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

[knightinink]

rat bastard goat man.

[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? 

[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

[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.

[sproouts-jpeg]

one piece straw hat post-ts redesigns part 4: monkey d luffy

i like him a lot he’s really cutie patootie! i didn’t have any qualms about his original outfit, i just wanted to apply my own style to it! ignore the weird scribbly inconsistent and maybe mildly overdone shading, i literally did it like 5 minutes before i made this post just cause i was messing around. and then i happen to like it more! i really should shade my work even if its just a sketch it helps with color contrast and vividness so much omg

what i wanted to do most, like my previous designs, is add influences from where he was during the time skip! tho luffy was out in the wild, and completely alone for a good portion of it, i’d like to imagine the kujas made him his new clothes! i took the flower pattern from boa’s skirt and on luffy’s repaired vest from the amazon lily arc and applied it as embroidery and ribbon on the shorts! and i’d like to imagine boa would give him jewelry maybe before he left for sabaody archipelago, cause she’s in love with him…, so i modeled his anklet after her earrings. i made the snake eating its own tail to make it an ouroboros (ignore how i spelt it wrong in the image…), representing eternity and reincarnation. but ive applied it to luffy in the concept of inherited will (he’s taken on the goals and aspirations of shanks, gol d roger, his crew, and given them new life). also kinda how joy/nika is eternal and luffy’s g5 awakening is kind of a reincarnation.

but so while the finer details are inspired mostly by the kuja, the shapes/structure of the outfit pieces are based off of luffy’s influences and mentors!

i noticed luffy probably wears a cardigan post-ts to mirror rayleigh’s clothes pre-ts, but since i didn’t like luffy’s cardigan all too much, the hoodie is supposed to mirror ray’s hooded cloak

luffy wears shorts above/middle of the knee, but i made them longer so they look kinda like ace’s! i was gonna add pockets too but i forgot… he also wears some of ace’s beads and one of the theatrical mask charms (i think sabo wears the frowning one, so there’s technically some sabo refs in there too)

i wanted to include references to sabo, but i wasn’t sure how due to their really different styles… i hope i can come up with something to update this design soon ;-;

the epaulettes (fringed shoulder pads) and folded collar on the black coat are supposed to look like gol d roger’s coat! while its color makes it look like luffy’s coat from the end of the wano arc, which specifically is supposed to look like shank’s coat too! and it’s made of animal fur, so like an altered version of luffy’s disguise cloak given to him by boa before the fish man island arc. technically the shape is also pretty simple to garp’s navy coat, but that’s probably just cause they’re a similar style

no references to dragon… cause he wasn’t there to have any real influence on his son, despite how him and luffy just so happen to take similar life paths. but i made luffy’s skin tone darker and warm toned similar to his father and grandfather’s.

oh also the patterned pants are supposed to be similar to rayleigh and shanks’s ugly little patterned pants too

other fun little tidbits:

luffy’s right ear is torn! my hc is that when he was little, he wanted earrings to look like a cool pirate like shanks and his crew! so maybe makino or one of his brothers did it for him, but he couldn’t sit still for long enough, making it pretty high up on his earlobe and unable to sit down for the other one lol. idk what kind of earring it used to be, maybe a tiny seashell!

ok sad part now! it got torn off when luffy was kidnapped and beat up by the bluejam pirates…

ok not sad part now! i think nami got chopper to pierce luffy’s ears afterwards. cause she caught zoro on the verge of stabbing an unsterile sewing needle into luffy’s earlobes… cause they’re both stupid and luffy would trust him like that. luckily chopper has very sterile medical equipment!

the woven bracelet was made by usopp! its color is purely coincidental… luffy just wanted a purple one

the sash is now tied at the back to look like a monkey’s tail! i wanted to add more sun wukong/monkey king references, maybe instead of the sash there’s tassets or han yao/han bei similar to @/soaked-doors’ luffy design… idk

here’s some closeups with and without the cloak!

uuuh i don’t wanna talk about g5… it’s not really what i wanted to do at all… i’ll try again later…

anyways i hope yall like this one!! i love him a lot! obv any critique/constructive criticism or suggestions is welcome!! don’t expect anything new so soon… drawing men scares me and i can’t get zoro to look right ;-;

[kaybreezy3000]

Do you think the injured girl next to Ben is Jennifer like everyone else thinks? I am kinda indecisive because it's no flashback and she's obviously with Sparrow!Ben. It would be kinda boring that he met Umbrellas!Ben Jennifer in another timeline.

Okay, hold on because this one is going to blow your minds. Jk but I am going to lay down some crazy stuff.

Writers aren't supposed to throw characters in for no reason, so if I had to say, I would say that the women in the trailer, lying next to Ben on the floor, is the 'Jennifer' person that they are all referring to with the Jennifer Incident.

I don't think it's a flashback either, but I do think it's possible that it's Ben back in time with her via the subway time travel/Televator or whatever it is. I also think it is this Ben now, meaning the Sparrow's Ben.

There is nothing in this shot other than Ben's clothes that tell me it's the now Sparrow Ben, but I think that's enough to confirm that. Then as far as where they are and when, I am just guessing that it's the past because that's when she died or that's a least what they lead us to believe. That may have been intentional though, and this could be now, in this new timeline, and Jennifer always died here, and Umbrella Ben was a part of it. 🤯 I know that sounds nuts, but I'll explain why I say this, but first, back to the picture and the person you are talking about from the trailer.

The floor in this shot is cool, but I have no idea where it is. It does look like something from the Hotel Oblivion, as in the same style of art deco flooring it had, and that is very interesting, but I am not saying it's there, only it resembles it which means it could be in one of Reginald's other buildings in this new timeline. It appears he own many.

We need to ask: Are they somewhere at the moment when this Jennifer died the first time, or maybe when the original Ben died?? Or both???

Now this Ben is there with her, taking the place of the original Ben in some kind of timeline melding anomaly?

Maybe...

The key with all this is, they never said how original Ben died, and now in the new trailer, Five is asking his siblings if any of the even remember how their brother and they all look like they have no clue.

Huge stuff with that.

Why is that though?

Did Allison come into play again and have to Rumor all of them in to forgetting per Reginald's request? Can she Rumor herself though, because she didn't remember either? Did she Rumor Reginald too? Why? Or why else don't they remember?????? If they remembered, would they do something other than what they were meant to do, as if fucking up on a grand scale over and over and suffering big time, and if they didn't do that, then the end wouldn't happen in a way that they all survive?

Holy Shit, right????!!!

If this is so, who is driving this whole thing???? 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 I like to think it's Five, but I am only going there a tiny bit with his part in all this in this post. 😏

I think all this stuff is big. If I had to guess, I think the first time Umbrella Ben died, something went bonkers with all time itself and ever since, it's been on the verge of failure. This also goes back to Reginald knowing this would happen, but I don't think he knew exactly how, which is why even he can't seem to prevent it or remember any of this stuff.

