#will wood i lobe u

[mayaskribbles]

i still come to this place to find peace (thats enough, lets get you home)

[aphroditesswan]

Hellooooo ♡

New request like always 😋☝️

This time a s/o who's scared of roaches (I am scared of em) like they hate roaches with pure passion. And imagine s/o screaming cause a roach crawled on them (I cried when it happend to me)

Fandom: obey me!

(Idk if u can tell but I'm asking for evey Fandom u write for, so each Fandom can have there own lobe ♡)

Anyways see u in the next request ♡♡♡

ick - lay bankz

obey me brother x mc

summary: you find some terrifying demon lookin ahh bug while with the brothers

warnings: bugs, some brothers being coños, cursing, intentional lowercase (this annoys some people for some odd reason??) ooc probably

genre: crack fluff ish i think

notes: RAW ASS BITCH HE MIGHT GET SALMONELLA RED BOTTOMS DONT FIT IM A HOOD CINDERELLA 🔥🔥🔥 also im sorry this took a solid 9 months chat but i’m back on that grind 🫡🫡 this was hard for me to write i haven’t played the game in a year and a half or something

Lucifer

out of instinct, you yell for him. by now he has a headache, having to deal with his brothers yelling for him (or at him) all day and now you? he could care less but alas, he is your lover, he is obligated to attend to your needs. he opens the door to your room, not even able to speak before a pillow is thrown at his legs.

“sorry! but look downn,” you whisper, like the insect could hear you. however, he does as you say and looks down and out of the corner of his eye, sees exactly whats making you flip out. he sighes, walking softly to the bug, calmly squashing it under his foot and rubbing it into the wood floor, almost as if to make a point.

he sighs again, “is that all, my dear?” and you nod your head, thanking him and sighing of relief once he leaves to go back to his work.

Mammon

he knocked on your door, waiting patiently for you to open it. when all he was met with was a slight rustling from inside the room, he rolled his eyes and barged in.

“what are you- OH MY GOD A BUG” he stepped back as soon as he stepped inside, holding onto his chest like a middle aged white woman finding out her son smokes weed when he’s out for 6 hours after school instead of studying.

“RIGHT??? HELP ME” you motioned to yourself, then to the floor, then finally to your position perched on the desk.

“HOW?”

“GO GET LUCIFER OR SOMETHING I DONT KNOW.”

“absolutely not. you’re on your own.”

he walked out the door, backwards as to not lose sight of the ugly creature, then shut the door. as soon as you figured out a way to kill this bug, he was next.

Leviathan

you were perched up on your dresser, already restoring to throwing things at the poor bug who made its way into your room. leviathan walked in upon hearing the continuous loud thuds from your room.

“what the hell are you doing?” he mumbled, but it was still audible.

“levi! get it out, please!” he sighed, grabbing a tissue from your tissue box on your nightstand and gently picking up the tiny bug and throwing it out the window.

“happy, weirdo?” he asked as he helped you down from the dresser as you thanked him.

“you so owe me for this.” which means you’re buying him something stupid and unnecessarily expensive.

Asmodeus

you were sitting at you and your boyfriends shared vanity as he was just getting out of the shower, ever so slightly glancing to the left at the wall when you saw the most ginormous, disgusting thing EVER on the wall. you instantly screamed, asmodeus slamming the door open while clutching a towel.

“WHAT IS IT??”

“ITS A BUG.”

and at that, he screamed even louder and more high pitched than you did. you rubbed your temples, watching him panic at the sight of a bug. of course you were freaked out, but he’s the biggest drama queen you know and if you didn’t get rid of it, he’d hold the biggest grudge in hell. you reached for a lotion bottle, throwing it at the wall where the bug stood. sadly, you missed. the bug went down towards the bottom of the wall, and you grabbed yet another product to throw at it before asmo protested.

“you missed once, dont try again!”

you huffed, winding back your arm to throw the container. yet again, you missed. now, as the tiny thing crawled closer and closer, you and a barely covered asmo cowered on the bed together waiting for one of his brothers to come and save you.

Satan

you pulled yourself onto the counter, practically jumping up as you yelped and grabbed your lovers arm, pointing wordlessly to the bug on the floor.

“oh hush, its tiny.”

“i dont care, kill it!”

he looked between you and the bug, about to step on it before you protested again.

“ew its gonna be on the kitchen floor! put it outside first!”

to which he furrowed his brows, but he loved you so he was going to listen to your orders when you said to put the bug outside before killing it so it wouldn’t bother you. he chased the bug out with his foot, looking back once both were outside.

“are you happy now?”

“very.”

to which, he squashed the creature with the tip of his shoe, wiping it clean on the ground before coming back for you to thank him with a small kiss on the cheek, to which he rolled his eyes as he lifted you up and down from the counter by your waist.

Beezebulb

to say he was confused was an understatement.

this was the first he’d seen you freak out this hard and much less over a bug, so he has no clue what he should do in this situation.

“kill it, beel!” you watched cautiously as the bug practically circled the table. if you didnt know any better, you’d say it was taunting you. he however saw no problem with the bug, “its just a bug, its not bothering you.”

he held out his hand for you to hold and get down from the table, but obviously you refused.

“beel! just kill the damn bug already!” you complained, panicked eyes shifting between him and the bug who stood in place.

he didn’t care much for killing the bug. he stood next to the table, eating his fries and watching the bug with you. this action confused you.

“beel, please! i have to get down so i can charge my phone!” you complained yet again, but he still ignored you.

after a while of your pleading and whining (really once he finished his fries), he walks off and leaves the room. you’re about to yell for him when he comes back with a tissue that he used to squish the bug and throw it out before offering to help you down again.

Belphegor

you attempted to shake him awake, your legs against your chest as you looked between Belphegor’s sleeping figure and the nasty unknown creature on the floor.

“belphegor,, belphegor,, WAKE UP”

you shook aggressively, eventually resulting in smacking his arm til he lazily rubbed his eyes.

“and what are you waking me up at 4 in the afternoon for?”

he rolled over to face you, glaring up at you a bit with tired eyes. you pointed to the ground, softly mumbling,

“theres a weird demon bug on the floor.”

you frowned scooting closer to belphegor and panicking a bit when it inched a bit closer to the bed.

your boyfriend sighed, moving your legs down from against your chest and pulling you down to rest against the pillows again, all so he could properly hold onto your waist as he closed his eyes again.

“oh hush, it’ll go away eventually or beel will kill it. nap with me.”

you should’ve known he was going to be no help at all.

i just wanna thank you all so so soooo much for waiting and being so patient with me, i know i was sooo unactive these past couple months but trust me i’ll keep a steady schedule of at least one fic biweekly if i can, but for now i’ll try and churn out as many fics as possible! i’m also working on a masterlist and an intro! again, thank you all so much for your patience!

[darlingsfandom]

hii idk if u write dark fics but could you do a yandere!emmett where he kidnaps the reader, you don’t have to write it if it makes u uncomfortable!!

hi!! I've never wrote dark fics before but hey! First time for everything right! Also thank you for asking ✨

WARNINGS: kidnapping, fingering, slight breeding kink! Swearing ...

No, it wasn't Emmett's fault. It couldn't have been his fault that you were alone. You were alone in your room at least you had thought. Emmett wasn't really anything to you, just another guy in the village. He was older than you by a good twenty maybe even thirty years, but you can't lie his eyes were a very pretty shade of blue and the scruff wasn't too bad but he's just another guy.

Emmett had wanted you since the day you were found out in the woods. He had found you alone and scared but brought you to the village and helped you get on your feet. Emmett watched your every move since then. It wasn't creepy too him because if you didn't know how he watched you when you went to bed or how you'd cook dinner for one, it's not creepy just merely observing his favorite person.

You were laid out on your bed flipping through some magazine about the hottest new Hollywood couple when the sound of foot steps perked you up. You set the magazine down and then the steps stopped. Your fingers wrapped around the bat you had next to your bed before you got up and slowly approached your bedroom door. With a quick open you jumped back and swung the bat only to realize you were swinging at nothing. You rubbed your forehead with your freehand. "For fucks sake!" You whispered yelled to yourself making yourself try to calm down again but because you let your guard down Emmett took his chance. His leather gloved hand wrapped around your mouth and the other around your waist. Your body instantly went into fight mode, your legs trying to kick and arms trying to flee, but they couldn't. Emmett might be older than you but he's sure as hell a lot stronger.

"Shh!" He whispered into your ear before biting down onto the lobe. Emmett used his strength to drag you down the hallway, out the back door and into his old pickup truck. He made sure to keep everything neat as possible just in case anyone decided they'd stop to see you. You should've ran when he had you the truck but you didn't know Emmett like that. He was crazy enough to kidnap you from your own home, he could kill you right there. Emmett got his truck going and drove in silence as you sat there with your hands tied poorly in some old rope.

Your eyes stung from the tears as Emmett pulled into the dark part of the woods. "Oh my god!" You whispered to yourself as he circled the truck, yanked you out by your arm and dragged you through the wet ground until you were shoved inside a little shack. "Please don't kill me!" You blurted out as he pulled the string on the light.

"Kill ya? Why on earth would I kill ya? You've seen too many movies my dear. I'm not gonna kill ya." He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head before pulling out the pocket knife , cut the rope and tossed it aside before shoving you into the work bench. "I would never kill ya. Ya might be pretty but ya sure are stupid to think I'd hurt ya doll. Ya see, yer ma girl and I'd never let anyone hurt you so that's why I had to bring ya here. Gotta protect ya!" Emmetts beard tickled against your cheek when he leaned in and kissed you. It took you by surprise and as much as you wanted to push him off and run, your legs wouldn't let you. Emmett's hands ran over your hips before yanking down your pajama shorts. A small gasp left your lips as the cool breeze blew across your wet spot on your panties.

Emmett had the pocket knife in his hand as he held it against your throat. "Now I know ya ain't the brightest star baby , but please don't try anything stupid. I'd had for ya to get hurt. Just let me do what I want to ya because yer mine ! And I will play with ya however I please." The blade ran across your pressure point, down between your breasts, over your stomach and finally ripped open your panties.

"So wet already. It shouldn't turn ya on that I've kidnapped ya and am holding your life in my hands and wet yer soaked." He teased you as his index finger toyed over your folds slowly while his lips attached to the pressure points on your neck biting gently until you snapped back into reality when he pulled away and the feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of you going faster with each second made your knees buckle while your hands gripped the work bench behind you. Emmett licked over the bite as he pumped his fingers harder. "What a freak you are sweetheart! Getting off on my fingers . " He couldn't handle it anymore and yanked his fingers out leaving a you feeling empty but only for a few seconds because once reality washed over you again that you were in fact getting fucked by your kidnapper, Emmett was already thrusting his fat cock into your tight pussy.

"Ya got a tight little pussy baby! It's mine!" He growled into your ear while snapping his hips into yours harder and harder. "Ya wanted this! Ya NEEDED this! Needed me to take care of ya. No one was ever satisfying enough for ya! " tears streamed down your face as Emmett took no mercy on you.

"Don't ya dare cry baby! Yer already so wet and your thighs are shaking! Can't believe yer going to cum because ya getting fucked by yer kidnapper and lover! So fucked up! Ya dirty slut! My! DIRTY! SLUT!" With each snap Emmett got closer to his own orgasm making you cry harder until the own feeling in your belly fired up.

"That's it pretty baby, cum on my cock while I fill you up and knock ya up! Look so good carrying my baby in ya belly!" His eyes rolled back into his head as he filled you to the brim with his cum which made your own orgasm hit you hard. You cried loudly while dragging your nails down his back.

"Aww see baby, ya really were meant to be mine and only mine." Emmett smirked down at you before giving the most loving kiss you've ever felt.

[dadsbongos]

a nice place, the seedy pub

1k words / warnings - wet n messy (beer on u), unprotected pinv, whitney's a dickhead

summary - your boyfriend isn't the sweetest, but when Whitney said you'd be going somewhere special you didn't think he'd bend you over the table.

kinktober: day eight - sploshing, public sex shout out @maniacpixiedreamboy for getting me into the game ~~~

Whitney has a tight arm around your shoulder. Mugs of beer sit around the table, water pooling against lacquered wood, all surprisingly full for the gang of boys. Still frothy and shimmering. Whitney’s hand slips unceremoniously from your arm, around your collar, and over your neck. He flexes around your throat and presses a toothy kiss to your cheek while his other hand darts for the thigh you’ve got squished against his.

“Enjoying date night, slut?”

Right, as a treat for five tumultuous months together you were promised a nice evening. A proper date night.

“It’s, ehm, it’s been eventful,” you nod, leaning into your boyfriend’s harsh grip.

Despite your attempt at soothing his erratic temper, Whitney reaches over and jerks you into his lap -- both hands bruising you down onto his hardening cock. Then he’s yanking sharply at your hair, lips pillowing against the shell of your ear, “You want eventful? I can fuckin’ give you eventful, but you’re gonna be part of the show.”

Spreading your legs for better movement, you roll your ass back against him with both hands gripping the scratched wood. Whitney’s approval comes in the form of a stiff groan drowned into the lip of his beer mug. His friends still hear the muffled sound, eyes flicking toward the blonde and hands inching toward yours on the table. Whitney’s grasp on your hip tightens, warding off any ideas of slipping from his lap.

He presses his chest suffocatingly against your back, nipping your lobe, “I’m gonna fuck you on this table, and everyone’s gonna watch.”

To avoid irritating your beau, you slink your bottoms aside -- gaze darting around the room to see if anybody’s taken notice. Only Whitney’s friends stare, eyes piercing where Whitney shucks his sweatpants down just enough to expose his girth. Blushing tip and shining wet, he slides his wrist once, then twice, before tapping the head against your hole. 

A sharp breath sucks between your teeth, a single moment of respite before he slams you down onto him. Scream hitching in your throat, Whitney grumbles out appreciation of your body as he bottoms out -- then standing with one hand glued to your hip and the other planted around you on the table. Fingers splayed wide. Now a gaggle of foreign heads turn toward your display. You hang your head and bite your lip praying to keep the attention limited.

Prayers immediately soiled as Whitney fucks into you, stretching you open while burrowing his face into the junction of your shoulder. Searing open mouthed kisses along your skin.

The force of his thrust jostles his friends beers, table loudly clanging against its bolts. 

“Whitney!” you slur as he fondles your chest, “Not so crazy…”

“Huh?” he glares down at you, pulling out to slam even harder inside you and reveling as you squeal from the impact, “You trying to say something to me, slut?”

His next thrust is so rough it knocks his own beer off kilt, golden brew spilling over the table. 

“Whitney!” you cry. Shock, irritation, and pleasure swirling into one lilting call.

With an agitated scoff, Whitney shoves you down into the spreading puddle -- cold immediately electrifying your chest. White school shirt soaking, now see through and reeking of sour beer. His friends cackle and jeer, leaning over the table to prod your cheeks and sizzle your face with their dewy mugs. Tipping the lips toward your hairline just to listen to your mewls of disapproval choked by euphoria. 

Some froth manages to tickle your skin, dampening your hairline. 

“Whitneyyy,” you croon, kicking back at his calves, “Make them stooop!”

“‘Make them stop,’” he mimics, wringing both your arms behind your back and squeezing one large hand around your wrists, pushing your back into an arch with the other, “You’ll take what you get, and you’ll be fuckin’ scream for it.”

Scream, you do, as one of the most familiar faces in Whitney’s crowd -- a slim kid with freckles -- takes initiation to all out dump his beer along your curved spine. Coincidentally spasming around Whitney’s cock, rearing a snicker from the blonde.

“D’you like that?” he slurs, “That’s a new low, whore, even for you.” 

“N-no…!” you wail pathetically, trying to lift yourself from the table with a grotesque, sticky peel. Regardless of your efforts, Whitney maintains his bind around your arms -even sick enough to use it as leverage and yank you back into his sharp hips.

A crowd forms, wide lingering eyes and cameras flashing. They chant for Whitney to drown you -in beer or cum, it doesn’t seem to matter- to fuck you harder to rip your clothes off.

Crudely licking alcohol raw off your neck and up to your damp cheek, Whitney teases, “Should I? Just expose your slutty body for the whole pub to see? Would you like that, babe?”

You groan, shaking your head rapidly because you can’t trust your own mouth. Broken moans and choppy ‘huh, ah, ah, hng’s all you can spit out as Whitney’s cock batters deep inside you. 

Maybe, for just a moment, his heart softens at the refusal, as he’s then sitting back down still buried in you and muttering, “I’m not getting kicked out over a slut.”

He kisses your shoulder, though, while his hands encourage you to lift and drop.

Face blistering red, he presses into the booth, still eagerly thwacking his hips off the seat to hump your sex. A drunken grin overtakes his features as your squealing grows louder. Proudly proclaiming that you’re a real slut for cummin’ in front of everyone like this.

But if he didn’t like it, you wouldn’t be here, right?

He quickly amends, “That’s my babe!” squeezes your frantic thighs as you clench around him in a series of moans and gasps, “So fuckin’ good for me!”

“Whit’,” you sputter, flinging your soaked back into his chest. He wraps his arms around you as you thrash and fucks the last of your orgasm free, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Knew you were still my slut,” he sounds downright ecstatic to husk that in your ear.

You guess he should be, though. Not just anyone would let Whitney soak them in beer and fuck them in front of the bar.

[midnight-coll]

My name is ebony dark'ness lucifer raven way. Like gerard way, but we're not related or anything. Im glad we aren't, because he's sooo hot. I have long ebony black hair, like my name, with red streaks and I'm wearing knee high boots with a black mini skirt and sexy fishnet tights with a cut black top with cut off sleeves and my hair is in my eyes because im emo. That prep chuck or whatevr is staring at me. I put my middle finger up at him.

Im walking through a random foggy street somewhere in the midwest. There r murders here and its sooo Gothic, im a vampire but my teeth ate straight and white and nobody would ever know but ima actually a good vampire because the ones who suck SUCK. Its like if edward cullen didn't suck. Anyway i look over at the gotjic murders sadly and watch as the the sexy fbi agents ask the mother of the murder about... Vampires. When they turn around, they look at me and oh my god that's not an fib agent its DEAN WINCHESTER?

Dean walks over sadly and introduces himself as bill ward with his partner, geezer butler. I laugh sadly and tell him "too bad i know who you really are... Dean and Sam winchester" they look at me.in shock. "Im a friend of the sexy bobby singer too i know you" they both gasp mournfully. "Well if you know Bobby why don't we.meet up later and uh go out later." I smile and accept. Omg im going out with dean winchester!!¡!

Gothically time skips

When i go to my gothically shutty hotel i call bonby "oh my god dean is taking me out later" and bonby replied "i cant believe you didn't tell me you liked him earlier" "i didn't want to tell yoi bwcause you wouldnt believe me" bonby hung up the phone bc he had ither things to do.

Getting dressed i put on thigh high platform boots, a short black jean skirt, and a hoodie crop top with zipper in the middle and skull.hands on the front and the sleeves ripped down to my hands. I put on a chocker and black cross star earrings (a.n. if u dont know what.that is too bad, leave my story alone prepz xoxo) i put on black lipstick and black.eyeliner and pulled my bangs down to my eyes and shown the red streaks in my long raven hair.

Dean drives up in his shiny black 67 impala and when i get in i am happily shocked. Instead of the normal interior, he had painted the my chemical romance black parade album cover on the dash!! Maybe he is gothic after all, because when inlooked over to him he was wearing ripoed jeans, black nail polish, a chain necklace with black eyeliner on his green eyes and black boots. "Im surprised there is no Sam" i say gothicaly happy for it to be just him. He said and gloomily replied "Sam is busy being a nerd preo" i look at him confused. "Wym he is a nerd prep?? That's nor sam that's his weird gothelganger (a.n. get it?? Like doppelganger but goth?) Jared padeleski" "oh yeah, Sam is reading about werewolves and demons i forgot" i look concerned. "How could u forger about ur own brother??" He gothically says "i did a lot of cool weed before i picked you up, i brought some for you too" he stops and looks shyly under his combed forward banhs "if you would take some from me" i nod happily and.off we go.

"I hope you like good charlotte because that's.who we are seeing" i am so.happy, dean truly is emo now.

At the.concert we dance and laugh and make fun of that evil prep Hillary fucking duff. On our way back.he makes a stop ourside of the woods. "What r you doing???" I asked confused. He sighs and says "enoby, ibe known who you are for a while. Bobby told me all about you. I've lobed you for a while" i gasp "really!!!" "Really" he says gothifically. We get out and wander into the forest. He pins me against the wall. "Omg are we gonna do a sex" he laughs and smiles bwfore putting his thing in my thing and-

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!"

We stop and look up. It was.... Chuck? The weird guy? "Ur not supposed to be doing this dean! I have a headache" i look at him sadly, poor weird guy. Dean stops and says "chuck i know you wamt me but my heart belongs to enoby" chuck looks angry "no not you dean, her" i gasp. Dean looks angry "all this time i could have been with cas?" Chuck looks sad. "No the cw was too homophobic, you cant be balls deep in your angel. Not right now. You cant be balls deep in her either, she's mine" i stop. "Who even r u" i ask "i am god" i laugh at him. Dean looks at me and confirms. "Oh my god" i say deprezzedly. "No its chuck" says dean.

Suddenly Sam runs through the trees being chased by his gothelganger jared padaleski. Chuck gets angry and shoots the annoying guy. "Thank you" says same before he stops and says "chuck? stop trying to fucj my brother. When his gay love for cas reached through the veil of death and saved the day even though cas actually stayed dead.into superhell because of the evil cw it turned him gothic he's too goffic for you" chuck sighed and said "i know its not.him i want."

I stop and realize.that dean winchester and god are fighting over me. Same looks and says "wait, i hear someone else in the trees." As we all looked and waited and staired in comes... Bonby and.. Cas? But i thought cas was dead? Bonby speaks "here is the man who killed the cw sniper.. He has something to say" i look at him gothically "i am not your "cas" i am his gothelganger misha collins" i gasp. He says something about killing god and makes some metaphor about how he killed the cw sniper cw is god wharever i don't care but then.... Misha collins gave me a gun!! I wasn't.really listening to him, i was too busy thinking depressing thoughts and.i yell "im not killing dean u weirdo i lobe him!!!" Bonby looks at me and starts "you idjit" but then stops as one more person comes through the trees. It was jensen ankles!! "Jensen ankles??" Dean says "i don't want a gothelganger that.isn't goffic" Jensen replies "i will be soon, i need to reach through the veil of death for my own gay love" and he ... Shoots god??? "That's what i wanted you to do" mischa says before kissing jensen gothically depressedly i look and see dean looking jealous so i go and kiss him "im better than your gay angel anyway" and he agrees and then same and bonby are looking at each other depressedly and start clapping.

