisiac shifts into else- something more than the basic churning in his stomach and into him having to sit down and remove his jacket, the heat finally catching up to him. Your shadow stretches into the room and when he looks up, you’re already walking towards him, kneeling before him and grabbing his hands in yours. He isn’t sure how to tell you that he got hit by a quirk that’s making him lose his mind, that’s making him picture you dressed in nothing, and when your hand slips from his to cup gingerly at his jaw, he leans into your touch. It takes nothing more than for you to call his name, a soft whisper that he can barely hear through his beating heart that echoes and pounds in his ears, to confess what it is that's making him act in such a way. It’s embarrassing for him. He doesn’t want your worry, he doesn’t want your gentle touches and the way that you coo his name. He can’t stand how you sit beside him and refuse to leave him. It's making him feverish and you gently nudge his face so he’s looking at you.

Even looking at you proves to be too much. It’s too hard for him- his erection pulsing in his pants, the lack of air in his lungs, and his mind so foggy that the only thing he can do is stare at your lips that move in soundless words. He can’t focus. Not one bit, not with the quirk and you being so prevalent in him when he’s this close to you. There is nothing he can do but to kiss you. His lips meld against yours, his hands twisting into the shirt and staining the fabric with his hands, and he keeps you close, not wanting to pull air for air even if his lungs really are starting to burn. You’re so close to him, so soft and delicate under his touch and he’s lowering himself, bowing before you just to kiss your lips. You’re beside him, the bed dipping under his weight and you’re just here with him, so real and touchable, he can’t help but rush to touch you.

Clothes are removed, limbs entangled and knees bumping into each other. It’s sloppy and rushed, and it’s enough for him to climax and leave his thighs in white and dark purple and peach. His hands hold onto your body, never once leaving your body without his touch. His body burns and there’s a stinging pain in his abdomen, and he isn’t sure if it’s the aphrodisiac or his quirk that’s making him so feverish. Your hand wraps around his cock, massaging at his balls and slipping upwards to the base. Your thumb slides the arousal down, slicking it around his cock until he’s pleading in your ear to touch him. Everything is just too much- there’s too much emotion that is bubbling inside for him to even fathom, the sensations making his head spin, and the taste of you fading from his tongue. He wants you, he wants you in a way that is dependent and obsessive. Ever so needy, he’s kissing you harshly, sucking on your bottom lip and orgasming from a simple handjob. He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes half lidded as he nudges you with his shoulder, falling into his back, his cock still erect and bubbling with semen that drips off of him in shining pearls. He’s naked on your bed, his climax strong and enough for the lights to blind him and he can’t think of anything else when you climb above him.

You run your hands against a trail of staples, and it’s enough to make goosebumps appear over his body as you lower yourself onto him. His entire body is sensitive and sex fills the room and he can taste just how sweet you are, and he’s deep inside of you. He smiles sweetly, and you feel so good on him, so nice and soft, and he’s swiveling his own hips, aching to feel you deeper and deeper. His climax is flush, his body burning and hands reaching for your thighs, holding you close to him. When you lean down, he captures your lips in a kiss, smiling against you. Dabi’s own climax is burning against his skin, his scars tingling under your touch and your lips pressed against his jaw and his eyes are wide, his hands clawing around you and he pushes himself deeper, and even with you on top, he’s doing the work. Deprived of everything sweet and overflowing with bitterness, he can’t help but keep you close to him. Scarred and muscular, his arms wrapped around you and keeping you close to his chest, as he just soaks his cock in you. There is nothing but pain that feels, and yet, he feels all of you, so warm and soft compared to him.

Iguchi Shuichi:

With the aphrodisiac settling inside of him, he rushes towards you, eager and fearful of all the arousal that is bubbling and consuming him. Shuichi is running through the night, his legs sore and muscles begging for rest, but he can’t stop, not until he’s by your side, not until he’s safely nestled in your arms. The burning desire inside of him is making his lungs burn, more so than all the running he did. It’s a chill that enters him and makes every breath sharp, a chill that runs through his body. He stands in front of your door, and he’s catching his breath, hands on his knees as he breathes in and out, his claws digging into his knees and when he stands, he’s already knocking at your door. He’s shakily grabbing and jiggling at the handle as he calls your name in a hushed whisper. There isn’t much that he can say other than he needs you to open the door, quickly, before someone other than you sees him in such a shameful state.

There’s many advantages to having a mutation quirk- especially one that’s a variant of an animal, and that is that most, if not all, your senses are heightened. He can hear your careful steps before he can see your shadow between the door and the floor. He can faintly smell your dinner, the sound of the television in the background and he can smell you, something mixing with the aphrodisiac until it’s just you at the very end of it. You’re the one filling his lung with the shape and painful scent, replacing the vanilla and peppermint, something so thick and wonderful gone in just a simple breath, only to be replaced by you. The effects of the aphrodisiac are still in effect when you open the door and they're heightened even more. You stand in front of him, the light illuminating you in a heavenly glow and with worry creasing your features and he’s the one to take the first step and lean into you.

It’s the gentle look that you give him, his name on the tip of your tongue, and already so weak, he falls into you, letting you hold him as you struggle to close the door and he’s little more than dead weight against you. His hand already having snuck to cup his sex in an attempt to avoid having you feel it, but the pressure is more than enough for him to hiss. You ask what’s wrong and he doesn’t know how to tell you what happened to him, but when you run your hands through his hair, the words are already rushing past his lips. He speaks faster than he can think, the story mixed with events as he rushes through it, while he palms himself through his jeans. He can’t look at you while he does something so humiliating, but he can't pry himself away from you either, his snout pressing against the soft curve of your neck as he presses the heel of his hand further into himself. He’s gasping, and whimpering, acting so painfully shy that he even whispers your name is something perverse. You continue to stroke his hair, and it’s panting, whining and humping against your leg that he can’t take it, that the sensations are just too much at the moment. He needs for you to touch him, to just do something more than pet him.

The points of his teeth nips at your shoulder and he’s struggling to keep his moan muted as his body shakes against yours. He’s apologizing and he’s ashamed of his actions to palm himself in front of you, that he can’t look at you. When you cup his face and have him look at you, he’s apologizing, and telling you that it just felt too good and that he can’t think with you so close to him. You pull him onto the couch, the television shutting down and for a brief second, silence fills the room. You sit on the couch, the cushion soft underneath you and your hands grab at his as you pull him close to you. The aphrodisiac is making his mind muddy and slow, and he can only watch as your hands carefully and tantalizingly slow undoing his zipper and he’s flustered. With tears in his eyes as his own shaky hands grabbing at your wrists but it does nothing to stop you. You undo him, and you're so soft against his cock, freeing it from the confines of his pants. Your warm hand is wrapped around the base, giving it a few slope strokes where the friction makes his leg jerk. His head is thrown back, hands covering his mouth as you wrap your lips around his cockhead. Soon into the rhythm, his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down to the base of his cock, your spit soaking him and something salty and thick squirting down your throat. The soft feel of the inside of your cheeks press against his side, hollowed cheeks as your hand grip onto his thighs and your little whines and whimpers make him thrust haphazardly into your open mouth. He keeps you there until you pat against his thighs and when you look up at him with tears in your eyes and drool running down your chin, his eyes go dark.

Shuichi goes for you, pinning your back down on the couch as he captures you in a kiss, his tongue thick and slimy inside of you, and he’s pulling your shorts down, rubbing his coarse fingers against your slit, spreading your arousal around the entrance of your hole. He’s animalistic, holding the traits inside of him, dominant and needing to breed, the want to push himself deep inside you overtakes him and he muffles your moan with a kiss as he unsheathes himself in you. Your sex pulses and throbs under him as he frantically ruts himself against you. He’s nipping at every exposed inch of skin, ripping your clothes off and suckling on your sweet breasts, his head buried in your chest and when he rises, your chest is covered in a thin layer of drool. Your hole is soft, gummy walls that wrap around him, twitching when he hits a certain spot and he can’t think, can’t even make out a sentence, and only your name is the most coherent thing that is said as he fills your hole with his seed.