We know that this time, it's all going to come down to Ben. He is the one that is going to cause the end of the world in 24 hours. We know that something is wrong with him. Look, he looks like he is slowly burning from the inside-out-that or he's got one hell of a nasty rash. JK

If you look at the woman on the floor with him, she sort of looks like she's having the same problem.

As she's laying there looking back at him while on fire, she looks extremely similar to Sparrow Ben's haunting sketch that was up in his room the last season.

I didn't think much of that when I watched it in season 3 but now, I think it's just too similar to ignore. I think it's her and I think Sparrow Ben was feeling some kind of connection to her, or like a memory, or something, and he was trying to work through these horrible images that must have been creeping into his mind for years.

Sparrow Ben was in a timeline that shouldn't have existed, so I am thinking there are faults in that timeline too, sort of like little rips that let things through that shouldn't be-like a past he'd lived before, one that only he was getting tormented by because he's the one that it's all about and he has a special connection to it that they don't via the portal inside him.

Ben thinks the thing inside him is the real monster they need to fear, but I am thinking it's the portal it comes from that's the real danger.

Then, back to all these Ben's out there. There was this one in the teaser at the end of season 3...

Which fancy looking Ben is this on the train, and when? I think it's really Ben at the end of all of this and he is alive and well-I love this idea so let me have it please. 😄 I need all of them to live. 🙏

It's hard to think it's the present Sparrow Ben on the train because that poor guy seems to have gotten himself locked up and just got out, and now he isn't looking so hot in this season's trailer in any of the shots they gave us.

example: it seems that Ben is having a smelly situation here-not cool, man. That's Luther's thing. 😄

When it all comes down to it, I think all the Ben's are going to collide in a way none of the other Hargreeves could with their own other selfs. All the Ben's have this crazy monster portal in them, so I think they are all connected by it, dead or alive.

I am also going to make another big speculative leap and say Jennifer, or this woman on the floor burning, is Ben's real mom. I totally could be wrong on that, but it makes more sense to me than her being one of the other 43 superpowered children, or some random chick he happens to be tied to for a love interest type of thing.

This is where I know that I am going to go way off the rails and for sure be wrong, but I'll give you some of my thoughts on the reason for all this anyway.

I am going to say that the reason stuff is falling apart again is in part because Reginald didn't get to reset the time completely thanks to Allison chopping his head off, but as I hinted at already, that was always supposed to happen-all this was. Now we have all sorts of stuff being found that should be there like Allison's old movies and pictures and clippings of the Umbrella Academy kids.

The other big reason this is all falling to shit again is because again, it always was supposed to, just as The Handler said. 🤯🤯🤯🤯

YO! Did Five tell her that all along?

Five did maybe found the Commission....

He also may have designed the briefcases.

He may have invented the Infinite Switch Board-which can 'see' or predict inconsistencies in the timeline that may or may not drive it off course and lead to a catastrophic end!!!!!!!

Back on Five again, sorry. 🤣

Reginal knew the end was coming too. And maybe a different version of Five knows this too and that is going to be the real shocker at the end of this. He's the 'time' guy in all this, so it's highly likely he's going to come into the finale reveals in a big-time way. There are just too many plot holes with his character that these ideas help fill.

I am going to say that 'the final end to the beginning' is because she (Jennifer), having given birth to Ben, also has something very dangerous inside her. Maybe she's not as good at keeping the monster inside contained as her son was???

I am not saying all their moms have bits of their powers but...

Just think about it...

Ben is a very special little baby that was magically conceived by way of sparkling marigold dust. He has a portal to another dimension inside of him that is home to 'The Horror,' and maybe even other horrible beasties, and who knows what else. In those very short seconds his mother had him inside her, that thing was inside her too.

What if even after Reginald came and made her give Ben up, (which she didn't seem to want to do at all), the portal was left open in her, with something inside just waiting to break free?

What I am trying to lay down is, she's connected to Ben through this realm of monsters that they both hold the gate to. They are connected this way through all time and space, but something is very wrong with this and always was.

Now they are both burning, and soon, the whole world will burn again too.

The only way to fix this is to go back to Ben and this woman, Jennifer or his mom or whoever she is. The team with Reginald's help needs to save them to save the world from being taken apart by the thing inside him unleashing it's wrath??? Maybe...?

Maybe there are those out there that want this to happen? Other Aliens, from Reginald's planet or another planet? Maybe they want the thing inside Ben to destroy the world and remove all the people, so they can take it?-like they did with Reginald's planet? This would be the true bad guy that I am talking about, meaning Reginald isn't really the bad guy in this story and neither was AJ Carmichael or even The Handler. The were just cogs in the wheel that had to turn.

What if it also goes back to the Marigold---To Reginald and his planet and everything he loved being destroyed? What if the Marigold was one of his or one of his people's creations-something that was supposed to save them, but Reginald was too late and sent this ethereal dusting of power to Earth to give them all a second chance?

What if something bad tagged along and found it's chance to reign supreme again by laying wait inside of Ben Or Jennifer?

I believe the show said something like this going down with Reggie and the demise of his planet, that stuff about bad things trying to take over and him trying to stop them but not being able, or maybe I made it up in my first TUA fanfic series, (🤪) but either way it really could be the thing that is driving all this something bad out there thing.

They think their power are good and they are, but maybe it's not exactly what it seems. It's morphing in all of them, getting stronger in some and not in a good way? Mainly in Ben.

Inside of him, in this portal, a strength like no other is about to implode? Or something they never wanted to follow them to Earth, something tagged along within its magic is about to come out through Ben and or Jennifer or both?

To win, they need to figure out how to harness the possibilities inside all of them and stomp it into submission, once and for all...

There.

That's it.

Super wordy as always, full of almost no real answers for you on how exactly the Hargreeves will beat this thing, but also full of tons of my silly brain babies that usually lead to nothing. Lucky you, you asked, and you got more of ramblings. 😁

Please feel welcome to punch holes in this stuff, that's what its all about and it's fun to try to guess the end. Talk me up, or chat with others in the comments section, or even go big and let me know your thoughts via my private message option. If you do it though the ask as an anon, I don't always reply if it doesn't seem like a question. I want to chat more to those types of asks but others probably don't want to hear our musings going on and on. 😉

[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.

[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)

[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

[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. :)

[alice-after-dark]

Late Night with the Radio Demon - The Summoning

Tagging @hiemaldesirae as requested :)

Did not expect to be posting about this again so soon, but here we are. This au owns my soul now and I'm not mad about it.

The whole demon summoning thing was actually a complete accident. Kind of. Technically he knew what was supposed to happen, he just didn't actually believe it would work.

Vincent hadn't gotten a proper look at the face of the man at the bar. His voice and hands told him the guy had to be old, but he'd kept his face hidden behind a scarf and the hood of his jacket. He'd been mumbling to himself when he'd handed over the small book, something about fulfilling his end of the bargain and "finally being free of that damned deer." Vincent had shrugged it all off as drunken nonsense. But the old man had insisted he take the book, so Vincent had accepted it and promptly forgotten about the entire encounter until days later when his show was threatened. He'd managed to keep his breakdown in check until he reached his tiny barren apartment. His ensuing tantrum had knocked over his coat rack, sending the book sailing across the floor, only to be noticed once Vincent had reduced himself to exhausted sobs.

