#unless you live in an apartment that meets my standards then

[jae-bummer]

Just for Tonight

Request: 5 + hyunjin pls :3 and ty ! :3

Prompt:

5) “Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

Pairing: Stray Kids Hyunjin x Reader

Genre: Angst

(**warning: language and steamy situations)

.

Having visitors early in the AM was not a common standard for you.

That is, unless it was Hyunjin.

Casually dating an idol was not on your bingo card for the year, but here you were, yanking open the front door of your apartment to usher in a man you never would have thought could acknowledge your existence.

It wasn't that you weren't worthy of dating someone who was a celebrity, it was that you assumed this particular one was much too expensive for you. Now, when talking about "expense," you weren't meaning that he spent large amounts of money. You were meaning that he looked expensive. His features, his movements, his aura. Everything about that man was extraterrestrial in the most enticing way (emphasis on the "extra"). He was walking art. No one should approach him in any capacity because no one was worth his time.

But then there was you.

He had admitted before that you brought a sense of normalcy to his world. The safety of your normal, little apartment. The stories where you talked about your normal job and your normal schedule. He craved these bits of your life, if only to live vicariously through them.

When he showed up on your doorstep, he looked like he could almost be normal too. With a hat pulled low over his eyes, baggy clothes to distort his frame, and a dark mask covering his mouth, he could be any person visiting their partner.

Only the two of you knew his secret...for now.

That's what he was here to talk about.

"What did the company decide?" you blurted before he even crossed the doorstep.

He didn't look up from his phone as he came inside, popping off his shoes as soon as he got past the entryway. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the cold metal. "Is this really how you want to start?"

"If you don't tell me now, it's going to be all I think about," you said quietly.

It had been two days since an article was posted online about Hyunjin's dating life. Apparently, sources had leaked that he was dating a non-celebrity and had been for months now. They even had distorted security footage of the two of you leaving a 7/11 in the dead of night.

As soon as the news broke, Hyunjin was brought in for a meeting with his managers where he felt compelled to confess everything. It was then up to their PR team on how they wanted to deal with the situation. It didn't really matter what he wanted, and definitely not what you wanted.

If you could, you would keep Hyunjin tucked away from the world for as long as you could. It was selfish, but this was your worst fear. You didn't want the fate of your relationship to be in everyone's hands but your own.

Turning your back towards him, you muttered. "Quickly, please."

Hyunjin took a deep breath before starting, speaking as if he was reading a memorized script. "The company decided that it would be best to dispel any dating rumors. At this time in my career, it would be foolish to throw away what I've worked so hard for. Fans will not welcome the idea of me seeing someone, especially a non-celebrity. I'll be a weakness for the team, and I can't in good conscience let that happen."

You turned toward him, horrified. He looked back, a sad smile on his face and helplessness in his eyes. "They've asked that I stop meeting with you for the foreseeable future."

It felt like your chest was going to crack in two. Admittedly, you had both decided that you wouldn't put a label on what you had. You weren't dating seriously or exclusively, but it was unsaid. You had a bond and a love for each other that only grew more intense as the days went on. It seemed like a safety protocol to keep it casual, but in the end, it hurt no matter what you wanted to call yourselves.

"Fuck," you whispered, plopping on the couch. You weren't sure where to look, but it certainly wasn't at Hyunjin.

Biting his lip, Hyunjin nodded slowly. "Fuck."

"We should've been more careful," you croaked, on the brink of tears. "We should've ordered in and -"

"Y/N," Hyunjin sighed. Tilting his head, he smiled sadly again. "That's no way to live."

"It is when it's protecting you!" you squeaked. Dropping your face into your hands, you tried to focus on your breathing.

"You shouldn't have to protect me," you heard him say quietly. Crossing the room, he sat on the couch beside you and leaned his head on your shoulder. "I should be the one protecting you...and in a weird way, I guess that's what I'm doing."

"Oh yeah," you scoffed, popping your head up. "Breaking up will do such great things for me."

"Hey," he chuckled softly, sitting up so he could wipe at the tears sliding down your cheeks. "I really don't want fans to start meddling in your life too."

And that was a valid point. If you continued to date, how long would it take for internet sleuths to figure out your identity? And from there, how long would it be until an attack was launched your way? Your job, your relationships, your social life. Everything could come crashing down if your information got into the wrong hands.

You knew he was right, and you hated it.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into my mess in the first place," he said quietly. "It wasn't fair to you."

"Stop," you groaned. "I don't want an apology."

Hyunjin nodded, remaining quiet. You knew he was just as much at a loss for words as you were. However long your relationship was, it was one of the brightest moments in your life, and you never wanted to take that away.

"Normally when I'm dumped," you continued. "At least I get to be angry at the person who's breaking up with me. This time, I have to be mad at a whole corporation."

Hyunjin snorted lightly. "You can be mad at me if it makes you feel better."

"You're the last person I want to be mad at," you sighed. Looking toward him, you tried not to start crying again. "So this is it?"

"Probably for a while," he whispered. "Is it...is it okay if I still text you? From time to time?"

"I would be disappointed if you didn't," you smiled.

Pulling yourself to your feet, you tugged Hyungjin along with you. "Well, I guess we should rip the band aid off then."

Sliding your arms around his waist, you nuzzled your face into his chest. Without hesitation, he wrapped his own around your shoulders, encasing you in all that was Hyunjin.

"I'm going to miss this," he whispered into your hair. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you more," you croaked, leaning back to look him in the eyes. "It'll be okay."

He nodded, but you could see tears start to gather at his waterline. "Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I know...I know you said you wanted to rip off the band aid," he started slowly. "And I assume that meant that I should leave quickly because it would hurt less...but..."

"But?"

"Can I be selfish?" he whispered.

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at him again. "What do you mean?"

“Let me call you mine," he breathed. "Just for tonight?”

It was suddenly very difficult to breath. Having one last night together would definitely break your heart even more, but it was tempting. One last taste of the man you never thought would be yours.

The last time he'd be tangled in your sheets. The last time you'd smell his cologne on your pillowcase. The last time you'd hear him tinkering in the kitchen, getting coffee ready for the two of you in the morning.

You had taken so much for granted before, not even realizing that it could all come to a grinding halt. At least if you had one more night, you could truly treasure those moments and commit them to memory forever.

It may make the pain even worse, but you didn't care. You were selfish too.

"It's going to suck so bad," you murmured. "But I guess it already does."

"I don't want to make things more complicated," he said quickly, but you immediately shook your head.

"Hyunjin," you said, your voice much more fragile than you wanted. "Please stay."

The response was immediate. Hyunjin's hands grabbed at the fabric of your sweater, balling it inside of his fists as he held your waist. Lips crashing into yours, and bodies swaying from the impact, you struggled down the hall to your bedroom, making sure no part of your anatomy broke contact.

It took only moments for the back of your knees to hit the edge of the bed and send you sprawling. Hyunjin climbed over you, familiar with the scene being played before him. There would be time later to go slowly and luxuriate in each other's attention. Right now was for fulfilling a need and a want so deep that it made you act on instinct alone.

He began kissing down your jaw and to your neck, causing small whimpers to escape your lips. The sounds only encouraged him, turning his gentle motions into ones involving teeth and tongue. As his mouth searched for your shoulders, he grew impatient with your sweater and started to yank it up and over your head. It wasn't long before he insisted that he wanted your skin against his, so he paused only to dispose his own clothing before carefully sliding your pants from your legs.

Kneeling atop the mattress, he looked down at you with reverence. His brow furrowed for a moment as he bit his lip and took you in. Reaching up, you tugged him closer before smoothing out the small line between his eyebrows. "You're not allowed to look conflicted. Not tonight."

"I wasn't conflicted," he said hoarsely. "You're just so beautiful that it hurts."

Your breathing hitched as he looked into your eyes. He wanted you to know that he was being sincere, and this was all as painful for him as it was for you.

Head bowing again, he caught your lips for a softer kiss this time. Using one hand for leverage, he used the other to cradle your cheek. The moment was so tender, you were certain you would just split apart when it was over. Breaking the kiss, he gave you another heavy look before moving his motions down your chest and stomach, only stopping to use his tongue when it suited him. Your small noises and gasps were his driving factor, so if he wasn't getting enough, he would work until his name fell constantly from your lips.

Settling himself between your legs, he glanced up at you with half lidded eyes. "Being away from this is going to be torture."

Reaching down, you pushed his hair behind his ears and gave a lazy smile. Your fingers quickly found their way to the strands at the top of his head, brushing through them once before grabbing hold. "Then make sure you give me something to remember."

.

[snugglebug-92]

Mark Estapa x Reader

Based off the song ‘Would you mind’ by PRETTYMUCH

 PG-13 (some lead up to smut)

You walked into the party your roommate had invited you to with rather low standards. The smell of weed and body odor hits your nose as soon as you walk into the living room. Your roommate immediately spots her boyfriend whose basketball team is throwing the party. She drags him to the drink table while you follow slightly behind. She makes two drinks handing one to you before her boyfriend wraps his arms around her resting his head on her chin. She quickly downs the drink before pulling him to the dance floor mouthing an apology to you. You watch the two from a distance until you feel an arm wrap around your waist. You set your now empty cup down ready to much whoever just put their arm around you. Your fist comes into contact with a hand that quickly grabs your fist stopping it from punching them.

“Jesus give a girl some warning next time Duker,” you laugh looking at the boy in front of you.

“If I had known you’d punch me I wouldn’t have brought you a drink,” he laughs handing you an unopened bottle of Mikes. You grab to bottle knocking the top off with your heel before taking a sip. The two of you stand there drinking in peace until you feel a pair of eyes on you. You look around trying to find who was staring at you only to lock eyes with the most penalized hockey player in the BIG 10.

“It appears we have a watcher,” you giggle nudging Dylan to look at the boy. He looks up the catch his teammate's eye before smirking. He knew about Mark’s feelings for you and yours for Mark. The fact you always sat by the box knowing Mark would probably get a penalty. The fact Mark always left a ticket for you even though you thought it was from Dylan. He knew there was no way Mark would admit it unless he felt threatened. He also knew that nothing made mark feel more threatened than your relationship with Dylan. The two of you meet on a tour of the university during your junior year of high school and just clicked. You kept in touch and reunited when you both moved into the dorms your freshman year.

“Do you trust me?” you hear Dylan whisper in your ear. You nod and he takes your empty drink from your hand before throwing both yours and his into the trash. He leads you onto the dance floor placing you flush against him. His hands rest around your middle while the two of you move to the beat of the song. You sing along to the song and the two of you laugh at the dumbest things because neither of you are very sober right now. This last for about 10 minutes before you hear someone call Dylan’s name. The two of you break apart to see Eddy glancing between the two of you and Mark whose grip is practically crushing the can in his hand. You excuse yourself from the two boys going to get another drink you know you will end up needing. You quickly take a shot before grabbing another mike’s and chugging it before grabbing a new one along with a beer for Dylan and Ethan. While you make your way back to the dance floor you notice Mark is no longer on the couch with Mackie and Luke. You look around trying to find him before coming up beside Dylan. You hand both him and Ethan a beer before reattaching yourself to Dylan. Ethan looks between the two of you for a minute with a look of confusion on his face.

“Okay have I drank too much or are you two scheming? I know for a fact that you,” he points at Dylan, “went on not one or even 2 but 4 dates with this girl how you made us all listen to you talk about it for an hour after each date. I also know you,” he points at you, “are practically in love with my roommate who might I add is just as in love with you as you are with him. So, something is up. What is it you two?” the Canadian questions.

“What did you say?” you question.

“I said you two are scheming and that-“

“No about Mark,” you cut Ethan off.

“Shit I wasn’t supposed to say that,”

“Was it true?”

“Yes,” he sighs knowing he just let Mark’s biggest secret out. The only people that knew were Ethan and Dylan. Now the one person he swore not to tell knows. Without saying another word, you break out of Dylan’s arms and go to find Mark. You see him talking to some girl and go to tap his shoulder.

“Can’t you see I’m a little- oh shit sorry,” he apologizes to you completely ignoring the girl. You hear one of your favorite party songs playing and you or the alcohol decide to be bold.

“Do you want to dance with me?” you ask. He nods not trusting his voice. You grab his hand and pull him to the dance floor. He stands behind you. You grab his hands and put them on your hips. You dance for a few seconds before the chorus starts.

“If I pulled you closer, would you mind?” you nod at the boys before he pulls you flush against his front. He moves his hips in sync with yours. You continue before he speaks up again.

“If my hands get lower when we grind. Would you mind?” you laugh before turning around quickly enough that he doesn’t have enough time to react which results in his hands being on your ass. You smile at him innocently before looping your hands around his neck. You stare up at the boy while playing with the ends of his hair. Song after song you dance with each other until the two of you hear a bunch of people chanting ‘fight fight fight” you both take that as your queue to leave. The two of you walk out of the house hand in hand all the way to his house.

“I guess this is where we part ways.” You sigh.

“You could always stay. You’ve been over how many times.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.” You walk into his house and sit on the couch. He turns the tv on and pulls you so you’re in his lap. You rest your head on his chest contently while his thumb draws circles on your thigh. You turn around and smile at the boy. He moves his hand up to cup your check.

“If I kissed you, would you mind?” he questions a little nervous this time. You nod before connecting your lips with his. He freezes for a second still slightly in shock at the fact this is finally happening. You pull away slightly afraid of what just happened. Right as you start to pull away his lips meet yours with more force. This kiss isn’t nervous like the last. It’s more forceful. You kiss him back with just as much force and his hands move down to your hips. Your hands move to his hair as the two of you slowly start making out. His tongue finds its way into your mouth and his hands find their way under your shirt. Your hand slowly inches its way down to the hem of his shirt and you gently tug hoping he will get the hint. He pulls away removing his shirt. You lean back on the couch to stare at the man in front of you. Sure, you had seen him shirtless plenty of times but never like this. You run your hands up his arms and down his chest tracing his abs.

“You see something you like baby?” he smirks knowing you very well see something you like. You grab his chain pulling his lips back to yours. This kiss is a lot more clashing teeth and a lot hungrier than the last ones. The two of you fight for dominance before Mark wins flipping you over and breaking the kiss to move down your neck. Your head falls back against the couch went he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Liking the reaction he starts sucking at the spot earning a moan from you. His lips move their way down to your exposed collarbone while yours start to undo his belt. After about the third try you finally succeed and pull it off throwing it somewhere in the direction you thought his shirt went. You palm him through his jeans causing him to groan against your skin. His hands move the strap of your top to the side giving him more access. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his jeans which causes him to pull away from you.

“Baby are you sure this is what you want?” he questions cupping your face. You look him in the eyes while nodding.

“Words baby. I need you to say it.”

“I’m okay with this Mark.”

“We should go to my room then.”

“Okay.” He picks you up and carries you to his room. You take your time slowly mouthing his jaw before finding his sweet spot. He almost drops you when you start to suck the spot right below his pulse point. He makes his way to his room and sets you on his bed before taking his jeans off.

“I think you’re wearing too many layers baby.”

“Whatever Estapa,” you giggle throwing your tank at him. When he sees the lace bra, you’re wearing he groans.

“Baby you don’t even understand the things you do to me.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea handsome,” you gesture to the bulge barely hidden by his boxers.

“You’re in for it now,” he whispers into your ear. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer. Before slotting your lips against his.

When you wake up the next morning your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than it usually is. You snuggle into the newfound warmth until you hear a camera shutter and an ‘oh shit’. You shift to sit up before Mark rolls on his back trying to stop you from moving.

“Don’t leave yet baby. Give me five more minutes and I’ll make you pancakes.” His voice sounds more horse in the morning than it normally does. You cuddle back into Mark rolling your eyes knowing he’s going to get chirped by his roommate for what he said earlier.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you laugh.

“Good, it would suck if the girl of my dreams broke up with me after the first night.”

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?” you question.

“I mean I kinda thought after last- “you cut him off with a kiss.

“Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend handsome. Those pancakes you promised sound pretty good right about now.” He laughs before rolling out of bed grabbing you some clothes to put on while putting some of his own back on. The two of you walk downstairs to see his roommates all sitting at the kitchen counter staring at them.

“What are you all sitting here for?” Mark questions. The 4 boys look at each other before one of them finally speaks up.

“We heard something about pancakes, and we all want some,” Mackie says laughing.

“Oh my gosh, you guys heard that.” Mark buries his face in your neck embarrassed.

“A few of the boys also say congrats on finally growing a pair and getting the girl.” Ethan laughs as Mark groans burring his head even further into your neck.

“It’s okay honey. They’re just teasing you.” You say pulling his face out to look at his. He pulls out of your arms to start to make the pancakes he promised.  As he finishes plating the last few and handing them to the boys, he gets a call. He walks out of the room to answer the call only to rush back in a few seconds later.

“You guys sent a picture of us to the group chat,” he groans before trying to hide in your arms. The boys just laugh at him before eating the pancakes he made. You roll your eyes at the boys before giving your boyfriend a quick kiss. You sit down and start to eat the pancakes while Mark sits next to you eating his pancakes.

[space-station-nursery]

❄️⸝⸝ Welcome to Babi and bubby nursery!! ⸝⸝ 🌨️

☃️⸝⸝︰{About us!} ・ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Babi's Name, age, pronouns┊・𓂃 Hi! im Finnegan, but prefer to go by Finn. Im 20 (21 on Jan 18th) and my pronouns are They/Them! Babi's timezone┊・𓂃 CST! (or central standard time) Bubby's Name, age, pronouns┊・𓂃 Hi im FD, im 21 and my pronouns are He/Him Bubby's timezone┊・𓂃 MST (or mountain standard time) Boundaries┊・𓂃 Please don't ask either of us to be your Little/cg, we are engaged and are not looking for romantic or platonic littles/cgs. Dms are open for anyone +16 or -26 (i had a bad past with older individuals on tumblr). Listen when we say "No!". If you would like to be moots/friends, please at least interact with our posts, its incredibly uncomfortable to have random txts from people asking to be friends that just followed 3 minutes before.

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🚂⸝⸝︰{Regression info} ・ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

About Babi┊・𓂃 I am a flip leaning regressor, and regress to about age 0-4. I am a sleepy, but bubby when regressed! Sometimes i go nonverbal, but i use a pacifier almost all the time. There is a ton of trauma surrounding my regression and it was very hard to regress. Now, with the help of bubby there is hope! I can only regress for small periods of time, and it needs to be assisted but its a great start and i hope that when we live together it'll boost my regression more! About Bubby┊・𓂃 I am Finns CG, and I love my babi bear! I do everything I can to make sure they feel safe and comfy here when regressing, as well as when they aren't Views on sitters┊・𓂃 We do not see sitters as something either of us would want to be apart of unless it was us sitting for/being sat by someone we know very well. My current sitter is @sleeplessjunkie Who generally just regresses with me when bubby is gone while we play games !!!! We will either talk a lot or not at all, and thats ok bc talk is hard! (we're also both autistic)

Likes/Dislikes, DNI and schedule under the cut! Please read ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

🦌⸝⸝︰{Our DNI's} ・ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

What is a DNI? These are "Do not interact" boundaries, this means that if your blog meets any of these criteria you may be blocked\banned\removed from a persons socials. Below are my DNI's so make sure to read them!

・Are anti-agere/agedre(or petre/petdre), an NSFW blog/"SFW" kink blogs like Dd!g/abd!/md!b and other variants. Are an 18+ only blog, Terf, etc. Anything that you would not show a child does not belong here ・Bigoted individuals or peoples that believe in Anti-LGBTQIA+, Pro-ana, Pro-SH, Anti-recovery, MIKs or MAPs, Extreme left/right views, Pro-life, Pro-war, transmed, Pro-mia, Anti-Neos/Xenos. ・Over the age of 27. While you could be a regression blog, and completely SFW, individuals over the age of 27 can become a trigger due to my PTSD. Minors are always welcome, although we will most likely not follow back ・Are a blank blog. This means no banner, profile pictures, posts or names. Blogs like those tend to become a problem and we dont wish to deal with it

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Babi likes┊・𓂃 Bubby, jay, baking and cooking, playing games, reading (by myself and with bubby) making decor stuff and making custom things! Blues clues !!! if you see a blues clues ask from an anon, its probably me. Babi dislikes┊・𓂃 Bugs, bugsbugsbugs. Being confronted(confrontation), purposely being misgendered, having my boundaries disrespected, bubby or jay being purposely misgendered, uh-…. i think thats it lol Bubby likes┊・𓂃 BABI BEAR, our friends, gaming, cars, anything that has moving parts, reading and watching crime stuff, watching movies and playing games with babi and our friends, and really love the flash as well! Bubby dislikes┊・𓂃 I dont like icky people coming to talk to babi and i (i dont really like talking to people in general), People misgendering babi or my friends or being rude towards them, and i dont like when people disrespect my boundaries I also dont like the idea of sitters because so many people in the community that we have encountered have bad intentions, but there's nothing else i can think of rn

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┊Schedule・𓂃

✩⸜⸜ Mood/Stimboards ✩⸜⸜ Text post (tips, links, etc) hosted by babi or bubby! ✩⸜⸜ Wear or tear! (W.O.T) ✩⸜⸜ Worksheets ✩⸜⸜ Journal // QOTD hosted by bubby ! ✩⸜⸜ Pos quotes/affirmations

These have no specific Dates, they will be posted as we see fit! Each post will be sent between 12pm and 1pm (don't know when that is? find my timezone above)

┊Anons・𓂃

✨, (☀🐝), 🩷 Send us an ask to claim an emoji and show up here! <3

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Pronouns page:┊・𓂃 finns page here!

Instagram:┊・𓂃 Agere insta!

Twitch:┊・𓂃 Finn's twitch! || Bubs twitch!

Snowflake Nursery Discord:┊・𓂃 Nursery!

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[mush-dooms]

the dichotomy between people pushing for greater mental health awareness and ending the stigma surrounding it while also being completely unavailable to support their loved ones and shaming people for being symptomatic is wilddddd, and it has the effect of essentially canceling itself out resulting in no change.

a couple months ago my depression got to the point that, by my typical standards, my apartment was filthy. I live alone with my dog (that freeloader), so household tasks like cleaning were entirely up to me, and they completely flew out the window. what can I say, it's hard to think about vacuuming when being alive feels like a waste of time. the amount of shame I felt for having, say, fur/hair tumbleweeds on my floor and a pile of recycling so large it made my supply closet entirely inaccessible, created a cycle of feeling deeply uncomfortable asking for help -> more tasks piling up -> increased shame -> more discomfort -> and so on and so forth.

now, while I can't say for certain that I would have actually been met with disgust and judgement had I asked for help, the idea that the very real, physical manifestations of my depression would be met with disgust and judgement were enough to keep me from reaching out.

the type of mental health "activism" that revolves around reposting inspirational quotes or the suicide hotline, while definitely a good start, can often come off as ingenuine unless it is paired with action. (this isn't a new idea; it applies almost universally in the era of internet activism, but for the sake of keeping this post from getting any longer than it already is I will keep the focus on mental health.) it's practically useless to put "mental health is health #endthestigma" on your instagram story if, when confronted with someone who is the "bad" type of mentally ill, you turn up your nose and walk away. this is the impression that most people-- no matter how well-meaning-- give off.

if you actually want to help mentally ill people, you absolutely cannot judge us. whether the person is a homeless Black man experiencing psychosis, a white teenager with anxiety, a Latina young adult who can't take out her recycling, or a trans man with an eating disorder, we all deserve to be treated with respect, empathy, and kindness. shaming us into changing is not effective (nor is it any of the qualities listed).

if you actually want to #endthestigma, be willing to listen and to help us meet our needs. show up for your loved ones who are struggling. dismantle your ideas of how mental illness manifests. turn your reposts into actions. and most of all? do not judge!

[literaticat]

I've seen books that are ´aligned to standards'. Often with lesson plans and questions on an author's website for educators to use. I assume being aligned to standards is some reading standard for grade or classrooms? What does this mean? Is this something any old rube without a background in education could try to do? Does it make a work any more publishable?

Oy. This is kinda beyond my ken, I can only give you the barest info, and I'm SURE I'm not getting all the nuance here -- I'd suggest talking to some authors who are also educators if you want to know more.

Basically, back in the day, all the states various departments of education had a variety of curriculum standards. Then about a decade ago, there was this thing (law? proposal? THING) passed that you might have heard of called the Common Core Curriculum that was (at first) enthusiastically adopted by pretty much everyone -- basically a United States of Curriculum, so that each kid in America would be sure to have a certain base level of education.

For a variety of reasons to do with "states rights" and god knows what else, that fell apart fairly quickly, and now I think a lot of states just do their own thing again -- though a lot of it still basically IS the common core or very similar to it, they just don't call it "common core" because that lingo is an absolutely toxic political lightning rod. (You can go to Google to learn more, or straight to YOUR state's Department of Education and find out the curriculum standards where you live. Here's NY. It's complicated!)

As I understand it (barely), curriculum standards involve things like cross-pollinating different disciplines -- so you might use a STEM nonfiction picture book biography about a historical figure, or a novel set during WW2 that involves code breaking to learn about Science/technology, and English Language Arts, and History/Social Studies, and whatever whatever. So a book that is "aligned to standards" meets various curriculum guidelines and could be used in a classroom in different ways.

I would not really suggest you worry about it UNLESS you are writing that you think will be extremely useful in a classroom setting -- in which case you or your publisher might hook up with an educator who actually like, KNOWS THINGS, to create an educator's guide or something of that nature to go with the book when it is published. (If you aren't an educator / don't have a background in this, I wouldn't suggest creating an educator's guide all on your own -- like people get whole ass PhDs and whatnot to learn how curriculums are built, that's not your job!)

For the vast majority of trade published books, ie, the books that you find in the bookstore, being "aligned to standards" would not make your book more publishable. They might do an educator's guide to go with the book, but they wouldn't base their acquisition of the book on whether or not teachers would use it, they'd base it on whether they think kids and parents in a bookstore would like it!

The exception MIGHT be certain kinds of children's nonfiction that would be primarily of interest to teachers -- but if you were writing that kind of book, I think you'd know it.

[little-engineer-who-cant]

Silena meets Damian Wayne rather unexpectedly. Inspired by the WFA episode where Damian breaks into Jason's apartment.

Part 11 of Sirens Scream Names Forgotten by Tomorrow, Laid to Rest in Infinity

(also posted under cut)

“I quietly call to you and you come and hold my hand and I say I cannot see beyond it. I cannot see beyond it.”

- True Love (Sharon Olds)

The wards go off just after three o’clock in the morning. A small ding rings in her head, not painful but incredibly insistent. Intruder and it’s not Clarisse. She’s been added to the safeguard already, the wards won’t alert for her anymore unless there’s blood. And there’s no real reason for concern, this small buzzing in Silena’s head is the benign warning. Whoever was in her home is uninjured and means no harm to the inhabitants. It’s the one that sounds when there’s someone who needs help but hasn’t pressed the rune for whatever reason, hasn’t mumbled the passwords, but also isn’t bleeding out. It could be Tim again, but she highly doubts it.

She scoots out from under Jason, de-tangling her legs from his octopus grasp as quickly as possible without waking him. If it’s a demigod, she needs to move quickly. If it’s something else… It may be stupid, but she wants a chance to check it out without him going apocalyptic. She’s his closely guarded secret after all and he will protect her with everything and that devotion is dangerously addicting, easy to get swallowed in. 

But that doesn’t mean she’s gotten soft or stupid. So she grabs one of his knives, holding it up against her forearm, and slips into the hall, sticking to the shadows. Sneaking, her breaths shallow, soft and even, her footsteps nonexistent, blending with the natural creaks, groans and sounds of an old building. Towards the shadow being cast by the early morning pre-dawn light, a man by the looks of it, standing in her living room and looking around. Her grip on the knife tightens, limbs loosening in preparation for a fight even as honey-sweet haze lingers on her tongue in the form of words.

“I know you’re there,” comes a high voice from around the corner. That is not the sound of a man past puberty.  

She straightens, cover blown, slipping the knife into the waistband of her leggings with a smooth motion and covering it with Jason’s baggy shirt that is five times too big for her. Pressed against her skin is not the safest place for it to be considering she can feel the sharp tip cutting into her skin, but she’d rather not confront a child with a blade. Smoothing her face into a twist of confusion, she turns the corner and comes face to face with-

“Um, hello?” Silena looks at the child staring her down, now genuinely confused out of every semblance of courtesy.

“You’re Todd's weakness then,” this child , this is a literal child, why is there a child here, says with a completely blank face.

“... Do I know you?”

“No,” the costumed child says, squinting up at her suspiciously. She can make some educated guesses. This one is too young to be Tim, is there another one?

