#and it seems like i lost a follower for this

[trulyumai]

the lonely cabin isn’t what it seems

— Pairing: Young!Stanford Pines / Reader

—Synopsis: Lost and confused, a woman spots her lifeline; a seemingly desolate and empty cabin. She meets Ford, pleads for his help and shelter only to find things aren’t as they seem. As the scientist starts to fall deeper and deeper for the woman, he realizes they aren’t alone. He’s watching.

Warnings: none so far!

A/N: I finally got to watch Gravity falls and noticed this was a requested character, enjoy this new series!

Part One: The Unexpected Guest

Stanford Pines had always loved the isolation of his cabin, surrounded by nature’s beauty. But tonight, as the wind howled outside, he found himself feeling a strange pang of loneliness.

He was deep in thought, hunched over his cluttered workbench, examining an intricate device he had been tinkering with for weeks. The cabin was filled with books, gadgets, and the faint smell of pine. Stanford often lost track of time here, but tonight felt different; he could sense a storm brewing outside.

Just as he was about to put his tools down for the evening, a loud knock echoed through the stillness. Startled, he pushed away from his workbench, his heart racing. Who would be out here in this weather?

He opened the door cautiously, revealing a figure shivering on his doorstep. She was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face, and her eyes wide with fear.

“Uh, can I help you?” Ford asked, his voice a mix of surprise and caution.

“Please, I’m lost,” she said, her voice trembling. “I saw your cabin from the trail, and I just need somewhere to stay until the storm passes.”

Ford hesitated. He was used to solitude, preferring the company of books and experiments over people. “I don’t usually take in strangers,” he replied, trying to keep his tone firm.

The woman looked up at him, and he caught her gaze. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that tugged at something inside him. She was cute, even with her disheveled appearance, and the thought of turning her away made his heart ache.

“Please,” she whispered, shivering violently. “I’ll just stay for a little while. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

With a heavy sigh, Ford stepped aside. “Fine. Come in.”

As she entered, he noticed her apprehensive demeanor. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to regain warmth. Ford quickly closed the door behind her, the howling wind now a muffled roar.

“you can um, sit by the fire,” he said, gesturing toward the small hearth where flames flickered, casting a warm glow across the room. “I’ll get you a towel.”

While he rummaged through a closet, he could feel her gaze following him. He handed her the towel, avoiding her eyes. “You should dry off.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, smiling as she took the towel. There was something endearing about her shy demeanor, and it made him feel a little flustered.

After a few minutes, the two settled into an awkward silence, the only sound being the crackling fire. Ford couldn’t help but steal glances at her. She was smaller than him, with a kind face, and he noticed the way her eyes sparkled when she looked around the room, taking in his chaotic yet fascinating workspace.

“What do you do here?” she asked, breaking the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I’m a scientist,” he replied, his voice a bit more relaxed. “Researching the anomalies in this area.”

“Anomalies?” Her interest piqued, and he felt a rush of excitement.

“Yeah, strange occurrences, supernatural phenomena,” he said, the words flowing more easily now. “You’d be surprised what’s out there in these woods.”

Her eyes lit up, and he could see her mind racing. “Like what?”

He leaned back in his chair, his passion igniting. “Well, there’s a portal to another dimension not far from here. I’ve seen creatures that defy the laws of physics. It’s fascinating.”

“Really?” she whispered, captivated. “You must have so many incredible stories.”

He chuckled, surprised by her enthusiasm. “You could say that. Most people don’t believe me, though.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Ford shrugged, feeling a mix of pride and frustration. “People tend to fear what they don’t understand. It’s easier to dismiss it as nonsense.”

“I think it’s amazing,” she said earnestly. “You’re like a real-life scientist. It’s inspiring.”

Her compliment caught him off guard, and he felt a warmth rising to his cheeks. “It’s nothing special,” he mumbled, looking away.

The storm raged outside, but inside, the atmosphere shifted. They began to exchange stories—she shared tales of her life, her shy nature making her adventures sound all the more charming. Ford found himself laughing more than he had in a long time.

As the hours passed, Ford felt a connection growing between them, an unspoken bond. The way she listened, her wide eyes fixed on him as he spoke, made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Why do you live out here all alone?” she asked, her tone softening.

“It’s… complicated,” he replied, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. “I needed a place to think, away from the chaos of the world.”

“You don’t have to be alone, you know,” she said gently. “I’m sure there are people who would love to be around you.”

Ford looked at her, taken aback by her sincerity. “I appreciate that, but people can be difficult. I’m not exactly the most social person.”

“But you’re so interesting,” she insisted. “You have all these incredible ideas and stories. I want to hear more.”

He chuckled nervously, feeling his heart race. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “I mean it.”

In that moment, he realized how much he had come to appreciate her presence. She had a way of making him feel alive, as if the walls he had built around himself were slowly crumbling.

As the fire crackled and the storm raged outside, Ford found himself wanting to share more of himself with her, to let her in. It felt terrifying yet exhilarating.

“Can I show you something?” he asked suddenly, his heart pounding.

“Sure!” she replied, her excitement palpable.

He led her to his workshop, a room filled with strange inventions and diagrams scattered across the walls. “This is where I do most of my work,” he said, feeling a mix of pride and anxiety.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder. “This is incredible!”

Ford couldn’t help but smile as she inspected his gadgets. “I’ve been working on a new device that could help understand the anomalies better,” he said, gesturing to a complex machine. “It’s still a work in progress, though.”

She leaned closer, studying the intricate details. “It’s so fascinating how your mind works,” she said, glancing up at him with admiration. “I can’t believe you built all of this.”

Her words sent a thrill through him. “Thank you,” he said, feeling a warmth in his chest. “I’ve always loved solving problems, figuring things out.”

“I can see that,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re like a genius.”

Ford laughed, but he felt a blush creeping up his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But you are,” she insisted, her eyes sincere. “You have this passion that’s just… captivating.”

He felt a rush of warmth at her words, his heart racing as their gazes locked. The air between them thickened with an unspoken tension, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she felt it too.

“Um, I—” he started, but the words caught in his throat.

Before he could continue, she reached out and touched his arm gently, grounding him. “Thank you for taking me in… I know how bothersome it might be but I really appreciate it.” She smiled, light and honest.

The sincerity in her voice struck him deeply. He could feel the walls he had built around his heart starting to crumble. “It’s nothing,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the storm howled outside, the warmth of the cabin enveloped them, and in that moment, Stanford Pines realized that perhaps shelter wasn’t just about finding refuge from the storm; it was about letting someone in.

And as they stood there, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the brilliance of each other’s presence, he felt the unmistakable spark of something new beginning to bloom between them—a connection that promised to change his world forever.

[max1461]

I think that the average internet Marxist is actually not much of a materialist at all, in fact in their behavior and rhetoric they seem very concerned with moral purity, the redemptive power of suffering, and the ability of narrative to shape the actual world. As myriad as the senses of the word "materialist" have come to be, none of this would seem to comport well with any of them. This all feels very Christian.

In some cases I really do think there is a latent Christianity in it, but I think the stronger source of this trend is simply the leftist emphasis on sloganeering. Somewhere along the line, maybe with the Bolshevik policy of democratic centralism or maybe somewhere else, the importance of the slogan, the party line, the supreme power of the speech act seems to have been elevated for many leftists above all other concerns. From this follows the kind of disingenuous, obviously fallacious argument you so often see from the online ML left. The point is to say the magic words that have been carefully agreed upon, the magic incantation that will defeat all opposition.

Whether it's "I don't want to vote for a candidate who supports any amount of genocide" or "The Is-not-rael Zionist entity is on the edge of collapse!" or whatever else, a rational person can recognize the impotence of these words. They don't do anything. They're just words. But the feeling seems to be that once the perfect incantation is crafted—the incantation that makes your opponent sound maximally like a Nazi without engaging with their position in good faith, or the incantation which brushes aside all thoughts of defeat, or whatever else—once the perfect incantation is crafted, all that is left to do is say it and say it and say it, and make sure everyone else is saying it too.

This is not a materialist way of approaching politics. This is a mystical way of approaching politics.

I think it's also worth saying that this tendency in Marxism seems old, it certainly predates the internet. Lots of Marxists today are vocal critics of identity politics, of what they see as the liberal, insubstantive, and idealist Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion framework. I share this criticism to a significant degree, but I'm not very eager to let Marxists off the hook here. The modern DEI framework evolved directly out of a liberal/capitalist appropriation of earlier academic ideas about social justice from such sources as Queer Studies, Black Studies, academic Feminism and so on. I say this as a neutral, factual description of its history which I believe to be essentially accurate. In turn, disciplines like Queer Studies, Black Studies, and academic Feminism each owe a great intellectual dept to academic Marxism, and likewise to the social movements of the 1960s (here in the Anglosphere), which themselves were strongly influenced by Marxism.

Obviously as the place of these fields in the academy was cemented, they lost much (most) of their radical character in practice. To a significant degree however, I think their rhetorical or performative radicalism was retained, and was further fostered by the cloistered environment of academia. In this environment the already-extant Marxist tendency to sloganeering seems in my impression to have metastasized greatly. And so I think the political right is not actually wrong, or not wholly wrong, when they attribute the speech-act-centrism of modern American (and therefore, online) politics, its obsession with saying things right above doing things right and its constantly shifting maze of appropriate forms of expression, at least in part to Marxism.

Now I should say that I don't think the right is correct about much else in this critique, and I also don't think this is wholly attributable to Marxism. But I think there's plainly an intellectual dept there.

More than anything else, this is my genuine frustration with both Marxism as it exists today and with its intellectual legacy as a whole. I fundamentally do not believe in the great transformative power of speech acts, I do not believe in the importance of holding the correct line, I do not believe that the specifics of what you say or how you say it matter nearly as much as what you do. I do not think there is much to be gained from playing the kind of language games that Marxists often like to play, and I do not think that playing language games and calling it "materialist analysis" is a very compelling means of argument.

[sugarish]

　 2 000 sugarcubes acquired

　 symbol of grace has awakened . . .

between my 1k milestone and my 2k milestone is 63 days and that to me is wild. im not really one to like freak out over follow counts though it does make me very happy that people like my mbds and decide to follow me.

seems cliche but if it werent for the amount of support ive been getting i think i wouldve lost motivation w making mbds. bc ive made so many mutuals and even friends in this community it is safe to say that im very content w being here and creating mbds , exploring new styles and just talking to all of you

what im planning on between 2 and 3k is obviously an event aanddd it is going to be related to sugarish lore !! i am also in the midst of making a k-mbd 101 post its going to be a massive post which highlights tips on mbd making and note gaining that have worked for me !! i dont know the exact dates of when i will be posting these but they are certain to be posted some day

thank you so much for 2k sugarcubes im glad i have found a place here

tags ; (all my active moots / moots ive interacted w recently)

@y-unrei @floriseu @flaireur @y-vna @rkkuri

@fairytopea @soulari @haechanf @aeraras @jaexxie

@aestradairio @tzulipss @hcita @purinkiss @cg1rl

@koosuvi @kissunoo @chaeryeos @yeoniis @n-americano

@loien @wonjuii @yonkiibums @winterfea @lil-liaa

@minslune @jngsite @p-oisn @yeossemble @haerinism

@neapolitism @nikist-4-n @et2rnity @awwriri @hourlyhoon

@bitchey

aandddddd special mention to the community !

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Choice (Halbrand x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you try to persuade Halbrand to follow you to the Southlands, regardless of his past

Warnings: surprise kiss, heavy make-out, implied smut (in a public place)

You don’t even receive a greeting. Before he even turns to face you, the first words out of Halbrand’s mouth are:

“Has she sent you to persuade me?”

He sounds bitter, and you don’t fault him after Galadriel had promised his service to the Queen of Númenor without his consent. She thought it might coax him into following her to the Southlands, but all it had done was earn her his supposed king’s sigyl, unceremoniously dumped into her hand as he told her to find someone else. Now, that pouch rests in your hand, but it wasn’t what drove you to come find him in the smithy.

“She meant to persuade you herself,” you tell him. “I pointed out that what she had to say would most likely not be well received.”

Halbrand gives a mirthless chuckle. “In that, you were correct.” He finally looks up from the table of daggers he has forged, and fixes you with a displeased gaze. “Yet here you stand, prepared to speak in her name.”

“Not in her name.”

“Why did you seek me out, then?”

There’s a challenge in his voice, and any other time you would gladly take it up. But, however much you might enjoy it, there had been enough playful banter between you. Now is the time for honesty, even if it doesn’t come easily.

“Galadriel is a dear friend of mine. I trust her. However, I... do not always agree with her.” That confession seems to spark his interest, if only a little. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to go on speaking. “She has convinced herself that you are the lost king of the Southlands. And, once a thought has entered her mind, well... it isn’t easily dislodged.”

“She has ‘convinced herself’?” he repeats pointedly. “So, you believe me when I say that,” he points to the pouch in your hand, “was never mine?”

“I believe...” With a sigh, you set the pouch down on the table, leaving it behind as you step closer to Halbrand and hold his gaze. “It doesn’t really matter what I believe. It doesn’t matter who you were. Only who you choose to be. The path ahead of you. And the one behind you, whatever it held, it has put you in a position where you can reclaim what was once yours and put an end to the suffering of so many.”

He eyes you with a mix of intrigue and disbelief, crossing his arms over chest and moving closer to you himself. “You would have me lie to the Númeóreans and Southlanders alike? Claim a crown that is not my own? I did not take you for such a deceiver.”

“I would not have you do anything,” you counter, undeterred by his skepticism. “You are your own person. But I would hope to see you lead. Inspire. Unite. Not because of your blood, but because... Because I can see that you have the makings for it. Because, even if the sea didn’t put a born king in our path, it certainly revealed to us one who can become it.”

Something shifts in his gaze. You think there is some sort of hope in it, mingled with sorrow, but you can’t quite read it. As long moments pass without a response from him, you begin to feel discouraged, thinking you have overstepped.

“It’s a great deal to ask, I know,” you admit apologetically. “It wasn’t right of Galadriel to deceive you into leaving the island, regardless of her belief. If you truly wish to stay here, I will speak with her and—”

It happens in a flash—one moment you are speaking, the next he has taken your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. There is a moment of surprise, a small sound that escapes your throat, and then you’re kissing back, matching his urgency.

You hadn’t expected this. You’d felt the tension, the occasional flirtation in the words and looks exchanged between you. You may have denied to Galadriel, but not to yourself that you were beginning to harbour desire for this man you had met at sea. Yet somehow, whether because he wished to stay on the island, or because of your different natures as man and elf, acting on those feelings always seemed out of your reach, and you had put such thoughts aside.

Now, however, all thoughts of restrain are shattererd. Under his kiss, demanding and deep, you can’t help but savour his taste, tighten your fists in the fabric of his clothes to pull him closer. He smells of fire and metal and some musky personal essence that captivates your senses, and his stubble is rough against your cheeks in the most delightful way. You’re not sure whether he is the one pushing or you’re the one pulling, but you stumble back until your thighs meet the edge of the worktable. Consumed by desire, you have half a mind to toss aside all the knives laid out there and hoist yourself up onto it—but then he suddenly pulls away, leaving you wanting. The hunger in his gaze scorches you to the bone, but beyond it is a sentiment yet more feral which seems to hold him back.

“You say these things,” he says, breath heavy and voice gruff as if frustrated to the point of rage. “You say I should be king. You return my kiss, you welcome my touch. But if you knew what I did before I ended up on that raft... If you knew how I survived...” His thumb grazes your lip, his eyes dropping to it with a kind of tragic longing. “You would sooner plant a knife in my chest than put a crown upon my head,” he all but whispers, “let alone give yourself to me.”

His touch is gone then, and he pries himself away from you—or rather means to, for you catch his hand at the wrist and keep him still, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

“Do not presume to know my mind, Halbrand,” you say sharply. “I’ve had my fair share of fights. Of deeds I wish I could undo. It’s all ashes in the wind now.” You release his hand, trying to tame the fire he had stoked within your own chest and speak calmly. “If you wish to turn away from me, that is your choice alone. But don’t pretend like I asked it of you. Because I would not.”

For a while, there is only the crackle of the forge to fill the silence. It’s as if both of you are waiting to see which one of you will leave first—if one of you will leave. Your skin still sings where he has touched it. The air feels charged with promises not yet made. But you want to make them. This alliance, this passion—this folly, if that is what it is—you want it regardless.

In the end, it’s Halbrand who breaks the silence. His eyes stray from you to the pouch that is still on the table, and he speaks as though from a distant dream.

“A man once told me that being good is a choice you make every day.”

“So?” you ask, patiently. “What will you choose now?”

He looks back to you then, and it really shouldn’t take so little for your breath to catch in your throat after all your years of living, but he seems to have a talent for it. It’s because of the intent written plainly in his eyes, even before he returns within your closeness and leans in slowly, until his breath falls warmly on your cheek. This time, he makes no further move. It’s as if he offers himself, waiting for you to decide whether you want to take him or not. There’s a vulnerability to it that makes your heart ache.

You allow your lips to ghost over each other, relishing the thrill of anticipation for a moment before you close the remaining distance. This kiss, unlike the first, is gentle and unhurried. You bring your hand to his cheek, fingers sinking in his hair, and he gathers you into his arms as you taste each other at leisure. So content he seems taking his time that it comes as a surprise when, suddenly, he reaches behind you and clears the table of daggers in one fell swoop of the hand. You break the kiss with a gasp when the metal clatters to the floor, earning a short laugh from you that is cut off by the return of his lips on yours. Finally, he lifts you onto the table, hips bracketed by your thighs. His lips stray to your cheek, then wander to your neck, and you moan his name softly as his hips press into yours. It earns you a groan of your name in return, and a gentle nibble of your skin before he lifts his head slightly, cheek pressed to yours.