Upon closer examination, it wasn't so much a book as it was a journal. Beat up and well-worn, it looked just as old as the individual who had pressed it into his hands that night. Opening it had sent a shiver over his skin, one that he chalked up to adrenaline. The interior was filled with mad ramblings and scribbles, sketches of antlers and eyes and deer skulls and something resembling a microphone...cane...thing? It takes some deciphering of the warped script for Vincent to finally realize what it's talking about...demon summoning.

The journal documents the summoning of a creature known only as the Radio Demon, describe as an eldritch being with extraordinary powers. The summoning that apparently started the journal took place back in 1902, but the stories date of the demon's existence go back as far as the medieval era. The old man got himself locked into a deal with the Radio Demon, though the details of said deal are lost in the madness of his writings. Eventually he stumbles across what appear to be...radio frequencies? Against his better judgement, he gets out his old radio.

He hasn't touched the thing in a while, but it's still in perfect working order. It's a prank, he tells himself, probably some joke channel some idiot got up and running. He'll play along, have a good laugh about it, and then...he should probably do something about the mess he made. He twists the dials to the frequencies outline in the journal, but all that greets him is static. Vincent is actually vaguely disappointed that there wasn't something more interesting on the other end of the broadcast. Just as he goes to turn it off though...

Something that sounds like distorted jazz starts playing, but not from the radio. It's coming from...everywhere. The lights begin to flicker wildly. The radio starts to glow with an eerie green light as the room around him grows darker, as though it's being consumed by the shadows itself. There's nothing but never ending darkness outside his window even though it was only mid-afternoon when he arrived home. Vincent staggers back away from the radio, tripping over his own feet and sending himself sprawling. This can't be real. There's no way this is real!

Then a hand emerges through the light coming from the radio, gripping the side of the device as another joins it, pulling and dragging until something wholly inhuman begins to slide free. It's jaw is too wide, eyes black with radio dials ticking away at the center, limbs jagged and warped, inky black antlers twisting up to the ceiling. The jazz is now screeching with static feedback and Vincent covers his ears in pain. He can't breathe. This can't be real!

And then, abruptly, it all stops and standing before him is a bizarre looking young man in a red suit.

"Greetings, my good man!"

---

(Later, when Vincent would discover who Alastor was in life, he'd ask how there could possibly be such old records of him if he only entered Hell in 1933. Apparently, time means nothing to Hell when it comes to demon summoning.)

[hwan-g]

DARLING. kim seungmin — 김승민

pair. bookshop owner! seungmin x f. reader | warnings. profanity, angst, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, slight exhibitionism | genre. dark academia, romance, love at first sight | word count. 8k

tags. @ughbehavior (@straywrds), @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @hyuneater, @hyun-bun, @choigore, @danyxthirstae01, @hellishmoons, @lix-ables, @skz317cb97.

a/n. this was supposed to be out for his bday, but life happened. nevertheless, hope you guys enjoy!! reblogs are great, all writers appreciate them incredibly 🤍

synopsis. it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks. as you enter his life, as you walk out of it. he just needs one chance with you.

Cold, empty—wet.

A city devoid of sun, in a constant state of mourning. Century old buildings with their Victorian architecture and smell of humidity, the eternal reconstruction that makes it impossible to enter them, a church with no door, a river without bed, a shop with nothing to sell. They might as well be part of the scenery, now and forever. Occupied space and not much else.

There had been a point in time, though, and this is the part that’s important to Seungmin. There had been a time when these grand structures held great power over people—artists, especially. Endless sketches of the fabrications can be found in the Public Library, a place he used to visit quite frequently before he opened his business. Blueprints of the interior, books about the conformation and infrastructure going on and about continually, pages creating volumes, creating noteworthiness, establishing history.

He wonders if you’ll come today.

Kim Seungmin was born in Seoul, Korea on September twenty-first to a doctor mother and architect father. He strived tirelessly for most of his childhood and adolescent life for more than adequate grades, and a clean record, and when it was deemed appropriate, on the day after his seventeenth birthday, he left for London to join his sister at the University of Cambridge, an exemplary student with a bright future. He surprised everyone when instead of following in the footsteps of his parents and going for Medicine or Architecture, he chose Engineering with History of Art as his minor. A respectable career, granted, but not what he was supposed to do—not what had been predetermined for him.

Four years of nothing but rain, libraries, books, and dorm life, he’d finally graduated with Honors, and went to join the real world, with its many offers, all miserable and soul consuming. It didn’t take long for the masks to fall, the pretenses to seize. Seungmin was fucking over it, wanted nothing more to do with the path he’d led for all those years, nothing to do with his parents’ expectations, the appearances to be kept, the role he had to play, to maintain, so they can boast and gloat, and fill their bellies in their private fucking golf clubs, to their insufferable little friends with the pretty daughters, and the arranged marriages.

Yeah, fuck no.

What he did alternatively—he took a loan out. He opened a bookshop in Pimlico overlooking the Thames, and he never looked back. He lived with three roommates in a crammed-up apartment on Winchester Street, a tiny room with a twin bed, a desk and a refrigerator, until he was able to stand on his feet, and move somewhere nicer, somewhere private, and do not get him wrong, that took two entire years—years of learning the ropes of handling a business, of making orders, of studying his crowd and getting a feel of the area, and even then, sales weren’t booming, they weren’t even fucking flickering, till more café’s opened up, bringing people towards that part of the river, the hibernating one, with the sleepy tree branches looming over Seungmin’s head every time he walked to work. It was hard, being independent. But he did an excellent job hiding it, and after a while…well maybe he was just a natural pretender.

Eventually he got a bike. It was a used, secondhand thing, and he had to change the chain on it, but after that it worked just fine, so it was enough for him. With a ‘help wanted’ sign under his arm, pedaling the ten-minute ride to his shop, his only stop the local bakery where he purchases his warm cappuccinos and apple strudels every morning. The co-owner of the place, Han Jisung, always asks the same question upon arrival—the usual, then?

The usual. Seungmin was a creature of habit from a young age. He had to have a plan, an extensive list of steps to be taken, a routine. He thinks his life would’ve turned out completely different if he wasn’t like this; he would’ve ended up working a corporate job, a nine to five, sitting on a desk with a suit and tie, holding a briefcase, that kind of thing. Something simple, mind numbing. Instead, he chose the calendar, the extra assignments, the sleepless revisions. All which ended with him thousands of miles away, managing an establishment with no outside help. The point was—he needed to find someone immediately. He couldn’t possibly bear to manage everything on his own anymore, what with the seminars and people going in and out in a regular stream, only pausing for a couple hours at lunch time.

Sometimes, the strudel would go to waste. There’d be no time. Still, the usual. Why bother switching something that’s worked so well for so long?

