#the guy dies on screen several times

[exasperatedoctopus]

So, fun thing about Weyoun. I am A). faceblind and B). The unfortunate owner of auditory processing issues, so I—through a combination of not noticing he was the same dude every time and missing all mentions of his situation—didn’t figure out the guy was identical clones for literally the entire series.

In fact, I only figured it out when I saw a post about it a few months ago, which forced me to recontextualize every single thing I knew about him.

Yeah, that was a weird day.

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).

He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.

And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.

No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.

Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)

He needs to be quick.

Efficient.

Perfect.

And so he comes and goes like the wind.

Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.

Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.

He'd rather he never be late ever again.

It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...

.

.

.

" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.

"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.

Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.

He imagines hearing a clock ticking.

Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?

Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies | chapter one

summary: the one where barbara thinks about an act of rebellion.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.3K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: even though she lives in the usa, my main character, barbara, is brazilian. i added terms and expressions that we use in our country, as well as cultural elements, to this fanfic. the words that appear in portuguese are highlighted and you can contact me if you have any questions.

masterlist

Barbara was sprawled out on the dorm carpet, reading a Lucy Maud Montgomery novel she found by chance in the university library, when her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand. Without wasting time, she closed the book and got up, waiting to hear from her roommate, Meera, but, when Barbara swiped her finger across the lock screen, she found some text messages from an unknown number.

i would like to invite you again to eat something at that chinese restaurant

if you want to meet me, just show up there tomorrow

i'll be waiting for you :)

Her head started to throb just at the possibility of it being who she was imagining, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

Jake wouldn't put himself in danger like that.

After everything that happened in Grimrock, Duskwood's chief of police, Alan Bloomgate, personally went after her to conduct the interrogation, and, more than once, made it very clear that it was best for her to stay away from her new friends for a while. He didn't go into detail when he told her about what happened at the Ironsplinter Mine, but he confirmed that Richy was alive — despite having some serious injuries — and that Jake had fled from the FBI agents during the confusion caused by the explosion.

All the messages she sent and received during that time became evidence. Barbara had what it took to close Hannah Donfort's case literally in the palm of her hand, including the kidnapper's confession.

Consequently, she also had the means that could lead the people who were after Jake straight to him.

She was interrogated by the FBI countless times for months, until Alan decided to intervene and convinced her to hand over her cell phone to them in exchange for her old life. Since then, Barbara has not been part of the joint investigation. Or at least that's what they say — she's too smart to really believe that.

For a few seconds, she considered the chance that it was someone trying to play a trick on her. The video Lilly Donfort posted accusing her of kidnapping had gone viral across the Columbia University campus. Even her grandmother, who lived in the interior of Brazil, found out about her involvement with a hacker wanted by the North American government. However, no one else knew about the brief conversation they had about the chinese restaurant.

Except, of course, the FBI.

Without a doubt, it was a trap. Barbara felt her face turn red. It seemed that solving an old international murder case, giving up her privacy, being forced to abandon her group of friends and possibly cheating on the guy she was in love with was not enough. She also needed to act as bait when it was convenient.

Barbara huffed, irritated. Little did they know that Jake had no contact. Their partnership in crime had ended almost a year ago.

Still, there was no reason to decline the invitation. She could very well take advantage of the opportunity to tell some truths to those nosy agents, and as a bonus she would have an excuse to go to Germany without Alan being able to question her too openly.

Her lips lifted into a smile as the plan emerged in her mind.

After going through customs at Zurich Airport, picking up luggage and going to an exchange office to exchange some notes, only an hour and fifteen minutes by car separated Barbara from Duskwood. Luckily, there were several yellow taxis forming a line next to the sidewalk, because it would be a nightmare to have to deal with someone trying to compete for the same vehicle as her.

She walked out of the lounge, pulling her hot pink rolling suitcase, and turned on her smartphone to announce on the family's group chat that she had arrived safely. But before she could check her contact list to see if her parents were online, she collided with a young man's broad chest.

She jumped away from him, apologizing — or at least trying to — in german. He laughed softly, grabbing her arm to stop her from tripping over herself, and for a moment, Barbara forgot to even breathe. The young man seemed to be a few years older than her, he was tall, had dark hair and prominent round eyes that resembled the curve of a teardrop, he was wearing a white sweatshirt with a hood and black jeans.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” He spoke in english, with a slight accent.

“No problem, it was my fault.” Barbara quickly straightened up, realizing that she had somehow stared too long.

The young man analyzed her from head to toe with amusement before bending down and picking up the cell phone that had flown out of her hand during the impact.

“I believe this is yours.” He joked, handing the device to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and turned, making his way through the travelers entering and exiting the airport, as silent as a wraith.

She was inexplicably disappointed to see him leave, however she had more important things to deal with. Then, she handed the luggage to the driver to put in the trunk and got into the taxi, giving the address of the Gates Hotel, on the outskirts of Duskwood.

Barbara ran across the room, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She was considerably late, but as far as she remembered, she had never arrived on time to participate in the interrogations, so whoever was waiting for her at the restaurant wouldn't mind too much. She put on a black strapless dress, put on her highest heels and curled her wet hair with her fingers, leaving a small trail of water on the floor.

Through an opening in the peach curtains, she noticed that the rain had picked up outside, beating violently against the window pane. She cursed under her breath, hoping someone at the front desk could lend her an umbrella, and before Barbara could procrastinate her meeting with the FBI Special Agent any further, she took one last look at the floor mirror near the entrance hall, realizing that she was dressed for revenge.

“Someone would definitely approve of that.”

Smiling to herself, she went down a small flight of stairs to the ground floor, where the girl at the reception was reading a magazine with Nicholas Galitzine's photo on the cover.

“How can I help you?” She asked in english, without taking her eyes off the celebrity gossip.

“Hey, how you doin'? Could you lend me an umbrella, please?”

“Of course.” She said, reaching for the object under the counter and handing it to her. “A fee of two euros will be added to your room bill.” Barbara sighed, surprised, as she mentally converted the currency. “What?” The receptionist looked up, frowning. “Did you think it would be free?”

