#this was just supposed to be a tiny sketch then this happened

[knightinink]

rat bastard goat man.

[l0stglitch]

Platonic yandere lost boys headcannons

Notes- This was supposed to be general headcannons but then I started leaning into the darker side of the dynamics more, so now it’s more focused on the relationships between reader and the boys.

Warnings- Emotional manipulation, Psychosis, Non consensual drug use, Yandere behaviour, Murder

Dwayne

• You mean the absolute world to Dwayne.

• Seriously- every waking thought is spent on you. You’re like a drug that he can’t function without.

• Sometimes the others joke that he has separation anxiety (he 100% does).

• He loves listening to you speak. Often you’ll both lie down on your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You’ll tell him about your day through the rose-tinted lenses of childhood, and he’ll listen. He listens with an interest that you have never been regarded with before. It makes you feel special.

• The two of you go down to the skatepark together every now and again and your dad teaches you how to skate.

• You’d never tell the others, but those are your favourite nights. When it’s just you and Dwayne out at night practicing tricks under the solitary streetlight.

• It’s usually empty, but when there is anyone else there Dwayne warns you of how dangerous they could be.

• He doesn’t mean to scare you, but sometimes the only way you’ll follow the rules is by telling you every other man out there is out to get you.

• His warnings made you paranoid and untrusting of everyone for a while.

• It eventually got so bad that you had a psychotic episode- locking yourself in your room for days because you believed that your fathers wanted to harm you.

• Eventually they broke down your door to find you starving and severely dehydrated, having spent days completely devoid of food and water.

• You were too weak to even fight back when they scooped you up and carried you out your room.

• Dwayne was in hysterics.

• He didn’t leave your side for the rest of the week, and made sure to hand feed you all your meals.

• You protested, but he was relentless.

• He almost made you feel like it was your fault. Acting so hurt that you would take such little care for yourself. Do you really hate them that much? Why don’t you trust them after everything they’ve done for you?

• Days later, you found yourself crying in his arms, begging for forgiveness. Through desperate sobs you sputtered out apology after apology, clinging to his leather jacket.

• Seeing you so needy for him- so desperate for his love almost made it all worth it.

• He just ran his fingers through your hair like you were a scared animal, trying to get you to calm down.

• That’s how disputes between you and your father almost always end. With you begging for his forgiveness for something you know deep down wasn’t your fault.

• After your breakdowns, you often sit alone in your room wondering how you let the same thing happen every time. You’ve always had a soft spot for Dwayne, but sometimes you wonder if his powers have more uses than you thought.

• All those times you’ve awoken from a horrifyingly realistic nightmare, or felt a piercing sense of dread at the thought of sneaking out, a tiny fear itches in the back of your brain.

• Are your thoughts actually yours?

Marko

• Marko 100% plays with you the most.

• He’s just naturally more energetic than the others (which often leads him to getting into fights).

• But when he’s not scrapping with surf nazis, he spends the rest of his time practically worshipping you.

• Sometimes when it’s just the two of you, you’ll stop by a playground to play for a bit.

• He’d never admit it to anyone, but sometimes he gets jealous seeing you play with the kids there.

• I feel like Marko is a very creative person (I mean cmon look at his jacket). One of my personal hcs is that he painted the leopard on Dwayne’s jacket.

• He’d definitely buy (or steal) a jacket for you just so he can customise it. He also sees it as a way of showing that you belong to them.

• You’d sit next to him on the couch, sketching out every little detail you want whilst he listens, hanging onto your every word.

• Despite his need to show everyone you are theirs, he also genuinely loves making things for you.

• He made a bracelet for you to match the one Dwayne stole when you first met.

• Out of everyone he’s the most possessive.

• Sometimes, depending on his mood, he’ll ban you from speaking to anyone other than them (even Max). Other times he’ll outright stop you from going to the boardwalk with them. He’d stay with you in the cave whilst the other three go out to hunt.

• It worked when you were younger and more obedient, however during your teen years you grew to be a lot more rebellious.

• Marko absolutely HATES the thought of you growing up. He doesn’t know what kind of a person you’ll be in the future, and that scares him.

• That and the fact that he knows you’ll inevitably want to start dating.

• He’s kind of in denial about the whole growing up thing.

• Unfortunately when you do become a teenager he literally can’t cope. He refuses to believe you are able to take care of yourself and will baby you.

• On multiple occasions you have lashed out at him for the way he treats you, sick of how he refuses to accept the fact that you have a functional brain and can think for yourself.

• Unfortunately Marko has a particularly short temper. He has, on multiple occasions, accidentally shoved you into a cabinet in the heat of an argument, and left you with dark, angry bruises.

• And then comes the guilt tripping. Sometimes you’d wonder if he secretly likes it when you get hurt because of how happy he always looks when he gets to take care of you.

• You’re father’s mood can switch up in a matter of seconds. Sometimes it feels like you’re walking on eggshells around him, afraid that the slightest mistake will set him off.

• Usually Dwayne or Paul are around to tell him to chill out, but when you’re alone you just have to play along with his delusions of you still being his little girl to avoid conflict.

• It’s hard though, especially when he suddenly brings up a new rule to ‘keep you safe’. It’s practically impossible to keep Marko happy, and with every new rule, you know it’s only a matter of time until you break it (intentionally or not).

• He would never admit it, even to himself, but part of him secretly enjoys it when you break the rules. He likes hearing your heart pounding loudly from your chest, betraying the unbothered scowl on your face.

• It reminds him that no matter how grown up you look on the outside, you’ll always just be that timid little girl they found by the carousel. Helpless and in need of her fathers.

Paul

• He doesn’t mean to be, but Paul is definitely the dad that lets you get away with anything.

• Poor guy doesn’t really know how to act around kids, so he ends up either being a bit awkward around you or just treating you like a mini adult.

• As a result, you don’t really fear him as much as you do the others, but you also don’t see him as reliable as they are.

• You know Dwayne will always be there for you. Paul though? Half the time he’s too high to even tell you what day of the week it is.

• He feels guilty about it. Really guilty. He loves you just as much as the others do, but he just doesn’t know how to show it, so he lets you get away with things.

• Oh- you want a chocolate bar for breakfast? Sure, so long as you don’t tell Dwayne.

• You wanna try his cigarette? Ok, but make sure David doesn’t find out.

• At first it’s great. You love getting to hang out with Paul because of the little secrets you share. He gets high and you get to do what you want.

• It isn’t until you start to grow up, and he begins to enjoy your company more that his behaviour starts changing.

• Out of everyone, Paul (ironically) knows the most of your secrets.

• He’s just so much easier to talk to than the others- and whilst he doesn’t always give you particularly good advice on how to deal with certain situations, you can appreciate him for listening.

• Your trust in him backfires though, as he realises he can use your secrets against you.

• He literally blackmails you into spending more time with him. You don’t wanna hang out? That’s fine- but be prepared to have a stern telling off from David after Paul found a bag of weed under your bed.

• You picked up most of your bad habits from your father. Getting black out drunk and stealing cigarettes with your small group of friends, for example.

• Compared to the others, he isn’t very controlling in terms of rules. He knows that telling you what to do directly will only make you rebel, so instead he takes a slightly different approach.

• He drugs you.

• It took years for you to finally realise why you would sometimes sleep for such long amounts of time, despite not feeling tired beforehand.

• Eventually you connected the dots, and came to the sickening realisation that he would put crushed sleeping pills in your food every time you mentioned wanting to go out with your friends.

• After confronting your fathers about it, you refused to eat any food they had prepared for you. This lasted a while, until you ran out of money and were no longer able to afford cheap takeaways.

• It becomes a lot harder for Paul to drug you after that, however every now and again he manages to slip you a sedative.

• You absolutely hate it.

• You hate feeling completely helpless. Mind dull and emotions muffled by the effects of the drug. Even your body feels heavy, and you find that you only have enough energy to lay in Paul’s embrace, waiting to fall asleep.

David

• Ok let’s be real David is definitely the most distant father out everyone.

• After all, he has a reputation to uphold (and he’s scared of completely fucking up as a dad).

• He prefers spending time with you inside the cave rather than going out to the boardwalk.

• He uses excuses similar to Dwayne- telling you how dangerous it is, but unlike Dwayne he doesn’t actually believe what he’s telling you.

• David knows that it’s very unlikely that anything will happen to you. You’re hardly ever by yourself, so the chances of someone actually managing to hurt you are slim- especially with four overprotective vampire fathers lurking nearby.

• The real reason is that it makes him feel less in control. He can’t decide who you’re friends with, or who talks to you when you do occasionally manage to sneak away from them.

• Your biological family is gone. But who’s to say there isn’t someone out there looking for you still? David can’t help the everlasting paranoia from seeping into his every thought.

• So for peace of mind, he sets rules and curfews. Anything that will ease his worries.

• Practically every minute of your life is dictated by David. He thrives off of controlling you.

• Each and every rule and punishment goes through him first. He’s essentially the backbone of the pack.

• You resent him for it. You hate the way he encourages the others, and how he speaks down at you so condescendingly.

• Your relationship wasn’t always so strained though.

• As a kid you completely idolised David. His hair, his bike, his music. You were like his shadow. Constantly trailing behind him, grasping onto his signature trench coat.

• He loved every minute of it. Your father would spoil you. He’d steal little gifts at every opportunity, and buy you posters and t shirts of all the bands he had gotten you into.

• Unfortunately, as you got older you made friends outside the pack. You developed new interests, and David felt threatened.

• After all, you’re supposed to their little girl. You were supposed to grow up and stay with your fathers- your pack. Not branch out and meet new people.

• So in response, David killed one of your friends.

• One of the boys in your group who he thought you were becoming dangerously close to.

• Of course, you didn’t know David was the reason he had gone missing, so when you broke down in tears, feeling terrified for your friend, David was there to hold you.

• The way he gently rubbed your back and soothingly whispered into your ear almost made you forget about the disappearance of one of your closest friends.

• That brief moment of bliss bringing you back to your childhood as you sought comfort in your father’s tender embrace.

• David could only pray that you would remain ignorant to the truth about your dearly departed friend.