“You want this,” he murmurs lowly in your ear, “regardless of what came before?”

Eyes shut, you nod without hesitation as you breathe out, “Yes.”

He hums, and plants a short kiss on your lips. You chase his, but he keeps frustratingly out of your reach before lowering his head to kiss the other side of your neck as well.

“Are you certain?” he murmurs against your skin, and you know from his tone and from the slowness of his movements that he means to tease you, to stoke your desire for him even further.

“If you tease me too long, I might change my mind,” you warn, even if your voice is breathy with need.

Halbrand chuckles softly. “Well,” he says, “I would not risk that.”

And he doesn’t. Any more talk of Númenor, or Southlanders, or of anything at all is firmly postponed until morning. For now, he lays you down on the table, and you shed whatever darkness lies in your past the same way you do your garments. And, for better or worse, you choose to become one. If only for now.

[sanemistar]

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ a blurry encounter — sunday

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: sunday x gn!reader ᡣ𐭩 genre: fluff ᡣ𐭩 warnings: none ᡣ𐭩 wc: 1k+ ᡣ𐭩 a/n: as someone who has to wear glasses at all times bc i have bad sight myself, this was a bit self indulgent, and i had a fun time writing this so i hope you enjoy it !!

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: reader who has bad sight accidentally bumps into sunday on their first day in penacony and casually asks him for help, not knowing who he is. requested. 𝜗𝜚 back: hsr m.list

it’s your first time in penacony, the land of dreams. you’ve been wanting to visit for a while, and now that you’re finally here, you’re super excited to explore around. there are so many places you want to visit, but you don't know from where to begin.

just when you're too caught in your own thoughts, someone bumps into you and your glasses hit the concrete, resulting them to shatter completely. you can't believe that this has just happened the moment you step in a foreign city, where you're all by yourself. with no one to help, your trip has been already ruined.

'no no no, this can't be happening... i'm doomed, i can't see anything without my glasses..' you mutter in your breath. you've been suffering from bad sight your whole life, so glasses are basically essential for you. without them, everything looks very blurry.

it’s so hard to walk around with bad sight, you’re unable to recognize your surroundings and you’re worried about looking dumb. you desperately try to navigate your way at night when it's pretty dark without your glasses, forced to wander around looking for a shop so you can get new glasses. but your vision fails you as you keep bumping into random strangers while muttering a series of apologies for not being careful.

'this is the worst...' you feel like crying when you bump into someone for like the tenth time or so, but this time, they stop. they don't pass by while yelling at you like the rest. your vision is very blurry, but you can tell he seems like a young man. his most notable feature is his silver hair, it shines beautifully under the moonlight.

"are you okay there?" his soft voice puts you in a trance. you haven't heard anyone ever speak like this, his voice holds a kind of elegance that you haven't heard of before. the aura around him also seems much more sophisticated than anything you've ever witnessed. you can't help but feel so lost in this mysterious man in front of you.

"well then if you excuse me." you snap out of your thoughts right before he walks away, as you decide to take the chance and ask this man to help you out since you know nothing here in penacony.

"wait!" you, not realizing who you're talking to, yell as you subconsciously grab the sleeve of his coat, causing him to stop moving. you can't properly see his facial expressions, but it seems that he's taken aback by your actions.

“i’m so sorry, sir. but can you please take me to the optical store? my glasses broke and i don't know my way around here. i will forever be in debt to you if you do.” at this point, you're begging for this stranger's help. normally, you wouldn't talk to random strangers, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

on the other hand, sunday isn't exactly the type to help out random strangers he has no relations to whatsoever, but something about you piques his interest, so he decides to follow you around and see what happens. very uncharacteristic of him to do something or make a decision on a whim.

"forever in debt you say.. fine, i'll help you out." he accepts your offer and you let a subconscious squeak in return. you begin to follow sunday, holding onto his arm for dear life. you just don't want to be separated from him and get lost in this big crowd, and for some reason, sunday never pushes you away from him.

on your way to the store, you get the strangest looks from all the passersby. obviously, you can't see their piercing stares because of your bad sight. everyone is shocked to see someone holding onto sunday this close. they can clearly tell that you're not a penacony citizen, given how you look and act. because if you're really someone from penacony, you'll know better than to act like that around someone as important as sunday.

after some walking around, you and sunday finally reach the store and you grab yourself a pair of new glasses. which sunday decides to pay for even after you insisting that you have the money for it, but he pays for it anyways. the moment you put the glasses on, you let a big sigh of relief now that you can see properly again. so your trip hasn't been completely ruined after all.

"thank you so much, sir! how can i repay yo-" you begin to thank sunday when a man rushes to you running.

"i've finally found you mr. sunday! i've been looking for you everywhere. the family needs you immediately, something urgent came up." you freeze in your tracks, did this man just say sunday? as in THAT sunday from THE family? even for someone who's not from penacony, you're well aware of the family's wide fame and strong impact, they're known to be the most important and influential people in penacony. everyone respects them, and to think that you've acted around him so casually without knowing who he is.

"well, things happened and i had some trouble there. but it's all good now. right, traveller?" he teases playfully as he looks at you. you immediately look down trying to hide your face from embarrassment.

"y-yeah. sorry for the trouble i've caused you, mr. sunday." you, being the trouble in question, apologize for all that has happened earlier. not daring to look up for once.

"if you really feel sorry, you should make up for it by going on a dinner with me tomorrow night. you'll pay though, remember? you're in debt now." he gives you a piece of paper, written on it is a restaurant's name, the time and brief instructions on how to get there. before you even get a chance to say anything else, sunday disappears along with the man. leaving you completely dumbfounded as you try to process what has just happened.

who would've thought that one blurry encounter would lead to you going out on a dinner with sunday out of all people? this has surely never been on your bucket list for this trip, but you're still willing to go and see what happens.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @spkyssn @yueliie @ayrastv

[toji-sweetheart]

9 with Satoru?

18+ only content - mdni

prompt list

tags: fem reader + explicit smut + breakup to makeup sex + squirting + modern au

This shouldn't be happening.

It was against everything you were telling everyone.

You and Satoru broke up months ago taking a once throbbing heart to a shattered one, all the pointless arguments piled on along with the daily grind and somewhere you lost each other in the storm.

Somehow after that, it seemed like you kept seeing him around, at every corner you turned there he seemed to be waiting to pounce seeing that you both still worked together and saw each other daily.

"Suguru is throwing a party." His voice stopped you in your tracks this time instead of ignoring him as usual, he smiled when you took the bait and slid his hands into his pockets leaning in with a smirk.

He loved your eye roll knowing what he was getting at.

Something akin to tradition the four years you two were together, every time Suguru threw a party you would hook up in the bathroom.

Later that night you ended up going with one intent and that was to tell Satoru nothing was going to happen until you saw him, butterflies erupted like flowers from the dirt in your belly catching his attention.

It felt like the whole room went silent when you locked eyes with him watching as he stopped his conversation to come over smiling.

"You came." He murmured with a knowing grin leaning back on his heels with his hands clasped behind him.

"Not yet. Let's go." Satoru grinned even bigger now as he took your hand and led you upstairs thankful that no one was paying attention.

The last thing you wanted to do was have anyone catch wind that you two were back together but it seemed that everyone was preoccupied with their own plans to even worry about you and him.

Hand in hand you felt something tug in your heart as you followed after glancing around when you got to the top stairs Satoru guided you into the bathroom that held a lot of fond memories.

The room was already cramped with how small it was and having Satoru there didn't help, he had to bend at the waist because he was too tall to stand straight which meant his face was inches from yours.

You shared a single breath before leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. "I came to tell you that we can't keep doing this, it was a one-time thing when I was lonely. I'm not anymore."

"Oh, we both know that's not true so I'm not sure why you're lying to me." Satoru hummed wiggling his eyebrows catching your mask slip.

He knew you were putting on a front, after all, he knows you the best out of everyone you know. "That one-time thing had you creaming and screaming on my cock about how much you missed it, missed me." His vulgar words had you scrunching your nose with a huff.

No matter how much you tried to deny it, you did miss him even with the arguments because with them you both still sought each other's arms for comfort and to be held amidst a bad day.

Your eyes locked with his again as you grasped his shirt pulling him in for a heated kiss that was filled with longing and passion, it's been weeks since you've touched him like this and soon you got greedy.

Satoru chuckled when you slipped your hands under his shirt to tug it off before moving to take your own off. "So needy for me." He teased.

It felt like you couldn't breathe as he dropped to his knees tracing the seam between your thighs that were squished together, the silky plush flesh pebbling from his touch as he leaned in closer.

He grabbed your ankle and lifted it up watching as you gripped the edge of the sink for dear life as he kissed your ankle and calf. "Please, baby.." You could hear the desperate tone and the dominant, humiliating fire in their gaze promising something sinister after.

You sighed feeling your pussy grow a second heartbeat, the throbbing in your clit was too much and you parted your legs.

It didn't take Satoru long for your panties to be stuffed in the back pocket of his pants and his face to be between your thighs, licking and kissing your cunt until he couldn't get enough of your taste.

If anyone were to come in they'd see Satoru with his head under your skirt eating you like you were candy that was going out of stock, his hands gripped and groped your ass massaging as he moaned softly.

Pushing your skirt out of the way you grabbed a handful of his hair tugging on it with a soft whine, each stroke of his tongue left you in shambles as you struggled to stay upright feeling your orgasm rise.

Two long slender fingers probed at your slick entrance before pushing into the last knuckle making you gasp loudly and arch your back, Satoru knew what he was doing to make you all his again.

"Wait!" You tried to push him off when it got too intense but he held you still devouring you whole while his fingers repeatedly hit the spot that had your toes curling and cramping when you squirted.

You weren't sure how many times you chanted Satoru's name weakly bucking your hips feeling like mush as he stood to hold you in his arms. He kissed you sweetly like you were the breath he needed.

"I know no one can make you feel like that." He teased making you roll your eyes and slap his chest playfully before hugging him tightly.

feedback such as comments and reblogs are highly appreciated, those kind words mean a lot and encourage me to do more writing ♡

[girlkisser13]

taste- part 2

"every time you close your eyes and feel his lips, you're feelin' mine" "and every time you breathe his air, just know i was already there" "you can have him if you like, i’ve been there, done that once or twice" "and singin' bout it don't mean i care, yeah, i know i've been known to share"

a/n: the long awaited part 2. tysm for all the love on part 1 !! if you haven't read part 1 yet, you can read it here.

pairings: theodore nott x slytherin fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of cheating. pansmione mention.

summary: theo makes his choice.

theo's gaze lingered on you as you disappeared out of honeydukes, your parting words still echoing in the silence that followed your exit. pansy had been stunned, her smirk wiped clean off her face. now, she stood frozen next to him, her dark eyes darting back and forth between the door and him.

it didn’t take long before her shock morphed into anger. she turned to him, her voice low, almost dangerously soft. "is it true?"

theo shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the shopkeeper who was pretending to be busy counting coins but was clearly eavesdropping. "pansy," he began, unsure how to even start.

"don’t. just tell me the truth." her eyes bore into his. "how long?"

theo opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. he wanted to explain, to justify, to somehow make it all seem like less than it was, but nothing he could say would change the facts. "since the summer," he admitted finally, his voice barely audible.

pansy’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in disbelief. "the summer," she repeated, the words foreign on her tongue. she took a step toward him, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. her eyes sharpened, realization dawning as she caught the faint, sweet scent that lingered on his clothing.

"god, you even smell like her," she hissed, taking another step closer. "it’s like she’s still here. like i’m breathing the same air as her."

theo clenched his jaw, guilt washing over him. he had never intended to hurt pansy, not like this. his feelings for you had crept up on him, unexpected but undeniable. but pansy had been a part of his life for so long— he had thought he could manage both, keep up appearances with her and still have you. now, he realized how naive that had been.

"how long have you been lying to me?" pansy asked, her voice rising as her emotions took hold. "how long have you been sneaking around behind my back?"

"i wasn’t—" he began, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"since the summer," she spat, shaking her head in disbelief, her face a mix of anger and hurt. "all those times you disappeared, all those excuses— you were with her, weren’t you?"

he couldn’t bring himself to deny it. he nodded, shame settling deep in his chest. "i didn’t mean for it to happen like this, pansy. i never wanted to hurt you."

"funny how that works," she said coldly, taking a step back. "because you did."

without another word, pansy stormed out of the shop, leaving theo standing there, lost in the wreckage of the moment.

it wasn’t long before pansy found you.

she caught you as you were leaving the three broomsticks, the warmth of the tavern replaced by the chill of the autumn air. you barely had time to register the fury on her face before she was in front of you, blocking your path.

"so it’s true," she said, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. "you’ve been messing around with theo behind my back."

you stared at her, feeling a deep weariness settle over you. you didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to keep rehashing the same painful truth. "you don’t have to worry about me anymore, pansy," you said quietly. "there’s nothing between us now."

pansy narrowed her eyes. "what are you saying?"

"i’m saying you can have him," you replied, the weight of your own words pressing on your chest. "i don’t care anymore."

for a moment, she just stood there, her expression faltering. and then, something inside her seemed to snap. she let out a breathless, bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "you don’t care?" she echoed. "you ruined everything, and now you’re just going to walk away?"

you held her gaze, your own emotions swirling just beneath the surface, but you kept your voice steady. "it’s over, pansy. there’s nothing left to fight about."

behind her anger, you could see the confusion and hurt. pansy had always been so sure of her place by his side. to have that shaken so thoroughly, it was clear she didn’t know how to process it.

"this is too much," she muttered, her voice breaking. she glanced back toward the village, her shoulders tense, before turning her eyes to you again. "he’s not worth it," she said, her voice cold, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath. "i’m done with him."

and with that, she walked away, leaving you standing in the street, the wind biting at your skin.

you barely had time to process her departure before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. you turned just in time to see theo running after you, his face drawn with frustration and worry.

"wait—" he called, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. you couldn’t let him pull you back into this mess again.

"theo, don’t," you said, your voice thick with emotion as you quickened your pace, trying to put distance between you and him. "just go."

"i’m not going after her!" he shouted, catching up to you, his hand grabbing your arm to stop you. "please, just listen to me."

you stopped abruptly, pulling your arm from his grasp as you spun to face him. "i won’t be anyone’s secret, theo," you said, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back your tears. "if you want to be with pansy so badly, then go. be with her."

he flinched at your words, hurt flashing in his eyes, but you turned away before you could see any more. you couldn’t handle it. not now. not after everything.

"wait—" theo tried again, but you shook your head, walking faster, not stopping until the distance between you and him was more than just physical.

when you were finally alone, the tears came. you let them fall, letting the weight of everything settle on your shoulders. and in that quiet, in the solitude of the moment, you made a promise to yourself.

you would never let anyone treat you like that again.

the days after the confrontation were strange. theo kept his distance, and for that, you were grateful. but it didn’t stop him from watching you, didn’t stop the furtive glances he sent your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

it wasn’t until a few days later, during charms class, that theo made his next move.

a folded note landed on your desk, sliding across the surface to rest just beneath your hand. you glanced down at it, your heart sinking as you saw theo’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the parchment.

meet me at the astronomy tower? 9 p.m.

you rolled your eyes, crumpling the note in your hand and shoving it into your bag. as if things could be that simple.

after class, theo approached you again, his face full of the same pleading expression you had seen too many times before.

"please," he said softly, stepping in front of you. "just five minutes. that’s all i’m asking."

you stared at him for a long moment, considering his words, weighing the possibilities. against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding. "fine. five minutes."

he looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "thank you."

you said nothing as you walked away, your stomach twisting with anxiety for the conversation that was sure to come.

at nine o’clock, you made your way up to the astronomy tower, your heart beating a little faster with every step. the night was cool, the stars scattered across the sky like distant pinpricks of light. when you reached the top, theo was already there, leaning against the stone railing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

he straightened as soon as he saw you, his expression soft, almost vulnerable.

"you came," he said, his voice filled with quiet relief.

"i said i would," you replied shortly, crossing your arms. "you’ve got five minutes."

theo sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the sky before they finally met yours again. "i’ve been a fool,” he started, his voice quiet, almost pained. "i was a fool to think i could be with pansy in public and have you in secret. i want to be with you."

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden admission. "where is this coming from?" you asked cautiously. "why do you suddenly feel this way?"

"it’s not sudden," theo replied, shaking his head. "i've always felt this way. i was just too prideful. too scared to admit it, to myself or to you." he stepped closer, his voice trembling slightly as he continued. "but fuck my pride. fuck everything. i am in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, the rawness in his words slicing through the defenses you had carefully built up over the last few weeks.