“Okay?” Should I call Jason? No, he needs the rest. If he hasn’t been alerted already, she’s not going to do it. Or Clarisse? No, that would be too violent straight out of the gate. Or… “Could you hold on for just a moment?” She pulls out her phone as the child snorts haughtily, turning to rummage through her fridge. Whoever the hell you are, you’re not my problem. Silena is abruptly grateful she had the foresight to make a separate storage location for the nectar and ambrosia.

“Your selection leaves much to be desired,” the child snarks as she finds the right contact, one given to her by Jason for emergencies only. “Or is it Todd's? He strikes me as a man with little taste which makes me wonder how low your standards are.” She has to take a breath not to punt him out of sheer reflex, pressing the green icon instead and waiting, choosing to ignore the latest of Bruce's gremlins that Jason has inadvertently dragged across her doorstep. At this rate, I'll be another Batcave before I'm a Waystation anymore.

“Hello?”

“Dick,” — the child's head whips over at her and she stares down at his wide, panicked eyes, unimpressed — “did you leave a child in my apartment and not tell me?”

“What?”

“There is a pint sized Robin going through my fridge.”

“Oh, that’s Damien.”

“I didn't ask and I'm not a babysitter. Come get him.”

“You'd babysit if Jason asked.”

“You're not Jason, are you?”

“... I'll come get him.”

“When?”

“Uh…” It’s a trap and they both know it. “Now?”

“Thank you.” She hangs up, rubbing the bridge of her nose with irritation. “Damn Robins popping into my apartment,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

“Grayson will not be sufficient to remove me until my questions are answered.”

“There's HBO and Hulu on the TV,” she waves at the device. “Knock yourself out.”

“I have questions-”

“You can chill until Dick gets here. I’m going back to bed.” There’s nothing here the gremlin can find, everything related to Silena’s more divine dealings are well hidden, ciphered, Misted and warded. 

Turning on her heel, she marches back to the bedroom and closes the door with a very intentional and solid click. Her careless movements as she puts the knife back on the end table and that punctual sound are enough to wake Jason, who starts a bit and grumbles.

“Shh, it’s just me.” She flits over, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to assure him. He’s barely been asleep an hour, that’s not nearly enough to recover from nearly three days of full alertness.

“Wass'up?” he groans, blinking up at her blearily.

“Go back to sleep,” she soothes, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. “You had a long night.”

“Something's up.” Even half delirious, he’s way too perceptive, too tuned in to her and how she handles things.

“And Dick is going to handle it.”

“What is it?”

“Damien's poking around.” Jason's eyes widen, Silena presses a hand to his shoulder to keep him on the bed. “It's fine, Jason.”

“Are you sure? He's broken into my place, I didn't think-”

“Believe it or not, I'm just as paranoid as you. Maybe more. Everything's fine.”

“... he's probably listening at the door.” She shrugs. 

“Wouldn't be a Wayne if he wasn't, if you and Dick are anything to go off of.”

“Rude.”

“But wrong?” There’s a creak outside the door and Jason rolls his eyes and makes a face at it.

“...No.”

“Hm,” she smiles, leaning down to kiss his hair. “Get some more sleep.”

“I should probably go talk to-”

“What the fuck?!” Comes Clarisse’s loud exclamation from down the hall. Jason instantly snuggles back down.

“You know, I really am tired, I’m gonna go back to sleep-” Silena lightly slaps the back of his head but she's laughing.

“Goofball,” she giggles. “I'll take care of it.” 

“A saint among sinners.” He grabs her hand to press a brief kiss to her knuckles. She strokes them softly along his cheek. 

“Love you too.” And she goes back into the living room to find Clarisse holding up a squirming Damien at arm’s length by the scruff of his neck.

“Did Todd decide to pick up a few of his old man's unfortunate hoarding tendencies?”

“Dick's coming to pick him up.”

“Oh thank fu-”

“That's a child.”

“He's already heard me swear.”

“Let me down!” Damien demands, squirming and failing to break Clarisse's hold.

“Clair.”

“Fine.” There is only the bare amount of gentleness as she thumps Damien to the ground. “If he jumps at me again, I'm throwing him out the window to see if any of these Robins can fly.”

“No, you won’t.”

"Try me-”

“Hey,” Dick pants, sticking his head in the kitchen window. “I came as fast as I could.”

“Good, take this please,” Silena gestures at a pouting Damien. Clarisse snorts and stalks down the hall, towards the bedroom. “Jason’s supposed to be sleeping,” Silena warns, “and if he’s not, make sure he is.” A thumbs up is the answer, then the door opens and shuts, leaving her with the two interlopers.

“This won’t stop me,” the littlest Robin threatens, scowling up at her. “I will discover Todd’s weakness and Grayson won’t always be here to-”

“Come on, Damien,” Dick clambers in and tugs the little boy’s arm gently. “Leave her alone.”

“But-” the severe expression broke, revealing the true child underneath. He’s a child, why is Bruce dressing him for war? “What if she’s a threat?”

“To who?”

“Jason.” Silena’s heart breaks a bit at the full-throated accusation. I’ve been a threat before. Dick shoots her a searching look even as Silena struggles not to let tears form in her eyes. “What if she hurts Jason?”

“Buddy,” Dick crouches in front of the child and cups his shoulders. “Anna’s fine. She’s safe. You think I would let anything happen to Jason again?” Fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s about to start bawling in front of them, both of them so worried about Jason in their own ways and I’ve been a danger before, I’ve killed people I love, please don’t do this, I’m lying to everyone, you don’t even know my name-

There’s a large part of her soul that wants to scream, to rage, to lash out at Dick for daring to trust her. For stating that trust out loud and so confidently to a worried child like Damien. She’s not worth anything, she’s a traitor, a loner, a woman desperately trying to pay her penance for losing a war she doesn’t regret and atoning for leaving the people she loves either dead or in the grey of still loving her and hating her guts. I’ll be his ruin, it’s always what she’s been before-

Damien looks at her, face twisted between childish confusion and deadly determination, a familiar sight and her heart breaks further. Her hands ball in the hem of Jason’s shirt and the knife prick she got earlier stings in harmony with her fluttering heart. 

“No,” Damien answers slowly, still staring at whatever he can see happening behind her carefully blank mask. “No you won’t.” And the little Robin looks away. But Silena knows. She knows he saw something in her . What it was is a mystery to her, but the boy saw something. It’s evident in the way the Dick’s trust tastes like apple pie but whatever is going through Damien’s mind is salt, bile and starch. An unpleasant mixture.

As Dick leads Damien out of the apartment with muttered apologies and Silena responds mechanically, she knows this isn’t the last she’ll be seeing of the boy. He looks over his shoulder, giving her one last searching look and Silena smiles, soft and a little broken. She’ll be seeing him again.

And when she slips back into the bedroom, she presses a wrist to her mouth as she stares at the two forms huddled on the bed, almost too big to fit on it. There’s enough room for her in between them and she crawls in gratefully, shaking. Arms band around her, holding her tightly enough that by morning’s light, she’ll be fused back together again.

But tonight, she shakes and shakes and falls apart under the weight of a child’s eyes that have seen too much. Her eyes, Clarisse’s eyes, countless eyes staring blankly up at her until she slid them shut for good.

If there’s a very particular brand of fancy vegan string cheese in her fridge from then on, no one mentions it.

[rottytops]

i definitely think the adhd medication (successfully) rewired my brain and made me seek out long term goals over short term pleasure like i have been literally my entire life so now my current goals are to unfuck my credit to move away from my shitty roomies, get my new car and actually get into an ltr lmao

SUPRISINGLY ENOUGH 2 of these 3 goals are either in progress or very obtainable ive been saving a tunna cash and i can get a new car next month after i get my license renewed and ive found this cute little studio that i can maybe move into if i get help co-signing it, then ill just camp out there until my loans are paid off in 50000 years

the last one though.,,,,its so weird. the like. burning fervor to date someone long term kinda slugged me in the back of the head! ive always WANTED a nice relationship but it was never a PRIORITY to me bc i had video games or whatever. these new feelings made me realize ive been living my life like. entirely for myself which is FINE but my standards for myself (combined with how ADHD made me content with literally anything as long as it was easy) make me like. gutter trash tier as a partner, i think. essentially as i am now, unless the other person is equal parts deranged and shitty, im utterly unlovable which is like. tough tits i guess. but if im honest about it i can at least try to change it. part of me is conflicted; if i have to change myself to become more datable, is the person really dating me, or am i just creating a false persona to get conditional love. its a scary thought but at the same time im not really changing MYSELF past getting in shape and taking care of my skin, its more im giving up on being a dopamine addicted manchild and getting my own apartment. with my own car and stuff...these are actually just completely normal goals to have and i already wanted them i just kinda have new motivation for it lmao!

you cant just force a relationship and theres no way im attracting the hoes to me in my shitty room, so i think i need to??? go??? outside??? and hang out with ppl??? utterly mortifying but when i get my car next month i think i can actually do that. id like to make more irl friends as well, i had a bunch of friends in college so. i guess ill go to more smash locals or something but outside of that sigh sigh i have no idea.

these major revelations have all hit me in like the past 2 weeks, since i started my medication and the dosage was upped, i have a lot of work to do and not that much time to do it, really!!!! i hope i can become someone like. worth keeping around in a few months time...!!! the pieces are there i just need to like, put them together....



i could write a whole thing on how mad i am that it took me so long to get medicated and how fast i became a Normal Person after being on meds but like idk that line of thinking doesnt help anybody...!! i accomplished so much even with my debilitating ADHD and now i can do so much more with a mindset that can actually handle the shit neurotypical people expect me to be able to do, considering how im literally good at everything, combined with how ive managed to survive this long with almost no real help from irl people (seriously ive gotten more assistance from my online friends than literally anybody in my family both financially and emotionally) means that me WITH medication is gonna go absolutely insane. im going to be like ultra rich this time next year, probably LMAO....or at least have a boyfriend AURHUFG



anyway if u read this for some reason i love u and also give me ideas on going out and meeting people, i think i can hold a conversation just fine but where do people even GO. do you guys think ppl at bars or whatever know about disgaea. hmmm.

[darkhorse-javert]

Thoughts about a year ago- for context I am a pro-Royalist Brit. If you are not pro-royal, DL;DR...please don't start being nasty, these are my personal memories and thoughts

(LONG post below the cut)

OK, so it's Thursday, 8th September, c. lunchtime and I'm at work . Part of my job is helping with the social media for my work, so I logged on to Facebook and Twitter to see that things were organised before the weekend. We'd had a busy morning, so now was a good time to do it.

And on Twitter I see 'Queen Elizabeth' is trending. So i think I'll just have a quick look at what's going on. The Queen been fine, although looking very old and small two days ago (can't remember if I was already aware of the cancelled Privy Council meet at this time).

I click, and it's 'The Queen is under medical supervision at Balmoral, resting comfortably.' followed by get well soons etc.

And my heart/brain just sort of - stall and drop. 'OK, this isn't particularly good, she's 96.- and the Palace just don't issue health annoucements unless it's serious.' (They just don't).

On to the BBC news, where there's the live text feed. It doesn't say much more at that point, maybe that Charles and Anne are with her (Not Good)

Then after a bit c.20mins?, it comes up with the fact that family are being told to come to Balmoral.

That's when I really remember thinking 'Oh G-, Oh No. notgoodnotgood. Really Not Good'

I was just stunned numb, couldn't concentrate only anything for the last bit of my workshift. Then I went home, and just sat in front of the BBC coverage all afternoon, half-reading a book as it went on (Well Done to Huw Edwards and Nicholas Witchell for talking about the same small loop of things for three hours without sounding too boring). There wasn't anything really new to say, but I didn't dare stop watching- I wanted to know. (somewhere in this 'Resting Comfortably' became an awkward phrase in my mind, there's a lot doctors can do to help someone 'rest comfortably'

As it drew on we (family) reckoned they'd be waiting for the 6 o'clock News. And by 6, with no new updates apart from the arrival of family at Balmoral, we sort-of knew. If there had been any medical change for the better, any medical plan, it would have been mentioned (this was 'Nothing else but the Queen' TV coverage on the BBC).

6pm goes by, no news apart from the growing crowds at Buckingham Palace.

And then there's a shot of the royal standard on the flag-pole, and I can't quite work out if it's half-mast, or just looks it because it's hanging close to the flagpole due to lack of wind. And in the crowds there's a flurry of activity caught on camera. Then we cut back to the newsroom, and Huw Edwards annouces it-

That The Queen died this afternoon, that 'The King and the Queen Consort' will remain at Balmoral tonight.....

After the afternoon, the 'probably' had settled in. But then BBC played the National Anthem -with the beautiful painting, and I tried to sing 'God Save the Queen' for her - one final time. And my voice just caught and croaked, and I finally cried.

Even today that little bit makes me cry. starts 0:58

She was our Queen, she'd been queen for my entire life, she'd just Been There. And now she wasn't.

And it was -- so strange. To hear people on TV saying 'The King', and remember it meant Charles, who had always been 'Prince Charles', 'Prince of Wales'. That William was now (that is became very soon after) 'Prince of Wales'

It was comforting though for me, that Royalty carried on- even as it was strange.

And then we just had a very strange week, where things were very normal everywhere in life, but SO Not Normal as well.

It's strange it's been a whole year since then. RIP Ma'am. As Paddington said for all of us 'Thank you for everything'

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 470

John 1:4

DIVINE ORDER 35: Process Of Marriage 5

Gen 24:3-4 And I will make thee SWEAR BY THE LORD, the God of heaven, and the God of the earth, THAT THOU SHALT NOT TAKE A WIFE UNTO MY SON OF THE DAUGHTERS OF THE CANAANITES, AMONG WHOM I DWELL: But thou shalt go unto my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac. KJV

WHERE WIVES ARE FOUND 4

We are concluding on this subtopic with a couple of points more beloved.

We’ve seen - and do know - that not all marriages have followed this divine pathway, yet God still makes men find their right bride because of the “SEED” He seek to “adopt” and use later in life.

Mal 2:15 Didn't God create you to become like one person with your wife? And why did he do this? It was so you would have children, and then lead them to become God's people. Don't ever be unfaithful to your wife. CEV

Many of us were called from pagan and occult families yet given divine roles in Church.

Jer 1:5 “BEFORE I FORMED YOU IN YOUR MOTHER’S WOMB I CHOSE YOU. Before you were born I set you apart. I appointed you to be a prophet to the nations.” NET

Jeremiah’s mother was a priest’s wife, but she could have been anybody, even a prostitute, and Jeremiah would still have been chosen from her.

The major point is that now you are born again, the chances of you being spared for flaunting the Divine Rule is very slim.

Jas 4:17 IF, HOWEVER, A MAN KNOWS WHAT IT IS RIGHT TO DO AND YET DOES NOT DO IT, he commits a sin. Weymouth

Many Christians know the Standard procedures but pretend ignorance. It is the principal reason why marriage becomes very stormy for many and satan has access to upset them.

Luk 12:47 “Every servant who knows full well what pleases his master, yet who does not make himself ready and refuses to put his master’s will to action, WILL BE PUNISHED WITH MANY BLOWS. TPT

Hence, it is definitely not Christians who go out there looking for a wife in terms of shape and sizes, big bum & bust, tall & fair and specific tribe.

You may make requests but mostly, it only tells of your lusts and not a sincere Passion to fulfill God’s will.

A Life totally surrendered to God will ask much less for self and mostly for God’s purpose.

Do you agree?

Gal 2:20 I have been crucified with Christ, and I live; YET NO LONGER I, but Christ lives in me. And that life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith toward the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself on my behalf. MKJV

That was Apostle Paul, who never married.

Do you think it was God’s will for him not to?

1Co 9:5 WE EACH HAVE THE RIGHT TO MARRY ONE OF THE LORD'S FOLLOWERS AND TO TAKE HER ALONG WITH US, just as the other apostles and the Lord's brothers and Peter do. CEV

Paul gave up that right, not that God made him to stay single. He wanted to have more time to focus on God’s work.

Do you then imagine how he was able to labour more than all?

1Co 15:10 But God's kindness made me what I am, and that kindness was not wasted on me. Instead, I WORKED HARDER THAN ALL THE OTHERS. IT WAS NOT I WHO DID IT, BUT GOD'S KINDNESS WAS WITH ME. GW

Paul guided his heart and work by a “Policy” when it came to marriage.

1Co 7:32-33 But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: BUT HE THAT IS MARRIED CARETH FOR THE THINGS THAT ARE OF THE WORLD, HOW HE MAY PLEASE HIS WIFE. KJV

Well, Paul seemed totally wrong because God said it is not good that Man should be alone, but his context here is obvious.

He was talking to a people who battled with carnality and lacked self control.

1Co 7:5 So don't refuse sex to each other, unless you agree not to have sex for a little while, in order to spend time in prayer. Then Satan won't be able to tempt you because of YOUR LACK OF SELF-CONTROL. CEV

There is a wife for you out there, and you will meet, if you are set on God’s will.

I also believe there is a woman out there, if you are set for selfish, carnal and lustful ends.

Gal 6:8 If you plant in the field of your natural desires, from it you will gather the harvest of death; if you plant in the field of the Spirit, from the Spirit you will gather the harvest of eternal life. GNB

I pray that your Marital Harvest will be pleasant, IN JESUS NAME.

Come back on Wednesday, as we proceed in digging into this inspiring Subtopic.

Brother Prince

Monday, February 12, 2024

08055125517; 08023904307

[sunflowersandforgetmenots]

God of Fear~ Deimos Kassandra x Reader

I wrote this in under 24 hours. I have not proofread it, and I think it’s wonderful. :) 

Summary: Deimos has had you as her priestess lover for years now, and celebrations are in order as she has vanquished her foes. But something is wrong.

Tags: Angst, Smut

Kinks: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Teasing, Mentions of Public Sex, Slightly unhealthy power dynamics, Implied Free Use kink

Word Count: 5229

MINORS DNI UNDER THE CUT

              Your life with Deimos was a cozy one. Certainly different from the lives of others, but to you, it was cozy. Your lover adored you, you were showered with gifts, praise, and anything you could possibly need or want was given to you. And when that need was a small villa on the outskirts of Athens, she gave it to you the minute she could. Which was surprising, due to the Cult’s hesitance of her indulgence of you, but nevertheless, they allowed you to move out of the barracks and into the villa, with constant protection and Deimos being allowed to visit you whenever she was not needed by the Cult.

              But the Cult has been recently needing her more and more often, pulling her out to other kingdoms and territories to fight for weeks on end, and when she was back in Athens, she was forced to attend meetings or… other activities involving prisoners. It was horribly lonely without her. The soldiers were ordered not to speak to you unless necessary by the demigod, the servants feared her wrath far too much to get too comfortable in your presence, and just, frankly, you love her too much to bear to be apart from her for longer than a few weeks.

              It had been two months. Two months without her rugged face covered in scars, without her soft hair between your fingers, without her lips against you lips, your knuckles, your skin. Without her hesitant laugh and easy temper, her fingers between your thighs. You ached for her those two months, so when the servant gave you the letter from your Deimos, there was once again happy laughter within your home.

              You rip open the letter, sitting down at the little table in the dining space, and drink in her handwriting. The stiff and confident lines only lifted your spirits more.

              My Priestess, I bring wonderful news to your blessed and holy eyes. The man that has tried to take down my Cult has been brought down by my own hands, as well as the snakes that have been hiding within the ranks. The biggest of them being that fool Aspasia. I will be returning to you celebrate our victory and staying with you permanently in the villa now that I am unhindered by their restrictions. I have missed your warmth, your eyes, and your voice like the Sky misses Mother Gaia, and I know you have missed me, fair one. Be ready for me, and I will ensure that you will never have to want for my presence again. Deimos.

              The pounding in your chest grows louder as you read the letter, and as you finish it, there’s this beautiful feeling in your chest. She’s coming home and she’s staying home. She’s coming home. Home. To you. And she’s coming soon, if the arrival of the letter was sent the day she left for Athens.

              “Lede!” The handmaiden, hand chosen by Deimos from her followers’ families, pokes her head in from the garden. “Deimos is returning, make sure the home is up to standards for me? I must get ready for her arrival home. Have someone draw me a bath?”

              She bows her head as you stand, “Of course, my lady.”

              You don’t wait to see where she goes first, heading straight to your bedroom on the second floor of the villa, bounding up the steps with the excitement of a maiden rushing to her marriage. The door is thrown open, and the wardrobe is the first thing you head towards, digging through the fabric to find the right color for the occasion.

              This wasn’t just a return home, this was a victory. The misthios had been plaguing Deimos for years now with a game of cat and mouse, he had been messing with her head, attempting to convince your divine lover that she was nothing more than a mortal who had been thrown off of a cliff and abandoned. On top of that, he had been slowly dwindling down the Cult, removing vital players and traitors alike. To see Deimos finally return to peace of mind was a blessing sent down by the gods.

              And with the traitors weeded out, they would also be no longer an issue to your safety and Deimos’s position. You had been suffering their attacks, both verbal and physical, for months, and the root had finally been found. Athens should now firmly be in Deimos’ grasp, and soon, every city would be. She was a King, a God that walks amongst the land, and this position should be celebrated with only the finest of colors and metals.

              So out comes your finest chiton, a beautiful silken thing of purple, gold carefully woven through it to give the sparkle of a precious amethyst held out in the sun. You lay it out, pairing it with golden bands and jewelry. You remember when Deimos had brought you this set, setting it before you on the table you sat at, in the barracks room you had shared when you were still new to her.

              “Fit for a queen…” You whispered, running your fingers over the edge delicately.

              “No.” Her long fingers grabbed your chin gently, lifting your face up to meet her hungry eyes. “Fit for a priestess.”

              It was the first night that you had shared that bed in more than just sleeping, and the reminder that she would be home and hungry sent delicious shivers down your spine, straight between your legs. Your thighs press together. The last time you had felt pleasure between there had been two months ago, the night before Deimos had left for the horrible long period of loneliness.

              You had been good, keeping your fingers away and reserving the pleasure that Deimos claimed as hers, even though she had left longer than she normally commands that loyalty. She was only supposed to be gone for three weeks, but the extended time didn’t wipe away the command your demigod gave you.

              But you ached for it. It was so tempting. Often you would lay in bed, fantasizing about her fingers, her mouth, her own sweetness between her legs, and how they would press against you in only the perfect of ways. Fingers would cost over your skin gently, coasting over your breasts and inner thighs, but never touching. Attempts to relieve the pressure by squeezing your thighs together did nothing except make you crave more, and you would drip down onto the furs of the bed with the desperation for touch.

              You would wait no more, however. Not for too long, anyways.

              You don’t touch yourself while you were in the bath, though you dreamt over her favorite tactic of ducking under the water to shove her tongue into your cunt while the servants moved around, unaware of her presence. And you don’t grind against the bench as you place your jewelry on, even though the mirror still had a tiny smudge of the last time she fucked you with her olisbos against it. And even as you sit, patient, in the garden for the first night, you don’t even feel the temptation, only slight disappointment as it seems that she would not come so soon after her letter.

              You go to bed, and you do not touch, but you do gently lay out her side of the bed for her, just in case. A small part of you worries. She was also so cocky and sure, what if the letter had been sent early, before she had even succeeded in the things she said she had? Was she dead? Hurt? The irrational fear of your lover being left for dead while you slept, safe in your guarded villa plagued you until you couldn’t fight the closing of your eyes. You drift off to sleep, alone in your bed, worried for your love.

                Deimos loves coming home to you. Her one weakness, though one of her many strengths, was the pure adoration she has for you and your devotion. It was only natural for her to puff up with more and more pride as she, alone on the road except for her horse, approaches the home that she would now share with you, that she will stake as the temple she would build her empire on, now that she was unhindered by mortal fools and idiot brothers.

              Only the guards were awake at this hour, and she hands off her horse to one of them, not even bothering to acknowledge their presence. The only thing that matters is getting up to your bedroom, where you must have been waiting for her.

              She goes up the stairs, opening the door with a quiet intensity. She expected you to be awake, sitting on the bed, waiting for her with barely bound excitement. Instead, her gentle lover was asleep, curled up on one half of the bed under the golden sheet that keeps her warm despite the open window.

              Her heart softens a bit, and only does more when she notices the fine chiton you had left draped on a chair, with jewelry haphazardly strewn across the vanity table. You had been waiting for her this evening, that was for sure, but she had come too late to meet you while you were awake. She takes a step forward, and the tap of her armor against the tile stirs you.

              The demigod freezes as you sit up, quickly and with a gasp. Her hands are out in front of her slightly, pushing back her himation slightly to reveal her golden and silver armor. She watches as your face melts from fear into relief.

              “Deimos!” You cry out, and your voice makes her heart soar. She catches you in her arms as you leap from the bed and bound into her arms. Arms are thrown around her neck and lips pressed to her face, and for a moment, Deimos feels not like a god, but like a mere mortal, bound to someone else in a way that only they could truly experience. “Oh, Deimos, you’re home! I have missed you so much, let me see your face…!”

              Soft hands cup her cheeks, tilting her face up and down and around as you examine her skin for any more scars. You were the only one who could handle her like this, taking her face and limbs and move them around to your liking to examine for wounds or to just be closer to her. Your eyes, so beautiful and glittering in the moonlight, catch on a long scar that rides under her chin, only discovered after pushing her chin up to the ceiling. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watches you, ready to cut off your worrying display if you start fussing rather than spend the moment fawning over her return.

              Instead, you’re quiet, fingers brushing over the scar before she slowly lowers her head. You don’t need to say anything for her to know what plagues your thoughts. Gods can be killed, she knew that, of course she did. And it was only human for her lover to worry, though it took Deimos a long time to understand that it was not doubt in her abilities that caused her to worry so.

              “I am alive, my little deer.” She coos, taking you closer into her arms. “You have no more cause for worry.” Her fingers brush over your head, pressing it into her chest gently. “Feel better? Do you feel the warmth in my arms? The breathing of my chest? Divinity does not die easy. Soothe your anxiety, Priestess, your devotion has helped keep me alive, and it shall forever do so.”

              She feels you calm before you say anything. You do so noticeably, breathing evening out, shoulders relaxing, melting into her arms. Your face, so beautiful and divine, tilts up to look at her.

              “You smell like blood and horses.” You whisper, smiling at her. She gives no answer, instead leaning down to kiss you on those precious lips, designed by the Fates only for her. They fit together like halves of a whole, once again searing their place in Deimos’s soul. You give no protest as she scoops you up, cradling you like a princess as she walks to the bed.

              “Tomorrow, we celebrate… tonight… you sleep once again your god’s arms, little deer.” She lays you down, kissing the curve of your jaw.

              As you settle, she strips off her armor, changing into a thinner and clean chiton, depositing her sword next to the bed as she settles in on her side of the bed. She missed the comfort of it, of the cool sheets and warm furs against her skin, and though she would never say it out loud, she had truly missed the way you pressed into her side to sleep as she lay on her back. Her fingers, battle scarred and callused, stroke the smooth and unmarred skin of your arm. The soothing patterns pulled both of them closer and closer to sleep, though her eyes shot open when she heard you mutter “I love you” into her chest.

              It wasn’t something she heard often before. It wasn’t something she had… heard before the recent few years. What was between the two of you had remained unspoken until now. And the honesty and genuineness of it made her think, unfortunately, of her mother and brother, who’s bodies had lain still on that mountain top. Who had pleaded for her to return and to leave the cult. Who knew nothing of you, of your devotion, of the fact that she had known love in these years. Who had promised their love even as they were speared on the very sword that protected you this night.  

              Instead of laying on her back, as she normally slept, Kassandra turns and curls around you as you doze, holding you with both arms like a child scared to lose the one thing that brought her comfort.

                The sun shines through the window, the birds tweet happily outside on the balcony, people walk and ride down the street outside of your villa. It was a beautiful morning for a stroll, a perfect day to go out, walk through the trees, maybe even lunch with your beautiful lover who has finally returned home to you the night before. But there was no way you were getting out of this bed.

              Deimos had woken up early that morning with a hunger that only you could satiate, and had thus decided that you needed to wake up as well. Which is how you ended up face down, ass up on the bed, sleeping chiton pooled under your arms as she buried her face into your dripping mound.

              Her tongue is deep inside you, two fingers rubbing furiously and methodically at your puffy clit, while her other hand holds you up. How many has she pulled out of you at this point? Three? Five? You had lost count by the time she flipped you onto your front.

              Your stomach tenses and your toes curl as you feel another orgasm build up, moans raising in pitch and speed as you neared another ‘end’. Though this time, instead of letting you crash down once more, your lover pulls away entirely, leaving a whining, dripping mess of you behind.