“It’ll be raining for weeks, I heard. Better get yourself a raincoat if you want to keep riding that rusty bike of yours,” his friend advised him, handing him his order with a tight-lipped smile.

Seungmin mirrored his expression. “Will do, mate. Thanks for this.”

“No problem. Hey, don’t forget—you, me, the guys. Friday evening. Drinks at The Morpeth Arms.”

Here’s the thing. Seungmin never forgot, he wasn’t the forgetful type; in fact, he had a spectacular memory, something that helped him immensely during his academic career, and earned him a few nods of amazement, the casual ‘memory of an elephant, this one.’ No, Seungmin just hated social events, especially the ones that included drinking yourself into a stupor, traveling in packs holding on for dear life, and paying an enormous amount of money just for your liver to turn black later on. He’d rather be at home, eating comfort soup, watching his home country’s drama shows, and falling asleep on the couch, glasses inadvertently positioned on the very tip of his nose, every single time.

Yeah, Seungmin never forgot. He just had other things to do. Something warned him though, that he might not be able to get out of this one. Undeniably so. He’s bailed on his friend group more than two times in a row, had no good excuse for it today.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, waving a quick goodbye, and making a run for it.

“Don’t just see, Kim Seungmin. Do!” he heard the boy yelling after him, but he had already passed the threshold of the bakery, securing his things in the basket on the front of the bike.

Jisung was a force to be reckoned with. Same age as him, of Korean descent as well, a graduate of the Royal Academy of Culinary Arts, he took over his mother’s bakery and revamped the entire place, a smart move, which turned out to work in his favor, tripling the monthly profits in the first six months of reopening. Things seemed to just…go well for him, whatever he did, something Seungmin envied, but tried his hardest to learn from. It's always been him, Seungmin, and Hyunjin, an Art major, currently in his last year of school, ever since he came to England. Jisung had an ex-girlfriend attending Education classes at the same university as the bookshop owner, and Hyunjin would tag along only with the promise that he’d be able to stay in the premises and sketch the gardens.

Eccentric at times, the two of them, but the interesting kind, the kind that makes you want to stick around just to witness where it is all heading. Although they could get quite annoying when they wanted to…

He unlocks the wooden door with the glass pane, the intense smell of books hitting him at once. Moving in the familiar area, he makes sure to secure his bike along the wall, so it doesn’t slip and hurt any customers, and goes to turn on the lights from the panel in the back, resting his breakfast on top of the checkout secretaire.

The small bookshop lights up like a tree at Christmas, the fairy lights he’d installed earlier in the year hanging gracefully amongst the bookshelves running from floor to ceiling, stacks upon stacks decorating each section, all alphabetized and in categories, all carrying a purpose. Seungmin fixes his glasses on his face, running a careful hand through his parted hair, before removing his brown coat, rolling the sleeves of his white, crisp shirt high up on his forearms, and getting to work.

There’s a sort of ambience he particularly enjoys, a specific scent to accompany the unique odor of books, of yellowed out pages or alternately, of freshly published novels, recently sewn together, a big section of them in front of the big window as soon as you enter, with an exclusive segment of Seungmin’s Top Ten Picks of the Month. More lights along the walls, lantern looking designs, made specifically to give off a vintage overtone to his business, and a couple velvet armchairs in the corners, with decent sized tables, and candles on each side to provide a moment of relaxation for the customers.

Cinnamon and vanilla. A tiny tea and coffee cart next to his workspace for anyone that cared for it, always filled and ready to be taken advantage of. When Seungmin cared for something, he took it to the absolute extremes, made it part of him entirely, took care of it tenderly, tended to it regularly. This is why, he thinks, he succeeded in marketing this place. Because it isn’t just a means of income for him, because he’s genuinely a book lover, an avid reader. Because this is the inside of his soul, perfect to a T.

He starts the playlist on his tablet, lowers it to a gentle hum, and stands for a minute, taking in the warm palette of colors around him, sipping on his coffee, tasting the apple wrapped in puff pastry. It’s exquisite, as always, Han really has a fucking talent, he thinks as he peals the sticker off the sign he picked up from the printer shop earlier, sticking it on the storefront window, capital black letters in Times New Roman looking outside.

Hopefully, someone will show up within the week. In the case no one’s interested, well—he’s fucked. No plan B there. He counts on the broke students pacing up and down these streets daily to fill in the position. No one else in their right mind would work at a bookshop, of all places of employment, and for that he won’t dare fault them, not one bit. He can pay a fair wage, but it’s nothing to start a proper life, he’s aware of that. It doesn’t change the fact.

A little after ten, it starts raining; the fat, gray clouds he saw looming over him on his way there, finally giving way to fat droplets of water, drenching everything in their wake, a blurry watercolor painting. Seungmin sighs, leaning back on his chair, as he checks off inventory and researches up-and-coming authors to feature for next month. He accepts that it might be a slow day, and gets comfortable in his seat, yawning and stretching his limbs.

You enter in disarray, dripping water everywhere, closing a bright colored umbrella halfway in your attempt to shut the door behind you. The tote bag is the first thing he notices, it looked heavy on your shoulder, worn down. Then your coat, a deep emerald green, an entire forest, how it looks from above, and then finally your face as you turn to him, your expression bewildered, staring down at him like a deer in headlights, slightly confused, but not lost, not entirely.

There you are.

“Good morning,” he greets, no other words present in his brain. How peculiar. He adds a soft smile, for good measure.

Normal. Nice job, Kim Seungmin.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” you say, and he guesses you refer to the rain, so he nods, watching you observe his establishment with curious eyes, leaving your umbrella behind as you walk over to the bookshelves. “It smells nice here. Are you the owner?”

Seungmin stirs, stands up straight, his tablet forgotten in his hands. “Yes,” he mutters, doesn’t sound sure of it. “Yes, I am,” he repeats, louder this time.

You hum and disappear behind a row. He finds himself leaning to find you again, stare at you a bit longer. He snaps out of it almost immediately, clearing his throat. Three things, he grounds himself.

One, the beautiful girl from last time had just entered his shop, yet it felt more like she’d shook through the foundations of the building and was coming for his very life.

Two, said pretty girl rendered him stupid two seconds in your interaction. What did that say about him as a person? He wasn’t usually like this. He’s had dates, and girlfriends, but they never felt like this—a blow to his stomach.

Three. He absolutely fucking needed to learn your name.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” he asks, nervous, wanting to cut through the tension he felt overtaking his entire body.

“Mythology classics!” your voice is an echo, a perfect ring of a pitch, reverberating through him.

He gets up at once, jumping at the chance to be useful to you, and crosses the shop, closing the distance between you. You’re skimming through a thick book unrelated to what you’ve just told him, your eyes moving on the pages. He doesn’t dare disturb you, not at first, but then the more he looks at you, the more he can feel his heart attempting to jump out of his fucking chest, so he deems it dangerous business, and breaks the silence. Your hair is wet, he finds, he sees. He wants to dry it for you.