"i’ve tried not to be," theo admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "i’ve tried to do the right thing, to do right by pansy, and by you. but i can't help it. my heart won’t stop wanting you.”

you stood frozen, barely able to process his words as he took another step closer, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. "i’ve been in love with you since the day you tripped and fell on your face right in front of me."

you let out a breathy laugh at the memory, your heart tugging at the unexpected sweetness of it.

theo smiled, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. "my love is yours, if you’re willing to take it."

you hesitated, your mind spinning as you tried to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside you. "i... i am not sure if i am ready yet," you admitted softly, pulling your hand back slightly.

theo nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "that’s alright," he said gently. "i can wait. i will wait as long as you need."

there was a quiet, fragile moment between the two of you, the weight of everything that had passed finally beginning to lift. slowly, you felt some of your defenses crumble, your heart opening to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

over the following weeks, you and theo took things slow. there was no more secrecy, no more hiding in shadows or sneaking around. theo kept his promise, giving you the time and space you needed to feel ready. and when the two of you were finally ready to make things public, it was on your terms, with no lingering doubts.

pansy, to your surprise, had been able to reconcile with theo. while their romantic relationship had ended, they were able to find a new sense of friendship. as it turned out, pansy had begun seeing someone new as well— hermione granger, of all people. though unexpected, their relationship seemed to be exactly what pansy needed, and you couldn’t help but be happy for her.

in time, you and theo began to date publicly, and while the journey hadn’t been easy, you knew that what the two of you had was real. the love theo had promised you that night under the stars was yours, and you were finally ready to accept it.

[sickwhispers]

Hii!! can we pls have a twisted!astro x reader fluff drabble!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Writing this made me realize just how hard it is for me to write something 100% fluffy. Hoping it's fluffy enough.

KISSES FOR THE HEART

Pairing: (Twisted) Astro x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: he's a little worried but you're quick to soothe him

Type: drabble (I accidently wrote a little more then what's expected for a drabble)

"Astro, I know you're worried, but... I got this." There was a strain in your voice, Your words a muted whisper as ichor flows through the tubes and into the machine in front of you. You had been extraching for hours. Every new machine you'd come across on each floor slowing down your pace much more than you were prepared for.

"Be careful... Too loud.." Each word he spoke ended with a sound almost akin to that of gargling. The ichor stuck in his throat making it harder for him to tell voice his worries. And so, his sentences were often too short. In worse cases, he sounded incoherent. His body was hovering just beside you, his gaze switching from corridor to corridor as he kept his two top hands in a continuous fidgeting motion.

You knew he was talking about the sound that would occur if you failed. Ever since you had found yourself on this floor, Astro had seemed to follow you around like a lost dog. He was never farther than two feet away, and even when you needed the room, he would still stay planted in your presence. Each machine you worked on, he'd give you the same warning.

Soon, the ichor had filled the machine completely. The black substance stuffed it until there was no room for even the smallest pocket of air. And, once your hands removed themselves from the red valve, the warmth returning to your fingertips, you turned back to face him.

You wasted no time letting your palms cradle the sides of his face. The stream of ichor streaming down onto you and staining your hands with its tar-like substance. He almost flinched under your touch. His body twitching slightly, freezing under your touch before relaxing. Despite how slow your movement was, it didn't take long before you were guiding his face down.

With how tall the ichor had morphed him, your lips were able to plant themselves onto his as easily as you were used to. Yet, even now, you still found ways to kiss him. And, now that you had pulled him down a bit, you quickly stood on your toes and pressed your mouth against his forehead.

"You need to stop being so worried. As long as you're here, nothing will hurt me."

[warping-realities]

A Night in the Devil's Den - Part II

So, I gotta confess, I wrote the whole story just to get to this part. Not that I don’t like the other bits, but this is my humble and inferior tribute to two of my all-time favorite stories: "Magic Fingers" by Calamity King, which you can find under that name on GSS, and one part of the amazing series by Aarvark that I think was called "Meat Market" (the transformation of Steven into Ennis is still one of my all-time faves). Unfortunally I haven’t even found it in his Aardchive. Anyway, I hope you all dig it! And if you get the chance to read both stories, do it; they’re way better than what I’m serving up here.

How the hell could someone disappear so fast? Mark thought as he tried to shove his way through the packed dance floor, looking for Fred or at least a way to the restroom. He didn’t seem more lost than the blond guy a bit older than him, and his friends, who just stepped onto the main stage, looking totally confused.

Not really paying attention to what was going on up there, he kept pushing through that human jungle, hunting for his buddy. He barely noticed the music drop, the chaos around him shoving or blocking his way to the stage. He could hear catcalls, boos, and every now and then, some random words or phrases.

“...ever been to Texas?”

“...how much do you weigh?”

“...how much can you lift?”

“...looks like Clint Eastwood...”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the music blasted again from the speakers, making him lose his balance and grab onto the muscular arm of an older dude to keep from falling. When the hell did the place get so packed with guys?

“Sorry, man,” he said to the grumpy guy.

“No worries, kid; if you need a hand with anything else…” the dude said, making an obscene gesture with his hand and mouth.

“...no thanks!” Mark replied, backing away as fast as he could from that sketchy figure. Finally spotting a wall close to the stage. Stopping to catch his breath, he noticed a very muscular blond guy dressed as a cowboy flexing his powerful muscles, driving the crowd wild.

“Crap, Jamie put us in a gay bar!” he exclaimed, totally dazed. But then he saw a sign pointing to the restrooms right behind the stage. Thinking he’d find Fred and then grab Jamie and kick his ass back to the hostel for that screw-up, he headed that way. But instead of the bathroom, he ended up in the empty backstage area. After taking a few disoriented steps, he decided to turn back because that was definitely not the path Fred took. He had barely walked when someone called out to him.

“Hey, kid! What the hell are you doing here?” Turning quickly to apologize and find the fastest way to the restroom, Mark found himself face to face with the cowboy from the show—holy crap, he looked like a jacked-up Clint Eastwood! He thought, gaping at the tattooed chest of the giant.

“Kid, you good?” the man asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Y-Yeah… sorry, I need… bathroom.”

“Ohh, I get it… just go this way.” The man replied with a sly grin, which Mark seemed to miss as he followed the direction the guy pointed.

He found himself in a narrow hallway lit by a few lights, and at the end of it… he was on stage! “What the hell is this?!” he shouted, but no one heard him over the crowd’s cheers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here’s your favorite host, Mr. Shay! Please welcome our newest participant!” a voice boomed from the other side of the stage.

“Who the hell is a lady?!!!” someone in the crowd roared.

“Alright, you bunch of degenerates! Let’s give it up for Mark Jordan!” the voice continued as the crowd half-cheered, half-booed. As Mark turned toward the voice, he got the shock of his life. The guy from the club entrance was there, without his suit jacket, showing off his muscular torso, but it wasn’t that which caught the young man’s attention; it was the pair of ram horns sprouting from the guy’s head. After the initial shock, the young man rationalized it as just stage props.

I need to get outta here, Mark thought, turning to leave, only to find the door was locked.

“Calm down, kid; just answer a few questions, and we’ll let you walk outta here unscathed and a grand richer!”

“A grand?” he asked, making the horned man smile.

“He’s in! The dude shouted, sending the audience into a frenzy. “So, Mark, tell us more about yourself!”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your buddy Jamie spilled the beans!”

“Son of a bitch!” Mark cursed.

“Calm down, kid; we’re a classy joint!” Mr. Shay mocked as the crowd howled. “And you haven’t told us anything about yourself yet, Mark; this can’t keep going on! Got any nicknames?”

“Nope.”

“Really? How much do you weigh?”

“Uh, maybe around 170?”

“Seriously? I thought you were heavier; you look like you’ve got some muscle under that preppy outfit,” the guy scoffed.

“Well… I… I work out regularly…”

“No kidding, do you lift weights???"

“Nah, I’m on the track team; I wanna run a marathon someday.”

“Okay, then…”

“More!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Looks like they’re into you, kid.”

“Yeah… seems that way…” Mark murmured, flustered.

“You seem pretty tall, Mark; how tall are you?”

“Actually, I’m not that tall. I’m 5’8” and that’s if I’m wearing taller shoes,” the kid tried to joke, only to get booed by the crowd, quickly shrinking back.

“Leave the kid alone, you vultures. So I think we have enough…”

“More!!!” someone shouted again.

“My God, Mark, you really won the crowd over. But our time is short. What do you do for a living, kid?”

“I… I’m in pre-law college.” The kid replied, his voice trembling, fearing the crowd’s reaction, and rightly so, as a new wave of boos erupted from the audience.

“Hmm… I see. But you’re of age, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. How old are you, anyway?”

“I… I… twenty… I’m twenty… three, yeah, twenty-three years old.” He replied, thinking of the first number that came to mind.

“A year behind? Must’ve been all those parties you hit up! Bet you love being the center of attention, huh?”

“Uh-huh, not really…”

“More, more!”

“Alright, one last question then? Have you ever been outta the country, Mark?”

“No, I was born and raised in America, but once I graduate, I plan to check out some place… Italy, maybe?” he replied, thinking about the hot chicks at the hostel.

“Perfect! So music for Mark!” the man shouted, and the speakers on stage exploded in unison. However, Mark didn’t seem to hear the deafening noise, trapped in his own thoughts. He felt his mind expanding and contracting, as if a ton of info was being pulled from him and another load was being added. But to anyone watching from the outside, all they saw was the young guy smiling dreamily to the music, that is, until he started to age and grow. As the years passed him by, his muscle mass increased, and a beard sprouted. In no time, one could see the natural path the young man’s body would have taken if he had put in a little more work, with light brown hair growing longer, a stubbly beard covering the strong chin that the loss of baby fat would reveal. Then he began to pack on pounds and pounds of pure muscle, while his hair darkened and shrank back in size, and his beard grew fuller. His arms became a combination of cannonball biceps with horseshoe triceps and onion shoulders; his pecs widened into two slabs of juicy meat, and his abs turned into a brick wall. The polo he was wearing transformed into an old t-shirt, and the khakis he was in shrank down to extremely short running shorts, showcasing his lean, defined legs. Legs that wouldn’t stay that way for long, starting with his feet, which grew absurdly, leaving his sneakers in tatters and exposing to the world his giant paws with long, wide toes covered in a fine layer of black fur. Next, his calves expanded to the point where it looked like someone had shoved a football into each one, and finally his thighs, as wide as support columns, bulging the shorts to their limit, making it unthinkable that this man could ever run a marathon. As the music started to fade, the man flexed one of his powerful biceps and then turned around, showing his bubble butt to the crowd, before finally lifting his shirt provocatively, revealing his six-pack while flexing both arms and smiling at the audience.

“A round of applause, gentlemen, for our incredible participant.” Mr. Shay's voice announced excitedly. “Now let’s recap our questions.

“So, Mark…”

“Marco,” the man interrupted.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that…” the demon man replied, with a smile that said he totally understood.

“My name isn’t Mark, it’s Marco.”

“But you said your name was Mark Jordan, a pre-law student, 23 years old, and a member of the track team.”

“That’s the character you asked me to play, Mr. Shay, as if you didn’t know me well enough. College? I had no interest in that, and running? You think a dude my size could run long distances? I wouldn’t dream of losing a single pound of muscle.

“Indeed, so how about you tell us a bit more about yourself? If you didn’t go to college, what do you do for a living?”

“Come on, man, like everyone here hasn’t seen me and fapped for me.” Marco replied with arrogance. “Or are you gonna say you’ve never seen a porn with me? I’m sure I’ve seen at least 30 OF subscribers in the audience.

“Porn? With just 23 years, you probably haven’t done many…”

“23? Try 32! But even back then I was a star in the industry.” He said, drawing boos from the crowd.

“Shut up, you idiots, or you won’t see any more of this!” He said, taking off his shirt and massaging his powerful pecs, grinning provocatively before flexing his arms, raising the ambient temperature several degrees.

“Calm down, Marco; we’re among friends here. A man your size has to be careful; you must measure what? At least 6’3” and weigh over 250 pounds?”

“Way off, but I’m sure any of these pervs in the audience could tell you I measure 6’8” and weigh 300 pounds of pure muscle.”

“Interesting...”

“What’s not interesting about me?” Marco shot back provocatively, as if ready to start a fight for any reason, before bursting into laughter at a new wave of cheers from the crowd, relishing the attention directed at him.

“Calm down, Marco; I just find it interesting that an Italian guy uses our measurement system so well.” Mr. Shay replied as Marco went through one last transformation. His hair changed from dark brown to pitch black, and his already tanned skin took on an olive tone very close to Mr. Shay’s, further accentuating his powerful muscles, which expanded a bit more, etched with bulging veins, and his abs became a powerful roid gut, which could justify all the bravado of the man, who at that moment continued to smile as Mr. Shay announced.

“Marco Giordani, The Italian Stallion, and his incredible portrayal of an American college student! Congratulations, Marco; it’s always a pleasure to have you with us.” He said as the man waved at the audience, soaking up the attention.

“Now I’ll take my leave and let you enjoy Marco’s special show.” Mr. Shay concluded, throwing a provocative look at the Italian man, inviting him to join him later. Before turning to the audience once more. “But don’t worry, after his show, the night still holds many surprises.”

[sarahreesbrennan]

Another Interesting Spoilery Evil Question

To directly answer the question before I start rambling, the Cobra’s body’s physical age is 24.

(You can stop reading here if you like. This gets very long!)

When Marius meets the Cobra (chapter 18 epigraph from Time of Iron) he correctly identifies him as Marius’s own age at the time - 18.

At the time of the book all the physical bodies’ ages are as follows.

Marius - 24

The Cobra - 24

Rahela - 24

Octavian - 24

(Pio and Nemeth, Octavian’s advisers, are in their early 40s and late 50s respectively - they’re Octavian’s dad’s people and that is part of why they are so stressed. Their king died young, Octavian became king in his teens and it has been an uneasy court ever since.)

Emer - 23

Key - 20

Lia - 19

Rae and Eric in our world were both 4 years younger than their bodies in this world (so they would both be 20 if the story hadn’t happened to them). For the moment we’ll leave aside Key, who had another life too, in a different way. (He was a little kid, but old enough to walk after his father, in the epigraph from Time of Iron in chapter 15.)

I do age shenanigans for two reasons.

—One is that age in fiction and reality is weird, and I wanted to portray that. If I had a crush on Mr Darcy when I was 7, is that okay? If I had a crush on Mr Darcy when aged 41, is that okay? Mr Darcy’s always in his late twenties: Elizabeth Bennet will never be older than 21, but she seemed so glamorous and all-knowing to me when I was a kid.

And if you walk into a story, when in their character development do you find them? Would we like Darcy when he’s sneering at Elizabeth at a ball? Who is it that we love and when?

Plenty of adult women fancied Edward Cullen, perpetually a teen (or was he? Fantasy and horror also open up the possibility of immortality - but in a way, all fictional characters are immortal. Holden Caulfield isn’t growing up any more than Edward Cullen is. And like fictional characters and immortals, the dead aren’t getting any older either—I think often of Anne Rice, author of the Vampire Chronicles, who wrote the doomed child vampire Claudia after losing her own daughter Michele as a child. Death, immortality, fiction and the overlap!) When I read or watched stories in which characters were in different/changed bodies they usually seemed younger - often their younger selves, or a younger/cuter body (Peggy Sue Got Married, Scarlet Heart). (Exceptions exist of course, e.g. Howl’s Moving Castle.) And I like magic losing something, costing you something, plus I’m a contrarian. So I wanted them older.

—The other is that LONG LIVE EVIL is a story about trauma, which often arrests your age in your mind. The period in which you were enduring the horrors is a blank in which you couldn’t develop normally, or in which you had plenty of experiences but few of them match with your peers’.

Cancer did it to me, which wasn’t horrendous as I was in my early 30s and that’s still adult, just meant a bit of ‘oh no I’m not this child’s mother, I’m too young - actually I’m a bit old to be this child’s mother now I think about it, but anyway I don’t claim her’ and the like. But I’ve seen it do the same for people with cancer I befriended or whom I mentor, and it’s a very different proposition if the lost years are 17-21.

It’s not just cancer, I’ve seen bereavement work that way on people, and apparently celebrity works on the mind like trauma and arrests you at the age you became famous in a lot of ways. It’s being taken out of the run of ordinary life, walking through your portal into strangeness.

But in the end most of us wind up with years that feel lost, I think, and playing catch-up is the only way forward.

And allegory remains allegory: if I’m writing a werewolf I’m taking about rage and body horror, sure, but I’m also talking about werewolves.

I was actually confused by this ask at first as I’d written a whole section where Eric says he’s going to die of a heart attack at 20 and Marius is exasperated as Eric is a little young to start lying about his age! But it must have fallen victim to my many cuts - stories transform! - and I can see why, because I don’t think Eric exactly thinks of himself as 20 anymore.

I had some struggles with the age stuff, it’s another layer of complication in a complicated story and there were worries raised that it was unnecessary and might make some characters less appealing but in the end I decided it was necessary to me and let the characters be unappealing, then.

I also enjoy the twisting, fluid ages because they cause conflict, and conflict is story.

Rae uses her new age (and thus doesn’t need to think of her absolutely horrible self worth) to count herself out as a romantic option in Key’s eyes.

She also thinks of the Emperor as in his mid-20s, as he is - after a time skip that happens in the original Time of Iron, years in which Key and Emer were Lia’s servants. She knows about those years, but she doesn’t put it together.

At Eric and Marius’s first meeting 6 years before the events of LONG LIVE EVIL, Eric also hasn’t been in the book that long. He was in a horrifically traumatic survival situation for a large part of the time he was inside, when he approached Marius to blackmail him. That is objectively a deranged thing to do, but Eric is thinking like a terrified 14 year old and also like a Huge Fan of Marius. aka the quintessential white knight, the Last Hope who is reserved and dignified and crucially, 24-28.

That would be the Marius Eric at the time knows when he approaches Marius in the flesh, Marius at 18 and coming off family trauma, friend trauma and quasi-romantic trauma himself. Marius actually DOES go into dissociative states and kill people, Eric was taking a huge risk with his own life that not a single person in the country would have taken. Marius is a Valerius, and they are killers. (The whole court, Marius included, thought Lady Katalin ((Rahela’s mother)) was being very daring by like, touching Marius’s hand when he was 17.)