Sako Atsuhiro:

There is nothing worse for Atsuhiro than what is happening now. He holds an image to the public, to his comrades, to you- and that is that he is composed, he’s a showman and when in the public eye, he maintains his appearance. Yet, the quirk, something like a perfume that wrapped around him, has stuck. The aroma was- or rather is- sweet and no matter how far he runs, it just won’t leave him. It’s humiliating. This is one of the worst things that has ever happened to him and he’s seen and participated in his own share of hell. His pants have become too tight, his cock straining and begging for release and even just the idea of pleasuring himself leaves him with a hot face. Without a second thought he rushes to you, his steps quick until he’s running and sweat beads and makes his clothes stick to him. He doesn’t want you to see him in such a disheveled state, but then again, you’re the only one that can see him like this, that can see him as anything less than him. He’s running and breathing roughly and his heart is pounding against him and there is nothing more that he can think of than to go to you, ignoring the stares and fighting his way through his own personal inferno just to be near you.

The lights are on and it gives him all the motivation to rush to your door and knock frantically; he’s begging to be let inside like it’s death that is chasing him. The lock clicks and when you open the door, he’s quick to rush past you, removing his mask and giving a kick to close your door as he captures your lips in his. Everything is so easy with you, and yet, standing just in front of you and kissing your lips proves to take his breath away, it drains him, and he’s drowning all over again. Peppermint leaves his lungs burning, and with your lips on him, it’s replaced by sweet hibiscus, flooding and sprouting from his lungs and he never wants to let you go. He holds you close, his hands on your waist and when he parts from you, you look at him stunned and he can’t help but laugh. It’s soft, a simple chuckle that grows as he buries himself in the curve of your neck as his laughter grows. Your hand rests at the nap of his neck and your fingertips tease at the edge of his balaclava. The simple graze of your skin against his has him press his weight against you. His hands haven’t left your sides and with a tired voice, he tells you what happened- the quirk, the scent, the way that his only thought was to be with you. It’s all so draining to just be in front of you, and with his erection tucked in his pants, he isn’t sure how much longer he can wait until he’s creaming and staining the inside of his clothing, to be so humiliated in front of you as he pleasures himself, but he can’t hold back, not when you’re in front of him and the feel of your tongue is making his length throb in his palm.

Your nails scratch along his neck, trailing over the bumps of his spines and a shock runs down his body, his breath catching in his throat and his hands squeezing down on your sides. Slowly, he lifts his head as his balaclava is lifted and removed, his hair is left ruffled and curls left messy. He leans towards you, trying to capture you in a kiss once more, but when you pull away, he lets out a groan, bowing his head and resting it on your shoulder. He’s begging for you to touch him, to just let him kiss you one more time. It's too much heartache to go without you for a second longer. You coo his name and lift his head, brushing back his hair that is stuck to his face. It’s too much to feel your gentle and cool touch against his burning body and he’s shaking his head, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his chest where his heart beats against your palm. It’s too forward of him. He knows that this isn't him whatsoever. He’s a gentle lover, your needs are put first because even just seeing your blissful expression is enough for him to feel the familiar knot in his stomach. This, however, is just too much, to have you touch him so softly, a ghost over his skin and your lips brushed against his, he’s dying and gasping for breath, reaching towards you as a hand unbuttons his pants and he’s massaging his cock over his briefs.

It doesn’t take much for him to spill in his briefs, to his hand moist and sticky and his body shaking and moans filling your mouth as he continues the motions. He needs the sweet friction that is making everything much too sharp and too powerful for him to just lay there. He’s dying and pulling you close and the way to your bedroom is messy. You’re already on his lips and he won’t lose that feeling again, not until the bed is underneath you and his hands are on either side of your head. The covers are wrinkled and his clothes are discarded as he eagerly touches you, having them disappear into nothing but glass in his palm. You’ll pout and reprimand him for ruining your clothes, but for now, he’ll muffle your annoyance with a kiss as his lust clouds his mind.

Nimble hands tease against your slit, spreading your nectar around and massaging at your entrance, the tips of his fingers slowly spreading you and familiarizing the stretch of your hole.. The feel of your plush walls has him tight, his muscles tense and body feeling as if it were about to curl in on itself. His cock is erect, standing at attention, his tip tinted with red, blushing and bashful as milky white pours from him and drips against your entrance. He enters you with a euphoric moan, so sinful and depraved, that he stills for a moment, his muscles rigid as he tries to not to ejaculate so soon. Atsuhiro has just entered you, he can’t waste this opportunity when your hole is cushioned around his cock. The moans that leave your lips are rich in lust, his own muddled with sobs as if entering you is pure ecstasy. Ever the gentleman, he's always made sure to give you the first orgasm, but he can’t now. He’s already taken away that first pleasure, and as greedy as it is, he can’t stop. His hips move faster than he can think, skin slapping against skin as he moans your name, filling you with his seed and continuing even when you squeeze around him and claim that you’ve already reached your own climax.

Shigaraki Tomura:

It’s terrifying to know how much control one can have on another. Tomura is upset, a frown on his lips and the anger in him is quickly snuffed out, replaced as soon as it came with lust. It wraps around him in a thick smoke, encasing him and filling his lungs until he’s unable to breathe. An aphrodisiac is such a cheap trick, and he hates it. Embarrassment courses throughout him and he’s left doubling over, his hand so close to his erection until something metallic is on his tongue. He’s a man of many depravities, but he’ll be damned if he touches himself in an alleyway simply because of a quirk. He already has you and he’s chasing you, running through the street with you on his mind and his hand outstretched as if he could actually touch you. The friction of the seam of his pants has his breathing more rugged than if he were just running. He knocks, and he tries to avoid raising his voice, but the pressure is building, and he’s already undoing his jeans and reaching past his briefs to release his erect cock.

The door opens and you stand there with a smile to greet him only to recoil in surprise when you see what he’s in the middle of. You make a joke and if it were any other day, maybe he would laugh and reply with something of his own, but he can’t. He pushes past you, kicking off his shoes and removing his clothes, sweat so heavy on his body and his body so hot that the cool air of your air conditioner is leaving him in goosebumps. It’s cruel how you touch him, your hand over his bicep and when he looks at you, his cheeks are pooled red. Every touch is electric, his mind numb and body moving on its own before he can register what he’s doing, he leaves your touch behind him. He goes to your bed, collapsing and removing his clothes on the way, leaving a trail for you to find in your home. You follow him, his name on your lips and hearing you call for him just leaves him laying on your bed, removing his briefs and fisting his hand around his cock. Your hand curves over his forehead and you tell him how he is burning as if doesn't know that. You date a killer, and you’re still so naïve and it’s adorable in a way that makes him want to ruin you. He doesn’t waste time- he tells you what happened and grabs your hand, moving it beside to touch the side of his face and he watches how your lips part ever so slightly, commenting on how red his ears are. He laughs and moves your hand closer to his mouth. You’re real, touching him and there is worry laced into your features and words, and it’s so genuine that he feels a heavy hand wrap around his heart.

Time is ever passing, continuing on and never returning and he’s hot, and begging, his cock erect and balls full with unspent semen. Pain is etched around him in scars and bullet holes, and he’s telling you in a broken whisper how it hurts, how he’s in pain and with how reddened his cock is, you have to believe him. Your fingertips touch against his chapped lips, his tongue peeking out to lick at the tips before he slides your hand down. Your hand curves around his neck and you linger for a moment where his heart is beating eagerly, rapidly as if threatening to pound out and leave him bleeding before you. Lust is clear in his eyes, his mouth parted and you kiss him, and he eagerly returns the gesture, releasing your hand to grab your face and deepen the kiss. Your hand moves on its own- sliding down his chest, brushing against his pebbled nipples and lower against his stomach and falling to his crotch to wrap around his pulsing cock and tug on it, spreading the pearling bud over him until he’s panting with his head resting on your chest and mouth open.

Thick ropes of white coat your hand and your name is sung out in a groan, depraved and everything bad. It isn't enough to just have your hand wrapped around his cock, to be given a handjob, he wants more. He craves it like a sinner to their vice. He’s erect, and his breath fans against your lips. Begging has never been so immoral as it is right now when he pleads to you, begging for you to touch him more, to let him do more than kiss you. It’s you that he cares for you, and even with your kiss and his climax, he wants something more, he needs to feel you underneath him. He pulls you close to him, your body clad in just your underwear and he's grinding above you, his spent cock over your underwear, his mouth latching on a breast and toying the nipple with his tongue. He grinds and it’s harsh, your underwear slick with your and his arousal, a string of semen connecting him to you as he pulls away and hastily removes your remaining clothes.