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife (lmk if anyone else wants to be added)

[kentocalls]

endo yamato | slipping under this is all @bjorkshire-pudding's fault. was i supposed to stay absolutely normal after he pulls the pose below? nfsw. mdni. use of precious/angel/goddess. toxic ex (but he brings you down to light him on fire). would you like more from this? i have so much more to write.

you know he's there, you don't even bother looking now.  

the guy in front of you is the exact opposite of endo. your date has an  slicked back hair with a nice smile. he's speaking politely, ever the gentleman.  

if you had never, ever, met endo, you could give your date undivided attention. you could smile at his jokes, receive his compliments, feel the fire in your belly when he touches your hand softly,  but no. all you sense is the gloom and doom aura of endo as he sips, feigning innocence, on a melon soda.

you wait but endo does nothing,  sips the drink, eyes on you. 

he's stopped being loud and obnoxious. doesn't barge in when your date says something corny or touches your hand or scoots closer to you.  nope, all that is gone and replaced with this. drilling holes into the back of your dates head as he sits tucked away, hidden from view. eerily silent.

he does still text you tho. points out that this guy didn't let you order another pastry after you didn't like your original choice. and that this guy walks on the inside of the street like some careful kitten when you're the one that's worth diamonds. 

but that's okay, cuz if the date makes you feel happy and can fuck you better than endo,  he's fine with it. take your momentary pleasures, endo wants you to be happy after. he only ever wants you to be happy. he can tolerate you having playmates.  

he can accept you like being social, and that means you meet new people. he accepts you like to doll up and bat your eyelashes, it's game for you now isn't it? the way you ensnare everyone in your charm, your perfume lulling the undeserving, twisting them to your beck and call.

well, why this fucker isn't on his knees is beyond infuriating. 

endo clicks his tongue, clenches his teeth at how much your current date talks about himself. has the pig even asked about your day? bet he hasn't even complimented your jacket and earrings. did little piggy even on notice the color on your nails or the tiny rhinestones on them this time? 

why the fuck does he think talking to you about finances is more important? fuck an apartment on wall street when you're the goddamn whole view.   right there, in front of him. 

endo wonders if you're going to take pity on this blind pig. your date's tall, maybe he's packin', maybe he can take care of you like that.  since you won't use endo anymore. won't let endo be good for you like that.  fucking fuck the pig still talking about his portfolio?

what use is a portfolio if it's not full of sketches of your face? 

endo watches with a glare. you deserve the moon and stars and sky. you deserve a parade of praise and kisses and hugs and fuck fuck fuck, where are you going?

endo stands and follows, outside you give him the shortest glare, that lil annoyed look he understands as 'don't follow me.' 

he stops his right there. watches you get further and further out of reach. makes a call to one of his guys, "yeah just watch, report back to me. yeah every thing that happens. no not every five, every minute. you like your fingers? report every. minute. got it?"

you don't bother to look at endo when you're back in your apartment, he's sprawled all over on the floor, a bag of your favorite chips and soda sit at the coffee table behind him. he's munching on the same brand, watching your comfort show.  there's a smirk on his face but he doesn't make comment about the absence of the pig.

he knew that date was a disaster,  the guy tried to shake your hand instead of a hug or kiss? he said time spent with you was tialics just alright? who fuck would say that to a goddess?

you don't sleep well, endo knows it's because you're so wound up. use him, take what you need from him, he says it every hour of every day but nooo. that's not on the cards anymore because endo and you have "boundaries" because it's  "over" and you're  "not together."  

that he tripping your best friend at her wedding for what he considered was looking at you wrong was the final straw.  if he's honest, maybe he should've waited after she walked down the wedding asile to trip her but whatever, bitch had it coming.

she made your life hell under the disguise of bride of honor duties and endo knows scum when he sees it. you? the precious light of his life, you see the good in everyone.

you only saw the good in him too. 

and he believed in it, cherished it, harnessed it. made himself better because of it.  endo's changed, he doesn't smoke at least two days before he's gonna be at your place. no fights, no dirty shoes, clothes or hair. he is clean, soft, face well moisturized, pearly whites ready, lips buttery smooth --ready for your kisses, for your skin. he maintains himself for you.

he knows you notice, he's felt your hand on his face in the early morning when he feigns sleep when you're not rushing out of the door and accidentally stubbing your toe or hitting your elbow and he get's to hear the melody of your fuck fuck fuck. 

mornings like this, were you needy and the control slips. you allow yourself an indulgence, you're gonna blame the sleepy haze. that you weren't fully awake, it's his fault for crashing at your place unannounced anyways.  

entirely unnecessary, all endo needs to know, all he latches onto is that you dream of him. 

doing this with you.

so he behaves. the way the sunlight drips into your tiny apartment, he knows you're already running late. you're crawling roughly top of him,  less careful, less scared of waking him up. 

push your sweet and soft lips into his neck, curl a hand into his hair and pull. ohhh you're so mad at him. the delicious pain in his neck as you suck and bite, the slow undulation of your hips against his. 

still still still.

he has to stay so fucking still.

the second you know he's up, you're going to disappear. like trying to grab sand, if he grips, if he helps, tries to make the pressure better, you'll fade away. with no pleasure, no relief. all that energy, all that stress, all those pent up feelings dragging you down, snuffing out your laughter.

endo can't have that.

so he's extra still, let's you rub against him however you need, listens to you huff and moan and whine. you're trying to keep your mouth busy on his skin, biting, licking, teasing. you don't have to, you don't need to do this all on your own.

if only if only if only, hands itching, tongue heavy, its been weeks upon weeks, you're finally so close to him. you changed your shampoo. you wore the caramel perfume didn't you? it's scent even mixed with your skin.

and he's been so good this month, hasn't punched any of your dates, waiters or annoying people. hasn't even invaded your personal space.  hasn't held your hand, wrapped an arm around you shoulder or hugged you. hasn't stolen a kiss from you in days. 

fuck. your date had held you close in the movie theater hadn't he?  promised you a good time later and then what? settled for a goodbye handshake?  did that fucker even think to kiss you? did he even walk you back home? and now it's clicking.

your date made you feel unwanted didn't he?  that fucking pig.

why the hell is endo thinking of your date when you're the one moaning endo's name in an unsatisfied tone?

oh, his goddess, his princess, his queen. it's not enough, huh?  you've never enjoyed playing solo.  you keep moving against him, but it's barely building up isn't it? you need endo's hands on you, he knows. you want endo to do the work, don't you? he'd build it up so good for you too, doesn't he always? 

there's anger now, a shift in your tone and his eyes are open. why are you angry, what happened, he was here all night, protecting you from the world, why are you upset?

and it gets worse.

you pull away from, his hands weren't even on you for a full minute and you pull away, sitting, half straddling him. 

oh precious doll.

you're so tired. you didn't get the relief you needed, huh? stayed up all night, no wonder you're so frustrated.  let him take care of it, let him tend to you. and it's that hushed whimper, that shaky exhale, and his name on your lips. the quivering of the bottom of you lip, shame filling you with what you're gonna ask of him.

"endo..."  he won't let you, nu uh. just blame him after, that you were asking him to leve you alone, that you wanted him gone. it's fine, push all that on to him, it doesn't matter. as long as he can keep you happy, satisfied.

"i got you, i know, i know." and he's maneuvering you so smoothly. you move like water,  bending into whatever position he wants. fuck, you really need him. 

"that asshole was a let down right?" you don't want to know why he kisses you all tender and purposeful.  you don't want to know why he grips you enough to bruise. why do you like it? you look away, fuck. 

you broke up with him. 

your hands don't need to be pulling him in, your mouth doesn't need to crash into his, fuck he tastes like your toothpaste, smells like your skincare.

greed gets the better of both of you, messy, rushed, handsy. you feel him hard against you, that last bit of decency snuffed out, he's going to let you take what you want anyways, why stop at messy kisses and petting?  as he rolls his hips just right, your hand flies to his cock squeezes.   finger fumbling for the button of his jeans and endo, fucking endo-- pulls your hand away, kisses your palm, the knuckles, the finger tips.

"don't worry about that" inhales your protest away, kissing deep and hard, his tattooed hand in your hair, pulling you forward, relentless. he went a whole month without this. the softness of your lips, the wet drags of your tongue, the hunger you can't hide. the sounds you make, fuck.

his hand trails down, leaving goosebumps as evidence of his touch. the texture of his calluses hand sinful, he's so determined.  he's going to make you feel good.

he isn't a smartass about your wetness, isn't teasing and coy. moves his fingers deftly, has a crescendo to build before the sinster alarm clock drags you away from him.  he moves with finesee, knows your body so well, can tell the ache was unbearable. you're so wet for him. you needed him.

a taste a taste a taste, he wants a lick but stops himself, he'll have his fill after,  has to take care of you first,  encourages your sounds, nips at your lips when you try to hide them. he's not asking for much here, he's making you feel so good, isn't he? 

he gets to relive his favorite memory the second you grip his hair  harder and pull, the way your legs twitch, the drip of his name, the stuttering of your breath, the tightness around his fingers, the pulsing.  perfect perfect perfect. a goddess incarnate.

his goddess. 

yeah yeah yeah, you want a break.  you need to clear your head. this isn't healthy. you're so serious. 

but what is devotion without penance? 

part 2

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 3

afab!mc x beelzebub

description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Would Beel pass the marshmallow test?

warnings: Capital B breeding kink with talks of impregnation, babies, afab reader with she/her pronouns. Talk of emotional eating. Dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. Size kink.

Note: reader is described as being shorter and smaller than Beel, but I tried not to go into specifics. so just scale Beel in your mind to however big he'd have to be to be significantly larger than you.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) ||

For the past few days, Beezlebub had been eating his feelings. 

He was a menace in the kitchen, he could admit it. Since breakfast three days ago, no meals were able to be prepared to completion without interference from the sixth-born. Occasionally, one of his brothers would try to separate him from the fridge where he had set up camp, but each attempt only served to make him more irritable and territorial, less like himself. It soon became clear that their efforts were not worth the struggle and creative measures were implemented to allow for some form of cookery. 

Belphagor hovered as much as his fatigue would permit, worried for his twin. Left unspoken for the sake of Beel's dignity, Belphie understood intrinsically the depth of the hunger you had unlocked in his brother. It was a terrifying force to be reckoned with, one that could very easily boil over into something disastrous. 

At this late hour, Beel was alone, Belphie having retreated to the attic for yet another nap. Four puddings pushed down the memory of your scent for the nth time. Twelve poisoned apples for how his hands dwarfed your tiny shoulders. A couple boxes of leftover takeout to smother your big doe eyes looking up at him before the first shove kicked off a regretful fight between his brothers. 

Guilt weighed like an albatross around Beel's neck. He loved his family- you were included in that. You rounded out their group in a way that felt complete. Beel wasn't always the most articulate demon, but his feelings were genuine and acute; sometimes overwhelmingly so. 

"Oh, hey."

He felt sick. 

Beel twisted to see you over his shoulder, refrigerator door still halfway open. You were standing in the kitchen doorway, looking unsure, picking your fingernails. You looked so small. 

"I was going to get something to drink," You said, as if you needed an excuse to be there. 

He smiled at you and hoped it was reassuring, "I think there's some juice left."

"Thanks, that'll work," You returned the grin, relieved he broke the tension first. He sat the carton on the counter and stepped aside.

See? You could both be normal about this.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” You mused, getting yourself a glass from the cupboard, “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”

Beel leaned against an opposite counter, “How much longer are you locked down for?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, two or three more days, maybe?” You mirrored him from across the room, “I hope Lucifer doesn’t think I’m doing this every month. Absolutely not.”

Every month.

This was going to happen every month? Indefinitely? He felt light-headed. How was he supposed to contend with this on a regular basis? A month was nothing. 

“You okay?” You asked, shaking Beel from his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” He replied, “Are you at least eating enough?”

“No complaints there,” You shrugged, sipping your drink, “Anyway, I should head back.”