Eric is acting wild partly because a) he is wild, b) he’s desperate but also crucially c) he’s thinking of Marius as someone that Marius isn’t yet and d) he’s not thinking of things from Marius’s POV, and doesn’t until the events of LONG LIVE EVIL. Their quasi friendship/quasi hostage situation (that the hostage had firmly decided was happening) couldn’t have happened without a perfect storm of weirdness, risks and lack of understanding what the hell was going on.

Marius would not have seen a 14 year old Eric (not a child to him exactly, but squire age rather than knight age) as a criminal threat in the same way as he saw the Cobra, his own age (18, which was definitely very adult, Marius thought at the time). Eric wouldn’t have failed to consider consequences or failed to consider Marius as person rather than character, if he’d actually been 18. But by the time anyone knew better, a status quo was established, and habit is second nature and a stronger nature than the first.

Eric’s plight is horrific initially. But at the same time, Eric is extremely intelligent (both intellectually and emotionally) and able to both cover and play catch-up to this new life, and he can advise Rae with the benefit of his experience - but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t screw up massively when he first came into the book, or that he doesn’t still have many things to work through.

Similarly, Emer is used to Rahela who is quasi older sister and quasi mistress, while Rae is now acting younger. And all of them are dealing with a gross system in which men are seen as in their youthful prime when women the same age are getting long in the tooth and can be traded in for teenagers - so even two people who are the same age aren’t treated as if they’re the same age, if they’re different genders. Age stuff is crunchy!

Also, while Emer thinks of Lia as having all the power due to class, Lia looks on someone who was her glamorous older stepsister’s age mate and went off to the big city years ago rather differently. But then, are adulthood and childhood different worlds? Is being in different social classes being in different worlds?

Can we reach the different universes of other people is something I’m always asking, I think.

THIS IS SO LONG. I AM SO SORRY.

[lynzishell]

The Present ❤️ Selvadorada

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Asher: Jesus, look at this place. This is the museum?  Atlas: Yep, this is it. Asher: Wow. Kind of intense, isn’t it? Atlas: Little bit.

Little Sister: What is it? Big Sister: It’s a dinosaur, stupid. Little Sister: I’m not stupid, you’re stupid. Big Sister: Good one. Little Sister: Shut up. I’m telling mom. Big Sister: [mocking] i’M tElLiNg MoM

Child: Mommy, why can’t we go downstairs? Parent: That section isn’t for kids, sweetie. Child: Why? Parent: I don’t know, I’ve never been down there.

Twin1: Why did they frame it if it’s broken? Twin2: Because it’s old, duh. Twin1: So, it’s old and broken and that makes it special? Twin2: [shrugs] I guess. Twin1: Dad, I’m bored. Can we get ice cream?

Atlas: Holy shit. Asher: What? Atlas: I’ve seen these before. Asher: Really? Where?

Atlas: Well, I… in a dream, I think. Asher: What? Atlas: Yeah, I used to have this recurring dream, and there were skeletons in it just like this. Three in a row. Asher: Weird. Atlas: You have no idea. [waves to museum employee] Excuse me.

Sam: Hi there, I’m Sam. Can I help you with something? Atlas: What are these? Sam: Ah, these are the Temple Guards. Atlas: Temple? Sam: Yes, the jungle used to be home to three ancient temples. They were said to contain great treasures, and people would come from all over in search of them. The Guards were one of many things that would protect the temples from trespassers. Asher: They don’t seem very intimidating.

Sam: [laughs] No, these wouldn’t. These are just replicas. The real ones are much larger and are said to have the ability to curse their enemies. Atlas: What kind of curse? Sam: It varies. Legend has it, they take the victim’s greatest wish and turn it into their nightmare. Asher: Creepy. Sam: Very. If you’re interested in learning more, we have the real thing downstairs. It’s a slow day. I can give you the full tour at a 25% discount. Asher: Um… Atlas: Let’s do it. Sam: Follow me.

Sam: Now, everything you see around you, with the exception of some reinforced archways and support beams, comes from the actual temple ruins. These temples were constructed as mazes with various floors, rooms, hidden doorways, and dead ends. They were designed to confuse their enemies and cause them to get lost, unable to find their way out. And, if that wasn’t enough, the whole place was booby trapped. These devices here, they would shoot arrows at anyone who tried to cross them. However, they contain a puzzle. By solving the puzzle, one could deactivate them and continue on.

Sam: This is the kind of room one may find themselves trapped in. The only way out, again, is to solve the puzzle. Get it wrong, and each podium has a different punishment in store for you. Atlas: Why would anyone go into these temples if they’re so dangerous?

Sam: Oh, plenty of reasons. Greed, adventure… Sometimes people just think they’re special. That, even if hundreds have failed before them, somehow, they’re the one who will make it through, the one who will make it out alive. But I’ve yet to hear a story where someone did. Trouble is, once you’re in, there’s only one way out, and good luck finding it.

Asher: [pokes Atlas] Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Atlas: [nods] It’s perfect. Sam: This way, my favorite room is just up ahead.

Asher: Whoa. Atlas: This is amazing. Sam: Right?!

Sam: There are freshwater pools in the jungle. We have no idea how they got there, but they’re said to have been cursed. That they were originally created as traps for those seeking out the temples. It could be very temping to go for a swim, but if you were to try it, you’d be pulled straight to the bottom.

Asher: Fantastic. Atlas: You okay? Asher: How ‘bout we move on? Sam: Oh, uh, sure.

Sam: And here we have the real Guards. Asher: Okay, yeah, these are a bit more intimidating. Atlas: The real ones? Sam: That’s right. The very ones that stood inside one of the temples. Atlas: The temples, are any of them still there? Sam: ‘Fraid not. Only ruins. We’ve collected what we could and preserved it all here in this museum.

Atlas: I think maybe it’s time we head back to our rental. Asher: Yeah. This place is creepy, isn’t it? Atlas: That’s putting it mildly. Sam: Well, good news is, the next stop is the last on our tour. Bad news is, it’s about to get a lot creepier. Asher: Not sure how you’ll manage that.

Sam: This is Barbara. Asher: Barbara? Sam: Well, no. She doesn’t have a name, so I make up a new one every time I come down here. Just whatever pops in my head. So, today she is Barbara. Asher: You really enjoy your job, don’t you, Sam?

Sam: I do. And this is my favorite part. You see, it wasn’t only those looking for treasure or grand adventures that were trapped in these temples. Anyone who wandered nearby could fall victim. Legend has it, the temple

would come alive at night, and so would Barbara. She would crawl her way out of the ground and lure in anyone who dared to get too close. As I mentioned, once inside, there was only one way out. But also, there was a limited amount of time in which to escape. Once the sun rose, the temple went to sleep again, the exit sealed, and anyone left inside was lost forever.

Atlas: What happened to them? Sam: Nobody knows.

[Later]

Asher: I’m so glad we’re finally back. I’m exhausted after all that. Atlas: Me too. You were right. We never would’ve made it out of the jungle before dark. I’m glad we decided to wait. Asher: Me too. We should get to bed soon so we can get up early tomorrow, take our time. Atlas: Good idea. [snuggle] Hey, Ash, I— Asher: Jesus, do see this? Come here.

Asher: I can’t believe how many stars are out tonight. We never see this in the city. Atlas: It’s beautiful. Asher: Sorry for cutting you off just now. What were you going to say?

Atlas: Oh, um… nothing. I was just going to say that I love you. Asher: [smiles] I love you too.

[drvirgus]

Panda I'm dying, I need SO BAD a fic of Minji being spiderman, I already read all the ones there were

LIKE, GOD, MINJI LOOKS SO PERFECT AS SPIDERMAN

(sorry, I'm crazy)

we all are crazy for my Wife (Minji) :D hopefully you like it

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Spiderwoman

Spiderman! Minji X fem! Reader

One shot:

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Annoyed, I rolled my eyes as they quickly, almost lightning-fast, darted over all the posters of a new superhero. Spiderwoman... I frowned in frustration. This superheroine was just a pervert.

I took a deep breath and glanced over at one of my friends who was happily waving at me. I waved back immediately, but then another girl (Kim Minji) waved at me as well. Clearly surprised, I walked past the first person and hugged Haewon, one of my closest friends. The other girl’s eyes followed me, and her hand lowered in embarrassment as a flush spread across her cheeks.

"Oh my God, did you see it?" Haewon asked excitedly as she pulled away from the hug and fished her phone out of her pocket, seemingly to show me some video that had gone viral on social media. My eyes looked at the screen, and I saw Spiderwoman apparently catching some criminals and handing them over to the police.

I pressed my lips together. "What time was that?" I asked, causing Haewon to immediately check the time in the corner of the video and look back at me. "Around 6 PM, why?" she asked, but I just shrugged. My eyes instinctively rolled again at the memory of our first meeting.

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

Flashback begins

I yawned tiredly while drying my wet hair. My bathrobe was open, not really hiding anything. But why should I hide? I lived on the 4th floor, the rent was cheaper, and no one could see me anyway.

Humming along with the music playing from my small speakers, I bent over to grab fresh underwear from my closet. A loud noise immediately caught my attention, so I looked toward the door and then toward my balcony.

Startled, I let out a scream, my eyes widening. My first reaction was to grab something. My hand gripped the broom tightly as I approached the balcony, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. How the hell—was that Spiderwoman?!

I flung open the balcony door, and the broom landed on the superhero’s head as she seemed to be looking away. “Ouch, that hurt,” the superhero complained, holding her head with both hands. My frown deepened as I noticed her arms falling limply by her sides, her head bowed down toward me. But lower than my face, so I followed her gaze.

I gasped loudly as I realized my bathrobe was still open. Embarrassed, I shrieked and turned around, quickly tying the robe properly with an extra tight knot. The broom fell to the floor, making me flinch a little.

"Who the hell are you, you pervert?!" I yelled, but to my surprise, Spiderwoman stepped even closer and put her hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming. "I just got lost," the woman under the mask said, her voice slightly muffled.

I glared at the taller figure. My hand moved to her wrist, trying to push her hand away from my mouth, but she didn’t let me. I rolled my eyes immediately. “Will you stop screaming?” she asked softly, making me roll my eyes again before nodding. Spiderwoman hesitated visibly but released my mouth shortly after.

I sighed in clear annoyance and adjusted my bathrobe. Spiderwoman was still standing there. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could feel her gaze on me. I sighed again as I looked up at the taller figure. My eyes wandered over her entire body. Even though it was dark, I could make out everything.

The tight latex suit clung to her skin, the spiderweb design spread across her chest, her... chest. You could see how tall and well-built this stranger was. How large her hands were, and how—

"I see you staring."

My head snapped up to look at the taller woman, and somehow I knew she was grinning. No—I knew she was grinning.

I scoffed. "As if. Keep dreaming," I said, rolling my eyes and waving my hand dismissively. The stranger laughed. “We’ll see each other again, Y/n,” she said before jumping off my balcony and swinging from building to building.

My eyes widened. “How do you know my name?!” I shouted after the superhero, but I never got an answer.

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

Flashback End

“What do you want here again? Lost your way?” I said mockingly, rolling my eyes. The superhero looked at me from the balcony, as my door was open. Her hand was on the glass to push the door open a little further to see inside better.

“I didn’t know superheroes were allowed to commit crimes,” I added, raising an eyebrow as I looked up at Spiderwoman, who hesitantly stepped into my apartment, glancing around. “Is it really a crime?” she asked, making me chuckle. I rolled my eyes once more. “Unwanted entry is still called trespassing,” I replied, my tone playful but with a hint of seriousness.

Spiderwoman looked at me, but I couldn’t tell her expression beneath the mask. I was still sitting on the floor, my book open in front of me as I tried to study for my upcoming exams. She glanced at me, then sat beside me. “You did this wrong,” the taller woman said, pointing at one of my problems.

I frowned and read the question again. “Know-it-all,” I muttered under my breath, closing the notebook and exhaling in visible frustration. But my expression changed quickly when I noticed the wound on her shoulder.

Sighing in annoyance, I stood up. “Stay here,” I instructed. “I thought I wasn’t welcome?” she teased, her grin almost audible. I rolled my eyes again and went to my small medicine cabinet.

Armed with a bandage, healing ointment, disinfectant, and some cotton pads, I returned and sat next to the superhero. “Take it off,” I said. Spiderwoman laughed softly. “At least take me on a date first,” she joked, causing me to snort in amusement.

“I can’t. You’ll see my face,” the superhero added, her voice quieter now. Nervously, her fingers played with the suit on her thigh. “Shut up and turn around,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This way, I won’t see your face,” I added, waiting for her to turn.

I was curious. How the hell was she going to take off that suit?

“Rip the spot,” the stranger instructed, making me click my tongue in annoyance. “What? Curious about who I am?” she asked, laughing lightly as she tilted her head back to look at me. I hesitated. “Well, I’d like to know who’s been stalking me,” I replied softly, my eyes locking onto the ones on her mask. I swallowed audibly.

Without thinking, my fingers reached up and began to peel the mask from her face. My lips parted as her lips became visible. I could feel my heartbeat quicken as I freed the tip of her nose, but she stopped my hand by grabbing my wrist.

“What exactly are you trying to do, Y/n?” she asked. My fingers released the mask, but Spiderwoman made no move to fix it. My eyes were fixed on her lips. “I don’t know,” I murmured quietly as I leaned in slowly.

My lips pressed against hers, and it didn’t take long for her to kiss me back. My hand cupped her face. Spiderwoman broke the kiss, but only to turn and lean over me. Her hand rested on my neck as her lips worked against mine.

“Y/n.”

I didn’t know who she was.

“You’re beautiful.”

I didn’t know how she knew my name.

I felt her tongue glide over my lip, asking for entry, which I gave without a second thought. My hand lifted as I felt her push me back against the couch, straddling one of my legs.

My hand landed on her shoulder, and I tilted my head slightly to deepen the kiss with just as much passion. But Spiderwoman hissed and pulled away. My eyes widened as I saw the warm red blood on my hand. Almost immediately, I sat up. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I said, but she simply smiled. This time, I could see it since her mask was still only pulled down to her nose.

I took a deep breath. “Turn around,” I said, more seriously this time, and Spiderwoman complied without hesitation.

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

"Kim Minji?" I called out into the classroom, holding one of the exam papers in my hand. My eyes locked onto a particular person who was confidently walking toward me. My breath caught for a moment as my gaze briefly lingered on the taller woman’s lips. "Y/n?"

God... the way she said my name sounded so familiar...

I cleared my throat as a flush of color crept onto my cheeks, and I quickly met the black-haired woman’s eyes. Minji smiled at me as she took the exam paper with both hands. "Thank you, Y/n," she said with a smile, her eyes still fixed on mine.

But then, my eyes caught sight of the bandage on Minji’s shoulder, and my eyebrows shot up. "Hey, what... happened there?" I asked more quietly, causing Minji to pause just as she was about to walk away. Her eyes briefly flicked to her own shoulder and then back to me.

"Oh, uh," she started but hesitated for a moment. "Car accident."

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

I kept catching myself staring longingly at the balcony. My eyes weren’t even watching the show on TV anymore, just the balcony. Sighing, I glanced at the clock, noticing how it kept ticking, never stopping.

My phone lit up, and I immediately grabbed it.

Kim Minji (11:29 PM): Thanks for being concerned. If you want, I can help tutor you.

Kim Minji (11:30 PM): Not that I’m saying you’re dumb or anything. It was just... yeah, uh. Sorry.

I was about to respond, but then I heard the familiar sound of the superhero finally landing on my balcony. Huffing, I stood up from the floor, narrowing my eyes at the taller woman, who hesitated to step in when she saw my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Huffing again, I turned away, quickly typing on my phone.

Me (11:32 PM): *Thanks, Minji. I’ll definitely take you up on the tutoring offer :) *

“Baby—”

“Don’t call me ba—” I stopped myself mid-sentence when I noticed a notification light up on her latex suit. My jaw tightened. “Why are you so late? Who were you with? God, why was I so stupid?” I asked, tossing my phone onto the couch and pacing in my small living room. “You’re a superhero. You could be married. God, I kissed you? I’m waiting for you? Oh no.”

“Y/n—”

“You could be sleeping with anyone, and I wouldn’t know. I kissed a complete stranger. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Y/n—”

“Why did I even do that? Oh God, even if you’re a good person, you could die! You could... I don’t even know... I don’t know anything—”

“Look at me, damn it.”

“Not now, Minji,” I muttered as I glanced at the woman in my living room before looking back at the floor.

My breath hitched as I slowly raised my head again and saw the unmasked woman standing there. She was still in her suit, but the mask—she held it firmly in her hand.

“Minji?”

“Yes?”

“Kim Minji?”

“Yes?”

My mouth fell open as I stared at the taller woman, who gave me a nervous smile. I blinked several times, but no words came out.

“Are you... disappointed?” Minji asked quietly. I could see her shoulders begin to slump, her entire expression changing. I swallowed hard. “That... it’s you?” I asked softly, and Minji nodded. I shook my head in response.

“Are you happy?” Minji asked as she stepped closer, her eyes locked on mine. My lip trembled as I took in her whole face. “I don’t know,” I admitted, causing Minji to nod slightly. Her hand gently cupped my cheek, her lips parting.

“Can I?” she asked quietly. I swallowed, still in shock, and it took a moment before I finally nodded.

Minji was Spiderwoman...

Kim Minji, aka Spiderwoman... kissed me. In my apartment.

Minji kissed me.

and i dont know if its good... or bad.