Dangerous fucking business.

“Those would be on the other side, after poetry,” he informs you, and your gaze devastates him. It’s bright, it’s glorious, it’s a place he’d want to explore, dive into, and lose himself forever.

 It’s looking up at him, waiting for him to lead the way. He blinks and moves. Your perfume is something light and floral and Seungmin wants to offer you coffee with sugar, give you books for half off, hire you part time, let you consume him. What a strange feeling to have for an absolute stranger, serving your heart on a silver platter over a mere ‘hello,’ and hoping they’ll accept it.

It terrifies the living shit out of him.

“Thank you for showing me. I loved this place when I came last time—I thought you just worked here. It’s hard to find what I’m looking for elsewhere,” you give him an excited smile, bending at the knees in front of the small section to pick out what you need.

He wants to know everything about you. “Are you a student?”

“English lit, fourth year. Aha!” you jump up, and Seungmin steps back, surprised. You wave the paperback cover in his face. “The Oresteia. Need to write a dissertation on it.”

Seungmin speaks as if in a trance, quoting the play he knows by heart. “‘This was always going to happen. She’s been dead since the beginning.’”

You’re beaming, buzzing, electrocuting him. Then you go right back down, your search not over yet. “You’d read this? It is quite extensive, is it not, and you need to watch out for the translations, some are over complicated, and hard to understand…”

“I enjoy the classics,” he admits, shyly. “You’re welcome anytime around here. To browse, or…whatever. And if you can’t find something, let me know. I’ll order it for you.”

“You’re too kind, bookshop owner, aren’t you?”

Seungmin stares, stares, stares—at the top of your head, at your elegant hands reaching for the spines of the books, flipping them over, inspecting them. He prided himself on his eloquence, his extensive knowledge of words, his friends sometimes teased him, called him a ‘walking dictionary,’ but what does he do with all this, when he must force his throat to open, unable to voice those same words he’s studied over the years, grown familiar with. They’re all traitors to him now, he will never depend on them again. Ridiculous, what’s happening.

You’re a customer. He shouldn’t be treating you any more than, any different. Why then did that one, singular smile of yours make a home in him, right under his ribcage? He pictured butterflies erupting behind you, wild in color, beautiful in their movement, flying too close to the fairy lights. This was unreasonable. It would wreak havoc in him, rearrange his world view, have him fantasize about things that could not be, should not be. Your lips, he thinks.

Cherry flavored.

“What’s your name?” he caved in. He wanted to pull you up, feel you under his touch, see for himself if you were real.

You got up once again, two more books in your hands, as you tilted your head in question, strands of hair falling in front of your perplexed face. “Do you always ask your customers for their names?”

Seungmin swallowed. He’d been caught. What he had—honesty. “Only you.”

You smiled again. He almost clenched his chest. “Good save. I’m (Y/N).”

He repeated it internally. (Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N) …he imagines it rolling off his tongue, your body under his, those delicate wrists pinned above your head, whispering it to you again, and again, and again.

Fuck him.

“Seungmin,” he extends his hand for you to take, trying really hard to conceal what contact with you would do to him.

He’s defenseless against his own desires, he realizes. He’s never wanted to take someone as his own so badly before. His mind was in overdrive, completely overwhelmed. You’ve exposed him, laid him bare—have your way with him. He’d do anything, he decides right then and there. Anything. Say the word and he’s yours.

You take it, kickstarting a whole new series of events and catastrophes inside him.

“Well, Seungmin, I’m done here, and I have class in about ten minutes, but I’ll pass by again soon, yeah? Ring me up, won’t you?”

You brush past him walking up to the register, and he’s left watching your figure slip away from him, so easily, no further regard to him, that forest green coat of yours flowing around you, your boots stomping with certainty. A fucking vision, you were. Stomping your way into his shop, into his life, into his heart. Oh, what is reason? What are words?

Metamorphoses, The Oresteia, Theogony. What you purchase. He hands you the books, per your request, and you slide the tote bag down to your arm, shoving the books in there at once. He watches all this, in awe, speechless, afraid to let you go, knowing he can’t beg you to stay longer. It’d be weird. And slightly creepy, he thinks but it’s more of an afterthought. He notices he doesn’t really care—anyone that would grant him the wish to stare at you more, to marvel at your cute features.

“It was nice to meet you!” You grab the umbrella again and rush out of his life, the same you stumbled in.

He watches in mystified delight.

‘Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient,’ he remembers reading once.

He becomes half water. He waits.

Friday comes. Seungmin decides to go to the Arms, straight for them, no second thought about it, one and done, but then he procrastinates getting dressed, looks for his watch for ten minutes, and his keys are nowhere to be found, so he takes that as a sign he shouldn’t go. It’d be bad if he went. He shouldn’t go.

Then he remembers he doesn’t believe in the signs of the universe and locks his apartment behind him.

Two beers, then he’ll go home, he tells himself. Just enough so his friends can’t say anything to him, can’t be mad at him, will stop calling him incessantly, whining about how he’s neglecting them so, and what kind of a mate are you, Kim, not a very good one, eh?

Seungmin thinks he’s a pretty good lad, actually. He helped Hyunjin move this past summer and has offered many a solution to Jisung’s never-ending on-and-off relationship with that indecisive girlfriend of his. Hasn’t committed a crime in his life, not even a petty one, not a traffic light. He’s never littered in all the years he’s been conscious about his person. He’s been an upstanding citizen, and a supportive friend. He’s just a bit of a homebody, and when has that ever hurt anyone, really.

The pub is filled to the brim by the time he arrives, incredibly loud, with a game playing in the background. He finds Jisung easy enough and goes to him, to that table he frequents all the way to the wall by the bar and slips his coat off wearing it on the back of the chair.

“Couldn’t have picked a Sunday, yeah?”

Jisung claps his shoulder and shakes his head. “You’d complain about any day of the week, Min, so just sit here and look pretty like you do. Hyunjin’s bringing us drinks.”

The baker’s hair had faded to a light brown from the August sun back in Seoul, his yearly vacation, and just as Seungmin is about to make a joke about it, Hyunjin enters his vision holding three pints of beer, muttering excuse me’s to the table next to them. Blonde hair, soft looking cardigan, tall, long limbs and all, full scholarship artist-to-watch-out-for Hwang Hyunjin, on his way to an amazing career.

“Would you look at who the cat dragged in—my God, Kim Seungmin, is that really you? Gracing us with your majesty’s presence? I must be dreaming!”

His ‘majesty’ sighed and grabbed the beer, an unamused look on his face. “You know, surprisingly, this isn’t making me want to show up any more than it makes me want to dump both of you and find new friends. About time, I say,” he drawled. “Cheers!”

The two men looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Cheers, fuck it,” Jisung exclaimed.

Hyunjin turned elegantly in the chair, legs crossed, mischievous expression on. “What have you been up to, huh? Who’s the girl?”