Prepz don't hate.on mah story okay??

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

What's in a name

Masterlist

A/N: Once again @geralts-yenn managed to accidentally say something that caused something I wrote - and had completely intended to be a oneshot - to expand and morph into more. This time, she was kind enough to put wood elf Prince Mikey in my head, and it turned into... this.

Characters: wood elf!Prince!Mike x tiefling!OFC (unnamed)

Summary: At the wedding of his brother Melot, Mike is lured away by his little demon. A few months later, there is even more cause for celebration.

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), p-in-v sex (unprotected. Be smarter!), a hint of voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk... This is tamer than what's usual for me...

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @ellethespaceunicorn @mayloma @keanureevesisbae @summersong69 @ylva-syverson @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @peyton-warren @cardierreh15

“Little demon?” As he set foot in his chambers, it was dark, and completely quiet. The sound of his footsteps bounced eerily off the walls of the space. She was close, he could sense her presence near him. What he couldn’t do, however, was see – which was odd, because no elf should have any trouble finding their way in the dark.

The door slammed shut behind him, causing him to turn abruptly towards the sound. As soon as she was in his line of sight, and with a single snap of her fingers, the darkness fell away, and the room was suddenly bathed in warm, flickering candlelight.

“Dramatic,” Mike chuckled as she stepped out of the last remaining shadows in the room and walked towards him with slow, deliberate steps, her tail swaying enticingly behind her. He didn’t bother to assume decency as his eyes raked over her body. Gold chains complemented her dark grey skin; they wrapped around her horns, tail, and arms, and shimmered in the flickering light of the candles. She had already discarded the floor-length chiffon skirt she had been wearing at the wedding reception.

It hadn’t covered much to begin with; he had easily been able to feast his eyes on the curves of her hips and her plump behind all night, and the garment had had splits so high that he regularly caught a glimpse of her entire leg from across the room. The whole night she had taunted him this way, and he had struggled to practice self-restraint every time her tail playfully swatted at him, or she showed him so much skin that it fell just outside the realm of decency.

Now, she slowly walked around him, not touching him just yet, but close enough to him that he could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“Do you not like it when I’m being a bit dramatic, your grace?” she hissed in his ear, her tongue darting out briefly to swipe at his lobe.

“Au contraire, little demon,” he chuckled softly as she stood still behind him, reaching around his body to slip the long coat he was wearing off his broad shoulders. With a move so delectably nonchalant that it made him chuckle, she draped it sloppily over the back of a chair, her hands impatiently reaching back to him, slipping into the deep collar of the loose-fitting shirt he wore.

A groan escaped him when her long, sharp fingernails trailed over his chest, catching on his nipple as they roamed his body. The sensation of it made him hiss softly, causing her to hum contently. As she rounded his person once again, so that she was standing before him, she loosely placed her wrists on his shoulders and gently drew circles with her fingers on the nape of his neck.

She smiled, baring her pearly white teeth. They were much like elven teeth, with the exception of her especially sharp canines. Mike chuckled under his breath as he remembered the many times those teeth had breached the skin of his ears, neck, or lips – and with such remarkable ease that he hadn’t noticed it had happened until he saw her guilt-ridden face. Luckily, elves were quick healers, and the small wounds would always be gone by morning.

“There are far too many clothes on you…” She seemed unwilling to use his name, still, even after he had told her countless times that she was more than free to do so. “…Mike.” As she said it, the name seemed to linger in the room for a moment, to leave an echo of sorts that felt strange but exhilarating. She looked deeply into his eyes, an inquisitive expression adorning her sharp features, as if she were looking for something.

Of course, she was, in fact, looking for something; namely the effect that using a name would have had on a demon such as herself, but it seemed not to affect elves in the same way. Mike reassured her that her words indeed had no such effect on him, and she once again apologized to him for not being able to tell him her own name.

“It’s okay, little demon,” he whispered to her softly, “I don’t need to know your name to know your heart.” He lightly touched her cheek as he said the words, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was speaking the truth.

He had found it so strange at first, not knowing what to call her, but she had seemed fond of it when he called her ‘little demon’ once, so he had continued to use it. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, he noticed that her tail swished around happily when he said it. He found it incredibly endearing.

Remembering her words from before, he pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside. The garment was soon followed by his trousers, and he stood before her completely nude, holding out his arms to her as an invitation. With the tip of her tail, she gently caressed his side before stepping forward so he could take her into his arms.

Soon, her clothes had been sent the same way his had, leaving them both naked in front of each other. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, drawing back again when Mike moved to deepen the kiss. Swiftly, she stepped around him, closing the rest of the space between her and the big four poster bed that dominated the quarters, floorboards creaking softly beneath her feet.

Suddenly, her tail lashed out – quicker than he was able to see – and swatted him playfully on his bottom.

“Hey!” he protested before lunging at her, throwing her on the bed and pinning her in place there.

“Did you just spank me, little demon?” he asked. She shivered as she felt his lips on her ear as he spoke, and then in her neck, where he kissed her eagerly.

“Hmm, maybe,” she mused. There was a hint of a giggle to her voice and a soft smile on her lips that disappeared when Mike returned her sudden show of appreciation by striking her behind a few times. Though he used considerable force, by the end of it, she was laughing beneath him. “I won’t readily forgive you for this, your grace.”

He let her turn around underneath him, and he kissed her gently. “What can I do to make it up to you, my love?” he asked sweetly before trailing kisses down her neck, towards her collarbone. Her fingers tangled in his hair, gently guiding him to further his descent.

Mike diligently kissed every square inch of her breasts, carefully taking each of her nipples into his mouth, circling the little peaks with his tongue. Occasionally, he sank his teeth gently into her supple flesh, relishing her reaction. She writhed beneath him with pleasure, making every effort to convince him to move his head further down, soft moans escaping her as he touched her.

Though his mouth stayed right where it was, his hands heeded her request, and resumed their path down her body, caressing her belly and hips, fingernails gently trailing her dark grey skin, making her sigh and shiver.

Finally, one of his hands found its way between her legs, where he gently parted her folds to reveal her damp core.

“You’re wet for me, little demon,” he moaned against her skin, still focusing most of his attention on her chest. She was more than aware that he greatly enjoyed the sight of her body, but that he held a particular affection for her breasts. On occasion, his enthusiasm made her laugh – today was one of those days.

He answered her chuckle by biting her nipple once again as two of his fingers slowly ventured into her drenched core. A sigh escaped as her lips parted, and she opened her legs wider to give him easier access. Mike was typically too impatient to tease her, and this night was no exception; with remarkable competence, he pumped his fingers into her core, the tips of them stroking the exact right spot every time.

Soon, her tail curled around his wrist, guiding his rhythm – and making him laugh softly under his breath. He liked her eagerness to take charge of her own pleasure, not because it made things easier for him, but rather because of how much he longed to watch her unravel before him. Often, he had asked her to pleasure herself, to let him watch, but she required proximity and intimacy – preferring his touch to her own so strongly that it was almost impossible for her to reach her climax on her own.

He didn’t complain – of course he didn’t; Mike was a joker, but he wasn’t crazy. With the skilled hand of a young man well-rehearsed in the intricacies of lovemaking – even if those experiences had only been with her – he brought her to her peak, and back down again.

“Hmm, my little demon,” he mused, “you look so pretty when you come undone for me.”

“Only for you, my darling,” she said softly as she reached out to him and pulled his face to hers. “Take me, my sweet prince, I want you completely.”

He united their bodies with one swift motion, unable to stifle his moans as he did. She cried out softly into his ear as his cock plunged into her drenched core, her body yielding to the intrusion – but not with ease. For a moment, he stayed still within her, allowing her some much-needed time to get accustomed to his girth.

When he finally moved, he did so slowly and carefully, keeping a close eye on her face for any sign of discomfort. From experience, he knew she was prone to lose sight of her own boundaries, and he always tried his very best to protect her from herself when needed.

His lips found hers again as he thrust into her with steady, deliberate strokes. As soon as he felt her tongue swipe along the seam of his lips, he parted them, and their tongues danced gently as he rutted into her with passion. Slowly, he felt the length of her tail wrap around his back, pulling him tighter against her – her arms did the same.

There was no need for speed or aggression as he chased his own climax, only the inviting warmth of her body and the gentle touch of her lips. Moans spilled from their lips as they both came ever closer to their orgasm. She arrived there shortly before he did, her clenching walls guiding him to his peak as she came undone around him once more.

Out of breath, and with their bodies still entwined, they lay on his bed for a moment, still and quiet, as they hoped to catch their breath and steady their hearts.

“I love you, little demon,” Mike sighed as he softly caressed her cheek. The smile that appeared on her face was blinding, yet she did not speak, which he found worrisome. Did she not return his affections? In professing his love for her, had he said or done something wrong?

She looked deep into his eyes, ever smiling, and bit her lip before speaking. Her words – or rather; word – struck him as odd, however: She said nothing but his name. Abruptly, he pulled away from her, quickly finding that it wasn’t possible, as her tail still wound around their bodies, holding them together firmly.

“Let me go, please,” he said, a hint of anguish to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. She found that it was a sound that worried her greatly: something was awry, but she couldn’t figure out what for the life of her. She did as he asked, and he moved to lie down next to her, turning around and away from her.

“My prince, what’s wrong?” she inquired, a startled expression on her face. When she touched his arm, he turned partially so he could see her over his shoulder. With a scowl on his face, he turned back, scoffing as he went about it.

“I give you my heart,” he whispered, “and get nothing in return.”

“I used your name,” she exclaimed in reply to his accusation. How could he not see that she had given him everything?

“Consider this a moment of uncharacteristic mental clarity,” he said, “but I feel like we are barrelling towards a misunderstanding.”

“M-mike,” she stuttered, “the only true name someone of my kind typically utters in their lifetime, is that of their spouse.” Her words seemed to surprise him; shock was clearly displayed in the features of his face as he turned around again. As soon as he faced her again, she wormed herself into his arms, and he gladly closed them around her.

“Do you mean to say I would learn your name if we were to be married?” he asked, clearly confused as to the specifics of the ceremony – and why should he be versed in those subjects? They were, after all, a rather unlikely couple.

She elected for a moment to ignore that from his statement spoke a certain willingness to take her as his wife and answered his question: “Yes. In fact, we could never be married if you didn’t learn my name.” She went on to explain to him that her kind – Tieflings, a kind of lesser demon – had come into existence as the result of a pact with a demon. “They offered us protection in exchange for servitude – very rarely invoked, don’t worry. When we are married, that contract shifts from our ancestor to our spouse, but in order to invoke the service of a demon, one must know its name.”

That meant, or so Mike learned, that even though he would learn her name, he would still not be allowed to use it, so as to keep it a secret from everyone else. The news saddened him greatly, for as much as he loved his ‘little demon’, he longed to have a name to call her by.

“There is always the option for me to choose a name to go by,” she explained, “most couples of my kind find it unnecessary – we’re used to it, after all – but pairs like us opt for it quite often.”  

“Couldn’t you choose one right now?” Mike asked, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically.

“It would be considered highly inappropriate,” she answered, “besides, even that chosen name would be strictly for use in private situations.”

“A situation like this one…” he said slowly, finally understanding what she had meant earlier.

“A situation very much like this one,” she repeated. Gentle fingers trailed over his cheek, and she looked into his eyes. Their blue hue was unusual for wood elves – it was a trait he shared with his brother, Melot – but that .add them no less stunning. “To use someone’s name, to us, is invariably a sign of love and devotion, Mike.”

He finally seemed to grasp how special it was for her to utter his name even before they were married – which made him realize just how much he did wish to be married to her. He stroked her hair, his fingers lingering on the skin around her horns, and she hummed softly and contently in his arms as she wrapped her tail around their bodies once again. “How does it work?” he asked her.

She looked at him, not understanding his question; her brows drawn together in confusion. “What do you mean?” she countered his query.

“What does the ritual entail?” he inquired again, this time biting his lip and avoiding her gaze, as though the subject had suddenly made him nervous.

“This, mostly,” she laughed, as she wrapped her tail around them tighter – he did the same with his arms.

“Are there any species whose unions are not centred around sex?” he wondered aloud.

“Very few,” she responded with a chuckle.

“Well, do you want to practice?” he asked her, a devious grin adorning his lips as he lowered his head so he could press his mouth to hers again.

“Your Abyssal should be good enough by now,” she said as she paced nervously around the room, almost knocking down everything that wasn’t nailed down off its shelf or other resting place with her vigorously swishing tail.

“You said it was good enough months ago, darling,” he reminded her patiently. He had struggled with the language in the beginning, but had ultimately gained the fluency he would need to be joined to her in marriage.

As confident as he was of his abilities regarding his lover’s native language, he had his own doubts when it came to other aspects of the ceremony. She had made it very clear that there was a possibility that their union would be refused; her ancestor was obliged by contract to see to it that she was protected, and if they found that Mike wasn’t capable of doing so, their plea would be declined.

“We could still be together,” she had said, but both of them had known that to be the empty comfort it truly was. Mike may have been the youngest of the elven Princes, but that did not absolve him from the requirement of a formal marriage.

“Do you know what to do?” she asked – again – as she suddenly came to a halt before him, her tail still anxiously whipping through the air behind her.

He explained, for the so-manieth time, that he knew perfectly well what was expected of him: She would lead him in the summoning of her ancestor, but he would have to make his plea with them himself, in Abyssal. Only then would their request be taken under advisement, and if he was deemed an appropriate partner, he would be told her name.

“And you have to…” she started anxiously.

“Repeat it immediately, I know,” he said, getting up from the chaise in which he had been laying as he watched her nerves get the better of her – she usually wasn’t in any kind of mood to crave physical touch, thus he had stayed put and talked to her as she required – and taking her hands in his. His biggest fear was that he would make a mistake in the pronunciation of her name, throwing away his one and only chance to be wed to her in the process.

“Are you ready?” she then asked, squeezing his hands gently. “It’s time.” He smiled nervously as he nodded, and let her guide him out of the room. Given the circumstances – that is to say; the fact that their marriage might be refused – Mike was more than glad that Tieflings considered their nuptial rites very private affairs, which meant they would be the only beings attending the ceremony. Save for her demon ancestor, who would witness the consummation of their pairing.

 The route to their destination quickly became a blur of turns and staircases, as they descended to what felt like great depths, finally standing in front of a pair of large doors, with strange inscriptions on them. Mike could make out some of them, but the message largely eluded them.

“Ancient abyssal,” she explained, without a doubt having caught the confusion on his face. Once more, she asked him if he was ready, and as he nodded, she entwined her fingers with his. A chant in the same ancient language as the carvings, opened the large wooden doors, and after taking a deep breath, they stepped over the threshold. Behind them, the doors were shut again, leaving them alone together, in the dark. “Our very last chance to turn back.” She spoke softly and swallowed audibly.

Mike took her hand firmer in his, and looked at her, knowing she was perfectly capable of seeing his face, even in this darkness, as he was able to see hers. “I’m not turning back, little demon,” he said sternly, “I want you. I love you.”

She smiled, and nodded enthusiastically, turning away from him again, guiding him once more towards a small altar on the far side of the room. There, she knelt on a pillow that was laid on the floor in front of the altar, pulling on his hand so that he followed her example. He noticed briefly how the material touching his knees was almost decadently soft – befitting a demon interior, for they knew all too well how to indulge in earthly pleasures. After a while, she began to speak, her words echoing off the walls of the dark room, ringing clearly in his ears: “With humble anticipation, I request an audience with you, your Eminence, my ascendant, the faithful protector of my blood.”

From the dark – seemingly out of nowhere – there came a voice, speaking in the same language. Mike stifled a sigh of relief when he understood the words spoken by this unseen entity perfectly. “Child of my blood, I heed your request for an audience. What do you seek from me?”

“My Lord, if you will indulge me, my elven companion wishes to make an appeal.” The hand with which she held his trembled as they awaited the answer.

“Let him speak,” the demon spoke clearly.

Mike swallowed – an action that did nothing to relieve the pressure of his nerves, which he felt so clearly in his throat – and prayed silently that he would be able to produce so much as a single sound. “Your Eminence,” he said slowly, minding his pronunciation and everything there was to consider about the strange, guttural sounding language in which he spoke, “I seek to be wed to this woman. I have come before you today in hopes that you shall grant my petition for her hand in marriage.”

What followed were the longest thirty seconds of either of their lives, but after this unbearable silence, the demon spoke again: “Do you, Mikhaellin, youngest Prince of the wood elves, believe that you can shield my child from harm as I have vowed to do?”

“I do”

“And do you promise that you will ensure with all your might, within the realm of your capabilities, that no harm shall come to her?”

“I promise, your reverence,” he answered, his voice calmer and steadier than either of them had expected from him. If their petition were granted, this renewed her hopes that he would not stumble over her name…

“I see into you, Mikhaellin, and I am pleased that I see a good man,” the demon continued, “with the knowledge that I know your heart, and you cannot lie to me, will you vow to me that you shall never abuse that which is about to be revealed to you?”

“I solemnly promise that I shall never abuse that what I am about to receive,” Mike said, his voice soft, but his tone decisive and firm.

“Then I will grant you this; knowledge of her name, so that you may bind her to you for eternity,” the ancestor spoke. “I hereby entrust you with her care and protection, child of my blood, my daughter.” The name that followed was an almost unintelligible combination of sounds, and for a moment it seemed as though their fears might become reality, but Mike’s voice was clear as day as he repeated the countless syllables without faltering.

As soon as the word was spoken, she gasped loudly, her golden eyes glowing in the dark, and he knew there was but one request left to make: “Join me, my love.”

For a moment, it felt wrong that she got up without saying and allowed him to guide her to the large bed that stood on the other side of the room, for she had no choice but to follow him, as she was now under his command – and she would remain that way until their union was consummated.

It was a surprise to him, then, that her lips touched his, and he looked at her with his confusion evident on his face.

“I can act freely within the parameters of your demand,” she said with a smile, raising one hand to stroke his cheek, and the other to undo the laces of his collar.

“Was my demand sufficient?” he asked hesitantly, his voice trembling, and his eyes widening in fear as she shook her head. “I do not wish to command you to share my bed.”

“I want you to,” she replied in earnest, smiling as he bit down on his lip when her fingers trailed over the tips of his ears.

“My dearest,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, so as to not make any mistakes, “I demand that you join me in the consummation of our union, only of your own volition.” The glow of her eyes disappeared, and she smiled at you.

“Clever, my prince,” she said, her hands sliding underneath the fabric of his shirt, and lifting it over his head without much ceremony. “I wish nothing more than to be married to you.”

With great impatience speaking clearly from their movements, they shed their clothes and climbed onto the large bed. The sheets, fashioned out of a luxurious silk, felt heavenly on their skin. He looked at her in awe of her beauty, as he always did, biting his bottom lip in that way that made her cheeks warm up. For a moment, they lay there that way, still and quiet, their only movement the heaving of their chests with every breath they drew in, taking the other in as though it was the first time they saw each other.

Slowly, she brought her face closer to his, speaking softly as she leaned her forehead against his: “What are you waiting for, my love? It’s hardly the first time we’ve done this.”

“I can’t seem to make up my mind,” he replied. “Do I take my time, or get this over with and have my way with you afterwards?”

“I highly doubt my ancestor minds if you take your time,” she replied. “As a demon, they do, in fact, have all eternity.”

“I don’t want to rush this,” he finally said after some quiet deliberation. As luck would have it, she was of the same opinion. What followed was a soft kiss, that slowly became deeper, increasing in intensity until they were both moaning, writhing on the sheets as they longed dearly to get closer to one another. His fingers tangled with the long, dark tresses of her hair, hers traced the muscles of his back as he leaned over her. His lips left hers, and followed a path along her jaw, down into her neck, meeting her sensitive skin over and over again, suckling and softly biting down until she moaned from pleasure.

He took his time when he reached her breasts, tenderly kneading the soft flesh, kissing her skin and wrapping his lips around her hardened nipples. His fingers travelled downwards, towards the apex of her thighs, where they teased her slick folds briefly before seeking entrance to her body. A loud moan escaped her as he invaded her, a louder one, still, when he sought out that spot that he knew would unravel her with ease.

“Tell me, little demon,” he teased as he pumped his fingers into her drenched core, “what do you desire?” The answer she gave consisted only of incomprehensible mewling and whining, and he clicked his tongue impatiently at her. “Come, come, little demon, you’ll have to speak.”

“You, my love,” she finally shrieked as she fell apart around his skilled fingers, relishing the thought that this was far from her last climax of this night. “I want you.”

Mike was rather pleased to find their desires in agreement with one another, yet for some reason he elected to take another, slower, approach. Slowly, he kissed his way further down her body, until he reached her thighs.

“Open your legs for me, little demon,” he whispered against her skin, kissing the inside of her thigh as soon as he gained access to it. She hissed when he sank his teeth into the delicate skin, her breath catching in her throat as he inched closer to her dripping core. With his fingers, he parted her folds, taking his time to drink in the sight of her pink centre, the colour in stark contrast to the rest of her skin. He looked at her glistening petals for a moment, before moving closer. She sighed as first his breath, but soon his tongue, tickled and teased the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves that begged for his attention.

Soon, she was writhing beneath him, putty in his hands as he swiftly worked her clit until she was on the brink of another climax. It was still odd to him that she screamed so often as she came, but never used his name, though he did have a better understanding of the reasoning behind it now.

“One more, my prince, please,” she begged when he began to venture back up her body, a chuckle escaping from him as he heard her pleading tone. Naturally, he obliged. Mike enjoyed pleasuring her as much as he appreciated it when she returned his affections, and especially on a night like tonight, how could he allow her cries to go unanswered? As his tongue found her clit again, he slipped two of his fingers between her velvet walls, revelling in the feeling of her muscles tightening around him as he curled them slightly and worked that same spot from before. Now coupled with the ministrations of his warm tongue, the sensations overwhelmed her even faster than they had last time, and he swiftly and decisively built her up to her peak, eagerly lapping up the arousal that spilled from her as she came a third time.

“Take me, your grace,” she panted, breathing heavily against the skin of his neck, where she buried her head when he came up her body again. He was now laying between her spread legs, barely able to control himself any longer as he heard her pleading voice: “Make me yours.”

He laid his forehead against hers as he positioned himself, longing to be close to her. Exercising all the self-restraint he could muster, he entered her slowly. A few seconds passed, but then he suddenly felt it; the elastic band he always seemed to feel when he held her close snapped, allowing him to finally close whatever distance there had always been between them. Even though it had barely been noticeable to begin with, the difference was absolutely striking now that that which had been keeping them apart was no longer present. Instead, something both invisible and intangible tied them together; a bond stronger than anything he had ever felt before.