The words came out reflexively the moment your back was turned: “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” You beamed back at him, stopping in your tracks. You were so pretty when you smiled. He felt his heart speed up.

“Can I walk you back?” He asked, knowing very well he shouldn't, but not ready to say goodbye just yet. 

You hesitated for only a moment, "Yeah, I'd like that."

___

Trying to keep pace with you was always a little awkward, given your much shorter stride. Beel was used to waiting up for others after a few millennia of adapting to Belphie's slothful movements. Still, the urge to scoop you up and carry you with him tugged at his fraying nerves. Would you mind? You'd let him do it before…

Even if you did mind, it'd be easy, he thought, to simply hook an arm around your waist and lift you like a fangol ball. You could wiggle and fight as much as you wanted, but realistically, you were physically no match for the most average of demons, let alone one such as himself. Especially if caught by surprise, with no time for magic (or pact orders) to level the playing field. Despite all of your time spent in the Devildom, your trusting nature left you wide open to any number of those with ill intent. It was like you refused to understand that humans were prey. 

Which is why you needed to be here, with him them, Beel reminded himself. To keep you safe. Because, right now, you were all but screaming to be devoured. 

Sweat dotted his brow. Maybe going with you was a mistake. Without a constant stream of food to distract himself, his thoughts were drifting to dark and unfamiliar territory. Even tucked under his arm, were you really safe? He swallowed the rapidly pooling spit in his mouth, chewing on the discomforting idea. 

"Well, this is my stop," You said, breaking the uneasy silence that had formed between you. Your hand hovered on the doorknob, but neither of you moved. He was certain you could read the distress all over his face. You were good at that sort of thing. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently, twisting the handle.

"I don't know," He replied, honest as ever, "I want to spend more time with you, but I'm worried."

"That you'll hurt me?"

He nodded, "Or worse."

You seemed to consider his words carefully. You studied his expression, though what you were searching for was unclear. Finally, you shrugged as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

"I'm not worried," You said, pushing open your bedroom door, "I trust you."

___

Beel loved his family. He loved you. 

But he could stand for there to be more of you. 

It was his single-minded focus, and had been since… since however long it had been that you'd allowed him into your room, he supposed. 

You entered first. You showed your back to him and he went after you, blinded by instinct. Time was fuzzy after that. Later, Beel would go through and make sense of things. Right now, with your cunt squeezing him so deliciously, the only semi-coherent thought in his head was breeding you over and over and over again. 

"More, one more," He slurred almost apologetically. If he could feel the satisfaction of cumming deep inside your tight little body just one more time, then he would be sated. Maybe. Probably. 

You were like jelly, eyes rolled back, reduced to wordless noises while he bounced you on his cock. Your arms hung loose around his neck, legs locked around his waist. Dark marks bloomed across your skin, purple bruises in the shape of hands and teeth despite his best efforts to keep your trust. It took everything he had not to break your soft, salty skin when he tasted you. He mouthed at whatever exposed flesh he could reach, desires and intentions blurring hopelessly together into a confusing mess. 

You fell against him with a pathetic cry as another orgasm was pulled from your poor, overstimulated body. You were trembling uncontrollably. He curled protectively around you, kissing your sweat-slicked temple and murmuring sweet praise that bubbled up through his mental haze. You were taking him so well, please, just one more for him, please, one more so he could make absolutely sure you wound up carrying his babies- and why stop at one? You were going to be gorgeous pregnant, working so hard to make their family even bigger, giving him even more people to love. Fuck– he couldn't get enough of you. 

He felt a tightening in his core that signaled he was close. He held you in place, bottoming out when he bucked up into you. Stretched obscenely full, your walls pulsed around him, milking his cock for all he could give. You groaned something that sounded like his name muffled into his chest, your desperate keening triggering his own release. His previously rhythmic grunting built into a low growl as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep into your already stuffed cunt. Beel let out a small whine feeling some of his seed dripping out around him. It wasn't fair. It all belonged to you. 

A brief moment of clarity washed over him in the wake. He knew you were tired- exhausted, actually, judging by your adorable fucked-out expression. That was okay, he could help. He'd get you cleaned up and into fresh pajamas before taking you upstairs to rest together in his bed. 

Consequences be damned, he was going to keep you close. He knew Belphie wouldn't mind. Besides, what if he needed more later? 

[laladellakang]

burgundy lipstick

masterlist | wattpad

italics dialogue = english

how the dark blood: engene ver. photocard shoot played out

real quick! i personally don't think that neck kisses have to be racy, like a peck to the neck is brief and innocent 

but the one i'm referring to in heeseung's relationship with della is the racy one, whoops.

The Dark Blood, Engene's version album. The most anticipated version among fans and the Enhypen members themselves.

The source behind the members' excitement? A neck-kiss that was supposed to take place.

For the photocard, all members but Niki were set to bear a kiss mark on their neck, with Della's lips serving as the boys' human-stamp and whoever wins rock-paper-scissors as Della's.

Yet the execution was cut short. Very short.

"Kiss here?" Della pointed at the side of Jungwon's neck. The first person appointed was decided by the staff. Perhaps Jungwon was chosen because he was the leader.

His coming-of-age could be an alternate reason. Since he is a recent adult, the staff wanted to check if it works with him.

And of course, there's always a possibility of the choice being completely random.

"Yup, just there. Maybe have it slightly askew," as the creative director and Della discussed placements, the young leader grew more nervous at the thought of his first ever neck-kiss.

"Okay, understood," Della mirror-lessly smeared on a burgundy lipstick, smacking her lips at the camera pointed at them. The rest of the members were all watching from afar, trying to be subtle with how excited they are for their turn. "Ready, Wonie?"

"Mm," Jungwon stretched out his neck for easier access. "Della is gonna make a kiss print on my neck," he explained to the future photoshoot sketch viewers.

"We're all friends here," Della clarified. "This is just bros being bros," as if their fans (or anyone) is gonna believe that.

"It's just a print," Jungwon added, immediately holding his breath when Della's head moved close.

"Like this?" Della asked the creative director.

"Uhh..." he stepped back and thought of it for a second. "It might be too sexy actually. It's a little too... suggestive– too grown up" he hissed with a tilt of his head. "Will buttoning up his shirt help? Jungwon, can you button your shirt?" but even with the slight change in wardrobe, the view was just too provocative.

"I think we have to discard the kiss idea and just switch to vampire bites," the creative director decided. "Unbutton them to how it was before and I'll inform the makeup team of the change. Please scrap this from the video," he informed before walking away.

As a leader, Jungwon was just hoping that his hyungs could get it together and not openly show their disappointment.

"I'll get going now," Della bowed her head and left to join the other members.

"What happened?" Sunghoon asked the girl. 

"The kiss thing is scrapped. We're getting vampire bites instead," immediately after, the boys let out a chorus of 'ahh..'s. 

Jungwon barely managed to hold in a scoff. It's just one tiny neck kiss, what's the big deal?

"Ya– how can they just cancel the kiss after testing it out on Jungwon?" Sunghoon groaned and threw his head back. After the shoots, all eight members were left alone in the green room to prep themselves before heading off, and it seems like the oldest five still held some unresolved feelings.

"They said it was too suggestive and sexy," Jungwon explained. "We all agreed that it is, didn't we?"

"I knowww, but couldn't they just make all of us get the mark first and THEN have it removed?" Sunghoon replied. "And while they're at it, NOT remove it from the behind episode?"

"Why? What difference does it ma–" Jungwon was cut off by Jay.

"It's easy for you to say! You were first up!" he pointed with a grin. Sometimes It's hard to tell whether he's actually serious with the second maknae. He usually gives out a smile while saying certain things. "You could quickly snap a few selfies and post it on Weverse or something. What a missed opportunity."

"What?" Jungwon seriously, truly did not understand what the big deal was.

"That's why I should've been first– they should've gone by age or something." Heeseung added with a sigh, manspreading on the sofa. "Della, darling, come here please," he pat his lap. 

"No, you're staying here," Jake wrapped his arms around Della, who was already on his lap. "Hyung, if we went by age then Jungwon will be first anyway since he's leader."

"That's not what he meant." Sunoo pushed Jake lightly with a giggle. "Like actually just age without consideration for leader."

"Ah is that so?" Jake monotonously said. "I want a lipstick print in public mannn!" he groaned out loud.

"I already imagined mine to be around here," Sunoo stretched his collar to show his collarbone. "What do you think, hyung?"

"It doesn't matter what we think if you're not getting it at the end of the day," Sunghoon replied, smirking at the pout the younger let out. "I imagined mine to be near my throat."

"Well it doesn't matter when you're not getting it at the end of the day!" Sunoo fired back with wide eyes.

"Ish!" Sunghoon balled up his fist with a grin. "Ya–"

"I wanted mine to be here, kinda," Heeseung distracted the two by pointing on the spot under his ear, just where Jungwon got his.

"Isn't that your sweet spot?" Jake asked. Della immediately scoffed out a laugh at his remark.

"How do you know where Heeseung-oppa's sweet spot is?" she laughed. The female member will never stop teasing her boyfriends about their never-fully-straight behaviour. 

"Anyways! I wanted mine around–" Jake tried to change the subject.

"Aish, get over yourselves, hyungs! I wasn't even set to get one," Niki laid his head on Heeseung's lap. "Stop being so horny," ever since he learned the Korean word for 'horny, he's been constantly using it to tease the older members.

"We're not!" the hyuppas and Sunoo protested.

 "With no mark on me, I was gonna look left out of the relationship," Niki muttered and closed his eyes.

"We're sorry, Niki," "We're really sorry, we didn't mean to," the members apologised.

"It's totally cool. Besides, if it's the neck kisses you're after, you could all just ask Della for one like any other day, simple as that."

"Of course! You need to give me some once we get home!" Sunghoon pointed at Della.

"Ya, ya, ya– me too! I want neck kisses too!" Jay sat up straight.

"Of course! You can't just leave any of us out!" Heeseung added.

"Why are you leaving me out then-" Niki was cut off by Sunoo.

"It's not your time yettt." he whined.

During times like these, Della usually stays out of the bickering. She can easily put a stop to it, but where's the fun in that?

Without a word, she got off of Jake's lap and made her way over to Niki, where she placed a chaste kiss on his neck.

"YA, YA, YA, YA, YA! What is happening?!" as his hyungs protested, Niki cheered and pulled Della in for a cuddle. Jungwon, Della and Sunoo were the only ones laughing.

'My men are absolutely adorable,' Della thought.

"You're laying on my lap and you do this to me?!" Heeseung playfully yelled at Niki.

"Maknae on top! Maknae on top!" Niki laughed, pointing at Jungwon and himself. Jungwon clapped his hand as he laughed aloud.