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[astarionancuntnin]

The Ways of Worship

summary: this faith was all you've ever known. so when you wake up a morning with the dreadful feeling that you've lost it, you do the one thing that makes sense - confess to your local priest. when he offers his guidance with the promise of making you whole again, you accept without a second thought. your first lesson begins tonight.

rating: E

word count: 4.2k

pairing: priest astarion x religious!reader

cw: 18+. priest+modern AU, smut, power imbalance, so many pet names (child, dear, darling, sweet, precious (little) lamb, one, angel, love), corruption so dubcon, light degradation, punishments (spanking), loss of innocence, groping, fingering, dom(astarion)/sub(reader), losta biblical imagery. full list on ao3.

a/n: none of these thoughts are in the bible

a/n²: inspo songs were BITE MARKS and worship by ari abdul

a/n³: all of the references about the church itself and the reader's experience are taken from my memory directly as i did grow up catholic (i wanted the experience to feel at least somewhat authentic for the introduction) (also, not catholic anymore). does that make it kinda self-indulgent? maybe, but all im saying is that i didnt have a religion kink before writing this piece.

ENJOY YOU DEPRAVED SLUTS

read on ao3

or keep reading down below~

Your relationship with God has been intricate.

You had always been a diligent follower; you recited your prayers, went to church every Sunday, carried a cross around your neck and had at least three of them in your house, at the top of each room’s entrance, for protection. You were baptised and followed all His learnings as you made it into adulthood, all without so much of a complaint. You were the prime example of a textbook follower.

Albeit, growing up in a catholic household — it was the only truth you knew — it was always one you seemed to have been following blindly. You wanted to believe, wanted to love Him — and most days you thought you did — but today, you woke up with the dreadful realisation that your faith had left you. 

You tried to pray and felt like an imposter, everything was out of place; the  pictures of you at your First Communion seemed to taunt you, the cross hanging from your neck felt heavier, uncomfortable. 

Any remaining feeling regarding your religion felt… off.

You thought of going to mass this Sunday to rectify the situation, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone would just know you didn’t belong, that they would sense you as a traitor amongst real followers. 

Even if you managed to drag yourself to church then, it was still days away, it wouldn’t make sense to go after waiting for so long; it would lose its purpose.

You would lose your purpose.

Then again, you couldn’t just sit here with this weight, this guilt that you had forsaken your Lord. You had to fix this, to ask for forgiveness for straying away from the rightful path; the only one you knew.

You eventually find the strenght to push yourself to go church in the following hours.

The impressive stone building that you used to look at with admiration and which once brought you an inner sense of peace, now seemed to look down on you. The chime of the bells resonated through you, as if ringing for your final hour, standing minutes away from your judgement.

As if this house of God knew of your sins — of your doubts — and it wouldn’t make it easy on you to absolve yourself of your mistakes.

Oddly enough, the interior was less daunting than its facade; it felt much, much smaller from the inside, as if the exterior was purposely made to make it seem bigger. It was also surprisingly dark considering the multiple stained glass adorning its walls, the colours from them blending between the aisles. Aside from you, there was only one other person you spotted sitting in the first rows, visibly praying. 

Perks of visiting in the middle of the week; people were too busy with their lives to pay a visit to the Lord. If you were to fumble this, there would most likely be no witnesses to your shame. This last part, at least, reassured you a little bit. 

You thought the hardest step you had to take was the first one you took into the church, but the second your eyes found the confessional booth, standing next to the last row of benches, your feet were stuck to the ground again; undecided between running away in shame or pushing through that first step in the right direction.

You grunted as the battle in your mind raged on.

What am I even doing, you thought to yourself. There’s probably no one in this booth and I’ll wait hours like a fool only to realise that the priest isn’t in today.

And you would be partially right: no one was inside.

But before you could turn on your heels and cower away, a new presence made itself known in the room.

From the corner of your eye, you spied a man — who you recognized as your priest, Father Astarion.

As he walked along the far end aisle, you noticed his usual attire; he wore his all-black tight robe with the white spot at his collar, along with his crucifix hanging from his neck. The rest of him, though, reflected a perfect contrast from his clothing: His curly hair, which was worn back and styled elegantly, arbored a platinum white colour. Almost as white as his skin — so pale he might’ve passed for a corpse — which really brought out his dark eyes. 

So dark, you often found yourself getting lost in them during mass. It wasn't rare that you would miss a part of his preaching and would only be brought back to Earth hearing the commotion around you as people grabbed their things to leave. 

He just had a way of moving that entranced you to follow him without a second thought. As if his connection to the Lord was even greater than he let on.

He stood tall as he walked leisurely towards the confessional you were aiming for, and you couldn’t help but admire his form. Given, you couldn’t see much as his well-fitted religious attire covered most of him, but you did notice the defined veins trailing right down to his hand resting in front of his figure, hands that bore long and strong fingers. Ones, you imagined, would feel rough against your skin if they were to—

You blink rapidly, shaking your head as you catch yourself before that thought drifts even further, your face flushed red by what you almost envisioned. What still floats around in your mind.

How could you even consider the caress of someone on you in a place so private? This was a man of God, for crying out loud. 

As if the reason for your presence here wasn’t enough, here you were, shamelessly fantasising about the very man who would decide if you were worth repenting. Two sins in one day, really? What was wrong with you? 

As Father Astarion steps into his side of the booth, vanishing from your vision, your consciousness comes back to you and breaks your frozen spell. You finally walk towards what would be your side of the confessional, stopping right before the threshold.

Why are you still doubting yourself? You’re already here, and the priest already saw you — he probably walked here for you, knowing your intentions. Just go inside, you’ll feel much better afterwards. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, stepping inside and sitting down before closing the door behind you, now waiting for the shade on the other side to greet you. 

Seconds might’ve been minutes at this point, your heart was stuck in your throat, anxious at what was to come. He was in there, was he not? You saw him enter, did he not hear you come in? Were you supposed to knock?

When the partition slides back, leaving only a partial faint light passing through the other side, a warm, deep voice greets you.

“Welcome, my child.”

Oh, and his voice. It was already delightful when it echoed between the walls of the church, but up close it’s as if it rippled through you. Almost enough to make you forget to answer back.

“F— Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“Tell me, how long has it been since your last confession?”

“A few years. This is my first time since my First Communion, Father,” you answer, your voice softer than usual.

“It is never too late to repent, child. It takes a lot of courage to step into the house of God and ask forgiveness; I commend you for taking the first step in the right direction. Now, what would you like to confess?”

You feel as if you could listen to him talk for hours, his voice soothed you in ways you never experienced before; it quieted down — at least temporarily— the shame that inhabited you.

“I… found myself questioning my faith, Father.”

“And yet here you are, confessing to your priest, at your church.” You think you can hear the smile he bears as he answers you. “It seems to me your faith still lies well alive within you.” 

“Yes, the irony isn’t lost on me Father, but…” you sigh, “Doesn’t this make me a sinner? Doubting of His existence, of His word… Am I even worth redeeming?”

“My dear, the fact that you came to me to confess this already shows me you want to believe, our Lord is lenient with His lost souls. Recite your Our Father throughout the week, three times before going to bed, and come to this Sunday's mass.”

“Thank you, Father, I will.”

He doesn’t answer back right away, and it gives you some time to reflect on his answer. 

It’s true, if you were a lost cause, you wouldn’t be here begging for the Lord’s forgiveness. You would be taking down the crucifixes in your home, taking down your pictures from your Confirmation, and any other religious signs displaced around your home as you moved away from this life. 

Then again, shouldn’t this be what you should be doing? If you doubted your faith in the first place, was this really meant to be your life?

When Father Astarion speaks again, you’re taken back from where your thoughts had drifted.

“Was there anything else weighing on your mind, my child?”

It’s almost as if he had read your mind.

“Yes, actually, I… I must admit this turn of events made me realise I’m not sure I’ve ever, truly believed in the first place… of my own volition.”

“I see.” He pauses briefly, “What did you expect from this confession, my dear?”

You sigh, “I’m not sure… My faith is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know what to do, and now I’m not sure if I’m meant for this life. As if everything I’ve known up to now had been nothing but a lie, and now that the opportunity to move on has made itself possible, I don't even know if I could go for it — if I should.”

You think you see his shadow move from the other side of the confessional, getting closer to the grid. “How does this make you feel?”

“Lost, confused. When I woke up this morning I felt…” you pause, looking for the exact feeling plaguing your mind. “Hollow, as if a part of me had vanished, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

Not a sound from the other side of the partition, and for a moment, you think the man sitting on the other side had been nothing but a fragment of your imagination, taunting you yet again for your drift of faith.

Just as you're about to ask for him, he speaks again.

“Would you like to believe, my child? Would you like me to show you what it means to worship — to devote yourself to a higher entity? To feel whole again?”

His voice had gone an octave lower — as if someone else had replaced the priest who had previously entered the booth — and you felt yourself drawn to it, tempted by the promise of guidance just a few words away.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Come back here at midnight, I shall teach you the ways of worship.”

Your heart was already pounding in your chest in anticipation.

—

The day couldn’t have felt any longer than it did. Every moment spent between rushing thoughts of what the night would bring, constantly eyeing the clock as the minutes passed by, doubting if you had even heard the priest right, but the second the clock struck midnight, here you were, back at your church.

It stood as a beacon among the dark street, the only building with a light at its porch, pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

You didn’t expect the doors to open at first; the church was usually closed at this hour, but as you pulled back on them, the doors opened up to you with a creak. When you stepped back in, your senses were struck with the strong aroma of old wood, burning candles, and incense. 

You took a few steps forward, examining your surroundings, and noticing how much darker it had become without the colours spraying from the stained glass. Aside from the few candles lighting the side aisles, only one spotlight remained, right over the altar.

You heard a click behind you and when you turned, nothing — or no one — was to be seen. Just in the event that you might’ve imagined the sound, you went back to the door to try and push it, only for it to remain in place.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You quickly turn around, startled by Father Astarion's voice greeting you. You can’t see him, and with the echo of the church, his voice felt as if it came from everywhere all at once, almost as if the voice came directly from Heaven.

“Do not be coy, my sweet, little one. Approach the altar.”

How long he had been there, you couldn’t tell, and you didn’t see fit asking — this was his home as much as it was the Lord’s, after all — but he had appeared out of thin air without as much of a sound.

You walk along the main aisle, each step taken with a mix of incertitude and curiosity as you slowly approach him in silence, his person still hidden behind the beam of light.

“I see you already wonderfully apply the concept of obedience, dearest,” he purrs, and you shiver in your white summer dress in response — the nights had been warm but you suddenly find yourself questioning your choice of clothing. 

“Are you ready to begin your first lesson?”

There’s this uneasy feeling that inhabits you, telling you to run away from this place, from this man, but you ignore it — he is the voice of reason, and you are but a lost soul looking for guidance.

“Yes, Father,” you find your voice at last, although faint and gentle.

“Come closer, my lost lamb,” he says, more assertively. “Be not afraid, for I will guide you towards the light.”

Your feet move of their own accord as you speak up, “If I may ask, what will be the goal of this lesson?”

“You desire to believe of your own volition, do you not? To be shown the path for you to choose?” You nod. “Then I will show you the reach of our Lord.”

You reach the first step of the altar, where you stop, not daring to approach further.

“Close your eyes, and repeat after me.” And so, you obey, once again. With your eyes closed, you let his voice enrapture you, and you repeat every sentence back to him, both of your voices echoing the prayer between the walls of the church.

Father Astarion,

To you, I deliver my mind,

To mould in His image.

I deliver my body and flesh,

To use in His name.

I deliver my very soul,

To guide me back into His embrace.

I surrender myself to you,

To be reborn anew.

Amen.

“Open your eyes, my little angel.”

Father Astarion had taken a step forward, placing him right under the light that reflected against his platinum hair, creating a halo surrounding him. As he stood right between the statues of the disciples depicted around the altar, he looked like the Lord himself.

All but for one exception.

His eyes.

Not a trick of the light, they were indeed red. A deep, ruby red that shone vividly. In addition to his sharp traits enhanced under the holy light, he looked like a celestial being; an angel. 

You step back, unbelieving your eyes fixated on the creature before you, and you remain paralysed. You swear they used to be black–

“I was just like you, little lamb,” he steps towards you. “A lost soul, questioning the Lord’s existence — his word — and I lost my faith. Until I was shown His greatness, and I was guided back into His arms. Redeemed. The Lord has sent me specifically to take care of lost souls like yours. After all, who better to guide you than a fallen angel?”

He stood right in front of you now, his arms open, inviting you in.

“Are you ready to let the Lord enter you — mind, body and soul?”

When the words leave your lips, they're but a whisper.

“Yes, Father.”

The Lord Himself had sent an angel to deliver your punishment; how could you question His power now?

“Good, my little lamb.” 

He approaches you, each heavy step taken towards you creating a greater tension in your chest. 

“You need only follow my word.” He continues, “Our Lord will absolve you of your sins for as long as you obey.”

He circles behind you and his hands find your bare shoulders, making you gasp at the touch. 

They were just as strong as you imagined in your most depraved thoughts, but they were much, much colder.

“You trust me, do you not, my sweet?”

While one of his hands trailed along the side of your shivering arm, he slid a finger under the thin strap of your dress. Your heart beating away in your chest made it only harder to answer back.

“Y– Yes, Father.”

His breath down your neck created a warmth between your legs and a fog in your mind, and when he pushed the strap down your arm, you barely felt it.

When he reached for the zipper in your back and pulled down, you didn’t question it. 

When your dress fell down to the floor, revealing your body in its most humble form, you didn't cover yourself back.

“My precious little angel, you are a vision.”

Father Astarion remained behind you where you couldn’t see him as he whispered against your ear, and you wouldn’t move unless he ordered you to. You didn’t want to risk going against his word, not with him so close to you, not with the way his hand had moved to your front and brushed against your breasts ever so lightly, and down your navel. Not with the way his strong fingers felt wrapped around your throat, holding you in place.

When his other hand found your entrance, your knees buckled and a heavy breath left your chest.

“You devilish little thing, you are positively drenched." His raspy voice breathed down your neck, "Has a man ever touched you like this before?"

"No, Father, I- I wouldn't."

"Good girl," he purrs and you can almost feel his lips against your skin. "You keep yourself pure for our Lord, I commend you for your restraint."

His praise had you weak in the knees and warm at your core.

"Have you ever touched yourself?”

“N– No.”

Technically not a lie — you never touched yourself, but on nights where you imagined Father Astarion as close as he was now, it was hard for you to keep your thighs from rubbing together to relieve yourself of the ache that had built up.

“Have you ever thought about a man touching you this way before?”

“I…”

He had to be a mind reader, how else would he have known you were just thinking about this?

Met with your silence, Father Astarion growls in your ear, “Remember that lying is a sin, darling. You wouldn’t want to add another infraction to your holy record, would you?”

You bite your lip, remembering vividly the dreams you had about a priest you knew all too well and how the same fingers entering you now would feel.

“I have, F– Father.”

"Tell me, then, who did you imagine between your legs? Touching you, tasting you...” his tongue traced the side of your ear, earing a breathy moan from you. "Fucking you?"

You can feel your face burning up and your lungs fighting for air, as if Hell had taken place in this very church and the flames of temptation were threatening to swallow you whole for your sins.

“Y— You, Father,” you stutter.

“And you kept this to yourself? You lied to our Lord, to me, by avoiding this confession?” You shut your eyes in shame in answer. “Oh, you are much more depraved than I thought, child. We cannot let this go unpunished.”

You whimper when he removes himself from inside of you and walks back into the spotlight, leaving you with a mess between your legs and a racy heart in your chest.

“If you wish to be absolved, approach the altar.”

His change of tone instilled fear in each of your steps forward, but you advanced nonetheless.

“Bend over,” he ordered.

You do as you're told, hissing as your sinfully warmed up skin gets in contact with the cool marble surface of the altar. You were barely tall enough to fit on the high table, your hands grabbing onto the ledge for balance.

“You will recite the Our Father just as I instructed you, and you will do so without as much as a whine. Am I understood?” You nod. “Speak up, sinner.” “Yes, Father,” you answer, your voice already shaking.

“Good.” His feet push apart your legs, leaving you fully exposed and on your tiptoes, now relying completely on your arms for support. “Proceed.”

You take a deep breath and begin, “Our Father, who art in heaven– AH!”

You jump at the sudden contact of his hand over your sensitive skin.

“Start. Over.”

You gulp. “Our Father, who art in heaven, haa— hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom c– COME!” You scream as you receive this last spank, stronger than the previous one.

He groans, “Again.” 

“Please, I can’t—” you sob, the pain from his spanking breaking not only your body, but your spirit.

“Do you enjoy this?” He spanks you again, harder. “The sting of my hand against your skin?” And again. “The tears building up in your eyes?” And again. “Answer!”

“No!” You cry out. “Please, I beg you — mercy, Father please,” you plead, and plead, your voice drowned out by your sobbing.

“This is what you deserve for straying away from the rightful path, little lamb.” You arch your back as his hand grabs onto the base of your hair and pulls back. “Are you not willing to take your punishment, like a good little follower?”

“Please,” you keep begging. “I’ll do anything Father, anything but this, I beg you—” 

Your legs shake from the pain, knees buckling, and your arms fighting for dear life to hold on to the altar, which had been warmed up by your skin.

“If you are unwilling to receive your rightful punishment, we will need to reshape your will, little one.” 

At last, he releases your hair from his grasp and you collapse to your knees with a cry as both your arms and legs give out. 

With your face down panting, you don't even notice one of your hands still desperately holding onto the edge of the altar.