“My wife,” he whispered, “my little demon.”

Her whispered response was nothing but his name; every repetition of it drawing him closer to her, deeper inside; her tail once again wrapping around the both of them while their bodies connected as though it was their first time – and in a way it was.

After some time, she allowed him more room to move – an opportunity he greedily exploited by slowly, teasingly pulling all the way out of her before sinking back into her with a single, smooth thrust. Once again, there was no rush, no desire for forcefulness; there was simply nothing but intimacy, closeness, and love between them.

They made love for what felt like hours – and perhaps they did, in fact, spend hours tangled together – but eventually, the demanding clenching of her muscles lured from his lips the familiar sound that signalled his climax as he spilled his seed deep inside of her.

Exhausted and sated, she nestled into his side, a content sigh escaping his lips as she tenderly stroked his stomach. He, in turn, pressed a soft kiss to her head, in between her horns, pulling her even closer to him, unwilling to have their bodies part ways for even so much as a single second.

“Good night, little demon,” he whispered softly, the memory of her true name echoing through his head as he spoke.

[onmymasa22]

Today is the death day of a really great rabbi- The Piaseczno Rebbe. We hear a lot about inspirational things people say and all that is fine and dandy, but sometimes it can feel like- what have u been through that gives u the right to talk. During this war, there were lots of powerful things, but to me, hearing holocaust survivors saying "We know how hard this is. You will get through this" was the thing that keeps me going. This special rebbi was a hassidic rabbi who gave dvar torahs in the warsaw getto to ppl. They found the manuscripts of his 3rd meal speeches that they wrote down after shabbos or yom tov in buried milk jugs and put it into a really well organized book called "eish kodesh" which u can find in a mixture of hebrew and yiddish on sefaria. He is the prime rabbi of "why do bad things happen to good people" so if u need any of that, he's ur guy. Plus, he's known to address everyone as "my important students", "my dear students", "my beloved students" and any rabbi who does that automatically upgraded to favorite cuz I'm such a mush.

So last year i volunteered at a center for ppl

Theres no feeling like going to art supply store and feeling completely competent in your needs. Like, not a craft store for glue snd beeds, or crappy wood frames. We are talking in a store for ppl who know what they want, and know what can be touched and what cant. Natural hair brushes: touch it and die. Sheets of plaster for a sculpture, ok to touch. So going into a store for fabric because i need a specific thickness of silk chiffon, and they ask what i need it for fashion or art, and i say art. And i know exactly what and how much i need. I

If someone opened my phone gallery, they'd find about a thousand pictures of female ears. Not assuming the role of van gogh and looking for a replacement ear, i just am thinking about getting piercings.

Its 2 months till semester brake. Which means my phone gallery is filled with photos of various ears. Specially female ears. I'm not a mike tyson fangirl, i just celebrate finishing the semester with getting piercings with friends.

I used to have a drinking problem. I would drink almost every night. I would throw up, ive blacked out. I didnt really want to be alive in my brain and alcohol was something my friends always had. Bottles and bottles of alcohol in backpacks. Theyd pour it out for u, and noone counted, noone rationed, no one cared. I was so emotionally raw and inflamed, red faced. I just knew that the second id have a shot or two, my tougue would get fuzzy and my brain would relax, and id be less uncomfortable. I felt freer when i was drunk. I would get warm and would just drink and dance for hours. Heeling was hard. And scary. And i thought a sober life without danger was just a numb feeling.

Im not numb. I dont like certain things.

White car

White interior

Seat covers

Grownups

Make ceramic plates and mugs

Forks knives spoons

When ur thinking about what piercings you'll get with friends in two months because u started a tradition of getting piercings to celebrate finishing a semester of art school- cuz if the teachers dont love my stuff, im just gonna love and decorate myself more. So far we have

2 lobes- age 1

Septum- age 21 (but closed up)

4 more lobes- age 25 (in one day, because im a psychopath)

Navel- age 26 (kind of impulsive)

Am i excited to get back to my old people with mental health stuff cooking class? Indescribably excited.

Am i excited to go back to a country that put fries in sandwiches and i dont need to wait in lines cuz im a VIP at the shwarma joint? 1000% yes

Am i happy that this is my last year dealing with department heads who screw me every chance I get, but i let it go because I don't argue with ugly people?

Abso-frickin-lutely

Things i wish i knew when i was younger:

Never argue with ugly people, you will never win. If you can let it go, just let it go. They will always be ugly. You will always have grace.

I am confident and pretty. Thats a dangerous mix that gets me not asked out a lot. But thats the thing. I believe that when a guy sees me and says oh my gosh i want to be with her, ill know, he'll no. Right now, the guys i like dont ask me out. Its the guys i dont like.

Visit greece

Walk in the sea of stars

Visit italy

Visit korea in the spring

Safari in nambia

Halloween in usa

Summer in hawaii

Christmas in new york

Paris

Me, at midnight, cant fall asleep:

Things that will offend me to my very core

Weird things a girl like me gets incredibly offended about

Telling me that im a redhead, therefore i dont tan

Telling me im not the funniest person u know

Calling my hair straight

[rinstars]

clean up

pairing: college!sukusa kiyoomi x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1.6k+

tags: cunnilingus, penetration, size kink, a bit of degradation/dumbification(?), choking, probably more but i suck at tags.

note: not as long and didn't proofread as much cause i did this on a whim (again) but here's frustrated sakusa cause you didn't watch him practice like you usually do and he missed you. basically, university/college au cause i don't write them as high school students! always always 18+

"you didn't come to see me in practice." you looked up from the desk to see sakusa entering the sliding doors of your classroom. he quietly walks over to you, the mask strapped on his face unable to hide his obvious distate at your absence. he leans on the teacher's desk in front, calloused palms pressed flat on the wood to support him as he looks down on you.

"sorry, baby. lots of council stuff to finish." you look up to him pouting, but his glare on you is hard and unmoving – making you press your thighs together as your body heats up with arousal. with the slight bob of his head, he motions you to stand up and get closer to him as he removes the mask from his face.

the moment you sprung up to your feet, you wrap your arms around him, nestling your head on the crook of his neck. one of his hands traveled all the way down to the back of your thighs, guiding you to lift it so one of your knees are resting on the table while the other one remains standing between his legs. you rest a bit of your weight on him, attempting to sit down on his thigh so you're stradling it. you groan in annoyance as his firm grip pulls you back by the waist.

then all of a sudden, without warning, he licks a bold stripe on your ear before whispering, "shhh patience... missed my baby girl."

your breaths slowly get shallower by the second as he continues licking and biting your lobe, the hand on the back of your thigh slowly disappearing to find its way below your skirt. you whimper as the pads of his fingers press on your sopping clit, rubbing small circles through the thin underwear. "missed this little pussy."

your fingers grip the hairs on the back of his head, slowly grinding on his hand as he continues pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. he hooks his fingers on the band of your underwear as he tries to tug it down with one hand. when he successfully manages to get it on the floor with your help, he pulls back to look you in the eye. he flips you around to switch your positions and hoists you up the table so you're sitting on it.

"spread your legs." he simply murmured, making you twitch in excitement as you slowly opened your legs, skirt bunched up to the sides. his eyes follow your every movement, pupils dilating in hunger as he stares at your glistening pussy.

"omi, touch me now, please." you pathetically beg, spreading your folds even further with the use of your two fingers so he can get a clearer look of the way you're repeatedly clenching into nothing.

he kneels in front of you, thumb collecting moisture as he runs it softly on your protruding clit. "already making a fucking mess. you're creaming so much, it's soaking the damn wood."

his face inches closer and closer to your cunt and you close your eyes, waiting for the warm contact of his tongue – but it never comes. not when he suddenly spits harshly on your pussy, making you yelp both in surprise and pleasure. you feel his spit slowly run down from your bud to your slit – almost at the table when sakusa's tongue suddenly connects with your folds to collect it instead, making you cry out.

the one time sakusa is willing to be messy is when he's lewding you. he doesn't care if you're dripping on the sheets, the floor, all over him. he loves seeing your cunny get swallowed by your wetness.

"my sweet little slut." he groans, sending a series of vibrations through your core as he laps and flicks your clit over and over – drinking whatever drips out of your hole.

"o-omi, ah, yes baby, j-just like that." you squirm against him, panting with your head thrown back. "your t-tongue, put it.. ah shit – put your tongue in, please."

he forces his tongue inside you, wriggling it a little to fit it into your hole as he uses his fingers to roughly rub your already sore clit, making you grip the edge of the table. he interchanges his fingers and tongue after a moment, sinking two fingers inside you and scissoring it as he sucks on your bud.

"gonna cum, omi." you sob, grabbing a fist of his hair and pressing his face harder to you as you slowly rock your hips.

he just hums into you, encouraging and giving you permission to let go. you soon feel your juices flow out along with the sighs escaping from your mouth. when you looked down at him, he's peering at you through his lashes, lips shining with your slick. his tongue glides past his lips as he stands up, pulling you closer to him.

"that's enough prep time, right baby?" he coos at you as he removes the knot on his training pants, sliding it down his thighs. "you'll take me balls deep and let me fuck you dumb?"

you shook with both desire and fear. sakusa is long and thick, lined with prominent veins. the first time you both did it, you cried so much with barely the tip in. by the time he's halfway in, you're already panting from overstimulation. even now, no matter how many times you've done it already, even when your insides are already taking his shape, you can't help but shed tears when he fucks you. that's why he always takes time to prep you, get you wet and stretched enough.

"be gentle, omi." you plead him, reaching out to touch his face. he places his hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze before pulling it away and eyeing you with mischief.

"you didn't come to see me in practice." he repeats, hand wrapped around his cock as he slowly pumps himself, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip. "bad girls get their little cunt punished and split apart."

tears blur your vision as he comes near you, aligning his cock on your opening. you gently grab his forearm and prepare yourself for the impact of his cock slamming into you. you waited as you felt sakusa pull back a little before burrying himself in you, making you scream out and tighten your grip around his arm.

his hands immediately found your mouth, covering it to prevent you from making any more sound. "fuck, quiet down, baby.. unless you want someone to see you? is that what you want, hmm? someone watching you cream around my fat cock while i split you apart?"

you bit his palm to prevent yourself from making a sound as tears continue flowing down your cheeks and into his fingers. you couldn't hold back the gasp when you looked down at your connected bodies to see that only half of his length managed to slip in. he roughly goes in and out a couple of times, accepting whatever you have to offer at the moment as he helps you adjust a little.

when you feel him start to pound the rest of his length into you, your eyes rolled back, touching his waist in an attempt to make me go slowly.

"omi, n-no more – ah ah you're gonna split me apart, you're gonna break me, p-please yoomi you're too big." your muffled voice resonates through the room.

he completely pulls away from you, leaving you empty without his cock inside you. he steadies your head to face him and look at him in the eyes as he slams all of himself to you, making your body shake both in pleasure and pain. you vision whitens when you feel his tip right at your cervix, touching the spongy area inside you.

"hm? then break for me, little one." he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing gently while the other one wraps around your waist.

he pounds into you over and over, making you feel every single vein rub through your walls as you take his shape. his hold on your throat prevents you from making any sound – the wet squelching sounds of your cunt being ripped apart along with his grunts the only thing audible.

"you're gushing so fucking disgustingly around me – fuck, stop clenching me like that, i can't move." he grunts, not out of anything but pure pleasure. he loves it. he loves seeing you wrap him in your stickiness, sucking him dry as you tighten around him.

your toes curl as you feel orgasm flooding your body. you look at him with desperation, and he nods to you, understanding what you're trying to say. he lets go of your throat to pinch your nipples through the sheer white of your uniform, closing the distance between you as he sucks your neck.

with one last moan, you spasm around his cock while your own fingers circle your clit to ride your high. you feel his cock start twitching inside you and you hear him suck in a breath before he, too, spills his seed in your walls, filling you to the brim.

he stays unmoving in your cunt, watching you fail to accommodate all of the juices flowing in you as it falls to the floor. after you both catch your breath, he grabs your face gently, turning you to him so he can press a soft kiss on your lips before hugging you to him.

"did it hurt a lot? are you okay?" he strokes your hair, pressing comforting kisses on your temple. you soften with his touch, assuring him it's fine.

you both stay like that for a moment before he pulls his pants back up, walking away from you to one of the cabinets in the room. you laugh as you realize he's getting cleaning supplies to fix the mess you both caused. luckily, you both finished your duties in practice and council late so you don't have to worry much about getting caught (except probably a few more students who also has things to do).

"well help me clean up your damn mess." he lazily glares at you from across the room, making you reach over to your discarded underwear on the floor and slip it on before grabbing one of the mops from him.

note: thank u for 100 followers :D

ghoultobio / risaki © 2020 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost.

[bertholdtbrainrot]

i cant stop thinking of giving bertholdt head under a table, like at his desk while he’s working 🥺 if u wrote a drabble i’d be so grateful

hi anon! thank you for your ask! i appreciate the support and would love to write a drabble for you!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

notes: i’m setting this is an au where bertholdt goes back to marley so there are slight spoilers for season 3! hope u enjoy! this also ended up being a little longer than a drabble but OH WELL.

also, just think about this tiktok while reading.... BERTHOLDT IN HIS MARLEYAN UNIFORM. he would be even taller and beefier than he was before, probably standing at about 6′7. THE UNIFORM IM DROOLING.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

warnings: nsfw under the cut, minors DNI!, slight oral fixation, oral male!receiving, gagging/spitting, dirty talk/degradation/praise, public!sex

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

ever since bertholdt came back home with you, you could see the pressure he was under. you could see the tension in his shoulders and the stress line that adorned his forehead now. failing the mission to bring back the attack titan to marley only made matters worse. he was under immense stress, having to fill out endless paperwork and reports, relaying information he had learned during his time inside the walls. 

you were having a late night yourself, going over the game plan with your comrades time and time again until they were satisfied. you walked back into the room you shared with bertholdt, opening the door and seeing his tall figure hunched over his desk. his head was in his hands as he scanned over the stack of paperwork, occasionally jotting down notes. he was so focused he didn’t even realize that you had walked into the room until your arms snaked around his shoulders, leaning down and embracing him from behind.

“take a break...”  you mumbled into his ear, kissing just behind his lobe, sending goosebumps down his arms. he takes a deep breath in and relaxes under your touch slightly, shaking his head slowly. 

“i can’t..” he whispered and stretched his arms out, arching his back to loosen some of the tension.

just a few minutes later, you were on your knees under his desk. the wood grains of the floor left indents in your skin, his pants pulled down just enough that his cock was free. you got there on your own accord, insisting that if he couldn’t take a break, the least you could do was relieve some stress for him while he worked. you both knew there was no way he could work with his cocked down your throat.

your mouth was stuffed full of him, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes as you felt your throat stretch around his girth. your nails dug into the skin of his thighs, your eyes rolling back into your head as you bobbed your head up and down. 

a sudden knock knock knock at the door sent a wave of adrenaline through both you and bertholdt’s bodies, interrupting the slew of profanities that was spilling from his mouth. bertholdt attempted to move and push you off his length but you shook your head, shoving him further down. the desk hid your position on your knees, all he had to do was play the part.

“c-come i-in..” he muttered out weakly, his voice shaky with pleasure. the door creaked open, the bulky blonde-haired boy peaking past the frame.

“hey bert, i was wondering if i could talk to you about a few things..” reiner started saying as he advanced into the room further. 

you took this as an opportunity to tease bertholdt, shoving your face down, shaking your head to take all of him into your mouth. you held back a gag and a cough, your nose nestling right above the base of his cock.

you heard the tall man clear his throat loudly, banging his fist down on the table as his hips bucked up into your mouth instinctively.

“FUCK.” he blurted out, coughing as to not blow his cover. “reiner, right now is n-not the best time...” he mumbles out, face blushing beet red. reiner’s eyebrows furrow in confusion until he spots the belt that had been thrown across the floor. his eyebrows then pop up and a knowing smile embraces his lips. “ah, okay.. i’ll just -uh, come back later then.” he said and wiggled his eyebrows before turning on his heel and leaving, closing the door behind him with a smirk on his face. he would never let bert live this down/

you pull up off of his length, a lewd string of spit connecting your mouth with his tip as he look up at him innocently. “did he catch on?” you said, smiling up at him.

he groaned at the sight, shaking his head. “such a naughty little slut, helping daddy relieve some stress. you’re such a dirty whore. you don’t even care if you get caught choking on my cock, huh?” he mumbled darkly, thumb running across your bottom lip, your mouth closing around his thumb.

“now finish what you started babygirl, and maybe... just maybe i’ll let you cum.”

[vixenpen]

Fuck A Fan (Bakugo x Camgirl reader pt. 1)

You had gotten the idea from one of your best friends in the cam industry.

“You sure this will work?”

“Trust me boo,” he had replied, “sometimes the best motivation for a man is a little friendly competition.”

Your bestie had insisted that a fuck a fan contest would be the perfect way to get CallMeKing to finally make good on his unfulfilled promise to see you.

Putting the finishing touches on your flyer, you finally posted the announcement to all social media. You knew CMK was still lurking. So he’d definitely see it. Hopefully, this little contest would be enough to spark his interest, if this failed, you were going to scream.

Because for the first time in your cam career, a man had you chasing him.

The audacity!

To be fair, he did say that he wanted to see you too, but had to keep a low profile due to his career. He promised as soon as worked dialed down you guys would meet up.

Well that had been over a year ago, and not only had you guys not met face to face; he also didn’t seem to check in on you as much anymore.

He still tipped and re-subbed to your page. He had even cash-apped you money for Christmas and your birthday.

But aside from that, there were no more late night, sexting sessions, no more random check ins, no more nude trading.

At first, you brushed it off.

He was apparently a very successful man. Successful men were busy. They couldn’t give you every second of their time. As a successful woman, you could relate to that.

Not to mention, you were a bad bitch and bad bitches did not pine over any man.

PERIODTTT.

Buuuut...when the man in question was fine as hell with boulders for biceps, a big dick, and long money, well...you’d like to think the City Girls, Meg the Stallion, and all the other bad bitches you looked up to would understand your thirst.

“Alright, King,” you sat back in the furry, white computer chair and glared at your laptop screen. “Ball is in your court now.”

“Mr. Ground Zero, can I get a picture too?”

A precocious looking blue haired kid asked. He stared up at Katsuki with wide, hopeful eyes.

Katsuki grimaced.

“Whatever kid, c’mon.”

He leaned down, attempting to keep a safe distance from the walking germ pool, while keeping in the lens of his camera phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Ground Zero!”

The kid giddily ran back to his group of friends.

Kirishima slung his arm around Bakugo’s shoulder, weighing down on his slightly shorter friend.

“Wow, Bakubro, looks like those public relations training classes have really been working, huh?”

“Whatever, I just don’t need anymore shitty press with kids.”

“You still have energy for happy hour with Sero and Me tonight?”

Bakugo replied with a noncommittal shrug. He scrolled absentmindedly through his phone as he and Kirishima headed towards their agencies to call it a day.

He decided to check in on (cam name’s) IG page to see how she was doing.

A pang of longing tugged at him. He missed her. A lot. Sure, she was a cam girl, and being friendly and flirty was her job, but she always brightened his days. With crime picking up steadily over the past year, Bakugo could use her presence in his life now more than ever, unfortunately, nothing in his schedule would permit it.

He was researching a new threat that had been developing in the crime world. Apparently the new mob of villains seemed to have some connections to the crime world in America, and Bakugo found himself flying back and forth to the west for meetings and to make media rounds to help put the public at ease.

His sleep schedule was completely out of whack with all the stress he was under, so any spare moment he wasn’t working, he was sleeping. Which meant no time for his virtual boo thing. Though he did try to make it known he was thinking about her with bill money.

As he flipped through her newest posts, something caught his eyes.

Fuck a fan contest? Winner gets to make content with me at secure location!

What the fuck was this shit?

Whatever it was, he was certainly going to get to the bottom of it when he got home.

CMK: Hey, (cam name) what’s this all about?

Y/N: what does it look like? Fuck a fan contest

CMK: fuck u mean? You don’t do meet ups!

Y/N: 🤷🏾‍♀️ first time for everything.

Anger hummed beneath Bakugo’s skin. Since when did y/n start doing meet ups? She had always told him she didn’t trust her fans as far as she could throw them.

He had encouraged her to not be forthcoming with personal information and never feel like she had to meet up with randos online for money. He would take care of anything she needed before it came to that.

So what was the meaning of this? Had he not been taking good enough care of her? Keeping her bills paid? Her nails and hair done?

Y/N: u entering or what? 👀

CMK: hell no im not entering and neither is anyone else. Now take that shit down.

Y/n: (voice note) first the fuck of all, you don’t tell me what to do. Second the fuck of all, do you know how much money is in this? You ain’t stopping my bag boo. Period! 💅🏾

He was practically seething. Who the fuck did she think she was talking to like that?

Who the fuck did she think she was saying no to?!

His dick stirred in his pants as he re-listened to the voice note of her cursing him out.

CMK: how much does it take to win?

Y/N: just whoever has the most.

CMK tipped $150,000

CMK: now take it the fuck down

Y/N: nobody else has entered yet.

CMK: nobody else up here has the money I have.

Y/N: if you’re not meeting with me, I ain’t takin it down.

CMK: god fucking dammit y/n. Tonight. 9pm. Text me the addy. I’ll have my driver pick you up.

True to his word, CMK had his driver pick you up an hour and a half before the time he had mentioned.

Your knee bounced, causing the black mini dress hugging your shapely thighs to ride up. You pulled it down absentmindedly.

You could count on one hand how many times you had been flown out by one of your fans. It certainly wasn’t a weekly occurrence for you the way it was for other models.

Fear and excitement fluttered in your stomach.

You wondered what the driver thought of you. Heading to this rich and powerful man’s house in the middle of the night.

You had tried to dress up as if you were going to be taken on a fancy date. Your hair styled, silver chandelier earrings dripping from your lobes to match the long silver necklace that dipped between your pushed up cleavage.

If the driver gave two shits, you at least hoped he thought you were going to get a nice meal before getting dicked down.

The community where CMK lived was on the outskirts of town; hidden in a forest of natural and manicured foliage. One could go literal miles between each home before they saw the next one.

You pressed your forehead against the window to take in the flora and fauna, manicured lawns, and huge mansions. So. Many. Styles. Of mansions!

“Here we are ma’am.” the driver announced.

He drove you up a looping, stone drive way that led to a very modern home that reminded you a bit of abstract art what with its odd angles, jutting sides, and square architecture.

The driver stepped out and opened your door. Once you were faced with the massive stairs and wooden doors before you, the song: Pretty Woman blared in your mind. You certainly felt that way.