“No, obviously not.” Barbara lied, smiling politely.

“Return it by midnight or I will have to charge the full value of the item.” The girl announced, turning her attention to the magazine. Then she added: “Nice dress.”

“Okay, I'll pay when I check out.” She assured, walking towards the glass doors while opening her rented umbrella. “And thank you.”

“Have fun, Cinderella!”

Barbara regretted walking out the door as soon as she set foot on the sidewalk. Not just because of the rain, but because of the wind blowing your hair back. In any case, she had come too far to give up, and despite the storm, she could see the lights of the chinese restaurant through the blue haze a few meters ahead, on the other side of the street.

Before she could take another step, someone grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“What?” She blinked in amazement at the handsome young man she had met at the airport.

“Come with me.” He said, pulling her away from the hotel entrance.

“You are crazy? I do not know you!” Barbara shouted, dropping the umbrella near her feet. The rain completely drenched them both in moments. “Me solta!”

“Barbara, please.” He asked, breathing short.

The sadness in his voice stopped her struggling.

“How do you…?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Jake?”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[rosewaterandivy]

vena amoris

Summary: some part of me must have died / the first time that you called me “Baby”

Pairing: s.h. x reader

W.C.: 2.5K

Themes: the usual— repressed feelings, smut mentions, Cabaret quotes, Steve ‘down bad’ Harrington™️

A/N: well ahoy there! Did I take a mental health day and brain rot this into being? You bet! Title is Latin for “the vein of love.”

“Oh god,” You’d remarked, with a knowing smirk and lifted brow. “Can you imagine?”

Your tone brokered no argument. It wasn’t a whimsical, starry-eyed, sigh filled statement coming from a naive girl.

No, instead it was a wry, flippant remark laden with sarcasm and pity as the woman by the college green gleefully sobbed out a yes, yes, of course! to a polite smattering of applause as her newly minted fiancé slipped a sparkling band onto her finger.

“And on graduation day, no less.” You bat away the few hairs that had flown into your face buoyed by the summer breeze, your graduation gown fluttering about your legs. “Damn my guy, let the woman have her moment jeez.”

Steve struggled to laugh and maintain composure, because the thing was, he actually could imagine it, and had even done so himself from time to time. The time honored predicament of “keeping it casual” while remaining friends.

He remembers it clear as day, how you’d met in front of the dining hall as he’d overslept (again) and rushed to shove his pockets full of cereal before his morning lecture so as to not fall asleep during Macroeconomics.

”Hey, Buck-o!” You’d crowed from the table riddled with pens, to-go coffee cups, and clipboards, “Are you registered to vote?”

All he can remember thinking, after the pre-requisite it’s too damn early for this was the ever eloquent, well, fuck me.

Nevermind that you were wearing a Reagan Ruined Everything shirt accompanied by the flaming visage of the man. Nevermind that your friend merely snorted at your bombastic accosting of students for the sake of democracy. Nevermind that several people had shoulder checked him in their rush to get waffles and coffee.

”Ritchie Rich,” You’d said with a smile, “Voting solely for your interests or ready to join the proletariat with the rest of us?”

It was an unlikely friendship, to say the least. You, a blue-blood former ballet dancer until “my tits grew in” majoring in poli-sci and him, the sole progeny of a captain of industry on the ivy-league to corporate office pipeline.

So, it really was inevitable that you’d fall into bed together. Even without your grandparents wheedling and match-making attempts. But still, you weren’t dating— he wasn’t that kind of guy and you weren’t even interested in a relationship anyway.

It was sex and friendship, that was all.

Argento movie marathons because it was “a crime you’ve never seen something outside of a cineplex, Harrington,” underneath mountains of a goose-down duvet. Trips to the Cape just to pass the time, M&M’s riddling the hardwood floors in front of a roaring fire with his head between your thighs. Dragging him out on cold autumn mornings to canvass for local elections. Late nights where you’d pass out in front of the flickering tv screen after watching Bitter Rice.

Sure, Robin side-eyed the entire situation and Dustin never failed to remind him how much of an idiot Steve was being. But, in fairness, it was never something that struck either of you as odd.

It was college, people do weirder and more detrimental shit all the time without the evergreen excuse of misguided youth. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Eddie was the one to ruin it all.

“Dude,” He’d said, surprisingly serious as he loaded up his bike for the drive back to New York. “Not for nothin, but if I were you Harrington,” He inclined his head toward where you were at the coffee cart. “I’d lock that shit down.”

”Whaddya mean? We’re just friends.”

“Sure buddy,” Eddie laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

But did he really think about it after that? Of course not, just continued to careen toward graduation and the inevitable.

He was destined for great things, according to his father: continuing the family legacy and filling the coffers, working abroad in Europe for year post-grad and securing those overseas accounts.

So when he wasn’t suffering through mind-numbing lectures, and being at dear old dad’s beck and call, Steve was doing what he did best: wilding with the gang or hanging out with you.

Which mostly resulted in fucking at increasingly creative locations at your place or his, but he digresses.

His graduation was uneventful— his father sternly nodded his approval while his mother posed them like dolls for a family photo. They’d drug him to a prolonged who’s who of his father’s connections under the guise of a celebration dinner, to which none of his friends had been invited.

Steve had schlepped himself back to the apartment, less drunk than he would’ve preferred given the circumstances. Only to be greeted by you at the door, in one of your more creative get-ups consisting of a 1920’s boudoir set with stockings.

Plum-painted lips split like a ripe fruit, white pearly teeth gleamed in the dim hallway light. And his heart nearly beat its way out of his chest.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome,” You gently kick the door of his apartment the rest of the way open to reveal people packed to the brim inside— Robin, Dustin, Eddie.

“Fremde, étrange, stranger.”

Because of course you’d throw him a going away party, themed no less (“Cabaret only seemed appropriate since you’re Berlin-bound come morning,”). The drinks are flowing and the music is thumping and all he wants to do is kiss you, so he does.

And the world doesn’t cease to turn, the music doesn’t stop, his friends don’t give a damn. No one is shocked by this turn of events, not even the elusive ex of Stanford fame Nancy Wheeler.