Being up first for the shoot has its perks.

accidentally posted my draft for this and deleted the original ask

check out jungwon’s pov here! (15+? 16+??)

taglist! @afiaaaa19 @riikiblr @i90snoo @one16core @danyxthirstae01 @seulgifted @clar-iii @hiqhkey @nichmeddar @jiwlys @duolingofanaccount @nvmbheart [@studioreader @sarang-wonie @fairydosii @hoonstrology @jaetint @4sahii @8-itsmee-8 @toriluvsfics ]

[cydanite]

"You remember that you are a distinct being with a finite form and a mortal body."

!!SPOILERS for the ending of StP!!

Concept sketch for my interpretation of Slay the Princess’s protagonist. I like the canon vagueness of his design, but I came up with a concept I wanted to explore c:

He has 2 pairs of wings, one on his head and one on his back. The "Narrator", in trapping him, clipped his wings and disguised them as hair and a cloak. Best to not to give any reminder that flying out of the woods is even an option.

The smaller pair wrap around his head like hair, the few remaining primaries folding over each other as bangs. On the “thumb” of the wings are birds feel, decoratively chained together. Don’t be fooled into thinking that chain isn’t meant to hold, though.

The larger pair drapes limply off his shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened by an X shape. You know the one, when people are lazy with drawing medieval clothing (myself included) we use it as a closure, a formless cross drawstring. You don’t question it when you see it. You wouldn’t suspect it’s two massive metal staples puncturing his flesh.

He can’t see his wings for what they are, so he doesn't feel through them. Not until he can manage to remember...

.

.

.

.

(also i wrote a snippet hehe)

.

The Narrator: The pain is threefold.

First comes stiffness, an ancient ache creeping in from the edge of your perception.

Awareness of this newfound sensation latches on to your mind and pulls, quickly fracturing into a sprawling map of new body parts.

It’s your hair. It hurts, in ways hair shouldn't be able to hurt. Every fiber protests against you despite being just hair mere moments ago.

The fabric of your cloak betrays you as well. You're inescapably aware of the space you now take up. New, itching, uncomfortable, ugly sensations form all down your back.

Voice of the Hero: It's like we just regained blood circulation there. We're being stabbed a thousand times over.

The Narrator: It doesn't end there. Injuries that previously gone unnoticed now make themselves known. You recall running sharp fingers through your hair. Only now can you feel the dried blood. You would've taken better care of that cloak if you'd known it was made up of you.

Voice of the Hero: But what's happening to us?

The Narrator: The web of pain maps out its shape. Two pairs of feathered wings become part of your body once again.

Voice of the Hero: 'Once again'... having wings makes sense, I suppose. But how could we have forgotten this? It seems so inescapable now.

The Narrator: But as you go to reign motor over your limbs once again, the third pain rears it’s ugly head… cold, harsh metal digs into your flesh.

It pins your limbs in their poses. A tiny set of cuffs pull small wings taught around the circumference of your head.

The closure of your "cape" is two enormous staples, staked through your flesh and clamped down hard. There's no blood here, the wound long since healed.

...Who or whatever did this to you, it was never intended to be removed.

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should keep more vigilant in the future. If we can't trust our own body... I don't want to think about it more than we have to.

[thatfreshi]

Little Stars and Such (Astarion x Reader)

It's here, the piercing fic, in which body-modded Tav gives Astarion hella piercings. I made a previous post with his piercing map in case you guys don't know the terms (I basically didn't until yesterday)

Tw - needles, implied sex

Recommended Song: Gregg's Woods - Alec Holowka

For the past couple of days, Astarion has been asking quite a few questions about your piercings. You had adorned your nose and face in tiny pieces of metal, all done by hand. Your little collection has grown over time, most recently with an eyebrow piercing once you settled down in Baldur's Gate once again.

"Do they hurt?"

"Like, when you pierce them? Yeah. You get used to it though. Surprised you don't have any honestly, elves are known for having the most elaborate piercings."

He stays silent for a moment, and you realize he wouldn't know that.

"Wasn't exactly a thing Cazador just let us do. Body modifications were mostly limited to demonic scars and being cut up for fun."

"Right... sorry."

"Don't be."

The conversation ended pretty abruptly, but picked up the next day while you were swapping out your nose ring.

"Do you ever get scared that your little ring will get caught on something and rip out of your nose?"

A sudden question, but a welcome one.

"I mean, sometimes, but not many people are that close to my nose. Unless you're planning on ripping out my piercing?"

You eye him suspiciously and he smirks.

"Oh, I would never."

This goes on for days, little prodding questions about all your accessories. One morning, while the two of you are lying in bed, you catch him staring at the helix on your ear.

"Astarion do you... do you want a piercing? Because I can do them. I mean I did these to myself."

"I've been thinking about it. I'm just a little nervous is all."

"Why my love?"

"I mean, I've never really had the freedom to do what I want with my body, in a lot of ways. That's one of those things I never got to explore, all the body modifications people are oh so familiar with. I suppose I could've done one with an embroidery needle if I was desperate, but that's just not something I had the liberty to think about."

You move a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you have the freedom to do whatever you want now."

"Then perhaps I'd like a couple."

"A couple? You don't wanna start with one?"

"Nonsense! One would be sad and pathetic, and we know I am a man of extravagance."

"Alright, if you insist."

You then grab a notebook sitting on the bedside table, and begin to draw out a plan for his piercings. Astarion insists that he only wants them on his ears, because he doesn't want anything to ruin his perfect face. As you're sketching, you continue to talk.

"You know this is gonna suck, right? Since your ears are so sensitive?"

"Sensitive? What makes you say that."

You blankly stare at him until he gives up.

"Okay fine, but I'm sure it can't be that bad!"

"I don't know. I mean I'm going to stab multiple holes through your ears. You barely like them being touched."

"I've been through enough pain. Nothing compares to jagged cuts in your back, I promise."

There are many moments like that, where he says something tragic that you just can't bring yourself to argue with. Without another word, he curls up against you, and the two of you discuss the options he has. Eventually, you settle on five on each side, because he INSISTED they be symmetrical.

"Tav, what kind of idiot would I look like if I had one ear with a bunch of shit on it, and one just, empty?"

"I guess you're not wrong."

He decides on two helixes, two lobe piercings, and a daith. You're a little surprised that he's going all out on this, but you don't mind. Everyone has that thing that lets them feel free, the thing they finally do to show the world 'I'm my own person.' Besides, if he didn't like them he could simply let them heal back up, forget this ever happened.

You go to grab your little makeshift piercing kit, full of fine needles you've collected over time, just in case you ever lose some.

"Now, you'll have to wear some of mine since you don't have your own earrings yet, but I'm sure you won't mind because my collection is amazing."

He sits up in bed, his shirt sleeve softly draping off his shoulder. If he could still be in the sun, you'd imagine a beam of light coming through the window right now, illuminating his face. You sit beside him, gently placing the box of needles by your feet.

"Alright, I'm gonna walk you through this as I do it, and if you want to stop at any time we can."

"Thank you my love."

The thought crosses your mind, that he'd probably not let any other soul on the planet do this kind of thing. Any time he's let someone else have control over his body, it's been riddled with sin and scars. But you? You've always been kind, soft, present. That's one thing he loves most about you, that he feels like he can be present. Not drifting off somewhere else, not closing off his mind to defend himself, not playing a chess match in his head. It's, easy. Life is easy now, and isn't that something wonderful?

"Alright, we're gonna start on the lobe. You feel the needle?"

You hold it lightly against his ear, and he shivers a little.

"Mhm."

"Alright, don't tense, but it's gonna hurt."

You hear the air escape through his teeth as the needle goes through. A pretty clean job if you do say so yourself.

"Well?"

You put in a dangling gold moon, waiting to see how he feels.

"Painful, but not horrible."

"Want to go again?'

"Of course."

He says it a little suggestively, and you give him a playful push.

"Save it for later imp."

You continue with his piercings, taking small breaks in between for conversation. You've continued adorning his ears with astral-themed jewelry, little stars and such. By the time you've finished the last one, you're quite pleased with your work. Astarion almost doesn't let you put the last earring in since he's so excited to see what you've done. He had Gale teach him mirror image a while ago, so he could finally see his reflection whenever he wanted. After casting it and giving his ears a look, he smiles.

Astarion laughs at your comment, giving one of those genuine smiles you used to rarely see. You silently curse the people that took that smile from him, wondering how anyone could see this specimen and torment him. He's like a pixie, a little trickster, someone you could pick up and hold forever. You know you're probably the only one who sees him that way, the only one who would call him cute, but he is. He enjoys it, being viewed as something that isn't devious or sexual, but a bright presence. You told him once how it's ironic that he can't be in the sun, because he was probably sunnier than the sun itself. He'd never let you tell anyone else that though.

"I... I think I quite like them."

"I do too. It's fitting."

You plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Worth the pain?"

"Most things are my love. Like you."

His hand meets your face, taking you into a deep kiss. When you break away, you whisper in his ear.

"I think they make you sexier too."

A chuckle under his breath, lips meeting again, and the morning is soon wasted away in bed. What a joy, to wake up every day with him, with someone living their life anew. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Neither of you know, but it's exciting none-the-less.

[least-carpet]

'replacing jc in someone's affection' I am crying! wwx doesn't do it once but twice! It's fascinating! Also, this makes me understand why some people, reading the novel, come to the conclusion that wwx doesn't care anymore about jc. Yeah, it's a valid interpretation!

Listen, I just rotated, and rotated, and rotated this scenario (—because, like, both child and adult Wei Wuxian are sincerely in need of support and affection, but I think receiving it as a child while it was withheld from someone he loved, what might have seemed like taking it away from someone who also needed it, also contributed to his boundary problems and self-sacrificial tendencies and eventual resentment—like he needs it but it hurts someone he loves deeply when he gets it but he still needs it, how can he reconcile these conflicting truths?? OK I will stop now—) and, uh, have a tiny little sketch of that zhanchengxian fic concept below, with which I will exorcise my sad past chengxian/past zhancheng/current wangxian thoughts.

It was going to be a perfect triple triple drabble but I needed 80 more words in the centre section to describe Jiang Cheng's tears. You know how it is.

Pursued by Lesser Ghosts

At first he was busy and grateful for it.

Then, Jin Ling settled, elders cowed, sect in order, Jiang Cheng was forced to returned to Lotus Pier. Empty, now.

His sect ran as it always did. He slept poorly. He dreamed often. He walked up and down the pier at night, pursued by lesser ghosts, echoes of people who were alive, just gone. His own life closed around him as tight as any noose, one long merciless sequence of work, sleep, work.

He had a minor qi deviation.

“Go back to dual cultivation,” said the doctor.

“That’s no longer possible,” he said.

The doctor looked up. When Jiang Cheng didn’t say anything else, she said, “Well. Come here for acupuncture once a week. Consider visiting Jin Ling.”

Relax, she didn’t bother to say.

Jiang Ping, his one surviving cousin, took tea with him, and said: “I know things have been stressful. Perhaps you would consider marriage now?”

“I didn’t think marriage was relaxing,” said Jiang Cheng, drily.

“It can be. After everything, well… it’s nice to have someone there.” Jiang Ping looked up, thinking. “Having someone there and working a lot. I don’t think it’s possible for Sect Leader to work harder, so you’ll have to try the other thing.”