Before you could knock, the door swung open revealing a pair of red eyes that were devouring your body head to toe.

“Oh my god...”

“Wasn’t expecting to hear that before I even touched you, beautiful.” He chuckled. His lips quirked into the cocky half smirk you’d grown familiar with from his interviews.

Was this real? Call me king was Ground Zero?!

“C-call me king?” You managed to stutter out pitifully.

“I would prefer to call you by your real name.” He joked. “Come in, beautiful.” He grabbed your hand gently and pulled you through the door.

You couldn’t even appreciate the high ceilings, polished wood floors, and tasteful stone wash colored furniture as you followed Ground Zero through the door.

He took leggy strides into the airy kitchen taking out a couple of glasses from a cupboard. You could only gawk.

He looked good as hell in his short sleeved denim button up shirt and ripped black jeans. His physique flexed under the well tailored clothes showing off the broad chest and bulging biceps you’d seen in the Nudes. His spiky Blonde hair looked soft and a bit damp.

“You wanna drink, beautiful?”

“I don’t accept drinks from new people in new environments.”

He looked up to shoot you a half smile. The usual mischief was missing from his red eyes, replaced with genuine affection.

“Of course you don’t. My (cam name.)”

“F/N,” you replied.

“Bout damn time you gave me a real name. Mine is Bakugo, babe.”

He strolled over with a glass of water for himself.

“So, f/n,” his ruby colored eyes darkened with a predatory gleam as he stepped right to your face. “Why don’t you have a seat? I promise the couch won’t bite.”

He brought a hand down to smack your round ass, making you jump.

“Can’t say the same for myself though.”

Licking your lips, you lowered yourself into the couch. Bakugo settled beside you so close the sides of your bodies touched. He draped an arm around your shoulder.

“I know you got a camsona and all, but damn, y/n, where’s my feisty little c/n? Huh? Lil Ms. Period!” His voice took on a lighter tone as he tried to imitate your twang.

The attempt earned him a giggle.

“Well excuse me, sir, but I wasn’t expecting the number two pro-hero in Japan to be my biggest fan.” You snapped back, playfully rolling your eyes. “Forgive me if I’m still wrapping my brain around it.”

“There’s that smart ass mouth I love so much.” He tucked your chin.

This close to him, you could feel his warm minty breath fanning against your lips. A familiar warmth was already growing between your legs.

Pulling away you asked: “Why me?”

“Hah?” His brows knit in confusion. “Fuck kinda question is that? What do you mean why you?”

“I mean, I’m a bad bitch or whatever, but I’m just...me and you’re...you.”

“Tch. You just answered your own damn question, dumb ass.” He tilted your face back towards him. You felt his other large hand roam the bare skin of your thigh and shivered.

“You’re a bad bitch. You don’t seem to forget that any other time, don’t fuckin’ forget it now, got that? Your confidence is what’s sexy about you.”

A smile tugged at your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.

“You know, when you’re not being a fuckin’ asshole, you can be pretty damn charming when you wanna be.”

“And when you’re not being a defiant little brat, you can be real fucking cute.”

A moan slipped from your glossy lips as his hand crept steadily up your thigh

“Please,” you leaned closer to him, “you love my brattiness.”

He scoffed, amused.

“I’ll show you just how much I like it.”

Without warning, Bakugo scooped you up. His large, rough hands dug into the soft flesh of your round ass as he straddled you on his lap.

Your wet, bare pussy pressed into his bulge as he stole a greedy kiss. Your gasp quickly morphed into a moan as desire burned in your core and flooded your entire body.

His tongue overtook your mouth effortlessly.

“No panties, huh, brat? I can feel you leaking through my jeans.”

“I hate panties,” you managed between kisses. “And bras.”

That little confession just inspired more arousal in Bakugo. He deposited you on the long couch and let his hot tongue snake along every sensitive bit of exposed flesh he could find. Goosebumps rose on your skin.

“Damn, beautiful,” he managed between kisses, “can’t wait to taste the rest of you.”

His bulge rubbed your aching clit deliciously.

You tugged his shirt up over his mess of blonde hair.

He grabbed the deep ‘V’ of your dress and ripped it open, drawing a gasp from you.

“Now we match.” He grinned

“You ass—“

“You’ll have a new outfit by tomorrow afternoon, now shut up.”

True to his word, Bakugo tasted every inch of you. He nibbled your ears making you shiver, licked your nipples making you hiss his name, and devoured your toes like blow pops.

Your body was trembling from sensory overload.

“God..” you moaned.

“You look like you want something, babe,” Bakugo smiled wickedly as he hovered above you. “What is it?”

“Eat me.”

[kazuhasbunny]

Jealous Bennett fucking me .... while I am attacked in the hollow of a tree

This boy has a lot of energy, there is so much potential in him, he is also very strong since he has survived despite his bad luck, he could carry you in his arms and fuck you for hours until he feels satisfied, he must have so much stress on his body from his failed missions and you came with so much good luck, he was jealous.

So one day he was walking through the woods doing one of his missions and he found you so vulnerable, with your legs a bit open and stuck, maybe his pants came down on their own ... maybe his cock buried itself in you ... such Once I fuck you until you run out of energy ...

I'll leave the details to you ..

-xen

..hhsimw..,,hi.. hiii..,, did u look inside my brain or sumn .., cause i been having the longest thoughts on bennett finding me stuck somewhere and just.., either help me out or just .. use me there for his own liking hmsmsnsgs help ,,,,, jealoud bennett is making me.. feel emotions

i lobe thsi,,, so mcuh .. help nsbsjw i want him to use me msns

[bubmyg]

lost - knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre/warnings: travel!au, roommate!au, bookstore owner!namjoon, strangers to lovers, ft platonic reader x taehyung, fluff, lots of angst regarding uncertain futures, namjoon has a cat named marie

word count: 16,451

summary: taehyung’s warning was simple: stop and you’ll never want to start again or the one where you’re left alone in a loft apartment above a bookstore owned by a man with the sweetest dimples you’ve ever seen.

a/n: my first fic in three months omg...i hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it :-(

Tiny succulent leaves spiraled outward from a central lobe rooted somewhere in the limited space provided by it’s miniature clay home. The pot rattled with the dips of open road, contained mostly to the corner of the dash and the dusty van window yet a victim of the unforgiving lack of traction still attached to the tires that had carried you for miles up until this point. 

One thousand, two hundred and thirty-one miles. And counting. 

You tucked your knee into your chest, lounging so the seatbelt started to cut into your neck as your head lulled to the side, eyeing Taehyung’s profile. 

“You’ve kept that one alive,” You commented absently. 

A noise of surprise broke the hard line of Taehyung’s clenched jaw. He glanced at you, genuine innocence shining through his confusion. It mirrored in his blunt, “Huh?”

You nodded toward the bouncing plant, “If you think about it, killing aloe vera would be kind of ironic…”

“Oh,” Taehyung wrinkled his nose, adjusting his wrist where it laid languidly on the top of the steering wheel, “I think succulents are more my speed. Or at least, the speed of traveling. My daisies didn’t appreciate the darkness of the bedroom. The sunflowers protested the living room on day one.”

“At least if a succulent spills it doesn’t immediately shrivel up and disintegrate…”

By bedroom, Taehyung meant the front section of the shades of beige van he’d acquired in high school, the area with a barely functional bed nailed to the floor of the “trunk”, with windows covered by tattered pieces of flannel you’d hand sewn to resemble curtains. By living room, he meant the back half, where a tiny, rainbow rug sat in the center of splintered wood and a few fold out lawn chairs, matching flannel curtains from the bedroom drawn open to allow sunlight to push through the thin layer of grime gathered in each corner of the windows. 

His daisies had spilled fresh potting soil into your clean pillow case, one you’d shaken free of debris by holding it out the open window of the van while Taehyung shrieked with laughter. His sunflowers wouldn’t even balance on the tiny lip between the window and the inside, ceramic pot tumbling through Taehyung’s clumsy fingers and shattering onto the rug. A glittering piece of the white pot still sat lodged between a space in the wooden floorboards. 

You grunted in acknowledgement, unfurling your legs to heave yourself forward, snatching the tiny plant from its place on the dash. You turned it gently in your palm, “This would have been nice to have a few weeks ago.”

The tiny seaside town you’d rumbled into by accident of the lack of fuel in the van’s tank lead to three nights of camping in crab infested sands, gorgeous sunset photographs you’d clipped to the twine string zigzagging through the living room, and a horrible ripple of blisters sun stained into Taehyung’s shoulder blades. 

He gestured to the scarf you’d prematurely yanked from your luggage shoved into a compartment on the bottom of the vehicle, knee directing the steering wheel as he balled the fleece and tossed it at you. “Good thing it’s almost winter. Put my aloe down.”

You unfolded the pleats of the scarf once you settled the pot back against the windshield, curling it around your arms to settle back into the seat. Your eyes drifted to the scenery beyond the plant, coming first in the fashion of a neon highway sign advertising the next town. You glanced at the tiny red tick on the fuel tank meter. 

“Are we stopping tonight?”

Taehyung’s gaze met the places yours rested on. He sighed, palm pressing into the steering wheel first until his fingers gradually curled around the leather. “At least to get gas and dinner, yes. Look and see if there’s any hotels around, please? And then maybe how far we are from our next stop? I don’t want to hang around too long and miss the harvest festival…”

The tiny tag clipped on the digital map of your phone showed a tiny motel with a singular Yelp review from someone named Min Yoongi within walking distance of the gas station Taehyung had turned into. Your legs crossed where you sat on the edge of the blow up mattress in the bedroom, eyes squinted as you twirled around the general vicinity of the tiny town with the tip of your index finger. 

“Status update, copilot,” The van rocked as Taehyung took a running jump into the open back, momentum causing him to crouch in the center of the living room. Your mouth parted to respond in time with a tinkling crash to your left. 

“There’s a motel across the street,” You uttered in an unimpressed monotone, locating the source of the crash as three similar aloe plants to the one on the dash tumbling off your tiny bookshelf to the rug below. Three sad aloe plants a mess between the sprinkle of potting soil in between grains of rainbow. 

A sheepish look crossed the geometric edges of Taehyung’s smile. “I’ll clean it up,” His cupped palm swept over some of the more elevated piles of soil as if to prove his point, “Will you go see if they have anything available?”

“Got it, boss,” You stood, crouched still due to the proximity of the top of the van to your head, and began to edge your way outside. 

Your hesitation came near the very bookshelf, the sign of the crime, sole of your shoe squashing into the center of the limited pile Taehyung had created by scraping his hands across the rippled weaving of the rug. You stayed crouched at the waist, fingers thumbing through the titles, titles a cumulative collection from your own personal belongings and the various shops you’d stowed away in the growing months of your journey. Their dusted and rough covers slowly transitioned into the item you were looking for, a slick yellow folder bursting at the pockets with the mixture of paper clipped, stapled, typed, and handwritten papers curled within. You squeezed it’s outer edge, thumb feeling into the tiny rip that was begging to form on the spine of the folder. 

“I can’t clean if you don’t move,” Taehyung’s hand wrapped around your ankle, startling you to do a hop step into reality. 

The imprint of the ripped folded scratched at the crease in your thumb where you rubbed your palms together, quick strides weaving you down a deserted sidewalk to cross a deserted street where a three story, house shaped structure sat. Your palm flexed into the ends of your scarf still dangling from around your neck, tucking it tighter to you to avoid the stream of words that began to ink across the forefront of your subconscious from the simple touch to the folder. 

The interior of a structure whose exterior gave off the impression of outdated was instead rather modern, like stepping out of a deserted movie from the eighties to step into a fifties diner in the twenty-first century. Sleek tile in patterned squares wrapped around a black, raising desk, one that had a tiny stack of business cards and a credit card reader clipped to either side. A man was hunched over a laptop placed on what appeared to be a second level to the desk, it’s lid plastered in various hand drawn stickers peaking over the countertop as fingers continued to audibly hack away at a keyboard. 

His black curls bounced when the screen door clattering shut behind you, wide eyes either perpetually surprised or simply shocked at the presence of a person in the otherwise desolate area. You assumed it was a little bit of both once his shoulders relaxed into the black polo hugging his toned upper body but the circular innocence to his eyes remained. 

“Hi!” He chirped as you squinted at the gold plated name tag strapped on one side of his shirt. Jeongguk. “...how can I help you?”

“Do you have any rooms available?”

The surprise traveled into the rise of Jeongguk’s eyebrows into his shaggy fringe. It was short lived this time, though, movements instead turning frantic as he lifted the sticker covered laptop to the top layer of the desk, resuming his furious hacking with his tongue poked between his cheeks so that a dimple appeared to the side of his lips. 

“I do,” He said after a moment, glancing up at you as his fingers continued to work, “Plenty, actually. Just trying to, uhm…”

“There!” Jeongguk cheered finally, voice an octave louder than before and there was a twinkle in his crinkling eyes as he directed his full attention to you, “How many nights and how many beds?”

“One and two,” You rested your forearm to the counter, thumbing one of the business cards out of its plastic tray. A fond smile curled onto your lips when you noticed the tiny logo was the same doodled design gracing a sticker pasted to the center of his laptop lid. GCF Motel and Design. “Please…”

“Of course, absolutely. Coming right up…” His index finger tapped hard at the touch pad a few times before a different color illuminated the stars in his eyes. He blinked, nodding once to himself before he cupped the credit card reader and dragged it toward you. “It’ll just be fifty for the night. Card reader is here—it works, I promise—or I can take cash. And make change for you, if...you know.”

“I have a card,” You said gently, plucking the plastic from the tiny holder stuck to your phone case. The chip reader clicked to life after a few passing seconds of your card sitting idle in the slot, taking longer in its processing that left you in a silence with the bouncing man across from you. 

“Have you been busy lately? There’s that harvest festival a few miles from here this weekend, so I wasn’t sure…”

“No. No, uhm,” Jeongguk glanced at you under the shadow of his bangs, “You’re actually my first guest in two weeks.”

“Oh.” Two tiny electronic beeps signaled you to take your card but you were still delayed in doing so. You smiled warmly at the man across from you instead, “Well, then I’m happy we stopped here.”

“We means you’d like two room keys, right?” The tiniest of red dusted the apples of his cheeks, gaze cutting away to the level of the desk you couldn’t see. 

“Please. Tae should be here any minute—”

The screen door clattered harshly when your tall best friend tripped through the threshold, loud in his, “I got the living room clean!” while Jeongguk’s perplexity amplified ten fold. 

“Uhm, here’s your room keys. It’s on the third floor. Stairs and elevator are behind the desk,” Jeongguk passed over two green cards, holding them separately to each of you. You accepted yours with a gentle smile, Taehyung with a sleepier confusion that almost mirrored Jeongguk’s. His movements grew jerky again as he rustled behind the counter, presenting two sheets of paper in your direction now. “...and here’s a sheet of stickers. They’re mine. I hand draw them and sell them...I have my own website, it’s listed on the logo sticker in the center.”

You fondly assessed the page as you drew it closer to your nose, eyeing the etched star shape and the shaded in hues of a tiger flower. “Thank you, Jeongguk,” You said gently, holding the stickers to your chest. 

“Of course!” He chirped while Taehyung continued to squint between the room key and the sticker page. “I hope you enjoy your stay...don’t hesitate to come find me if you need anything. My room is the only one on this floor if I’m not here at the desk.”

You were gentle in turning the door knob to a close while Taehyung flopped dramatically onto the nearest bed corner, still clutching his sticker sheet that he stretched above his face. 

“Motto out the window tonight?”

Taehyung hummed, twisting the sheet to the right and then to the left, “For one night only—” He blinked to the side of the paper at you, “—did you look at these?

The motto hadn’t applied for three nights of your travels, the sleepy town with the sticker making motel owner included, the motto Taehyung’s sentiment that if your head ever touched a real pillow again, you’d want to cease your travels. A just keep going, arbitrary reason for continuing to blow through your college savings to travel the country. The first night had been in a storm when it was simply too dangerous to board up in the back of the van. The second night had been after Taehyung had contracted a cold from sneaking into a resort pool in a downtown tourist center. The third seemed to have no other motive than genuine exhaustion. You blamed the third potted plant spill of the month. 

Mention of the motto made your mind drift to your travels as a general cloud of thought, one that generally evaporated into the back of your conscious so that you were able to focus on the paper map Taehyung had shoved into your grip from the last rest stop or the delayed play by play instructions on your phone due to the limited signal or simply forgotten due to your laughter at whatever ridiculous song Taehyung had decided to blast over your carefully wired auxiliary cord. 

Just like you ignored your dwindling funds in the debit card you’d just mindlessly shoved into the barely functioning card reader, ones that funded the purpose of the sparkly eyed boy perched on a plastic stool in the lobby. Your purpose remained nothing but the ghost feeling of the rip in your yellow folder still digging into the crease of your thumb. 

“You should order some from him. It’d make his week,” You said gently. 

Taehyung laughed, “I don’t think he delivers to a traveling address, kid.”

You tried to manage the panic in your voice. 

“Tae.”

He didn’t answer, just a grunt from outside the van where he was currently pumping air into the front driver’s side tire. Panic could only manage itself for that one call. You tried again, louder and with a slap of your hand against the nearest open door. 

“Taehyung.”

The van rocked again and he answered verbally this time, agitated. A peek of one half of his face became visible, “What?”

“Where’s my folder?”

Taehyung blanched, full features coming into view, “What?” 

Your hand did a dramatic sweep across the bookcase, collecting your tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice in your wake to let it drop unceremoniously to the floor. “Where is my folder?” Another book, a title you didn’t recognize but a cover you connected with the flea market Taehyung had insisted on visiting near the beach, dropped to the floor from your grip. “It’s not in its spot any longer.”

“I had to take everything off the shelf to get all the soil up,” One foot made it inside the van as your stack of discarded books continued to grow. “I swear I put it right back but it may have fallen—”

“Fallen out? Of the van?” Two more books plopping audibly to the pile. You thought about Jeongguk and his stickers and what would happen if someone threw out all his sketches. His sense of purpose suddenly gone due to someone’s recklessness. 

“—behind something,” Taehyung finished, nudging you aside to retch the shelf away from where it was bolted to the wall. It only came a fraction of the way, barely enough for Taehyung to lodge his fingertips down it and effectively rule out any possibility of your folder being there. Instead, every book still clinging to the shelf flopped sadly to the floor. 

The miles you’d traveled up until that point seemed to rush by in your peripheral, every open stretch of rolling road, the glittering nightscape of lively cities, the blackness of the sea current swallowing up ruts in the shore, the decades old gas stations that drained your cash from your wallets into the tank to the freshly renovated rest stops that had patterns pressed into the concrete intentionally and not just because a local raccoon decided to test his luck with some half dry concrete. It propelled you back into the moment, thousands of miles ago, where you’d stood in the same spot in Taehyung’s parents driveway with a cardboard box at your feet filled with things still labeled from when you’d moved out of your college apartment. 

“Why did you keep this?” Taehyung had teased with a wrinkled nose, handing over your tattered textbook from your world literature class freshman year, the second volume in a group of three you’d paid a month's rent for. Highlighter bled into the outer edge, marking the thin off white pages appeared a mirage of rainbow that contrasted a shade more neon than the rug you’d stretched out below your feet. 

“I paid for it,” You defended, settling the paper back between one side of the shelf and a heavy, dolphin shaped paperweight that you’d stuck felt on the bottom of to keep in place on the road. “Besides, it has full, translated classics in here.”

Taehyung pretended to understand the fascination of literature that came with your education with a raise of one eyebrow and a single, gentle nod that shifted his gaze back to the remaining contents in the box. He ruffled for a second before retrieving one of the items draped on the bottom. 

“Okay—” He stretched your manuscript folder up in two hands so as to not let the contents on the inside spill out the sides. “—explain why you keep this.” 

You snatched it from him, holding the yellow protectively to your chest. It looked a bit comical, the whole situation, you hovering over the disorganized stack of papers that you’d written off, figuratively, of course, chin resting on top of the folder as you stared hard at the worn spine of the text book you’d just placed to the shelf. 

“If anything…” You moved slowly with the folder in hand, stretching it toward the felt dolphin and textbook. One hand clutched it while the other brushed aside things to make room for it, tight palm effectively dragging the weeping edges of the folder apart so a tiny rip formed in the yellow near the top of the makeshift spine. Gradual movements turned frantic as you shoved it onto the shelf, pushing the dolphin to hold it in place as your thumb remained on the newfound rip. 

“...I paid a lot of money for the printer and pen ink it took to write all of that. It’s like keeping a twenty dollar bar of gold that can never be converted into usable currency.”

The dolphin was the only thing remaining on the shelf, staring at you while you stared at Taehyung, blank, not moving. Somewhere, up on the dash, the unharmed succulent rattled with the gust of wind that curled against the outside of the van. 

“We’ll find it, it couldn’t have gone too far. There isn’t much space to search anyway—”

“Why did you touch it in the first place?” Your sharp cut in didn’t register in your mind as unreasonable, not at first. Instead, your mind drifted to all the times in which he’d be apprehensive of your unwillingness to throw away the folder, to, as he put it, simply transfer all the handwritten files into digital versions to zip away with the ones that were already locked in a cloud somewhere, all the times you’d caught him staring, perplexed as you pulled out the folder and flipped it open to make sure none of the pages had shifted order. “You know how much it means to me.”

“This would be different if I was intentionally trying to sabotage something of yours. I moved it to clean. It has to be somewhere in this general vicinity,” Taehyung held his hands palm up to you. Penance. Until he ruined it with a sighed, “Besides...don’t you think it’s time we throw it out anyway. I don’t think a constant reminder of rejection is—”

“Go on with your trip,” You said suddenly. 

He paled in front of you, knuckles and all where they grew tighter on the edge of the unhinged bookcase. “Our trip…” He corrected, drawing out the silence at the end as punctuation.

“Your trip,” You shoved yourself off the floor, stepping past him to hurdle to the cracked concrete outside. “Help me get my luggage.”

Taehyung spluttered, lips foaming like a puffer fish out of water, eyes narrowing like you’d just grown a third hand from the tip of your nose. “Dove, we’ll find your folder. We can keep it up front so it never gets lost again. I wasn’t trying to insult your situation, I just care about you and—”

“Tae,” You said his name gently, the calmest you’d managed to spit it out in the entire ordeal, calm like the ghost of a smile that dimpled into your cheeks, “It’s not about the folder.”

“Go on. Go to the harvest festival. Hit the next few cities. I’ll be fine here.”

His eyes bulged now, “You expect me to leave you here? There’s nothing here and I’m no stranger to how our funds have been dwindling.”