Because if there’s one thing that everyone knows, well everyone excluding you because if you somehow caught on to him Steve might actually drop dead right then and there—

What everyone knew was this: Steve Harrington was not and had never been a casual guy.

He heard Eddie mumble something about Sisyphus into his drink before pulling him off of you. Your lipstick was smeared and a little patchy now, but he sure as shit didn’t care, his own mouth was probably branded now too, bruise-colored as if he’d bitten into an overripe stone fruit.

A big deal is made about getting the King a drink, as Eddie all but frog marches Steve to the bar.

“So,” He greets, clapping him on the back, “You’re down bad.”

Steve nearly chokes on the beer, the frothy foam ticking at his nose. He swallows past his heart lodged in his throat, and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell that to your mouth, Liza,” He sweeps a thumb against Steve’s bottom lip, it comes back riddled in purple lipstick. “You know you leave tomorrow, right?”

Steve turns back to the bar and signals for a shot of something, anything really. He sips at his beer in the interim, letting Eddie’s declaration linger in the air between them.

They drink in silence until Robin stumbles in, dragging Steve away claiming “besties before the resties!”

He spies you and Dustin chatting nearby, you catch his eye with a lascivious and exaggerated wink before throwing your head back in laughter at something the dingus had said.

The party rages on for hours— he’s already packed and ready to go for his flight tomorrow, and he knows you’d put a lot of effort into this send off, but Steve would like nothing more than to wrap himself around you and fall into bed. Eventually someone catches onto this and alerts the guests that they “don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

Steve doesn’t know who to thank for that, Nancy maybe. He’ll figure it out later. At that moment, he was more concerned with getting those glasses out of your hands and that garter belt on the floor.

“Hey, you okay?” You’d asked in the early morning light, watching as he stumbled into his pants and threw on a shirt.

Your face was freshly scrubbed of your makeup from last night, soft and open as your eyes trailed him from your spot in his bed.

He was a weak, weak man when he’d sat down with a sigh and asked, “Tell me not to go?”

He can hear you shuffle across the bed, can feel the warmth of your body as it drapes against his back.

“Tell me not go to,” Steve continues, “Tell me to blow off my dad, the Harrington destiny, tell me to fuck it all and that I can figure something else out.”

You nose along the column of his throat, lips settling at the nape of his neck. His hand finds its way to yours, arms wrapped against his shoulders, fingers dancing along his collarbone. He links a solitary finger with yours crooking into each other like monkeys in a barrel.

“Oh babe,” You sigh, the pet name rolling prettily off your tongue, “You know I won’t do that, as much as I would delight in smearing the Harrington name.”

You grip him all the tighter.

“You have a plane to catch and a life to start. A life you were dragged kicking and screaming into but you know what?”

“What?”

“The only way out is through, Steve.” You rest your head on his shoulder, continuing, “The changes you want to make? Well, it’s your life so make them. Who’s going to stop you? You’re a blue-blood white man in a world built to serve people like you.”

“Are you going to lecture me about the patriarchy? Because it’s too early for that—"

“I’ll spare you, just this once.” You tease, “But no, I’m just saying that you have options and it’s a year away from your father. Take advantage of it.”

Steve knows you mean well, that you’re trying to put a positive spin on his departure but still, it hurts.

He stands back up with what he hopes is a believable smile on his face. He expects to see you settled back in the sheets when he turns around, not hopping on one leg as you attempt to jam your foot into your Vans with one hand, while clawing into a bra with the other. Somehow, you’re already in sweatpants.

He can barely restrain his laugh, “What’re you doing?”

“Uh, accompanying you to the airport, duh.”

And if his heart wasn’t already broken, surely this would’ve been the nail in the coffin.

“No, don’t get up.”

“Too late for that.”

“My bags are already in the car,” He tries again, trailing after you from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Great! Do we have time for coffee?”

“No, seriously,” Steve catches your hand before it can land on the doorknob, tugging you back from the door.

“But,” Your voice has lost its joking tone and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. “I have to say goodbye. I have to wave at you from the gate.”

“They won’t let you past security.”

“Then I’ll wave from there,” You say with a sniff, blinking the tears from your eyes. “I have to go, please.”

Steve, in that moment, chooses to glance up at the rafters of his loft apartment in an effort to keep his emotions in check. So he misses how greedily your eyes take him in, as if it’s for the last time, how you’re biting your lip so hard as to draw blood.

And by the time he looks back down again, you’ve found a spot on the floor to stare steadily at.

“Hey,” He says, curling a finger under your chin prompting you to glance up. Steve gives you a watery smile at best before imploring, “I need you to listen to me, please.”

He waits for your nod of assent before continuing.

“Everything is all set— I’ve paid the rent on the apartment for the next year, so you don’t have to worry about that. I know you won’t use the car service, but there’s a few more weeks left on that too, so.”

Your face falls with the finality of it all. That Steve is actually leaving, that he’ll be in Europe for the next year “growing up” as his father intended. And that maybe you should’ve done more to help him want to stay.

“There’s a ticket for you on the counter for after midterms, I’ll meet you in London and we can do whatever you want, just like we agreed.”

You nod quickly and take a short breath. He kisses you on the forehead and promises to call once he lands.

As his hand twists open the door, you blurt out:

“Please don’t do this. Let me come with you to the airport. You’re going to be gone for so long and—"

“Baby.”

And you know he’s serious because that diminutive is solely reserved for when you’re at least two orgasms deep and he’s got your knees up by your ears. Sweat-slick and ruddy-mouthed, your whole world narrowed to focus on him, desperate longing veiled by throes of passion.

Steve doesn’t even turn back, and you can hear how his voice shakes. “If you go with me, I won’t get on the plane.”

Your arm drops from where you’d reached after him, hadn’t even registered the action as you did it.

In a small, guilty voice you say, “I know.”

The muscles of his back feather as he sighs, his grip on the doorknob knuckle-white. He knows you can’t really mean it, that it’s the scared, vulnerable part of you stumbling as you offer him an olive branch; a way out.

In the end, he got on the plane anyway.