Jiang Cheng let out a snort despite himself. Jiang Ping grinned at him.

He could get married, he supposed. What was there to prevent him?

He didn’t call for a matchmaker. He worked harder, kept himself so busy he could hardly think, but at night, laying in his bed, he ached with loneliness before sleep. And in sleep, he saw them, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian both, invariably walking away from him, hand in hand.

Sometimes he was silent; sometimes he called to them. It didn’t matter. They never turned around.

-

In Wei Wuxian’s dream, it was high summer, air as thick as syrup, and he was lying under the trees along the riverbank with his head in Jiang Cheng’s lap.

Above him, Jiang Cheng was eating tanghulu. Playfully, Wei Wuxian opened his mouth like a baby bird, and Jiang Cheng, rolling his eyes, took a piece of fruit and fed it to him, red and almost glowing. His index finger brushed against Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

Sometimes, he dreamed and he didn’t know whether it was just a dream or a fragment of a memory. He thought this might have happened—he faintly remembered begging Jiang Cheng to let him rest his head in his lap, across his narrow, muscled thighs.

Suddenly it was night, and Jiang Cheng was gone.

“Jiang Cheng?” called Wei Wuxian, and found his voice was a child’s voice, high-pitched and nervous. “Jiang Cheng?”

He rushed through Lotus Pier, now dark and empty, towards Jiang Cheng’s room. Then, in the way of dreams, Jiang Cheng was in front of him, a child again, too, face swollen with tears as he wept alone on the pier.

Wei Wuxian froze, panicked.

Someone picked him up; Uncle Jiang had appeared. But instead of saying anything, he turned and walked away. “Uncle Jiang,” Wei Wuxian whispered, but Jiang Fengmian didn’t respond.

All Wei Wuxian could do was look over Uncle Jiang’s shoulder at Jiang Cheng, at his crumpled, sobbing face. You don’t understand, he thought, suddenly, I love you but I need this, I need it, I need it.

That face changed again, blurred into Jiang Cheng's adult face, still weeping as he knelt on the pier. And then the strong arms around him weren’t Uncle Jiang’s but Lan Zhan’s, holding him tight in a bridal carry, taking him away as he squirmed to look back, to not look away from Jiang Cheng’s face, they had been so happy only a moment ago—

Wei Wuxian woke late, his face wet. Went to look for a handkerchief. Opened a drawer he hadn’t looked in before to find: two purple hair ribbons. An open jar of salve, carved with the insignia of a well-known Yunmeng herbalist. And a lavender handkerchief, embroidered with a little frog. Wei Wuxian traced it gently with his thumb.

-

The day was a little crisp, but bright and beautiful. Lan Wangji had risen at the appointed time, eaten breakfast serenely with the sect, and taught some advanced guqin lessons. Lan Sizhui was coming along beautifully, playing more delicate and precise every day, a delight to teach.

Everything was just as it should be in the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Wangji was still somehow uneasy.

He had gained everything he had dreamed of as a teenager, in one bewildering fell swoop. His life had been overturned, but for the better, the man he had wanted for so long delivered to him on a silver platter. He was unbelievably lucky.

Of course, he grieved what had happened to his brother. Lan Xichen deserved only good things. It was bitter to find out someone you had loved so deeply had deceived you—had failed you—had abandoned you.

But with the exception of that dark spot, the suffering and absence of his brother, his life was everything he had ever asked for, wasn’t it? A pristine life, on the surface.

If there was a dark shadow underneath, the ripple of something passing through a lake on a sunny day—something slipping out of an incautious hand, lost to the water—that too was life, wasn’t it?

He had never been so happy in his life. He had never before been so happy in his life, as he had once imagined it.

He averted his eyes from that shadow.

Until, one day, he returned home, and found Wei Ying, sitting at the room’s low table, holding a handkerchief in one hand. Remnants of a different life that had collected in his home. No—that he had kept. Gripped tightly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, brightly, face stretched in a brittle smile. “What’s this?”

[mymegumi]

SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

[mochinek0]

Love Ballads-Ch.2

START

"Hello, Adrien!" chimed Lila, placing the call on speaker, "Are you as excited for today's date as much as I am?"

"Hello, Lila." Adrien acted, "Yes. I'm excited, as well."

Lila smile grew as she looked in the mirror. She had chosen the perfect dress to make him fall for her.

"I can't wait to see all our friends again." Adrien smiled, knowingly spoiling her plans.

"What?" she asked, dropping her mocha lipstick.

"Yeah, it's already been approved by Father." the model continued, "Every Saturday is couples night with our friends from College."

"Really?" asked Lila, as she started to bite on her thumbnail.

"Yep." Adrien smirked, "Nino suggested it."

"Who else is going?" she asked, staring at her tangerine dress.

"I don't know really, just that it's mostly couples." he stated, "Anyways, I just texted you the address. I'll meet you there."

"Oh?" she whined, "You're not picking me up? Boyfriends really should-"

"No, I have to leave early. I have a shoot at dawn, but you're welcome to catch up with everyone. I can't wait! " Adrien replied, before hanging up on his supposed girlfriend.

'How could he just ruin my plans like this? He was suppose to be a good boy and pick me up for our date! He was suppose to take me to dinner so I could show all of Paris he's mine! I can't even dress up, but I can't go casual either. Time to make Agreste Jr see what he's missing out on.'

"Casual yet flirty." she smiles, putting together her new outfit.

"Adrien, Bro!" Nino cried as he pulled his best friend into a hug.

"It's good to see you too, Nino!" replied Adrien with a hug.

"So where's Lila?" Nino asked, breaking the hug.

"She's on her way. I got a shoot at dawn so I thought it was better to come separate. I didn't want her reunion with you guys to be cut short on my account." the model smiled.

"Hey, Sunshine!" called Alya, enveloping him into a hug as well.

Soon everyone was pulling him into a hug until only Marinette was left.

"Hey, Marinette." Adrien smiled.

"Hey, Adrien." she smiled in return, "It's good to see you again."

'No stutter? When did that happen?'

Suddenly, he was enveloped by the scent of lilies and rain as she hugged him.

"You too." he smiled, faintly recalling his mother, "What have you been up to?"

"Um, university." She mumbled, "I'm in the fashion program."

"I knew your sketches were amazing!" Adrien grinned, "Are you here alone?"

"Oh! Um, no. I-I came with Nathaniel." Marinette answered.

"Oh. Um, that's nice." murmured the young model, only to receive a nod, "How long?"

"Four months?" she questioned.

"So, it's still new?" he asked.

"Yeah, thought I'd give it a shot." Mari shrugged, receiving a curt nod in return.

"Alright; it's time for the duet!" cried out Alya.

Everyone groaned in response.

"Oh, stop it! We do this every week. So, who's starting?" she asked, looking around the room, "Sunshine, you're up."

"I don't have-" he began.

"Mari, join him." interrupted Alya.

Marinette groaned, but still got up from her seat. Adrien and Marinette took the stage and grabbed a mic.

"Babe!" hissed Nino.

She shushed him. Alya ignored the looks thrown her way from everyone else. Yes, she knew that Marinette was technically seeing Nathaniel, but she also knew her girl wasn't in love with him. Maybe, a tiny part of her hoped, now that they were older, Adrien would finally see how amazing Marinette was.

"So, how do we do this?" Adrien questioned.

"Hit the random button and we sing whatever comes up." Marinette answered.

"Okay." he replied.

'That's simple enough.'

They watched as the song list shuffled rapidly before settling on 'Why Don't You Love Me'.

Adrien noticed the petite designer freeze up and the room became silent.

"Um, is-is this okay?" the model asked, confused by the air in the room.

"Uh, ye-yeah." she replied, taking a deep breath. Marinette turned and smiled at him.

"Ready?" Mari asked.

"Yep." he smiled.

Adrien closed his eyes and gulped. It was his first time singing in front of his friends.

'I can do this.'

See , I can't wake up

I'm living a nightmare,

That keeps playing over again

Locked in a room so hung up on you and you're cool with just being friends,

Left on the side lines,

Stuck at a red light,

Waiting for my time and I can't see

When the duet began, Adrien turned his head towards his partner and smiled as Marinette sang beautifully along with him. She belted out the melody, perfectly.

Why don't you love me,

Touch me,

Tell me I'm your everything

'Wow. Marinette's just as amazing as always.'

The air you breathe,

And why don't you love me,

Baby,

Open up your heart tonight,

'cause I could be all that you need,

Oh,

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

As Marinette began to sing her part, Adrien found he couldn't look away from her.

See I'm just to scared to tell you the truth,

'cause my heart, it can't take anymore.

Adrien took a step back, as she suddenly turned and looked at him as she sang. Suddenly, it was like she was only singing for him. It was hard to fight the blush that was trying to take over his face.

Broken and bruised,

Longing for you and I don't know,

What I'm waiting for.

Left on the side lines,

Stuck at the red light,

Waiting for my time,

Taking a deep breath, Adrien returned the melody with as much passion as she did.

So just tell me,

Why don't you love me.

Adrien couldn't help but smile, as a blush overtook her face when he sang back to her.

Touch me,

This time her eyes were on him.

Tell me I'm your everything

The air you breathe,

And why don't you love me,

Baby,

Open up your heart tonight

'cause I could be all that you need

Oh

Why don't you give me a reason?

Give me a reason

Please tell me the truth

Please tell me the truth

You know, that I keep believing

I keep believing

'til I'm with you

Adrien slowly reached out and grasped Marinette's hand.

Why don't you love me?

Startled, Marinette quickly looked at their hands, before returning her gaze back at him. Only when she looked up, she found he had closed the gap, bringing their hands to his chest.

Kiss me

She couldn't help but look away.

'Why does it feel like I'm begging for a kiss?' she wondered.

I can feel your heart tonight

It's killing me (killing me)

So why don't you love me?

Touch me

Tell me I'm your everything

The air you breathe

And why don't you love me?

Baby?

Open up your heart tonight

'cause I could be all that you need

Oh

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

As the song ended, Marinette quickly set down the microphone and hurried to her seat. She took a deep breath as she calmed her traitorous heart.

'It wasn't a confession; I have Nathaniel! I can't fall for Adrien again! This is suppose to be my time to get over him!'

Confused, Adrien sets down his mic on the stand. As he went to his seat, he noticed Alya looking at her phone.

'Was I that bad?'

"Congrats, Man! You killed it with that song!" Nino claimed, clapping him on the back.

"You both harmonized beautifully." stated Luka.

Mari blushed in response and took a sip of her drink. Luka had never said that about her and Nathaniel. She decided it was best to ignore him, missing Alix elbowing him in the ribs.

"Hey, I found someone." called Nathaniel as he entered the room.

"Adrien!" Lila cried, throwing her arms arounf him.

"Lila?" he questioned.

"I tried calling you when I got here, but-" she sniffed.

'I completely forgot she was coming. I was having fun, too.'

"She was a little lost and once she mentioned Nino, I figured she was with us." intervened Nathaniel, while Lila buried herself in Adrien's shirt.