              “Now that you’ve gotten a taste of tonight, my Priestess… you shall have to take a vow of chastity for the rest of the day, until the sun goes down.” She says, tone cruel and merciless. At your pleading whines, begging for mercy, she only grabs your face, pulling you up to her face with a cockiness you both loved and hated in bed. “No more whining. The minute the sun dips below the horizon, you shall get my cock, pretty little thing. Now.” She lets you go, watching you pull your chiton down and blink up at her with pretty eyes. “Go get dressed and ready for the day. I have some things I need to take care of, and some of them need my priestess.”

              You stand, pouting slightly. Your legs were barely even shaking! You wanted her to leave you a mess, to ensure that the rest of the day would be spent in bed because you couldn’t stand, but she was on a mean streak this morning. Which was honestly unusual for a day of reunion between the two of you, but the obedient part of your brain caught that thought and shoved it into a box marked for ‘later’. You make a move towards your wardrobe, only to receive a slap on your ass from Deimos, who looks just as cocky as before.

              The chiton you wore yesterday evening makes a fine day outfit, and at the approving hum of your demigod, you slip it on, pinning and placing jewelry on your clothes, on your skin, in your hair. Meanwhile, Deimos slips off, probably to take a quick bath, and returns freshly clean and dressed in her golden armor. A part of you is tempted to be bratty, to slip your fingers between your still slick folds while she’s gone to get some relief, but you keep your arms still, waiting for her to return. And when she does, holding out her hand to escort you down to the main floor, you take it, smiling despite your need.

              The rest of the day, compared to the morning, was, pardon your language, really fucking boring. You thought that the two of you would be celebrating, not restructuring the Cult of Kosmos and dealing with the Peloponnesian War efforts. While you were needed at some points, you desperately wished that you could return to your chambers and do literally anything else.

              And you could tell that Deimos hates it as well, giving one word responses, if at all, and the way that her fingers coast over your skin that signals ‘teasing’ from her. Which was frankly also strange from her. She has no qualms of claiming you as hers in front of the Cult Members, in fact, one time she had you naked on her olisbos, sitting on her lap while she watched some poor soul flayed for disobeying her. If she wanted you, she would just take you. So why was she teasing?

              Not only did it boggle your mind, it frustrated you to no end. Each touch was guaranteeing that you would not dry up for the entire day, leaving your folds still mind-numbingly dripping and wet, and your brain distracted of the ways she would reward you if you could make it through the day. You shift a little in your spot next to her, glancing at Deimos curiously, only to find that she was staring at you already. The Cultists stop their conversation, noticing this as well, though they keep quiet, knowing better than to disturb the dynamic between the two of you.

              “You are dismissed for the day, Priestess.” The title is layered in her tone of voice, speaking to you not just as the Demigod you worship, not just the woman you love, but the person who dominates you in nearly every aspect of your life. A thrill shoots up your spine. She must have been removing your temporary vow early! “And remember your vow, little deer.” She laughs a bit, harsh in the beautiful sound, as your shoulders sink.

              You make your way up to your room, all frowns and pouts about the mess you’ve been left with and the hours before it can be ‘cleaned up’. The bed is still a mess from this morning, and you sit upon it, looking down at the stain your wetness left.

              She wouldn’t know if you relieved yourself a little bit, right? You had been so good these past two months, surely she would excuse a little bit of touching, as long as you didn’t cum! Your eyes dart up at the closed door, then you lay back on the bed, lifting up your chiton and swiping a finger between your dripping folds. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth with your other hand. No moaning, then she’ll catch you.

              Your fingers dip in, pressing into you entrance slowly, and you have to bite down on your hand to keep quiet. The chiton glitters in the sun as your chest heaves from excitement. In and out, you set an easy and slow rhythm, edging yourself. Once you pull yourself closer to the edge, you push yourself back, though your cunt wept for you to take that dive. Would she know if you did?

              You glance towards the door again. Still closed, still no one in the room. Once more you pull yourself towards the edge, but instead of stopping, your fingers speed up pushing you closer and closer until you spill over your fingers, gasping silently into your hand.

              Instead of being able to bask in the relief, however, you feel a familiar, strong hand grab you by your throat and haul you further up the bed. It doesn’t hurt, but like Hades does it surprise you. You squeak, holding onto her wrist as she pins you against the headboard. She squeezes the sides of your throat a bit, not addressing you verbally. Deimos looks you in the eyes, glaring at you a bit. Then, she uses her free hand to shove two of her long, thick fingers into your cunt with force, pumping in and out of you brutally.

              “Is this what you wanted?” She snarls. “A moment of pleasure? Is it enough to disobey your god, (Y/N)? Look at it, my hard work done today, waisted on your dainty fingers.” At your blissed out whimper, she rolls her eyes. “Such a whore. I asked you a question, Priestess, and I expect an answer.”

              “I-I-“ The forcefulness of her fingers leaves you unable to form words already, bouncing with every thrust, head dizzy with the choke around your neck. If this was punishment, you wanted to disobey all the time. “Mmm, Deimos…” You pant out.

              Your inability to answer seems to be your downfall in this, as she removes her fingers, cleaning them off with her tongue. Hey! That was your job!

              At your small protest, she grabs your hair with her now clean hand, pulling it harshly to tilt your head back. “Answer me, Priestess. Was your tiny orgasm, unholy and mortal, worth the divine punishment I will inflict on you today? You broke your vow.”

              “I… I never actually took it.” You said, smiling a bit. You knew you were poking an angry bear, but the desire… the want for her to ruin you in the best way possible, was winning over the rational and obedient you screaming in your brain. “So I didn’t break anything.”

              “Oh… you have no idea what you’ve just done to yourself, have you, my little whore?” She’s mocking you now, sadistic grin painting her face. “Take off your clothes and jewelry. Only good priestesses get to wear gifts from their gods.”

              You’re slow to remove your garments, stripping them off for her. Though you struggle with one of your bracelets, and you glance up at her with an unspoken question. Help me?

              There’s a moments hesitance, and you see something flit across Deimos’s face, and obediently, you don’t question it. “Fine.” She takes your hand, gently undoing the bracelet for you and setting it down on the ground next to the bed. Then she takes your wrist, kissing the inside of your arm gently. “You know what word to use.” She mumbles against your skin.

              She was shy. The thought made your chest flutter happily. She was always shy about the boundaries. You were the only person to enforce them, to make her enforce them, and though you’ve never had to use them since their first introduction (Deimos was a fast learner), you knew she was aware that you would stop this for any reason once you notice something wrong.

              “I do.” You respond. “And I haven’t used it yet, have I?”

              Her brown eyes light up, and she once again grips you by the throat, that softness gone from her face, touch, and gaze. “You’re right. You haven’t. But you may want to after what I have planned for your disobedience.” She squeezes once more, tossing you onto the bed next to her. “Face the wall on your knees. Now.”

              You hurry to obey, kneeling on the pillows with your hands on your knees. You wait, excitement and little bit of worry fluttering in your chest. You knew something was up with Deimos, but you knew better than to ask or address it, but also… she tended to use sex to get out her emotions. If she was lonely, sad, or insecure, she tends to give orgasm after orgasm, as though making you feel good redeemed her in some way. But if she was frustrated, angry, or downright murderous, you tended to get punishments that had you begging for mercy. Something about today told you that you may be getting the latter.

              Behind you, Deimos joins you on the bed, stripped of her golden armor. She leans you forward, tying your hands to the headboard to make you hold onto the wood. “Because you touched yourself before I allowed you to, your hands are going to stay here.” Her words are whispered into your ear, hands coasting up your arms to rest on your shoulders. “Repeat that.”

              “Because I touched myself before I was allowed to, my hands are going to stay tied on the headboard.” You say, keeping your eyes locked on the wall.

              “Are you sorry that you did it?”

              “Mhm.” You nod.

              “No you aren’t.” She pulls on your hair, tugging your head back to look her in her eyes. “You’re not sorry. You did something you weren’t supposed to do, and now you’re going to regret it.” She lets your head drop, then goes about tying your legs to keep you in a kneeling position.

              There was something about her tone, the way she said it, that set alarm bells off in your mind. “Deimos-“

              “Quiet. I didn’t tell you that you could speak.” She snaps, spanking your ass once, stinging the flesh a bit and making you yelp. Something was wrong. That’s it.

              “No. We’re ending this.” You say, though your voice shakes. “Sword, Deimos. Sword. Stop.”

              Her hands stop in their ministrations, shaking a bit, though you couldn’t tell if it was fury or embarrassment or something else. You had never pulled out the word during a punishment before, and despite your love for her, you were unsure if she would obey the one command you had over her.

              She then unties your hands and legs silently, not looking at you, not speaking. Then she goes to move away, and you know that if you let her, you’ll never know what is wrong.

              You catch her wrists, turning on the bed to do so. “Sit with me? Sit with me, Deimos.” You plead, holding onto her like it was the last thing you could do.

              She sits on the bed, avoiding your gaze until you turn her face. You don’t have to say anything, and neither does she. You recognize the deep pain in her eyes, the bottled up insecurity and fear that she keeps locked down deep inside. Usually, it only came out when the Ghost or Chrysis intervened, shooting verbal or physical barbs into her to knock her down and hurt her. But Chrysis was long dead, and Aspasia had been dealt with and conquered.

              “Tell me.” You whisper, holding her face tenderly. “What good is a priestess if her god is unhappy?”

              “You have no fault in my pain.” She admits gently, leaning into your hands. It surprises you. She never gives into your requests to talk like this. “But I fear… I fear for our future together. Despite the fact that we are no longer hindered by outside forces.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I am…” She pauses, and it’s heavy with the vulnerability she is showing you. “I do not regret… anything. Killing my brother, my mother… the traitors of the Cult. It means that I am untainted by their corruption, that I will be able to protect you from the forces that would seek to destroy the Cult and myself. You are my… most precious treasure, my beautiful, protected secret.” Her head rests on your shoulder, and you take her in your arms, though she does not relax or melt into you as you would so desire.

              “Yet you are still in danger. You love me. You are the first to love me as I am. The only to love me as I am. And the ones that have loved me before, they are dead at my hands. Will you be next? Will I kill you in a fit of rage? Or worse, will you leave because you fear me so…” She whispers. “They have plagued my thoughts for so long, my brother and mother, and while they wanted to change me, they still…” You feel her frown, and her hands press into your skin, holding you close against her. She’s so tense, she’s shaking in your arms. You were scared, yes, but not for yourself. You have never seen her like this. Did you not understand the true depth of her turmoil?

              “They loved me just as you love me. I fear I may hurt you. And I fear I already have.”

              “You haven’t hurt me.” You promise. “I knew something was wrong… that’s why I stopped you. Deimos, I love you. And I know that… I know that you feel the same. I would never leave you, and you would never hurt me. They wanted to change you, make you something you’re not, make you mortal. They loved someone who doesn’t exist. Push the guilt from your shoulders. Push the pain away. If they truly loved you, they will rest easy in the Fields of Hades knowing that you are held by someone who loves you in ways they could not.”

              In response, you get silence from your lover, but you get even more than that. She melts into you, pushing you down into the mattress with her weight as she finally relaxes into your hold. You press your hands into her back, feeling her heart beat slow into calmness. Her breath evens out from the panic it was, and she holds you in a way you haven’t been held by her.

              “I want to make you divine.” She whispers. “No longer a priestess, but my wife, forever in divinity. Forever protected, worshipped the way you deserve, by the people… by me. If you would have that.”

              “Your wife.” You respond. “I would love… I would love to be your wife, my love. My goddess. My Deimos.”

              “Your Deimos…” She whispers. Unbeknownst to you, her turmoil slows, dissipating until there’s barely any of it left as you hold her. Kassandra of Sparta is no more, the woman that Alexios and Myrrine had hoped she could be was vanquished in the force of your love, your acceptance, your divinity. Deimos, the God of Fear that walks amongst mortals, remains, safe in your arms and your hold.

[twistedtummies2]

Toys of a God (Vore/Crushing; Commission)

WARNING: THIS IS ONE OF THE DARKEST, MOST F*ED UP THINGS I’VE EVER WRITTEN. IT IS A VERY BRUTAL, SADISTIC TYPE OF STORY. IF THAT DOESN’T SOUND UP YOUR ALLEY, TURN BACK NOW. There? Everybody comfy after that? Good! ^^ This is a commission for @faiadragon, featuring my OC Bela Sulten, from my World of Gods Universe. I’m actually really freaking proud of this story: I went ever so slightly more “extreme” with it than I usually do, in a few ways, and I also think I found a way to touch on some really fun elements, in terms of characters and plot, in-between all the indulgent mayhem going on. Still, this IS a pretty brutal and at times slightly more raunchy (by my standards) story, so if anyone can’t “get into it,” I completely understand. On that note, I feel I should state this in black in white: unless you’re 18+, you should not be viewing my work, and especially not work of this particular nature. Please turn back now and save us all a headache, youngsters. Now, with all that out of the way...if you’re still interested in reading, enter if you dare...

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Keith yawned as he opened the door of his apartment bedroom, scrubbing his eyes and mumbling incoherently as he lumbered over to the bathroom. He took a couple of very small minutes to try and wash the sleep out of his eyes, his breathing that heavy, labored, tired sort you get when you’ve just woken up from a long rest. His face still damp, he looked in the mirror; his vision was still faintly blurry from the mild dehydration that follows after a good six-and-a-half hours of sleep. However, aside from the general grogginess and slightly parched sensation of his just-awake status, he was feeling alright. A small, plain smile graced Keith’s face, but it only lasted a second before he eyed his currently somewhat messy bedhead hairdo. Scoffing softly to himself, the man grabbed a comb and began to tidy it up a little. Keith was no one special, in any way, shape, or form. There thousands, at least, like him all over his country, not to mention the world at large. He lived in the shared territory claimed by the Gods of Vengeance, Desire, and Gluttony, and his life was a commonplace sort of story: he had graduated from college about two years ago, and was currently making ends meet and managing the rent for his apartment by working full time at a job that paid just a bit over the minimum wage. He had brown eyes and matching brown hair, was of average build and height…even his clothes were simple and forgettable, consisting of a loose-fitting plain white t-shirt and a pair of black and gray pajama bottoms. His existence was mundane, but Keith never particularly minded this: in a world where Gods literally walked among men, there was only so much a human could aspire to be, to begin with. And while he was unlikely to have much in the way of a legacy, he still had a family that cared for him, a few friends he liked talking to and occasionally visiting or invitin around, and so on: it wasn’t as if he’d be completely forgotten by the universe. Besides, logically speaking, every society needed its functionaries just as much as its elitists, if not arguably more; Pawns are just as important in chess as Queens. Once he was satisfied with his hair, Keith nodded to himself and put the comb aside. There were some paper cups on the counter of his sink; he filled one up with tap water (it was better than nothing) and took a drink. He did this till the thirst fell away, and then brushed his teeth before finally exiting the bathroom. Keith walked out into the living room area, and turned on the TV; the channel was already set for his preferred news station. The reporter on the screen was delivering a spiel on the Annual Offering to Baan, Lord of Desire, in his capital of the territory. Evidently, fifty people had willingly given up their lives to feed the massive bear God. Keith paid the report little mind; in a world of Predator Gods, it was nothing too new, and it wasn’t as if the offering day had done much for HIM, he’d been stuck at home many miles away from Baan Mehar’s capital. Not to mention the God who ran THIS city, this capital, was not on good terms with Baan, so…daring to show favor to him instead of the ruling God of the city could be…dangerous. Keith hummed an idle, tuneles sort of song to himself as he brewed some coffee and made a simple breakfast, consisting of a ham and cheese omelette with bacon and sausage links on the side. He glanced at the clock as he flipped the omelette over at one point; he still had about forty-five minutes till he needed to leave for work. That would give him enough time to eat and get dressed and so forth, he was sure. Once his coffee was finished, Keith sat down in his living room to eat. He smiled in a simple way as he ate, idly pondering his schedule and what he’d be doing that evening when he got back from work, as well as cataloging all useful job-related info for later. For him, it was shaping up to be a fairly usual day in his fairly usual life. It wouldn’t stay that way. Keith had barely finished eating and having his coffee when he heard a knock on his apartment door. He frowned slightly as he placed his dishes in the sink; he didn’t get many visitors, especially not around this time. He wondered if it could be the super, wanting to check about the rent, but that didn’t seem likely: he’d paid only last week. Another knock came, and Keith headed towards the front entrance. He shrugged to himself as he reached the door, figuring it was probably just someone delivering a package or trying to advertise something. There was no reason to expect anything completely out of the ordinary. As Keith opened the door, he saw two purple eyes and a moppish shock of raven hair. He heard a voice say, “You will do.” Then, there was a blinding flash of light…and Keith cried out, shielding his eyes and stumbling. A wave of intense dizziness, nearing wooziness, flew into his mind, swooping over his senses and causing him to stagger and fall. He passed out before even hitting the floor. What had started as a totally normal, uninteresting morning had - without any warning or obvious reason at all - just become the most important day of Keith’s life…and also his last.

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When Keith’s eyes fluttered open, he became aware of a string of different things, each one more unsettling than the last. First, it was pitch black. He couldn’t see a thing. He held his mitt in front of his face, and couldn’t even tell how many fingers he was holding up. It was so dark, he wasn’t entirely sure his eyes were open at first; were it not for the rest of his sensations, he would have thought he was in some bizarre, black-void dream. When he moved, though, he became aware of other things, and it was the movement and these other awakenings of his basic senses that allowed him to realize that, whatever was happening, it was frighteningly real. The surface of the floor beneath him was hard, cool, and smooth. He crawled on his hands and knees, groping about…but he hadn’t gone very far at all before bonking his head against a wall of the same material. As he ran the fingertips of one hand against the offending surface - his other hand caressed his sore noggin - he recognized the cold, unyielding surface as thick, polished glass. The next thing that Keith noticed - with a slight grimace - was a strange, musty odor. Not unpleasant, per se, but certainly not welcome, either. The scent made him immediately think of something wooden, like standing in an old furniture showroom or a crafts store. Then, Keith became aware of the slight chill, probably from the glass surrounding him…which caused him to become aware of one last thing: he was virtually naked. His underwear - simple old-fashioned tighty-whities - were all he had left. He flushed with embarrassment as he hugged himself, goosebumps fluttering over his back. Then, at last, he became aware of a voice…several voices in fact. Most of them he couldn’t make out what they were saying, they seemed to be sniffling, crying, and muttering to themselves, and occasionally to others, but they were all muffled by the glass, so he couldn’t properly hear anything. He did, however, make out one voice that seemed to be close to him: it was a young man, about his age, and seemed to be praying… “Our Master, who dwells among us, feared be thy name…thy kingdom come, thy will be done, no matter what we say…consume us this day, your daily sustenance, and show no forgiveness, for we deserve no mercy…let us not rot in wasteful entropy, but deliver us to your endlessness-” “Oh, for the love of life, SHUT UP!” snapped another voice, and Keith jumped as he heard hands banging on the glass of a jar not so far away from him. “When I break free of this stupid cell…!” “There is no freedom,” the first voice replied, sounding insulted that the second speaker would think there was. “There is only Him. You should be grateful to be chosen as his plaything! We are to serve a higher purpose, to be used by a superior being, we-!” “Are you completely insane, or just plain stupid?” snorted the second speaker, followed by more banging on the glass. “You’re wasting your time,” a third voice spoke up. This one was older than the first two. “You know we can’t break these jars, all you’re doing is using up priceless energy.” “Aw, you shut up, too!” the angry voice snarled. “I can do without either of your preaching!” “I’m not preaching,” the third voice said reasonably. “Just pointing out simple facts. Unlike SOME people, I don’t make idols out of monsters.” “Our God may be a monster, but he is also our sovereign,” the first voice said. “He is living, bodily perfection…so powerful…so immense…so…b-breathtaking…it would be an honor, a PLEASURE, to be accepted and be one with his might…his beauty…” A dreamy sigh followed these words, and somehow, Keith knew both of the other speakers were rolling their eyes. “We’ll see if you sing that tune when your time comes,” the third voice murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Why is this happening to me?!” screeched the second voice. “I’m the owner of the biggest bank in the city, damn it! He can’t do this to me!” “Of course he can,” the first voice said. “You may have owned the bank, but he owns this world, and it is because of his grace we have our prosperity to begin with.” “You call it ‘grace,’ I call it ‘making sure his food doesn’t starve before the slaughter,’” the third voice replied. “I don’t care!” the second voice nearly squealed, and more banging was heard. “I shouldn’t be here with you lowlife imbeciles! I had wealth…I had women bowing at my feet…THIS ISN’T FAIR!” “If our Lord was fair, he would not be so majestically powerful and massive,” sighed the first voice again. “How I adore his…ah…ahem…um…stupendous framework…” “Tch. Subtle,” sneered the second speaker. “Tell me, is everyone in your so-called ‘sect’ as flat out horny as you are?” “H-HORNY?! I’m not-!” “Um…e-excuse me?” peeped Keith, and even though he couldn’t see anything, he suddenly had the feeling all three pairs of eyes (and maybe a few others) were trained on him at last. “Oh, our new arrival is awake, finally,” said the third voice. “Welcome, stranger,” said the first. The second just scoffed, clearly not caring a penny’s worth. Keith paused, licking his lips before speaking again. “Excuse me,” he repeated. “But, ah…c-could someone tell me what’s going on? What…what is this place, wh-where am I?” Almost before he had finished speaking, the first voice answered in a bold, rousing tone: “Rejoice, fellow mortal! Your life will soon be at an end, sacrificed to the all-powerful, all-consuming power of Bela Sulten: King of the Predator Gods, Lord of Excess, God of Gluttony! Sing hosannas of anguish, as that-!” “You can lay off the crazy talk, preacher,” snapped the second voice. “It makes me sick.” The first voice sniffed snootily in response, then went back to praying quietly. The third voice sighed, and Keith could hear the reassuring smile on their face as their voice drifted into his space: “Sorry about him. The…seriously messed up one is Shepherd. He’s actually a friar from the Church of Excess - the most devoted followers of Bela. As you can tell, he’s…zealous about his beliefs.” An uncomfortably pleasured-sounding moan from Shepherd’s area, uttered mid-prayer, gave Keith some indication of that fact. “R-Right,” Keith responded, then crawled closer to where he heard the third man’s voice, till he reached the glass wall and placed his palms upon it. “Does…does he mean it? Are we…is this…?” “You are inside the home of Bela Sulten. We all are,” the man confirmed, his tone rather grim. “How long we stay alive here is entirely up to him.” Keith felt himself starting to shake, rising dread in his heart. Bela Sulten was the most powerful of all the Predator Gods…as well as the most ravenous and cruel. His gifts to mankind were only outmatched by his sadistic butchery. The thought that he was in the very lair of the God of Gluttony - the most feared man-eater in recorded history - was obviously most perturbing. “Why?” he gulped nervously. “If you mean, ‘why he’s keeping us,’ it’s frankly to suffer in whatever way he wants us to,” sighed the man. “If you mean, ‘why we’re here’ to begin with…well…it varies from person to person. For example, Shepherd’s in here because he willingly offered himself up to be. Xavier tried to embezzle a few hundred thousand from the bank he was in charge of, and that made Bela…upset.” Xavier - the angry fellow - snarled at his name being mentioned. “And what about you?” Keith asked. “I’m Packer,” the third man answered. “And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m not exactly innocent, myself: I’m in here because I’m a thief. I tried to steal some gold from the Lord of Excess - it seemed like a good idea at the time - but I got caught, and…well…now I’m just as much in danger as anyone here. You?” “My name’s Keith.” “Hmph. Simple enough name,” muttered Xavier’s voice. Both Packer and Keith ignored him. “I’d say I’m happy to meet you, but under the circumstances, that’s not really all true,” Packer’s voice said with a wry little chuckle. “What are you in for?” “I don’t know!” Keith exclaimed. “I just…I was at home, getting ready for work, and the next thing I know I’m in here!” Packer let out a thoughtful hum. “That’s odd, even for Lord Bela,” he confessed. “Everyone else in this predicament insulted or defied him in some way. Someone who spilled some food or drink into his lap, someone who bumped into him while running down the sidewalk, someone who took the last item he wanted at the supermarket…you’re sure there’s nothing you can think of?” “No. But if he can be that petty, it could be any reason,” whimpered Keith. “We’re all gonna die,” sobbed an unfamiliar fourth voice, and several others joined in a chorus of despair. “Maybe you all will, but I won’t,” grumbled Xavier. “We can’t give in to dismay!” Packer called out, then addressed Keith directly. “Listen…this situation is very nearly hopeless…but I’m willing to bet there’s a way out of this with our lives intact, if not our sizes.” “Foolish mortal,” mumbled Shepherd’s voice. “Wait a minute,” frowned Keith. “What do you mean our ‘sizes’?” Before Packer could answer, Keith found out: he flinched as, suddenly, light streamed into the darkness, accompanied by a creaking sound. He blinked his eyes as he squinted, his pupils struggling to adjust…and when they did, his jaw dropped. A familiar pair of purple eyes and equally familiar crop of untidy black hair met his gaze. Now, Keith could see the figure who had them…but they were no longer of natural human size. They were GIGANTIC, at least twenty times taller than any human being should be! The figure was a young man - younger than Keith, likely just out of his teenaged years - dressed in somewhat formal garb, with a leather collar around his neck. His skin was very pale, and he moved in an almost mechanical way as he reached over, past, and around Keith…and began to fish what appeared to be jam jars from the space in which he was trapped. Inside each of the jars were other people - shrunken and dressed in nothing but their undergarments - just like Keith; they all seemed to be roughly the size of mere mice to this youthful giant! “It’s time, tiny ones,” the giant cooed, and placed the jars one by one into a very lare wicker basket that was behind hi on table; Keith realized they were in a kitchen cabinet. “Our Master awaits…the time for praying and hoping is over. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll be merciful when he ends you all…maybe…” The words were not spoken as a threat, nor were they even spoken as a taunt. They were simply spoken: simple statements, nothing more. That, more than anything, terrified Keith…but his terror only rose when the giant smiled faintly as he lifted his jar. “Can’t forget you,” he heard the young man chuckle, before placing his jar with the others in the basket. Next, Keith heard Xavier’s angry shouts, followed by Shepherd cheering with glee. At the sound of the familiar voices, Keith looked to see what their hosts were like: Xavier, it turned out, was a fellow a little older than Keith, somewhere in his early to mid-thirties; he had slick-looking, well-groomed blonde hair, and heroic features on his face, with bright green eyes. His physique was lean-muscled and attractive; Keith would have called him handsome, were his personality not so repugnant. As for Shepherd, he was the same age as Keith, it seemed, and had a somewhat round, portly build. He also had blonde hair and green eyes, but his hair was untidy and curly, and his eyes were a somewhat darker hue. Keith heard Packer’s voice let out a soft, short grunt on the opposite side of him, and he looked to see what his new friend (if that word applied) was like. Packer was a man in his late thirties or early forties, older than the rest of them, with speckles of silver in his black, goatee and moustache. His hair was tied into a ponytail, and there was a scar on one of his bare pectorals. He had, overall, something of a rugged look compared to the rest. “You okay?” Keith asked Packer, instinctively, as the giant youth shut the cupboard, apparently having gathered all the jars he required. “As okay as I can be,” sighed Packer, and smiled somewhat wearily at Keith. “Hold on tight, kid…we’re heading into Hell.” Keith whimpered. Meanwhile, the purple-eyed young man sighed and grunted as he hauled the large wicker basket into his arms. It took two hands to carry it now, and there was no service elevator in the mansion Lord Bela called home. The Champion of Excess (Keith knew something of how the Gods functioned) huffed and puffed as he marched up the stairs with a robotic sort of gait, eyes forever trained forward, never looking down towards the humans in the jars he held. It didn’t take long for Keith to realize this young fellow was the one who had taken him…nor did it take him long to count the jars of fellow lifeforms around him. He was one in a batch of two-dozen shrunken humans. Most of them were clamoring in their jars, cursing and crying and pleading for release or salvation. There were only two exceptions Keith saw: one was, of course, Shepherd, who was singing some sort of psalm. The lyrics, which described horrors Keith could not stand to think about just yet, gave the captured little man some idea of the kind of demon he would soon be at the mercy of. Keith looked towards Packer; he was the other exception, and simply and quietly sat cross-legged in his jar, as if in a state of meditation. Keith bit his lip, looking Packer up and down…then sat down as well, matching his posture. Packer noticed, and the pair smiled at each other…then waited. There was nothing to do now, after all…except wait. After bobbing and swaying like cargo in a ship’s hull, the basket was finally carried to the second floor of the great mansion. As the purple-eyed boy carried the collection of people-jars down the hall, Keith heard the whirring of machinery, and strong grunting sounds, along with the occasional low, deadly growl. He soon found out where the sounds were coming from, as the raven-haired little giant carried pushed a slightly-ajar door open with his booted foot, and carried the basket full of people-jars into the room beyond. Keith’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his jaw dropped, as he saw the room beyond: it appeared to be an exercise room, filled with various devices intended for working out. There was a workout bench with a weight bar, and against a wall was a group of medicine balls and a rack of small metal dumbbells. In another area was another weight-lifting machine, this one apparently involving using one’s legs. None of these devices were unusual, but the sheer SIZE of them all left him stunned: just like the one carrying him, everything was larger than life, the machinery alone resembling great hills or small mountains. The floor was covered in thick foam rubber, and the whole place smelled of old sweat. Dimly, Keith could detect the sound of classical music - some sort of opera, it sounded like - playing. Not the most obvious choice of workout music, but who was he to talk? At any rate, neither the music nor these other elements could distract from the main attraction: the treadmill. Not only was the treadmill as equally monolithic in scale as the other exercise machines (and, Keith noticed with a shiver and a shudder, not only was the running track itself covered in small, dark spots that he somehow guessed were bloodstains), but more importantly, the occupant using it at that moment was impossible to overlook: a towering figure, taller than the one who carried them by what seemed like countless feet from Keith’s diminutive vantage point. Though its overall demeanor was humanoid, it was clearly not human: the black cat ears and tail, along with its clawed fingers, the fangs in its mouth, and its glowing orange felid eyes, were proof of that. The figure was male, with black-banged hair and skin the color of chocolate milk. The figure was handsome and youthful in his countenance - approximately the same age as Keith himself, as well as Shepherd - with features that were somehow both rounded and yet angular at the same time. He was also almost completely naked, that bare, sweat-speckled flesh on full display, aside from a pair of tight-fitting black boxers with orange lining. These hugged the titan’s substantial curves: his thighs were thicker than the most hardy tree trunks, his hips indicating a rump that could put a dozen dumptrucks to shame with its wide load. His arms were burly, swathed in a mixture of softness and hardy sinew that indicated prodigious strength, especially when paired with his powerful, brick-shaped pectoral muscles…but these features were contrasted by a giant ball of a belly, so big, fat, and round that it looked as if this behemoth smuggled butter for a side job. Keith heard Shepherd let out a longing sigh as, with every pace on the treadmill, the massive beast’s belly bounced and joggled. However, Keith was far too terrified by the identity of the huge, fat God to pay much attention. “M-Master?” came his kidnapper’s voice. “I…I have your mid-workout snack ready…” With a flick of the wrist, Bela Sulten turned off the treadmill; the room seemed to rock as his powerful, bare feet stepped onto the padded floor, and he pulled a small purple towel off of a nearby wall-hook. He dabbed at his face and neck, and smirked at his pet. “Very good, Kepp,” purred the God of Gluttony. “Place the basket on the floor, please.” “Of course, Lord Bela,” Kepp said, nodding eagerly and placing the basket on the ground as Bela approached. Keith and nearly all the other shrunken people trapped inside the jars trembled with terror as the fat, beefy God prowled closer; Bela’s gait was one of potent, seductive power. All rocking hips and smoldering eyes, his smirk smug and cruel. He gazed upon the tiny creatures trapped in the glass containers more like they were all of his lovers than anything else. Knowing the treatment Lord Bela gave to humans, this made the moment all the more horrifying, and Keith whimpered, crawling to the back of his jar as Bela’s huge face loomed down over them, the God crouching to get a closer look at the treats within. He cooed and reached out, tapping Xavier’s jar with a long, sharp claw, making the blonde-haired man inside near Keith yelp. “Aren’t you all adorable?” he crooned, and chuckled - a deep, low, terrible sound. “I hope you’ll all be as cute when I murder your bodies and absorb your pitiful souls into my powerful being. I’m going to enjoy seeing the way you all suffer.” The flash of teeth and a lick of his lips indicated just how much Bela would enjoy it. Kepp, meanwhile, blushed as he saw Bela inspect his prey; even crouched, the half-cat God was taller than Kepp himself. “Will…will that be all, Master?” Bela glanced to Kepp, then back at his meals before standing up and approaching his pet. He hooked a talon into Kepp’s collar, and Kepp let out a strangled squeak as he was pulled closer to the sweaty, humongous body of the God: a towering eight feet in comparison to Kepp’s far more miniscule framework. “It will suffice for the moment,” Bela said, his free hand moving to play with Kepp’s hair, twirling some strands around a finger before releasing them and cupping his cheek, making the little human blush more. “Now, run along, pet…I will call you for some water and some…SERVICE later…” He leaned close and licked Kepp’s cheek on the last two words, making Kepp shiver with clear excitement; he was panting as he nodded obediently. “Y-Yes, Master…I’ll…I’ll be ready…I promise…” “You’d better be, or I’ll shatter your skull with my arse,” Bela crooned, the words sounding disturbingly playful before he finally released Kepp’s collar and shooed him away. “Be off with you! Shoo, shoo, go play with your little toys!” Bela then grinned a truly horrifying grin at the jars full of tiny people. “I’ll be playing plenty with MINE,” he growled darkly. Keith would have started praying, but under the circumstances, what would have been the point? Kepp - Keith’s kidnapper, though he still had no clue why (and had a feeling he never would know) - scampered away, and the nearly-naked Lord of Excess locked it after him. Bela then leaned back against the door, smirking superciliously as he snapped his fingers. The jars magically opened themselves…and Keith and all twenty-three of the other miniaturized Homo sapiens let out sharp, wordless exclamations as they were levitated into the air, out of the jars, then floated in a bunch to the floor. The jars then magically sealed shut, and with a wave of his hand, Bela bade the whole basket to disappear in a puff of smoke. Now, the two-dozen shrunken humans were fully in the grasp of the God of Gluttony. Bela smiled hungrily, one hand moving to rub his bloated, round belly, a finger finding its way into his navel as he moaned, biting his lip as his other hand rested upon his plush hip. “Mmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrr…you all look so…delectably delicious,” rumbled Bela Sulten, and chuckled at the expressions of terror and, in some cases, pleading despair on his victims’ faces. “I believe you all have at least a semi-solid notion of what is about to occur, but allow me to spell it out for you, peons: I am your God. I consume human bodies and souls. And I am RAVENOUS. I have been engaging in my daily regimen of exercises, and now I wish to play. What can I say? I’m a feline: playing with my food is simply irresistible to me.” He smacked his lips, and then wiped his arm across his mouth as a line of drool oozed from the corner of his jaw. He let out a shaky breath before continuing, clearly getting very, VERY excited by the mere thought of what he was about to do to Keith and all the rest assembled, groveling at his clawed, fat feet. “Most of you will be ending your paltry, pathetic lives in the bottomless filth-pit of my stomach,” he said, patting his belly and making it jiggle before continuing, “But not all of you. Rest assured, however…whatever way I choose to end your sorry excuses for existences…you WILL die. And it will be quite horrible…for you, anyway. For me, this is going to be most enjoyable. But as much as I would love to pontificate further on the many ways I could make you all hurt and cry and beg for your lives to go on with fresh air and light…” GRRRROOOOORRRRLLLLLOOOORRRRRB… A monstrous, abyssal rumble from the belly of the beast interrupted the scene. Bela shivered and sighed, then smiled toothily down at his little toys, his tail twitching happily. “...I believe my belly is in no mood for chatter,” he hissed. “So now, my little morsels, brace yourselves for the most hellacious agony you will ever experience…” With a ravenous grin, Bela Sulten began to reach down, one clawed hand extending its long, strong fingers as his terrible shadow overwhelmed the gathered food. “...And let the slaughter commence.” Keith jumped back, a sudden surge of adrenaline spurring him onwards…and it was a lucky thing he did, because the clawed fingers of Bela Sulten only barely missed him. The muscular fist of the mighty God instead wrapped itself around four other people, who all screamed as the Lord of Excess lifted them up, Up, UP into the air. Keith watched in horror as all four of the nearly-naked men hollered and howled, different parts of them sticking out from the gaps in the God’s grip, thrashing desperately for release as Bela smiled serenely, hoisting them up over his head. His free hand fondled the folds and rolls of his blubbery belly as his tongue slid over his perfectly-shaped lips, a light, purring hum coming from him as he looked at the squirming appetizers with the same expression one might have when watching a few amusing pets doing something silly… …Of course, most people don’t EAT their pets. And as Bela Sulten opened his jaws, there was no doubt about what he was going to do… “Ahhhhhhh…”