Seungmin froze, then reassured himself they had no idea about you, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose—a habit that gave him away. The blonde ‘aha!’’d and bumped his elbow against Jisung’s, giddy as ever.

“See, I knew it.”

Jisung didn’t look particularly convinced, though. “Where would he even meet a girl, Hyun? The only dates he’s been on for the past year have been with his TV.”

“Ouch, bro.”

He wasn’t wrong, yet Seungmin wanted to let him know—about the girl that walked into his bookshop, has swept him off his feet. Just so he stops talking shit, just so it can finally set on him; that you’re real, that you happened. How you will never stop happening from now on.

Instead, he scoffed. “Fuck you, Han. You’re one to talk with that toxic shit you’re pulling.”

Jisung had the audacity to look shocked, and even appalled at the accusation. “I’m hurt you think I’m somehow at fault with how I’m being treated. I should just break it off once and for all, show you fuckers.”

Hyunjin casually sipped on his beer, palmed a few sunflower seeds. “It’s not about showing us—it’s about showing yourself, baby.”

Seungmin chuckled at that, chuckled even harder at Jisung’s blown out face, with the puffy cheeks and the big, wide eyes. He’d missed this, how carefree it all felt. It brought back memories, reasons why these people were close to him, why he could never get rid of them. They kept him sane. And gained him points with the ladies—Jisung’s humor, and Hyunjin’s angel features were a double threat. He just completed the group with the boy next door vibe, and sharp styling choices.

“Where’s Jeongin?” he asks, opening the bag of crisps laid out on the table.

“Late night studying, he’s already driving himself against a wall,” Hyunjin replies, a seed between his teeth.

“Chris has a late session, as well,” Jisung adds. “Music majors—perfectionists.”

It was at that point that you walked in. Seungmin hadn’t noticed you, not until his friends looked towards the door, and then looked again, making him curious. It was indeed you, he concluded after blinking several times, you, the most beautiful fucking girl in there, searching for empty tables with—a guy. A guy taller than you, taller than him, and fuck him, he didn’t need to see that, he didn’t have to know who you hung out with, if you had a boyfriend and how long you’d been together—he could do without all those things.

But now they’re overtaking all available space in his mind. Now there’s green inside him, eating away, molding, rotting away everything, and he’s jealous, he’s jealous, he wants you, he wants you alone, single, to himself, forever—

“She’s cute, no?” Jisung comments and nudges him.

For a moment, just for a moment, Seungmin takes off his glasses and glares at his best friend, filled with fury and green, green, green, but then he comes to his senses, reasons that Jisung hasn’t got a clue who you are, what you are to Seungmin, and so with that he breathes. He breathes and downs his beer, fuck the crisps, fuck the plan.

“It’s her,” he confesses.

Hyunjin leans in, suddenly very interested, and Jisung furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

Seungmin looks at you again, sees the hand around your waist, the casualness of the movement, and doesn’t want to jump into conclusions, doesn’t want the conclusions to jump him, but he’s fairly certain, he’s almost a hundred percent—

“The girl that’s kept me away, let’s say.”

At first, “No fucking way,” but then Hyunjin studied his friend’s expression, the unwavering gaze, the set of his mouth, the defeated slump of his shoulders, and his head tilted, his own mouth hung open, stared.

“I’ll be fucking damned,” he deadpanned.

“But who’s that dude, then?” Jisung questioned, hanging off the edge of his seat, thirsty for the gossip.

“No idea.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Customer.”

“Kim Seungmin!” Hyunjin gasps, a hand on his chest, over his heart. “The scandal!”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Is she aware of your feelings?”

Just as Seungmin was about to answer, the entire pub breaks out in boo’ing, the team on the TV losing dramatically, the place vibrating, and his fists tighten at the sound, his whole body alert, aware of you, in the same space as him, outside of the magic of his bookstore, outside of the owner/customer dynamic.

“I’ve only seen her twice, Han. My feelings don’t even make sense to me.”

A devilish smirk spread across the blonde’s face. “I think you want to fuck her, Min. This sounds like an attraction to me.”

Jisung slaps his hand on the table and points at his face, nodding his head. “That’s an excellent observation, my dear Hyun. Kim, you just need to get her out of your system.”

Seungmin groans and gets up, grabbing his empty glass of beer. “Shut the fuck up. Anyone need a refill?”

The men glance at each other’s half empty beers, slightly concerned. “We’re good, mate.”

The truth was, he had thought about the possibility. What he’s felt for you he hasn’t felt for anyone, not this strong, not this constant, even in your absence, especially in your absence. You should’ve been just another English literature student shopping for books to him. That should’ve been it.

It wasn’t. It didn’t feel like it could be.

Waiting for the beer, he dared a peek at you. You sat with your back facing him, your head thrown back at something that guy had said, the other members of your party smiling brightly at you. Your hair was down, moved with you. Seungmin could bring your scent forth in his mind, the flowers, the sweetness that surrounded you. It physically hurt to ignore you, to pretend this wasn’t killing him. He needed more, he needed to pull you away, he needed to vomit all this out; the attraction, as Hyunjin eloquently put it, the heart stabbing, the turning of his stomach—the fucking boner he got first time he saw you in that dainty dress of yours.

He needed you to know, to make a decision. He wouldn’t sit still, there’d be no sleep for him until he did something about it, until you were aware of this, whatever the fuck it was, also.

“I’ll come back for this,” he informs the bartender, and his feet carry him before he’s even concluded thinking about it before he even sets on it.

“Excuse me,” he says loudly. The entire table turns to him. You turn to him.

“Bookshop owner!” you grin at him, and he’s at ease at once. He doesn’t need anything else. “What a coincidence. How have you been?”

You’re kind, then, you don’t shun him away. He’s chosen well. Seungmin feels his heart blooming, expanding, threatening to take over. You’re kind to him. You don’t know him, not as well as he wanted you to, but you still chose decency. Did he deserve it with the thoughts currently swimming in his head? Probably not.

He spares one glance for the hunk of a guy sitting opposite you, only one, not more than that, because he might be half his size, but Seungmin had always been exceptionally strong whenever he deemed it necessary. Then his eyes are back on you, and God, why did he ever look away?

“I’ve been well,” he touches his glasses. Catches himself. “Could I please steal you for a moment?”

Your eyes widen a bit, hands holding the table, ready to pounce on your feet. “Sure, but why? Is everything okay?”

Seungmin nods, offering you a soft smile and his hand. “Everything’s fine. It’ll only be a moment.”

“Okay,” you turn to your friends. Seungmin looks at his, already staring at him. Hyunjin winks. Seungmin blinks.

“I’ll be back guys.” You grab his hand, bringing him back, setting him on fire.

He tries to hide, push it all down, away from you, because he needs to be careful. One wrong move, he tells himself. One wrong move and that’s it. He opens the door for you, walks out after and into the chill of a September night. At least it’s quiet, at least he can hear himself think. One wrong move, it repeats, one wrong move…

“I apologize for taking you away from your friends,” he starts, walking to the side of the building to stand under a birch tree, almost completely devoid of leaves by that point. You follow, patient, kind.