“I can show you a new path,” Father Astarion continues, his voice kinder than before. “One of pleasure and devotion.”

You jump when his hand touches you again, this time with a surprising gentleness that you find yourself leaning into as he strokes your wet cheek. 

“Another way for you to repent, so you may be absolved of your sins; by proving your faithfulness to me.”

His thumb wipes away the last tear that fell from your eyes, before lifting your chin up to him.

“You want to be known, to be tasted — I can offer you that. All you need to do is offer yourself to me. Do you wish to be mine, little angel?”

“Yes, Father,” you breathe out. “More than anything in the world.”

He blinks once softly and a smile appears on his thin lips.

“Then you shall be mine, as I shall be yours. For as long as you'll be on your knees for me, God will absolve you of your sins.”

His hand leaves your chin and you watch him as he sucks on the same thumb that erased your tears, before tracing a cross over your forehead with it, and you close your eyes basking in his tender touch.

“You will experience our Lord's presence inside of you in ways you have never experienced before. You will relinquish yourself to me and worship me without second thoughts. You will never feel hollow, ever again, little love.” 

When you open your eyes again, the holy light surrounding him almost blinded you with how much brighter it felt now that you were on your knees, under him.

“You will show me the same devotion you would God, as you’ll now refer to me as Lord.” Your Saint, your fallen angel, you Lord; you would worship the very ground he walked on, and spend the rest of your life repenting at his feet, as he was proof of a faith you dared to doubt in the first place.

The words leave your parted lips effortlessly, “Yes, my Lord.”

As he grins, you notice the sharp fangs in the corner of his mouth and finally see him for what he really is.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

A devil in the house of God.

Your unholy punishment.

One that you accept as he dives his fangs into the crook of your neck, surrendering yourself to him, to be reborn anew.

Amen.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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[chaptersleftunwritten]

Where you left me

Based on that Twilight scene… this is rather short and not my best work. I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing. Life has been stressful. Enjoy, M’loves!!

Blurb: Vecna is coming for Eddie and to keep you safe… he has to leave.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Eddie x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort. Angst. Talk of death. Relationship break-up.

-

You met him where you always did. At the old rickety picnic table that was close to wood rot and had outlived your grandparents by at least a decade. It was buried deep between the thick weighty trees of the forest.

It was your spot. Yours and His.

A secluded place you could always count on; a safe haven you could flee to when the world got too much.

But something about this time set your nerves on end. The spontaneity of the meeting left your palms feeling clammy and your knees jittering with every half step you take toward Eddie’s perched frame.

His head hung low from his shoulders- he looked like a defeated warrior. Done. Packed up and ready to go home. Leaving the battlefield of lost souls burning behind him; his suit of armour covered in blood.

“Ed’s?” Your voice is punctuated with the crack of twigs and the crisp of fallen leaves beneath the rubber soles of your sneakers. You avoid sitting down, too afraid of the conversation that may follow and your eyes settle on the shrunken brown pine needles that coat the wooden table. Autumn is upon you.

The mere sound of your voice is enough to cause Eddie to scatter to his feet; clearly he had been awoken from a deep, dream like trance.

“Hi, sweetheart.” One of his hands palm at the back of his neck nervously whilst the other is draped across his abdomen as he hugs himself close. It’s something you had caught him doing whenever he was uncomfortable; or whenever he was afraid.

And you felt puzzled more than anything else, because why would Eddie— your Eddie, be uncomfortable around you?

“Is everything alright? You seem—“

“Everything is fine. Or it will be…” he takes two steps back from you, his normally soft brown eyes are sharp and alert as they take in the forest that you are both submerged in. You hadn’t seen Eddie like this before. So withdrawn and skittish.

“Thank god,” You let out an airy wheeze that could pass as a laugh, “For a moment I thought you might be breaking things off with me…” it’s your turn to pull your coat tighter around your frame. All of a sudden you feel the growing cold temperature around you. It’s as if this had been prophesied and even the weather knows something horrible is about to happen.

The clouds darken in colour and a ominous shadow is cast wide across the forest and its surroundings. Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet and a frustrated groan hits your ear: shrill and heart wrenching.

“Eddie? What’s going on?” You dare to ask.

“I… I have to leave. I have to leave town.” He can’t meet your gaze. Because if he does, if he allows himself to be swept into your glossy saucers of pure love and soul, he won’t be able to leave. He won’t go. He would stay and fight and protect you.

But if he leaves, you are automatically protected. Without all of the blood. Without the loss and the grief. He could protect you from afar. He had to leave you. He had to break your heart. Or he would come for you…

Vecna would come for the town. He wasn’t willing to take that risk.

Your life for his. That’s what he agreed.

“Okay… okay, well I can come with you.” You protest confidently and slightly excited, inching closer to Eddie’s towering frame, “I can think of something to tell my family and… and… where did you want to go?” You gulp, becoming restless, “Why do you have to leave?” You couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand unless he told you.

“No.”

You freeze at the sternness in his voice. Your throat running dry.

“I said I’m leaving. Not we. Not us.” He looks at you for the first time since you arrived, “I don’t want you to come.”

You blink your wide eyes silently, your brain is like a wild fire and all you can seem to mutter is, “Did I do something wrong? I can be better… I can change. Please, Eddie. You can’t… you can’t leave me here.”

Your pleas cause Eddie’s chest to wind into a tight knit and hot iron like tears to prick at his eyes like sharp pins. He wanted to envelop you in his arms and tell you how sorry he is and how perfect you are for him. You didn’t need to change a single thing. He loved you. He loves you.

But he couldn’t.

He had to break you.

He had to make you hate him.

“You can’t change my mind.” It surprises Eddie just how able he is to keep up this painful facade without bursting into a puddle of tears and crumbling to your feet to beg for forgiveness.

“Please—“ you’re tearing up now and it makes Eddie hate himself more.

“I don’t want you anymore.” The words slice at his throat on the way up and it’s as if he is choking on his own blood, “I’m not going to tell you where I’m going because you’ll follow me.” Only now is he able to take a few steps toward your quaking frame. You have managed to suppress the tears, but Eddie knows how deeply he has just wounded you.

“I won’t survive without you. Eddie— Ed’s. Don’t… don’t do this to me. Please.” Your cold face becomes slicked with warm tears and Eddie bites back what he really wants to say.

‘I’m doing this because I love you. I’m doing this because I need you to be safe. I need to know that I have a future with you in it. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I love you… I love you…’

Eddie settles for a pathetic, “I’ll see you again.” And you stand as still as a concrete statute, afraid to move and hoping that this is all just one massive nightmare. You feel the warmth of Eddie’s arms engulf you and you are sure that when you reopen your closed eyes that you’ll be at home. In the comfort of your plush bed. None of this would have happened. Eddie wouldn’t have left you, “I’m sorry, love.” He plants a chaste kiss to your hairline and his lips linger before they disappear completely.

And he does abandon you. When you open your eyes you are standing alone. Cold to the touch. Freezing. You swear you can feel ice crystallising on your skin and your fingertips feel as stiff as rock.

You don’t move. Still you don’t move. You can’t. Your brain is screaming but your mouth remains sewn tightly shut. You are in shock.

Despair. Gloom. Caught in a trap that you can no longer escape from.

And just when you think you have finally mustered the strength to take a step forward— just when you believe you can run into the night and call after Eddie.

You collapse to the frozen dirt with a harsh thud and a teary wince.

The first noise to leave your mouth in minutes is a scream.

A scream as hot as malted lava. A scream that leaves your throat bleeding and raw. A scream that’ll leave you voiceless.

A scream that becomes a cry. A cry that becomes a sob.

And a sob that becomes slumber. You fall asleep on the dry and stick covered ground of the forest. The last thing you see before you succumb to the darkness is the looming trees that tower over your lowered and huddled frame. They shelter you from the brewing storm.

But they couldn’t save you from a torn heart.

-

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[whumblr]

A bone to pick

"Just can't help yourself, huh?! Always getting in our way!"

Another punch blew them to the floor of the grimy cell. With their hands cuffed behind their back, Whumpee couldn’t do much more than literally roll with the punches, soften the blows, trying to dodge best they could as Henchman went off, releasing his anger on them.

A kick to the stomach made them curl up. Followed up by a stomp on their ribs.

"Not so tough now, hm?" Henchman hissed, grinding his boot against their ribcage as if he were stomping out a cigarette. "What, nothing to say this time?!"

"What is going on here?"

Pressure on their ribs immediate fell away when the Henchman literally jumped a little and stepped back.

Whumper stood in the cell door opening, casually leaning against the metal frame, arms crossed, taking in the scene.

"Teaching them a lesson, sir." Henchman puffed his chest out, boasting his confidence that he was doing nothing wrong. But his voice sounded awfully fragile, the plea for approval ringing clear.

Whumpee glared up at the man in the doorway. They weren't sure why they were looking for mercy there but at this point he was the only one who could stop this. Even just for some stupid reason like, 'Only I am allowed to touch them'. But of course, there was no reprieve.

"I see," Whumper merely said, cold indifference in his eyes as he looked at the figure writhing on the floor. "Nothing wrong with that."

Henchman deflated. As did Whumpee's small hope.

"Did you break anything?" Whumper asked.

"No, sir!" Henchman quickly defended himself. No, no, wouldn't want your boss to think you'd just broken his new toy...

A disappointed hum. "Do it now."

Whumpee stopped breathing and went completely still, as if they were superglued to the floor. Fear started prickling in their stomach. Their heart pounded against the concrete and spread the uncomfortable, heavy sensation all over their body.

"Sir?" Henchman didn't seem as sure about what was about to happen.

"Pick a bone," Whumper said, slowly, eerily calm and he looked straight in Whumpee's eyes as he continued, "And break it."

Whumpee forced themself to maintain eyecontact, to keep breathing calmly through their nose. But they lost to the panic rising in them as Henchman disappeared behind them. They turned to their side to keep an eye on him, eyes wildly flitting about to Whumper and back.

Henchman stalked around Whumpee and they could practically feel his eyes roaming over their limbs, their body, as he was trying to make his choice. A barely noticeable sly smile crept over his lips and his eyes settled on their upper arm.

No... They kept the word firmly behind clenched teeth. Nothing they'd say would make them stop and they'd be damned if they allowed them to hear them beg! Their jaw set, panicked eyes blazed as they shot Whumper a challenging glare.

"I know what you're thinking," Whumper rumbled, unimpressed by the scene in front of him. "You're not going to scream for me." He gave a light shrug. "You re wrong there."

As Henchman shoved them onto their front and pulled their arms into an uncomfortable angle, they did put up a light struggle, pulling fruitlessly at the cuffs, scooting inches away, but a boot landedly heavily in-between their shoulder blades and kept them pinned.

"Don't move," Whumper growled, "Or I'll pick something to break as well."

A broken whimper did slip free this time and only increased in volume despite their wishes when they saw Henchman raise a leg.

An enormous force came down on their arm. A disgusting snap vibrated through their entire body like a tiny explosion, but the explosion of pain was much bigger.

And Whumper had been right; they couldn't hold their scream back. A broken, stuttering shriek that fizzled to sharp, short outbursts as the pain faded, but kept throbbing.

The handcuffs held their arms back mercilessly, and pulled at the broken bone with every twitch and twist. They squeezed their eyes shut. Felt, to the their horror, a cold prick of wetness in the corner of their eyes and they turned face-down to the floor, hiding it, resting their forehead against the cold floor.

"Good," Whumper gave a nod. "Now leave us," he growled at Henchman, and poked a foot under Whumpee, nudging them over, drawing out another scream. "We still have much more to discuss."

-

General whump taglist O7: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink

@painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

[kingkat12]

say it (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, mentions of sex, jealousy-schemes, depictions of violence, blood, angst, fluff, Roman using his powers for no good as always

summary: many questions have been left unanswered-- was Roman really going to take revenge on the girls that hurt you, and would the avalanche of events lead him to finally tell you the words you've longing to hear?

word count: 9,208 (holy fuck)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5

a/n: celebrating 400 followers (???) with an extra long chapter!! thank you all again for the support of this series!! all the comments have warmed my heaaarttt omg hope you enjoy!!!<3333 love u!!

Roman had always been highly unpredictable-- but this, I should've expected.

My hands trembled as I reached for the brand new phone in my locker, realizing he had bought me the most recent model he could find. As I picked it up, I slowly pried away the attached post-it note;

taking care of things - the one thing I do well

Knowing I had asked him not to do this, I could only sigh as I tucked my new phone away in my pocket. The day had certainly started on an odd note, but my main concern wasn't this-- it was rather the question of what Roman had done after he stormed away from my house that kept my mind occupied. 

Roman could be scary, and I was aware of this. But gifting me a brand new phone for several hundred dollars? It just proved I could never foresee his next moves. This only made me more anxious to learn why he had left my place in such a hurry shortly after seeing the cuts Jasmine had left on the back of my hands. 

As I closed the door to my locker, a group of girls passed me, their whispers catching my attention. I turned around, ready to face off with another group of bitches just like yesterday, all until I realized what they were whispering about. It wasn't me. 

I followed their gazes which were focused on something further down the hall, and it was at this moment that I spotted the man who hadn't answered any of my panicked messages or calls-- instead, he stood talking to Jasmine. 

Thankfully, it seemed to be quite a heated conversation, unlike how he usually spoke to girls. Roman's brows were drawn together in anger, nearing her slowly in his typical tactic of intimidation, clearly telling her off; I stood frozen by my locker, not bothering to suppress my growing smile at the sight. My stomach fluttered with warmth as I realized that he was standing up for me.

... However, my smile quickly faltered as I caught the change in Jasmine's face. Her lips had been pursed, her finger had been drawn forward to point at him in defense, but her whole fight-back demeanor faded within the snap of a second. It was as though she lost all the blood in her face, eyes not blinking as they met Roman's intense gaze-- everything about her state reminded me of mine yesterday, when I suddenly couldn't control my own words when I looked into his eyes and he interrogated me about my wounds. 

I couldn't deny how dangerous Roman looked, watching as he told her one last, short thing, before harshly nudging her shoulder and disappearing out of view.

Jasmine stood by her locker, completely frozen. I wondered whether she was still breathing, all until she finally moved. She slowly turned to stare into her reflection in the mirror she had hung up on her locker, still not blinking. 

I didn't think I could shriek the way I did-- the extent of my voice was something I discovered as Jasmine unexpectedly slammed her head against the mirror, a loud thud echoing through the hall. 

I wasn't the only one who had been caught by surprise, and I watched the people around her jump away in a mix of both fear and shock. 

Jasmine didn't look like herself; her eyes were dull, hollow, as she brought her head to her locker once more, now leaving bloody cracks in the mirror. 

I recognized Jasmine's posse of girls flocking to make their way through the crowds, and Letha appeared almost out of nowhere to grab her and pull her away from her locker. A shrill cry followed from Jasmine, who was clawing at Letha as though possessed. I watched as she fought, yelled-- I couldn't look at it anymore. I couldn't look at the tiny trickle of blood running down her nose, similar to Roman yesterday, or the small shards of glass she had managed to get lodged into her forehead. 

I turned away, clasping a hand over my mouth as I squeezed my eyes shut; something told me that the sight of the whole thing would burn itself into my mind forever.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Oh, how right I was. I kept replaying the whole scene, but I had oddly enough fixated on something that wasn't the blood-- suddenly, my mind kept replaying how ridiculously hot Roman looked leaned over Jasmine with his intense, big eyes. 

I did my best not to think too much about it. I couldn't; it all brought back thoughts of how soft his lips were against mine.

Speaking of Roman, I didn't expect to talk to him at all today. He still hadn't answered any of my messages, so I assumed he needed time away to cool off.  However, I knew I had him cornered when I accidentally walked into the chemistry lab, catching him in the middle of... an experiment?

This was certainly a new side of Roman which I hadn't seen before-- I had never seen him do anything school-related, as I had gathered he didn't care much for it from our study sessions at Letha's place before everything happened. But here he was, so consumed in whatever he was doing that he didn't acknowledge that I had closed the door, leaving us alone in a confined space.

I pressed my back against the cold door, watching him from afar. Something about how calm he was made me uneasy; why was he so focused? Roman, captivated by the small, compact container before him, kept his eyes on his work as he spoke; "Are you lost?"

My brows drew together as I watched him pour a liquid gel into the container which contained what looked like blood-- he was so meticulous that it gave me an inkling that he had done this several times before. "No," I mumbled, clearing my throat as I fought my queasiness at the sight of his experiment. "What are you doing?"

Roman barely reacted to my question, busy with putting the container into a machine nearby. "Genetic testing,"

"Since when do you know how to do that?"

Annoyed by my continuous interruptions, Roman's gloved hand put the blood-box into the machine and pressed a button to start it, finally looking up to meet my nervous, flickering gaze. "You certainly have a lot of questions today," he huffed, adjusting his protective glasses. "My turn. How are your hands?"

I suddenly became very aware of the cuts on the back of my hands, and my eyes diverted down to watch my thumbs nervously brush over my wounded skin. "They'll heal. I'm not too worried about it," My next inquiry was one I was wary to say, but it became obvious to me that I had to; "I'm more worried about why you stormed off like that last night."

Roman didn't move a muscle, watching me with a blank look on his face. "You told me to go,"

"Come on," I was reminded of what my state had led me to yesterday; the way I wanted to push Roman away, to never see him again. But here I was, standing before him with no greater wish than to run to him. "I was worried sick that you'd do something... You looked like you were ready to kill someone." It was at this moment that I dared to look back at him and suddenly caught a glimpse of the hickey I had left on the side of his throat-- I immediately felt a familiar warmth creep up my cheeks, leaving me with a flustered, reddening expression on my face. "What did you do?"