His teasing, elongated exhalation caused the quartet in his fist to scream louder…before his fingers released them, and they plunged head-over-heels into the waiting maw of the monster. Their shrieks were silenced as - SNAP! - Bela slammed his mouth shut around them. His cheeks bulged for a moment as he rumbled pleasantly, eyes fluttering closed as the same fingers that had held them fell to his throat, brushing it lightly as his other hand kneaded into the layers of soft, thick-looking body-dough on his pudgy belly. Then - GUUULLLP! - with a thick, sloppy sound, Bela’s facial cheeks flattened out, and a lump formed in his throat. His Adam’s Apple bobbed, and the lump disappeared under his fingertips and behind his sternum…then, with a deep, long, pleasured sigh, Bela patted his belly against its soft, silky underside, making it jiggle gelatinously. “Ohhhhhhh…lovely little first selections,” he crooned, and then without another word or further hesitation, reached down to grab more of his meat. By this time, however, the remaining twenty people were ready to run. And run they did: Keith whirled around and bolted with the rest. He wasn’t sure where he was running to, just so long as he could get far away from the giant cat God: it was the blind state of panic a rabbit might have when far from home and pursued by a wild fox. He briefly noticed Shepherd being grabbed by the arm by someone in the group mid-psalm-start, but he had no real clue about Packer or Xavier; his mind was mostly focused on his own survival. The sound of thundering footfalls - THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP - only urged him to move faster. “Run, run, as fast as you can!” sang out Bela tauntingly, and his mocking, cruel laughter echoed in Keith’s ears, accompanied by more screams and a swooping sound as more men were snatched up in the titan’s grasp. Keith did not turn around, but he heard the screams become more distant…then came a loud, lewd slurping sound, and another gulp of gusto, signalling however many other men had been grabbed, they were now on their way to the belly of the beast. Keith saw that the rest of the group were racing pell-mell towards various pieces of exercise equipment in the room, scurrying like mice trying to find their hiding holes. He briefly caught a glimpse of Packer’s beard, and recognizing the only fellow human he had any friendly correction to, Keith chose to follow him. Just as he had started though… “AH! HELP! HELP ME!” Human decency got the better of Keith, distracting him as he skidded to a halt and looked back. One man had evidently tripped on a gap in the foam pads that jigsaw-puzzled the floor. Keith shuddered as he saw Bela smirking down at the downed little man, his tail swishing as his hips rocked and a single finger drew alluring circles around his deep, dark well of a navel…the God was taking his time. He had all the time in the world. His victims? Not so much. Another man hurriedly moved towards the fallen fellow to try and help him up, but the faller’s toes had evidently gotten jammed. Keith was about to run over and try to offer aid himself…but stopped short when he saw Bela pause…before grinning a truly frightening, fang-filled smile…raising one enormous, bare foot up over the heads of the tiny people below him. His fat-padded soles rippled and flexed, the soft, well-tended-to skin of his foot shifting as he wiggled his clawed toes teasingly…then brought it down just as the fallen man began to get up… SLAM! “AAAAAAAGH!” A bloodcurdling scream came from the man as his lower half was stomped on harshly, the one who had tried to help falling back onto his bunce as Keith backed up a few paces in alarm. The man had tears in his eyes as Bela grinned maliciously, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing up his big gut with obvious pride, clearly pleased with himself: the man’s upper half was wedged between two of his toes, the little mouse-sized human squealing and sobbin in pain as the weight of the God’s foot likely pulpified his legs. It got worse. A sickening series of cracks and crunches were heard as Bela began to twist his foot down, grinding it into the floor. The man let out an even more shrill screech than before; Keith felt sick as, with a final twist, all but one of his arms were dragged under the fat God’s foot…then, with a final, disturbing twist, that one arm twitched three times before falling limp and cold. Bela nodded to himself, as if pleased with his work, then smirked as he saw both Keith and the man who had tried to help. He reached towards them, and both Keith and the other man quickly wheeled about before taking flight. Keith got lucky again: once more, he narrowly evaded Sulten’s grasp. The other man wasn’t so lucky. Keith felt the whoosh of air pass over him as the clawed fingers scantly missed him, and darted forward with fresh energy to avoid being plucked up quickly. Then he paused and, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, or just to make sure he was something resembling safe, he looked to see what was going on. Bela had lifted the man up to his face, holding him between his thumb and forefinger, turning him this way and that and drumming his claws upon his big belly thoughtfully. His expression was one of mild, thoughtful interest, as if the man’s constant calls of “Please! Please no! Please, don’t hurt me! Please!” weren’t even detected by his ears, the God lost in some sort of daydream as he examined his newest victim. “Hmmmm…you’ll fit,” he murmured, in an airy sort of way. Before the tiny one could question what that meant, he got his answer, as Bela lowered him back down towards his belly…right near the black, fatty abyss of his navel. With a guiding croon, Bela inserted the feet of his little plaything into the musky hole of his belly button…and began to push him in deeper. The man howled, incomprehensible strings of inane, insane babble leaving him as he desperately clawed at the belly fat and the finger that was carelessly shoving him in. “There’s no point in struggling,” Bela chortled. “Sink. Die. Suffocate for me, my little one…I want to smother you with this. “PLEASE, GOD! PLEASE, GOD!” was all the man could say, screaming over and over again. Bela just moaned and shoved down harder, till only the man’s head was left outside of his navel. “Mmmmmm…say farewell to light and air,” he cooed in a fiendishly affectionate tone. “I’m sure they won’t miss you.” The man let out a final, tragic sob…before - POPK! - his head was crammed into the musky, fatty folds of Bela’s belly, lost in the sweaty darkness of his navel. Bela sighed deeply with pleasure, shaking and jiggling his stomach, playing with the rolls near his navel to ensure the human was buried in the black void; deep, deep in where the Sun would never shine. “And that is the last anyone will ever see you again,” he said to himself, the tone making it clear just how much INTENSE pleasure he got from the knowledge and experience. “Oooooh, squirm while you can…I want to feel you fade…poor little belly-stuffer…mmm-hm-hmmm…” Keith shuddered; he’d seen more than enough. Remembering the danger of his situation, he hurried to find the group he’d been following and escape to a good hiding spot. As he frantically looked around, he could hear Bela pick up more morsels who hadn’t hid and swallow them down; three separate cries of “MERCY! MERCY, PLEASE, DON’T!” indicated how many were to be consigned to an infernal demise in the bloated gastric prison. Another hearty swallow was followed by a rumbling, thick belch that made him flinch and grimace in disgust. Finally, he spotted the familiar face of Packer, who peeked out from behind a large medicine ball near where more equipment was. As quickly as he could, Keith dove behind the spot, where Packer, Shepherd, and three other human mites had managed to hide. “So close,” Keith panted, shaking like a leaf. “So…so close…!” “We’re all gonna die!” one of the other men bawled mournfully. “Hardly!” said Shepherd, in a rather chipper tone. “Our souls shall forever be nestled into the bountious blubber of our Lord and Master!” “That’s even worse!” another man snapped. Packer hushed them quickly. “Shhh! Do you want him to hear us?!” he hissed. “I have already heard you.” Keith, Packer, Shepherd, and the others looked up…and all turned pale as they found Bela Sulten smirking down at them with sultry, almost lustful, lazy eyes. His arms were folded, his chin in them, as he stared down, leaning on the medicine ball, his tail twitching behind him in a playful sort of way. “You can’t hide from me, little ones,” he said. “Now come here…let me indulge myself…let me devour you all…” Bela lunged down, swiping the three men in one fist. Packer and Keith raced off in another direction, cursing and seeking new shelter. As for Shepherd, he quietly snuck away to some other spot of his own… The three men hardly cared or noticed: they all yowled in horror as the God of Gluttony hoisted them up, the trio kicking and squirming as Bela licked his teeth, holding them up to his open mouth…all three gagged and wheezed as horrific-smelling breath pelted their faces… …Then, with a yelp, one of the men actually managed to wiggle free, slipping between Bela’s fingers and plummeting through empty space for a spell. Despite the terrifying situation, a sense of unprecedented relief fell over the man even as he tumbled: the fall, he hoped, would kill him more quickly than Bela Sulten. This was a vain hope: for one thing, the padded floor would have ensured no life-threatening injuries. And for another, the man never hit the ground: with a soft, annoyed snarl, Bela snatched him up in his other hand. “Oh, no,” he cooed, smirking at the wriggly little treat in his grasp. “I won’t allow my toys to break QUITE that easily. Just for that, little one, you have lost any right to see the bottom of my beautifully foul belly.” Sniffing snootily, Bela then looked to the other treats in his other hand. Both gulped nervously as he smiled at them. “As for you two…I’m going to treat you both to a lovely bath. It will clean you quite thoroughly…down to your precious, breakable little bones. Goodbye, food.” So saying, Bela casually opened his fanged maw, and tossed the two into his open jaws with a flippant flick of the wrist. They both scramble on his fat, sloppy tongue for a moment, reaching for the light that shone through his gaping maw…before the teeth clicked shut scant centimeters (or, at least, what seemed like centimeters at their size) away from their fingers. Bela then tipped his head back and moaned, crooning as he felt both meals struggle to try and make it to the front of his mouth, his teeth penning them in as he arched his slimy, slobby tongue, nudging them towards the black slope of his esophagus…then - GULLUP! - he traced the bulge they made in his neck with one black claw, the writhing distention sliding smoothly past his strong, blocky chest… …Before, with a deep “grortle,” two more tidbits bit the belly-bullet. Bela then turned his attention to the still-surviving treat in his fist, and held him up to his jaws…before burping all over him, belching like a fat, gross pig. The horrible reek of his belly gas left his prey squealing and coughing, gasping for air. The God snickered. “Awww, was that too vile for your liking?” he crooned, then grinned wickedly. “Really, you ought to be grateful I didn’t TRY to make it horrid. I have literally DROWNED pathetic runts like you with my glorious eructations…the looks on their faces as they choke to death on my stomach fumes, poisoned by my nastiness…” He shivered happily. “...Purely priceless,” breathed out Bela, while the little one in his grip just let out a groan of dread and disgust. “But don’t worry, little one…I won’t gas you. Rest assured, however…” So saying, Bela lifted something up from the exercise equipment in his other hand. “...Your end will be equally deplorable.” So saying, Bela’s hand that held the little toy swooped across…and the tiny man blinked, startled and very confused, his fear giving way to just sheer bafflement. Bela smiled villainously as the small figure was now mounted in the space between his bicep and his brachioradialis, his arm held out to his side. He gave the man a moment to take things in and gather what was going on: the little fellow could feel the strong, firm power of the brawny sinew that formed the God’s limbs, just as potent and intimidating as his ogre-like belly. And, as his prey was about to discover, just as lethal. The man looked back…and saw what the Lord of Excess had picked up earlier. It was a thirty pound dumbbell. The man looked at the spot where he was positioned, then at the bicep, then at the dumbbell…then slowly looked up at Bela, his face going gaunt as he started to shake his head, seemingly putting the pieces together. Bela smiled wider and winked, pursing his lips as he blew a kiss to the little mite…then pulled the dumbbell to him, his lower arm lifting as his upper arm bulge, bicep pressing out. The man yelped as he was pressed between the muscles; desperately, he tried to push against the bicep, as it flexed hard and pushed back…he gritted his teeth, straining, desperate to avoid this fate…but the pressure was too great. The titan was too strong. Bela smiled, and began flexing, applying just a little more pressure with each lift of the dumbbell, watching as his victim whimpered and blubbered, pleading for the God to let him live… Bela Sulten was many things. Kind and sympathetic had never been among them. Finally, the poor, straining creature could not take the stress, and with a hard FLEX of his arm, Bela’s bicep all but smothered him. He let out a short, final scream of despair as the muscles overwhelmed with a force more powerful than any tsunami…and then… CRACK-CRUNCH. Bela smirked and plucked the broken, lifeless carcass from his arm, before dropping it straight down his gullet, swallowing it like a cherry. “A magnificent spectacle, My Lord!” came a little voice. “Your dominance is unsurpassed!” Bela blinked his large, glowing orange eyes, and then looked around to find the source of the voice…before his gaze finally located it. His pupils zeroed in on the figure of a small morsel, positioned precariously between his feet, less than a foot away from the tips of his toe-claws. The God’s eyes narrowed analytically, as he took in the eager, worshipful expression on the tiny man’s face; a look of awestruck wonder and loving adoration, rather than fear or loathing. He smiled, and crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he gave a half-lidded look at the little one. His black cat ears twitched; he could hear the way the tiny creature’s heartbeat escalated. “I am well-aware,” Bela purred, in response to the puny thing’s words, and tilted his head. “What do you call yourself, little man?” “Shepherd, O Great Master,” the little one said, bowing low…and then lower, getting onto his hands and knees in supplication to the mountain of man-eating mass before him. “A humble worshiper of your excessive glory.” “Is that so?” purred Bela, smiling a little more as he looked the little fellow up and down (mostly down), as if sizing him up for something. “Rather bold of you to approach me rather than run and hide like the vermin your kind truly are, don’t you think, ‘worshiper’?” “I did not mean to offend you, Lord Bela,” Shepherd said. He lifted his head a little, but kept his gaze downcast. “And I saw no reason to flee.” Bela raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re going to end your mortal life in this room, all for my own pleasure, do you not?” The way Shepherd moaned and trembled indicated these words probably sparked a “don’t threaten me with a good time” phrase in his head. “I am very, VERY aware of that, Mighty Sulten,” he answered. “That is, in fact, why I chose to present myself to you willingly.” Bela hummed, and reached out with a hand. A simple flick of his finger flipped Shepherd onto his back, making the little man squeak…then, the tip of a claw was placed to his small belly, making the little man freeze up under the God’s finger. At any second, he could be skewered. “Are you expecting a reward?” Bela asked. He did not sound upset in any way, he was simply asking the question. “Not exactly, Lord Bela,” said Shepherd, shaking with undeniable nervousness as that talon lightly scritched at his bare abdomen, resisting the sudden urge to squirm like a worm. “I…um…had m-more of a final request, before you end my life for your most divine pleasure. I have no…n-no other purpose, and I…I am ready to serve you with my demise.” Bela chuckled deeply. He looked highly amused. “You’re a funny little thing,” he cooed, and moved his claw to tuck its tip under Shepherd’s chin. “Very well, my pathetic little bitch…what is this final request? Name it.” Shepherd virtually had stars in his eyes; his heartbeat quickened even more, now with excitement, which caused Bela’s own eagerness to do harm and cause misery to rise. “Please, O Mighty Sulten - Sovereign of Stench, Master of Greed - swallow me whole, and allow my body to digest in your infernal stomach, to fuel and nourish your form. Let me become one with you, Great One! That is my one request!” Bela hummed, his free hand scratching his stomach as he took in Shepherd’s delighted, eager grin…then he shrugged. “No. I don’t think I will.” Shepherd’s smile disappeared instantly. “...Wh-what?” “I don’t feel like eating you. I said you could name your request, I never said I would oblige. Frankly, little one, I’d much rather torture you than give you anything you actually WANT. So no, I won’t be swallowing you. I would say it’s because you’re ‘unworthy’ or some rubbish like that, but really…I just want to kill you in a way that will make you scream for the wrong reasons. I want to humiliate you, not bring you joy.” “I…b-but…but I…!” “Ah! ‘Butt.’ Now THERE’S a thought on how to destroy you…” Shepherd squeaked Bela’s claw picked him up and carried him away. He dangled what seemed hundreds of feet in the air as Bela carried him over to his leg-weight machine station, and then lowered his hand before lightly dropping the little man onto the seat. Shepherd managed to scramble up to a seated position…then froze, eyes bugging out of his skull as his jaw dropped in mortification. A wide, round, fat shadow fell over him…and as he looked up, he saw the equally wide, round, fat rump of Bela Sulten over his head. The God smirked, glancing back over his shoulder, lifting his tail to give his toy a fine view of the bubbly, thick-as-cake cheeks. He gave his rear a playful spank, and the blubber on his bottom jiggled in thick ripples for several straight seconds. “I will not eat you,” Bela said. “But consider this a consolation prize: you shall suffer and die under the weight of where so…SO many of your kind end up. Don’t worry, this won’t take long…” Shepherd let out a cry of perceived betrayal…just before Bela sat down HARD upon the bench, his butt jiggling for a few seconds before going still, completely covering the tiny creature with the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of posterior plumpness he sported so happily. Purring, Bela felt his victim squirming under his fat ass, struggling against the weight and thickly-padded softness…with a growl, he began to grind back and forth, getting comfortable upon the bench, makin Shepherd squeak and yipe as the force made his bones creak, and the rolling chub blocked off his airways. “Mine,” murmured Bela, patting his belly with one hand and burping before letting out a deep, pleasured sigh. “Ahhhh…all mine…UUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” Shepherd groaned and struggled; Bela’s workout made him very sweaty, and the musky, heady over was overwhelming and none-too-pleasant under his faintly-dampened boxers, so close to that murky, deep crack…he was grateful the God was at least wearing SOME form of clothing. He tried to push away the fabric-covered fatness, but it drooped down and sagged over him, pressing him down with its tons of weight and burying his face in intoxicating, musky, deadly ass-mass. The position was degrading beyond belief, and Shepherd might have enjoyed it…except it was not the end he desired. And he knew it would be painful. Bela smirked as he felt Shepherd’s body get wedged into the middle between his glutes; he flexed hard, and sniggered as he heard Shepherd start to cry and beg. He loved those sounds. Another flex of his powerful ass, and Shepherd’s struggles noticeably weakened. The God could have kept this going for a while, but he was in no mood to take his time with his playthings on this occasion. So, with a third and final flex, he felt something pop…and Shepherd instantly went still. The Lord of Excess stayed seated just a little longer - just to make sure to thoroughly suffocate his broken, battered little toy, letting his fat mass smother him steadily…until, finally, he sensed how the heart stopped beating and the lungs stopped working. At that point, Bela stood up, picked up the little corpse…and, just because he was feeling ESPECIALLY callous, he carried the carcass to a nearby trash can and dropped it in without a care. His torment of Shepherd concluded, Bela clapped his hands together…but he still had more toys to play with. His attention was brought to the sound of clamoring little voices, and his tail curled into a question mark shape. He grinned as he saw five of the remaining toys all trying to find a way to climb up to a nearby window, no doubt hoping to escape. Bela clucked his tongue and shook his head; didn’t these adorable little bugs ever learn? Ah, well. No matter. Bela licked his lips, his tail swishing as he got down on all fours, feeling particularly playful now. “Ready or not, little mice!” he sang out. “Here comes the big bad kitty!” With a menacing laugh, the God of Gluttony then began to make his way across the padded floor, towards the desperate creatures, who - in a confusion - all started to try and find some way to escape the approaching half-cat. Bela was so focused on the five nameless morsels - and they were so focused on him - that none noticed two pairs of eyes watching from behind a leg of the bench press station. “Poor Shepherd,” whispered Keith; even under the circumstances, he felt that was a pretty cold move on Bela’s part. “We can’t do anything for that weirdo now,” sighed Packer, patting Keith’s shoulder. “I’m not even sure we can do anything for ourselves,” Keith said, gloomily. “Oh, yes we can!” Packer said, and pointed off in another direction. “Those five the God is after now were looking for an exit, but they were looking the wrong way.” Keith turned to see where Packer was pointing…and the young man’s eyes lit up with vivid hope. The door to the exercise room was shot and locked…but there was a small gap between the floor and the door itself. A gap small enough for a mouse - or anything and anyone roughly the same size - to shimmy through easily. “We can get out of here!” Keith exclaimed joyously, then hushed his voice at Packer’s shushing. “But…but what about our sizes?” “We can worry about that after we’re no longer in danger of being smothered, crushed, or eaten alive,” snorted Packer. The pair winced as they heard a bawling cry. Bela was seated on the floor, the five trapped in the space between his legs as his feet came together to form a ring-shape with his lower limbs. All five of them fell to their knees, pleading and crying, hands clasped pitifully…but Bela completely ignored them, humming a happy little tune as he lifted one of them up, licked the poor devil all over with his tongue, letting them inhale the hideous stink of his breath (and occasionally a big, beefy burp) before slurping them up and swallowing them whole to meet their end in his barbaric belly. “Stay low and move as quickly and quietly as you can,” Packer said, the former thief instructing Keith carefully. “We’ll have a chance if we don’t draw attention to ourselves.” Keith nodded, and gestured for Packer to lead the way, then began to follow the moan as they moved to try and get out from under the bench and head towards the door… …Only to stop short as a familiar blonde-haired, green-eyed figure swung onto the scene from behind another bench-leg, and barred their path. “Leaving so soon?” Xavier said, with a slightly deranged grin. “The party’s just beginning!” Keith jumped back, stumbling and falling onto his backside, as Xavier suddenly lunged at Packer. The goatee-toating thief and the disgraced banker growled in unison as they wrestled on the floor. Keith nervously looked to the left; Bela was, at that moment, teasingly dangling another one of his current attention-grabbers over his gaping mouth, dipping them close to his teeth before pulling them away again playfully…before finally dropping them into his mouth. His lips puffed as he slurped their kicking legs into his monstrous mouth and swallowed them whole. “What are you doing?!” snarled Packer, bringing Keith’s attention back to the ensuing brawl as the pair rolled; Packer momentarily managed to pin the blonde-haired elitist down. “Why are you attacking?!” “When I get out of here,” Xavier said, voice icy and cold as a wet winter wind, “I’ll have the honor of saying I was the only person to be shrunk by the mighty Bela Sulten, and escape his house alive. I won’t have that honor if there are any OTHER survivors, will I?” “Are you serious?!” Keith hissed, trying to stay hushed but unable to stay quiet. “How petty can you get?!” “You’d be surprised,” Xavier smirked, clearly having no shame. “You’re sick,” sneered Packer. Xavier responded by spitting up into Packer’s eye. Packer let out a grunting cry, and Xavier hissed like a snake before wrestling him to the floor again and wrapping his fingers around the former thief’s throat with a psychotic look in his eyes. Keith, horrified, found himself darting towards the scene, and shoulder-checked Xavier, knocking him off of Packer. While Packer tried to catch his breath, Keith moved to help the older man up…but Xavier wasn’t done yet. With a feral sound, he leapt from the floor, and this time tackled Keith, pushing him back-first against one of the pillar-sized bench legs. Keith gasped…and suddenly found he couldn’t get a breath. Xavier bit his lip, a hint of a blush in his cheeks as he tightened his grip on Keith’s windpipe…as if the feeling of taking a life in his bare hands was bringing him an enormous amount of pleasure… Just as Keith’s vision started to get blurry and his struggles to push Xavier off of him were becoming more feeble, Packer got to his feet and hurried over. He tugged Xavier away from Keith with a sharp jerk, and before the evil blonde could retaliate, delivered a punch across Xavier’s jaw. Xavier yelped sharply…then let out a wheezing grunt, the air knocked out of him as Keith and Packer, together, kicked him in the diaphragm and sent him flying… Bela had slurped up the last of his five snacks - the man’s arm reached past his lips, grasping for nonexistent aid - and had just gulped them down. He patted his belly happily and lifted a fist, stifling a crude, putrid burp in his cheeks and blowing the excess gas out the side of his mouth. “HHHRRRLLLMMMRRRPH…phoosh. Now, let’s see,” he mumbled, scratching his belly and glancing about, sniffing the air. “I know there were more of those delicious little screamers around here somewhere…” Right on cue, he heard the faintest “Oof!” and turned…grinning like the happiest overgrown kitty in the world as he saw Xavier roll out from under his weight bench. “Ah! There’s one of you!” he cheered, and reached across, picking up Xavier in his fist. “Urk! No! NO! NO, NO, NO, NO!” was all Xavier could squeal out, desperately and frantically struggling against Bela’s fist…only to find himself - like his attempted victims - choking for air as Bela growled and squeezed his grip tighter, clamping his fingers hard around the shrunken green-eyed ghoul’s ribcage. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cackled Bela, clearly enjoying things. “Please…please, don’t…don’t eat me!” sputtered out Xavier, trying to pry the fingers away from him. Bela smirked and scratched his chin with his free hand, humming as his stomach gurgled and grumbled; the thick, nasty churns of his sloppy gut working over the seventeen people he had already eaten was like a hurricane in his belly, leaving Xavier whimpering pathetically in fear. “Hmmmmm…what will you give me if I don’t eat you?” crooned Bela. Xavier’s eyes widened hopefully. “Anything!” he blurted out, without thinking. “Anything, L-Lord Bela, please! Anything you want! M-Money, my belongings, anything!” Bela smiled sneakily. “Very well, little mouthful,” he purred. “I won’t eat you.” Xavier nearly laughed with disbelief and joy…but the latter, at least, was short-lived. Instead of setting him down to allow him to run along on his miniaturized way, the God King pulled him closer…and Xavier soon found himself wedged into the crevice between Bela Sulten’s hard, powerful pectoral muscles. He scarcely had time to lift his arms to try and push back…as, with a growl, Bela began to flex his abs, his pecs squeezing over Xavier painfully. “A-ARGH!” Xavier cried out, straining to keep the powerful, sweaty body from killing him; said sweat made his hands feel grimy and left him unable to get anything resembling a good grip. “W-Wait! You…you said-” “-That I wouldn’t eat you,” Bela purred. “I still intend to kill you. Please, do scream louder; I love those sounds.” Bela flexed again with a louder growl, and Xavier squealed; he felt some part of him starting to creak, his face turning reddish-purple with exertion as he squirmed for dear life, the pectorals gripping him like a massive, meaty claw…pushing onto him like closing steel walls, ready to break, crush, and flatten him out… “Any…anyth-thing!” he managed to cough out, tears coming to his eyes. “P-Please!” “I heard you the first time,” Bela said, almost casually. “Unfortunately, all I want…is your life. Break now.” Xavier managed to strangle out one last scream…before, with a deeply disturbing popping noise, the pectorals closed in one last time, and his wicked life was ended at last. Bela sighed, eyes fluttering, as if coming down from a round of something vigorous and erotic, then fished the body out from his pecs before flicking it away like a piece of garbage. (He’d said he wouldn’t eat Xavier, after all.) He hummed as he tilted his head, pumpkin-colored eyes rolling upwards as he scratched his sloshing, gurgling stomach, which made deep, thick “slush-slush-slush” sounds as he played with his patented paunch. He tried to count how many mortals he had destroyed so far… “Let’s see…seventeen in my stomach…one death via pecs…biceps, my foot…the one in my navel is still crying for his mommy…that so-called worshiper is currently in the trash where he belongs, which leaves…” His eyes snapped around as a twisted, wild smile slashed across his face…the expression freezing Packer and Keith dead in their tracks. They had just been trying to sneak out from under the bench and make their way to the door unnoticed. “...Ooooooh…two more toys to play with…” Bela smacked his lips greedily, and rose to his feet. Keith and Packer looked at each other and yelled at the same time… “RUN FOR IT!” The bearded ex-thief and the innocent, average young man dashed as fast as they could toward the door…but as fast as they ran, Bela Sulten could catch up easily by just walking. The God of Gluttony and Greed rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue at the pointless sprint of his final two trinkets, as he stomped over and swiped them each up in a separate hand. He rumbled as he watched the two wriggle in his grasp. “Hmmmmm…now, how shall I deal with you two?” he crooned in a sing-song tone. “L-Let us go!” shouted Keith. “You fat, murdering psychopath! You’re no God! You’re some kind of…some kind of…monster!” Bela yawned. “You know, I DO get so tremendously bored with you treats sometimes,” he said, as if he hadn’t even heard the pair. “As much as I enjoy hearing you squeak and squeal like the rodents you truly are, it does get old after a while. Ah, well…in any case, I think I’m actually in the mood for only one more snack.” The pair froze up at those words, looking stunned and hardly daring to hope. “Oh, I could eat your entire species to extinction and still not be truly satisfied,” chuckled Bela. “But I’m only in the MOOD for one more, as I said. So…I guess we’ll have to work out some form of…” GRRRLLLG… “...Tryouts,” he hissed, quivering as his belly rumbled ominously. Packer and Keith looked to each other with matching expressions of mortal worry, as the God moved to the bench press where they had been hiding. Then, without a word, he placed the two shrunken mites upon shaft of the weight bar. Both humans extended their arms and carefully gauged the very, VERY narrow, curved platform upon which their feet rested… …While Bela - with what could only be described as “a smile like sex” - lay down upon the bench beneath them, his head parallel with the bar as both of his hands rested upon his swollen, bubbling belly. “Don’t worry, little ones,” he crooned, his rotten breath wafting up to the pair and turning their cheeks green. “I’ll be here to catch you…” And so saying…Bela opened his jaws. Keith and Packer both gulped as they stared down into the dark, wet, pinkish-red cavern below. They could see the way the flesh of the God’s maw pulsed and undulated; the way his tongue flickered; the way the saliva stretched and snapped between his off-white fangs…the slickness of his gums, the sliminess of his throat… And over all of this…a low, deep, bass groan…the whine of a never-satisfied stomach. Mingled with distant, barely-audible screams of pain and panic. Packer and Keith slowly looked at each other, then down at Bela’s open mouth, then back at each other. The God didn’t say anything, but somehow, they knew what was happening: it was a test. A test to see which of them would fall first. Which of them would be food…and, it seemed, which one of them would live to tell the tale. Each inhaled shakily - trying not to wretch at the horrible, hellacious stink wafting up towards them from that seemingly-nigh-volcanic, steaming maw - and looked towards each other. “Wh-what now?” peeped Keith, in a tiny, shy voice. Packer bit his lip, looking Keith up and down, then stared into the younger man’s eyes. “How good are you at balancing, kid?” Packer checked. “Took gymnastic classes in school, so better than you’d expect,” Keith said. “Same,” Packer said with a slight smile, which flitted away almost as quickly as it had come. “But we can’t balance forever.” “Nope,” agreed Keith. Packer paused before speaking again. “Keith, do you trust me?” he asked, point blank. Keith paused to mull the question over…then nodded. “Yeah,” he said, barely audibly. “Good. Because I have a plan,” Packer said, and gestured for Keith to approach. “Y-You come my way, okay? I’ll move yours…we’ll meet in the middle. Careful now.” Keith obeyed. Cautiously, carefully, he crept along the narrow, rounded walkway like he was treading a tightrope. Packer did the same. Bela opened one orange eye, his open-mouthed smile widening and his stomach gurgling in a high-pitched, greedy way as he watched the treats overhead. His toes curled as he could feel the over a dozen lives writhing inside of him…begging for release…begging for him to show some sort of shred of compassion or pity… He purred. Loudly. He couldn’t wait to have one of these treats squirming in his guts, too. Packer and Keith were now at arm’s length from each other, both willing themselves not to look down and allow the morbid sight of the glutton’s gullet to scare them into falling. Both stumbled slightly, and Bela let out an excited meow…which faded into a disappointed sound as they managed to regain their footing. But the God didn’t mind…they couldn’t stay up there for too much longer… “O-Okay, Packer,” Keith said, looking into the older man’s eyes. “What’s the plan?” “I want you to listen to me carefully, Keith,” said Packer. “Survival depends on it. I have only three short words to say…” Keith nodded, his gaze expectant as he was clearly strongly attentive. Packer smiled, and spoke the three words. “I am sorry.” Then, before Keith could say anything, Packer pushed him over the side and into the mouth below. Keith’s mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. The world seemed to move into slow motion as he stared up with wide, terrified, shocked eyes at Packer, who watched as the younger man fell to his slimy doom. Keith saw the silhouette of the sharp, deadly teeth, as they framed his view of the outside world. His final words - whatever they might have been - were silenced as Bela Sulten closed his jaws around him. Keith was officially food. No telligible words left poor Keith as he was consigned to the maw of the cruel and greedy God of Gluttony. He floundered in the darkness, as the sound of Bela’s pleased purr filtered into his ears. He spluttered and struggled in wild abandon as the muscular, saliva-smeared tongue swirled about him like a python, squeezing and squelching as it worked to sop up his flavor. He gasped and spat as a gob of God gob got in his own gob. His hands flapped and clawed as he was swirled into a muscular, rubbery cheek and pressed into it till his ribs ached…then, the world spun again, and was scrubbed against a rough-ridged palette, his cries of discomfort lost as Bela Sulten moaned with pleasure. The tongue fell, and the saliva-soaked little man breathed heavily, his eyes wide and very white as he somehow crawled his way to the front of the mouth…and worked his arms and legs around until… “Gwah?” Bela blinked…then smirked around an open mouth as Keith managed to somehow push those powerful jaws open. He chuckled as he applied some pressure; Keith groaned as his bones and muscles strained to keep those sharp teeth parted, the stink of the carnivorous titan’s breath flowing all around him, burning his nose and driving his senses to bedlam. Keith heard himself shouting, but he wasn’t even fully sure what he, himself, was saying; everything was lost in a whirlwind of adrenaline and a desire to live! These basic wants and needs mattered little to the lazy glutton, who lay quite at peace on his bench, clearly putting barely any effort at all into closing his mouth, while Keith cussed and swore in gibbering tones to try and keep from buckling and bending and breaking under the strain…what had he done in his life to deserve this? Nothing he could recall. He hadn’t ever seen Bela Sulten before in real life…he’d never been to this mansion…why was this happening to him?! Perhaps he’d been too lost in his own mundane security; living life day-to-day, not expecting much, just idling through his years…happy and content in his own simplicity. Perhaps, in a way, that had been his own form of hubris: the idea that he wasn’t special, and therefore, nothing particularly awful could happen to him. The idea that he was no one important, so the likelihood of him being targeted was not great. The idea that he would die an average, common death, and that would be okay. This was not average, not common, not even in this World of Predator Gods…and he was decidedly not okay with it. He saw a finger - a huge, strong, clawed finger - rise in front of him. A momentary burst of awareness came to Keith as he yelled two words… “SPARE ME!” …Before the finger shoved him in, and the mouth closed once more, condemning to his smelly, foul, sloppy fate. Bela pulled his finger free from his mouth and let out a rumbling “Mmmmm” of pleasure, eyes closing blissfully as he placed his hands behind his head. He grimaced for a moment…and his cheeks ballooned as he burped into a closed mouth, trapping poor Keith inside an inescapable vortex of fetid gas. “BRRRRRLLLLLMMMMMRRRRRRP…hm-hm-hmmmm,” the black cat God chortled, gut bouncing with mirth as he heard and felt Keith choking on his inner repugnancy. It was time to stop savoring, Bela decided: after all, this meagre morsel was nothing particularly important to him. Just another inch of padding on his hips. Another addition to his ass. Whatever his beautiful, gorgeous bulk decided this human needed to be. It was time to swallow. Keith was crying like a lost child as he felt the tongue bucking under him, urging him towards the throat, which flapped open with an awful sucking sound that filled the depths of his damned soul with dismay. His tears clearly tasted good, judging from the almost..well…orgasmic noises Bela was making. “Please…p-please, don’t swallow,” he pleaded, his voice barely audible to himself, and neither heard nor cared about by the almighty being that had chosen to consume him, body and soul. “Please…I don’t want to die…not like this…p-please…” The body of the glutton didn’t care a bit. Keith clawed at the tongue for just a moment longer to try and avoid his descent…then - GLUGLP! - he found himself funneled into a claustrophobic tube of rippling, smooth gullet-flesh. His chest felt like it was locked in a vise, and his head began to thrum and ache, a pounding in his ears…he couldn’t tell if it was his own heartbeat, or the Lord of Gluttony’s. Whatever the case, he found movement next to impossible; all he could really do was wiggle like a worm on a fish hook, and the more he did so, the faster he seemed to slither. It was pitch black; no light at all. The humidity was hotter than any sauna, and far less pleasant to endure; the malodorous aroma that tainted every breath of the God grew steadily more disgusting the deeper Keith slid into the pulsating esophagus, waves of peristaltic contractions ferrying him to the furnace of Bela’s internal inferno. What took the smallest number of seconds felt like countless hours for poor little Keith, who woke up that morning with no conception of how horrifically badly his day would go, or how his life would be snuffed out. Finally, he felt a strange sensation, as if he was being swallowed a second time, by a set of toothless lips…then, for a moment, he found himself in freefall…before landing with a murky splash at the bottom of Bela Sulten’s grotesque belly. Somehow, Keith managed to thrash his way to the surface. He gasped and coughed and let out a hoarse screech as acrid, nauseating air flooded his lungs through his mouth, and something gunky clogged his ears and nose. He somehow shook the goop away, which left a stinging itching sensation in its wake. With no clothes but his underpants to protect him, Keith soon felt the same burning prickling across his extremities, and then all over his torso. “Help…HELP!” The words were all but coughed up in a hacking, nasty way as Keith was assaulted by the Satanic atmosphere of Sulten’s stomach. Thick, cloying, soupy sludge sloshed this way and that, stirred up by the ever-moving muscular walls that formed the greasy food processing plant of the organism that had engulfed him. Over the roar of bellowing God lungs and burbling God guts, he heard other voices, all screaming and crying in a way that could only be described as the sounds of Hell itself. “HHHHHHUUUUUUURRRRRRRRUUUUUYYYYYYUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRP!” A long, loud, rolling belch flapped free from Bela’s lips; in the belly of the gassy God, the feeling was like his last scream being stripped from his very lungs. He howled like a wild animal, floundering sightlessly in the black abyss of stench and pain, clawing as he found the stomach walls, only to be knocked aside by an elbow from someone else struggling for their life…and then kicked in the groin by someone’s flailing foot. His squeal of intense agony was completely lost, just one more voice in the symphonic chorus of death. All of them…all their lives…lost to the whims of the most powerful being that had ever preyed on the world at large. Keith cried like a baby. He wished he hadn’t trusted Packer. He wished he hadn’t woken up that morning. He wished he could be free from this nightmare. No amount of wishing would help him. Outside, Bela Sulten burped again - a crass, ugly sound that sent saliva splattering from his mouth. He sniggered and wiped his jaw with the back of a hand. “GWWWWWUUUUUEEEEERRRRRRLLLLLLCH! Ahhhhh…a most gratifying mid-workout snack…and what a fun time it’s been,” he purred to himself, showing no remorse, regret, or regard for those dying slowly in his stomach. Then, he blinked, as if just remembering something, and looked up towards Packer, who was clinging to the bar above for dear life. He had nearly toppled, himself, in the act of betraying young Keith, and was now looking down at Bela with expectant apprehension. Bela smirked. He caught another belch in his cheeks, and blew it like a kiss up at Packer, making him gag and choke. The demi-cat God never got tired of such reactions to his perfect nastiness. “Congratulations, little one,” he said, sincerely. “You don’t get to be food today.” Packer sighed with relief. He felt a bit bad for what he’d done to Keith…but it was either him or the kid, and the ex-criminal knew who he would pick the moment that became clear. He felt more grateful to be alive than anything else. Bela swung himself off the bench press, and picked up Packer carefully with two fingers and a thumb. Packer felt the Lord of Excess - the King of the Gods - carry him a short distance, wondering what would happen next. Would he be put back in a jar and returned to the cupboard, living another day but not yet free? Or - and this he desperately prayed (to any God but Bela Sulten) would be the case - would he be given his proper size, a set of clothes, and allowed to go back to his own life once again? Packer would be disappointed, to say the least. Bela sat down upon the floor, halfway between the door and his bench press. His smile was calm and serene as he crossed his legs and looked at the rather befuddled Packer… …Who soon found himself in a compromising position, as Bela lowered the last of his little toys towards his boxer-shrouded loins…and Packer gasped as Bela released him… …And a pair of powerful thighs - swathed in a healthy, even blend of blubber and muscle - slammed into him like two strong walls. Packer yelped…and, like Xavier and Keith before him, with Bela’s pecs and jaws, respectively - he found himself struggling and straining to push away the two sets of deadly body parts that were more than ready to exterminate him. He didn’t bother crying out; he simply cursed his own foolishness: of course, the God had never intended to let him live. He’d simply left it up to fate which of them, between himself and Keith, would die in his belly…or between his legs. Packer looked up pleadingly at Bela. He didn’t speak, just tried to breathe…which became harder and harder as those powerful, meaty thighs closed in tighter and tighter, his bones aching and his muscles growing sore. Bela smiled sweetly. Calmly. This, to him, was no effort at all; his look was one of placid, unfeeling amusement. This was entertaining to him, almost adorable… Keith felt tears trickling down his cheeks before he even realized what they were. He still struggled to hold onto his life, as meaningless and abandoned as it was. He felt the thighs crushing and suffocating him…he felt their power all around him…soon, he felt his limbs buckle, and screamed bloody murder as a shock of pain flowed through him…. …And still…Bela squeezed. He didn’t crush. He didn’t instantly break or shatter or squash. He SQUEEZED….taking his time…making it slow…cooing as he watched the life die between his gorgeous, thick thighs…biting his lip and curling his toes and fingers, a thrill of pleasure flowing into his bloodstream as the screams became whimpers…and, finally, with an indescribably awful sound…Packer was ended. Bela plucked up the broken body…and this time, despite his comments from earlier, he swallowed it whole. He shrugged; no point in being too wasteful. Bela smiled, rubbing his belly, kneading his fingers into it, purring like an oversized ship’s cat settling fat fish. He was deeply, deeply content and happy; satisfied in a way no amount of carnal lust could compare to. True, his hunger was neverending, but his appetite was momentarily sedated…and the feeling of so many lives stewing and simmering inside him - sacrificed to his body for no other reason than he wanted them to be - filled him with an unfathomable state of peaceful happiness. Really, Packer had been lucky, though he didn’t know it at the time: as painful as being smothered and squished between Bela’s thighs was, his troubles had been over in a relatively short amount of time. It would take hours for Keith and the rest of the shrunken Homo sapiens Bela had swallowed alive to pass on…and that was if Bela decided to be kind. Bela Sulten was almost never kind. Another rippling, thick, nauseating belch, followed by the God swallowing air to ensure his victims wouldn’t pass out too soon, signfied this. “Wonderful,” Bela murmured, drawing heart shapes over his belly, around his navel. “Truly wonderful.” So saying, he snapped his fingers…and somewhere in the mansion, a bell rang. Moments later, Kepp entered the exercise room, holding a bottle of water. Bela smirked and stood, approaching his pet as Kepp entered. “Here’s your water, Master,” the twenty year old Champion said, an innocent, lovin smile upon his purple-eyed face. Bela’s smirk became a true smile - sparkling with the only shred of real affection his black heart could carry - as he playfully ruffled Kepp’s hair. “Good boy,” he cooed, and chuckled as Kepp gave him an open-mouthed smile in return, so similar to the look of a puppy smiling up at a much-beloved owner that he couldn’t help but be endeared. The God took the water, and began to drink it down. Kepp blushed, watching the way it flowed down his gullet, and glanced away, biting his lip and tapping his fingers together. “Um…M-Master?” Bela let out a questioning grunt between gulps of liquid. “Did you…d-did you…enjoy yourself?” peeped Kepp. Bela pulled the empty bottle away from his lips, and burped wetly into Kepp’s face, belching out his reply. “YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS-UUURRROOORRRP!” Kepp had hearts in his eyes, subtly breathing in the stink like perfume, as if he couldn’t get enough of it in his lungs. Bela chuckled and tapped Kepp’s nose teasingly, making his pet sneeze and blush even more fiercely. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the ‘little extra’ in my snack batch,” Bela sang, and smirked knowingly, his orange eyes glittering. “I didn’t recognize that human…what did he do, and where did he come from, hmmm?” “An apartment complex a few blocks away,” admitted Kepp, and rubbed his arm, turning his head down and kicking at an imaginary rock. “I…w-well…I wanted to…just…um…g-give you something unexpected to…to please you, Master…” “Mmmm, well, he was far from the tastiest, but I appreciate the thought,” Bela said. Those words made Kepp’s heart sing: “appreciate” was not a word Bela Sulten used often. “I’m…I’m glad to hear it, Master!” he cheered, looking decidedly more perked up. “You should be,” sniffed Bela, then placed one hand on his thick hip, the other caressing his gut as he cocked his head to one side. “But I must wonder…what was the occasion?” Kepp’s smile faded. He looked almost hurt. “You…you don’t know…wh-what today is?” Bela blinked dully. “Pet, I was alive for countless centuries before you were born. I swallowed planets whole for decades before ever coming to stay on this ghastly space-rock. The days roll into each other for me,” he drawled, drearily. “O-Oh,” Kepp said, and bowed his head again. “I’m…I’m sorry, Master…I…I hope I didn’t insult you…” Bela just rolled his eyes with a soft snort, then reached out and cupped Kepp’s cheek with a clawed hand, lightly angling his human plaything’s head upward to look into his evil eyes. “What is the occasion?” he repeated. Kepp bit his lip again…then took a deep breath… …And Bela lurched back, startled, as the little one hugged him tightly. He was so much more massive than Kepp, the youth’s arms encircle his wide, heavy hips, and his head rested against the pillowy, powerful belly, which gurgled grotesquely as the young ma nuzzled against a spot near Bela’s navel… Bela blushed, as he felt the life he had stuffed into his belly button twitch and go still for good at the exact same time Kepp did that. He’d pull them free and eat their body later… In that moment, his primary focus was on the three words Kepp uttered. “Happy Anniversary, Master.” Bela paused, standing awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he licked his lips - this time out of an unusual state of nerves - before speaking again, trying to keep his voice even. “Ah…Anniversary, Pet?” “Mm-hm,” Kepp nodded agaisnt the soft, velvety belly of his beautiful, beefy God. “It was two years ago today when you made me your Champion, Master. So…” He kissed Bela’s belly. “...Happy Anniversary,” Kepp said again. Bela paused…then smiled. He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “Let me get this straight…your idea of an anniversary gift…is one extra snack in my mid-workout break? One insignificant little nobody, whom no one will miss too greatly, among twenty-three other small, unimportant lives…is the best present you could think of?” Bela didn’t sound insulted, which encouraged Kepp. He sounded more…amused. “Well…I-I…kind of…might have actually not had time to find anything better,” admitted the human. Bela laughed, his gut bobbing and jostling with his amusement…and hugged Kepp back purring as he leaned down to lick and lap at the top of the twenty-year-old’s head. He waited till Kepp giggled before smiling like a Cheshire Cat and speaking. “Very well, my adorable little pet. Happy Anniversary, then…but next time…” He moved Kepp’s hand over to a very particular portion of his wide, massive butt…and grinned sadisitically as Kepp whimpered. “Next time,” Bela hissed, “Get me something better, or I’ll put the rest of you where your soul-fragment is.” “Y-Yes, Master…I’m…I’m sorry, Master…I’ll…I’ll be good…I’ll do-” Bela silenced Kepp with a kiss, and smirked a half-lidded, lusty smile as he watched his pet blush like a beet, the boy stock still and barely breathing. “You’re forgiven. Now, I need to get back to my workout. You run along and fix me a good lunch. If you do a good job, I’ll sit on you for the rest of the day.” Kepp squealed with glee, and fled from the room. Bela laughed, shook his head once more…and strutted off towards the treadmill. It was time to continue his run. He thought nothing more of the meal he’d enjoyed and the toys he had destroyed, even as his gut sloshed violently with every step on his race. He never would again, either. This writer hardly need say why.