Your face scrunches in pain and you let out a whimper when he grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, his cock aligned with your fluttering entrance. He watches as your expression changes from pain to pleasure, your sex tightening around him. Clicking fills the room, your entrance allowing him to slip in his body twitches in response, every nerve and hair on it’s end as he feels your insides wrap around him. It’s animalistic, his hips moving on their own, the rhythm barely there and he’s only interested in his own climax. His mouth is slick with saliva and he’s above you, with your legs bent on your chest and his hips rocking back and forth. The inside of you is gummy, molding around the shape of his cock. It’s as if he’s going to leave your sex in the mold of his cock, never to have you forget who it is that is making your heart beat and sex tighten. Your hands entangle in his hair, threading his hair together as he buries his cock inside of you. He’s chasing his high, mouth open in a moan as a thick trail of drool drips from his mouth and coats over your collarbone. It’s filthy and degrading, but to him, seeing even a small portion of you covered in his spit has him spilling his seed inside of you. Tomura kisses you and it’s wet and messy, but it’s perfect as his lungs are deprived of oxygen and he gets to feel your hands claw at his back.

Chisaki Kai:

Filth clings to him so easily, that painstaking amount of time that he wastes to keep himself pristine is all for naught at the end. All ruined because of a simple quirk. His mask is lost, a casualty of the fight and all that he can breathe in is the air of the sick and depraved, the air of something sweet and intoxicating. Kai hates it all. When the drug is perfected and in the masses, he’s sure of who will get one of the few. The damn reminder of what and who it was that brought him to the floor of some alleyway so rotting that it makes his anger boil, his face hot and whether it’s from frustration or anger, he isn’t quite sure. He covers his mouth and nose, and the poor attempt at a mask is just that- a poor attempt. He can still breathe in everything, still taste the air that is filled with smoke and the dewy weather of the night. It’s horrific. He forces himself to go to you, because at this point, it’s either touch and ruin people and risk getting himself covered in more filth, and go to you and do what the quirk is making him do.

The cheap paint touches his knuckles as he knocks at your door. He doesn’t want you to be late in answering the door, you have to hurry up. Hurry up and get him out of this sickness outside. Hurry up and bring him inside where he can shower and rid himself of these clothes that have been sullied by everything but you. You open the door the second he raises his palm, a frantic and desperate attempt to let himself inside, to fix some cheap wood just as quick. Why he hasn’t moved you in with him yet is unbeknownst to him, but after today, he’ll start to push for it. When you open the door, he walks inside, kicking his shoes and ridding himself of his clothes before you can lock the door behind you. You call his name and his eyes snap towards you, bright golden irises that hold the fury of the sun behind them and he’s breathing heavily. He’s not in the proper state of mind, but damn it all. He tells you, and with every passing second, he becomes angrier. Stalking and following you throughout your home, until you’re backed up against a wall. At this very moment, he has lost his control.

You’re scared and that should be his top priority but he can’t think. He can’t focus on you when his erection is strained between his pants and your breath that smells like mint is against his own. Your eyes flutter to his crotch and when you catch a glimpse of his erection, his name a soft murmur of your lips, he pushes himself into you. His erection presses into your thigh and he can feel the shift of your muscles, the tightening and the jump, the feel of your breath changes into a shaky gasp and exhale and he’s in front of you, silent and face spoiled red. You reach out to touch him, your hand slowly going upward but just as you're there, just as he can feel the warmth of your hand hover against the side of his face, you retreat. He reaches for you immediately and places your hand against his face and he’s out of his mind, too consumed with lust to ever focus on the filth that once touched him, and too focused on you and the way your fingertips flutter against his cheekbones.

It’s an intense moment where you touch him without the feel of the mask or gloves, and he’s so soft. And when you blink, his mouth is on yours. Everything about him is all about control and precision, and yet, with this simple act of kissing, he’s sloppy, too forward and bumping his teeth against yours, trying to nip at your bottom lip only to give up and focus on your neck. Your hands have moved, cupping his face to curving against the back of his head and knotting your fingers into his hair, your own body grinding into him and pressing against his erection. His own hands wander through your body, touching underneath your shirt and cupping just the underside of your breasts to leave and trying to undo his own zipper, aching to release his dripping cock. Exploring your body in such a drunken state is new to him, every movement slowed down and leaving his knees weak and body filled with needles and pins- he can’t get enough. Your hands bump against his and the friction is enough for him to spill onto your shorts, staining it with a pearly white that is thick like cream and drips onto the floor.

His cock is in your hands, slick with his cum and just the right amount of friction to leave him moaning into your mouth. Clothing pools around you and him and his bare skin is touching yours. It’s rushed, knuckles bumping into each other, his cock teasing against your sex, and the sensation is elevated with the aphrodisiac of the quirk and it’s making his mind blurry and jaw wet with saliva. Your body and his are sticky with sweat, sweat pooling in joints and crevices and he’s disgusted but when he pinches around your pert nipple and you let out a sweet moan that has your nails digging into his biceps, he ignores all of it and focuses on you. Kai is high with lust, elevated and drunk and his lips are on yours as he enters your hole. It takes nothing more than a few pumps to get him to spill, to fill your sex with his cream and let it drip onto the floor as he pounds into you, too focused on his release and your quivering sex to focus on how you call his name. His face is flushed, sweat that curves down past his cheeks and drips onto your body as presses you deep against the wall and lets the aphrodisiac take control.

Kurono Hari:

There is no time to waste as he rushes to your home. The heel of his shoes click against the concrete and he must look like a madman as he runs through the night. The night is humid, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his body and the mask is held in his hands, the confinement of it all making him unable to breathe. Hari needs to go to you now. He needs to see you before his legs give out and he collapses onto the ground before him. It’s the damn quirk that is making him act so unlike himself, ruining his image and tainting his composure with such filth that perhaps there is truth behind eradicating quirks just for being wicked. He’s lost, his mind hazy with lust, corrupting the very essence of him, and it’s perverse. He doesn’t know how to take it. He reaches your door and he stands, catching his breath, his heart beating against the confines of his body, and he’s standing there, willing for the door to open, and unable to move his hands. It’s just then, that he notices his cock that throbs in excitement. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the key to your home in his pocket and quietly, he opens the door.

The inside of your home is cool, and it feels as if he’s been transported somewhere else, everything moving in slow motion as he walks through it, wading against the pool that is your home, his hand touching and never leaving the wall as he follows your singing. It’s loud and at certain points you mumble, but it's you. He’s growing closer, and closer until he finds you with your back turned, undoing a blanket and laying it down on the bed. You don't hear him as he walks behind you, and when he wraps his arms around your torso, you yelp and laugh when you realize that it’s just him. He isn’t sure what the aphrodisiac did to his mind to make it feel so out-of-body, but he enjoys how you press against his erection, how the sensation is doubled and when you give him a cheeky smile, he captures your lips in a kiss.

His hands are clawing at your body leaving lines in its wake, removing your shirt and grabbing a hand that cups his face to his erect cock. His lungs are burning, the kiss hasn’t broken since you’ve removed your shirt and he’s currently kneading at your bum, his hands removing your shorts and when you step out of them, he only pulls you closer to you. His fingertips tease at your rim, and you’re already dripping with arousal, staining the tips of his fingers with your sweet essence. You’re the one to pull away first, gasping for air and falling to rest on the bed, and you look up at him, your eyes wide and body naked as you glance down to his erection giving him a kitten-like grin. His hand reaches upwards and wipes at his lips, thick with saliva and full of the taste of you. Slowly, he removes his clothes, not wanting to waste time on such little things and he lets them fall onto your floor. His lungs crave for air, taking in as much oxygen as they can fill, and he’s leaning towards you, his hands on either side of you as you rest on your forearms, your grin now a mixture of nervous and excited as you ask what’s gotten into him. It's true, he's not so obvious in his advancement, not so needy to touch your body, much rather having you beg for him and grind yourself on his thigh, but with the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins, his composure is lost and damned to hell. His smile is sadistic, eyes piercing into yours and his answer is simple, as he whispers it to you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear- “the cause of an aphrodisiac quirk.” He’s above you, jerking himself off in front of you and within just a few tugs, he’s spilling his seed over your stomach, watching it spurt out of his cock and slowly end in a drool that falls onto your pelvis.

It’s so damning to see him as anything less than who he is and how he presents himself and yet before you is a degenerate who gathers his semen in two fingers and pushes it inside your mouth, letting the taste fall onto your tongue. His grin is wide and he’s above you, pushing you down on your back and he captures you in another kiss. He wants you. He needs you at this very moment, more than he needs air, more than he needs anything. It’s just you that he wants. He ended you to kiss him and to run your hands down his body. He’s a degenerate, but he’s desperate, whining for you and grabbing your hand and letting it curve over his breast. He says nothing, but it’s a big enough clue to let you know to inch his nipple between your index and thumb and pull on the sensitive bud. His whine is echoed in your mouth and his erection is drooling on you once more. A blush creeps from his chest and onto his face, coloring him pink as his lower half is tipped with red and pearls that adorn his shaft. He aligns himself until his erection is pressed against your thigh, warm cream dripping and sliding off of you.