Roman tilted his head to the side, scanning my state. "I haven't done anything--"

"Then why did you?--"

"Major," Roman bit down on his lower lip, trying to suppress his shameless grin. The familiar spark in his green eyes returned, and I could see it perfectly clear through his protective gear-- no matter how worried his words made me, that look never failed to make the butterflies in my stomach explode all over the place. 

I had to pull myself together, but my voice came out frail and shaky; "You're kidding, right?"

I recognized Roman's wish to remain reactionless and the way he fought the rounding out of his big, green eyes. It seemed to dawn on him that I was genuinely concerned. "... Sure. But what did you think of what happened this morning with Jasmine?"

"What?" That was certainly unexpected-- "Why?" I wanted to ask what he had said to her, but something told me he wouldn't tell me the truth about it anyway. Instead, I opted to find comfort in the fact that he had confronted her for my sake. 

Roman shrugged before his attention moved back to the machine. It was beeping rather obnoxiously, a sound impossible to ignore. He got back to work, pressing a few buttons here and there; "Just wondering. Did it not make you feel good to see her like that?"

I couldn't put my finger on why he was asking these peculiar questions. "Well... No? I was mostly scared. I've never seen anyone have a nervous breakdown before, and I didn't expect something like that to happen to Jasmine,"

"Nervous breakdown," Roman echoed, checking some numbers he had written down on a sheet nearby. Something told me he was upset I wasn't over the moon about it. "Don't you feel like she deserved it?"

It was mind-boggling to hear him talk like this, with such nonchalance about a girl slamming her head bloody-- I had suppressed the memory of this side of him. The inclination to anything pain-related, the scorching look of amusement in his green eyes at the sight of my flaring anxiety, and the infamous fucking needles. How he had gotten hard when seeing how scared I was when we hid from Letha on our first date. 

I hated every reminder of this side of Roman. Hated it. 

"I don't think anyone deserves to be driven to that," I mumbled, picking at my nails out of nervous habit. "I didn't know she was dealing with anything that would lead her to do that. Maybe that's why she acted out yesterday? I hope that's the reason, and not because Letha sent her to do it... " With a sigh, I brought my hands up to rub my temples. "It was so damn scary... The whole thing. And ever since, my head has been hurting like crazy."

Taking in the silence that ensued, Roman tapped the spot next to him on the counter-- come here.

I held my breath as I made my way over with shy steps, hoisting myself up on the cold surface. I watched as Roman removed his gloves along with the protective glasses, now reaching forward to part my legs and make space for himself between them. He listened to the hitch of my breath as he laid his hands on my hips, his calculated gaze scanning mine whilst pulling me towards him. 

By instinct, I rested my hands on his broad shoulders, taking in the moment our breaths became shared. Right now, it was impossible to believe that I had made the wrong choice in choosing him over my friendship with Letha-- something about the tenderness with which he was touching me, told me he was changing right before my eyes. 

With baby steps, of course.

Roman seemed to be taking pity on my state, softly nudging his upturned nose against mine. "Try not to think about it too much," he breathed, watching as I closed my eyes to savour the moment. "Trust that I know how to take care of this."

No, no, no-- "Please don't say that," I pulled away, my hands slowly reaching for his face, searching for the intent behind his eyes. "I know you well enough to know that you're capable of things I don't want to get into, and honestly? You scare me when you say shit like that."

Roman's brows drew together in a troubled look; "I scare you?"

"Yeah," I breathed, stroking my thumbs across his cheeks. "You and your infamous needles and stuff."

A drawn-out groan ensued-- "Again with the fucking needles!--"

"Roman!" My grip on his face hardened in an attempt to keep his focus. I watched his green eyes widen, clearly not used to being handled like that. "Whatever it is, please snap out of it! You can't even tell me that you're into me, but you're ready to go back to being all dark, and for what? My honour?"

Something in Roman's eyes changed-- For once in his life, he was stunned, unable to utter a proper response. 

Overcome by a newfound sense of confidence in his unproclaimed feelings for me, I gently twisted my fingers into the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss. Roman let out a relieved sigh against my lips, his grip on my hips tightening as he moved me closer to the edge of the counter, closer to him. 

It took a lot of willpower to disconnect our kiss, the warmth of his touch luring me in. "I'm serious," I said, nudging his nose as I felt his breath hot against my upper lip. "I can stand up for myself--"

"Shut up," Roman's lips came crashing against mine with a hunger I hadn't expected, especially knowing we could be walked in on at any moment. But I gave in, letting his greedy hands travel further to grab my ass, pressing me against him as his tongue moved softly against mine. 

Usually, I'd taste the hints of his cinnamon cigarettes, but today there was nothing-- I knew he didn't smoke the days he knew he had to be focused. There wasn't much time to ponder why, especially now that our kiss heated further.

As I felt Roman drive his teeth into my lower lip, I could only whimper against him. My grip on his hair tightened in an attempt to pull him even closer, but the sharp sting of the tug only fueled Roman's obvious growing need for more. 

It was building in me as well-- in my anxious daze, I had forgotten how good it felt to feel him against me. How thrilling every touch, every kiss, every little breath was. And if anyone had told me a month ago that Roman Godfrey would be grabbing my ass in the chemistry lab, I would've probably fainted; which I struggled not to do right now.

And I knew we would've gone further, beyond all restrictions and rules of the school, had the door not opened with a loud creak.

Squeaking, I pushed Roman away out of pure instinct. He didn't go very far, feet planted to the ground, as his hands trailed down to rest comfortably at my thighs when he met the eyes of the intruder of our moment.

Letha still held onto the doorknob as though her life depended on it, knuckles nearly turning white at the sheer force-- she inhaled sharply, not yet able to exhale. 

I felt like an icicle, frozen by fear on the counter after meeting the eyes of my ex-best friend. Roman's hands on my thighs burned, the realization of being caught in such a compromising position making me want to burst into flames like the witches of Salem. 

Roman took the lead, catching onto the intense staring-contenst which ensued between me and his cousin; "Did you need anything?" he asked, gaze hardening. 

Letha cleared her throat, letting go of the door. I couldn't help but notice the slight shake of her hands. "I need to talk to you, Ro," 

"I don't want to talk," 

She sighed, visibly fed up with her stubborn cousin; "We didn't finish this conversation yesterday. Don't act like we're not still talking because she's here,"

Oh? I held my breath, my nervous gaze moving to Roman. He remained unfazed, but the minuscule twitch of his eye revealed that he didn't enjoy that information being aired out. "What do you want?"

"To talk. It's important," Letha glanced at me once more, an unintelligible emotion glossing over her eyes as she looked back at me; "Could you please leave?"

It took a few seconds before I realized she was talking to me. The coldness in her voice broke my heart all over-- I didn't have the energy to fight her. Uncomfortable and mortified by the situation, I nodded to myself before sliding off the counter, Roman's hand never leaving me. He now held onto my arm, not letting me gi just yet. Leaning down to my level, he made sure he had my attention before he spoke in a hushed tone; "My number is already in your phone. Give me a text when you're free for lunch,"

My heart leaped up into the air as Roman pressed his lips against my forehead, the sincerity of the gesture flustering me beyond any previous point-- it was especially meaningful now that he did it in front of Letha. Realizing there was no going back, I got up on my toes to give him a short, soft kiss, feeling the plushness of his lips against mine before making my way to the door.

Passing Letha might've taken less than a second, but it felt like hours. I felt her green eyes burn into me, a sense of shock apparent in her body. We exchanged a short look, and I wondered whether I imagined the look of longing that so clearly streaked across her face; I didn't allow myself to dwell on it.

After closing the door behind me, I realized I had been holding my breath. I took a moment, regaining my composure before I got ready to kick off the door-- all until it dawned on me how clearly I could hear Letha's voice through the wall. My heart stopped, realizing I was about to do something I never thought I'd do; I pressed my ear against the door, mentally beating myself up for doing this.

"I see you guys are still getting along," Letha said, her fingers tapping against the door. "That's longer than any of the other friends you've stolen from me."

Roman groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rolling his eyes. "Get to the point,"

I drove my body closer to the door to hear them better, hearing Letha stepping away from the other side of it to come closer to her cousin. "Tell me why I had to drive Jasmine to school today because the wheels of her car had been punctured? Or even worse, how she got a note under her bedroom door saying she should watch her back?"

There was a long silence before Roman finally answered, a hint of humor in his voice; "... Maybe she should, then?--"

"Ro, you were in her house! Are you out of your mind?!"

As he groaned, I could almost see his usual annoyed stance and the way he grabbed the surface in front of him as his anger simmered to a boil. "Me? I would be more concerned about your own mind if I were you! Your cunt of a friend would've done it all again in a heartbeat if I hadn't scared her a little!"

Letha gasped; "What are you talking about? You have no right to call her a!--"

"That bitch hurt her!" Roman's fist came down against the counter, the thud making me jump away from the door. "Have you seen the state of her hands? How do you expect me to react when our petty bullshit comes down to this?!" 

I imagined the stunned look across Letha's face, the way her eyes widened as her lips parted, unable to find the right words. Eventually, she spoke; "Jasmine did what?"

I pressed myself harder up against the door, closing my eyes as it dawned on me how concerned Letha sounded. Everything about it made my heart swell with hope-- this meant she hadn't been the one to send Jasmine and her girls. If anything, she sounded horrified about the ordeal.

"Yeah... She did. And when I talked to Jasmine this morning, she seemed quite proud of it. You should be damn happy I didn't kill her on the spot," I heard the humming of the blood machine starting again, along with the snapping of gloves being pulled back on, indicating that Roman was back to work. "But does Jasmine suspect it's me?" he asked, a certain nonchalance about him. "The car and all?"

Letha sighed, trying to contain her outbursts; "She has no idea. And now she's just rambling incoherent things after what happened this morning... I think she's concussed,"

A hum. "Good,"

I clasped a hand over my mouth to suppress a snort. Against my palm, I could feel my growing smile as I realized this confirmed that Roman wasn't motivated to take revenge on Jasmine to quench his thirst to cause fear, but that he cared for me.

He cared for me.

My smile only grew as I stepped away from the door-- He cared for me. He cared for me!

Now, what remained was for Roman to actually own up to it... And I realized I was grinning as the perfect idea of how to get it out of him came to mind. But my plans came to a hard stop when Letha's voice sounded through the door once more; "Whose blood are you using this time?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood. I grimaced as I walked back to the door; I felt bad listening in on their conversation. Still, I imagined Letha was pointing at the machine Roman was using, as it kept making noise. 

"Jasmine's," Roman mumbled. "Got enough scraped off her locker to make a sample."

"Ro, that's not funny!--"

"Why haven't you girls made up yet?"

Letha sounded confused as she mentioned my name, not having foreseen the change of subject. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Yeah? It's getting annoying at this point. I thought this would blow over several weeks ago," With another loud beep, Roman stopped the machine. "She talks about you a lot. Gets all quiet when I tell her we're having family dinner at your house... And she still has a picture of you two by her bed."

"Oh, and how do you know that? Did you spot it one of the times you were reaching for the condoms on her nightstand?"

His breathing got harder, choppy, before his frustration sounded through his answer; "It's not like that,"

"Okay, then," Letha snorted, clearly not sold. "I'll put it simply for you. How would you feel if I fucked your best friend?"

"Ew, don't give me that mental image!--"

"Fuck you, just imagine a world where I would be enough of an asshole to do that! Imagine I slept with Peter. How would you feel?"

Roman took his time to answer, clearly flustered. "... I get it, okay? I get it!" 

"No, you don't," I could almost see the way Letha now avoided his gaze. "But... did it have to be her? Why couldn't you mess around with anyone else, why did you choose the first girl I trusted to get close to me after you screwed all my other friends?"

Learning of his previous conquests with Letha's long line of friends made me sick, but I focused on the fact that Roman remained quiet. Honestly, I would've cut off my left arm in exchange for seeing him right now. I wondered whether he could meet her eyes or not, and whether he was defensive or anxious. 

Eventually, Roman answered; "She... sees me. And she makes me feel good about myself. So I'm sorry your bitch-friend got hurt or whatever, but I'm just trying to return the favour,"

I had to do a lot to contain my instinctual jump of joy-- I was two seconds away from skipping down the hallway like a German child in a fairytale. Everything about this conversation made me want to squeal and melt into the door. 

However, the other part of me hurt for Letha. Hurt for the girl who knew me better than anyone else, hurt for the first person to have shown me true friendship. I hoped that we could get together someday, to talk it out like people, and not like the two crazy families from Romeo and Juliet. 

The rest of the conversation quickly became a childish spat similar to one between siblings-- I stepped away from the door, making sure to keep breathing. 

The most important thing I gathered from that conversation was the fact that Roman saw me and that he definitely had feelings for me. However, I couldn't quite put my finger on why he couldn't say it to my face. If he was willing to go so far as to scare off Jasmine for my sake, why couldn't he look me in the eye and tell me what he truly felt about me? I knew it would make me feel much better to get his feelings for me confirmed-- the fact that he was evading it left me uneasy. Uncomfortable. And quite frankly, it only made me further insecure.

What if I had sacrificed my relationship with Letha for someone who would never commit to one with me? 

My mind returned to the plan I previously made up with my ear pressed to the door; maybe Roman just needed a push in the right direction?

Either that, or I had been led on like the biggest idiot of the century.

I couldn't do this anymore-- I needed to know.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And so, it was all set in motion. 

The first part of the plan was to find out whether it was necessary to have a plan at all. This, I decided to investigate in the backseat of Roman's car. 

It used to be a place that I refused to step foot in after hearing of his cheerleader-conquests. However, right now, it was a place of comfort and peace; he had parked it somewhere desolate, per my request. My parents had gotten suspicious after hearing steps on the roof the other day, and were now watching the whole area around our house like hawks to spot any possible intruders. So, as I didn't want to be caught sneaking a boy into my room, I told Roman to get creative-- and he had hit the jackpot.

This summer night was nice and warm, and we lay curled up in the back of his car as we stared up at the starry sky; this was one of the perks of Roman's car having the function of pulling down the roof. He sat with his back against the car door, me between his legs with my head leaned on his shoulder, the both of us looking up at tonight's constellations decorating the darkness above. 

"I'm not even going to act like I know what that one is," I mumbled, pointing up at the scatter of stars. I wrapped myself further up in his sweater, tracing patterns over the arm he had around me-- the night air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of grass and the faintest hint of rain as my body filled with a certain satisfaction I hadn't felt in a while.

Roman chuckled, pressing a kiss against my cheek as his arm pulled my back flush against his chest. Like this, I could spot my hair ties still worn around his wrists. "It's the Little Bear constellation," he murmured, his long, slender fingers rubbing circles into my side. "See how it looks like a bear cub?"

I decided not to lie; he'd see right through me, anyway. "... No,"

"No?" Roman reached forward to grab my hand into his, closing one eye to position my hand properly with his vision. "Even if I trace it for you?"

It was impossible not to blush. His hand against mine, his warmth against my skin-- everything about this was so incredibly intimate, and I had to hold myself back from simply jumping him out of pure joy. "I-- Well," It was hard to speak when I was this flustered. I swallowed hard before trying again; "I don't think bears have long tails like that."

Roman seemed amused by my answer; "You make a good point," he purred, gently intertwining our fingers before bringing my hand towards his lips, pressing a kiss against my cuts. "As always."

I only blushed further, not bothering to suppress my smile anymore. Turning to him, I watched his big, green eyes meet mine with a softness that nearly made me melt right into him. "How do you even know all of this?" I asked, leaning my head on his shoulder. "You don't strike me as a constellation nerd."

Roman rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. Something told me he was charmed by the subtle compliment of his intellect; "Is it hard for you to believe I'm not braindead?"

"Maybe," I turned back towards the stars, hoping he wouldn't spot my grin. "Pretty boys usually don't even know how to count to forty."

Chuckling, Roman nuzzled his cheek against the top of my head, wrapping both arms around me again. "So now I'm pretty, huh?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, deciding to be blunt-- I didn't gain anything by lying to him about it, anyway. Not after everything we had been through. "I think you're really damn pretty."

Something told me he hadn't expected the frankness, or for me to even be truthful at all. Roman remained quiet, taking in the sweetness of the moment. He took the time to kiss my temple, humming against my skin; "I think you're pretty too," he murmured. "Very, very pretty."

There was no way to suppress the blush burning its way up my cheeks, and I closed my eyes to savour the moment he kissed me. Roman was being so gentle, so loving-- I couldn't believe this was the same boy I had been running away from because I was scared he'd prick me with his scary needles. He seemed to notice how flustered I got from the compliment, letting out a warm chuckle as his gaze turned up at the sky again. As he pointed out a new constellation, Roman's voice was laced with a kind of wonder that made me smile; "If you want the full answer, it is the fact that there's something more up there that makes it interesting. Something much bigger than us... Something worth reaching for, y'know? The stars are just a blatant sign,"

I turned to look at him, watching the way his green eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the stars above us. Roman was so painfully beautiful, and so wonderfully at ease-- there was nothing I wanted more than for him to feel this peaceful all the time. I knew it would be good for his soul. 

I wondered whether Roman knew that he was something worth reaching for, as well. 

Everything about this evening made my body feel like gelatin. I couldn't even feel my fingers anymore, engulfed in the euphoria that was Roman. This was the perfect distraction from everything that had happened this week, and I realized it was also the perfect time to set my plan in motion; "So... you're willing to admit I'm pretty, but you're not going to say it?"