"Thanks, Nathaniel. Sorry, I had the first song so none of us heard my phone go off." Adrien winced.

Lila took a look around the room. It really was people from their college days, including Marinette. Lila smiled in Mari's direction, as she hugged Adrien tighter. Marinette rolled her eyes in response to Lila's childishness. Adrien sighed at the girl's actions towards each other.

'Right, they never got along. Marinette was the only other person who figured out Lila's a scheming manipulator.'

"It's so nice to see everyone again!" greeted Lila.

Adrien ignored the excitement in the room, as Nathaniel went over to Marinette and took the seat next to her.

Five more songs were sung before the alarm on his phone went off.

"Sorry, everyone." Adrien stated as he stood up, "I have to head out. I have a shoot at dawn."

"Yeah, better get your beauty sleep, Model Boy." teased Alya.

Everyone quickly pulled their old friend into a hug.

"Do you still play?" asked Luka, as he patted him on the back.

"Yeah." the model answered.

"We should try and jam on one of your off days." Luka insisted.

"Right, cause those exist." Adiren chuckled, "Maybe one of these Wednesdays, whenever we hit your place."

"Sounds great!" replied Luka, "Mind if I get your number?"

"Oh, me too!" cried Alya.

"Same!" shouted Ivan.

Soon everyone was inputting their number into his phone. Lila latched onto his arm as everyone played 'Pass the Potato' with his phone.

"Oh, I forgot the best part!" Adrien interjected, before she could try and talk her way out of it, "Lila is staying! She told me how much she was excited to see everyone again. Right?"

"Of course!" she smiled.

'Again! How does he keep ruining everything? It wouldn't have taken much to walk out to the car with him for some privacy and leave these losers here. At least I have a toy to play with. Time to go for the kill.'

"So, Marinette." Lila prodded, knowing that being with Adrien must be killing the so-called designer, "How long have you and Nathaniel been together?"

Marinette giggled, "Four months."

"What's so funny about your dating life?" she asked, catching Nathaniel attention.

"I can see why you and Adrien are going out." Mari answered, "You're so much alike."

"What do you mean?" Lila questioned.

"Adrien also asked about my dating life." Mari smiled, as Lila simmered in her anger.

'This is not how this was suppose to go!'

"Adrien asked about us?" asked Nathaniel.

"Yeah, well, you were in the restroom and he asked if I was here by myself. Once I told him I was here with you, he asked 'how long' as well." Marinette said, before clapping as Alya took the stage.

'Why would Adrien want to know about if Marinette was here by herself? He's dating Lila; a model! At least she didn't deny it, right?'

"Did you ask about us?" asked Lila, interrupting his thoughts.

"Nope. In fact I had no clue he had a date til you arrived. We sang the duet, at Alya's insistence. He sang since it was his first night and Nathaniel wasn't here." replied Marinette, as she looked at the drink menu.

Lila simmered throughout the night as her scheme crumbled. Marinette didn't seem remotely jealous of her relationship with Adrien Agreste. She was too busy dating the redhead. It made her sick to see them so affectionate with each other.

Marinette on the other hand was eager to get home. Nathaniel was acting weird. She wasn't one for PDA. They had held hands and she's kissed him on the cheek before rushing off to class, but for him to drape his arm around her...it was too much. Mari smiled and lowered his arm off her, before excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

TAGLIST: @meme991001 @stainedglassm @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @missmadwoman @abrx2002 @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

[r0swells]

hello! take some designs for an after-game PMTOK au i've had rattling around in my brain for a bit. More explanation under the cut :]

Okay so the basic premise is that a couple of months after the game something something star spirits cause the legion of stationary + Olly and Olivia get reborn as toads (except for like, 1.5 of them) and are dropped off unceremoniously in Toad Craftsman's front yard for him to deal with.

This was mostly an excuse so I could draw some Olivia interacting with everyone because we never got to see her hanging out with them and I plan to rectify that! Uh here are some design notes:

For all the LoS I really wanted to give them all different types of mushroom caps for fun so Colored pencils got a death-cap mushroom as theirs since I wanted something flat like their box. I wanted their design to be reminiscent of an art student since I thought it would be funny.

Rubber band's mushroom cap is a bunch of enoki mushrooms reminiscent of their little hair thing. I think they adjusted the best of the LoS to being a toad since they already took a pretty humanoid form when they were an office supply.

Hole punch's mushroom is a Morel mushroom since they have a bunch of holes and stuff. their hair is also supposed to look like cut up paper.

Tape has a button mushroom since I really didn't wanna distract from their hair and them having a really tiny hat seemed funny. Still the most loyal to Olly even though he literally has no powers anymore because its the FAMILY!

Scissors is an oyster mushroom since it looks kinda cut up. Also their Handaconda has been turned into one of the Underwhere hands from the river Stix. They're the one dealing the worst (besides Olly) with being a toad and keep trying to do flips and shit and failing.

Stapler is a chain chomp with really messed up teeth, thats it.

Olivia and Olly are just normal toads! Also Olivia is fine, she just spawned with the "cut" out on her cap, since she can't really wear her signature hat. Didn't really have to change much about their designs, they're already perfect. But as stated above, Olly is really not doing well being a toad, makes it really hard to make origami. I also think Olivia really doesn't like it either, she liked being who she was and this just feels wrong to her. it feels wrong to all of them tbh

I also tried my hand at an Origami craftsman design. I wanted him to kinda look like Olly and Olivia, having Olivia's hair texture, but Olly's color and shape. I've seen people head canon him to be really young and I totally agree, makes his mistake seem a little more driven by naivety then by deliberately going against what he should know. He's dealing...okay with having a bunch of people in his house.

+ some sketches

Yea the only ideas I have for plot is that Olly is trying to remake all the 1000 cranes again so he can turn them all back into their true forms and they can leave (the idea of taking over doesn't really appeal to him anymore) and go somewhere else. But there's also a time limit since the origami festival is happening soon and the Craftsman has to go to it and the others really don't know how everyone else might react to them. Also everyone only remembers up to when they die so colored pencils really has no context while Olivia knows mostly what happened. i like the idea that this creates some tension between Olly and the LoS who are questioning what happened to make him change his mind so drastically.

so yea if anyone has any ideas or questions send me an ask, I really like this au and really wanna talk about it :]

[thesparklingwriter]

misplaced jealousy

“You should have asked how I felt about this ‘tiny Childe’ before you let him take my place in your arms.”

word count: 1.2k

original ask

tags: gn reader, fluff

taglist | masterlist

When you told Childe that you planned to use your annual leave from work to get back to some crafting, he’d thought that it was a great idea. He’d asked around to find the best supplies possible, had them delivered to you in a neat little package, and waited patiently to hear whether you liked it or not. He knew he’d be at the bank when the delivery came, so he half expected you to come by and tell him about all the plans you had for each item.

But you’d been really quiet about it, and he worried that maybe the package had never made it to you, so he drops by to check it got delivered to the house. He opens the front door, expecting you to notice almost immediately, like you always did, but you don’t. In fact, for a few minutes, he’s convinced you’re not even home, until he decides to check your office.

“You know, if your inhumane ability to know when the door is opened is broken, you might have to look at locking the front door more often.” He says, as soon as he spots you hunched over your desk. You jump as soon as you hear him, but turning your attention away from your sketch seems to be a hard task.

“Jeez, Ajax, you scared the life out of me,” you say, as he reaches down to hug you. “What are you doing here?”

“I was concerned the craft supplies I ordered for you never made it,” He says. “So i thought i'd come by and check”

“You just wanted to slack off,” You laugh, putting your pencil down. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you came. I planned to come down to the bank to thank you myself, but I got totally distracted with ideas.”

“And those ideas are?” Childe asks, trying to get a glance at your paper, but you flip the paper over, glaring at him half heartedly.

“For me to know, and you to find out later.” You pull him into a hug, laughing as he tries to pull away from you and the kisses you plant on his face. “Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime,” he responds. He sits with you a little longer, trying his best to observe quietly, but failing miserably as he descends into peals of laughter at your attempt to draw a bunny. Or was it supposed to be a dog? He doesn’t know, and he never gets to find out, because you throw him out of your office and he finds himself forced to return to work.

He very quickly begins to regret his laughter at your sketch, because now he’s not allowed in the same room as you if you're making your plushies, and it just so happens that every minute of your day is consumed by your crafting activities. When he got home, you used to at least acknowledge his presence, but now, it's as if he comes home to an empty house.

To make matters worse, the only way he knows if you’re alive or not is if something goes wrong. And you seem to be so good at what you’re doing that he only ever hears you curse frustratedly once a day if he’s lucky. Sometimes you come out to eat dinner with him, and other times you fuel yourself on snacks and don’t leave your office until night when you tiredly crawl into bed next to him without a single word.

As much as he wants to march into your office and burn every single thing he bought so that you’d look at him again, he knows you deserve your own space, so he tries to find a hobby of his own. (It doesn’t work, and it only makes him miss you more.) 

After a week of feeling like he doesn't exist, he returns home, expecting to once again be met with a silent house.

“Oh, you’re back, great,” You say, getting up to hug him when you feel the sudden gust of air from the front door opening. “I need your opinion on something 'cause I think that Liyue has the spiciest food, but for some reason, my friend thinks Mondstadt does. Like has she even eaten Mondstadt’s food before?”

“So you’ve remembered I’m alive?” Childe mutters into your hair. You look up at him skeptically.

“I wasn’t that bad,” you scoff. “Was I?”

“You were horrendous.” he laughs. “But at least it’s over now.” He doesn’t dare ask you to see the finished product, in case it suddenly makes you decide to revisit the project. 

You apologise lightly, laughing at the face he makes when he’s forced to relive the past week in his mind. The rest of the night seems normal–you eat dinner together and spend the rest of the evening relaxing in each other’s company. You go to bed nestled up in Childe’s arms, the same way you usually do. 

Everything goes wrong in the morning, when he notices that you rolled away in the middle of the night, and is horrified to discover that you did so to cuddle the stupid plushie that’s been taking you away from him for the past week. He considers excusing it since the plushie is in his likeness, but in the end, he decides that it’s too much of an insult, and the minute your grip on it loosens, he grabs it and hides it in a wardrobe he knows you rarely go into.

Since it's a weekend, he busies himself with making breakfast to try and forget the ridiculous situation he finds himself in because it makes no sense to him. How is he literally getting replaced? And by a stuffed toy?

“Morning, Ajax,” You mutter sleepily, as you come down the stairs. “You’ve not seen tiny Childe, have you? He must have fallen off the bed at some point last night but he’s not underneathh it, so I have no clue where he’s gone.”

“I slept well, thanks, you?” He replies, focusing on the eggs he’s frying.

“Ajax.” You suddenly don’t sound sleepy at all, and Childe keeps himself firmly facing the stove. He quietly turns it off, just in case you decide that taking your plush is a crime punishable by death by flames.

“Yes?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re the worst liar ever. What did you do to tiny Childe?”