Your pillowy thighs pinch around his cock, and he hides his face in your shoulder, his hands gripping at your biceps as he pleasures himself using your thighs. Soft clicking sounds sound from him using you, his orgasm shaking through his body as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck, grabbing you and pulling you close to him. To lose himself in pleasure is something he’s never allowed himself the pleasure to do. Hari would much rather prefer you with a drunken look of ecstasy on your face, your face in a heavenly blush and your hole leaking with his semen, but now he realizes the pure joy of it all. To mindlessly hump at your body and kiss your mouth and touch your warm body that squirms for him. Your hand curves over his cock and he moans your name, arching his back and hiding his face as you press it to your entrance. He slips inside, and the feel of your gummy insides makes his mind go blank, only the need to release is clear in his mind. He rocks himself inside of you, and the degenerate is gone, only a desperate man who wants to orgasm remains with a blissful flush and your name on his lips.

[highqueenofelfhame]

Pining Rowan is my life. Rowan POV is my life. That flower shop AU is everything! We need a sequel. We need Rowan finally getting that date. We need Arlington dropping hints and Rowan finally asking her out. We need more!!! Love your writing!

HERE IS MORE. (ALSO thank you so much this is so sweet also lol at the typo arlington that my phone has corrected so many times esp. being from tx)

It was hard to not skip across the street with the flower pressed to her nose. Aelin had been crushing on the florist across the street from the first time she’d met him. Then, she had been a newly opened shop in Mistward, just outside of Doranelle. When she’d wandered in and asked for a bouquet of whatever, he’d stared at her curiously for a moment before making the bundle of flowers. They were always small things, ten dollars each. Rowan had no idea, but she kept them all pressed between the pages of books. 

It was a lot of flowers. Aelin had a lot of books.

Once back in her shop, she flipped the neon sign so that it was flashing ‘open’ above the door and laid the flowers down on the front counter. She had a little vase just for these flowers she always purchased from Rowan, so she popped the single kingsflame he had offered her into it and put it on the corner of the counter. When she sat down, she took to drawing it first, carefully studying the lines of the flower, spending too much time coloring it in and working to accurately display the translucence in the petals. She was almost done with the door opened and the bell chimed. 

“Hi,” she said, lifting her head from her iPad and doing a double-take when she found Rowan standing in the doorway. She had never seen him twice in one day, and he had never been to her shop before. Aelin sat back on her stool and watched as he walked around the lobby area, taking in all the art on the walls that had been painted all by her hand. 

“You did all this?” He said after a while, and she nodded. 

“It would be kind of lame if I didn’t display my actual artwork, wouldn’t it?” 

“It wouldn’t give me much faith in you as an artist,” he teased. At least, she thought he was teasing. She smiled all the same. 

“What can I help you with?” 

“I was hoping for a consult. I have this thing drawn up, kind of, and I was hoping you could round out the edges and make it worth tattooing on my body somewhere.” He approached, pulling a half folded page from his back pocket and handing it over. 

She laid it down on the counter and leaned over it, the tip of her apple pencil touching her lips while she took it in. Her eyes skimmed the design, the words hidden within, before she looked back up at him. 

“It’s brutal, but beautiful. Such as the old language sounds when spoken,” she said finally. Rowan raised his brows a bit. “I can work with this.” Aelin walked out from behind the counter and pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up his bicep, silently dying at the muscle under her fingertips. “We could blow it up and have it wrap around your whole arm. All the way down to your fingertips would be so cool but it would hurt. We could stop at the wrist. Whatever you want, but, yes. I can absolutely finish up the design for you.”

“I would love that.” 

“I can swing by your shop when it’s finished?” She offered, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t. She was always eager to make it into his shop and it had been two weeks since she’d seen him before today. 

“Sounds good,” he said, turning to leave. Rowan had just made it to the door when Aelin said his name and he paused, looking at her over his shoulder. 

“I keep waiting for you to ask me out, and you keep not asking.” 

“Do you want me to ask you out?” His accent curled around the words in such a lovely way, it made her heart race. 

“I just said I’m waiting for it.” It was delivered so deadpanned that he let out a laugh, nodded once and turned the door handle. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” If it weren’t for the smile in his voice, she would be a little worried that she had overstepped a boundary. But when he turned to leave, she caught the way his lips were tugging up at the corners.

“I’d say take your time, but I wouldn’t mean it.” She could still see him smiling when he jogged back across the street. 

[moonb-eam]

oh nat, i know we've basically made you write the entire p&p au from eliott's pov with our asks but i just can't help myself, esp after seeing the last ask about the telescope scene-so here it goes: have they ever talked about lucas' past- how lonely he must've been losing his parents at a young age? bc he still refers to his aunt/uncle as mr/mrs banet,like they're family but there's a distance. also i love that eliott loves the banets in your au as opposed to the og darcy who hated the bennets.

ahahaha we have managed to cover a lot of ground with the asks but it’s okay darling!! thank you for your question 🧡🧡🧡 (this one also ran away from me a bit, so i’ve but it under the cut)

When Eliott first met the Banet family, he didn’t know what to make of them.

They were loud, that much was true. Bold and indelicate. Simultaneously warm and welcoming but also intimidating. They were clearly close, as evident from their interactions and the way the spoke to one another. Eliott could see shades of himself and Daphné in the way the Banet sisters and Lucas would be arguing one moment, petty and childish, then fiercely defending one another in the next.

Mrs. Banet frightened Eliott the most. Her strong opinions and bouts of cluelessness likened her to his aunt initially, a comparison that made him turn in the opposite direction whenever he saw her approaching. Mr. Banet was more of an an enigma, quiet and withdrawn, but with a shrewd, intelligent gaze.

But these were only glimpses into the Banet family. Impressions that Eliott gathered from balls, when he had nothing to do but observe the guests from a distance.

Then, Lucas agrees to move in with him, and Alexia tells him, You’re already family, darling, and Eliott finds himself in the middle of Beaufort’s kitchen with Mrs. Banet clinging to him and rest of the family watching on in amusement, and it hits him properly, in the midst of it all, that he is a part of this family now.

Their chaos is his chaos. Their ridiculousness and dramatics are his to bear.

The thought makes Eliott so wildly happy that he thinks he might cry all over again. He can see them together: the Banet’s, Lucas, himself, Daphné, Madeleine. One overly large, patchwork family, one that’s made as much as it is born. One that’s real and imperfect and so full of love.

So, when Eliott finds himself alone for a moment at their garden party, which Lucas keeps insisting is not a wedding even though it may as well be, and he spots Mrs. Banet walking towards the food table, he drains the rest of his wine glass, and subtly intercepts her.

“Eliott,” she says happily when she sees him, linking their arms together. “I was wondering when you were going to come to talk to me.”

Not so subtly, then.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Eliott immediately says, and it’s an old habit that makes him wince. He can practically hear Dr. Daucet’s voice in his hear.

Why do you think your instinct is always to apologize, Eliott? What are you apologizing for?

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Banet’s cheeks are pink and her eyes are glassy. She grins, and her smile is that of a woman much younger than her, teasing and girlish. “You are my son now, after all.”

The ease with which she says it stops him short. “Oh.”

She grips tightly onto his bicep. “That is to say that you’re a part of this family, my dear. You’re one of mine.” She inclines her head to where Eliott can see Emma, Manon, Alexia, and Lucas standing in a circle, their heads bent together as though they’re sharing a secret. “And that extends to your lovely sister as well.”

“Thank you,” Eliott says softly. Mrs. Banet pats him on the cheek, and both of their eyes are watery. “That means more than you know.”

“I think I know.” Mrs. Banet says, with a sad tilt to her mouth. “You know, when I first heard the news that my sister and her husband died, all I could think about was Lucas.”

Her gaze drifts to him as she speaks, to Lucas, who is wrestling his crown of flowers away from Alexia, returning it to his head and pouting when Emma says something that makes all of the girls laugh.

“All I could think about was that sweet boy, now left without a family. We never discussed it, she and I, where Lucas would go if anything happened to them, but I knew there was only one possibility. He needed a family. He needed a home.”

Eliott pictures him, his sweet and sensitive and blisteringly smart Lucas as a child, alone and adrift in the world, and his heart grows heavy. His ribs strain under the weight of it. “So you gave him that.”