“There’s a motel. And a cafe somewhere according to the map. I’ll find a job. Maybe I can rake someone’s leaves when the seasons start to change,” You smiled, “I’ll figure something out.”

“And when I come back? Will you want to go with me?” A bit more forceful, Taehyung set his eyebrows and added, “I will be coming back for you.”

You shrugged, opting for simple, “I don’t know.”

The tension sagged from Taehyung’s person, all the confusion and frustration and bubbling anger, returning him to the default of your best friend complete with a tiny half smile. A loaded inquiry in the way he tilted his cheek into his curled fist.

“Why, dove?”

“The motto,” You stretched out a hand toward him, “I quite liked the bed in the motel.”

“...so I think I’m going to stay around a little longer,” You finished your, shortened albeit, story to the pouty lipped cafe worker, offering a tentative smile. 

The man who’d introduced himself as Yoongi and the owner of the tiny building, removed a hand from where it had been perched on his hip, gently plucking the wad of bills you offered to him. The register opened with what would have been a small puff of dust if the space around it weren’t so meticulously clean, the sleek black counter top and the checkered floor free of any imperfections. Yoongi had swept away the little particles of gravel you’d tracked in after he’d handed over your carefully crafted club sandwich. 

“So, are you planning on staying at Jeongguk’s place?” 

You blinked, a useless piece of collected information about the town in your short twenty-four hours there slipping out. “Are you the Min Yoongi who left a review on his motel?”

A charming smile crossed over the man’s gums, shoulders bouncing silently as he began to pool your change in his cupped palm for you. You took his nonverbal answer, leaning closer on your elbows, “Is Min Holly some of your relation? They left a review, too…”

Yoongi’s nose wrinkled when he laughed a second time, plopping your change down in a small tin next to the register when you motioned him to keep it. “...something like that.”

“It’s a fine place to stay, by the way. Just a dumb joke we have going,” He fished behind the counter for a rag, rubbing it over the places in the counter that had been touched. Dark eyes assessed you playfully from under white fringe, “There’s a review hidden in ours that says we make grilled cheese sandwiches without cheese.”

“Are you...in need of any help making those bread sandwiches?” You panicked when one of his eyebrows disappeared into bangs and a snort racked his shoulders, “Sorry, that was really forward. I just...my travel funds have been running low regardless of me stopping here. I really need a way to make money during my stay.”

“I don’t think Seokjin would appreciate having to split his already limited tips,” Yoongi continued to wipe at the counter, shuffling down the row of bar stools you sat at and back up.

“...you said you have a background with literature, right?” You nodded. “You could check with Namjoon and see if he has any odd jobs for you. He owns the bookstore on the next block over…”

“If anything, he could have you paint the outside,” He meticulously began to fold the rag, shaking his head, “The place looks like it just time traveled from the eighteenth century.”

Yoongi wasn’t wrong. All the buildings in the town seemed to be situated in a similar fashion, curled into strips of three or four businesses about three or four blocks long yet, it appeared that the majority of the buildings were abandoned or at the very least, not functioning businesses any longer. You pinpointed the specific building you were in search of on instinct that the one centered in the middle of a strip of buildings that appeared completely out of place had to be the one Yoongi teased about the exterior. Chipped cream and dark brown lined the paneled walls and thick frames around doors and windows, two stories of windows coated in a visible layer of dust and webs on the corners.  As you strolled closer, you could make out the beige pink hue of plastic letters pasted onto the inside of the left display window, Monie’s, with a looping cursive font displaying a phone number and a website. Propped up in the thin stream of dust and crumpled window stickers was a sign, black coated in specks of brown with neon orange advertising help wanted. 

You wrapped your fingers around the door, pulling it open to step inside. 

The first thing you registered was the temperature difference, winter chill just starting to nip into the air outside but the bookstore was coated in something that somehow bordered the favorable side of cozy and unbearable. Minimal lighting added to that ambiance, bulbs caged in thick metal where they were screwed in planned intervals above the bookshelves. Plants littered the empty spaces in between already crowded furniture, bonsai trees to be exact, curling in their awkward shapes out of hand painted pots. Any decorations that maybe could have been placed on walls occupied by floating bookshelves instead littered the displays in each of the front windows, a massive plastic snowman, fake holiday grass plopped on top of fake winter snow, a myriad of specialty figurines ranging in sizes and shapes and colors all centered around a wooden table that appeared as though it had been made directly from a fresh stump. Perhaps, judging by everything else, it had. 

The books were another thing, appearing more like library shelves than those you would see in chain bookstores or in the aisles at various department stores. Titles varied in size, in their positions in how they laid against each other. In fact, there seemed to be no reason to the way they were organized, obscure children’s books tucked in between used biographies of a fourteenth century royal and three new copies of the first book in the latest dystopian young adult series. 

You turned down the last aisle, one that seemed to harbor anything from an entire encyclopedia set to preschool board books, to find a steep staircase at the end of the shelf. The dark wood matched that of the outside of the building, leading upward into a shadow until you could no longer see where it went. Careful footsteps carried you across creaking wood covered in various colors of woven rugs, testing a hand onto the rail of the staircase. One foot on the first stair and it creaked worse that the floor, the second a wail just as bad. 

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the tiger striped cat that bounded down the stairs past you. 

You yelped, clinging to the staircase as your knees gave out in your brief moment of panic and had you sinking to a crouch. A deep swallow into you cradling the posts between the stair railing and you managed to get your heart rate to calm by pressing the blunt end of your palm against your chest. 

A voice acted like the pull start of a generic lawn mower, kicking the roar of blood in your ears back to life.  

“Where are you going?”

It was spoken kindly, a genuine inquiry in which the tone matched the man who stood within the row of books. Namjoon, your conscious presumed. He was tall, a long navy coat fluttering against his khaki jogger covered ankles. A deep maroon t-shirt showed off the glitter of a pendant necklace dangling between the defined planes of his chest where the terror of a cat was now cradled. Thick rimmed glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, deep set brown eyes magnifying when he nudged the frames up with the tips of his index and middle fingers. A gentle smile indented permanently into his mouth, showing off dimples that became deeper set the more his laughter grew at your prolonged silence. 

“Oh, sorry I...I was just—”

“Unfortunately, my business is not enough to harbor a second floor,” His nose wrinkled with his smile as he dropped his gaze enough to place the cat onto the floor before effectively shoving bracelet covered wrists into his pockets, “Can I help you with something else?”

“I’m looking for a job,” You blurted, still standing firmly on the second stair while the cat, calmer this time, scurried past you once more. It creaked again with the two movements, the cat and the nervous shift of yours, and you allowed yourself to wince this time.

The man tilted his head, dark brown locks sticking behind the glass and frames. “And why would you come here in search of that?”

“Yoongi sent me,” You blinked, “Uh, Min Yoongi. The guy that owns that cafe up the street? I’m going to be staying in town for a little while and I’m in need of something...I have a literature background, if that makes my case any more compelling. At the very least I could reorganize your shelves or something—”

“My shelves stay as they are,” He cut in absently, waving a hand. Go on. 

“—besides,” Your finger pointed dumbly toward the window display behind him, “You have a help wanted sign in your window.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the trajectory of your finger, shaking his head, “No...I don’t think I do.”

You clambered off the staircase, pointed in brushing past the tall man to stalk determinedly for the opposite window display. The sign stuck to the window in some sort of build of debris that you didn’t particularly care to question but instead made it hard for you to pull up when you were straddling a tiny train set and a mountain of fake snow in an attempt not to harm any of his decorations. It came in a cloud of dust, coating your fingers and glittering in the baths of afternoon sun that cut through the window. 

You found that he’d trailed after you, close enough that when you stumbled out of your awkward stretch position you could press the sign just spaces from his chest. 

“See.” 

He took it from you, that trace of a smile still prominent as he squinted at the object in his grasp. His sleeve curled over his fingers, gradual in clearing away the grime build up over the printed words. 

“Oh,” He simply, “I suppose I do.”

More than the confined heat of the sun through the windows warmed your body from his gentle carmel stare, something that curled your toes into your shoes as your hand had the opposite reaction in jutting out towards him. Quietly, you offered your name. 

“Namjoon,” He settled his free hand in yours, giving it a firm shake without pulling away. Instead he tilted his head, “What’s your story?”

You tilted your head in the opposite direction, “Is this my interview?”

His smile grew warmer when his teeth appeared under his lips, “And if it is?”

“I’ve been traveling with my best friend for the past few months. We started after our university graduation and didn’t look back,” A halfhearted laugh followed the slip of your hand out of his, “Truthfully—” kind of, “—I was starting to run out of money. Your town seemed to be about my speed,” You set your shoulders, “...so I told Taehyung to leave me here. Now I’m in your store asking for a job.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The motel, Jeongguk’s right?” You brushed your foot into the floor, “He told me I didn’t have to pay for anything until I left, or at least built up enough to afford his rates, but—”

“That won’t do,” Namjoon dismissed. Curtly, he turned, stalking off between the shelves with the sign tucked to his chest. 

You were sure you looked like a personified exclamation mark wrapped around a question mark but you allowed yourself to stumble after him anyway, trailing him between the awkward route of shelves you’d yet to explore in your short venture through the store. Finally, you arrived at a small desk, one with a clear glass top with flyers and charts and business cards lodged underneath it. A register, the most modern item of the entire store, took up most of the desk space, placed directly next to an illuminated desktop computer that displayed a background of a light blue koala character etched out in a vaguely familiar art style. You noticed the cat from earlier had wandered back into view, now perched on a red leather stool that was placed behind the counter and let out a particularly discontented mrow! when Namjoon shooed it aside to take a seat. 

Ring clad fingers began to clack away at an outdated keyboard for the modern monitor, features scrunched at the center. Namjoon’s glasses slipped down the length of his nose, this time purposely, as he leaned closer to the screen, mouth parted as eyes darted over the contents. His entire expression shifted when he leaned away, soft smile returning as he gestured for you to join him on the opposite side of the counter. 

“Have you ever worked with any type of cataloging software?”

You blinked at the foreign objects on the screen, a whirlwind of passwords and edit options, and ISBN numbers that you didn’t understand other than how to finesse the cheapest textbooks when you were still in university. His whirlwind explanation that hadn’t allowed you any time to answer the initial question ended with a single syllable laugh. 

“I’ll help you,” Namjoon promised, spinning on the stool to face you. His gangly legs crossed, elbow meeting the thickest part of his thigh as he cheek settled into his palm. “And dusting? How are you with a rag?”

A smile broke out of your tense uncertainty, “That I can definitely do.”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against his cheek, “I think I can find plenty for you to help me with here, if you’d like. I can’t promise much pay.”

“But no staying with Guk. You can stay here as part of your payment.”

You subconsciously glanced outward around the store, to the crowded shelving and potted plants and lopsided books, as if maybe a bed would manifest somewhere that you hadn’t seen it before. To that, Namjoon laughed, louder and so that his face scrunched up around his eyes. 

“I live in the apartment above the store. That’s where the staircase leads. I have an extra bedroom…”

“But that’s only if you’d like,” He rushed suddenly, voice growing an octave as his hands flailed, “I know we just met so if you’re not comfortable living with me, you can absolutely continue to stay at the motel. I just thought it might be easier on you financially and travel wise if you were already here, you know. The bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment. There’s two bathrooms, too—”

“Thank you, Namjoon,” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, waiting until he relaxed under your touch, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I accept your offer, if you don’t mind having me, of course.”

He started to shake his head only to be interrupted by a strangled meow from below your feet. You watched as the cat curled in between your legs, butting into your shin while an audible purr rumbled into its next meow. 

“You’ll have to bargain with her for use of the bedroom, actually. It’s unofficially hers at the moment,” The tiny cat continued to nuzzle into your jeans, tail curling happily each time she threw her body weight into you, “It seems like you’ve passed the Marie test.”

You crouched, allowing her to inspect the curl of your fingers before she happily began to settle her chin into the crevices of your palm, rubbing back and forth until you began to flex your fingers in her fur. 

“Miss Marie, can we be roommates for a little while?”

She mewled in response, bypassing your hand to jump into the open space on your thighs. You adjusted her in your arms instead, stretching back to a standing position to smile at Namjoon. 

“First task complete.”

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “Which was…?”

“Befriend the cat that ratted me out,” You grinned, bouncing her a bit in your arms, “What’s next, boss?”

“Why don’t you two start by cleaning out those window displays while I go to retrieve your things from Jeongguk,” He slipped his glasses off between the pinch of his fingers, allowing them to twirl back and forth for a moment, “Who knows what other hidden treasures are in there.”

You found your things stacked in a neat pyramid on a bed. Your bed. You clutched the ‘treasures’ you’d uncovered in the window displays a bit tighter to your chest. 

It was a modest room, full size mattress squeezed into a vast majority of the room, leaving just enough room for a dresser and closet doors that folded open to one side. Your things looked massive in the center of the bed, particularly with how they’d been stacked in awkward, Jenga like angles. You frowned until you found a slip of paper dangling off the very top piece of your luggage. You cradled Namjoon’s things, a curly haired teddy bear and a miniature pair of leather shoes, into one arm to pluck the note. 

It was another sheet of stickers, different from the first, with a handwritten note in swirling purple marker scrawled to the blank side. 

Come back and visit me! Or maybe I’ll come into the store more now...Here’s some of my newest designs as thanks :)

“Jeongguk insisted I bring you those.” You crinkled the edge of the paper in hand, startled by the soft voice. It was Namjoon, now without his long coat, arms folded across his chest where he leaned against the doorframe. He nodded toward the other contents in your grasp, “What are those?”

“Oh!” You passed aside the paper to grip the bear and shoes in separate hands, stretching the items toward him. “Just some things I found hidden in the displays…”

He pushed himself up off the door, pulling the bear into his grasp first. Long fingers tucked into the wirey fur of the toy, scratching gently as a fond smile slowly worked upwards into his cheeks. Crinkles formed underneath his eyes as he pressed the bear underneath his arm, cradling the two tiny shoes next, raising them up above eye level for inspection. 

“You’re right, I forgot about these,” Namjoon passed the shoes into one palm, closing his fingers to hold them at the center of his chest. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. It looks wonderful.”

You returned his grateful smile, unsure of how to accept a thanks for a task assigned to you as an employee. It was the first time since the morning that you’d allowed yourself to think of the yellow folder, one that symbolized the exact opposite of the gracious, polite expressions Namjoon had yet to fail to provide. 

It’d been less than twelve hours, but you had no reason to assume he would offer anything otherwise. A less than conventional situation with a less than conventional job offer with a less than conventional boss with less than conventional job benefits.

His mouth fished once, twice, gawking at the shoes in his hand before his gaze settled back on you. Lips pressed together, head tilting. 

“...would you like some tea?” 

The disarray, library aura the maze of shelves in the store provided came as a result of the equally disorienting ordering process from Namjoon, so you learned. He avoided section titles, author groupings, or series shelving. Instead, there was some mental list of steps all based around bogus marketing techniques that accounted for the haphazard strew of books to the point where you weren’t quite sure he had meaning to it anymore and was simply doing it to stay to some imaginary regiment he’d convinced himself of. 

Best selling young adult dystopian novels were on the far shelf, the one closest to the desk, and hidden behind the busy leaves of a bonsai in the back left corner. There were three copies of the first and second books but only two of the third book. Children’s books were placed backwards on the shelves, spines facing inwards, the shapes giving them away. Biographies were always placed on the third shelf from the bottom, eye level. 

No romance made the cut to “easy on the eye” locations. 

“I’d be replacing them every day,” Namjoon explained as he gave you the third tour of the store with a third set of instructions for shelving. You weren’t sure how to politely tell him that he wasn’t in the position to assume he had that much patronage daily. 

In the end, he’d left you isolated to cataloging month old shipments, boxes piled high with novels at the top of outdated best seller lists scattered in between obscure titles of obscure genres with obscure authors that you often found yourself squinting at in wonder with their unfinished tab open on the blinking monitor in front of you. Cataloging meant updating the system first so that when your second customer of the eight hour day came in, you could properly run their crossword puzzle booklet or copy of the town newspaper through the bar code scanner without having to employ the help of the tiny red calculator hidden within the contents of the desk. 

Eventually, you convinced Namjoon to let you update the website too, starting with the boxes you still had left to do and moving onto those things already existing on the shelves when a customer appeared for something new on the shelf simply because they had seen it online. Namjoon had eyed the customer like they were leaving with a third arm rather than a newly acquired how-to manual on toothpick crafts and promptly requested you do whatever that was. 

Your reorganization of the window displays had done a number in themselves, cleaning away the cobwebs to make the neatly arranged scenery, now free of any cheap decorative foliage or precipitation, visible from the sidewalk. Three different individuals had appeared with comments about such, one in question of if the newly cleaned window decals had always been there, one asking if that was the current working phone number, and the third asking if the store was under new management due to the “new changes”. 

Aside from updating the website and reorganizing his conglomeration of acquired decorations, you couldn’t get Namjoon to budge on anything else.

Especially not ordering some more romance novels. The best sellers in your short time as an employee. The genre tab you were constantly updating on the website.

You tried to mention it casually over a cup of tea one evening, your feet propped up on a wooden coffee table similar to the one you’d placed fresh flowers on in the shop. 

“Okay, former literature student,” Namjoon swung his feet off where they had been resting across from yours. The patchwork red recliner he sat in creaked as he leaned forward, white mug cupped in two hands with the rim resting on his smiling bottom lip, “...and I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this already. What are some of your favorite authors? Go.”

You hesitated. Of all the classics, the literature tailored for a specific class genre, the novels you’d exhausted class discussion after thesis on, you’d still honestly answer that easy to read, cliche romance were your favorite, especially when written by a select few authors you’d claimed to some sort of unspoken circle you trusted. 

There were things to learn in even the cheesiest of cliches, in generally the most ideal situations that were few and far between the reality you’d seen, love could and would prevail. Love was the start, the middle, and the end to the spines of worn romance novels, ones often criticized for having the same plot hidden under ten different covers plastered in warm pastels and photographs of flowers draping over bicycles and down the sides of beach side houses. 

But just because it’s ideal and not realistic doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist in what you strive for. At least, that’s what you stood by, particularly when your pencil or your fingers moved to creatively express that very mantra in the plot of your own romance story lines. They were romance at the surface, or at least hidden underneath the flaps of your tattered and lost yellow folder. 

The tear itched at the bend of your thumb and you rubbed it as you squinted at Namjoon, pretending to be in thought. “That’s a hard question.”

“Is it?”

He’d garnered enough information about you in the last weeks to understand you were well versed, at least enough to recognize, to understand, and to adapt. Lying could work but would be virtually useless in the face of your almost stranger roommate. The laymen’s, internet speak resting in the deepest recess of your conscious cooed to you quietly. 

It’s not that deep just tell him you enjoy the occasional Nicholas Sparks novel. 

Instead, the cursed part of your conscious blurted, “Have you ever read Twilight?” 

Namjoon didn’t laugh at you but with you. “I have, actually…” His lips puckered to take in enough tea to coat is tongue, another gentle laugh shaking his shoulders, “Is this your way of saying Stephanie Meyers is your favorite author?”

“No! No, I mean...not necessarily,” You shrugged, “I enjoy the occasional cliche. Even in the easiest cliches there can be a lesson to be learned. Just with some padding. Like bumpers on a bowling lane, you know. You still make it to the pins just with some extra help.”

“Right,” He lounged again, taking the natural rock of the recliner with him before releasing his foot so it swayed his relaxed stature, “That makes sense.”

“The artistic value isn’t lost simply because it’s popular or it’s based on something popular, you know,” You glanced behind his head, to one of the various artwork pieces he had nailed throughout the apartment. This one was a canvas coated in navy birds, ones that grew sloppier in shape the smaller they grew towards one corner. “It wouldn’t be popular otherwise…”

“I don’t disagree,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes but they crinkled on the edges, “I also wouldn’t fire you if you told me the Twilight franchise was the peak of literary and cinematic history. I just would...respectfully disagree.”

“Would you fire me if I told you I write romance?”

“Is it about vampires that sparkle?”

“No.”

“Then no,” He grinned this time, “If you can’t answer your favorite author question then who inspires you when you write? Most art is modeled after that of which we’ve already consumed so I can’t imagine you’re any different.”

No thought of the yellow folder burned through the itch on your thumb as you rattled off your extensive list of ever evolving authors, ones you adored in middle school then reread in college to find new light (or some glaring darkness you missed in the naivety of your uneducated youth. See: the glitz and glamour of The Great Gatsby) within, those young adult novels of dystopian future in which you’d always wanted to teach your own university course on all the way down to the grossest cliches that had you and Namjoon wrinkling your noses. 

“They’re still wonderful,” You bargained, “In every sense of the word. Wonderfully awesome, wonderfully terrible. Refreshing to read, refreshing to pick out eyebrow raising and quite frankly glaring issues that high school teachers choose not to point out in their lessons.”

“Have you ever thought about ordering more for the store?” 

“There are plenty of popular titles in the store,” Namjoon resisted immediately. His mug of tea was empty now, nothing to divert his attention from staring directly at you. For a moment, you feared you’d imposed on something like when you’d offered to reorganize the shelves. 

Gently, you tried to express your point and correct him, “Yes, but not that’s currently popular in the last five years, or even the last decade. It would be a good selling point, at least to garner a bit more profit—”

“No.” He wasn’t harsh. Just firm. “I’m content with our current inventory.”

“However, if you would like for me to order you something to read, I would be happy to do so. You know where the catalogs are.”

That’s not the point. You sighed in the defeat of your changed window displays and online catalog update. 

“That’s okay, Namjoon. Thank you anyway, though.”

“So, what do you think?”

There were two expectant pair of eyes blinking at you, one the curator of the dish placed just beneath your nose, the other wholly hoping for your features to be unable to hide the disgust of whatever cheese, tomato, and bread contraption currently resting on the part of your bottom lip, ready for a taste. 

“I haven’t even taken a bite yet, Jin,” You laughed, testing the warmth of the sub bread against. You turned the sandwich in one hand, wincing when some of the cheese spilled out and singed at the skin of your palm. “It’s hot.” 

“It’s delicious,” He argued, dragging the bar stool closer to you. 

“It’s already on the menu,” Yoongi mumbled. 

“It’s not,” Seokjin slapped his palm on the counter, ears growing red as he fumed at his boss, “This stromboli has nacho cheese instead of mozzarella. Instantly better.”

“If it’s good, you can make it for everyone who orders it,” You eyed Yoongi as you gave it another temperature test and he smiled shyly, “The nacho cheese gets too hot...I don’t want to have to handle it.”