Smash-cut to a year later, the same college green but this time it’s not him in the graduation cap and gown. Steve took the week off for your graduation festivities, flew back into Logan then rented a car for the drive to Cambridge. Made nice with your parents and grandparents, shook your grandfather’s hand politely when he’d said that Steve was a “fine boy from a fine family,” and tried in vain to forget the fact that this is the same man who’d learned his granddaughter was sexually active with him, mind you, in front of no less than a missionary, a minister, and a rabbi.

But all of that is neither here nor there, as you clap politely for the newly engaged couple, pinning your mortarboard beneath your elbow. And because he knows you, Steve catches your eye roll sequence, surely at the audacity of That Man who proposed on his girlfriend's graduation day, from Harvard no less.

He snatches the satin covered cardboard from you, and throws an arm around your shoulders walking you toward the rager of a graduation party Eddie was throwing at your apartment.

“I know,” He says conspiratorially, relishing as you lean into him. “God forbid a woman do anything.”

Your laugh is a good distraction for him, something loud and joyful to focus on as the ring box in his left pocket sinks like a stone.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter eight | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus Snow

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo wakes up in the hospital and finds you... oh! you guys share a bed btw <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 hope y'all like this!!

beta read by the amazing spectacular @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

Coriolanus Snow could hear a certain buzz as he regained consciousness. He soon realized it was the noise of the machine attached to him. The groan he lets out is louder than he thought as he opens his eyes and begins to sit up.

He blinks, the dim light of the hospital filling his eyes up and it hurts. He looked to his left and saw the empty beds beside him, a few nurses fluttering around, not paying any attention to anything except their remaining work.

He looks to his right, and he won't ever admit the fact that his eyes watered. A few teardrops even rolled down on his cheeks without his consent. You were there, safe and present. Curled up in a chair, sleeping. He hissed softly as he wiped the moisture away from his face. He ignored the sting he felt whenever he moved. The wound in his back would surely scar.

At least it wasn't his face.

He stands up on his feet, his arm holding the IV pole for support. He wondered briefly if he should wake you up but decided against it. It certainly wasn't because you looked so pretty right now, he just wanted you well rested. That's it (not).

But his attention is stolen by his tribute on the TV. Lucy Gray Baird live on the screens of every TV in Panem. Even the nurses had stopped working to look at her. She held a guitar. Coriolanus was glad that Sejanus Plinth did one thing right in his life.

“Good evening. Capitol. Districts,” she said. Her fingertips were on the strings of the lovely guitar. “I wrote this song for a boy back in twelve. I hope he hears it.”

Then she begins to strum out a tune and a sweet melody begins to play with heartbreaking lyrics.

“When I was a babe, I fell in the holler

When I was a girl, I fell into your arms

We fell on hard times, and we lost our bright Colors

You went zu the dogs, and I lived by my charms

I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey

You stole and you gambled, and I said you should

We sang for our soppers, we drunk up our money

And one day you left, saying I was no good…"

He grinned, Lucy Gray certainly painted a picture of a heartbroken girl nicely. It would certainly win the hearts of the Capitol if the sobbing of the nurses he could hear was any sign. Plus, he was sure Sejanus Plinth would be blinded by jealousy. The thought made Coriolanus feel so much better.

Then his attention turns to you, your voice much sweeter despite being raspy, “It was a rebel bombing they said.” You continue, “They wanted to destroy the symbols of the Games. Marcus, Sejanus Plinths’ tribute ran away. And several died. We were lucky.”

You stand up and stretch your arms. And he hates himself for his eyes lowered to see the flash of skin you showed when your shirt rose. He swallowed and pretended that his increased heartbeat wasn't because of you.

You walk up to him.

“You were lucky,” you said, your hand caging his with a hold he cherished. You rest your head on his shoulder and both of you watch the song end together, and Lucy walks off stage.

You begin to explain again, “Tigris had to leave for work. Sejanus left to give Lucy Gray the guitar. They both were present and worried.”

Your head turns to his side, and you whisper, “You're not allowed to get hurt again.”

“I don't think I have that in control-” Coriolanus begins to say, his voice defensive. He could see the tiredness in your eyes. He could see you overwhelmed by what happened. He didn't need to ask ‘Real or not?’. He knew.

You squeezed his hand so hard that he saw white in his vision, a surprised groan leaving his lips. “You're not allowed to get hurt,” you emphasized. Your eyes narrowed in a glare, you looked a bit adorable with how worn out you were and Coriolanus wanted to smile at you. He decided against it when the hold got tighter and he was pretty sure his hand wasn't getting any blood flow.

“Fine,” he agreed, “I won't get hurt again.”

He knew it wasn't in his control. But for you, he would try. There was no way to rationalize why so he put the promise he just made to you to the back of his mind.

Your hand loses the death grip and you gently make him sit down on the bed again. “Ma I mean Sejanus’ mom sent some food for us. She's sad that she couldn't visit,” you said.

“Ma?” He questioned.

“She told me to call her that. I had plenty of dinners at Sejanus place.” You answered.

“Plenty, huh?” He muttered it was so obviously jealous that you raised an eyebrow at him. You dig out a container from a bag and place it on your lap. In your hand, you had utensils for one person.

“Feel free to invite me to yours, Snow.”

But he couldn't, and that increased his jealousy even more. Sejanus could feed you steaks, and sweets and what could Coriolanus feed you? Expired milk and cabbage soup. He didn't say anything further, letting the hurt fester in his heart.

He decided to give you something else instead.

“Coryo…” he whispered, his eyes vulnerable, “Call me Coryo from now on.” Coryo was a nickname for his friends and family. Something intimate to him, something he owns to himself. And he was giving it to you and hoped that you accepted it.

“Coryo,” you tried out, and it sounded perfect from your lips. It sounded so much like the fate he avoids, that he looks away. He blames his blurry eyes on tiredness.

“Now eat,” you said, taking his attention with the spoonful of rice you held in front of him.

“I can feed myself,” he said. He wasn't that hurt. He could move his limbs fine. He can feed himself. He is not a child. You don't have to treat him as one.