“You should have asked how I felt about this ‘tiny Childe’ before you let him take my place in your arms.”

“You are not jealous of a plush right now.”

“Maybe I am.” he scoffs. “Maybe it’s silly. But I maintain that until you atone for your misdemeanours, ‘Tiny Childe’ will never see the light of day again.”

“You’re joking,” Your attempts to hide how hard you're trying not to laugh fail miserably, and you can see Childe trying his best not to laugh either. But in the face of a completely ridiculous situation, what are either of you supposed to do?

“Fine,” you sigh, pulling him into a hug. “I apologise for giving my attention to something else, and I will never, ever do it again.”

“Much better.” Childe grins.

~~~

Bonus:

“You lasted way longer than I thought you would. I half expected you to break down my office door.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really thought it took me a whole week to make that?”

author's note: once again, another guy i haven't written for in a while lol

childe nation how does it feel to love a character that's favoured by the literal game devs

taglist: @tartigglez @aixaingela @thelonelyarchon

(crossed out @s couldn't be tagged)

[charliedawn]

Imagine Deadpool always being goofy around you but secretly trusting you more than anybody

Deadpool is, as usual, a whirlwind of awful decisions whenever he’s around you. He bounces in with finger guns, terrible puns, and his favorite “guess who” game (always tapping your shoulder from the wrong side). He throws around ridiculous pet names like “Buttercup” and “Snickerdoodle” and spends half the time doing terrible impressions or random dance moves just to see if he can get you to laugh.

But then there are moments—tiny, fleeting ones—when he lets his guard slip, and you see a flicker of something softer. Like when you’re both sitting in the middle of his post-fight mess, and he hands you the first aid kit with an awkward, "Hey, doc—patch me up ?" Or when he ‘casually’ invites you to join him on a job, insisting it’s only because he ‘needs someone to carry the snacks.’

One night, after a particularly close call, he actually opens up, sitting next to you in rare silence. He mutters a quiet, "Thanks for, you know, sticking around." Then he’s back to his usual self, laughing it off and talking about how he’s going to name his next bullet after you (in the most loving way, of course).

No one else gets to see that side of him, though; with everyone else, he’s always on guard, always deflecting with humor or sarcasm. But with you, he lets that mask slip—just enough to show that, deep down, he trusts you more than he’d ever admit. And even if he might not say it out loud, he knows you understand.

………………

"UUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH ! It's so boooorrriiiiinnnng ! Why isn't there any criminal trying to chop my head off ?!"

He asks and you smile at the impatient vigilante.

"Because, it's Saturday. Even bad guys can take a break from time to time…"

Deadpool lets out another dramatic groan, slumping against the wall as if he’s just received the worst news in the universe. "But Saturdays are prime crime time ! What happened to honor among thieves ? Where’s the commitment ?"

You stifle a laugh, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall beside him. "Maybe they’re on vacation ? Even villains need some self-care."

He rolls his eyes, pulling out a stray bullet and inspecting it for no real reason. "Villain self-care ? What, like mani-pedis and aromatherapy ? ‘Oh look at me, I’m a vicious warlord but I just had to take a spa day !’" He mimics an exaggerated fancy accent, waving his arms around for effect.

You shake your head, grinning. "Maybe they got tired of all the explosions and chaos and thought, ‘Hey, let’s try a quiet weekend.’ Who knows ?"

He sighs, crossing his arms with a pout. "Well, what am I supposed to do with all this pent-up energy ?" He glances at you with a mischievous grin. "C’mon, let's go out and do something reckless ! Or mildly reckless. Or, hey—wanna play ‘Hide and Seek’ on the rooftops ? Loser buys chimichangas !"

You laugh, knowing full well that Deadpool would take any excuse to drag you along on his misadventures, even on the most boring of Saturdays. "Fine, but no rooftops. How about we just grab the chimichangas instead ?"

He perks up instantly, the pout vanishing as if it never existed. "See, that’s why you’re my favorite ! Chimichanga adventure—let’s go !" He leaps up, offering you his hand like he’s about to escort you to the finest restaurant in town. "Saturday saved !"

You take his hand, and he pulls you up with an exaggerated flourish, bowing as if he’s some gentleman from another era. "My dear snuggle-muffin, tonight we dine…taco truck style !"

Laughing, you let him lead you outside, where he immediately starts rambling on about his ‘top-secret plan’ to one day create a chimichanga empire that will rival all fast-food chains. He even sketches out a logo idea in the air, claiming it would be like Taco Bell but with more ‘POW !’ and less ‘corporate.’

On the way, he’s darting around every street corner and alleyway, occasionally peeking into windows. "Still no villains lurking around… they’re really letting me down today," he grumbles, but his annoyance seems to fade as soon as you reach the brightly lit food truck. Deadpool claps his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Two of your most dangerous chimichangas !" he declares to the vendor, his eyes gleaming with an almost childlike joy.

As you both sit on a nearby bench with your food, Deadpool munches happily, occasionally tossing bits in the air and catching them in his mouth. After a few bites, he glances at you, his mask scrunched up slightly as if he’s about to say something serious. But then he just nudges your shoulder. "Y’know, this is almost better than fighting bad guys."

You give him a playful shove. "Almost ?"

"Fine, equally as good," he grins, taking another big bite. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, with just the city noise around you, and he looks at you with a sincerity that’s rare for him. "Thanks for sticking around, even on the boring days."

You smile back, knowing that under all the jokes and chaos, this goofy, unpredictable vigilante values you more than he lets on. "Anytime, Wade. Even on Saturdays."

He pauses, then pulls you into a one-armed hug, messy and warm. "Alright, alright—now hurry up ! Next round’s on me, and I’m feeling brave enough to try the spicy ones. Bring it on, Saturday !"

You laughed. Yeah…That promises to be a very good Saturday indeed.

[reborrowing]

a strange appearance, part seven

i was going to get farther with this chapter but fuck it I want to put something on the dash today that isn't. that.

Stranger Swap Masterpost | ao3 First | Prev | Next

word count: ~2100 cws: fear, angst, hunger

Phoebe

Magic was real and Phoebe hated it.

It shouldn’t be real. By its own definition, it couldn’t be real. If something existed in the natural world, then it was a part of the natural world, so it couldn’t supernatural. It might not be something she understood, but that was no reason to brush it off as some vague, inexplicable magic. It didn’t mean that there weren’t rules. It didn’t mean it couldn’t be studied.

And yet.

In the last week and a half, she couldn't come up with any explanation better than magic.

There was, of course, the first and extremely unlikely morning when she and Val had met. But she could nearly dismiss that away as some kind of hallucination or dream, like she’d initially thought. It was almost definitely what anyone else would suggest if she brought it up—if she could bring it up.

The only lasting evidence of her strange morning with Val was a tiny, delicately sewn bag filled with crumbs and lavender petals. There was a shirt too, but it looked like it could have been hand sewn for a doll. Too easy to explain away. Her bruises were fading. The articles she’d accumulated mentioned diminutive peoples, but never any shrinking. She couldn’t find Val themself or whatever other tools or modifications they had made to be able to get around her apartment. There was no sign of them coming back so she couldn’t figure out where they went to hide. They were gone.

What really killed her was that she couldn’t talk about it. That was what made her so certain that there was something exceptional and actually magical going on here. She’d agreed to keep Val’s secret, yes, but no one trusted Phoebe to keep a secret, at least not more than once. Her mouth had such a bad habit of running ahead without her thoughts and unfortunately, her mouth never remembered what was and wasn’t supposed to be private. But this time, she couldn’t say a single word to anyone about what had happened.

She tried. Not out of malice or any desire to hurt Val (…or any one else, assuming there were others. She wondered how many there were.) Every time she tried to bring up the topic with someone, she’d start choking or her conversation partner would get an urgent phone call or someone would just start speaking over her no matter how loud she got. Any text she tried to send about Val or the articles she’d found would fail to send. She tried to email the authors of the most recent articles she had found on sprites and got back error messages about invalid addresses. She even could email them about their other work without any problems. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that it was either the strangest string of unlikely coincidences she’d ever seen or actual magic.

So she kept their secret, against her will, along with a journal detailing what had happened as precisely as she could. She had her actual measurements and estimates of her temporary ones, rough guesses to Val’s sizes, an approximate duration, and the repeatedly annotated conclusion that none of it should have happened at all. She did her best to sketch them. She still wanted answers.

She tried more research, this time working with borrower as a keyword. She didn’t find much more than she had the first time, aside from another genre of irrelevant junk and fantasy worldbuilding discussions. She did find a server set up as if it were a whole network of borrowers that she thought might be real but it seemed just as likely it was just a bunch of really dedicated role-players. None of them broke character and when Phoebe had asked about basically anything, they banned her. No answers from them either. No answers anywhere. She hated it.

And it scared her.

If it had happened once, it could happen again, and she still had no idea why or how. What if it happened when she wasn’t home? When she had something important she needed to do? What would she do then? She was almost as afraid that it might not happen again, so she might never see Val again, and never get any answers. It would drive her insane, not being able to talk about it or learn anything more, but knowing beyond a doubt that it had been real. That she’d experienced something so rare and extraordinary and had hardly anything to preserve the memory, never mind share it.

She realized that the novel she’d loaded onto her phone had mysteriously changed into one of the half dozen articles she’d downloaded. Phoebe had them practically memorized at this point. She tossed her phone aside with a sigh. She didn’t remember what the story was even supposed to be about. She may as well grab her notes and get back to obsessing.

-

Val

Val waited by their kitchen exit until they were sure Phoebe was elsewhere. It was a torturous exercise in self-control, listening to her clean up the kitchen and seal away a warm, fresh meal while their stomach moaned and rolled. There was that one voice in the back of their head, the one they’d had nurtured for so long, begging them to just ask for mercy and play pet in exchange for good food. It had long since drowned out their natural instincts.

They thought about the pitying looks they’d been given during their brief stay with the colony. The disgust. Val hadn’t been wanted there but they could be better. They tightened their grip on their string ladder and waited. Phoebe kept her cupboards stocked well enough, they could find what they needed there without venturing back out into the greater apartment. They just had to be sure that she wouldn’t open a cupboard and find them sifting through her dry goods. Val had borrowed safely from her apartment for months. They could do this.

The sink drained loudly and within a few moments, the front of the apartment went silent as Phoebe left the kitchen. They descended the last few inches down their ladder and squeezed themself into a gap in the drywall that would drop them right onto the top shelf in the rightmost cupboard.

Their skin crawled as they surveyed the bounty below. Everything had been moved since they had last been here, including the tall storage bin they usually dropped onto. They considered the very real possibility that she had found this access point while she’d been looking for them. She could have had it sealed off. She could have left out traps. Would she go that far? Was that something Val needed to look out for? They hoped not.

They slipped off the ladder and started weaving their way through the walls of food packaging looking for something already open and easy to get into. They should’ve made a list of what they needed, but at this point they were out of just about everything, so they’d take what they could find.