Tentatively, you jutted your teeth out to take a nibble off the corner of the steaming sandwich, managing to acquire a mouthful of bread, pepperoni, and of course, the seeping nacho cheese. Yoongi was right, it was scalding, but it burnt your taste buds enough to mask any horrid taste that may exist and you managed to swallow it down with a minimal wince. 

“Amazing right?”

“They can’t even speak—”

“They can’t speak because it’s so amazing,” Seokjin nudged your side while you tried to digest the burning coals currently sliding down your throat, “Right?”

“It’s not too bad,” You croaked finally, making prolonged eye contact with a viscarly annoyed Yoongi as you dragged your ice water closer and downed two, three, five gulps. “Would probably be better if it weren’t the temperature of the sun.”

“That’s not a yes—”

“Maybe, but it’s also not a no,” Seokjin happily clapped in the seat next to you, making a full rotation on the bar stool in victory before he swiped the plate from under your nose and went to take a bite for himself.

His high pitched screams muffled by the way too large bite of yeast and runny cheesy came in time with the ding of the cafe door that had Yoongi straightening and you snorting. 

Namjoon ignored the way Seokjin’s palm began to rapidly slap against the counter top as he waddled directly for you, a large cardboard box cradled to his chest as he happily chirped your name in time with the slap of his sandals against the tile. He deposited the box to the empty bar stool on your opposite side, only then allowing his gaze to deviate to a violently coughing Seokjin. 

“Is he okay?” He asked simply, that same comforting calmness etched deep in his tone. 

“Loaded question,” Yoongi grumbled. 

“He’ll be fine,” You dismissed, waving your hand over your shoulder. Seokjin coughed in outrage. You placed both hands on either side of the taped lid, tilting your head, “What do you have here?—” After a second, you perked up, “—Is it this week's shipment?”

Namjoon’s hands covered yours, soft with the vanilla pine lotion you knew he kept on the bottom shelf behind the counter in the store. Gentle thumbs nudged your appendages aside, instead tucking his nail underneath the tape and flicking across it. 

“You reviewed my final order list, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, you were going to order some extra crossword books and replace those couple copies of encyclopedia that Marie...had an accident on…”

“Right, but—” He balled the tape when it reached the far end of the box, still holding your eye contact as he began to fold open the flaps on the box, “—I added a few more things before I sent it in.”

“Oh yeah?” You couldn’t help but grin too, “And what did you order?”

“Well, first of all…” Namjoon shuffled around, trying his best to shield the contents inside from you until he retrieved what he was looking for. An exclamation point coated his features when his fingers wrapped around the desired book, drawing it out with a giddy grin.

“Is that Gatsby?” You gaped, reaching for the paperback book in his hand. You took in the horribly refurbished cover, sighing blissfully as you looked at Namjoon. At the same time, you each breathed, “Hate Gatsby.” 

“I bought ten copies I think,” Namjoon took it back from you, flicking it back into the box like a frisbee, “If anything, we can put them to Marie’s litter box. Lead her there.” 

“I like this already. Show me more.”

“The next one I bought for you, if you want it,” He shuffled a bit longer this time, eyebrows meeting his hairline when he finally latched onto the item yet seemed to struggle a bit more with lifting this one. The veins in his arms strained, bottom lip tucking under his teeth as he threw his shoulder into it, letting the heavy hardback hit the top of the counter with an audible thud that silenced Seokjin’s moaning behind you. 

“Twilight?” You laughed, stroking your fingers over the raised text, “I can’t believe you brought yourself to write this on an order.”

“I can’t believe I did either,” Namjoon beamed, glowing in the rays of your praise, “I thought you’d like it and I wasn’t sure if you had a copy of it so…”

“My copy is in the van,” You flattened your palm to ignore the itch on the bend of your thumb, forcing the rush of emotion down past the sudden lodge in your throat, “This is a nicer copy than mine, anyway.”

“Isn’t that the book about vampires?” Yoongi deadpanned. You slid it toward him, letting him turn the heavy text over to read the soft pink cursive that curled a summary across the back cover. He eyed Namjoon, “You...ordered this?”

“I got a few copies for the shop too,” He ignored Yoongi, addressing you as he instead shoved a stapled packet of paper toward you, bits of other paper and an envelope fluttering to the top of the box in the process. “And I...consulted some of the newer best seller lists and ordered the things that sounded interesting from those. I’ll let you shelve them, if you want.”

“You haven’t read this, have you Joon?” Yoongi continued to gape at the cover, flipping it back over to stare open mouthed at the table of contents. 

“I could help you next order too,” You flipped through the list, running your index finger over the highlighted titles, “...if you like.”

“Uhh…” You heard an excessive amount of extra fluttering, peering over the top of the packet in your hand to see him ruffling at the papers and envelopes that had slipped out of his grasp when he passed you the list. You watched as he pried open the singular envelope with crooked index finger on the flap, wincing as he did so. “Yeah...yeah maybe.”

“What?” You asked gently, trying to laugh, “Is that the bill for all this fresh content?”

“Yeah—” Yoongi had stopped where he’d been rubbing at bits of nacho cheese Seokjin had spilled over the counter, watching Namjoon carefully. A smile met his lips, one that never even touched the crinkle around his eyes or the sparkling softness in his irises, “—something like that.”

“Can I tell you something?”

You paused where you’d been mid chopping vegetables, a task you’d handed off to Namjoon only for him to show sizable difficulty with. You tasked him with dishes instead, handing off each new soiled piece for him to dunk in the basin piled high in bubbles. He hesitated with his wrists hidden underneath the suddy mess, fingers holding onto the wire edges of one of the charred racks from within the oven. 

After a second, you started again, allowing the slice of metal through the onion slices under your moist fingers to fill the cramped kitchen once more. “Of course,” You glanced at him once you’d finished the row you were on, absently sweeping the pieces back and forth across the cutting board underneath a cupped palm, “What’s up?”

“I’m not very good at ordering books for the store,” He held up a palm when you tried to suppress your reaction, “I know you know this, but I’m just...acknowledging that it’s always been like this. I don’t like to think of myself as pretentious, but I suppose my ordering and stocking habits are a bit on that side.”

“In the beginning, I had a reason for it, or at least, what I convinced myself was a viable reason. I’d purchased the shop after living in the apartment above a quickly failing bakery for far too long. I wanted it to be something that thrived in this secluded little town.”

“Like a bookstore,” You nodded without any sort of teasing or malice. You were a book person, after all. You craved the homey feel of a locally owned bookstore in any crevice of the Earth, probably contributing to some twisted fate in the universe to how you ended up in one particular place in one particular line of employment after being lost on the road for so long. 

“Right, but not just any bookstore. I wanted to give the place something unique,” White bubbles gathered and slipped down the length of his knuckles when Namjoon drew his hands out of the water, letting them grip on either side of the sink as he leaned into it, “A scavenger hunt of sorts sounds appealing, right? Once you find the book in the store, there’s some sort of satisfaction to it. Especially if you don’t really know what you’re looking for and you end up stumbling upon an extensive history of stuffed animal fur.”

You wrinkled your nose, “We have that?”

“Somewhere,” Namjoon nodded gravely, cracking a smile at your indignation, “I would have no idea where it is.”

“And to an extent, that business plan works. Keep just enough popular titles to appease to the general public. Keep more obscurity to draw the crowd craving originality. Garner revenue from individuals on any spectrum of literature pretentiousness,” He shrugged, letting his shoulders roll up to his ears as his chin dropped, “It worked for maybe five months. Then the newness wore off.”

“I’ve never really been able to recover even with our normal patronage. Now that there’s appeal for business in neighboring towns, all of us have started to suffer. People would rather stay in a Hilton next to a Panera and shop at the three story Barnes and Noble than tour our locally owned amenities that provide damn near the same thing.”

“Jeongguk and Yoongi have been able to adapt, though,” Namjoon’s shoulders relaxed again, letting his hands dip down into the water to grab at the wire rack. He passed the rough edge of the sponge over the edges now exposed out of the water, soft enough that the fibers barely pulled any of the grime from the utensil. “I can’t seem to find my way out of a rut.”

“Have you tried?”

Namjoon laughed, “I ordered Twilight, didn’t I?”

“But did you order New Moon too? Or the other two books in the series? What about the DVD adaptations?” You started to dice the onion now, speaking to the tiny pieces you nudged aside with the tip of the knife, “Did you put them in alphabetical order? Or did you at least consider creating a young adult section? Or a vampire romance section? I can offer more recommendations—”

“I can’t afford to pay the bills,” Namjoon said gently. “Not...not anymore. Way before I hired you, even.”

You grew silent, letting yourself sink into the lip of the counter top. 

“I had to start using my monthly order funds to pay rent on the store. And my personal rent. And the light bill. And…” He sighed, dunking the wire rack a few times in silence to rinse it of the bubbles. 

“That’s what those envelopes were today. Notice of eviction.”

Your mouth fished, pursing at the seam of your lips and puffing your cheeks out as you pondered the terrifying thought. Never mind that this was your temporary home and temporary place of employment but this was Namjoon’s livelihood, his greatest accomplishment, his love. 

Behind convoluted marketing strategies and a quietly picky selection in what he read in his personal time, there was a man who absolutely adored the power of literature in its simplest form, tangible, physical books. You’d witnessed the way his eyes lit up when the tiny bell at the front of the store tinkled with the arrival of someone new, his long legs and eager persistence quick to beat you out from behind the counter to assist the customer, whether that be to point out a general area as to where something may be located, to recommend something of his own, or to simply offer a casual conversation over a cup of coffee he offered in a floral paper cup from the tiny room underneath the staircase. 

“So, what do we do?” 

He was puzzled only for a moment, the furrow in his eyebrow traveling upward with the smile that appeared as he dragged his hands out of the water. Massive palms dabbed to his thighs as he backed away from you, bumping into the edge of the counter on his way but he found his target, the massive stack of sliced open mail. Some ruffling with semi damp hands that splattered visible water droplets over the counter later, his pinched fingers appeared triumphant holding a mint colored envelope with a red printed logo stamped on the return address corner. 

“There’s uhm…” Namjoon’s fingers pried inside, drawing a folded piece of paper out. Through the back, you could see the same red logo, bold and in the center of the page this time. “One of the companies I order from sent this not too long ago. I don’t know if it’s a sign but it kind of seemed like a sign.”

You abandoned your chopping to accept the paper, now doused in vague water spots, from his grasp. He voiced the contents your squinted eyes began to scan. 

“Basically, if we can get sales above a certain threshold by the end of the month, I can apply for a grant worth—” He was in front of you now, reaching his index finger over to hover above a bolded monetary amount, “—that. That would give enough time for you to help me implement some of your ideas…”

“And if none of it works,” Namjoon shrugged, folding the paper back into it’s neat little pamphlet, letting it dangle to his side, “then I guess this wasn’t really meant to be.”

A small part of you envied him in that moment. Perhaps there was more than what presented itself outwardly, but Namjoon was frustratingly calm about simply giving up something he worked so hard to achieve simply because of a couple of setbacks. The yellow folder that triggered you to step off the trunk of Taehyung’s rickety travel van certainly could not relate. 

Instead, you blurted, “You want my help?”

His normal composure fractured a bit, longer pauses, hums even, stationed between stumbled words, “If you’d like to, yes, I’d love to have your help. Outside perspective is the only way I’m going to change my ways. I don’t think I could do it, not productively, by myself.”

“And of course, if you’re still around by then,” Cautious brown irises met your own, swimming in something unreadable, a guard almost, “I know you’ve said you aren’t sure when Taehyung will be back. If he does come back—”

“He’ll be back,” The skin behind your neck grew hot with how quickly you assured that, a statement mostly spoken to sate the tiny nagging part of yourself that was left lost with your entire situation as a whole. Namjoon blinked, unwavering, chin twitching just enough to nod. 

“But I’d be happy to help for as long as I’m here,” You allowed yourself to smile even if the line wobbled a bit. You resumed your chopping in silence, only long enough to finish off the vegetable underneath your palm before you were sweeping your work space clean, dusting your fingers off in the process. 

“Where should be start, boss?”

You were tasked with reorganization while Namjoon took to his computer, conjuring up flyers dedicated to those few events you’d agreed upon after exhausting a list of potential, quick ways to garner attention and profit. Aside from making the store more navigable for the average person (as well as setting aside some funds specifically to order the missing books in series), bringing people into the store seemed like an obvious answer to gaining short (or long) term interest in the store. 

An easy way to bring people into the store was to host events. 

Armed with three massive stacks of flyers in the basket on the front of Namjoon’s spare bike, you took off on an advertising run. You stopped at Yoongi’s, watching Namjoon wallpaper flyers to the glass windows outside the cafe while Yoongi looked disgruntled between the spaces in the fluttering paper yet made no attempt to remove any of them and quietly took a stack you handed him to hand out to customers as they came in. Jeongguk barely let you get the question out of your mouth, appearing with a sheet of thick, round, metallic stickers of his own design that he used to plaster the various event flyers over the front of his desk and a promise to photocopy the flyers and post them to every gaming community he knew online. 

The first event advertised was in connection with the local elementary school, parents pouring through the doors one Wednesday after school while their beaming teacher brought up the rear. You settled them in with fresh baked cookies and hot chocolate while Marie made her rounds, resisting gooey chocolate off of chubby fingers and happily deciding upon a small girl in the corner who was completely enamored with a dinosaur themed pop up book she’d discovered with Namjoon’s help. 

You’d watched quietly where he knelt next to her on the shorter shelves, one’s you’d specially arranged for the event and as a way to pinpoint the location of the children's books previously scattered aimlessly about. He’d murmured gently too her, offering books on the shelves she couldn’t quite reach until she made grabby hands at a slightly disgruntled stegosaurus when Namjoon had flipped open the first thick page. 

Hoseok, their teacher, drew you out of your fond trance. His arms were filled with educational books, ones a level between the ages he taught and that of high school, glossy pages filled with just enough text and just enough pictures to appeal to all ages. Wavy red hair parted down the middle, fluttering against shining apple cheeks as he beamed giddily at you, rainbow cartoon smiley faces in a repeated pattern on his shirt almost blinding you all the same. 

“I did some shopping while you two watched over them,” Hoseok admitted bashfully, a slight pink tinting his ears as he glanced at the book on top of his stack, a midnight blue cover with an abundance of jungle animals spilling across the surface. “I hope they weren’t too bad.”

“Not at all,” You softened, pulling your gaze away from Namjoon when the little girl proudly parked herself in his lap and began to chatter absently about the next dinosaur that popped into view, a triceratops by first glance. “I could give you a discount since they’re for the school?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—” Hoseok’s eyes widened, tossing his fringe as an absent habit, “—I’d like to support anyway. I feel as if I don’t do that enough lately.”

“It would be no problem.”

He brushed past you to place his towering stack on top of the counter, already digging deep in the pocket of his bright purple jeans. A wad of cash was pushed across to you before you could even begin to swipe barcodes through the system. 

“Consider it a donation.”

The dinosaur popup book sold during the event along with a dozen other children’s books that Namjoon assured you were relics, books he’d forgotten were on the shelves at all let alone ones that would sell instantly upon being relocated to an easy to find vicinity (whether that be grouped or closer to the ground where two foot tall humans could scan at eye level). 

Other things started to leave too, filling the space in between scheduled events. You saw a fair amount of hand sized romance novels leave the door, ones you plopped randomly onto a singular turnstyle you assembled from multiples hunks of plastic in a dusty cardboard box in the room underneath the staircase, flowery covers with fraying spines shoved into purses and jacket pockets. Magazines started to go, new and old issues alike after you ordered them in stacks on Namjoon’s wooden table as it sat in the front window display. Series started to go as a whole, limited in quantity but at least as a whole rather than in the first and third book with the second book to be ordered from an online delivery or serviced from a nearby chain. 

You sold out of crossword puzzle books when the second event came, murder mysteries and a fair few of the popular horror authors leaving the store too when the local florist used the space to teach a beginner’s bouqet workshop. The blonde headed man, Park Jimin in all his charming giggles and devastating smile, brought in his self written gardening manual, giving Namjoon a sizable check to be able to sell them while he did his workshop. 

You had every reason to believe it wasn’t the atmosphere of the bookshop that had elderly women kissing red lipstick stains into his blushing cheeks and selling out his small stack of green pamphlets but Namjoon wasn’t one to turn away the check. 

“What do you know about daisies?” 

Jimin’s expression immediately grew amused, glancing at you from under shaggy fringe as he hunched to untie the cat covered apron pressed to his stature. He freed the knot at his spine, straightening once more as he shrugged it over his head and began to meticulously fold it. 

“A lot,” His eyebrow cocked, letting the apron fall to his now empty table, “What are you wanting to know?”

“Let’s say you were trying to grow a plant in a moving van—” You crossed your arms, “—could you do it?”

His nose wrinkled at the bridge, “With a lot of finesse, probably. But if we’re talking about a plant that’s good with traveling...succulents might be a good bet.”

The dip between your thumb and palm itched and you rubbed it at your hip, smiling, “That’s what I figured.”

Locations around the store were progressively growing blurrier each time you glanced up from the harsh lighting off the computer monitor in the shop. There was a soft glow from the moon where it reflected on the floor panels at the front of the room but it didn’t quite reach through the rows of thick shelves (you’d rearranged books, not furniture. Namjoon wouldn’t budget on layout) but otherwise, you worked in the dark, fingers working on muscle memory around the keyboard as you continued to plug in information to the online application. 

The events worked, giving the store a two month boost in sales that granted you, at the very least, a chance to save the store. It was just that, a boost, nothing that could sustain long term even with newfound organization and aggressive attempts at community engagement. Even with all that, you lacked the funds to properly distribute across all things that needed tending to, particularly the ordering that would require you to keep up with the amount of product that went out the door after the first event. 

It was a curve, one with a sharper downfall than the first. 

Creaking on the staircase alerted you to Namjoon’s presence, phone flashlight outlined Marie where she sat cradled in the curve of his elbow. He placed her on the floor when he reached the bottom, allowing him to properly balance the basket curled on his opposite forearm. 

“...alright?” He murmured. The wicker container was slid to the counter top next to you as he slid onto the free stool. 

You hummed, flicking your index finger up and down the scroll to send the typed text whirring by. “Just about done,” You placed your chin on your shoulder, gaze cutting away from his gentle smile to nod at the basket, “What do you have there?”

“Oh!” Namjoon thumbed at the lid, digging inside to present you with two plastic wrapped sandwiches. He placed those aside, returning with a metal thermos next, followed by two paper plates and forks you recognized from the utensil drawer in the apartment. “I packed us a little paperwork picnic.”

You dragged one of the sandwiches closer, careful in picking apart the wrap to discover sliced tomato, floppy lettuce, and careful strips of bacon stuck between two fresh buns. Lemonade was dunked into two plastic cups by the careful hands of Namjoon, his smile growing when you shot him an inquisitive glance. 

“I said packed for a reason,” He teased, nudging you when you pinched at one of the ranch drenched piece of greenery, “Jin insisted I take them when I was picking up lunch earlier.”

“Was the picnic part your idea?” You accepted a glass from him, drawing it to your bottom lip without taking a sip. 

His gaze remained unwavering as his hand dipped back inside the basket, tripping it across the glass counter top a bit but managing to retrieve the checkered strip of fabric at the bottom of the basket in the end. It fluttered from its folded position when he lifted it higher, showing that it wasn’t a full checkered blanket but instead a strip of fabric, sheared at the edges and appearing to be a leftover from something sewn.  It was just big enough for each of your glasses to sit with a comfortable distance from each other, something Namjoon completely by gently drawing your cup out of your grasp and settling it next to his. 

“Maybe,” He watched as you continued to squint at the end of the sandwich, “...that means the food is safe to eat. Promise.”

You let yourself take a sizable bite, chewing thoughtfully through the crunchy bacon. You swallowed, serious into the next nibble you tested, “You have more trust in Seokjin than I do.”

It was quiet as the two of you began to dig into your meals, the first of any sizable food you’d had the entire day as a result of being cooped up in a mountain of tax papers, profit spreadsheets, generic online bell curve generators, and the daunting application that hung on the thread of an accidental click to send its incompleteness spiraling into the cloud of uncertainty for the store. 

Your typing resumed in silence too, scrolling rather as you simply scanned over the answers you’d provided for the longer answers, open ended questions reminiscent of essay portions of school applications. The words by themselves registered but the combination of such into sentences didn’t comprehend in your mind, subconscious elsewhere as the pixels flashed through your blurred peripheral by means of your own flicking fingertip. 

“So what’s your story?”

The screen stalled at your command, shoulders sagging. Softly, you wiggled the mouse to click out of the screen at hand, bringing up the smiling koala cartoon whose name you’d learned was Koya. “Is this another interview?”

Namjoon’s fingers warmed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until your stool spun on its own accord. He continued to hold onto your wrist, thumb traveling upward to brush across your knuckles. 

“No,” His voice grew warm, quiet for the ambiance created in the quaint shop near the midnight hour, “I only know a fraction of your story, the rising action, maybe? I’m not too sure. I don’t have enough information to even begin to plug it into the imaginary literary equation.”

“You graduated with a literature degree and you have questionable yet defendable taste in books read in your free time,” Namjoon squeezed your skin, “What else am I missing?”

“I write sometimes,” The words came so quick that your conscious had to pause to gather your next thought, trailing your gaze over Namjoon’s head. You squinted, blurring the darkness of the children’s shelves a bit more as you corrected, “I’m a writer.”

“I had a book deal right out of graduation, something I’d worked ages on. Revised three different times to appease to different agents, none of which ended up signing me. Self publishing was an option I just saw the other side. Heard too many pitches that made me a bit too hopeful.”

“And then finally I found someone who wanted to take me on. Who assured me that I could make big waves within their agency. Said they’d never quite seen anything like my writing style, something that didn’t quite fit in my declared genres,” You laughed bitterly, letting your hand drop from Namjoon’s to rub across your lap, “Said they’d never quite heard anyone as headstrong about my particular beliefs either. Said it was a good thing, made me memorable.”

“I got all the way to their corporate office in the city to sign off on the rights. I even went to the effort to type up my notes and my drafts and whatever else I could find—” You offered a smile, “—I prefer handwriting—” sighing, you spread your fingers apart, pressing at the bend in your thumb, “—Had it all stapled and put together in a nice folder.”

“Then they told me they couldn’t sign me. I don’t remember the exact reason. I think I stopped listening to them after my potential agent was called out of the room for a phone meeting with another prospective client.”

A shaky inhale kept the mist of tears that involuntarily gathered in your waterline at bay, gaze darting to your wringing fingers, “Have you ever played that jelly bean game? The one where half the blue ones taste like raspberry and the other taste like disinfectant wipes or something? It kind of felt like that. Going in expecting one thing and leaving with the exact opposite.”