“Oh, that’s—” you wave your hand, pft’ing. “They’re just classmates. We’ll be working together for a while.”

Just classmates. Seungmin stands up straight to that, in his full height. Just classmates you say, but that hand didn’t look friendly, that hand looked exactly how Seungmin feels about you, protective, territorial. You thought nothing of it, because that’s who you were, he could tell, you didn’t take things too seriously, you were alive, kind, kind, kind, what was another word—innocent.

He licked his lips, gathering the courage required to say what needed to be said, what needed to spill out his chest. He stood close, you stood closer. You were oblivious. For Heaven’s sake. This would be the hardest thing he ever had to utter.

“I—have no other way to say this, (Y/N) so, please just—fuck,” he chokes out a breath, looks you right in the eye. “I’m completely enamored by you. You have all control over this, you can curse me and walk away right now. But you need to know. I want to take you out.”

At first you just stared at him, the words slowly registering in your ears. Then, you opened your mouth to speak—closed it. Then opened it again, taking a step towards him. He remained in his place, hands in his pockets, afraid he’d reach out otherwise. He had no right, not until you gave him permission.

“You’re very handsome, you know that?” you say, placing a hand on his cheek. He doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t think. Your eyes are dark against the backdrop of the moon. Nothing moves. “And sweet, and interesting. I’m—nothing in particular. Seungmin, you’d get bored of me.”

“Never,” he’s quick to retort. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done to me, have you darling? From the moment you walked in my shop—that was it. I was done for.”

You shook your head, your fingers stilling in their caress, your hand goes to drop—his own shoots out, holds it, keeps it there, wills it to stay, desperate to show you.

“You really are very sweet,” you inhale. “No one’s ever said they want to take me out. No one’s asked.”

Seungmin doesn’t understand why, doesn’t want to ponder over it. He’s here now, and he wants you. He’d show you; he swears.

“I’m saying it. Go out with me, darling. If you hate it, you don’t have to see me ever again.”

You smile at that, your lips quivering. “Shame. I really like your bookstore.”

He smiles back. “I really like you.”

You bite your lip, and then you nod. “Okay.” A moment. “Could you kiss me, Seungmin?”

He needn’t be told twice. Pulling you closer by that arm extended on him, he closes in around you, smashing your lips together. It takes everything in him not to groan into your mouth, the softness of you, your smell, all driving him crazy, all intoxicating him, rendering him unable to think straight. You melt into him, something he loves, and he guides the kiss, his arms wrapping around that waist that he’s seen being claimed, bunching the fabric of your shirt in his fist, tightening his grip around you, devouring you.

He'd like to slip inside you, fuck slow, deep strokes into your cunt, bring you into a state of deliriousness with his cock. He can already imagine how good you’d take him, how you’d open for him. Buried in between his thighs—Heaven. Seungmin walks you to the bark of the tree and pushes you against it, deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips, exploring your mouth, tasting the ale you’d been drinking. He’s having incoherent thoughts now, nonsensical things; how he’d like to drink you, let the very flavor of you invade the top of his mouth, fill his senses, allow you to run down his throat, sip into his every pore. Fuck him, he’s whipped, isn’t he?

“There’s no going back from this, darling,” he pants against your mouth. “I’m never getting over you—never getting over this taste.”

You pull him back in. “I don’t want you to,” you whisper, your lips curving.

“Sunday, after six. Come,” he mutters, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding your head in place. You gaze up at him. “Promise me.”

“I do. I promise,” you kiss him again. “I’ll come.” Again, and again, and again.

Another day spent waiting.

By noon Seungmin thinks you won’t show. That it was all a lie, perhaps an illusion of the full moon and one too many drinks. Then he checks out a freshman buying The Iliad, a tote bag on his shoulder, the warm scent of cinnamon coming from the pale cup he’s holding, and he’s sure you will.

You happened, you will.

Oh, to trust that someone won’t drain the blood from your heart. A treacherous road.

He must’ve drank three cups of coffee by the time the stream of customers slows down, signaling lunch time. He digs for the wanted pamphlet in his drawer of take-out menus, and calls the number at once, ordering a barbeque chicken pizza with a side of cheesy bread. As he glances outside, clouds gathering already, the sky gray, dull, Seungmin throws his head back, sighing deeply, and listens to the cashier informing him of his total at the point of delivery.

“Thank you,” he says and hangs up. ‘Do you know if she’ll come,’ he wants to add, but he doesn’t, because that’d be crazy, nonsensical. Still, the question—it stands.

He breaks down boxes, organizes book labels and invoices, and even dusts the shelves. Five pizza slices and a heartburn later, Seungmin sinks back into his chair, and decides that time will not help him today. The anxiety is eating at him, at the tips of him, like a parasite, slowly making him sick, feverish. He won’t be able to keep this up for long, he wishes he’d told you to come earlier, maybe this way this endless questioning would’ve stopped by now, maybe the heartbreak would’ve been easier to swallow with people around. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle closing down shop with no trace of you.

God, the waiting. Seungmin doesn’t like doing this, has only done it once before–he takes the scotch out, a bottle he’s kept since opening this place, and drinks two big gulps of it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thinks he might have to daydrink his way to getting you out of his mind. And the rejection. And the outline of your body on his. No other way about it. Alcohol or going mad, his two options. 

Fuck him.

The clock on the wall behind his desk says five minutes to six. By that point he has no hope, no patience, no heart, no will–no scotch. He drags himself over to the door to flip the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed,’ and he leaves nothing but the fairy lights on, an indication that the shop is closed, but someone’s still inside.

He’s not drunk but he’d like to be. One thing about Seungmin, why he doesn’t like drinking–it does nothing for him. His damn tolerance is too high. He can drink and drink and drink, but it will make no difference. Only thing he’ll be left with is a dehydrated, scratchy throat; more of an annoyance than a relief.

Seungmin sweeps, mops, then proceeds to put every single book in the wrong area back to its original place. That should take him a good while, he thinks, definitely–it doesn’t. It takes him ten minutes, because this is his store, he knows it inside out, he’s done this hundreds of times before, and why aren’t you here? You should’ve been here by now.

The glasses come off. He won’t go down that road, he can handle rejection, he’ll move on, you’re just–well, you’re…unforgettable. Haunting. All he can think about, all he wants, all he craves. Outside is pouring, thunder cracking, always a blurry watercolor painting now describing what’s going on internally, draining away any opportunity of you showing up. He tells himself he’ll stay until the rain calms down, until it’s safe to ride his bicycle.

He tells himself he will never get over you, but that the water will eventually wash you away. It has to. It’s six-thirty and you are nowhere to be found. A little more. He’ll wait a little more. Out of desperation if nothing else. He won’t be afraid to admit. He kissed you, he tasted you. He’ll wait. You’ll come, you have to. You kissed back. You–

You’re standing right there. Drenched, shaking that god awful umbrella, looking through the glass, pushing the door open–spilling into his bookshop like nothing happened. Like before. Like a story repeating itself. Forest green coat, hair sticking to your face, disheveled expression.