The End

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

For the First Time (What’s Past Is Past)

Pairing: Neighbor!Hoseok x f!reader

Summary: After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance. 

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 15.7k

Genre: Fluff, (light) angst, eventual smut

Warnings: heavily discussed/referenced cheating, cursing, soft and gentle smut, penetrative sex, some pining, alcohol consumption, reader is not great with feelings, hoseok is good with feelings, the boys make cameos

A/N: Woohoo, first work in this fandom! This is actually the longest one-shot I’ve ever written (by my standards it’s LONG). Enjoy!

He doesn’t beg you to stay. He doesn’t tell you that “it’s not what you think”, doesn’t tell you that “it didn’t mean anything”, doesn’t ask for your forgiveness, doesn’t tell you that the two of you can work it out, that you can get through this together.

Instead, he tells you that he loves her, and when your entire world shatters in front of you, there is nothing you can do. You are completely and utterly alone.

When you first meet Jung Hoseok, he’s coming out of his apartment right as you’re getting into yours. He looks a little startled at first, but then he smiles at you, and you just stare.

You’ve never been good at interacting with people, especially strangers, especially when you’re not expecting it. You have to prepare yourself for those things, and right now, you’re very much not.

“Oh,” you say, looking at him.

The thing is, you recognize him — sort of. You’ve seen him around the building, and you immediately noticed him. You think it would have been impossible not to, frankly. You have ever seen someone who shines as bright as he does.

There is no other word for it. Hoseok shines.

It’s everything about him, and nothing at the same time. It’s his bright smile, first and foremost, and the way his brown eyes sparkle. It doesn’t hurt that he looks the way he does, all tall and thin and muscular, carrying himself like a dancer, but it’s his smile that you can’t get out of your mind. You’ve barely seen it, he gave you a quick, polite one when you passed him by in the parking lot, and yet you’ve thought about it more than you should have.