"Say what?"

I shrugged, feeling myself grow nervous. Roman was usually the one to mess up cute moments by saying something stupid, but I wondered whether now was my turn. "That you like me,"

However, he remained unfazed-- or, at least he was very good at acting like he was. His silence made me further anxious, now starting to wonder if I was the reason he wasn't able to say it to my face. Maybe he wasn't as into me as I had thought? Maybe this was just how he treated every girl he liked? 

I knew it wasn't, but I realized I was spiraling; I needed him to spell it out for me. I really, really hoped he would-- then I wouldn't have to go that dreaded extra length and go into phase two of my plan.

Roman pressed his lips against the top of my head, clearly lost in thought as he brought me back from mine. "Do you need me to?"

That was a good question-- one I knew the answer of. "I think so, yeah..."

"You need it spelled out?"

"Yeah,"

"Verbatim?"

"Verbatim, Rome,"

The nickname seemed to throw him off; he let out a breathy chuckle, shifting to get a good look at me. "Since when am I Rome to you?"

I shrugged, meeting his green eyes. "Since... now?"

Roman smiled down at me, clearly flattered. "Cute," he breathed, leaning in to place a sweet kiss against my cheek. I giggled as Roman's fingers dug into my skin, pressing me further up against him in a flash of passion-- although this moment was perfect in theory, I knew I hadn't gotten what I wanted out of him tonight, and I dreaded what I had to do because of it.

Quite frankly, I dreaded it mostly because I was very well aware that the second part of my plan was incredibly high-risk. Stupid. Reckless, even.

However, I didn't see any other way of forcing those three words out of Roman that I needed so much. How else was I supposed to prove to myself that I hadn't sacrificed my friendships for nothing?

I dreaded every single step up I took as I made my way through the cafeteria the next day. In my peripheral view, I saw Roman sitting next to his best friend, Peter, chatting away about something as none of them had noticed me yet. It was only when I caught Roman's eyes that my heart started racing-- I watched his confusion build as I started walking in the opposite direction.

Determined, I knew this was the perfect moment to execute the second part of the plan. I did my best to keep my face neutral, hoping not to be visibly bothered by Roman's watchful stare, as I deliberately sat down next to Daniel-- the guy who had flirted with me at an assembly a month ago. 

I specifically chose Daniel because I remembered Roman saying he had noticed me talking to him; I also knew that this guy was the key to making him see the consequences of staying unofficial. 

I didn't need to look at Roman to know he was seething.

Daniel turned to me, putting down his fork. We hadn't talked since I started seeing Roman and stopped responding to his messages-- he was visibly confused, but there was a certain sparkle in his blue eyes that gave away his delight. "Hi?" He quickly turned to his friends who were all staring at us and motioned for them to get back to their own shit. 

"Hey, you," I shifted in my seat, attempting to make myself comfortable whilst Roman's gaze drilled holes into the side of my skull. "Haven't seen you in a hot minute. How are you?" Putting on my nicest smile, I tilted my head a little as I spoke-- that used to work on him. 

Daniel blinked twice, clearly unsure what to say. "Uh... Yeah, of course I haven't seen you, you've been busy with Roman," His eyes darted over to the latter, watching as my very unofficial boyfriend glared daggers his way. "I'm fine now, but I'm afraid I won't be later if you don't move soon."

This had been one of the driving factors of me not falling for Daniel-- this guy was an absolute wuss. I did my best not to roll my eyes, knowing how to rope him back in again; I placed a gentle hand against his arm, rounding out my eyes as Daniel turned back to me. His blonde hair fell over his eyes, a bright contrast to the dark blue of his varsity jacket, as his heart visibly skipped a beat. 

"You want me to move?" I tried, keeping my tone soft as I gave his arm a short squeeze.

In my peripheral view, I caught a glimpse of Roman stiffening in his seat. His green, intense eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his fingers tapped impatiently against the table as his mood darkened. That same, unmistakable anger looming over him like a dark cloud worried me-- I knew I didn't have much time to make my point before he'd explode. 

However, distractingly comical, was the sight of Peter next to him, debating whether to put his hand on his best friend's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down; his hand kept jerking back and forth, jumping with every twitch of Roman's eye.

Daniel swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving mine. "Well... You don't have to move," He cleared his throat, giving in to a nervous chuckle. "You're already here, I guess. Pretty as always."

I had to fight my instincts to not throw up in my mouth-- it made me physically ill to flirt with him when I was so sickeningly crazy about Roman. "Oh, you're too kind," I tried, forcing a smile.

Daniel flashed me that typical heartthrob smile of his, finally giving in to my antics. He tilted his head, mimicking me, as his eyes sparkled with want; "Fuck, I've missed seeing you around,"

That seemed to be enough for Roman-- his possessive intensity came to a simmer, boiling over. He kicked away his chair as he got up, an angry groan escaping him as stormed off with balled fists. Peter sent me a sharp look of come on before he left his food behind to follow his best friend.

That was my cue to leave. "I, uh... Sorry," Releasing Daniel's arm with a quickness I didn't know I had in me, I practically jumped out of my seat, allowing myself to shudder when I was out of view. I didn't like touching any other guy like that, but I hoped that Roman would take the time to let it dawn on him that this could be his reality if he didn't step the fuck up.

... I really hoped that would be his conclusion. 

However, it dawned on me that this might've been my biggest misstep so far. I had learned that one of the most important things for Roman, was loyalty-- maybe I shouldn't have toyed with his perception of mine?

Putting it all together, I realized I should've expected it to blow up in my face.

The third and final part of my plan had been simple in my head; Roman would confront me about what had happened in the cafeteria, and then he'd tell me he couldn't stand the sight of me with another man and therefore wants us to be official.

... It seems that I had gotten in over my head.

The exact opposite of that happened. Now, Roman wasn't answering my calls. He would walk past me in the hallway as though I was a ghost, even though the fading hickey on the side of his neck served as a reminder of our time together. I hadn't expected him to ignore me like this, I really hadn't-- he was utterly unforgiving.

It had been three days of no contact. No shared glances, no exchanged words, simply because I got too confident. Why had I thought it would be so easy to get what I wanted? Why had I felt the need to drag a confession out of him when his actions spoke for him?

Roman had made sure none of Letha's friends would touch me again-- or, at least in the near future, seeing as the main instigator was at home with a severe concussion. He had put in a good word for me with Letha, he had bought me a new phone, and he had opened up enough to both accept and enjoy physical affection. Why hadn't I seen it this clearly before I messed it all up?

It all came down to one moment in the hallway. 

Exhausted and alone, I had zoned out like I usually did to distract myself from everything as I rummaged through my locker for my book. My body felt heavy with the sadness coursing through my veins, knowing I had no one anymore. No one. My every moment was slow, not having the energy to hurry much as I spent an unusual amount of time looking for the specific book I needed.

Up until my body froze at the sight to my right.

My head slowly turned to watch what was happening a few meters down the hall. There he was, the man that had haunted my every waking moment, vexed my every thought, with a girl. 

Roman had that classic heartbreaker look about him as always, leaning his hand next to the girl's head against the locker. From this angle, I could see the upward turn of his nose, the way his smirk painted across his lips, and the way his eyes practically sparkled at the sight of his next prey.

The most jarring part about it was the fact that I could still see my hair ties around Roman's wrist as his palm lay flat against the locker behind her, almost as though it was on purpose.

It became downright nauseating when the girl giggled and started twirling her finger around her hair-- I did my best not to throw up my breakfast. Questions raced through my mind, fogging up my brain; why was he doing this here, in front of me? Why was he doing this at all? 

I was sure this was what people meant when speaking of tasting their own medicine.

I stood frozen by my locker, one hand still shoved beneath the rubble of books, as involuntary tears pressed up against my eyes. I tried to ground myself with a few deep breaths, yet the world around me felt as though it was crumbling. All these games were so damn childish from the both of us; when would it end? I was living through my worst nightmare, and it became a hundred times worse when I realized I had been warned about this before by Roman himself.

I was reminded of the first night we kissed in that closet during seven minutes of heaven;

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

Oh, if only he'd known how right he was. Now I had no one to run to, no one to seek comfort from, all because of my own stupidity. Not only had I managed to lose all my friends, but now I had lost the one thing I had sacrificed everything for; Roman.

A pit formed in my stomach as I watched him lean closer to her, laughter dancing between them. Didn't he know how much that hurt? Didn't he see me standing here, shattered? I was so lost in the shock, that when Roman turned to face me, revealing that he knew exactly where I was and that I was watching, I barely registered it. My eyes had welled up in tears, looking completely shell-shocked as I watched his smirk immediately falter at the sight of my watery gaze.

In a flash of action, I slammed my locker shut, not bothering to look for my book anymore. I needed to get away. Now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When I got home that same day, I had expected to be left in peace-- that was the most logical conclusion. My parents were at a loss with what to do with me, and of course I had no friends reaching out to check up on me. I was quite sure I had hit the lowest of the low, simply sinking into a state of forced apathy as I lay with my face down into my pillow, spreading out on my bed wearing Roman's enormous sweater. I was quite sure I had been like this for hours, not getting up, not eating-- I didn't care anymore.

I couldn't care; it would break me. Just like that sight of Roman with that girl. 

I touched my neck, feeling the soreness of my fading hickeys as lightning struck outside. There were barely any traces now, and the realization that they would be gone in a day or two hit me like a truck. Thankfully, I didn't have many tears left in my body. I lay in the coldness of the puddle of grief I had left on my pillow, shivering as it dawned on me that I might never feel Roman's lips against mine again. Never feel his hands around my waist, never be in the back of his car, and never get to lay in his arms ever again. As the heavy rain continued to tap against my window, every drop felt like a reminder of the moments we'd shared, slipping away.

I remembered that first time Roman smiled at me in class. Every memory came to me; the rush of excitement coursing through my veins during our first kiss, the feeling of laughing with him at that café on our first date, and the way I would sometimes wake up to Roman's arm tightly wrapped around me in a protective, loving embrace. He wanted to hold me, even in sleep. 

He wanted me. Roman Godfrey wanted me, and I threw it all away because of my incessant need for him to commit.

And just as I was about to choke out any remaining tears, I heard a knock at my door. I didn't care to move, knowing my parents knew of my state, as my words got muffled against my pillow; "What is it? I'm not having dinner!"

"That's not it," My parents seemed to be whispering between themselves before one of them continued; "Sweetie... there's a boy for you at the door."

I bounced off of the bed as though I had heard a gunshot, and I landed on the floor with a groan as I crashed down against the hard wood. Wondering whether the thud had sounded through the ceiling downstairs, I realized I didn't have time to think about that; "Okay, give me-- Give me a second!" I got up from the floor, feeling my breath get stuck in my chest as I ran to my mirror, doing my best to fix the way I looked before leaving my room.

My thoughts were racing as I made my way past my parents, realizing they were staying upstairs to give us some space. I didn't need to guess who the boy at the door was-- still, I froze halfway down the stairs at the sight of him.

There he was, drenched in rain. Roman took a deep breath at the sight of me, watching the way his sweater draped over my shoulders with his big, green eyes. He, too, seemed to have frozen to his spot like an icicle, and a thick silence ensued as I gripped onto the banister of the stairs-- I was afraid I'd faint and roll right down. As he stood there, cold and vulnerable, I felt the walls of insecurity I had built up begin to crumble; his presence was both a comfort and a reminder of everything I'd lost.

Even worse was the way I tensed up, ready for him to yell at me and blow up. My grip on the banister tightened to suppress the subtle shake of my hands as I held my breath.

Finally, Roman spoke-- but it was far from what I had imagined him to say; "I don't know what happened. It doesn't make sense," His eyes rounded out, so heartbreakingly sincere. "We were good, and suddenly we weren't. I made sure you were safe from those girls, and then you went and flirted with that assembly guy... It doesn't make any sense."

I let in a long, shaky breath, feeling the guilt seeping through my veins. "I thought... I thought I needed you to say it,"

"Say what?" Roman shivered, clearly cold from his wet clothes. It made me wonder how long he had paced back and forth in the rain before approaching the door. "That I like you?"

My cheeks burned-- "Yeah..."

Another wave of silence ensued as Roman no longer met my gaze, biting his teeth together as he tried to steady his breathing. I could feel hints of his brewing anger beneath his attempts to keep calm; "Did you need me to say it so bad?" he mumbled. "Have I not shown you what I feel for you? Was it not blatantly obvious?"

Everything about his tone made me want to burst into tears-- it made me feel seven again, being told off in front of the whole class. "I'm sorry," I didn't know what else to say, at a loss for words. "You're just so hot and cold sometimes, I thought it would make me feel better if I got it confirmed. I sacrificed so much to be with you, and it was freaking me out that you couldn't say you want to be with me as well... I guess it really got to me."

It was clear that Roman was conflicted, consumed by a storm of thoughts. His green eyes softened, his brows drawing together in a look of melancholic sorrow as he let out a sigh. "I hear you, but it's just... Those girls went after you because you were with me. I know you've had a tough time, and I didn't want to make it any worse for you by making us official... By making my feelings official," His voice trembled, revealing the cracks in his tough exterior-- it was as though the weight of his own fears had finally become too much to bear.

Another wave of guilt washed over me, knowing I had driven him to this point with my schemes. "Why would that make it worse?" I dared to take another step down the stairs, letting go of the banister. "Wouldn't it be a good thing? Don't you think it would've made me feel better?"

Roman's eyes fixated on the laces of his wet shoes, and I watched him change his weight from one foot to the other. It was obvious that he was nervous, especially as he cleared his throat. "I don't think I'd be a good boyfriend," he mumbled. "I shut down. I retaliate when I'm angry. And I don't know whether Letha would ever forgive you if we got into a relationship, and I know that would crush you."

Despite the reminder of Letha, I had to bite down on my bottom lip to suppress my growing smile-- it warmed my heart to hear how he had thought this through down to every last detail. 

Roman was rambling at this point; "I was just so shocked when you went to Daniel, I thought I was going to faint. The way you smiled at him, the way you touched him... I couldn't even look at you these past few days, and then I couldn't stand the silence either, hence that show in the hallway... I just didn't expect you to cry. I fucking lost it,"

I reached the end of the stairs by the time he was done, now close enough to see that his drenched clothes were leaving small puddles of rain along the hardwood floor. "Roman--"

"--And I just don't want to hurt you, y'know?" He finally looked up to meet my gaze, an unfamiliar emotion swimming in his green eyes. There was a certain desperation about him as his words came out like a stream in a never-ending river; "Because even though we're fighting, you're still in my sweater. And even though you're fucking infuriating, I still want to hold you. No matter what people think, you're good. You're sweet, you're kind, you... There is a sanctity about you in my mind. I really don't want to hurt you, but it's fucking inevitable with me! That's just who I am!"

I was batting away tears at this point; "Rome, please, that's not!--"

"--Of course I like you!" Roman's eyes glossed over, letting his emotions shine through his tough exterior at the sound of his new nickname. "If anything, I adore you half to death, and you doubting that makes me feel like I've failed! I've failed to keep you happy, I've failed to make you feel seen, and I'm just-- I'm a mess!"

Attempting to pat away my tears with the sleeve of Roman's sweater, I sniffled as I realized I was unsuccessful, my tears now spilling down my cheeks. Suddenly, many parts of him made sense to me; after finally letting me hear his true, inner thoughts, I had never seen him more clearly than now. 

Roman sniffled as well, head hanging low in shame. "Why would you want a mess?" he echoed, his voice breaking. "I don't want to hurt you. I really, really don't."

Enough-- It was breaking my heart to hear him so broken. I finally dared to step towards him, slowly reaching for his soaked jacket. Roman's eyes widened as he watched me hang it up in the hallway; "What are you?--"

"Stay the night," I placed myself in front of him, having to get up on my tippytoes to brush his wet hair away from his forehead. "My parents probably won't mind if I ask nicely."

Roman's green eyes rounded out with every soft touch against his skin, and he placed his hands over mine as I cupped his face; it dawned on me that I hadn't felt so calm in a while. "I want to be yours, Rome. In every sense of the word," My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, watching his heavy lids fall over his eyes as he keened against my touch, succumbing to the comfort. "So what if you're a mess? You think I'm not, with the way I've been running around you for months like a dog?"

It warmed my heart to hear him laugh, even if it was for a few seconds-- I knew my eyes weren't deceiving me when I spotted a tear or two heavying down his long lashes, making their way out of hiding. 

I had to bat away my own, my voice barely baring through the sentence; "You're much kinder than you think you are, much more gentle... If only I could make you see it yourself," Getting up to his level was impossible, but I was able to tilt his head down enough for me to place a soft kiss between his brows. "I want us to be together. I want us to at least have each other,"

Roman's breath hitched, letting his hands travel down to rest at my waist as he opened his eyes. revealing an ocean of tears about to spill down his rosy cheeks. "We're going to crash and burn,"

"... Let us, then,"

It was as though time stood still in the moments I waited for signs of a yes. My thumbs stroked over his temples, realizing our chests were rising and falling at the same time, trapping us in one breath, one body. For a second, it felt as though Roman and I melted into each other, the green of his eyes engulfing me with a look that told me everything I needed to know. 

Roman's breath was hot and heavy as he searched for the right words. I was sure he'd said enough dumb things for a lifetime to know he needed to choose wisely for once. But hence, his lips curled up into the sweetest smile known to man as he spoke against mine--

"Let us," he breathed. "Let's burn together, then."

(a/n: if you've come this far, thank u so much omg!! here's PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, and PART 4 if you want to check them out!<33 )