When he turns to look at her, Mrs. Banet’s smile is melancholic. “I tried,” she says simply. “But I could only ever do so much. I was never a mother to him, nor was my husband ever his father. There’s no replacement for that.” Her fingers touch her mouth, gaze warm as she takes in her children. “But we all tried together, to become something like a family. There’s some of it I would do differently now, for all of them, but I think...I think we’ve done alright.” She rests her head against Eliott’s shoulder. “They’ve turned out wonderfully, haven’t they?”

Eliott pats the hand that still grips tightly to his bicep. “They have,” he agrees. Lucas' head turns, eyes searching in the crowd as though he can hear Eliott thinking about him, and when he sees Eliott with his aunt, his eyes widen, his mouth dropping open.

“Oh,” Mrs. Banet smirks. “He thinks I’m embarrassing him.” She waves at Lucas with her free hand. “Quickly, Eliott: laugh as though I’ve just said something horribly embarrassing about him.”

The thing is, Eliott realizes, Lucas hardly ever talks about his parents.

There was that moment at Montrose, when Eliott’s aunt was badgering Lucas incessantly about his background, and Lucas had mentioned that his parents were poets, and that they had little money. But aside from that, Eliott knows nothing about them.

He understands it, though. Eliott doesn’t speak about his father unless he absolutely has to. It aches to do so, like prodding at an old scar, and Eliott doesn’t want to ask Lucas to tell him anything that he wouldn’t be willing to share.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

He finds himself in the library one afternoon, carefully combing through the Demaury collection of poetry, searching for any volume with the name Lallemant on the spine. His search yields nothing, aside from distracting Eliott from what was supposed to be an afternoon of finally responding to letters that he’s been meaning to respond to for weeks, and it does nothing to satiate his curiosity.

Still, he makes the decision to wait. He will only ask about Lucas’ family if Lucas gives him an opening to do so. Eliott is patient, a quality nurtured in him by his mother, and with Lucas, he’s even more so. There’s no end to how long he’s willing to wait for him. For anything.

But as it happens, Eliott doesn’t even need to ask.

There’s one night in October when it storms: pounding rain and echoing claps of thunder. Forks of lightning that crack the sky.

They spend the evening in the drawing room, Lucas, Eliott and Daphné, gathered around the fireplace with pots of tea and plates of food. They play cards and Daphné wins every hand. Eliott tells ghost stories until Lucas tells him to stop because he’s bored, even though Eliott has a suspicion it’s because he’s scared.

Eventually, Daphné falls asleep, curled up under a wool blanket on the settee, her open book tumbling from her hands down to the floor.

Eliott folds the corner of a page down to save her place, then wraps another blanket around his shoulders, sitting on the floor with his back braced against the the corner of the settee.

Lucas eyes him from his armchair. “Is there room in there for me?”

In response, Eliott holds the blanket open to him.

Lucas sits between Eliott’s legs, leaning back against his chest and letting out a contended sigh when Eliott folds his arms around him, the blanket covering them both.

A cold nose presses into Eliott’s neck and he gasps.

Lucas giggles into his skin.

“You’re annoying,” Eliott grumbles, but he’s smiling, and Lucas must be able to tell without even looking at him because his hand comes out the blanket, flailing around Eliott’s face until it finds his cheek, then poking him.

“You love me,” Lucas says, sounding nothing short of smug, and Eliott bites at the tip of his finger.

But he can’t help saying it, after a moment, ducking his head to kiss Lucas’ cheek, to whisper in his ear just as another fork of lightning casts long shadows across the drawing room floor, “I love you.”

Lucas turns his head to meet him in a kiss, and Eliott can feel it everywhere when he shivers.

“I love you too,” Lucas murmurs when they part. He tucks his face back into Eliott’s neck, and Eliott shifts his hold on him, lifting one arm so he can stroke his fingers through Lucas’ hair.

Lucas lets out a happy noise, and Eliott smiles, pressing his lips to his forehead.

It’s so peaceful there, in the places where their bodies overlap, underneath their warm blanket, that it feels as though they’ve created a world entirely separate from the one they inhabit. The storm may rage and roar, but there, in the Demaury drawing room, exists only warmth and comfort.

Eliott thinks he could fall asleep like this, with Lucas in his arms and Daphné’s soft snores above them, warmed by the crackling fire.

It would be hell for his back, but it would be worth it.

“This is what it is,” Lucas says softly, and his voice almost too quiet to be heard over the rain against the windows, “to speak of longing between souls. We must have fallen from the same star, my dear, for I loved you before I ever knew you.”

Eliott slowly smooths his hand over Lucas’ hair. “That’s beautiful.” His thumb strokes down the shell of Lucas’ ear. “Where is it from?”

“My mother wrote it.”

Eliott lets out a long breath, resting his chin on the top of Lucas’ head. His eyes are fixed on the tall windows across from them, the world beyond them dark and cavernous, lit only by the occasional stark flash of lightning.

“There used to be manuscripts everywhere in the house,” Lucas says eventually. “From both of them. They would read them aloud constantly, and pore over a single line for hours. It’s why I never liked poetry, because it reminded me too much of them. That one in particular...I heard my mother say it so many times, I could never forget it. But I,” Lucas hands fist in Eliott’s shirt, “I don’t think I really understood it until now.”

Eliott's free hand finds Lucas’ under the blanket. He lifts them together, kissing the inside of Lucas’ wrist, nuzzling into his palm.

He closes his eyes, trying to imprint the words onto his heart.

This is what it is, to speak of longing between souls.

“They would have loved you,” Lucas continues, and there’s a subtle fondness to his voice that makes Eliott smile against the delicate bones of his hand. “I’m sure you could have spent hours talking to them about poetry, or about art.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I would have had to fight to get any of your attention.”

Eliott shakes his head. “Never,” he says softly.

Lucas tugs on Eliott’s hand, lowering them back beneath the folds of the blanket to rest on his stomach.

“We didn’t have a lot of money, but I didn’t realize that, at the time. They never acted like it. I don’t remember them ever fighting, or ever speaking about money around me. They were just...happy, I think. They were always happy.”

Lucas falls silent, and Eliott realizes that he’s crying, small tremors rippling through his back that Eliott can feel in his sternum. Immediately, Eliott wants to comfort him. He wants to wipe his tears and tell him everything will be alright, but in this moment, with Lucas picking at the edges of the oldest scar he has, Eliott doesn’t think its his place.

Eliott knows grief, yes, but he doesn’t know grief like this. So he stays silent, pressing his lips to the crown of Lucas’ head.

I’m so sorry, Lucas. A clap of thunder echoes in the distance. The rain continues to beat against the windows. It’s unfair, and that’s all we can say about it. It’s so fucking unfair.

Eliott doesn’t know how long they stay that way for, but it doesn’t matter. He counts time by how many passes his hand has made down Lucas’ spine, by how many shudders he can feel under his palm, by how many times Lucas’ fists unclench from his shirt, only to grip back onto it.

Eventually, Lucas shifts against him, turning his head away from Eliott’s neck, and his voice is a little more solid to say, “I was lucky, you know. There are so many others like me who lost their parents and had to be taken to an orphanage, or to homes with cruel people. The Banet’s, they...they’ve done so much for me. They’ve given me a family, and a home, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t-” He exhales softly. “There’s something missing in me, and it won’t ever be replaced.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Eliott tells him gently.

“I know,” Lucas says, and it sounds a little sad, but it also sounds like something he’s thought about before. Something he carries with him.

When the silence between them stretches out into minutes, Eliott tentatively says, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Lucas leans away from Eliott’s chest, sitting up and turning on the spot so he can face him. The blanket drops from his shoulders, pooling around his waist.

His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his face is red, but he’s smiling softly as he cups Eliott’s cheeks in his hands, pressing their foreheads together and letting a sigh unfurl between them.

“It’s so easy for me to tell you things,” Lucas says. “Well, not easy necessarily, but it - it feels right.” He kisses Eliott, short and sweet, and it feels like thank you. It feels like you’re the safest place I know. 

“It’s the same for me,” Eliott whispers. “I hope you know that.”

Lucas’ smile widens. “I do.”

They fire has died to embers, and with it, the warmth in the room begins to be taken over by the damp cold from the storm, so they make the decision to leave, having to try to wake Daphné a few times before bidding her goodnight, then making their way back to their own room, holding hands while Lucas wears the blanket like a cape.