You’re surprised to see him here, though. You’ve been here for a month now, and you had never met the person who lived right next to you. You certainly never even considered that it could be the man with the bright smile and kind eyes you saw around, though the laugh you got used to hearing through the walls certainly completes that picture beautifully.

His smile widens a little, and he has a silent chuckle at your reaction.

“Hi,” he says.

You nod. You forget to reply, or to smile back, and you only realize that after you’ve closed your door behind you and Hoseok is already in the elevator.

You decide, firmly, to push that encounter out of your mind and to forget it ever happened.

(You can’t.)

There’s a gentle knock on your door, and you go to open it, surprised and a little confused. Your friends don’t live in the area and aren’t the type to drop by unannounced, and you don’t know anyone in your building. You wish you could add ‘yet’ to that sentence, but you are quite terribly antisocial, so you doubt you’ll ever get there, unless someone actually wants to get to know you. Which is not going to happen.

Hoseok’s smile greets you, and you blink. You note that his cheeks are slightly flushed, that he’s wearing a nice shirt, and that his hair is a little ruffled. He looks good — very good.

“Hi!” he says, when you forget, once more, what your lines are supposed to be in such a situation.

“Hi,” you remember to reply, but you’re late and offbeat, so you actually interrupt what he’s trying to say next, and you know you would be furious at yourself if you cared.

It’s been a long time since you’ve last found the energy to do that though.

“Sorry,” he smiles again, “I— I was wondering if you had a corkscrew I could borrow?”

You look back at your kitchen, mentally making an inventory of what you own. You know for sure you’ve never bought a corkscrew, you wouldn’t have the use for it, but there is a distant memory of—

“Just a second,” you say, walking to your kitchen.

You rummage through your cupboard for a few moments, before emerging victorious, holding a corkscrew you’re pretty sure Hyejin bought you when you first moved after The Break-Up, telling you that you would need it. You hadn’t, but you didn’t like throwing things away, so you had kept it, even after you had changed apartments a second time.

“Ah, you’re a life savior!” Hoseok rejoices when you hand it to him. “I’ll give it back to you as soon as possible, okay?”

You want to say that he doesn’t have to. You don’t.

“Sure,” you say, lifting a corner of your lips in a poor attempt at a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

He seems a bit taken aback by the comment, but then he nods, and something strange twists in your stomach because of how he looks at you. Fondly.

God. You must be terribly deprived of affection if that is all it takes.

“Thank you, I will! Have a nice evening!”

The “Thank you” you reply with sounds awkward to your ears, and you grimace as you close the door. You’re pretty sure you’ve handled that interaction terribly, and you half regret not telling him to put the corkscrew back into your mailbox when he returns it, to save you the embarrassment of going through something similar again.

But you also don’t regret it that much, and that’s something.

Hoseok catches you again a few days later. This time, he pokes his head out of his apartment as you’re turning the key into your lock. You’re not that surprised. If he can hear you half as well as you can hear him, it’s no wonder he hears you coming in.

“I have your corkscrew!”

The weirdness of that sentence, out of context, amuses you. You wait for him to reappear, and when he does, he gives you the corkscrew back with a strange reverence, like you did him a huge favor.

“Thanks,” you say. “Did it, uh, did it help? Was the— was what you drank good? Was it wine?”

That’s too many questions.

“Yeah— Yeah, it was good!” Hoseok lightens up, like he hasn’t even noticed that you can’t, for the life of you, have a normal conversation with someone. “We had some wine. I don’t have wine often, but I thought it was good. Not that I know much about it, though,” he laughs, and the sound is extremely nice. “You drink wine?”

You shake you head.

“No, the— the corkscrew’s a gift from a friend. I barely use it. You can keep it, actually.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re sure?”

You nod.

“I probably— I shouldn’t accept that. It’s yours. And it’s a gift.”

He looks genuinely worried, and you find it extremely endearing. He seems so worried about whatever rules are to be followed when it comes to accepting gifts from a neighbor you’ve met twice and— You think it’s sweet, is all.

“It’s fine, I don’t really drink. And when I do, it’s usually beer.”

And mojitos. You’re a big mojito fan. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

The corkscrew changes hands. Again.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way,” he says.

You don’t tell him that you know that. You do, because you’ve looked at the mailbox to see what your neighbor’s name was — when you moved in, mind you, not after finding out what he looked like — but you think that maybe that’s not the type of things people normally do.

Instead, you tell him your name, and Hoseok’s eyes seem to twinkle when he smiles at you.

You part awkwardly, the awkwardness mostly coming from you, as usual, and you think that’s the last you’ll see of your neighbor, outside of the occasional run-ins that you should be able to escape without having to talk to him. So that’s a relief.

(But it’s also just a tiny bit disappointing.)

You don’t drink, but Hyejin does. Especially wine, especially after a break-up, which you guess explains the corkscrew gift. When she arrives at your apartment, you’re first worried that she’s going to get offended you don’t have it anymore, but it quickly becomes clear that she doesn’t remember giving it to you. That doesn’t stop her from sending you out to get one from one of your neighbors. Usually she’d do it, because she knows how much you hate asking strangers for things, but she’s not herself tonight. The relationship was nearing the six months mark, something she had been really excited about, so you want to do what you can to help

That leaves you in an uncomfortable situation, though. You could ask another neighbor, but there’s the risk that they wouldn’t have a corkscrew — you’ve thought of that word way too much recently and it’s starting to lose its meaning in your mind — or that they wouldn’t want to give it to you, or that they’d slam the door in your face, or—

That’s irrational. You know that’s irrational and unlikely to happen. Still, knocking on Hoseok’s door is going to be awkward, but at least you’re pretty sure that he will be nice about it. So you do.

“Yeah— Oh, hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?”

He does have a truly beautiful smile.

“Well, I have a friend over, and she actually drinks wine, and—”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh that has you freezing like a deer in headlights first, then brings a careful smile to your lips.

“I’ll give it back,” you mumble sheepishly.

“It’s fine, it’s yours,” he chuckles, stepping back in his apartment, but leaving the door open behind him. You wonder if you should follow, then decide against it. Instead, you stand in the hallway, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. About as uncomfortable as can be.

You do take a peek inside, though. The rooms seem to be laid out pretty much the same as in your own apartment, with the kitchen on the left when you walk in, and you guess the bedroom door is the one you can see facing you, after the lounge. The interior design is simple, but stylish, and you notice movie posters on the walls. It’s nice and, though you barely know him, you can’t help but thinking that it’s a distinctively Hoseok place.

You haven’t really done anything to decorate, apart from bringing in your plants. It’s not your thing. At all. Maybe Hyejin will do something about it tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time she decorates your place while drunk. Last time, she’d ordered wallpaper. You’d forced her to come to help you put it on, and she had found it hilarious.

That was probably why she’d told you you were ‘better than therapy’.

“A-ha!” Hoseok exclaims before quickly returning to you. “There you go,” he says. “Is the wine your friend brought any good?”

You honestly have no idea. You don’t know the first thing about wine. Hyejin does, but you doubt that is something she feels very concerned with tonight.

Right as you’re thinking that, she opens your apartment door, calling out your name, way too loud, and seems satisfied when she sees you so close.

“Got one,” you tell her, waving the corkscrew. “Thanks, Hoseok, I’ll—”

“You look like you need a drink too,” Hyejin says bluntly, eyes set on him. “Wanna join?”

You look at him, surprised. You didn’t notice anything. You thought he looked fine. A little tired, maybe, and not quite as nicely dressed as he was that first night he had knocked on your door, but not any different from when you’d see him around. Hyejin is good with those things, though, so you suppose she’s probably right, but you don’t want Hoseok to feel pressured.

“You don’t have to—”

“You know what? I think I’ll take that invitation,” he says, and Hyejin nods in approval. “If it’s fine with the hostess,” he adds politely, giving you a wink.

As if. You already can’t deny Hyejin anything, so there’s no way you can deny him, especially when that wink has you weak in the knees.

“Sure,” you smile. “Let’s get you guys drunk.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hyejin shouts, raising a hand for high-five, which Hoseok gives her enthusiastically, a light-hearted laugh leaving his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re grinning.

As you expected, Hyejin passes out on your couch, drunk and sad and tired. Her and Hoseok had an amazing time, talking about their love life, while you sat on a stool by your kitchen island, sipping the same glass of wine for the entire evening. You don’t drink, you don’t even like alcohol that much, but you want to be supportive, and you’ve noticed it makes people feel better when you at least have a glass in your hands.

You listen to them, though. They have the same type of chaotic energy, and they get along immediately, in a way you could never dream of getting along with a stranger. Hyejin talks about her break up, and she’s as devastated as she always is. Hoseok nods along with just the right amount of intensity, at just the right times, and punctuates her talking with gasps. When it’s his turn to share, he talks about ‘people who don’t know what they want’, and his bitter tone worries you a little. You guess things didn’t go that well with whoever he was sharing that bottle of wine with. It comes as a surprise, because you certainly heard that it was going fine, that night.

After Hyejin falls asleep, Hoseok looks around your room, and, as soon as his eyes lock with yours, he walks over to you. He’s a little tipsy, and there’s a red tint to his cheeks. He sits across from you, then leans on the island and rest his chin on his hands.

“So, what about you? Any terrible break-up you want to talk about?”

The question almost makes you jump, but you manage to keep your composure. Still, you can feel a cold hand wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. You hate that you’re still so affected by any mention of it. You should be over it by now. You certainly don’t have any feelings left for Minsu, so you don’t understand why this is still so hard.

At the same time, it feels kind of refreshing to hear him asking that without sugar-coating it. You friends have been walking on eggshells around you ever since The Break-Up, and none of them know exactly what happened. They just know that Minsu has a new girlfriend now.

“It’s been almost a year,” you tell him, keeping your voice light. “I’m okay. You two look like you need to talk a lot more than I do.”

“That depends,” he says, frowning, though you’re not sure if it’s because of what you said or because he has a hard time focusing with all the alcohol running in his blood. “I wasn’t serious. Were you serious?”

Ah.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I was.”

You don’t date someone for eight years unless it’s serious. Sure, it started when the two of you were in high school, and a lot of people probably didn’t think you would make it that far, but you felt— you felt comfortable with Minsu. You felt good around him. You liked talking about your work with him, liked hearing him rant about video games, liked how you goofed around when you did the dishes. You hadn’t seen anything coming.

A third of your life. When he’d broken up with you, you had spent a third of your life with him.

“Then you probably should be drinking some more,” Hoseok says decidedly, grabbing the bottle of wine to refill your glass. You remove it just in time, and he stops in time not to spill anything Looks like his reflexes aren’t too bad, even after drinking. He pouts at you, and it’s, actually, adorable.

“What about you?” you ask, trying to change the subject, trying to push aside memories you want nothing to do with anymore. “Things didn’t work out with the girl you had over the other day?”

His face falls, and you feel bad, but at least you’re not talking about yourself anymore.

“I thought it was going good. I mean we— You probably heard it, right? I can hear you walk around at night. At ungodly hours, by the way. Your rhythm of sleep must be fucked.”

You laugh.

“I did hear you,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “So I thought it was going good too.”

“Well, she ghosted me,” Hoseok sighs dramatically. “I couldn’t even get a nice ‘it’s not me it’s you’!” He tilts his head. “Wait. No.”

“You’re drunk, Hoseok,” you say affectionately. “You should get back to your apartment.”

“I’m not drunk,” he protests. “Hyejin’s drunk. I’m doing great. Could a drunk person do that?”

The second the words leave his mouth, you get ready to stop him. Every single time you’ve heard those, disaster followed. You’ve seen drunk men fall into bushes of nettles with their pants down, watched several girls faceplant, and, once, witnessed someone breaking a wrist. He’d been lucky, though, because his bike had never been the same after that.

You get out of your stool, worried both for Hoseok and for your apartment, and then he breaks into some elaborate dance moves. You can only stare in disbelief. You couldn’t do that at your most sober. You can’t take your eyes away from the graceful, efficient way his body moves, like he has absolute control over every single one of his muscles. When he shoots you a satisfied smile at the end, there’s only one thing you can think to answer.

“Wow.”

“Exactly.” He makes finger guns at you with his right hand, clicks his tongue, and winks. In doing so, he somehow upsets his balance, which was perfect only seconds ago, and has to catch himself on your table, but he doesn’t fall. That is, possibly, even more impressive. “So I’m not drunk,” he says, shaking his head to push some hair out of his eyes and leaning against your table like he’d planned for it all to happen exactly that way.

You look at him, and an unexpected softness blooms in your chest. Hoseok’s hot, you knew that already, but that’s not what you marvel at right now. No, you’re impressed by how endearing he is. How lovable.

All thoughts of Minsu are long gone. If you noticed it, you would probably hate the impact any mention of the break-up has on you, even though Minsu is such a small part of what you think about.

You would also realize how easily Hoseok takes your mind off it.

“You’ve convinced me,” you nod, hoping he’s too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm. “But I’m sure you’re tired.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“This time, I think you have a point.”

He’s so serious that you have to laugh, and that makes him smile. It’s not one of those wide, bright smiles that you’ve gotten used to. It’s much more subdued, lifts only a corner of his lips, and yet it feels… intimate. It’s not performative. It’s just for himself, and it takes your breath away.

“I’ll get going,” he tells you softly. “Thank you for tonight. Your friend was fun and it was nice of you to let us bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” you answer honestly.

Hoseok smiles and looks down at his feet, and you wonder if he believes you. It’s true, though. You like listening to people talk. You don’t mind that you weren’t included. Him and Hyejin needed to vent, and you were happy to be there for it.

“If you ever want to talk to someone about that again, I’ll be here,” you find yourself saying, hoping it doesn’t come off as strange. “And Hyejin won’t mind either, if she’s around. I think she liked you.”

Hoseok laughs, and you feel relieved. You’ve noticed it before, but he does have a nice laugh, and you’ve gotten used to it since you’ve moved in. It would suck if you couldn’t hear it anymore.

You walk him out, then wait for him in his embrasure until he gets to his door. He sends you a mocking glance while turning his key into the lock.

“I’m not going to collapse in the five meters that separate our apartments, you know.”

“I don’t. What if you fall asleep between our doors and you spend the night there?”

He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and you nod. Yup. He’s definitely drunk, and you’re definitely making the right choice by waiting for him to be back in safely.

“Say goodbye to Hyejin for me!”

“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you!”

Another laugh, but no reply. You smile, then close and make sure you lock your door behind you.

Inside, you cover Hyejin with a blanket, clean up around your apartment a little and then, after brushing your teeth, let yourself fall into bed. You’re exhausted, and you know you’re probably going to regret that one glass of wine in the morning — you can’t do alcohol.

It was a strange night, all in all. Fun, by your admittedly low standards, but strange. You don’t know where you stand with your neighbor now. You like things to be clear-cut, otherwise you risk getting lost in the awkwardness of the in-betweens, and they’re definitely not — are you friends? Are you neighbors? Were you too cold? Too friendly? Does he think you’re weird?

“G’night, (Y/N),” a sleepy voice says from the other side of the wall, and you smile. He’s drunk, and you’re sure that’s why he says that, but it’s still nice.

“Goodnight, Hoseok.”

Maybe, for once, the in-between you’re standing in is not that bad.

Hoseok has another date. You know, because he asks for the corkscrew back. He looks as excited as the last time when you open your door, and you can’t help but compare him to a puppy. You note, again, the nice white shirt, which does marvels for his arms and shoulders, with the top buttons open, revealing some skin. Hoseok looks— he looks good. You knew that, of course, and yet it still hits you.

You find yourself a little jealous of the girl who’s in his apartment. Not just for that, but because, from what you’ve seen of him so far, he’s a pleasant guy to be around. He’s nice, energetic, funny, he has a great laugh. There’s simply nothing not to like.

For the first time since— For the first time, you think that maybe you should date again. Not him necessarily, he’s probably way out of your league, but someone. Surely, you could find someone. You don’t think you’d look as happy as Hoseok does now, but maybe you could have some fun.

You give him the corkscrew, wish him good luck.

“You don’t need luck when you look like that,” he says, putting a hand under his chin and winking, and it makes you laugh. “Thanks,” he adds. “I’ll invest in one of those so I don’t have to keep annoying you, by the way. I promise!”

That night, you spend a lot of time with your headphones on, and you end up sleeping on your couch, in a weird attempt to give him some privacy.

(You hope he doesn’t keep his promise.)

You’re surprised to see Hoseok at your door the next time. Not because of the promise, though you remember it — you doubt that he does. You’ve learnt through time that people often forget things they don’t find important. You never do, and you wonder if it’s because your brain has trouble separating what matters and what doesn’t.

No, you’re surprised because it’s too early for him to have a date, and because he already has your corkscrew.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is a little droopy and tired, “does your invitation still stands?”

Your eyes widen and you nod, pushing yourself out of the way so he can come in.

“Of course, but I don’t have alcohol. Do you want me to call Hyejin?”

He laughs, and you wonder if that was a weird thing to say.

“If she’s available, absolutely. I don’t know how I made it without a Hyejin in my life until now.”

That makes you chuckle, and you whole-heartedly agree. Hyejin’s indispensable.

Unfortunately, it turns out she can’t make it that night, but she sounds excited by the idea. She asks you to tell Hoseok you’ll invite him next time she’s around, so you do, and he’s as happy about it as she is. The two of them make an obvious pair, and you’re sure they’d grow to be good friends if they spent more time together.

After that, Hoseok gets a pack of beer from his apartment, and you grab one, which you keep in your hand while he downs several others. He talks about things that are happening around him. His job as an accountant — “Can you tell me why I thought that was a good idea?” —, the dance lessons he takes on the side — “otherwise I’d go crazy“ —, his friends — “Idiots! All of them! They’re lucky I love them so much!” —, and also, your taste in music, which he’s very aware of given the complete lack of soundproofing between your apartments — “Listen, sad ballads are well and good, but have you considered listening to something happy?”.

At this point, he gets on his feet and starts to dance, and just like the last time, you think he’s amazing at this.

“C’mon!” he says, dancing his way to you and grabbing your hands. “You have to join me!”

You try to protest, but you know you’re not going to be able to resist him. When he makes you spin, you let out a loud laugh, and you try not to think too much about the way his hand naturally falls to your hip to help you keep your balance. You’re sure he hasn’t noticed, that it’s normal behavior for him, and you don’t want to look too affected. Your cheeks likely betray you, but Hoseok doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he lets you go after rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, once.

“You need to enjoy yourself sometimes!” he says, almost threateningly. “If you don’t, I’ll come over and make you!”

You wish he would.

“So,” you say after he’s fallen back into silence, staring at his beer bottle with a little too much intensity, “things didn’t work out with the girl you had over last time?”

Hoseok sighs.

“No,” he mumbles. “She said I was moving too fast for her.”

“Were you?”

He looks taken off-guard by your question.

“I don’t think I was,” he replies after giving it a second of thought. “I didn’t pressure her or anything. I think she didn’t want a relationship, and she didn’t want to tell me that.”

“That sucks,” you say, shaking your head. Hoseok seems pretty calm about it, if a little dejected, but you feel annoyed just thinking of that girl that you’ve never met. “She put the blame on you instead of being honest.”

“Better now than later, though,” he says, sounding deep in thought. “I’m disappointed, but I’m not hurt. If she realized after the date that we weren’t a good fit, she did the right thing.”

For a fleeting second, you wonder when Minsu knew, how long he’d had doubts, what he could have done differently to hurt you less, but the thought quickly vanishes. You still think the girl should have been truthful about it. You’re about to say so when Hoseok lets out a little laugh.

You’ve come to realize that there is a lot of depth to both his smiles and his laughs. They don’t always mean that he’s happy. He does them even when he’s sad. You’re not sure why, but if you were to guess, you’d say he doesn’t like giving in to the sadness, and the smiles and laughs are ways of fighting it off.

“The thing is— I get it. I know I can be… a little too much,” he says sheepishly, and you can tell that the words are painful to say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. He might have heard them one too many times.

Hearing that makes you feel bad. It makes something deep inside you ache. Maybe because the corners of his lips are falling, or maybe because, for the first time since he’s walked into your apartment, he looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe it’s because of how unjustified it seems to you. You love Hoseok’s energy, his enthusiasm, but you’re not sure how to tell him that.

So, instead of trying to come up with something, you reach over the table and grab his hand gingerly. The gesture is not the most smooth, because you’re pretty bad at physical demonstrations, but Hoseok immediately squeezes your fingers in his.

“That’s fine,” you tell him, doing your best to smile at him. “I can be… a little not enough.”

“You?” he protests immediately, shaking his head, “No way! I refuse to believe anyone’s ever told you that!”

His offended tone makes you chuckle, but you don’t miss how relieved he seems by the distraction, and you don’t blame him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you tell him conspiratorially, “but I can be a little awkward, and I’m not the best at making conversation.”

At that, he bursts out laughing, but when he stops, the look he gives you is so soft that you feel yourself melt under his gaze.

“But you’re the best listener,” he says, and his tone is gentle and fond and you don’t know what to to do with yourself. You feel rooted to your spot, unable — and unwilling — to escape. You have the feeling your hand is burning up in his. You’re sure you’re blushing. There’s no way you’re not blushing right now.

“I don’t think you’re too much,” you blurt out. “I think you’re just the right amount.”

You really, really wish you were even just a little better at speaking to people.

Hoseok’s eyes widen at your statement, and then he smiles at you. It’s a genuinely happy smile that you couldn’t have imagined on his lips a moment ago.

“Thank you,” he says.

He doesn’t add anything. He doesn’t have to.

After that night, after you made sure once more that Hoseok got back to his apartment safely, even if he was far less intoxicated than the last time, and after he wished you goodnight from his room again, Hoseok and you start making small talk when you see each other. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a huge victory for you. Before that, you’d stayed years without exchanging more than a nod with your neighbors.

There are a couple more times at your place. Him and Hyejin meet again and, like you’d predicted, get along perfectly. Sometimes, your stomach twists a little when he puts his hand on her knee, or when she wraps an arm around his shoulders for a brief hug, but you try not to think too much about it. You don’t want to think about it, even if deep down, you know what is happening.

You’ve been through it before, after all, and it didn’t end well for you.

You blink when the lights turn back on, trying to adjust to the light. Next to you, Hyejin stretches.

“Well, that was something,” she says.

You feel too awestruck to reply just now, so you nod.

“Hoseok really is that amazing, isn’t he?”

“He is,” you say, and you let out a soft chuckle. You remember him dancing in your kitchen, completely wasted, and you remember how impressed you’d been then. You hadn’t realized then how much better he would be when he was sober.

“We owe him one for inviting us,” Hyejin continues. She’s used to making the conversation for the two of you anyway. “Think he could introduce me to one of the other dancers?”

You laugh and, in an unusual demonstration of affection, link your arm with hers. It’s not like you, but you’re feeling great after watching the performance. Hyejin’s right, of course. It was really nice of Hoseok to give you tickets to his dance group’s show. He’d looked so nervous, and after seeing this, you absolutely cannot imagine why. He has to know how incredible he looks, right?

You and Hyejin wait around for a little while, until Hoseok comes out. You’re not the only ones here to see him and the other dancers, and though Hyejin would happily call out to him, you manage to make her wait until he approaches you. His smile is bright and blinding when he finds you, and you feel your heart flutter. Hoseok’s smile has the strangest effects on you.

“So,” he starts, rubbing his hands together, “what did you guys think? Did you like it?”

“You were incredible,” you say, and the way his eyes shine when he looks at you disarms you completely. For a second, the world fades out around you. The people, the noise, the voices — gone in an instant. It’s just the two of you, and the affection with which Hoseok looks at you has you frozen in your spot.

You’re familiar with the feeling, have tried your best to dismiss it in the recent months, but this time, you don’t shy away from it. You like how Hoseok makes you feel, and even if a part of you is whispering in your ears that you’re taking a risk in letting anyone make you feel like that again, you ignore it. You’re willing to take that risk, and that realization makes your head spin.

You can’t look away from Hoseok, and he isn’t looking away from you either.

Then Hyejin starts to talk about the show, and the spell is broken. You don’t mind the interruption, and in fact, when you hear her speaking, you quickly find yourself interested. Hyejin is good with visual arts, in a way you aren’t, and it’s fascinating to hear her commentaries. Hoseok seems sucked in, too, but there is a strangeness in the air, a feeling, between you and him. You feel it in the briefest of looks, the softest of touches, his hand brushing against yours, in a smile that’s much softer than the ones he usually gives. You’re aware you could very well be imagining it, but there is also a chance you aren’t.

(God, you hope you aren’t.)

You weren’t too happy when Hyejin told you about the party. Now that you’re here, you want nothing more than to run away. You’re seriously considering it when Hyejin grabs your arm, and you know that she knows you were about to bail on her. Usually, you’d feel bad, but not tonight.

Minsu is here.

With his new girlfriend.

The one he cheated on you with.

You knew it was only a matter of time, because you have the same group of friends, and because it’s not like anyone knows what he did to you — you’re not sure they would pick your side even if they did —, but you still aren’t looking forward to seeing him again. In fact, it could never happen, and you would find it to be too soon. It’s not like this is still a gaping wound. It’, You don’t think you will ever forget about it, about the feelings you experienced then, sure, but the love you felt for him is long gone. Now it’s more like a phantom limb that throbs every once in a while.

Part of you is somewhat afraid that seeing him will revive it, though, and you never want to go through that again.

But it’s been over a year now. You need to be over this, and you guess tonight might as well be the acid test for that.

You expect Hyejin to berate you, but the look in her eyes is one of pity, which you hate. When she leans to whisper in your ear, you think she’s going to say some encouraging words. Instead, she hits with something else entirely.

“Hoseok’s by the drinks.”

…What?

“I invited him, I thought it would be a good idea.”

Right.

“You should go keep him company!”

Then she quickly vanishes, but not before you can throw her a piercing glance. You know your friend. You can tell when she’s trying to set you up with someone.

She’s lucky you don’t mind, but you’re pretty sure she knows that. You don’t tend to be the best at hiding your feelings, no matter how hard you try, and you’ve been in the situation before when she knew you liked someone before you did.

You guess the set-up merely confirms something you had felt building up for a while now, all while avoiding the obvious conclusion.

You like Hoseok.

You find him quickly, making small talk with some of your friends, and some more people you don’t recognize. The group isn’t what it used to be. Over the years, some people left, others brought in friends of theirs, and while there are still a good portion of your high school friends — well, of people you went to high school with — you definitely don’t know all of them.

For a second, you wonder if you should interrupt. Hoseok’s a natural when it comes to all this social stuff, a real extrovert. He looks amazing, right now, in one of those shirts you’ve seen him wear on dates, his hair nicely done. Everyone he’s talking to looks absolutely charmed, and for the second time tonight, you consider running away.

Then Hoseok sees you, and his smile widens, and he waves you over. You give polite nods and introductions, finding out that you actually do know some of the people you originally didn’t recognize, and grab yourself a glass of wine to feel a little more included. Hoseok puts his hand on your shoulder at first, and then if falls to the small of your back. You find yourself relaxing a little, standing by his side. You don’t know what it is about him and his touch that you find so grounding. You’ve never disliked physical contact, even if you don’t tend to initiate it, but with him it’s— different. Everything is.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling relieved when the group moves on and you find yourself alone with him. Maintaining a conversation with a lot of people is exhausting.

“Is everything going okay?” you ask. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well, it’s not a party until I walk in,” Hoseok grins cockily, tilting his head towards you. “Why, are you tired of seeing my face everywhere you go?”

“I don’t think that could ever happen,” you laugh, and there it is again, on Hoseok’s face, that look he gives you from time to time, for a reason you haven’t figured out yet. His eyes widen, and his lips curl into that smile that’s not as bright as the one he usually gives, but just as sincere. It makes heat pool in your stomach.

“That’s good,” he says softly.

There is probably something more there than you realize, and you want to ask about it, but you see Minsu and his girlfriend from the corner of your eye. Before you can think about it, you’ve grabbed Hoseok so he can serve as a shield between you and the rest of the room. The move surprises him, and he grabs onto you to stabilize himself, fingers wrapping around your arms. He’s close, but you can’t think about this right now.

“My ex is here,” you mumble when he shoots you a questioning look.

“Oh,” he says, and you miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “The one you were serious with?”

You didn’t think he would remember that.

“Yeah,” you reply with a grimace. “With his new girlfriend. I just— I don’t want to speak to them.”

A decided expression settles on Hoseok’s face.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he whispers at you.