“Don't care, Coryo. It's for me rather than for you,” you stated, “Please, Coryo.”

He doesn't argue. He doesn't know what to refute when your eyes turn pleading. And he knew that you were making the impression so he would give in. And so he did. Who was he to reject you after all?

He lets you feed him the rice and chicken gravy Sejanus's mom cooked deliciously. It was hundredfolds better than anything Coriolanus could compare to. He will remember to pass his thanks to Sejanus.

After the box is devoid of any food, it's returned to its place in the bag. And you curled up in the uncomfortable seat again. Coriolanus didn't like it very much, it was obvious it wasn't the most luxurious place to sleep in. Surely, your back and neck will hurt when you wake up tomorrow.

He moves himself until there's space in his small, hospital bed. He pats the space. “Come here,” he said. Before you could protest, he adds, “It's for me rather than for you.”

You don't argue with him, instead you slip him beside him. Your body against his in the small bed. He lets out a shuddering breath that you don't notice. His arm is under your head, being used as a pillow. In a sense, you were cuddling with how quickly your legs had tangled with his and your arm was over his torso. He felt caged, and he never knew being caged could feel good not suffocating. It could feel safe.

You made him feel safe.

NEXT PART

[beneathashadytree]

HEY GUYS! LONG POST HERE, BUT PLEASE READ🙏🏽

I am genuinely appalled by the discourse ongoing in the LNDS fandom these past few days—but above all, I am severely disappointed in what had started out as one of the most inclusive and sweet fandoms I’ve ever been in. I have a few things to say, so in this post I’m trying to put all my thoughts to words. Apologies if I sound harsh, but I’m genuinely livid. Also, please ignore any typos. I’m not wearing my glasses while word-vomiting.

First off, for a fandom that is composed of mostly adults, you guys have been acting terribly childishly. It’s 2024, and yet people are still unironically shaming others for “switching up on their favs” as if a person owes 2D characters any loyalty. Let people enjoy things. The novelty of Sylus and how he’s quite literally 6 months behind the other 3 love interests makes people want to catch up on the enjoyment of him all at once. He’s still such a brand new character and concept, so there’s no wonder everyone’s hyped up over him.

I’ve seen people get genuinely mad at other players and writing whole think-pieces about this. I promise you guys, the company making this game is still benefiting whether you’re pouring your money into Sylus or any one of the previous 3. We’re all happy to have an interesting character pop up among the roster now, and we’re taking our time getting to know him. Doesn’t make any of the first 3 any less loved. I genuinely don’t remember this amount of nastiness when solo events for each of the guys used to drop.

In fact, if the popularity thing is worrying you, going off MLQC (the company’s past game) the character who was last added was—eventually, after the initial hype died down—kicked off to the sidelines in most major events and was given the least content, and was the least favorite of fans.

Secondly, and this has my blood boiling, there is an insane amount of entitlement and rudeness I’ve seen on my timeline concerning how people characterize the men—particularly Rafayel.

Absolutely nothing warrants this shitty attitude towards other creators for how they depict characters in their fics. It seems you guys feel protected behind a screen and think it gives you the right to bully strangers online. Fanfiction is for fantasizing about your favs; for letting your imagination run wild. If this were a character analysis, then yes, maybe I’d agree that inaccuracies are aggravating. However, in fanfiction, there are zero rules, especially when it comes to smut.

Sexual preferences are not equivalent to a person’s whole personality—so whether he’s written as a dom, a sub, a switch, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, this has nothing to do with his kindness, gentlemanliness, passion, power, ruthlessness, snark, or whatever minuscule aspect of his character makes up his lovely whole and matters to you.

I think this circles back to a lack of ability to separate sexual matters and personality, because how else do people interpret fics depicting him in a certain manner as them erasing his character? They might overlap, but they can very well be mutually exclusive. I’ve seen incredibly sweet and gentle men irl who were absolute doms in bed, and I’ve seen powerful and passionate men who were reduced to tears between the sheets. There is barely any correlation whatsoever, and if anything, claiming otherwise is what I consider piss-poor media literacy and reading-comprehension.

My third point is that for some reason, there have been many, many posts and replies on here where I’ve seen people just straight-up spread pure hate for the characters. Maybe this bothered me in particular because I’m an OT3 (OT4 now!) and absolutely adore all of them, but I find no logical reason for “yucking someone’s yum” when we’re talking about liking the characters of an Otome game—a genre of video games which is made to literally cater to the tastes of as many people as possible.

It’s especially disheartening to see when it’s at a time like this, when new content is about to drop, and you find in the replies of every other post/discussion at least a few people spewing hate and disgust at Sylus. Again, so many people are incredibly excited about him. Why is there a need to rain on everyone’s parade, especially in such an unsolicited manner?

This fandom originally started as a safe space for people of all races, backgrounds, genders, sexualities, and personalities to bond over our mutual love for characters. All I’ve seen on my TL lately (in terms of discussion) is negativity, and it’s such a fucking let-down. I hope whatever the fuck has happened to this fandom cools down after a bit. It’s probably exaggerated and very in-your-face rn, cause more and more people are downloading LNDS, so the probabilities of finding people being nasty are increasing. But I seriously don’t want to grow to resent this fandom and find myself distancing myself from it to protect my peace.

Let’s all remember to be kind towards other players, to not act entitled or bratty about the characters, and to try and mind our own business if we see content that doesn’t suit our tastes.

[55sturn]

✮ CRYING ON SATURDAY NIGHT

pairing: psycho!matt sturniolo x fem!reader [ implied/past tense ]

synopsis: in which matt has always leaned towards all things horrifying and brutal his entire life, his very obvious issues coming out in the form of a deeply disturbing interest in gore, murder, death. he’s always known that he needs help but he’s also always been capable of keeping his instincts under control, until that fateful saturday night.

warnings: angst, blood, gore, death, guns, fire, slightly descriptive murder, swearing. literally nothing happy.