It’s only when Eliott is sitting on the end of their bed, watching Lucas blow out the final candle on the mantlepiece, that he says, hesitantly, “I wish I could read her work.”

It’s too dark for Eliott to interpret the glance Lucas sends him, and he’s worried he’s overstepped, until Lucas steps towards him and says lightly, “You probably could. My father was only published in journals, but she had a book printed, years ago. I’ve never been able to find a copy, but I’m sure you could, with your,” he pokes Eliott in the forehead, “connections.”

“Would you mind?” Eliott asks, grasping Lucas’ finger and tugging on his hand, placing his palm flat over Eliott’s heart. “If I read it? If you would rather I didn’t, I’d understand.”

“No.” Lucas says softly. “I wouldn’t mind.” His thumb strokes across Eliott’s skin. “But thank you for asking.”

“Of course.”

“Her name was Hélène,” Lucas says. “Hélène Lallemant. But the book was published under the pen name Cezanne Olivier.”

The name gives Eliott pause. It tugs at something in his mind, a thin forest green spine and faded gold lettering, but he can’t be sure, not entirely, so he just nods, and says, “I’ll look for it.”

“Alright.” Lucas drops his hand from Eliott’s chest, kneeing up onto the bed next to him, then crawling under the covers, burrowing himself into the pillows.

“Come on.” His voice is muffled. “I’m cold and exhausted, and I’d like you to hold me, please.”

Without hesitation, Eliott goes.

His suspicion is confirmed the next day, when he ventures back into the library and finds that same thin volume. The lettering is faded, but not too faded so as not to be discerned, and Eliott sets it down carefully on the desk in the library, making a plan to return to it after he finishes his meeting with Maurice to survey any damages to the grounds from the storm.

But, when he returns, soaked from the light rain that continues to fall, covered in mud from walking the tree line, the book isn’t where he left it.

He checks the bookcases, on the chance that Madeleine may have re-shelved it, but cannot find it there. He checks the other tables, the drawing room, the study, and grows increasingly worried that he may have lost it somewhere, until he walks past the open door to the bedroom, and he sees Lucas in there, curled up on the window seat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and an open book in his hand, one with a deep green cover and faint gold lettering.

Eliott watches him for a moment, the way his eyes slowly travel over each line, the way his fingers caress each page before turning it, before he smiles, then quietly turns back down the hallway.

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Ticklis

Ah yes… Ticklis……. Beautiful. ♥

(just kidding, dear, you’re so cool and so sweet for liking and reblogging so much of my stuff and i love you♥)

Here’s the REAL ask:

And honestlYYYYY I WAS THINKING ABOUT THIS RIGHT BEFORE YOU ASKED. And i just…… i jUST

Hi, Billy is ticklish. ♥

I debated it a bit in my head when i was thinking about this before this ask got sent. Bc I’m like….. So ticklish it’s actually ridiculous?? and it’s bc my skin is just really sensitive and we don’t need to go into this but yEAH i was thinking about how maybe after all of the abuse he went through he got kind of desensitized? but then i was like maybe he got even more sensitive, y’know??? Like…. He’s very large and in charge and brazen, yeah, sure, but i get the feeling he doesn’t like random, soft touches. They confuse the fuck out of him and he just doesn’t trust them. I’ve said it before but i’m gonna say it again, i think this boy flinches at any and all contact people make w/ him that he isn’t prepared for.

And actually, y'know what?? Doesn't tickling elicit a fight or flight response? So I think the sensitivity Billy has already would definitely go from him flinching at touches he can't see to being ticklish as FUCK by touches he can see and trust.

Like, he'll be leaning up against the kitchen counter, drinking his coffee, standing right in front where they keep the glasses, so when El needs to get past him she'll poke his stomach and-

Billy squeaks.

Like… full on squeaks.

El jumps a bit bc she’s never heard that sound come out of Billy before. She looks at him w/ wide eyes and a little smile and he looks back w/ fear bc guys, being tickled is scary, esp when you’re insanely ticklish, so he’s freaked and El giggles and reaches out to tickle him again and he moves so fast to get away from her. El just gets her glass and pours herself some milk.

And i just??? AUGH. Hop will put his hand on Billy’s shoulder when he passes behind him on the couch, just bc, and one of his fingers will accidentally brush Billy’s neck and Billy will shriek and jump and giggle just a little and Hop is scared to all hell bc he thought it was okay to do that but maybe he scared the boy??? And Billy will just wave Hop off when Hop goes to ask what’s wrong.

Billy will be helping Joyce w/ dinner and she’ll do that thing where she puts her hand on his back lightly so he knows she’s passing behind him and he’ll squeak and giggle a little and get super close to the counter to get away. She puts her hand on his shoulder to ask if he’s alright and he’ll say “I’m fine!” in a real high voice through a small giggle. Joyce just smiles but lets him be.

El will brush his hair out and try to braid it but her fumbling fingers will brush the skin of his neck and he’ll squeak every. time. His shoulders will be up by his ears and he’ll start to giggle so much that he’s bent over where he’s sitting, laughing too hard and begging her to stop. And El’s concerned, wondering if she hurt him or something bc Billy like… almost never laughs. Not like that. So she leans forward to look at his face and ask:

“Are you alright?”

He nods. “Yeah… just… tickles.”

“Tickles?”

He nods again, face flushed real hard bc, even though this is El, he’s still embarrassed. “Yeah. Like… it feels funny.”

“Feels funny?”

Billy nods and turns around. “Yeah, like this.” he says before reaching out and tickling her arms and stomach. She laughs a little, kicking out and reaching out to tickle his arms but literally the slightest touch has him keeling over with laughter, jumping away and putting distance between them. She laughs harder at that than she does at the tickles.

The next time that Max comes over and they’re all doing their hair together, El begs and pleads Billy to let her do his hair. He’s reluctant to say yes, but he does. And when she does, fumbling fingers once again brushing his neck, Billy ends up wrapping his arms around Max in a hug (foregoing the braid he was giving her) and squeezing her in a tight hug. She shrieks, pushing away.

“Billy get off! What’re you doing, hugging me?”

Billy shoves her instead, scrambling to get off the bed and away from El, who’s giggling like crazy.

“What’s wrong with you, you spaz?” Max asks to Billy, but El answers.

“Tickles!”

Max is confused. The Billy she knows is not ticklish.

“What?” Max asks. Billy’s giving El a scared as hell look, shaking his head at her, but she doesn’t understand.

“He said it tickles when I do that.”

Max looks to Billy with confusion. “You’re ticklish? Since when are you ticklish?”

Billy shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. “No. Nope. Stop.”

Max is grinning hard now. “Seriously?” She asks, devious as all hell, walking towards Billy with her hands behind her back. Like she’s hiding something.

“Stop, Max, no-!” Billy shrieks in vain because soon Max is attacking Billy with tickles and Billy is wriggling like a little kid, running away and trying to hug the wall as he runs out of El’s room and towards any kind of safety but the thing is, the cabin is small and there’s just not a lot of space to run so he’s running around the coffee table and he’s trying to avoid any traps like the couch or his bed. He ends up running Max around the outside of the house and loses her, only to get caught on the couch when she finally heads back inside after searching for him. He punches her arm enough times to get her to stop. (you fucking bet she’s gonna use this against him though)

Jonathan laughing quietly when he passes the joint to Billy and their fingers accidentally brush a little too much and Billy pulls his hand away fast, flinching with a little giggle.

“A little ticklish there?”

“Shut up.” Billy growls, huffing on the joint.

Will sitting on the couch w/ Billy and kicking Billy’s ankle with his foot (which is propped up on the coffee table) bc he wants to ask him a question and Billy jumping and giggling a little, moving away. To which Will smiles real wide and Billy shoves his head away lightly.

And then STEVE. Ohmygod guys Steve.

With Steve, it doesn’t always get too bad bc he’s used to Steve’s touches. At the very most just feels really intensely good. But sometimes Billy is near cackling, wiggling away and bending over with laughter.

Steve notices it first when they kiss. Bc he wraps his arms around Billy’s neck and his bare forearms are touching Billy’s skin and Billy’s knees bend and he’s shaking from his giggles and Steve is honestly worried??? Like????? His boyfriend just broke. He’s 100% sure the boy is broken. So he bends down to look Billy in the eye and ask if he’s alright and he finds Billy’s breath is a little labored and he’s like: “Fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause-”

“I’m fine.”

But then the next time when Steve wraps his arms around Billy’s waist and Billy’s got his arms around Steve’s neck, Steve squeezes at Billy’s sides with his hands and Billy’s gone. Giggling up a storm, moving away and rubbing his sides to get the sensation to go away and Steve is like: “Seriously! What’s wrong?”