You barely have the time to blink at him before he starts leading you towards the exit. You don’t know if it’s that much more discreet, not with the way he keeps his back turned to the room and his shoulders squared, taking his role as your human shield very seriously, but you’re still grateful.

The second you’ve set foot outside, you burst out laughing, and Hoseok quickly joins you.

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you smile once you’ve caught your breath. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Walked out the door, I guess,” he replies, lifting his hands to arrange your hair.

You stay still for him. You don’t mean just that, though. You can’t express how much you appreciate his support right now, instead of the pity you usually get. You like that Hoseok turned this into— a joke. That he made you laugh about the way you’re hiding from your ex, instead of making you feel pathetic.

Just as you're thinking that, a wave of affection for him bursts in your chest, filling you with warmth, and you have no idea what to do with it. Especially not when he’s standing so close to you, biting his lower lip with concentration as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You kind of want to kiss him, but something tells you the timing isn’t right.

Finally, Hoseok takes a step back with a satisfied smile.

“There. Perfect.”

“I’ll have to let Hyejin know you’ll replace her as my personal hairdresser,” you chuckle.

“Oh, I’ll fight her for that spot!”

And there it is again. You’re laughing. You just saw Minsu again, and yet you’re laughing. The very idea would have sounded ludicrous a few months ago. Not because of Minsu per say, but because you didn’t think there would be anything to joke about. Or anyone to laugh with.

But Hoseok is here. By your side, in your life.

In your heart.

Someone clears their throat next to you, and you know even before turning around.

Minsu’s standing there. He looks good, if you’re being honest. He doesn’t have the dark circles under his eyes that you had gotten used to when you were dating, from the all-nighters he pulled when he was in college, and he’s clean-shaven. He’s wearing his favorite jacket, and that might be what you’re most taken aback by. The fact that you know this jacket. He used to put it on your shoulders when you got cold.

You suddenly feel an unexpected hatred for it.

“(Y/N),” he says, softly, and you can only look at him. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect that he would say your name so gently, with such affection. It wasn’t— It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You’d told yourself he hated you, that he would make fun of you, that he was such an asshole. This is so much worse, and yet you can’t say you haven’t thought about it. This is so much worse, because if he’s not an asshole, how could he do that to you?

What kind of person would you have to be to deserve to go through that?

“Hi, I’m Hoseok!” Hoseok exclaims next to you, filling the uncomfortable silence. He extends a hand to Minsu and, while doing that, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you feel a little better.

“Hi,” you say, belatedly, while Minsu shakes Hoseok’s hand and smiles genuinely.

“Minsu,” he tells Hoseok before turning his gaze back to you “This is great,” he comments, pointing at you and Hoseok, and you don’t get it. “The two of you— You look great together. I’m so happy for you.”

You’d like to say that you snapped, that you lost control, that you didn’t know what you were doing, but that would be a lie. Sure, in that moment, you feel burning, seething rage running through your veins. Sure, you consider murder for a hot second. But you’re in control of yourself when you dismiss the idea, just like you’re in control of yourself when your hand makes a circular movement, splashing Minsu’s face with the entirety of your glass of wine and, hopefully, ruining that stupid jacket of his.

Minsu looks at you in disbelief. You look at him in disbelief, as wine drips from his chin.

Then you run. Hoseok’s hand slips from your shoulder, and you’re all too aware of the way people stare at you as you beeline towards the exit. You hear Hyejin, and perhaps Hoseok, call your name as you put your glass back on a table, but you’re out before either of them can get to you, and as much as you love them, you think it’s probably for the best.

You get home at 7 am, which is late, even for your fucked up sleep patterns. You feel a little better. You spent a good chunk of the night outside, walking, before finding a café that was open. You didn’t want to go home.

When you arrive at your door, and find a sleeping Hoseok leaning against it, you think you may have made a mistake. He looks peaceful, but he’s still sitting on the floor in the cold hallway, in front of your door, and guilt spreads through you. You kneel in front of him, and try to gently shake him awake.

He barely budges. You try again, and he lets out a sleepy groan, head rolling to fall on his shoulder. He looks adorable.

“Hoseok, hey,” you call out gently. “You can’t stay here. We need to get you to bed, okay?”

The only reply you get is another groan. With a sigh, you pull on his arm, trying to lift him up. He’s heavy, way more than you would have thought with his figure, but you guess muscle weighs a lot. You’re about to give up when you feel him straightening a little. Not enough to walk on his own, but enough for you to half carry him. You make it to his door, fish the key out of his pocket while trying not to think about his muscled thigh under your finger or— anything else, then struggle to open it and get the two of you through.

Inside, you bump against his couch, and you swear between your teeth. You’ve always met at your apartment, and you’ve only been in his for a few minutes at a time, so you’re not familiar with the lay-out. You make it to the bedroom, unsteady under Hoseok’s weight, and are delighted to be able to push him down onto the bed.

That delight lasts for less than a second, though, because as he falls, the arm that you’d put around your shoulders to carry him drags you down with him. Your exhausted brain manages a ‘fuck’ before you collapse into Hoseok’s chest. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, feeling rather hard under you, but that doesn’t change anything to the fact that your heart is beating like crazy. Your nose is pressed against his neck, and you breathe in the smell of his after-shave, and you want to stay here.

But, as tempting as the idea is, you can’t do that when Hoseok doesn’t even know you’re here. Gathering all your willpower, you push against his chest to get up.

And then Hoseok rolls over, suddenly covering you with his body while all you can do is squeak.

This is the dumbest thing ever, you think as you vaguely try to push him off, already knowing that this is a lost cause. There’s no way this is happening.

Yet, as the minutes pass by and Hoseok shows no sign of moving again, instead wrapping an arm around your waist with a contended sigh, you have no choice but to accept your fate. You’re trapped, in Hoseok’s bed, underneath him, he’s probably drunk — that would explain why you can’t wake him up — and tomorrow morning is going to be unbelievably awkward.

It should be hard to fall asleep, in those circumstances. In fact, you shouldn’t fall asleep at all, just wait patiently until he lets you go to slip away. But right now, engulfed in Hoseok’s warmth, you can’t manage to stay awake and, as you drift into sleep, you cannot find it in yourself to regret it.

You wake to the feeling of hands gently moving up and down your back. The second you stir, though, they stop, and the warmth they provided you disappears. Whatever you’re laying on also tenses, hardening under you, and you want to protest. Fortunately for you, even in that state, you realize that mattresses and pillows can’t harden, which helps you piece together that you’re not laying on a mattress, which means you have to be laying on—

Oh God. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up way faster than you probably should have.

“Careful!” Hoseok protests, sitting up as well, reaching out to steady you. He removes his hands quickly once he’s sure you’re not going to fall over, burying them under his blanket.

“You— you’ve been awake a long time?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Um, a little while,” he admits, shifting under your gaze. “I assumed you needed the rest. You must have come home very late.”

There is a hint of reproach in his voice, laced with something else that you cannot identify, and you grimace. You take a second to rub your eyes, but even once that’s done, you find you can’t look at Hoseok.

“I did,” you mumble. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. It must have been very— very uncomfortable. Especially after I left you with— I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh, but you get the distinct feeling that it’s to make you feel better. You’re getting good at telling what his laughs mean.

“It’s fine. Your, erm, your friends told me about you and Minsu. I didn’t realize you guys were that serious.” Silence. “Eight years, huh?”

You press your hand against your forehead. Talking about you and Minsu’s long relationship always makes you feel weird. The fact that he was in your life, practically everyday, for eight years, and that he disappeared from it without a warning and now he’s gone and everything is practically the same is unbelievably confusing to you. Maybe you should miss him, and you do miss some things about the relationship, like being in love, and sharing an apartment, and having someone to come home to, but you don’t miss him. Not anymore.

You know Hyejin’s worried you moved on too fast, after him. That she thinks you didn’t take time to heal. Truth be told, it hurt for a lot longer than she knows, but it was still relatively short, compared to what you’ve seen her go through after some of her relationships. You don’t know what to say about it. After the break up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to still love him, or to miss him.

“Eight years,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is that all they said?”

“…Not exactly, no.” Hoseok sounds so different from his usual self, all serious, looking at his hands, anywhere in the room but you. You can’t blame him, though, considering you’re doing the same thing. “They said you were high school sweethearts. That you were basically— perfect for each other.”

You want to scoff at that. It’s true that you got together in high school, and it’s true that people thought you made a nice picture. They were surprised that you would have gotten a boyfriend, usually, but the surprise vanished once they saw Minsu. You two clicked, in so many ways. The two of you worked. You made sense.

But you don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘being perfect for each other’. The two of you always had to try to make the relationship work.

Until one day he stopped trying.

“So I wanted to say— I get it. It must have been hard to hear him say that. You should try to deal with your sadness in other ways but—”

What? What is he talking about?

“—but I know what it’s like to see an ex you still have feelings for with their new partner, and it sucks, though, again, next time you could—”

“That’s not it,” you blurt out, and Hoseok stops in the middle of his rambling to finally look at you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tone cautious, almost guarded.

You can’t believe what you’re about to tell him. You haven’t told anyone before, not even Hyejin. If she finds out, she’s probably going to kill you for not telling her and for telling someone else, and yet, in that moment, you can’t not talk about it. The thought of Hoseok thinking that you did that out of jealousy, that you still have feelings for Minsu is unbearable to you.

“What did they say about the break-up?” you ask.

Hoseok blinks, then frowns as he tries to remember it. He drank a lot last night, especially after you left. More than he had intended to.

“That no one knew what happened.”

“And Minsu didn’t have anything to say to that?”

“…I think he was cleaning his jacket at that point.”

You hope you stained it and he wasn’t able to get them off.

“We didn’t just— break up. I— We lived together back then. In an apartment. Because— That’s not important. What I mean is that— I walked in on him. And her. In our bed.”

You hadn’t made a noise for a few moments, so you’re not sure how they noticed you, but next thing you knew she was shrieking, covering her chest, and Minsu was walking towards you, awkwardly pulling up his pants.

“He— He told me he was in love with her. And that was it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hoseok isn’t saying anything, and you don’t want to look at him for now.

“That’s why I got angry. It’s not that I was jealous, it’s that— He doesn’t get to say that to me. Not after doing that.”

Hoseok grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You didn’t tell that to anyone?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You stare in the emptiness for a while. Reliving the story had been unpleasant, even if you don’t feel anything for Minsu anymore, but it’s the answer to that question that brings a choked sob to your lips.

“Because— How can you do that to someone? How can you— how can you do that to someone you’ve been with for eight years? Someone you said you loved?” You feel small and the weight on your chest is painful, unshakeable. “What kind— what kind of person would they have to be for you to feel that it was— that it was okay to do that?”

At that point, the tears are rolling down your cheeks and your sobs make it impossible to talk. Not because of Minsu, but because of the fear that is building in your stomach even now. The fear that you deserved that. You hiccup loudly, and then you’re pressed against Hoseok’s chest and he’s holding you tight, hand gently caressing your hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells you softly.

“You don’t know that. M-maybe I’m a terrible person.” You don’t believe that, not when you say it out loud. But… what if?

“(Y/N),” Hoseok says, almost sternly, “you’re not a terrible person. Sure, you listen to Taylor Swift at two am, and you cook at two am, and you take your shower at two am, and— Actually, you could fix all of those issues by going to bed like a normal human being.”

That has the benefit of making you giggle.

“None of that makes you a terrible person,” he continues, satisfied with that small victory. “And I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I have never thought you were anything close to terrible.”

You let a long breath out. It doesn’t quite rid you from your fears — Minsu knew you for over ten years, he had much more time to discover all of your ugly parts — but it still helps.

“You know, I was doing really bad, the night you and Hyejin invited me to join you for a drink.”

“That was mostly Hyejin,” you say with a sniff. You’re not crying anymore, thankfully, but you don’t want to leave Hoseok’s embrace just yet.

“Because you’d rather die than talk to a stranger unless you absolutely have to,” Hoseok laughs, and you think that he’s gotten to know you quite well. “But you were really nice to me that night and I think I needed that.”

He lets go of you carefully, like you made of porcelain and he’s afraid you’re going to break if he’s too brusque. You don’t, obviously, but the world suddenly feels cold, without his arms around you. He grabs a box of tissue from the night-stand and hands them to you.

“Minsu’s an asshole for what he did to you,” he tells you, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “He should never have put you through that.”

“But—” But if he didn’t love me, he was right to leave me. He had the right to fall in love with someone else, even if it was going to hurt me. Sure, he could have done it another way, but is he to blame here?

“Not buts!” Hoseok protests. “Look, I know you must have loved him. I know that it’s not easy to reconcile that image of him with his actions, but you don’t have to look for excuses for him. You don’t even have to forgive him.”

You stare at Hoseok and, without a warning, you feel the absolute need to kiss him. You’ve thought about kissing him before, certainly, but it’s never been such a powerful urge. You can’t think of anything other than his lips against yours, his body pressed against your own, and it takes all your willpower to resist it.

Because, of course, kissing him as you’re talking about your ex would be a terrible idea and send all the wrong signals.

“You understand that, right?” he insists. He leans towards you so that his eyes are on the same level as yours and you think you really shouldn’t be looking in his beautiful brown eyes right now.

“I do,” you reply, glancing away.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t blame yourself for—”

“I get it, Hoseok. I promise.” Then, still without looking at him: “Thank you.”

He sighs.

“I’m so angry you had to go through that,” he says with a pout. “If I see him again, do you give me permission to break his nose?”

It should worry you that you actually consider the proposition.

“He’s not worth it,” you decide. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“What if I accidentally kick him in the shin?”

“Well, if it’s an accident…”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, and you’re utterly and completely in awe at the sound.

“You can count on me!” he winks, and he doesn’t know how he makes your heart flutter, how in this moment, you realize how utterly head over heels for him you are.

(It’s a pretty nice feeling, actually.)

Hoseok has another date over. You sleep on your couch again, and you try your best not to think about it.

(You take it back. It sucks.)

You run into Hoseok after coming back from doing your laundry. He’s in a good mood, and you hate that pang in your chest at the thought that it’s because of the girl he saw the other day. You should be happy for him. That’s the least you can do.

“Hey!” he greets you cheerfully. “Need some help with that?”

“Not really, I—”

But he’s already taken it from your hands. You shake your head with a smile as he gestures for you to get into the elevator before him. God, you like him.

“I can do that, you know,” you tell him at the doors close.

“Sure, but I can do it better.” Hoseok winks at you, then regains some seriousness. “How are you doing?”

From his tone, you know he doesn’t mean ‘in general’. He’s probably worried because of how you cried in his arms the other day, which you find a little embarrassing, but you still like that he asked.

“I’m doing great,” you tell him honestly.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Then you nudge him playfully. “Thanks to you.”

He has a little laugh, sounding unsure what to make of that, but you mean it. Talking about the situation did more good than you would ever have expected, and you’re… you’re just happy you did it with him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” he says, one second too late, like he’d been lost in his thoughts — except he wasn’t, he was looking at you. “Work, neighbors keeping me up, you know how it is.”

“Ugh, neighbors are the worst,” you grin.

“You’re telling me!”

The doors open with a ding, and the two of you step out, slowly making your way to your door. It’s silly, but you don’t want to leave his presence. You linger at your door for a few more minutes, talking about the weather, of all things. Finally, when all the small-talk you can muster has left your mouth, you hold your hands out to get your basket back.

“I feel like I’m constantly thanking you, these days,” you chuckle. “I wonder how I ever got anything done without you.”

“I think that deserves a kiss!” Hoseok exclaims, and your heart stops, but when you look at him, you see he’s tapping his cheek. He’s probably not serious and not expecting you to do anything.

But you get on your tiptoes and plant a brief kiss right where he was pointing.

“Thanks!” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as fast as possible so you don’t see his reaction. “Have a nice day!” you yell from behind it.

Hoseok looks at your door. You’re leaning against it on the other side, dying to look through the peephole to see his reaction, and yet not daring to. Because of that, you miss the way he rubs his cheek, the amused smile that follows it, and the way he skips away. You do hear his happy whistle, though, so you decide you can’t have gone completely wrong, and you’re happy with that.

You hesitantly knock on Hoseok’s door. Things didn’t work out with the girl, and he texted you to come over for one of your usual pity parties, but he didn’t seem as down about it as he usually is. Still, you stopped at a grocery store to pick up some wine while coming back from the publishing house where you work as a proofreader. You usually work from home — hence your ridiculous schedule — but you had needed to drop by to discuss some things. The conversation had been difficult on your end, taking a lot of energy from you, and you were definitely happy about going home and blowing off some steam with your neighbor.

From inside, you can hear Hyejin’s voice, but also several others, and that makes you recoil. Talking with strangers is not something you want to do tonight. But before you can choose to run off, the door opens, and you’re greeted by Hoseok’s beautiful smile, so of course, there is no way for you to leave.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaims happily. “And you’ve brought wine! That’s great, Hyejin was worried we might not have enough. Come on, I have some people I want to introduce you to.”

You don’t even try to escape when he puts an arm around your shoulder — you have to remind yourself that it’s Hoseok and that’s just a thing he does, that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything — and leads you into the apartment.

There, you find Hyejin sitting next to a tall, dark-haired guy you recognize from Hoseok’s dance performance.

The introductions and the smiles they give you almost make your head spin, and once they’re done, you’re relieved to be able to fall on a chair next to the one that’s been the most quiet so far — Yoongi, if your memory isn’t playing tricks on you. That relief only grows when he doesn’t try to talk to you. Instead, you give each other a silent nod, and you both seem very content to let the others do all the talking.

As it turns out, they don’t limit themselves to talking. They clearly all have a lot of energy to spend, and you can merely stare at it, mesmerized. The blonde guy standing by the kitchen sink — Jimin, you remember, forcing yourself to recall their names — starts to demonstrate some dance moves with perfect grace, and it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to abandon his spot next to Hyejin to join him, not as precise, but very enthusiastic. Hoseok jumps in, too, and suddenly there’s a dance crew in his living-room. These three have no business being this good.

“Jin, aren’t you going to join them?” Yoongi yells to a guy who has carefully moved out of the dancers’ way.

“Do you want to fight?” Jin shouts back, and Yoongi chuckles, clearly delighted he got a rise from his friend. “Why don’t you join them?”

Then Taehyung — fluffy brown hair — seemingly comes out of nowhere and tackles Jungkook, Namjoon — tall guy with glasses — who’d been pretty quiet so far gets up and tries to separate them, everyone picks a side and— It’s chaos.

It’s kind of like watching a car crash happen, except you’re having a lot of fun.

“They’re always like that,” Yoongi says next to you. His expression is perfectly stoic but his voice betrays his fondness.

“I guess now I understand where Hoseok gets all that energy from. He just doesn’t have a choice,” you smile, and Yoongi sighs.

For a moment, you don’t speak, happy with simply observing the others’ antics. You’re not sure how or why it happened, but Jin and Jungkook are the ones fighting now, and Hyejin, who’s clearly in her element here, is shouting some encouragements from her seat, which she hasn’t bothered to leave.

“Hoseok’s doing well,” Yoongi comments suddenly.

“I was thinking that, too,” you admit. “Usually, after things go wrong with a girl…”

“Is something happening between the two of you?”

You… had not been expecting that bluntness.

“Um,” you say, taken aback. Yoongi turns to look at you, and the way he glares at you makes you feel compelled to answer. He looked harmless a second ago, but now you’re thinking if looks could kill, you would be seconds away from getting murdered. You’re not sure what you did to deserve that, though. “I don’t think there is.” You tilt your head, thinking. “There definitely isn’t anything official.”

“I think Hoseok likes you,” Yoongi says without batting an eyelid.

You’re pretty sure telling you that breaks some kind of code, but, with the wonderful warmth spreading in your chest, you don’t think about complaining. Not for a second.

“I think I like Hoseok too,” you reply instead. You don’t know why you’re saying that to a near stranger, but when Yoongi nods, you feel that there is a deep understanding going on between the two of you.

“Hurt him and I will kill you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hurt him and I will steal your doormat.”

Yeah, that sounds more reasonable. If you hurt Hoseok, you’ll deserve to get your doormat stolen.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else on the subject, so you’re happy to drop it. You bring your attention back to the room to discover that Jungkook has wrestled Jin to the ground.

“How…”

“Don’t ask. I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.”

But, despite what he says, when Jin calls him, Yoongi jumps to the rescue. Namjoon takes his place next to you, making polite small talk, and it doesn’t feel as difficult as those things usually are for you. You’d even go as far as to say it’s… pleasant.

When you look up, you meet Hoseok’s worried eyes, and he smiles at you, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile back, and it’s like something melts inside you. It’s because of him, you piece together. You feel comfortable because you trust Hoseok to make you comfortable. And because those are his friends, and he wanted to introduce them to you… You feel safe.

Yoongi’s words replay in your mind. You have a hard time believing them, if you’re honest, but something has bloomed inside you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time, and something you don’t want to get rid of so quickly.

Hope.

“Will you be okay, Hobi?”

“We could help you clean!”

“I’m sorry about your lamp…”

Hoseok is quick to dismiss his friends’ concerns.

“It’s fine! (Y/N) is staying to help me, so you guys get home safely, okay? Namjoon, we can figure something out for the lamp.”

The tall man grimaces at that, and self-consciously rubs the back of his neck. You haven’t known him long, but something tells you it isn’t the first time something like that happens to him, which might explain why Hoseok is so calm about it. Then again, Hoseok always makes the best of every situation, so you can’t be quite sure.

“Here are your keys!” Jungkook says, handing them to you. He had just half-carried Hyejin to your apartment, where she’s going to spend the night. It’s for the best — she’s too drunk to get home by herself.

“Thanks,” you smile. It’s obvious that him and Hyejin have taken an interest in each other and, well, you think it wouldn’t be that bad if something happened there. He’s nice.

“So you guys are good?” Jimin insists, sounding worried. “You don’t want us to help?”

Hoseok firmly shakes his head.

“You get a good night of sleep!”

Greetings are exchanged, and then the door finally closes behind them, and it’s just you and Hoseok. He lets out a little sigh, then smiles at you.

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” he asks, proudly.

“They’re great,” you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you feel tired, but you actually had fun tonight, which is not something you can say about most of the parties you go to. “Namjoon knows a lot about books. It was nice talking to him.”

Hoseok hums, moving past you to start cleaning up.

“I’m glad you liked them! They were really looking forward to meeting you. Yoongi said I was talking about you too much and that it made him curious.”

“I think Hoseok likes you.”

“You were only telling them good things about me, of course,” you joke, picking up the dishes that are laying on the table to put them in the sink.

“Well, there’s nothing bad to talk about,” Hoseok replies with the same tone, but there’s an underlying note of honesty to his voice.

“That’s simply not true.”

Hoseok laughs. You wonder if he means it, even a little. There are bad things to say about you, no doubt, but you wonder if he at least thinks the good outweighs the bad.

You’d take that.

You do some more cleaning while talking about his friends, and you end up perched on a worktop next to him while he does the dishes. The rest of the room isn’t spotless, and you doubt that lamp can be fixed, so Hoseok will need to get rid of it, but you think you did a pretty good job, all in all.

Hoseok starts humming to himself, and in that moment, you feel— satisfied. There’s nothing in particular to produce that feeling, and yet it’s exactly it. Cleaning a room at one am with him and being by his side while he does the dishes… You’re happy like that, you realize. It’s a strange thing to think about, and maybe that’s why it gives you the courage to talk.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?”

When you don’t reply immediately, he looks up at you.

“What is it?” he asks. You take in a deep breath, run your fingers through your hair.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

His eyes go wide, and his movements stop completely. He just stares at you, and in that moment, you really, really hate yourself for asking.

“That’s— That’s cheating,” he manages to say after what feels like an eternity. “You have to try it to find out about that.”

That’s fair, you decide, and before you can question yourself further, you lean forward, choosing to take that as an invitation. You’re slow in your movements, in case he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still as your lips part, centimeters from his, as you put your hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and he’s still perfectly still when you finally press your lips against his mouth.

He tastes salty, like the snacks you had earlier. You don’t mind it.

The first thing to move is his mouth, pressing back against yours, and it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced.

Soon after that, his hands come out of the water and he quickly removes the gloves he was wearing. The second his right hand cups your cheek, the kiss turns urgent, passionate. His tongue darts into your mouth, and you wrap your arms around him with a pleased sigh, running your fingers on the back of his neck. A shiver runs through him, and next thing you know, he’s positioning himself between your legs, one hand firmly pulling you closer to him.

His body’s warm, toned, everything you’ve wanted for the past few months. He feels so good, and you’re quick to pull him in, hooking one of your legs behind his knee. He buckles, catches himself on the worktop and his lips stretch into a smile against yours. He tilts your head up ever so slightly, kissing you like he’s starving and wants to devour you whole. You respond with the same energy, fisting your hands in his shirt. It’s like you can’t get him close enough.

“How dare you,” Hoseok finally whispers when he pulls away from you, out of breath.

You shake your head, confused and a little dizzy. He’s grinning widely and looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders, so he’s definitely not mad at you, but you have no idea what he means by that.

“How dare you make the first move?” he says, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “You’re the— the most infuriating person I know.”

You laugh at that, let him kiss his way down to your neck. You trail your foot up his thigh to wrap your leg around him, beckoning him closer.

“Yoongi said he thought you liked me,” you admit to him, with one hand in his hair, softly caressing his scalp.

“Seriously? I feel like I should beat him up— but right now I kinda want to buy him flowers.”

“A cactus.”

“Joke’s on you, Yoongi loves cacti. Hey—” He stops kissing you, straightens, and looks into your eyes. Affection is dancing in his, but you can tell he’s being serious. “I like you. Like, really like you. So, um, if you’re not— if we’re not on the same page here…”

He can’t think that.

“I’d just— I’d just appreciate if you could let me know. Because I don’t think I can have something with you if you don’t— don’t really want it.”

He sounds worried, genuinely so. He’s looking at you, and you know he’s baring his heart out to you in that moment. It almost shatters you, this moment, this honesty, his fear. Somehow, the idea that you could hurt him, without meaning to, is the most terrifying of them all. Your mind flickers to Minsu, and you wonder how he could hurt you like that, if he felt that way about you even for a second — but you don’t care. All that matters is that you know you would never hurt Hoseok like that.

You kiss him and he closes his eyes, hand tightening on your waist.

“I really like you,” you whisper. “Really like how you smile,” He smiles softly against your mouth. “really like how you laugh,” You start unbuttoning his shirt. “really like it when I see you in the hallway and you always take the time to ask me how my day has been,” You run your fingers over his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin underneath yours, “really like the way you shine.”

“I shine?” he asks, stopping your hand to bring it to his lips, placing soft kisses on your fingertips.

You hum.

“More than anyone else.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but decides against it. He can’t find the words to respond. Instead, he kisses you.

“Bedroom?” he asks. As much as he would love to have you, right here, it’s not the most comfortable setting for the first time, and he wants to give you an opportunity to back out, if you don’t want that now.

But you very much do.

“That sounds perfect.”

It’s a small miracle that you make it to the bedroom when you can’t keep your hands or mouths off each other. On the way there, which is extremely short when you actually look where you’re going, you manage to bump into the table, several walls, and to kick down a plant.

“We’ll blame it on Namjoon,” Hoseok mumbles into your mouth, and you laugh. You’ve been doing a lot of that, ever since meeting him.

He pulls away from you to take off his shirt, and you’re quick to get rid of your pants, discarding them on the floor. You’re about to do the same thing with the top you’re wearing when Hoseok’s hands stop you.

“May I?”

Of course he can. He pulls it over your head, and kiss you when you emerge from it. First, his hands settle on your naked shoulders, then, slowly, he trails them down your arms, intertwining your fingers with his. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and you yourself get lost in the sensations, in how he’s towering over you, in how his hair brush against your temples, in the heat that radiates from him.

You inch closer to him, and he lets out a soft moan when you press yourself against him. You reach behind to get rid of your bra, and when it falls to the ground, your finally feel his skin against yours.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispers in a low voice.

You pull him towards you as you climb onto the bed, and he follows, just like he follows when you lay down. Everything, his kisses, his touches, his body on top of yours— it all feels slow. Intimate. His long fingers run over your side, and you shiver. You want so much more than this, and yet it already feels overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks you.

You look up at him. He’s kneeling between your legs, still wearing his black pants, draped over you. His pupils are wide, his body is so hot it could be on fire, and you can definitely feel his hardness pressed against you. He’s perfect.

“I’m sure,” you say, and when you kiss him again, his response isn’t slow anymore. Instead, he rolls his hips into you, and the friction forces a low moan out of you. That makes him smile.

One of his hands runs over your thigh as he gently spreads you open.

“I want you so bad,” he tells you in an urgent whispers.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“You’re impossible.”