“I didn’t know I could feel that lost,” You admitted out loud, further elaborating, “I had no plan other than that. It seemed like all my other friends were graduating with a perfect bridge into their new lives,” You let yourself smile, “...even Taehyung. He was always planning on traveling after graduation.”

“He never really understood what I was going through. I didn’t expect him to. Like I said, he had his own plans, one that hadn’t included me until a week or two before they were to begin. I don’t blame him for not understanding how to handle me. And in a way...I feel guilty for placing that kind of responsibility on him. He didn’t need to feel obligated to care for me but he did and he always had and for that I’m sorry.”

“I guess I thought doing something impulsive would give me a purpose again. At the very least, maybe it’d renew my purpose. Maybe I’d want to start a whole new book. Maybe I’d want to try self publishing if I forgot about the horrors I endured through the other process,” A tear appeared now, slipping down the bridge of your nose as your lips wrinkled into a shriveled petal and you shook your head, letting your palms lift and fall back into your lap with an audible slap, “Nothing.”

You startled when something scuffed on the floor, gaze focusing on what you could see in front of you once more. Namjoon had shuffled closer, bringing his stool with him until his knees bumped into yours, close enough for the warmth of his palm to cup your cheek this time soft in using the curve of his thumb to collect the stream of tears as they began to fall more freely. 

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured, waiting until his silent gaze met yours. 

“This gave me a purpose again. You gave me a purpose,” You grinned, some of the excess tears spreading over your tongue, “At first it was just wanting to figure out why this strange man with a cat wanted to arrange his bookstore like that.” 

“Old dog new tricks,” Namjoon insisted, voice gentle for the first time since his initial question. 

You let both your hands cup his wrist, holding his hand against your face, “You reminded me of my initial purpose. What I grew so far from...that there’s so much warmth in literature and books and the written word.”

“There’s always worth in spreading that type of love to the community,” Your lips curled in the edge, not quite reaching your teeth, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to continue to do so.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” The intimacy expanded outward, encasing your statures in a safety bubble when his forehead touched yours, holding you there by means of his hand on your cheek and your fingers around his forearm. He waited until he no longer felt new splashes of tears underneath his diligent thumb before he spoke again. 

“Have you ever thought about trying again?” 

Namjoon was so close, the warmth bleeding off his dark irises giving your uncertain heart a squeeze. It didn’t cut into your confusion, “Try what?”

“To get another book deal,” He straightened just enough to pick at your opposite cheek with his free hand, placing stray hairs aside in a meticulously soft way, “Just how far have I inspired you, honey?”

You swatted at him, squawking until he held up a hand in surrender. 

“I haven’t, not with...that book anyway. Truthfully, I trashed everything but my handwritten notes that day. I think I even impulsively deleted the files or if they’re still out there I wouldn’t know where to find them.”

“I suppose my next question as to if I can read anything by you is moot now.”

“I’m sure there’s some embarrassing poems out there on my undergraduate literary magazine website…”

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “That’s a scavenger hunt I’m willing to have.”

“And it’s one I’m willing to help you with—” You giggled, managing to catch his hands when they went to do grabby hands around your body at the computer mouse, “—after we submit this paperwork.” 

“Ah, right,” Warm hands landed on your hips, spinning you to face the monitor while a heavy chin settled on your shoulder, “The whole save my passion thing. I suppose the poems can wait.”

You wrote a poem in undergraduate about a divorce as told by the family cat, the detached perspective of an animal who has no conscious understanding of anything in the human world, yet is still watching his life crash before his eyes. He’s not getting food as often. Everyone is always yelling. Suddenly, dad isn’t there anymore. His tiny human, the child of the family, comes and goes in a confusing schedule. But he still has to be a cat.

The script on that section of the university page barely functioned any longer, drawing your poem into mismatched fonts with spacing that surely wasn’t what you’d originally intended. The flit of your gaze over the up and down scroll of the page fit the same detached sense that the cat in the story had. 

Life still went on around you as the crippling rejection email for the store grant hovered in the next tab over from your poem. Namjoon’s absent restocking of the shelves at the front of the store proved that. 

You clicked out of your poem, letting the etched red logo at the top of the email cover your vision once more as you sighed. A bitter tap of your index finger later and the image was hidden, just leaving the wall of text that was just several different ways to say you didn’t receive the grant. You’d opened all their resource links, those hovering in the next browser over while Koya watched on behind them. 

None of those would work, either. You didn’t buy from their partner supplier. Your store square footage wasn’t enough. You didn’t specialize in one specific genre. You didn’t offer library-like services alongside the business aspect. 

One tab had the generic question plugged into a search engine, easy ways to make money. You felt like you were applying for school again, scrounging for scholarship opportunities on survey websites that did nothing but implore armies of viruses into your hard drive. Some of those resources still sat in unorganized folders in your email, ones you mindlessly scrolled past with your cheek scrunched into your curled fist, fingernails pressing crescents into your palm the harder you squeezed. 

University emails changed from graduation subject lines to assignment subject lines to personal sprinkled within, exchanges with members of group projects or monthly subscriber updates from clubs you participated in. 

Junk emails continued to pour in on the daily even if your email was virtually untouched since you’d sat out on the road which meant the folder continued to dump an unprecedented amount of data into your deleted file never to be cleaned out where you used to diligently empty it. You did that with a clear conscience, a small victory in your hazy consciousness as your finger misjudged and you found your drafts opening.

There was a singular email, the body text left blank and the subject line half typed. Manuscript...A tiny paper clip indicated that something was attached. 

For a second, you feared you’d overloaded Namjoon’s system with the file size until the PDF materialized across the screen, blank at first until the last of the near eighty pages downloaded and you found yourself face to face with the typed contents of your lost yellow folder. 

Your laughter drew Namjoon from his task, his silhouette shadowing over what was already dark in the store, another late night venture between the two of you when the news of rejection had the both of you searching for something to do that wasn’t nothing. He was smiling at first until he caught a sheen on your cheeks, laughter slowly materializing into sobs before he could properly reach you. 

He uttered your name, hip catching on the edge of the counter as he lunged for you yet reeled back at the glaring title on the screen. The initial hug his instinct wished to provide stalled, hands instead landing on your shoulders as he squeezed. 

“What’s this?”

“I think this thing is haunting me,” You groaned miserably, “Either that or your computer itself is haunted.”

Namjoon kept a firm grip on you as he shook the mouse, minimizing the tab and all the others until Koya’s smiling face spread across the screen. Gentle pressure turned you, hands leaving to spread palm up, fingers wiggling. 

Softly, Namjoon encouraged, “Let’s go to bed.” 

Marie’s meow managed to piece some of the scrambled pieces together once your slow advancements at the lead of Namjoon’s hand paused, leaving you to realize this isn’t your room. 

“This is your room,” You audibly expressed, flinching away from one of the two foot tall character’s he had curled in the doorway. 

He let go of your hand to allow you to make your decision, assuring that his searching gaze ducked to find your own. “Is that okay?”

Your whimper welcomed the stretch of one of his hoodies across your torso, snug to the fresh coffee ground and fresh rain scent that clung to his duvet as long fingers tucked it around your body. He settled in next to you, just close enough to stroke at your cheek with his thumb and the flat of his mouth. 

“Hey Namjoon?” 

He shifted closer, curled knees encasing yours as his fingertips began to stroke down the back of your head. “Yeah, love?”

“Do you want to try again?” You regarded him with just your eyes, mouth and nose hidden underneath the hem of his sheets. “To keep the store?”

His lips lingered on your forehead this time, cradling the back of your head until the shaking of your shoulders subsided. The tip of his nose pulled back to brush where yours would be underneath the blanket, nodding so the skin brushed accidentally a second time. 

“What else is there to do?”

You found a warm bagel and a handwritten note on a napkin in place of Namjoon’s stature when you woke. Raw eyes found it difficult to decipher the shapes he’d quickly scrawled with a blunt tipped marker but somehow you made out store. You abandoned the plated bagel and headed for the staircase.

“If that’s not Marie I don’t want you down here,” A laughing voice ordered your descend when you’d barely made it to the fourth stair. 

“Why?”

��Did you not read my note?”

“It said that you were working in the store.”

“And that you’re not allowed down here yet.”

You continued your descent a few slow stairs at a time, “I won’t look.”

Namjoon snorted, an image you saw when you already broke your promise to find him seated at the counter completely swamped in crafting materials. Strips of construction paper, jagged cardboard, stacks of printer paper still half hanging out of their packages. 

“What are you doing? DIY decorations?”

He looked up where he was furiously spinning a shard of pipe cleaner, “I thought you said you wouldn’t look.”

“Oops,” You shrugged, bare feet chilled all the way up your legs to where your sleep shorts began as you shuffled toward him, squinting at the mass chaos he’d created. Your gaze trailed upward from the browns and purples and metal utensils, starting to offer a generic question once more until you found your manuscript still open on the computer monitor. “What are you…Namjoon what are you doing?”

He grunted into the last spin of his fingers, securing the last, electric blue pipe cleaner in the poorly jabed hole through the top of the object he held in whitening knuckles. An audible breath slipped through his lips, hanging ajar for a second before his lips drew upward into a smile. 

“I, uhm,” Namjoon thrust the object toward you, “I made you something.”

It appeared to be made of three separate pieces of cardboard, a front and back cover with a sizable strip bent to accommodate either, acting as a mock spine. Purple construction paper was glued over the brown substance, dobs of glue staining some of the edges but flat otherwise. A trio of electric blue pipe cleaners sat in neatly spaced, tightly spun balls on the far left side, binding the ball of pages instead that had already begun to bend at the cardboard covers.  The same messy handwriting that covered the napkin now forgotten in Namjoon’s bed graced the front, the title of the novel larger than your name. The back held similar penmanship, the synopsis you’d provided to various companies scrawled just above a tiny, attempted portrait of you. 

“I know you said you got rid of the other one but if you ever wanted to try again, you know, to get it published—” Namjoon smiled, tucking his arms between his legs shyly as he leaned toward you, “—now you have a potential mock up to show them, too.”

You kissed him with your palm pressed into the pair of scissors he’d dropped when he heard you descend down the stairs, body leaned awkwardly over the counter until he stood to intercept you. His palm held onto the side of your neck while you clutched the book to your chest, breathing into the open seam of his lips. 

“Thank you so much.”

“I’d make you ten more copies if you wanted me to.”

Your laughter stopped just a hair short of kissing him again when there was a knocking at the front door, gentle at first and then frantic when you jumped away from Namjoon. Through the spaces in the shelves, you could see Jeongguk, his over exaggerated waving growing smaller as you and Namjoon approached. 

“Was I…” Jeongguk’s gaze flashed to Namjoon’s flushed cheeks when you pulled the door open, “Was I interrupting something?”

Namjoon did an astounding job of holding in his irritation, “What do you need, Guk?”

“Oh!” He perked up again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. A sheet of paper was thrust against your chest, “Special delivery. You need to look at it now.”

“What—”

“No time to explain,” Jeongguk shot you a thumbs up, taking backward steps that had him stumbling over pieces of gravel on the sidewalk as he went to dash in the opposite direction of the hotel, “See you later!”

Namjoon went for the sheet of stickers while you came to inspect the tiny piece of notebook paper balanced on top of it. 

“Are those tiny aloe plants?” He continued to awe, pointing at the characters on the sheet. 

Hey dove, good news! I found your folder. If you want it uhm...look up. I guess. 

Taehyung stood across the street, hair entirely longer than how’d you’d left him, adorned in a matching baggy grey sweatsuit with your yellow folder clutched against his chest. 

He braced for the impact of your arms throwing themselves around his neck yet still managed to stumble back two or three paces in a fit of laughter as you clung to him. “Hey there,” He greeted, nose in your hair as he managed to properly weave his arms around your waist and squeeze. “How’ve you been?”

The initial joy seized in your heart as you pulled away to look at him, softening, “I’m not going to go back with you.”

Taehyung’s grin grew wider, all geometric edges and bouncing fringe as he nodded. A gentle understanding, leaning in closer to murmur, “I didn’t think you would, kid, not from the second you stepped out of the van—” After a second, he said a bit louder, “—and besides. That’s not what I asked you.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing over your shoulder to where Namjoon continued to regard the interaction fondly. You smiled, turning back to Taehyung. 

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

He shook his head, gentle in sliding his hands down your arms before taking your hands, shaking them gently between your bodies, “I’m not going to stay much longer,” One hand left you to take the folder he’d shoved underneath his arm, “Just wanted to bring you this.”

You took it gently, rubbing thoughtfully at the old rip in the spine. A few more had joined it from whatever turmoil it had endured in the last months. “Where did you find it?”

“I’d put it underneath your seat when I cleaned. To keep it safe,” Taehyung’s smile was regretful and amused all the same, “Forgot I put it there…”

“Are your succulents okay?”

“Mhm…” His hand cupped yours where you held the folder, “You still haven’t answered me. Are you okay?”

Another involuntary glance behind you to Namjoon who offered you a thumbs up this time. “Yeah,” You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, Taehyung, I’m great.”

Taehyung’s smile was equally as fond, nodding once to your rapid ones, “I’m glad…” He trailed off, patting the folder in your grasp, “Well I, uhm, just came to return that to you so—”

“Can you keep it?”

“What?” 

“Can you keep it safe for me?” You pressed the folder back against his chest, “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah I can…” Taehyung gradually pulled it closer until it was hugged against his chest, taking a step backward, “Yeah. I’ll keep it safe.” He made prolonged eye contact with you, smiling, “I’ll see you?”

“Of course,” You touched his chest, “And hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?”

You patted him and then your folder. 

“Don’t get lost out there.”

[lichenaday]

Usnea subfloridana

Today I present you with a lichen that may not exist! OK, it exists, just maybe not in the way that it is named. You see, U. subfloridana may just be a morphotype of U. floridana. But since I haven’t really done a break down of either of them yet, I will attempt to elucidate the differences here! This fruticose lichen has densely branched, erect lobes forming a tangled bush up to 7 cm long. The branches taper out from a single, blackened holdfast at the base, and have numerous branches, papillae, and fibrils (all structures that make it more dense and bushy). It has both soredia and isidia, and the surface is cracked and erupting in both at various points. U. subfloridana differs from U. floridana in that the former is rarely fertile, and if at all present, has small, less showy apothecia than the later. U. floridana also lacks soredia and isidia on its secondary branches. Why bother recognizing this morphotype at all? Well sadly, because U. floridana is declining in much of its native range in the U.S., and more study is needed to better understand the full evolutionary and ecological relationship between it and the much more widely distributed U. subfloridana. And designating the them all under the U. floridana name might make it trickier to preserve the morphologically distinct populations. U. subfloridana can be found in Europe, Asia, Macronesia, and North America. It typically colonizes oak-bark, and more rarely wood and shrubs is costal regions. 

images: source | source | source

info: source | source | source 

[powerosewaterpuff]

so i was having mary and john grayson feels bc i always do ofc, and i decided well if i can’t find any other fics and headcanonns? imma make them myself hehe soo enjoy ! (heads up tho, it’s a l o t hehe)

Mary Grayson

-cannot cook, she is absolutely a w f u l at it but oh my god she loves watching john cook. she even follows him around, writing in a little journal about all the different recipes and steps, bc she is d e t e r m i n d to be able to make something other then cereal

-she always lets dick attempt to braid her hair, and even though it might come out looking bumpy and uneven, she couldn’t care less bc the smile on her sons face is priceless

- loves the summer, basking in the sun on a wide beach is her ideal happy place, because the winter reminds her a little too much of memories she wishes she could suppress

-she always sticks her tongue out just a bit when she’s focused on something, john still blushes when he sees that

-isn’t an avid reader, but she could watch johns facial expressions as he rereads the same twist in his favourite novel for the rest of her life

-she has a small array of ear piercings, which include three piercings on each lobe and upper lobe (the first she had received when she was a baby, and it had been her grandmothers idea), then she has a helix hoop piercing on each ear with a little stud underneath the hoop of the right ear. (Dick loves them, and always had a habit of fiddling with them even as a baby.)

-her laugh could be described as, (as courtesy of john grayson), “the sound of wind chimes billowing against the breeze, and then she starts snortin—Hey! It’s the truth, what do you want me to lie, mary?”

-dick most definitely inherited her eyelashes, long, dark and curled. she also tends to argue that he got her humour too, but john adamantly defends his honour as, “the most hilarious human being to walk the earth, and dick most definitely got my sense of humour, e x c u s e you, mariam.”

-she is infinitely glad that her and john have a very equal parenting system, without one person needing to be the primary disciplinarian as they work as a united front. (except when john and dick come inside the trailer, dragging in mounds of dirt from a flimsy soccer game. then? shes usually the disciplinary one then, shooing them to go take a shower and telling them that they needed to make sure every i n c h of dirt is out of the trailer before she’s done her afternoon stretches.)

-she’s a very bold and opinionated person, but stubbornly independent with a strong moral system and a fierce temper. she isn’t accustomed to asking for help, and is always expecting to be disappointed or let down. she’s always waiting for the catch to come into play, with john though? it never did

-the second dick gives her his puppy dog eyes, it’s over. she’ll give up the cookies she’s hidden in the top shelf, she’ll give him the biggest hug, she’ll practically do anything, and mary thinks john is the exact same.

-her gut instincts are scarily right, to the point where her best friend, the magicians assistant, is convinced she’s a psychic of some sort.

- the day she met john, she had heard about a young circus boy about her age coming to live with his great aunt in her neighborhood, but hadn’t really paid it any mind.

-it wasn’t until one neighbourhood party, that she locked eyes with a pair of vibrant blue eyes with a deeply rooted fire within them. it gave her a shock of adrenaline, and excitement, the same thing she felt when she was about to go on stage as a ballerina or about to face the uneven bars as a gymnast. it wasn’t a nervous bout of a adrenaline, it was a calming rush, one that filled her bones with a thrill beyond all compare. (Little did she know, the second john had locked eyes with a pair of lively green eyes, he had found what he was looking for.)

- mary was a natural born contortionist, with a flexibility she acquired from years of ballet as well as gymnastics. learning how to work the trapeze was a whole other thing though, as it was a little odd to adjust at first. she loved johns freedom and wild nature while soaring through the air though, a lot more then she loved the rigidness of her own form. (john disagreed vehemently, the way mary moved was like she was one with the air and the air was one with her, and he admits that was she an incredibly quick learner.)

-will always watch cartoons with dick, whether it be The Simpsons one evening or Tom & Jeremy the next.

-johns singing is her favourite thing ever, she always begs him to sing her to sleep and some nights, when john feels a deep rooted knot tug at his chest, mary is sweetly singing, “here comes the sun,” by the beatles in his ear

-her and johns go to song to get dick to sleep is, “little bird, little bird,” by elizabeth mitchell. she always changes the last bird, a whip-poor-well, to a robin bird. it’s a little offbeat but she thinks dick likes it. (dick loves it.)

-has an unparalleled amount of energy, and is always bursting with exuberance, the only one who can really challenge her on that is dick. both of them are absolute adrenaline junkies.

-has an insatiable love for period dramas, it is her absolutely guilty pleasure and will be found watching tapes of her favourite show in the living room at like 3am

-she loves the smell of burning wood and loves sitting outside of summer nights, taking in the sounds of the cicadas and the cold breeze.

-she is absolutely exasperated with her sons ability to make friends with injured woodland animals, it was adorable and absolutely darling to an extent, but oh my god if she had to handle one more skunk with a broken leg or a fox with its leg stuck to a wooden post, she would consider barricading the circus.

-(she loves buying matching clothing for her family and her, but what she loves the most is dressing john and dick up to match, she has a whole box filled with those pictures, which would be perfect blackmail material once dick was in his teens.)

John Grayson

-is one of the most laid back human beings, he always has a lazy smile and gentle mischief twinkling in his eyes. (but fuck with his family and see what happens, he dares you.)

-his eyes are practically identical to dicks, in every shape, way and form. but dicks have an unstoppable light in them, that his just don’t have but he’s so happy they do.

-loves to overspray his cologne just to irritate mary, her scrunched up nose his absolutely adorable. (but he still couldn’t get why she didn’t like that cologne, it was fucking amazing)

-curses like an absolute sailor, and mary isn’t any better but she’s far better at censoring herself. john has had to slap a hand around his mouth a few times to avoid having to explain the word, “shit,” to dick.

-christmas is his favourite time of the year without a doubt, and loves to be curled up on his worn couch with a novel in hand in front for a fire.

-is an avid prankster, but if you confront him about it, he’ll give you a trademarked Grayson smile, and tilt his head to the side questioningly.

-his laugh is like (as courtesy of mary grayson), “a crash of waves, refreshing and loud with a distinct clarity, and then he starts to w h e e z—Hey! it’s the truth! I thought you were against lying, huh?”

-he’s ticklish, and his brother along with his wife and son take advantage of that way too much.

-dick is legit attached to this mans hip 24/7, like if you see john strolling around the circus there is a 94% chance that dick is either riding on his shoulders or settled comfortably on his hip.

-the day he met mary, he had felt a little out of place and stilted at this neighbourhood party. but he sucked it in bc anything was better then going back to his home, so he took a shaky breathe and tried to converse with his great aunts friends, until the music started and he locked eyes with a pair of lively green eyes, and he had found exactly what he was a looking for. a fleeting purpose that could so easily slip between his finger tips but the thrill to latch onto it was expanding in his chest. and he realized that if he didn’t march right on over there and talk to this girl, he would’ve lost something he didn’t even knew he could lose.

- playing guitar had always been a little bit of a therapeutic thing, because even though he tried to be practicing their act every single minute of his day, there were times where he needed to sit under a tree with his son curled in his lap, his leather jacket draped on him. the love of his life and the afterlife curled up next to him, with his blistered fingers from dealing with ropes all day strumming the guitar.

-the biggest elvis presley, beatles and rat pack fan in the world. he also loves louis armstrong as well as nat king cole. (he grew up with this music as his first big introduction to north american music as well as culture.)

-open communication and emotions are a big thing for him, he never wants anything to be misinterpreted and he tries his hardest to make sure neither him nor mary ever go to sleep angry with one another. they argue a decent amount, bc they both have wild tempers (johns is a flame that’s difficult to light but once it does he’ll have a vicious tongue of a temper, and mary’s is a quick lighter that can be easily put out but for the time that it burns holy shit she’s scary,) but they always work things out by talking to one another at the dinner table.

-this man lives and breathes sarcasm, to the point where people never really know if he’s being sarcastic or not (mary does, and it annoys him to no end.)

-always playing with his hair, or he’s playing with mary’s or dick’s. it’s become a little of a nervous habit for him, but also a way to relax.