Billy’s facing away now, forcing his giggles to stop, and that’s when Steve notices.

“Oh my god, are you ticklish?”

Billy turns on Steve quickly. “If you tell a single soul.” Billy growls, as if his family hasn’t already caught on. Steve laughs.

“I won’t, I won’t!”

And he doesn’t tell anyone. (except Robin, who makes a point to tap Billy’s shoulder to ask a question, or poke his side when she walks past to “bother him”. She’s incredibly entertained by the way this big, touch, muscled dude giggles.)(When Billy gives Steve a harsh look for going back on his promise, Steve just shrugs with a “we all know best friends don’t count!”)

Anyway, we also all know Billy and Steve get into tickle fights. it might only be when they’re alone but I’m fuckin serious here, the boys are tickle fiends and it’s the cutest thing. Billy says he hates it when they first happen but really, he ends up loving it and instigating it because it’s a rush and we know our boy is a thrill seeker. And being tickled is honestly kinda thrilling!! So it’s a lot of wriggling and laughing and hands flying everywhere and in all sincerity, it’s mainly Billy getting tickled and Steve laughing just bc he loves Billy’s laugh and will never get enough of it, but that’s also part of why Billy loves this. Because Billy laughing makes Steve laugh and Billy loves Steve’s laugh. ♥

(also just FYI, this might get a bit NSFW here so beware: in being this ticklish also means that Billy is sensitive as f u c k. I’m talking Steve grazes his fingertips across Billy’s bare chest and he’s goddamn gone. He’s breathing hard, heart beating faster, pupils dilating bc every touch is a spark. And Steve could honestly get drunk off of how responsive Billy is. Billy can come from just having his nipples played with and it’s an absolute gift for Steve. There’s nothing more erotic for him than Billy getting off just from being touched. Like, there are specific erogenous zones on people, sure, but for Billy suddenly everything is an erogenous zone. Steve runs his fingers up and down Billy’s forearm up to his bicep and back and Billy is shaking, breath getting light and airy, whining a little because it feels like his body is turning to molten gold or something. He’s strung up and melting at the same time. Like… fuck dude, Billy being hypersensitive is like a dream for both of them)

ANYWAY I just?? GUYS. Ticklish Billy!!!! ♥ I! Love! it!

[squishydoesstuff]

Hehe, this is actually titled Peace Was Never an Option...

Word Count: 2043

Warning: blood and death... It’s inspired by Romeo and Juliet so people die and there is ANGST 

All of the angst and violence is under the cut for those who want a little bit of fluff without anything else.

“Seoho, you shouldn’t be here, you know that.” The young woman pauses, looking around before unlatching her window. “They’ll kill you if they catch you!” She whispers harshly as she pulls the young royal through her window. Once he was inside, Esperanza quickly scanned for guards before quietly closing her window and dropping the curtains. She turned to scold the young prince, only to be met with Seoho cheekily smiling. The princess shook her head, sighing. She hugged Seoho before softly hitting him on the shoulder. “We agreed not to meet without arranging it! You can’t risk getting caught.”

Seoho laughed gently at Esperanza’s concern. It was endearing to him. “I know, but this is important.” His face became serious. Esperanza glanced down as his hands covered hers. “My parents are trying to arrange a marriage for me. I’ve refused enough that they agreed to delay the decision but that won’t last long.” Esperanza’s chest burned with love and pain as Seoho spoke. Seoho raised their hands as he squeezed Esperanza’s softly. “We need to talk to Youngjo and see if he can figure out a way for us to run away.” The two royals had been trying for months to find some way they could escape their lives. Youngjo had become a friend and advisor to the pair when they first sought him out after they discovered who the other was.

“Let’s go then.” Seoho dropped Esperanza’s hands in surprise.

“What?!”

“Let’s go. Tonight.” Esperanza gazed sharply into Seoho’s eyes. “You said it yourself, that your parents won’t wait long and since we are both here we might as well not waste any time. We should visit him tonight.”

“Esperanza, are you sure? We can’t jump headfirst into this without thinking.”

“Absolutely. Think about it, we could act as a bridge between our kingdoms. We could be an end to this war.” Esperanza gripped onto Seoho’s biceps. “Now is the best time to go. It’s easier to get in and out of the castle at night because there are less guards at the gates.”

“Alright, alright,” Seoho softly shook his head at the princess. “Since you are pretty determined about this, let’s do it.”

“Come here, I have a plan.” Reaching into a trunk, Esperanza pulled two long cloaks out and set them on her bed. “Put this on, it will hide us and people will think we are servants.” She turned before realizing her clothes. “I need to change out of this dress, it’s too obvious I’m not a regular civilian.” A blush slowly coated her cheeks as she searched for a more simple dress. “Do you mind turning around?”

The pair glanced at each other before pulling their hoods up. Seoho held his hand out to Esperanza. She took it gently before whispering. “Are you ready? We have to make it through the gate while the guards shift or they may catch us.” The two knelt against the castle wall, hiding in the shadows. “We have to be quick. When I say go, we have to run.”

“I’m ready.”

“Okay.” The princess turned her attention towards the gate. A group of guards was beginning to cross the courtyard as the ones at the gate moved. “As soon as they reach the middle of the courtyard, we move.” Crouching down, the two began to inch forward out of the shadows to the edge of the wall.

“Now.”

Esperanza started off first, tugging Seoho up behind her. The pair ran silently, barely letting their feet touch the ground. The gate slowly neared as Esperanza glanced back to check on Seoho and the guards. They were almost done with the swap and if they didn’t reach the gate soon, the two would surely be caught. Pushing herself harder, Esperanza ran beside Seoho. They were almost there, just a few more feet.

She felt her hood get tugged down before being thrown backwards. Esperanza and Seoho had failed to notice the guard captain was still at the gate,seemingly materializing out of the shadows of the wall.

The gate guards held the young pair in place. Esperanza struggled as she pleaded for them to let go. “Please! You are my people, are you not tired of this war?” Tears began to fall as her voice broke with desperation. “Please let us go! We can end this!” Seoho remained still and silent next to the princess. As a prince of the enemy kingdom, any sign of struggle could kill him. So he watched. He watched as Esperanza struggled, and he watched as her father appeared from the castle.

The older king came to a stop feet in front of the restrained royals. The guard captain who originally caught them met the king where he stood. “We caught the princess trying to escape the walls. And she was caught with this man.” The guard jerked his hand forward and Seoho was dragged to stand next to him. The guards holding him forced Seoho to his knees before the king. Reaching down, the captain tore a necklace from around Seoho’s neck. “As you can see, he’s from the Lee kingdom. And also, the prince.” Esperanza’s father grabbed the chain and examined the pendant before throwing it to the ground.

“He must be dealt with accordingly.” The king went to draw his sword as Seoho bowed his head. This was it. They had lost.

“No, stop! Father, stop!” Esperanza wailed, forcing herself free from the guards holding her. She ducked as the captain tried to grab her before she stopped in front of Seoho, facing her father. “It’s my fault! I asked him to come here, I asked him to help me escape!”

“Esperanza, no, don’t do this.” Seoho looked up at the princess protecting him. Esperanza glanced over her shoulder. She softly shook her head with an anguished smile before turning away from him.

“I have to. For us and our kingdoms.” She moved towards her father, pleading, “please, let us go. Let us be together. We can stop this war. A union between kingdoms.” Her arms flew open as she cried, “we could finally have peace! Our people could stop suffering! Please…” The princess looked hopefully at her father. He seemed to consider what she said as he sheathed his sword again.

“Father, please, I know you’re a good person. Let us end this war.” The king moved toward his daughter. He gently touched her face before enveloping her in a hug and leaning next to her ear, whispering softly.

“Who said that I wanted this war to end?”

Esperanza didn’t realize what had happened until Seoho screamed behind her. She felt her body react before her mind could. Her chest felt like it was on fire, burning fiercely, as her knees gave out. Esperanza finally glanced down.

Blood covered the front of her dress from where a dagger was planted to the hilt in her chest, just above her heart. The heart that beat for her people, for justice and peace.

The heart that beat for the love she held for Seoho.

The heart that beat for her family. The family she loved so dearly and though so high of. The family that protected her in the past.

But not now.

The king, her own father, had stabbed her. She was going to die.