But he listens, and after that, you don’t know what to focus on. His lips and his tongue, making their way down your neck, kissing your breasts, teasing your nipples, or his hands, as his thumb rubs against your clit and he slides a long finger inside you.

Your fingers dig into his hair and you bite on your lower lip harshly. You’re not usually loud in bed, but you know that moans and whimpers and pleas will come cascading out if you don’t stop them. You wouldn’t normally have a problem with that, but Hyejin is sleeping in your apartment, and you would appreciate it if she didn’t hear you.

Hoseok easily pushes another finger inside you, scissoring you open, and your entire body arches into him. You close your eyes, quietly calling out his name.

“You’re doing so good,” Hoseok whispers to you, voice so full of affection you feel that your heart is going to burst. “You look so, so beautiful for me.”

You’re so wet, so tight around his hand, and you want him so badly, want more than that, but there is no way you can stop him right now. You feel at his mercy and, fortunately for you, he’s the kindest tormentor there is.

“Fuck,” he says one more time, eyes roaming over your body, the way you’ve completely abandoned yourself in his arms, head thrown back, eyes closed. He wants to give you everything.

He increases his pace and wet sounds fill the room. You can’t think of anything other than him, and your mind is filled with Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok!

You come when he adds in a third finger. You tighten around him, letting out a high-pitched moan over which you have absolutely no control. Hoseok lets you ride your orgasm before removing his hand, still whispering praise in your ear.

It takes you a few moments to come down from your high, and when you do, you’re only too aware that he hasn’t gotten much from this at all, still painfully hard against your hip. You reach out to cup him through his jeans, and he groans, burying his head in your neck.

“You don’t have to,” he says, despite bucking against your hand. “I’m fine with—”

“Hoseok, trust me, I want this as much as you do.”

You kiss him, fumbling around to unbutton his jeans, and he joins you in pushing his pants down. He moans, louder than you did earlier, when you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him at a devilishly slow pace. His body is tense as a bow, his kiss turning sloppy when you tighten your grip ever so slightly. You love it, love the way he moans for you, love how vocal he is, love how his hips jerk to meet your movements even though you’re pretty sure he’s trying to keep still.

“If you keep that going, I’m going to—” Hoseok starts, small gasps breaking off his sentence, and you regretfully take your hand off him.

He’s thankful for it, because he desperately wants to have you, but he still can’t help the moan of disappointment that escape his lips. Someone else might feel embarrassed at how it makes you giggle, and maybe he would, but he sees adoration in your eyes when you look at him, when you lift a hand to stroke his cheek, and he simply doesn’t. He can’t when everything about you screams how much you care for him.

You slide your drenched panties down your legs and wait not so patiently as Hoseok reaches in the nightstand for a condom, then struggles to open the wrapper. Your foot rubs against his calf as he struggles to open it up, working as a painful reminder that you’re there, so close, so wet, so ready…

“Not helping,” he mumbles, fucking finally opening it. You join in to roll it on, your hand feeling so damn good around him, and when you lay on your back, there’s impatience in your eyes. He kind of wants to tease you about it, make the moment last, but he doesn’t have the strength to do that right now.

Instead, he lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes himself inside you. Your moan sounds loud, even with you trying to muffle it, and he replies with a groan. You push yourself on an elbow, shifting to find a more comfortable position, and you end up sitting on his thighs, straddling him. One of his hands comes rest on the small of your back, stabilizing you, while he puts the other one behind him to support his weight.

It’s overwhelming already, you around him, your breasts pressed against him, the kisses you’re peppering against his mouth.

And then you start moving. At first, you roll your hips experimentally, making sure you’ve adjusted to his cock inside you. When Hoseok throws his head back, though, you start bobbing up and down. It’s not a movement you could do for too long, but you don’t think you’re going to need long.

You wrap your arms tightly against him as you find just the right angle. You barely know what you’re doing, hips moving almost uncontrollably so he keeps hitting that sweet, sweet spot. Your thighs’ muscles start burning, but Hoseok’s moans, the desperate way he repeats your name like a mantra, keep you going.

“(Y/N), I’m— I’m gonna—”

You reach down to touch yourself, fingers rolling over your clit so you get just what you need to get over the edge.

Hoseok comes seconds before you do, with a loud moan. His fingers dig into your hip, and it’s probably going to leave a mark, but you’re doing the same thing with his shoulders. You chase your second orgasm of the night frantically and find it as he’s starting to soften inside you.

You collapse on top of him, both your bodies sweaty and exhausted but so, so deeply content.

It takes a while before either of you speaks again.

“Shower?” Hoseok asks, sleepily, and you nod. You feel good. You feel good against him, and you feel good when the two of you stumble towards the bathroom. You feel good when your body is pressed against him inside, all tensions gone, and you feel good when you rest your head on his chest in bed, drowsing into sleep next to him.

That’s all him, you realize. That’s all Hoseok.

And you’re more than happy with that conclusion.

As you’re getting ready for the marriage of two of your high school friends, you idly wonder how it’s going to be, to see Minsu there again, and then it hits you. You haven’t thought about him in a long, long time.

It’s not like he was always on your mind, after the break-up, but it did feel like you took a piece of him everywhere you went, a pain that never quite disappeared, a constant thorn in your side. You had tried your best, fully aware that it wasn’t doing you any good, but it was hard, after eight years, to get used to a world without him again. You wonder when you became okay with it again.

There’s a knock at your door, and you find Hoseok waiting for you when you open the door. He looks amazing. Perfect. Like all you ever wanted. You've been together for months now, and yet you can't seem to get used to it. You don't know if you really want to, either. You like being dazzled every time you see him. He flashes you a smile and leans in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“You remember that you have a key, right?”

“Oh, I do remember, I just like knocking here. Brings back some memories I like.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, eyeing your dress, and you humor him with a little twirl.

“Hyejin helped me pick it.”

Hyejin is probably the reason you’re invited to the wedding, actually. She had never cared about your outburst against Minsu, but some of your friends definitely hadn’t appreciated it, and you understood why they wouldn’t want that kind of crazy to their wedding. However, after you’d told her about how the break-up went down, she had pleaded for you, and gotten you off the persona non grata list.

She would probably have murdered you for not telling her sooner, but you used that same conversation to tell her about you and Hoseok, and that had overshadowed the first half of that discussion entirely.

Yes, you’re aware, that was a little manipulative, but it was that or being killed by your best friend, so you have no regrets.

“Hyejin has great tastes.”

“Don’t tell that to Jungkook, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, something akin to pride shining in his eyes. He loves that his friends are your friends now, loves that his favorite people all enjoy each other’s company.

He extends his hand to you, smiles when you take it. He initiates physical contact more often than not, but you never decline it.

“All good to go?”

You nod. You don’t tell him that honestly, he’s all you need to face the rest of the world.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

You don’t like weddings. You know, shocker, considering how sociable of a person you are, but seriously, the more weddings you go to, the less you enjoy them. It’s not that you don’t love your friends and don’t want to see them happy, because you do, and they’re the only reason you put yourself through that. You guess you’re put off by how many people there are, and how big it all is. Hyejin’s a bridesmaid here, so you heard a lot about the planning, and it sounds like something straight out of your worst nightmares. It’s simply not for you.

Hoseok puts his hand on the small of your back, palm open, and it immediately ground you, calms the anxiety that had been bubbling inside you. Your anxiety is such an old companion when you’re in a public setting that it’s almost weird to feel it disappear. It’s not like Hoseok is a magical way of making it go away, it doesn’t always work, but it definitely helps. Just another one of the many perks of being with him.

“Everything okay?” he asks gently, and your heart explodes with the love you feel for him.

Without thinking, you push yourself up to kiss him. It’s a chaste kiss, appropriate for the situation, but Hoseok closes his eyes, loses himself in it. When he opens them, he looks a little surprised, like he always does when you’re the one to initiate a kiss.

“Everything’s fine,” you say.

His eyes glide to stare at something behind you, and you turn around before he can stop you.

There, of course, are Minsu and his girlfriend. It looks like it’s working well between the two of them.

You can’t say this doesn’t make you feel anything. That would be a lie. You don’t think you can forgive Minsu, don’t think you want to, and you certainly don’t want to be his friend, or even to talk to him, but you’re not angry anymore. If he did come over, you’d probably handle it better than you did last time. Hyejin might not, though, and judging by the way Hoseok tenses next to you, he might not either.

But instead of walking over and throwing a glass of wine at Minsu’s stupid face, Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you put your head on his shoulder.

You definitely like that better.

“They—” He clears his throat. “Your friends told me they thought he was the love of your life.” You snort at that. “That you guys had so much in common, and that they didn’t know how you’d ever find someone you were as compatible with.”

It’s so strange to you that Hoseok is the one who has insecurities about your relationship. As if he let you any choice but to be completely and utterly taken in by him.

You put his hand over his, which is spread over your stomach.

“They were wrong. He’s happy without me,” you tell him quietly. “and I’m definitely happy without him.”

At some point, maybe Minsu was the love of your life. When you were sixteen and you thought you would never love anyone else, or when you were twenty and moving in together, or even when you were twenty-four, the day before he shattered your heart.

But he isn’t anymore, and you can’t even imagine what your life would be if you had stayed with him, can’t imagine what your future would have been like. Can’t imagine your life without Hoseok.

“I love you, Hoseok,” you say, and he takes in a deep breath. “I don’t care how compatible I was with him— clearly, it didn’t change anything in the end. You’re the only one I want.”

“We’re not very compatible,” he comments.

“That’s true.”

“Your schedule is the absolute worst.”

“I think it’s fine.”

“You like horror movies.”

“Horror movies are great, but I promise I won’t make you watch them.”

“You refuse to ask the landlord to break down a wall between our apartments.”

“That is objectively a terrible idea.”

“Then we should find a place where we can live together.”

That quiets you for a few seconds as you think about it, before turning towards him. Hoseok has a cautious look on his face, but hope is shining in his eyes. No matter how scared he is, he is always willing to try. That’s only one of the many things you love about him, but that’s exactly what gets you right now.

“We should,” you say.

Minsu disappears from your mind, goes back to the oblivion where he belongs, and you only focus on the present, on the man you have in front of you.

“I love you,” he says before kissing you, and in that moment, everything feels perfect.

As long as Hoseok is by your side, you know you can take on anything.

[simonalkenmayer]

Hey Simon, I'm getting death threats and just pure garbage in my own inbox today from Terfs. So that's fun.

Any advice on how to deal with it?

Yes, actually.

1. Know that you are right, and that they are bigots. (Put a pin in that, I’ll get back to it later)

2. Stop caring what bigots think. Yes it affects you, but stop taking it to heart. Threats and vitriol are the vestige of the weak and pointless. People who really mean to harm you, don’t tell you they will. They just do. So if they threaten you, you’re pissing them off and there’s nothing they can do, so keep it up! You have to actually realize that you aren’t wrong, and that you are living your truth, and that their nonsense is just that. They have no power, except that which you choose to grant their impotent caterwauling.

3. Don’t try to reason with them. Do you know what psychology and group dynamics says about such people? To belong to the group from which they find the most support, swallowing the rhetoric hook, line, and sinker is critical. People will literally tear apart their own lives, their minds, and the information of their own ethics and senses to agree with the group, so as to obtain the benefits of it. You cannot reason with them, or walk them through the contradictions. It’s impossible. They must come to the realization themselves, usually when the group harms them too, because they don’t match up to an increasingly insular and impossible standard, or fail prey to those members of the group who use it as a means to power.

4. Don’t reply to their asks. I’ve done many many essays on how the ask box feature on this site can be used to toy with someone’s mind and self-esteem. They don’t have the platform unless you publish the ask. So here’s what you do: screen cap it. Put it in a file just for the hate mail. Keep that file religiously. Then when you want to make a point, you can trot it out, or you can experience the sheer bliss of deleting the asset, blocking them, and replying to their nonsense in a post of your own, which I sometimes do, but only if I feel the ask allows me to make a point about something larger.

5. Make fun of them. They hate it. The more you mock them, the harder they come back with insults and petulance. Meaning the more impotent they show themselves to be. You really must embrace the concept that their bullying shows who and what they are, while your patience demonstrates who you are. Don’t worry about your reputation. Who cares about that? Who cares about what bigots say? Not I. So it should only bother you, if they have some kind of influence over your actual life. Internet TERFs do not meet the criteria for giving fucks.

6. Don’t try to see their point of view. Their point of view is actually quite simple: if gender is a construct then all that matters is physical sex, and men oppress women, even to the point of “pretending” to be women, or telling “girls” they must butcher themselves to be accepted. It’s incredibly naive, offensively misandrist, and fundamentally flawed in logic. It ignores the biology it pretends to leverage. It ignores the complexity of human self-awareness, and it simultaneously denies all the bad patriarchy does to men also. It’s not reasonable. You can’t argue for freedom whilst also arguing a limitation to that freedom. That’s not how freedom works.

7. Get really good at rolling your eyes. Hell, start a bingo game. I’d play.

8. Get acquainted with logical fallacies. There’s tremendous spiritual comfort in being able to name each flaw as it comes your way. Each rhetorical device becomes petty. Each logical fallacy becomes a weapon you don’t even have to use. Plus it infuriates them. It makes your sense of purpose feel much more sound and resolved. Strength in knowledge. Stop fighting for selfhood, because that will tax your emotions to their limits, instead, argue rational thought. They hate that. Why? Because they must defend that with their all, in order to be right, and it taxes them to their limits instead.

9. Reply to all terf asks with a well-chosen inspirobot meme. Like this one:

10. Ask them a question in reply, increasing in silliness until they move on. Such as “How far up your ass is your head, really?”

Essentially, my friend, what I’m trying to say to you is: Bigots become bigots because they were hurt by something and used faulty reasoning to think through it, or they were indoctrinated by someone who was. These groups are insular, and members either jockey for power, or they cancel out their own senses and reasoning to be able to stay in the group. They are not functioning in any way that aligns to benefit, reason, kindness, or even freedom. There’s any number of ways to prove this, but the easiest and most assured way you can know it, is by their behavior. Bullying is unbecoming and frankly? Stupid. Bullying online in an askbox? Fucking absurd. Do not take it personally because they would do it to anyone even half as brave as you.

TL;DR TERFism is ridiculous, and not founded in rational thought, extending from personal bias. Facts show that gender, biological sex, and sexual preference are all spectrums. Humans are complicated. Freedom embraces complexity. And inspirobot is amazing at comebacks. Oh, and also, if you’re a TERF or sensitive to that cause, you may view this as your opportunity to leave my blog, before I end up asking if you’ve rectally inserted your foot into your mouth yet today.

Thank you kindly.

[mypatchworkreflection]

"What they're saying: This heat wave has left some climate scientists shaken and dejected at how prescient their warnings were, yet how little the global agenda has changed, with greenhouse gases still building up in the atmosphere and no signs of an imminent, sharp course correction.

"As a human, my heart breaks that we have not mustered the political will to meet the climate crisis with the urgency that is required," said Andrea Dutton, a climate researcher at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, via email.

"My scientific mind understands that this summer will be one of the coolest for the rest of our lifetimes unless we decide to treat the climate crisis like the emergency that it is. What seems horrific today will seem mild in comparison to what is to come - unless we take our opportunity to act now," Dutton said.

Michael Wehner, who specializes in studying heat extremes at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, said the early research connecting heat wave severity to greenhouse gas emissions is now more than two decades old.

"To my great disappointment, we were right. In fact, if anything, those early projections of extreme temperatures were overly conservative," he told Axios via email."

And do you know who's to blame for this? Why, the ultra wealthy, of course! Buying the submission of governments to keep change from happening, because it would make them slightly less wealthy. Most recently, the US had a plan called the “Clean Energy Standard” that would have helped utilities replace coal and gas with renewable fuels, worked to keep costs low for consumers, and lots of other good, sensible things. But Joe Manchin kept making them whittle it down, and still voted against it anyway. Because apart from having lots of money coming from coal directly, Manchin is raking in ridiculous piles of dough from other rich bastards who value money more than the literal well being of the entire fucking planet.

If we don't do something, billionaires will be the death of humanity itself.

[britishth0t]

Hyperactive (With slight homicide)

This is my first post on Tumblr (not my first post overall as I have Wattpad, but I'll post my username here when I've added my Klarion one-shots on there unless people want it lmao

You grabbed his interest when you were hanging out with your friends near the old cinema.

He seemed intrigued at first when even Teekl became slightly amused by your hyper personality.

Klarion may or may not have stalked you for a bit because of that

Eventually, Klarion did admit you seemed fun to Teekl, and wanted to get to you know you better in person.

Both of you finally met each other when you were walking around the harbour, taking photos of the sea and the horizon even if you knew you would delete them later.

Teekl thought this would be a great time for Klarion to introduce himself to you.

She half prayed that Klarion wouldn't freak you out, and the other half wanting you to not make Klarion too annoyed.

Somehow, it went really well.... A bit too well, as you two then talked as if you had known each other for years

Lets just say, you're both extremely hyper. I mean, it's Klarion.

You being a hyperactive person and him having chaos magic while also wanting mischief? It's a perfect yet dangerous match.

Teekl rethinks her choice about you two being together, as she now has to deal with two children and not one.

This also means that the Light have to deal with another 'kid' as well, since Klarion will definitely bring you to at least one meeting.

They're a bit cautious about you on first impression, not too sure if you're using Klarion to get information about the Light

But after a while, they see how much you deal with when you're with Klarion, and figure out that no one can put up a façade for that long

Yeah, even the Light know that you're one hyper son-of-a-b*tch

I wouldn't say you're obnoxiously loud, it's just being in a Light meeting no one is really talking except you, so it's dead quiet other than that. Nevertheless, you can be extremely deafening without realising it

Klarion's magical powers gives you a lot more freedom when being with him. Like, a lot more freedom, he's a lord of Chaos, you basically have no limits.

You can now do all the crazy sh*t you've ever wanted to do with Klarion by your side, and he's more than willing to join you in whatever ideas you have

A couple of times Teekl has to warn him that you're still a mortal, so he does lay off a bit from time to time to avoid getting you seriously injured

If you do get hurt, Klarion is gunna freak tf out, trying to play it off cool but failing

All adventures go out the window if you get hurt. And if you try to get up saying "I'm fine", he'll magically trap you in your bed to rest.

Don't test him, he will do it

A lot of things may break, and it's whether or not Klarion will fix it with his powers or not after... Probably not, it's not like either of you really care

If the Young Justice team do meet you, it's because you were in a forest with Klarion, messing around while climbing from branch to branch in the trees while Klarion floated next to you

The two of you were ambushed by the team, as Zatanna had sensed Klarion's power in that area while the team were nearby

They would have saved you, but you're surprisingly very good at climbing trees for any of them to grab hold of you, something that actually made them impressed

Klarion was very unhappy, so unhappy that you had to mention about going back home to hang out there to calm him down

Couple of times you'd wander off too far that Klarion isn't able to find you and would have to teleport you to him in order to know where you are, the only big thing that does get him slightly annoyed.

^ If you can make Klarion take responsibility (other than over Teekl) and act like a parent, my respect goes to you

You two don't have any rules apart from when you're injured, although there is one thing that bugs you both

2 hyper devils + "Calm down"= Death stare with Klarion hexing whoever said that

No one is allowed to tell you guys to calm down

Klarion x homicidal hyper reader ⚠️Mentions death⚠️

You met each other like the first one, except that you seemed more wanting to go into danger and edge your friends into doing bad things than actually have fun

This time, Klarion was intrigued before Teekl

He noticed your cold yet intense gaze on everyone that was near you

Something about you was odd. Klarion knew that but he didn't know what was making you seem so odd

It's not until you become best friends that he finally realises your love for murder

While you got along with Klarion before him knowing this, wow he's ecstatic that he finally knows what seemed off with you

He tempts you into murder as well, seeing that you showed to be very refrained from not doing anything about your homicidal thoughts

Catches on very quickly how manipulative you can be with your friends, friends that Klarion now wants to be your first kills

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take that much convincing from Klarion to make you agree to killing your soon-to-be-dead mates

He helps of course, trapping them all and giving you all sorts of weapons to use on them

It's like a holiday for both of you

You even asked Klarion at one point to make their screams quieter since they were annoying you

And after you had finishing butchering your friends, Klarion realised that he like-liked you and confessed right there

Yep, Klarion did just admit to liking you while standing in the middle of dead bodies scattered around at your feet

Soon after that, you both start doing more destruction together

Limits? F*ck no

Hell, if you asked for half of the moon to be destroyed, Klarion would snap his fingers and bam, moon gone.

One time you asked Klarion to give you powers like superman, just so you could fly and mess around in the city

It started off as just throwing cars as far as you could, not exactly caring if people were inside or not

Which then turned into full blown 'lemme jump/crash into one sky scrapper to another', looking like a monkey swinging from vines in a jungle

While the heroes didn't enjoy your hyper and destructive personality nor Klarion, the news loved you. The amount of reports you and Klarion got in the news just boosted both of your ego's

"Double trouble strikes again!" "Witch boy causes havoc with anonymous villain" "League fail to stop villains, have they met their match?" "Criminals cause devastating downfall on the city" "61 lives lost in under an hour" You felt prideful in the last one, a new record in your books

If you two ever go out to have dates, it'll 100% always end with something, mostly a building, being completely destroyed

Whenever the 'kiddie' team as Klarion calls them, or the Justice League come; they're always too late to stop you two

Even if Batman claims they were so close to stopping you, he's wrong. The heroes don't even manage to get you two to notice them arriving, already going off to have some fun somewhere else

You've mentioned about wanting to kill at least one of the heroes out of spite and because you felt like it on multiple occasions

Klarion would love to snap his fingers to have every hero there for you to choose from, yet he couldn't do that because of Vandal wanting some of them alive. Especially Lex with Superboy.

You get along nicely with the Light, as they trust you enough to know that you can calm Klarion down and that you're classed as a criminal

Occasionally, you have unnerved them with the gory deaths about some of your kills, Klarion kissing your cheek out of pure happiness from hearing the defined details

Teekl doesn't really care about it as long as you get the blood off her fur if you get any on her later.

A lot of lives are lost when you two are together... Which is all the time

(Secretly, the young justice team have envied how much freedom you get when with Klarion-> This is after they have to tidy up the mess you two make)

Sorry if this isn't very good, literally made this and posted it the same day. I've loved Klarion's character for quite a long time now and saw that, although the fanfics are good, there isn't a lot of them. I'm down for requests, but right now I don't think I can do many. You can send me stuff and I'll write it down, just don't be upset if I don't post it in the next week or two. If this isn't up to your standards then srry aha, I realise I don't add much fluff and focus more on the storyline, but there's always room for improvement tho✌️

[lovextriangle]

Imagine Kili after the Battle of the Five Armies

The battle was over. Yet, that didn’t mean much to Kili now, not when the price for such victory was too costly. He knew this was what everyone had hoped for, to beat the dragon, to reclaim their home no matter who stood in there way. Be it man, elf, or orc. At some point in time all had tried to stop them, events led to sides switching and the good prevailed against evil once more in Middle Earth. But losing them was never part of the plan.

The tears swelled up in his eyes as he thought back to his uncle, lying back on the frozen lake. He didn’t want to think about how the color of the ice had looked like Thorin’s eyes, so glazed over, no longer there. But the tears started to fall when he thought of his brother. Fili, his dearest brother, who had been ambushed by Azog. It was antagonizing to remember how the blade had been shoved through his twin’s chest. Kili clenched his fingers into his palms, Fili’s lifeless body being thrown to the bottom of the icy ridge.

Thorin had been the one to get revenge from Azog, which left Kili to the rest of the bottom-feeders. Pure rage was what had pushed him through, after it was all said and done he collapsed and was almost thought dead himself. Covered in blood of his and others. Death was too sweet of an escape from the reality Kili had to face now. A world where his family was ripped apart and thrown away and he had to fill in the place that was meant for others.

You knew of all these troubles that Kili was facing, that Kili was thinking of daily. Even three years after the Battle of the Five Armies, the funerals, and his enunciation as King Under the Mountain. That mountain being Erebor of course, the mountain that the company, and especially his Uncle had worked so hard to gain back. You had a feeling Kili still didn’t feel like it was his place or his right, he was a very young king for dwarf standards. His beard still peach fuzz and lack of growing.

It had been your duty ever since Kili was declared king to be his auditor. Almost like an advisor but for more personal, non-kingdom related issues. You were a great listener from an early age. All else that was needed was a soft tone, and kind eyes. Both of which you seemed blessed with. Today’s talk had been sudden as it was right after a council meeting with some of Kili’s old company members. Most had joined in high ranks, rightfully earned by their contribution to their journey and loyalty.

You sat across from the king, legs crossed underneath your dress. You sat upright and waiting for him to begin, but you had a feeling this session would be an intense one. So instead of keeping silent, you said, “Usually we stick to the planned schedule your Highness,” the upcoming meeting had been just two days later. “but you called for me sooner, may I ask why?” You had an idea as to why, but the process would only be helpful to Kili if he himself understood why he choose to seek you sooner.

“I couldn’t wait til then.” His words were clipped and on the other side of short table sat Kili. His hands holding the armrest on either side. He looked strained, nearly holding himself together. “What happened today?” Your tone was soft and soothing, trying to calm his nerves. What usually worked only had Kili flinching back, cringing at the thought of what put his mind into such unrest. “I thought I could get through the meeting..” his dark brown eyes were glued to the wall behind you. “but knowing them, things wouldn’t be over unless they were mentioned.”

Balin had called the meeting to a close, the diplomatic talk subsided into more friendly converse. Kili was happy to just sit and listen in on his old friends conversations, thinking more about what meal he would have. That is until he heard, “ah I still remember as if it were yesterday. Thorin herding us together, wee lads Kili and Fili…”

It only took their names for Kili to go into a shock of memories. What would have been happiness was replaced by loneliness and misery, a pain so heart-wrenching took over his lungs, as if he had been punched several times in the gut. He staggered to his feet, wanting to hear no more. “Kil- your Majesty?” Oin was just as startled from the abrupt motion from his left. “Are you alri-“

��Leave me be.” Kili bellowed and he shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see any of their pained faces. Knowing all of them would see him as weak, what they could get over was something he couldn’t bare to think about. Kili turned for the door, exiting the room and immediately his guards were by his side. “Tell y/n to meet me immediately.” No mention of the place was needed, his close guards knew where the both of you met regularly.

None of this needed to be stated for you to understand what Kili had meant by them or they. This hadn’t been the first time nor would it be the last, some things never healed. But you had hope for the healing, because no matter the severity time could mend the broken.

“I see their faces, cold and undead more often when their names are spoken aloud.” Thorin and Fili would have such a disdainful gaze, both staring from the ground which they were sprawled upon. Staring Kili down, eyes that said, “You didn’t save us” or “You should’ve joined us” it made chills run through the brown haired dwarf. He rubbed his thumbs against his temple, trying to ease the headache and make the images go away.

At times like these, words were hard to say. What could you say to someone who couldn’t stand to here the name of their own beloved uncle or twin because of such a tragedy. They were brutally killed by evil creatures who tortured for fun. They were killed for wanting their homeland back. They had been killed and it wasn’t Kili’s fault. But he felt the blame, and part of him didn’t want to exist in a world without his close kin.

The silence was thick and though it was your job to listen, you knew in this moment something needed to be said. “My king, no one but yourself blames you for the tragedy,” you continued on trying your best to maintain eye contact, “They risked their lives just like you did yours, and dare I say, they would be upmost proud to see how far you have come and how far you have carried your people.” Kili’s eyes met yours finally moving away from the wall. He felt heavy, in his chest, and his vision started to blur. He grieved his loss, the tears streaming down his face. He missed his brother so much, missed the guidance that Thorin gave. He longed so much to turn back time, to stick by his brothers side, to do so much differently.

You couldn’t stop yourself from getting up from your chair, crossing the couple of feet between the two of you, and kneeling down in front of your king. With a few more thoughts running through your head, if it was proper or the right thing to do, you pushed all things to the side you decided to stand and embrace him. Your arms easily wrapping around him in a comforting hug, to which he immediately leaned in, wanting the comfort you offered. This only made you want to do more, to ease his pain somehow, as your hands went up from his back to his neck, going into his hair. Combing through it with your fingers, one hand going back down to rub his back.

You both stayed like that for awhile. Kili’s tears had stopped after some time but still no one moved. In fact Kili moved closer, his face burying into your chest not wanting to leave. This was unprofessional but at the same time, you didn’t mind one bit. If this helped Kili in any way, especially with overcoming his strifes, then you would give him all the comfort and hugs he needed. Because even though he was going through such grief, he was a true King, and the best dwarf for the job in your opinion.

He deserved all the happiness in the world.