-was always insecure about how short and scrawny he was as a kid, even now once he’s filled into pure muscle and but still a little short compared to others. however, he uses his body to his advtange though, he can easily be the strong man of the act, and can easily balance both dick and mary with one hand. he’s immensely proud of that, and shows it off as much as he can.

-just to annoy mary, he’ll slowly lift his son up and they’ll give the exact same puppy dog eyes and pout. mary will legit do anything they want (he wasn’t ready for mary to come in one day, blinking her beautiful green eyes and pouting, with dick settled on her hip doing the exact same thing as they ask for chocolate pancakes one morning. it’s fair to say he sprinted out of bed and straight to the kitchen.)

-despises hunting for sport and guns, his father owned an array of hunting guns that were always proudly polished and hung on the walls of their trailer. john fucking hated it, and was about to blow a fuse when one of the circus members decided to take dick on a hunting trip without asking. (he held dick close that night as he cried bc he didn’t understand why they had shot the deer when it looked so happy.)

-is the absolutle biggest crybaby when it comes to Heidi (the book) and has rewatched Kiki’s Delivery Service with dick like 30 times? he cries every time ( “mARY SHES SO SAD OH MY GOD AND SHE DOESNT UNDERSTAND J I J I ANYMOREEEE.”) (“sEE GRANDFATHER DOES CARE AND THE SYMBOLISM MARY THE SYMBOLISM.”)

-loves looking up at the stars, and liked to memorize their names as well as patterns as a kid. he was overjoyed to share this with dick, as they lay down on the roof of their circus caravan, point out constellations and tell their stories (dick would always perch himself on the tallest skyscraper in gotham, on a clear summer evening, just to get a one glance at the stars at again before the smog rolls in. he swears he saw cassiopeia once, but maybe he was just wishing he did. )

-is equally stressed by dick’s unprecedented love of making friends with the most random things, is also stressed because his son is this tiny kid who keeps getting himself stuck in bushes then runs home, covered in thorns but still has the biggest smile. john is usually on first aid duty, and he just knows that his kid would run into the sun exploding with a bright smile plastered on his face.

[thecasperanfamily]

can we hear the story of lin's first piercing please?

A/N: Lin is about 16 here. Hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” 

“For the last time, Jules, I’m positive,” Lin asserted, ignoring the nervous clench in his stomach as the needle in Julia’s hand flashed dangerously. “You said you know how to do it.” 

“I do.....Sort of. I mean, my Tia Dolores showed me how once--she does this often at her work. I just...maybe it would be better if you went to someone else? A-and your parents, do they know you’re doing this?” 

“Mom and Dad said I can get piercings, but I either gotta pay for ‘em myself or wait until my birthday.” Lin rattled off the list of requirements in such a way that made Julia suspect he had been told those things many times already. “...Bu-u-ut if you do it for me, then I don’t have to pay for it, and I can save my birthday for something else.” 

“I don’t remember saying I wouldn’t charge you,” Julia remarked coyly, holding the needle in the open flame of the candle on her windowsill. 

“I should at least get a Best Friend’s Discount,” Lin replied. In spite of his best efforts, he couldn’t help swallowing nervously as Julia slipped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a marker from her bedside table. 

“Where do you want it?” she asked, brushing his hair out of the way and tilting his head up so the light hit his ear directly. 

“Everybody does the lobe thing these days,” he observed. “What if we put it on top? Like what you have?” Julia gave him a mildly horrified look. 

“You want...? Lin, that is going to hurt like...” She scrambled to find an appropriate English idiom, before abandoning the search with a frustrated huff. “...I cannot find the word for it, but trust me, it is going to hurt!”

“I’m not a baby, Jules. I know what I want, and I can handle it.” He surreptitiously reached over and adjusted his inhibitor cuff as he spoke, setting it to completely siphon all of his magic. 

“Are you sure?” she asked again. Lin gave her an exasperated look. “Fine, fine. But you must not jump when the needle goes in. Understand? If you move while the needle is still in, it will tear your ear.”

“...Okay,” Lin gulped. Julia grabbed his chin and looked him dead in the eye. 

“Swear to me. You will not move.” 

“I got it, I got it! I’ll hold still.” He hooked his legs around the stool beneath him and braced his hands on his knees. Julia took a deep breath, marked the spot on the top of his ear, then took up the needle and a cotton ball. She placed the cotton behind his ear and lined up the needle. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled back and grabbed a leather belt out of her dresser. 

“Bite down on this,” she ordered, shoving it in Lin’s hands. 

“Oh, come on, Jules, really? I’m not that--” He stopped short at the look Julia sent him and obediently slipped the folded leather between his teeth. 

“Okay,” Julia breathed, lining up the needle once more. “On the count of three, ready? Uno...Dos...Tres!”

*****

“Douxie!” 

The single, distressed cry of a small wood nymph jolted Douxie awake as effectively as a nearby gunshot. He flailed for a moment, blinded by the book that had been covering his face, before tumbling off the sofa with a yelp. He scrambled to his feet just in time to catch Nari, who had tripped over his shoes when she came running into the living room. 

“What, what?! What’s happening?” Douxie demanded somewhat blearily, holding Nari out at arm’s length and instinctively searching her for injury. 

“It is Lin! I do not know what has happened, but I felt his soul cry out just now. He is frightened and in pain!” By now, Zoe and Archie had appeared on the scene, the former with her wand still between her teeth and a half-finished gadget clutched in her hands. 

“Skateboarding accident, most likely,” Archie suggested. 

“No, I can tell when he is injured by something like that,” Nari fretted. “His aura shows pain, but it never trembles with such fear like this.” 

“...Oh, fuzzbuckets,” Douxie muttered, summoning his vambrace from where he had left it on the coffee table and slipping it over his wrist. 

“I thought he was with Julia!” Zoe burst out, her wand now back in her hand where it belonged. 

“Yeah, that’s where he’s supposed to be!” Douxie agreed, tugging one of his high tops onto his foot with one hand while the other pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Lin. “But since when has that ever mattered to--Lin? Lin, where are you?!” 

***** If there was a worse time to get a phone call from his parents, Lin couldn’t fathom it. He was trying to muffle his screams into one of Julia’s pillows as she frantically dabbed at his new piercing with rubbing alcohol, crooning what Lin assumed were comforting words in rapid Spanish, but he was too preoccupied with the apparent fire she had set to his ear to translate. 

“BLOODY FUZZBUCKETS!” he screeched, voice still muffled by the pillow. “GODS DAMMIT ALL TO--” His string of expletives was cut off by the sound of his phone going off, clattering against the surface of Julia’s nightstand where he had left it. He emerged from the pillow and stared at it in horror, feeling his heart jump into his throat as he saw a photo of his father staring back at him tauntingly. “Oh sh--wait, what are you doing?!” Julia had picked up his phone and was trying to hand it to him. 

“You have to answer it!” she insisted, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What am I supposed to tell him?!” Lin argued. 

“Anything is better than letting it hang up and having him come looking for you himself!” she reminded him sternly. 

“Touche...” Lin grumbled, taking the phone from her and accepting the call. 

“Lin? Lin, where are you?!” Douxie didn’t even give him a chance to say hello first. 

“With Julia,” Lin squeaked, tears smarting at the corners of his eyes as his left ear continued to burn. 

“With Julia, where? Nari said she could feel something was wrong. What’s happening?” 

“I’m at her house. Nothing’s happen--” He emitted a very high-pitched yelp as Julia chose that unfortunate moment to obsessively pour more alcohol on his wound. 

“MERLIN SAMUEL!” Zoe’s voice thundered into the phone this time. “WHERE ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” 

“I’matJulia’shousesheknowshowtopierceearssoIwentaheadandgotonedon’tworryI’mfine!” 

Why is my name so scary when she says it like that? And how the frick does she always get me to tell the truth so fast? Lin wondered, not for the first time, as silence fell between them. 

“You’re safe?” Zoe demanded, voice a touch calmer this time. 

“Yeah.” 

“And Julia’s not hurt?” He winced at this. He wanted to be offended by the notion, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that if he had not thought to adjust his cuff as he had, his friend could have been seriously injured. 

“No. I had my cuff set to max. She’s fine.” 

“Why in the name of sanity would you get your ears pierced without warning us?!” Douxie’s voice this time, and it sounded as tight and strained as it always did these days. 

“You said I could as long as I paid for it!” Lin countered, his cuff humming all the louder as defensiveness boiled up inside him. 

“I didn’t say you could do it without...!” Douxie trailed off and heaved a frustrated sigh. Lin could easily picture the way he was probably pinching the bridge of his nose right now. “...If you’re going to do something like that, you have to tell us,” he continued, sounding more tired than angry now. “You scared your Aunt Nari....And me.”

“Sorry, Aunt Nari,” was all Lin said. There was an uncomfortable pause. Julia had stopped fussing over his ear, and now she stood with her hand on his shoulder, listening to the conversation play out. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and he felt the defensiveness churning in his stomach boil away entirely. “...Sorry, Dad,” he added softly. 

“...How about we finish this later?” Zoe suggested. “When we’re not all keyed up like this. I want you home no later than seven, Lin. Got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. 

“Okay.” She paused for a moment. “...We love you, Lin.” 

“...I know,” he sighed. “I’ll see you later.” He ended the call and leaned forward until his elbows rest against his legs, phone still in hand. 

“It looks good,” Julia said after a while, handing him a mirror so he could see her handiwork. “You want to do the other one?” 

“Not today, thanks,” Lin decided, feeling strangely hollow at the sight of his newly pierced ear, with its silver stud gleaming in the warm yellow light of Julia’s bedroom. 

“...Was your father mad?” she asked tentatively. 

“Not really. He doesn’t usually get mad so much as just...tired. Which is almost worse, somehow, but it is what it is. Still, I technically didn’t break any rules, so they can’t ground me for that long.” He straightened up and flashed her a smile. “I think it was worth it either way though. It looks great, Jules. How much do I owe you?” 

“Fifty-five dollars. And yes, that’s including the Best Friend Discount.” 

“Okay, nevermind. Not worth it.”

(Please don’t ask me how this thing got written in a single night while my other WIPs have been languishing for literal months, because I do not know. Regardless, thank you so much for the ask, Non! 🥴✨)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

but now i wanna hold you too

y’all need to read the nightrunners series. Or if you want to just read some smut, you should read this fic and then go comment on it over at Ao3

Dedicated to @minky-for-short whose just been so patient with my infodumping about this boys 

------

There were few things Seregil found more freeing than taking off his coat.

It was such a simple action, something most people never considered, just one step in the comforting but ultimately innocuous walk to one’s own home and hearth and bed. But as Seregil took off the too heavy coat with it’s flashy cold buttons and elaborate gold threadwork, as he abandoned it over the arm of the poor, long suffering mermaid statue in the sitting room, it was like he was taking off more than just a piece of clothing. He was taking off the name that didn’t belong to him, the lord’s face that looked like his own superficially but was different in a thousand imperceptible ways that still mattered to him. With the coat off, he knew he’d said goodbye to Lord Seregil with his effortless charm and flattery and lazy smile that took more out of him to maintain than anyone would think. He could let his shoulders fall out of the prim lord’s posture and breathe deeply, he could feel wholly himself and no one else.

For someone who had made a life out of being people other than Seregil, who’d woven deception and spying and night running into the very bones of himself, that moment where the act dropped like the curtain at the end of a play that had run just a few scenes too long was a relief.

And there was also the knowledge that, most times, hanging up his coat meant he could move further into the warm, welcoming clutter of the living space neatly hidden within the Stag and Otter and find Alec. Some nights he would be sat at the small forge, working on a project Seregil had set him some time before, though never more than a few days. Alec was one of the smartest, most quick learners Seregil had ever met. It was never long before he cracked his little tests and puzzles. Some nights he would be restringing his precious bow or oiling it’s sleek dark wood by candlelight, fletching new arrows and sharpening the iron heads of them to wicked points even though the city never offered many chances to use them. Sometimes he would be in the centre of the room with the worst of the mess pushed back from the carpet, sword in hand, practising his slash and parry back and forth across the room.

But Seregil’s favourites were nights like this one, where Alec was doing nothing more than sitting in the comfy expanse of the sofa, Ruthea curled up and purring on his lap, a cup of tea by one elbow and a book in one hand. It did Seregil’s heart good to find him content and resting, making their small rooms feel truly like a home, even with all the other homes he’d had and lost.

Tonight there seemed to be a particular fierceness to the love that gripped his chest as he saw him there, as he walked behind the sofa and bent to press a kiss to his forehead, feeling his warm skin under his own cold fingertips, the softness of his hair tickling his nose.

“I missed you,” was all Alec said, his voice cracking with disuse. He mustn’t have said a word since Seregil left in the early afternoon, lost in his book.

“I missed you too, talí,” Seregil breathed, knowing Alec was feeling his relief and commanding rush of love through the thread that tied their hearts together.

Though he wouldn’t really have needed the talimenios bond. Alec was the only other person who understood that deep, steadying inhalation you could only ever take after all the disguises and tricks fell away and you found yourself again. The sensation of coming home to safety, a hard won, precious safety, was something he’d experienced himself.

And something they should have been sharing.

“Did you miss me enough to forget you’re mad at me?” Sergeil murmured hopefully, tracing his lips along Alec’s hairline.

Alec gave a grunt, nose wrinkling, “I did until you just reminded me.”

“Now, talí,” Seregil slid his hands down Alec’s sides, feeling his friend’s warm body through the thin material of his loose shirt, “You weren’t well enough to come out tonight and you know it. What would you have told me, if I’d been the one to wake up hours before sunrise to vomit profusely out of the window?”

“But I feel fine now!” Alec protested, something more playful about how he whined now when compared to his genuine bitter disappointment that morning when Seregil had made him stay in bed, “So I would have been fine to come housebreaking with you!”

“Neither of us knew that this afternoon,” Seregil gave his hips a squeeze, “I would have spent the whole time worrying about you tumbling from some height or giving us away by throwing up into Lady Ramina’s shrubbery.”

Alec scowled, looking frankly far too adorable when he did, “Fine...and it went alright?”

“Smooth as silk,” Seregil smiled, “Any and all compromising letters have been safely returned to their rightful owner.”

“Lady Ramina actually used to hire the Rhiminee cat. You’d think she’d make sure her house would actually be safe against him.”

Seregil shrugged lazily, thumbs playing with the buttons on Alec’s trousers, “You know what nobles are like. Always thinking themselves exempt from the very worst, above any kind of poetic justice.”

“I can see why you play one so well then,” Alec teased, very well aware of where his lover’s hands were and quite deliberately not commenting on it.

Seregil huffed and nipped the lobe of one ear lightly to make him squeal, “So...you said you’re feeling better?”

“Right as summer rain, talí. Why?” Alec hummed with a maddening innocence that was doing nothing to curb the tightening Seregil felt between his own legs.

“Perhaps I can give you something to make up for being left behind?”

In their private rooms, sealed with magic and walls of thick stone, it was like the outside world didn’t exist. The noise of the city of Rhiminee was barely a murmur, quieter than the crackling of the candles or the whisper of the wind. The two of them could be anywhere, back in their little cottage in the mountains, back in the land of the Aurenfaie, on any of their adventures.

But right now there was nowhere Seregil wanted to be than here.

Alec clearly had a lot of pent up adrenaline he’d been saving for their job, all of it was now flowing into Seregil everywhere their skin pressed close, in the younger man’s arms around his neck, in the inside of his thighs as they held fast around Seregil’s hips so he could carry him towards their bed, in the fingers that pushed through his long, dark hair, in their lips crushed against each other as their kissing became manic and messy with their need.

Their clothes were abandoned back in the sitting room; both of them were naked when they finally toppled over into bed, Seregil finding himself dragged by Alec who was completely unwilling to have any space between them. The ropes creaked, the bed still not as broken in as Seregil’s old one. They’d have that fixed before too long.

Already Alec was making those noises Seregil loved so much, the keening whines, the gasps, the high, broken off moans. With his friend underneath him, he could see every beautiful moment of his arousal growing wild and all consuming. A blush had risen on his fair skin, right across his chest and up his neck and across his face, fire on snow. Seregil followed it down, kissing at the hollow of his throat to feel his pulse between his lips, licking the faint salty taste of the day from Alec’s skin then down to swirl his tongue around one nipple at a time until both were flushed and stiff even in the warm of the room.

Alec seemed to be trying to say something, his quickly kindling arousal and Seregil’s hungry attentions turning his words to pleading cries. He decided to take a little pity on his lover, rising up to grin at him with kiss swollen lips.

“My love? Deep breaths, talí, let me hear you…”

Alec swallowed, the motion making the marks Seregil had left there seconds before shine in the candle light, “I want you to...to talk to me...in that way you do, the way I like…”

Seregil’s smirk flared with delight, his eyes sparkling wickedly, “Oh. Like that you mean?”

Alec bit down on his lower lip, eyelids fluttering as he whispered, “Please?” Seregil had to steady himself a moment, the sight could have been enough to finish him then and there if he were a weaker man.

“Of course, my heart,” Seregil kissed his mouth softly, quickly, enough to undo the tension in his expression.

He knew it could still be hard for Alec sometimes, to ask for what he wanted between their sheets. Especially asking for this, this game they played that deliberately skirted the line between what Alec’s heart and body cried out for and what he’d always been raised to think of as dirty and scandalous. Seregil could have burst with pride in how far he’d come since the day they met, how much more comfortable he was with himself and what he wanted. And if this little bedroom game was proof of it, he would gladly throw himself into it whenever he was asked.

And, of course, it helped that it was hot as hell.

Seregil’s manner shifted, his expression turning salacious. He straddled Alec tighter, making sure he could feel his erection press against him, the skin hot and firm. Alec’s own cock was a hard iron bar against the small of Seregil’s back, the skin there fast becoming slick.

“Look at you,” Seregil purred, his voice smoky and low, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Alec’s gasp was half a groan. His skin flamed even more furiously and his only answer was a shudder and his cock leaking more slick against Seregil’s tailbone.

“And here I thought you were a good little Dalnan boy���” Seregil bent to mouth at him more, along the underside of his jaw where he was most sensitive, his hands coming to grip his wrists, “Supposed to be so sweet and innocent, yet here you are whining for me. Wanting me.”

Alec began to pant softly, squirming under him.

“You do want me, don’t you? Did it get too cold for you up in those mountains of yours, did it get you needing a little heat?”

He emphasised that with a roll of his hips and Alec nearly screamed, “Yes, fuck, yes…”

“Of course you do,” Seregil murmured, enjoying his role in their little two person play, “I can see it in the way you look at me, I can feel it in how hard you are. You want me to take that cock inside me and ride you until you can’t remember your own name?”

Alec practically sobbed out his affirmative and Seregil would have been worried if he didn’t know this was how he got when he took the submissive angle, and if he didn’t know that Alec adored it and could change his mind at any time. He knew the words to say if it got too much, they both did.

“So much for Dalnan modesty, eh?” Seregil smirked wickedly, rising up to leave Alec cold and trembling without his touch while he leaned over to grab the bottle of oil that never left their nightstand.

The smell of it was heaven, all citrus and deep wood smells that reminded him of Aurënen. It oozed over his fingers in a faintly amber stream, mingling wonderfully with the sharp salt of shared sweat and slick. As much as Seregil would have liked to linger in it, Alec was waiting and he’d pushed the poor thing to the very edge of his patience.

Preparing himself was a quick, hasty task, risen up on his knees with his hand reaching between his legs. He took no special attention over it, he liked it to still sting a little when he took Alec in.

He would never get used to it. Whether they had each other a million more times, and Seregil hoped they would, he couldn’t ever imagine himself getting used to that moment when he slid down slowly on Alec’s cock and felt every movement of his muscles acquiescing, the hollow in himself opening wide, his body stretching and reshaping to fit him so close that they were more one and whole than two and separate. Even though he was meant to be playing the conqueror tonight, Seregil couldn’t help but gasp and tip his head back, surrendering if only for a moment.

He guided Alec’s hands to his hips, holding them there as he began to rock, rising and falling with aching slowness at first.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he growled, hair falling across his face.

Alec’s fingers bit into his narrow hips and his voice was a breathy moan, “So good. By Illor, by the Maker, by every single one of them, damn me, damn me but it feels so good…”

Seregil sped up slightly, relying on his knees to lever him. They’d ache in the morning but right now, all that thought did was turn him on more.

“You were made for this,” Seregil gasped, having to reach back and steady himself with one arm as he rode him harder and faster, “Fuck what they all said, you are mine and you were made for this.”

“Yes,” Alec cried out, determined to hold still and let Seregil take the lead but he couldn’t help rising and falling to meet him just a little, it was too natural for their bodies to follow each other, “I’m yours, Seregil, I’m yours…”

“My heart,” Seregil grunted, face tightening, “My talí.”

Alec’s ability to form words fell away as he was gripped utterly by need, clearly close in the way the muscles in his neck were standing out like tense chords, how his fingers were tight enough to leave bruises on his lover’s waist, how he grunted with every thrust . Seregil was almost there himself and in no mood to deny them any longer. He pushed himself that last little bit more, until he couldn’t give anything else.

But it was enough. Alec could only roar wordlessly as his climax pulled him under but Seregil, frozen in place as his lover’s heat flooded him so deep he could feel it in his stomach and, hell, even below his ribs, he managed to gasp his name like a prayer, as if suddenly he were playing the fallen devotee.

Alec was limp and trembling under him, completely undone. Seregil leaned back on both his arms now, catching his breath in slow, even pants.

“I love you,” he heard Alec murmur, voice so soft and sincere it broke his heart.

Seregil gently pulled Alec free of him but quickly made up for the loss by taking his lover in his arms. In recent years, the Dalnan had grown to overtop him by a few inches but that didn’t stop him from lying on his back and letting Alec rest on his chest, arms safe and secure around him.

“I love you too, talí,” he murmured into the darkness as the candles began to gutter out, leaving them in a room of shadows and the heady smell of sex, “So, so much.”

The different face and the name that didn’t fit right, they weighed on Seregil if he wore them too long. The expectations he had to fill, the seemingly endless rules a Rhiminee noble had to abide by, the way he had to smile and simper and be buoyed along by gossip, it grew so weary sometimes. That coat could be heavy, for such a simple piece of clothing.

But there would always be a moment, as they toured the gambling halls or the parlous of the city’s upper class or even the grand balls of the palace in an endless cycle, when Seregil would catch Alec’s eye. And he’d see the love shining there under his own disguise, like a light you could still see, just under the surface of a cool, still lake.

And Seregil would know that no matter what coat he wore, Alec saw him. Alec knew him, he knew his heart inside and out, he could feel it beating just behind his own.

Alec would always call him by the only name that had ever mattered.