THIRD PERSON POV

everyone knows that there are three extremely distinct signs of something evil, dark, and severely fucked up manifesting in someone. and they primarily show during one’s childhood.

the signs are bed-wetting, cruelty towards animals, and some sort of obsession with either fire or something that can seriously harm, maim, or even kill someone.

and for matt, he never showed those three specific signs, but he did show a heavy and deeply twisted interest in horror, gore, death, and murder from a young age. he loved watching horror movies from as young as six. he would grow giddy as the fake blood spewed across the screen, he would even laugh as the victims in the movies died gruesome deaths.

his traits manifested in the sign of extreme intelligence despite struggling horribly in school, a strong lack of remorse and empathy, no genuine emotional connection to anyone or thing, extreme poorly regulated anger, narcissistic behaviour, and ease when it came to manipulation paired with an unbelievable level of charm.

he was never harmed or abused as a kid, in fact he grew up in an extremely stable and loving family, so when his parents started noticing how…different, matt appeared compared to other children his age, especially his brothers, they were concerned. at first they thought it was a phase, him trying to be like the effortlessly cool guys he saw in the movies he loved, until he “accidentally” set his family home on fire one day while playing with matches.

he was striking the matches, letting them burn out until they were nothing but nubs before tossing them to the floor, and chris had walked into the room, ignoring matt’s actions until he got nervous, and then chris proceeded to yell for matt to stop and that just egged matt on, so instead of listening, he took a handful of matches, struck them, and threw them in the recycling bin full of cardboard boxes and newspapers before holding chris in his arms, preventing his brother from ratting on him. matt forced chris to watch as the flames grew to a increasingly dangerous height, his eyes glistening at the sight of his creation, before letting chris run to warn their parents.

from that moment on, matt’s parents were deeply worried and took matt to therapy, in hopes that it’d help, and it did, until the one saturday night that ruined everything.

THERE’S FIFTY-TWO WAYS TO MURDER ANYONE, ONE AND TWO ARE THE SAME BUT THEY BOTH WORK AS WELL.

matt mulled over every way he’s seen someone kill another person in the movies in his head, trying to figure out what the fuck to do with the unconscious douchebag in the trunk of his car. he knew about fifty-two ways to kill someone total.

if he had taken his meds this morning, he wouldn’t have hunted the guy that you went on a with down, he wouldn’t have picked the lock and snuck into the stupid asshole’s closest, holding a police grade flashlight in his hand, the weight of the metal cylinder heavy beneath fingers, waiting until tyler opened the door to clock him over the head with it.

but he had no time to dwell over what he didn’t do, and instead he drove to his family’s cape cod house, the first two ways that popped into his head were suffocation and strangulation, but considering tyler’s build, it’d take far too long. he took a moment to breathe as he reached over and popped open the glove box, finding a box of matches sitting atop the insurance papers and the glock that he bought as soon as he turned eighteen, and an idea came to him.

as he pulled into the driveway of the family lake-house, he pocketed the matches and tucked the gun into his waistband before popping open the trunk and dragging tyler over to the fire pit, throwing his body in the middle of it before grabbing the rope from his trunk, quickly binding the guy’s arms and legs together. as he waited for him to wake up, he texted you, telling you to come to the cape house, stating it was an emergency.

when tyler woke up again, he was quick to knock him out again, planning to lead you in through the front of the house. but when your car pulled up, matt wasn’t sure what to do because you were quick to climb out and run over to him, your body trembling as you realized what matt had done.

I KNOW WHEN YOU’RE HOME, I WAS THINKING ABOUT YOU // YOU GO VICIOUSLY, QUIETLY AWAY.

your hand shook as you covered your mouth, you couldn’t fathom what you were seeing. you knew matt had some issues, and that he had a few dark fantasies but you never thought that matt, the quiet, seemingly gentle boy from your history class, was capable of murder. there was no way that your best friend, your matt, was capable of something so gruesome but he was.

“what the fuck is wrong with you matt?” you scream, unable to move your feet, feeling anchored to the spot you stood in.

“listen i didn’t want to do this, but seeing you with him set me off. i wanted to drop by your house and surprise you because i was thinking about you and i know when you’re home, but you weren’t home. so i checked your location. and then i drove by and saw you with him.” matt spits, his mind racing as he tried to reason with you.

“so what? did you ambush him in the fucking parking lot?”

“no. i tracked him down and whacked him with a flashlight and drove him here before calling you. it wasn’t hard to track him down considering how well known his family is.” matt scoffs, rolling his eyes as if that was the most obvious answer.

“you’re sick. did you call me here so you could kill me too?” you seethe, growing angry with matt’s audacity and terrified of how dangerous matt truly was.

“no. i called you here to prove that i’m doing this for you. for us. without tyler, there’s nothing standing in our way and we’ll be able to finally be together.” matt hums, his demeanour eerily calm as he flicks a handful of matches, throwing them on to tyler’s now dead and gasoline soaked body, matt had underestimated how hard the last whack to tyler’s head was before dumping a can of gasoline on him.

your sobs echoed in matt’s head as the flames grew, once again finding himself entranced by the way he could cause such a beautiful thing.

“you’re fucked in the head! i could never love someone like you!” you scream, watching as matt laughs at your comment before turning around and walking over you to, taking you face in his hands, you wanted to rip yourself away from him, to push him off of you, but you stood frozen in fear as matt looks at you.

“you don’t mean that, sweetheart.” matt whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, bringing you back to reality as you shove him away.

“don’t touch me you sick bastard! i will never love a demented monster like you. you should’ve been locked up from birth or even worse, i wish you died in the fire you started as a kid.” you screech, watching as matt’s jaw clenches, his hand slipping beneath his sweater, your heart pounding as you see the gun sitting in his hand, realizing it’s now aimed at you.

“take it back you bitch. say you don’t mean it and i can spare you and we can run away and live together and fall in love.” matt whispers, his voice cracking as your words cut him deep, all he wanted was for you, for someone, to actually love him, but the things you were saying were making him think you couldn’t and if he couldn’t have you, no one else will.

“no. i don’t want to love someone as severely fucked as -“ your words were cut off as a gunshot rang through the air, and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, and suddenly you felt something warm dripping down the front of your body. you went to wipe it away but in the gleam of the fire you see the thick, dark liquid coating your fingers, as you slowly fall to your knees.

matt had shot you in the chest.