Sealed, too unwieldy to open, sealed, too awkward to close…spices, cans… How cruel it was to starve in a world filled with excess food because the rest of the world was determined to keep it from creatures like you. Val wasn’t sure if they blamed humans for the packaging or the rodents for the disease—they didn’t like mouse shit in their own pantry either.

Eventually they reached a box of Ritz with one sleeve already open. They broke apart a cracker, stuffing most of the pieces into their bag and eating the rest. When that settled, they’d see about prying their way into the rice, since it was easy enough to carry more than a meal’s worth of grain back home.

Or, they could take a bigger risk and look for something fresh left out on the counter.

They were starting to feel better about everything now that they had something in their stomach. Bread or fruit or unnoticed scraps or maybe a rogue dish left uncleaned with gummy sauce or cooked something-or-other. They were pretty sure that she was in the bedroom, which meant they should have time to hide if even if she did get up and decide to come this way. They could go unnoticed even if she was awake.

They shoved the cupboard door open and peered down, relieved to see that her counter held as much clutter as usual (though it had all been wiped down and there were no spilled leftovers to be found) so they could hide if it turned out they needed to. Val anchored their earring hook around the cabinet's door-stopper and dropped a line of floss to slide down. They left it hanging in case they wanted to make a quick escape later.

They barely managed to search at all before they got distracted. In the distance, sitting on the desk in the dining cove nearby, Val’s own belongings caught their eye. The shirt they’d been wearing on that morning along with their best borrowing bag were sitting out in plain sight beside a stack of her schoolwork. They bit their lip. That might be a more worthwhile prize than stale food.

By the time they reached the desk, they were sure they’d had enough and needed to get back home to rest. They’d been out long enough that the open air was enough to fray their nerves and make them sick, even if they had had a full meal at some point in the last few days. They would quickly grab their things and slink back home again but of course, nothing could ever be easy.

Their heart sank when they grabbed their shirt; the stitches had been stretched out and deformed. They held the garment out in front of them to examine, to decide if it could be repaired, and that was enough time for their eyes to catch the words they were standing on. They stiffened and froze as if they’d felt a pair of eyes behind them. They were being watched. Observed anyway, even if indirectly.

The handwritten page they were standing on was about them.

They stepped down and carefully flipped through several more pages. The handwriting was hard to read and some of the lines were obscured by math formulas or more fancy academic words Val didn’t know, but they got the gist of it. The scratch pad was a record of their encounter with Phoebe along with notes from those awful articles. Drawings. Literal walls of text announcing Val’s existence and speculating on whatever details she didn’t know.

Fear and anger clenched their jaw. Had they really been stupid enough to think she wouldn’t give them up? That she wouldn’t try to hunt them down? They wanted to tear apart each word and haul it back into the between-spaces where humans couldn’t fit. They wanted to scream.

They started to tear apart the pages, but even that noise set their teeth on edge. She was just in the other room. They bit their lip and changed tactics, carefully pulling a pen from the holder nearby. It was longer than them, awkward and unwieldy, but so was everything. They dragged the ink cartridge to the notepad and tore it apart. It was messy, they probably stained themself as much as the paper, but it was effective enough. The paper curled as splatters of ink soaked through the damning words.

They couldn’t erase everything, not with just the one pen at least, but it felt so good to do something, to make their fate their own. The wrenching in their chest could breathe. They sighed and in an instant, the terror returned. The bedroom door creaked open. The hall light flicked on and flooded the area with electric light, silhouetting Phoebe at the other end. She took a step and froze as she caught them in their indulgent act of vandalism.

“Wh—Val?” she whispered, still processing what she was looking at. Her eyes widened and her voice raised in pitch and volume. “Oh my god, no!”

Val shook a rogue blob of ink off their hand and ran. They barely had a chance to make it to the edge of the desk in the time it took for Phoebe to cross the hall and reach them. Her shadow swallowed them whole as they squeezed themself through the crack between the wall and the desktop. Papers shuffled. She kept shouting.

They pressed themself as flat as they could and wormed their way down into a drawer to hide. Both of their bags fell to the floor behind them. Val landed in what felt like a bin of paperclips and sounded like something loud enough to drawer the host’s attention. They cringed and slid deeper into the drawer, knocking away another clinking cascade of office supplies. The cheap desk shuddered around them as her steps came faster and closer and Val backed themself into a corner.

-

taglist: @da3dm @whumpsday @gt-daboss @whumpinthepot (To be added/removed from the taglist please comment, ask, or message, I’ll forget if it’s just in the tags of a reblog!)

[phantombre]

Hi. I know you have three voices designed so far

But I drew them :)

Hope you like it^^

Aaaaaaaaaa!!!

My boyos! My precious boyos! Now even more precious!

Where do I even begin? Your art style tickles a part of my brain that goes "eee". Tiny Hero man is just adorable. Absolutely fantastic. :)

This one especially:

Ahhh! It's so endearing! I totally see this happening!

I suppose I should have seen this coming, considering I drew all of your guys...

Oh, yeah. I started reading your "Little Voices" fic... Oh, the artistic inspirations...

(Btw, I don't know if this was intentional, but I read the first four chapters while listening to the game's soundtrack. Each vessel track syncs up perfectly with the corresponding cabin in your story. (Spectre for Cold's cabin, Tower for Broken's, etc.) Highly recommend this. Makes it more immersive.)

Also, don't worry. More voices are on the way. Just have to finalize the designs, then on to sketch. :)

[mechazushi]

A bit of a Theory. {Kaiju Number 8}

So I've been spending some time sketching out this OC idea that I have and her whole thing is that she's like Kafka and is a half Kaiju. Her transformation is supposed to look like a mixture of Bakko (Mina's tiger) and Kaiju Number 8. I'm sitting here looking at the first take on the design and I'm hating it because it's just looking like a muscular Furry in a mask so I decide to add on some extra details to her Shoulders and Thighs/Waist to tie in the fact she's an offshoot of Kn8. As I'm turning design ideas in my head, I decide to have it take on a more samurai look as a sort of nod to the original host of the Kn8... bug? Dragonfly? Mini Kaiju? Progenitor? Progenitor. (From now on though, I'm just gonna use sonicsura's term for the thing and call it Tiny)

And I'm tossing the ideas around in my head and suddenly I'm thinking "Wait. Kafka doesn't have pauldrons in his design? And the Samurai does?" And now I'm wondering why that is? And the longer I'm thinking about it, now I'm wondering why he's wearing a suit in the first place?

(This is the only shot of the samurai that I can get off of Google images, apologies)

Now I can hear what you would be saying, "No shit he's wearing armor Zushi! He can't be caught by the public in that form, less they murder him on the spot!" I understand that is still very much the case and it's of course better to fight alongside a group of people when they aren't actively viewing you as a threat at the same time, so the armor in this case can help him blend into the crowd as he fights.

But hear me out for a second. Traditional samurai armor has a LOT of layers, and if they were wealthy enough (Which most were) they typically had a helper (Though, most were expected to have knowledge on how to put it on/take it off themselves) And I know we joke about Kafka's Kaiju form having a thick ass, but when paired with the idea of someone in that specific form, wouldn't it be difficult to don armor over an unusually shaped frame? Even if the armor was custom made and he had someone he trusted to help him put it on, I still think that the armor crafted would have a distinctly different look about it. So much so that I think that it would show up in history book, wouldn't it? You can't tell me that there wouldn't be a chapter dedicated to an oddly shaped samurai in and around the Meireki era that had notable displays of super strength and agility. He fought to help humans in their endeavor to protect humanity from the kaiju, he had to, at some point, do something crazy and superhuman considering we are just now seeing what that samurai went up against thanks to the latest chapter.

This is where most of my theory is. Kafka's Kaiju form didn't always look like that. My theory is that not only does Tiny function as a biological version of a Numbers suit, something happens at the point of the user's death and it absorbs whatever the user is wearing at that moment and recycles the fit onto the next user. I'm starting to think that in the first iteration of the human Kaiju form, it looked a lot different than what we have now. I'm leaning towards it looking something similar to the Colossal Titan from AoT.

No natural armor, just exposed, heightened muscle. That way, having the samurai armor makes more sense because now he has protection. Now he won't get injured as much as he taps into his super powers and can still move around easily AND blend in with the rest of the soldiers.

While we can't confirm for sure if the samurai is the only iteration of Kaiju Number 8, I'm going to again lean on the Numbers suit comparison and say that Kafka can only see the samurai due to 1) Tiny can sense what they're about to go up against and the Samurai is the most knowledgeable on the subject. Or it's most likely 2) The samurai is the most recent user and it has the easiest time coming to the forefront of Kafka's psyche. It should also be said that it's not said one way or the other whether or not Kaiju number 8, or more specifically Tiny, existed before Number 9's time, only that 8 really hates 9. I do want to point out something that I've noticed from the Kikoru verses 15 fight where she starts seeing her mother, that her mother is also wearing the Numbers suit. Which, I mean, sounds like another No Shit Sherlock situation, but I think it adds something interesting to the lore behind the suits

The suits can still "see" their wearer, even as a suit. While 10 is the only suit that can talk back, the others can, in a sense, invade the wearer's mind (Since the suits don't come with visors) and project an image of the previous wearer's actions, even down to what they were wearing at the time. Which, of course, makes sense because how could they if the suit isn't active any other time. Which brings me to my next question, "What if whatever Tiny is can do more than that?" If it already fundamentally changes the user into a Kaiju, core and all, who's to say it can't also absorb what they're wearing at the time?

And if that IS the case, why doesn't Kafka's Kaiju form look more like a samurai suit of armor instead of the glowing six pack that we get? Here's my ongoing thought. Let's assume for a second that the placement of the core doesn't change from User to User, since the placement of Kafka's core is centered around his heart (Thank you for the breakdown kujoestars). It can be confirmed via logic that the previous samurai is dead, but lets play with the how.

To kill a Kaiju, you hit its core, so to kill a Human shifting Kaiju, you hit its chest. What if the samurai got hit in the chest so hard, he not only died from it, it destroyed his chest plate. So when he died, the only thing that ended up getting absorbed at time of death was his helmet, his face mask, and his pants, leaving his chest open in the next iteration and thus revealing the glowing six pack we've come to love! (And some of us hate, but we ignore them because we don't care, it's glow-in-the-dark abs.)

I don't know about you, but I feel better having said this. Even if I'm going to be called crazy and be debunked seven ways from Sunday. And I'm also aware that this might not be the easiest to follow along, but all this is coming from some half formed thoughts that I had at the tail end of my work day, so excuse the shitty frame work.

(Bonus thought. If this is the case and Kafka dies (IN THE DISTANT FUTURE) he's probably more than likely going to be wearing the defense force suit. If the next reincarnation on n8 puts on a defense force suit (and we're assuming they're going to be even more technologically advanced at this point) what would happen? Would it still read a 0%, or would it give an Error 404 code and say something like "It is not advisable to wear one suit over the other" "Uuuhhh... they're not wearing another suit..." "Huh, that's weird, don't know why THAT could be happening. *Sweating bullets*"