“I’m late, aren’t I?”

Are you? Seungmin’s knees almost give way. He exhales shakily, blinking at your drowned figure. You’re not. You’re not. You’re right on time.

“You’re soaking wet,” he notes, and comes back to life, taking long strides towards you.

You chuckle nervously, shivering, apologetic. He grabs the umbrella and leaves it by his bike, his hand staying in yours, tracing your fingers, feeling for himself that you’re really there, that you really came. You look up at him, wide eyed, mouth falling open, studying him.

“Better take this off,” he mutters, and waits for your approval. He removes the coat from your shoulders, shaking off the rain droplets, catching a whiff of that cologne he so adores. He’s a fucking animal, he can’t even be near you without his mind doing a complete one eighty on him.

“I’m sorry,” you start, watching him take care of you. “I…wasn’t sure if I should come.” His hands push your hair back, listening calmly. “Bookshop owner, I don’t–”

“Seungmin,” he cuts you off, his gaze snapping down to meet yours. “Say my name, darling.”

“Seungmin.” It’s breathless, it’s surprising. It’s perfect. His cock twitches in his tailored pants.

He bites his lip. “Will you let me remove your shirt, (Y/N)? You’ll catch a cold if you stay in these clothes.”

A single moment of silence, your eyes clouding with the same intentions. “Yes.”

He expertly undoes the buttons, exposing your white, lacy bra underneath, your breasts deliciously tucked in the cups, better than his dreams, better in every way because it’s reality. Seungmin wants to take his time with you, wants to take you out on a proper date, pay for you, make sure you’re having fun, that you enjoy being with him, establish a connection before he–

He thinks he can’t wait. He thinks if he doesn’t take you right here, right now he’ll fucking die. None of the internal struggle shows on his face. You wiggle off your shirt, and he lifts his arms to remove his vest. Picturing you in his clothes, in his shop, surrounded by your smell, and the smell of vanilla…a fucking dream. His Aphrodite, compliant under his touch, willing, those lips teasing, their pink tint inviting. Fuck it all to Hell. You look absolutely beautiful, the brown of the fuzzy fabric making you appear softer, if that’s even possible. He pulls you into his arms, falling victim to his own wants, his own desires. He holds you tight, your freezing body gradually warming up under his caress, flush against him.

“‘I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself,’” he quotes in your hair, his palm rubbing circles on your lower back, hoping you’d know. That you’d get it.

“Frank Kafka,” you answer with a breathy laugh. “‘What’s happened to me? It was no dream.’”

Something opens in his heart, tears itself out. There’s no stopping it. “My darling,” he whispers, and lifts you up. You gasp, his name falling from those lips. It happens fast, he walks you to the mythology section, in front of the window, a consequence he won’t think of until later, your back hitting the shelves, as your arms circle his neck. Seungmin kisses you, then. What’s there left to do? There are no words to describe this. You taste like rain and hard candy, and his fingers get lost in between your thighs, pushing aside fabric, and feeling the slick of your cunt. All reason escapes him, all but the sensation of your excitement for him on his digits. He kneels down, has to have a taste, needs to, for his sanity. His arm snakes around your ass and keeps you there, as his tongue comes in contact with your leaking pussy, lapping your juices, slurping loudly, shamelessly.

The back of your hand presses against your mouth, moans tearing through anyway. No one’s ever gone down on you, you didn’t even know how it felt, nevermind that it felt like this, wet and embarrassing, but so good, oh my God, so good, fuck, your fingers getting lost in the mop that is his hair, tugging, your breathing ragged, fast, your knees shaking, the smell of books engulfing you–

“You taste like Heaven,” he grunts, and his tongue gets replaced by his hand, as he makes his way back to your mouth. “Taste yourself, darling, see for yourself what you do to me, how am I supposed to stay away when–that’s right, fuck my fingers, go on, my love…”

There’s still water dripping from your hair, and he leans the side of his face on it, enjoying the coolness it provides while his entire body is on fire. You’re everywhere on him, he feels all of you, and his fingers curl inside you wanting that release, craving those broken moans he’s eliciting out of you to get louder, to deafen him, to fill the entire shop and stay, echoing over and over so he never forgets this moment, so he’ll always have you. You’re biting his neck, your nails digging on his shoulders, in his back, falling, going to his belt, coming to the buckle, undoing, all the while coming undone.

Right before you start spasming, he lifts you up again and slips inside you swiftly, cupping your face with one hand, his mouth taking yours in an open-mouthed kiss, cursing at how tight you fit around him. For one second, just one single moment, he does not move, no matter how much you want him to, no matter how you’re wiggling and arching, against all of his thoughts of fucking you into the bookcase to have and admire you whenever he wants. No, he marvels in the way his cock is throbbing inside you, all of you alight, in flames, and only then–only when you mouth his name, staring in his eyes desperately–only then he finally begins thrusting, causing you to wrap your legs around his torso, holding on for dear life.

“Is it supposed to feel like this–God, please, please don’t stop, never stop–”

Seungmin wasn’t planning to. Stopping was the furthest thing from his mind as his hips picked up pace, his thrusts angled, deep and hard, bottoming out every time, skin hitting on skin, your hot breaths mingling, mixing, one one one– You felt exactly how he imagined, and a thousand times better, Christ, your tits perfectly bouncing, your cunt squeezing him closer. Books fall, all around you, the sound of them magnifying what the two of you are doing, what’s in process, an altering of souls, because he knows this will never again be the same for him, this shop without you, it will always be more, more, more, he will fuck you over every surface, he will make you part of him, he swears, you’re never leaving, not when your juices are the only thing that can get him drunk, not when you sound this hot moaning his name, his name, it’s never vibrated through him like this before, a name, you make it holy, you make it matter–

“Cum with me, cum with me Seungmin, please, let me feel you, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

He’s your servant, he would do anything you asked. He comes with a ferocity unknown to him, panting, sweaty, holding on to you, drilling the last bit of cum deep within your walls, his hands holding, squeezing, digging into your waist, forehead on your sternum dropping soft, abenseminded kisses, and you let him. You let him, because you have no idea what the fuck just happened, you only know that it was the best thing, the rightest decision you’ve ever made in your entire life.

“You look so handsome without your glasses,” you compliment him shyly, smiling.

He carefully puts you down, adjusts your skirt, and tucks himself in his pants, before touching the bridge of his nose. There was nothing there. He chuckles, and his arms are around you again. He can’t bring himself not to touch you, can’t find a reason why he should stay away, put some distance. You belong in his arms, he concludes. 

You belong with him.

“So, I’m not when I wear them?” he teases, his lips on your forehead.

A weak punch on his stomach. He hufs a laugh, moving back just a breath so he can stare down at your face. You look fucking beautiful. You look like you’re his.

“You’re like a sexy professor with them on, you know what I mean, or like a–”

He kisses you. He’s falling in love. He’s already fallen.