Her back hit the ground as she struggled to breathe. Shock covered her features as she watched her father stand over her. Esperanza’s shoulders shook with sobs as she coughed violently. She felt warmth cover the corner of her mouth. The king bent over his dying daughter. “F-father, why would-” Esperanza’s chest heaved with hacking sobs. Blood dripped from her mouth as she fought to breathe. “Why wouldn’t you let us help?” Anguish filled her eyes and slipped down her face.

“Because this is the only way we keep the country under our control. We have gained many allies to use and so much territory. We will finally take the continent as ours and be immortalized forever.” Her father’s eyes blazed with insanity. Esperanza realized she no longer recognized the man who was supposed to be her family. She closed her eyes as she turned her face away from her father.

“Esperanza! Espe-” A choked cry came from beside her somewhere. “Esperanza! Open your eyes please!” Seoho.

Esperanza’s eyelids felt like lead as she tried to force them open. She was fighting a losing battle against death. It was time for her to give up.

Seoho watched as the king stared down at Esperanza in disdain. “Weak.” The king looked down at Seoho, “She was unable to see what would really help her kingdom.” He stepped over the body of his only daughter. “You both are fools for thinking you could ever end this war.”

“This war is killing innocent people from both our kingdoms! It has to end.” Determination and anguish burned through Seoho as he glared into the eyes of a power crazy man.

“My kingdom is thriving from this war, we have gained indescribible power. My reign is absolute and I finally have unwavering control over people like my daughter. The war has done nothing but assist my kingdom’s standing.”

“You just murdered your own daughter for trying to save her people! You are tyrannical and when the people come to realize that, they will tear you down from your throne.” The prince spat at the feet of the king. “You are no true king of your people.”

Anger flared as the older man gripped Seoho by his jaw. Yanking his head upward, he sneered at Seoho. “And yet here you are, on your knees in front of me.” He stepped back from Seoho. “If I am no true king to my people, then I will make sure you are no king to yours.” There was a flash of metal as the king swung his arm up from his side. The guards stepped back and watched in shock as the body of the young Lee prince fell. The front of Seoho’s shirt, torn across his chest, darkened with blood as he lay bleeding before the king.

“You will speak nothing of what happened tonight besides what I tell you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my king.”

“Good.” The king turned back to the castle before he gave a final order. “Return to your stations and make sure no one else saw this. I want them taken care of.”

As the king left and the guards returned to their posts, a soft groan came from one of the young royals. Slowly, a shaking hand reached for the other.

“Esperanza, I’m sorry.” Seoho stretched his arm as far as he could in his dying state. It wasn’t enough. Even in death, they couldn’t reach each other.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning rose on a mourning kingdom as an old king stood before his subjects.

“Last night, an assassin from the Lee kingdom was sent into our castle. They found our beloved princess, Esperanza, sleeping peacefully alone in her chambers and stabbed her in the chest. One of her maids discovered the princess and caught the assassin trying to escape her window.” Tears slipped down the faces of many, but it seemed her father could not spare even a single tear for Esperanza. “The guards managed to catch this assassin as he tried to escape through the gates. Upon my arrival to decide what should be done with the boy, he attempted to escape and kill me. They had no choice but to act in defense of my life and kill him. After examining the body to identify the assassin, it was discovered the royal family of the Lee kingdom had sent their own son, the only prince of their family.”

A seemingly remorseful sigh escaped the king before he continued. “Because of the brash actions of the Lee kingdom against our precious daughter and princess, they must face retribution. We make them experience our pain tenfold for taking the rose of our kingdom from us.” Cries of anger and pain rose from the crowd as the king turned away and back into the caste.

Slowly, a crazed smirk raised the corner of his mouth as the heavy doors closed behind him. 

The war continues on.

[saintlavrents]

Z OMF HSBSHSHSHS I AM SO LATE TO THE PARTY BUT DRUMMER TOM IS SOMETHING I NEVER KNEW I WANTED N NEEDED MY GOD

Looking in the mirror, the thought of Not Going popped up in your mind again. There was nothing really obliging you to go. And the idea of standing there listening to the loud music, whether it was good or not, sounded slightly exhausting. 

THIS IS ME AT HOW RELATABLE YN IS:

Next, you took a look at him. From the profile, he looked pretty good. He was wearing a loose tank, showing off his arms. His dark curly hair was held back with a black cap that he wore backwards. What definitely stood out to you was his jawline. It looked like you could cut yourself on it just with the slightest of touches.

You watched Tom spin one of his drumsticks in his hand. He had the biggest smile on his face, then he caught your eye and winked. The cheeky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, you were sure of it. He was waiting for your surprised reaction, and you fell for it completely—hook, line and sinker. 

ALL I CAN SAY IS H O T AND I WANT HIM ❤️ AND WHEN HE SPIN HIS DRUMSTICK????? H O T BYE WHY DO U KEEP MAKING TOM HOT AF Z I CANNOT HANDLE THIS HELP

And it for sure helped that all three band members were hot. Like, really really hot. 

YES

You could barely look at Tom. Playing the drums as hectically (in the good sense) as he did, you thought he would be exhausted by now. But he still had that big perfect smile on his face. The sweat was dripping down his arms, but it just highlighted his biceps, making it very hard for you to concentrate on the music. And then, no matter what he was doing, he would find you in the crowd and smirk or wink, making you even more flustered than you were before. The first time, you thought he was doing it to someone else. But then it happened again, and again. And the beat of drums led your heart. You could feel it in your throat as it kept pumping with the loud music. 

TOM DRUMMING PLUS THE WINKS AND SMIRKS THO I CANNOT- ALSO THE FACT THAT PERFECT IS CROSSED OUT SHHSHDHDHD

“No, I’ll just wait ‘til you guys get famous so I can sell it on the internet and get rich.” That was probably not the response Tom had expected, which you immensely enjoyed. Next to him, Harry erupted in a fit of laughter. 

IM SORRY BUT THIS REMINDED ME OF WHEN ANTHONY MACKIE SAID EBAYYYY SHHDHSHS BUT I LOVE HOW CUTE THIS MAKES THE INTERACTION BECOME

“Will you stay? I’d really like to hang out.”

I SCREAMED BC SHHSHSHSHSHS YES

“Broccoli, baby. I know.” 

IJUST LOVE THIS FRIENDSHIP DYNAMIC BC SHSHHSHS DANG THEY EVEN HAVE A CODE WORD THING FOR DANGER

“Just because I could tell you weren’t exactly looking forward to the show, and then I saw you leave and didn’t come back. I thought you didn’t like us.” Us. He said “us”. Then we did it feel like he just wanted to say “me”? 

THIS IS CUTE SHSHHSHS IM LIKE DHDHDHS BUT LIKE DW TOM SHE LIKES THE BAND ESP U

“No one there was as cute as you.” 

“It doesn’t have to end here, darling.”

HES SO SMOOTH I CANNOT SHSHSHSHS AND I CANNOT WAIT TO READ PART 2 (I KNOW ITS OUT BUT MY BATTERY IS DYING DHHDSHHS)

To the Beat // drummer!Tom 1/2

(a/n) here it is!!! it took about a decade of my life but i think it was worth it  also shoutout to @duskholland​ for hearing out my ideas when i was brainstorming and together with @captainpeggy40​  for getting me through my breakdowns while writing. i got it finished!! <3 I really went all out with this fic, so i hope you guys enjoy it!! part 2 will come… sometime this week ;)

word count: 7939 (unnecessary content GALORE) 

warning: drinking, swearing, crowded spaces, part 2 contains smut 

you can find the band’s setlist here

not all songs are mentioned in the fic but it’s songs that i would really love to see them play haha. if anyone would be interested, i can make a seperate post on how i imagine them playing it (who sings and stuff idk)

Read part 2 here <—> extra headcanons here

With the right stranger, one night can feel like a lifetime.

“Will you please come?” your friend begged you over the phone. “It’s gonna be really fun!” 

“You know, you say that a lot, yet I never have as much fun as you promise.” You sat down on your bed, looking out the window as the rain hit every surface outside. It was not exactly the weather you felt like going out in. 

“Then that’s on your extremely high expectations, not on me.” She stated, “But pleeease.” She kept on whining, and you knew she wouldn’t stop until you gave in. It always went like this. Always. 

“Ugh, fine.” you fell back on the soft mattress, your head only missing the pillow by an inch. “Where is it actually?” There was the question you both dreaded. You, because you knew you wouldn’t like the answer. Her, because she knew you wouldn’t either. 

“It’s at Suki’s,” she mumbled, but you could still hear her just fine. 

“That’s where you work right- please don’t tell me you’re working tonight?!” you groaned into the phone. 

Keep reading