“no no no. fuck!” matt mumbles as he pulls you into his lap, his hands trembling as he brushes your hair back, the blood in your mouth gurgling as you struggle to breath. the blood pools in your mouth causing you to cough and spit up a mouthful of blood.

“i’m so sorry sweetheart.” he whispers, tears falling down his face as he feels a strong sense of guilt for the the first time in his life, scared of what was going to happen.

“if you’re really sorry-“ you start, pausing to spit out more blood,

“you’ll turn yourself in.”

matt sobs against your shoulder, holding you tight to him as your body grows colder by the second, your breathing growing ragged and short, the time between each breath growing longer than the last. matt holds you for a long time after your last breath, softly brushing his fingers through your hair, whimpering as it grows matted with blood.

BUT THE BACKSEAT OF THE DRIVE-IN IS SO LONELY WITHOUT YOU // THERE WAS SOMETHING I FORGOT TO SAY, I WAS CRYING ON SATURDAY NIGHT, I WAS OUT CRUISING WITHOUT YOU, THERE WERE PLAYING OUR SONG.

as matt drove back to the city, his head filled with everything he forgot to tell you before you died in his arms. he had taken what you said in your past moments seriously, deciding that if he wants to genuinely make peace with himself and what he had done, he needed to confess to his crimes.

but a song on the radio caught his attention, BRIGHTSIDE by the lumineers, which was coincidentally yours and matt’s song. and subconsciously, he headed toward your favourite place. the drive-in theatre just outside of the city.

as he parked in the back row of the drive-in, he climbed into the backseat, listening to the rest of the song play as he sobbed against his hands. he knew what he had done, and there was no way to undo what he had done, so as the song finished, he climbed back behind the wheel and drove toward the police station.

AND THE COPS WONT LISTEN ALL NIGHT, AND MAYBE I’LL BE OVER JUST AS SOON AS I FILL THEM ALL IN.

as matt sat in the interrogation room, he mulled over what he could do if they set him free while the cops investigated. he figured he could possibly stop by your house, and sit in your room and smoke a cigarette, like you two used to do in highschool, one last time.

or maybe he could find a way to end his life, so he could see you one last time and hug you again, and apologize for how irrationally he acted.

but the one thing he did know was that he was coming clean for you, honouring your last words.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @gamermattsgf @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @mattscoquette @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @breeloveschris @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @thc-bolter @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @hysteria-things @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @dazednmatthews @bambi-slxt @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @certifiedstarrr

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[captain-mj]

You had a very short tiktok series about Gaz watch a true crime documentary about the Riley Christmas murders and one regarding ale talking about how they had a “demon” take out the Zaragoza cartel.

I’ve always wanted to see that expanded on if you could?

Hey Rose!

Gaz was politely listening to something on his phone. His earbuds had died and he couldn't find his normal headphones. He wasn't allowed to use his work ones and while normally he'd do it anyway, his phone didn't have the right adapter for it.

"And the youngest son, Tommy Riley, was found shot dead with the rest of his family. The military covered it all up. There's no evidence that wasn't redacted. What could they be hiding?"

Gaz could've swore he heard Tommy Riley before. But right now, he couldn't quite place it. He could blame it on fatigue.

Ghost walked in and stood near by. He stayed silent as he watched over Gaz's shoulder.

Gaz paused, feeling himself being watched, before relaxing immediately. "Hey, Ghost."

Ghost hummed. "What are you watching?"

"True crime documentary." Gaz answered. "Want to watch with me?”

Ghost thought about it for a minute before sinking into the chair with him. "Sure. Keep playing."

Gaz turned the captions on and raised the volume just a little. Ghost watched with him, staring impassively at the screen.

"What about his oldest brother?" The second host spoke up. "You mentioned they had two sons."

"This is all we have." A family photo of a blond woman, brunette man and their two children. She looked a bit off, almost like she hadn't been expecting to take a photo. Her hand was on a little boy's shoulder. His wide brown eyes were staring at the camera. His hand was on the slightly smaller boy's arm.

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything about him was apparently burned. No real explanation for it."

"You keep saying him. Who is him?"

"S. Riley. It's all we have. According to the people from his home town, he was unremarkable. just... some guy. For some reason it seems, his school records were burned. His history in the military was burned. And, oh yeah, his medical records, several pages long apparently, and that's just his childhood medical records, were also burned. All different fires. All within the same week." It was clear the implication and it was now hitting Ghost that this was his fucking case.

Yikes.

Gaz laughed. "Military cover up, right Ghost? They blame everything on that."

"This one actually was."

Gaz looked unsure. "You know about this?"

"Yeah. Quite a bit." Ghost got up. "Poor bastard is dead. Died a long time ago. Military just didn't want people to know their hands were in it." He got up. "Don't listen to Ghost stories too much."

As he was leaving, he could see something in Gaz's eyes. A thought.

S. Riley.

Ghost didn't have to deal with his past for a while before he and Alejandro were staking a place out. Valeria were said to be around and that was all the excuse Alejandro needed to be there.

"You ever hear about the Zaragoza cartel?" Alejandro asked, using a hushed tone. It was clear this wasn't reverence. He was baiting Ghost into asking him to tell a cautionary tale or ghost story.

Ghost grinned under his mask. "No. Tell me."

Alejandro launched into the story with a rather good amount of showmanship. There was shockingly little embellishment, but with Roba, there wasn't much need for it. He went over the torture the men, Ghost included, endured. The drugging, the assault, the beating and fighting.

"What happened to them?" Ghost asked on cue and he could see Alejandro smiling.

"A demon. Wiped them all out. Said he wore a..." Alejandro trailed off. He glanced at Ghost. He was a smart man. But when Ghost responded by tilting his head and waving him forward to continue, he seemed to realize that the British man in front of him most likely would not have been in the middle of Mexico at the time. It made no sense. "Skull mask."

"To mock Roba?"

"Rudy thinks so. I don't."

"Why do you think he wore it?"

"I think he was a dead man." Alejandro answered. He sighed softly and his eyes closed. "Forgot how boring stake outs are."

Ghost hummed. "If you want, I could take first watch? Might be good for you to go sleep."

Alejandro nodded. "Might be a good idea." He moved his stuff and managed to lay down.

"Don't let Manuel Roba bite." Ghost grinned.

Alejandro laughed and closed his eyes. Only a moment later, his eyes fluttered open. "Did I say his first name?"

"Nah. I heard of him before. Just wanted to keep you entertained." Ghost patted Alejandro's legs and stood up. He stretched and shook his own legs out before continuing to watch out the window.

Alejandro seemed to let it go.

Soap saw the scarring on Ghost's chest where the autopsies and unnecessary surgeries had gone on. Ghost thought Soap was going to vomit when he saw the extent of it. He didn't think it was because Soap thought it was gross, his scot loved the Glasgow scars on his face and had kissed the scarring on his throat with a vigor Ghost didn't understand. But more, the fact that Ghost had clearly been tortured in such horrific ways.

Soap opened his mouth and closed it a few times before swallowing. "The people wh-"

"Dead. Killed them myself, don't worry."

"They still hurt?"

"Sometimes. I've started taking care of them more and it's not as bad."

Soap traced the mortuary scars first and then the scarring over his ribs. "This feels personal."

"He hated me because I wouldn't break. Fucking Cartel." Ghost answered softly and leaned into him. "Come on. Do you really want to spend our time together doing this?" He leaned down and kissed him.

"They also make the Glasgows?"

"Yeah. The venom scarring was my dad though."

Ghost thought Soap was going to blow up at first. Instead, he just spent the rest of their time kissing all over Ghost as if he could make up for lost time.

Ghost cheekily recommended one of his documentaries to Rodolfo. It was one of the ones that dropped part of his name in it but also insisted that he was the one to murder his family in cold blood. The documentary was one of his least favorite and Ghost had spent more than a few nights after watching it staring at his ceiling, feeling sick. But it was one of the ones that was most misleading. Rudy was smart, but the doc was mixed into several others as well so it wasn't obvious.

Rodolfo didn't call him out on it, but there was something in their eyes when they bumped into each other again. He knew. Just needed a shred of evidence before outright asking Ghost if he murdered his family.

Alejandro invited everyone to his Ranch for a celebration. There was nothing to celebrate, but they all were on leave for the first time since Los Almas.

Rodolfo thanked Ghost and Gaz for the true crime documentaries they had been sending him.

Gaz, who had started to become very suspicious about this whole thing, nodded. "Yeah, thank you for the recommendations too. The Riley Family Christmas murders were an interesting one." They both glanced at Ghost.

So did Price. He was frowning, looking almost panicked. He assumed, reasonably, that this would be a triggering topic for Ghost.

Ghost laughed. "Yeah. That's a good one. Whole family, dead and mutilated. Then they find the oldest son burned somewhere else? Fucking hell." He walked away, getting one of the spiked drinks. He also made sure to pass Price to nod at him. Price got worried and he didn't want him.

Alejandro started the tale about the Zaragoza Cartel to everyone and Soap listened to the methods of torture.

"Wait. Did you say they'd... autopsy them? While alive?"

Alejandro grinned, thinking Soap was just into the nitty gritty details. "Yeah. It was so they could put drugs directly into their organs."

"Huh... Ghost, did they do that to you? The drugging I mean."

Pause.

A pin drop could be heard.

"Yeah. Nasty hallucinogens."

"Huh. Wonder if the two groups had the same idea."

Price was catching on and he quickly glanced at Ghost who gave him The Nod. Politely, he waited until Alejandro was done before asking. "You hear about the people that escaped?"

"Yeah of course. All brainwashed though. They were half insane."

"You hear about the one that did though? Truly escaped? He was an SAS member. Vicious young Sergeant at the time. I was his Lieutenant." Price took a drink. Unlike Alejandro, there was no showmanship. No excitement. Instead, there was a string of sadness.

"S. Riley. I remember finding his patch. Right next to a bunch of bloody dog tags. Roba knew I was following him and he wanted me to know he hurt or killed some of my members. Fucking bastard."

There was a sharp moment. Everyone was putting things together.

"Riley escaped. They found him, mostly dead, wandering the border. We brought our boy home along with some of those brainwashed bastards. Didn't know they'd be targeting civilians."

Gaz gasped so loud Rodolfo jumped. "The military coverup."

"I told you not to listen to Ghost stories." Ghost smiled, taking a drink.

Price hummed. "You know, Simon. I was scared when you went missing a second time. Until I heard that cartel had been wiped off the map and I found you knee deep in bodies."

"Aye. They made one mistake that evening. Just one."

Soap asked the question, right on cue, even if he didn't know it. "Just one?"

'Yeah. Really shouldn't have killed my mom. Might've let a few of them live if they hadn't."

"Mary was a lovely lady." Price clicked their bottles together. "Raised a lovely son."

"You recommended us documentaries over your own family's murders??"

"I have to keep myself entertained somehow."

[thetfer]

You, anon-sect, were going about your usual routine of going to the gym and hanging out with friends. After several hours in the hot sunshine, you decided to head home. Taking a seat on the train home, you heard the pleading cries of the transformed victims trapped on your feet. You had seriously abused them today, but they were just your socks and shoes, so you didn't care. Your feet were sweating like crazy, forcing both socks and shoes to absorb it all. As you wiggled your toes within them, you could tell the shoes didn't have long left before they were completely trashed.

Looking around the train car, you noticed a perfect target to TF into new ones just a few feet away from you. He was a muscular looking stud with a handsome face that you were dying to step on as an insole. The stud was also completely distracted by his phone, making it even easier to TF him without him even realizing that he's screwed. This made your cock very hard.

Sliding yourself up the row towards him, you subtly eyed him up, imagining how comfortable he was gonna be on your feet. You pulled out the TF device and set the program to “SHOES/PERMANENT”. After making sure no one was watching, you pulled the trigger on it and fired the device at the guy. There was a bright flash of light, and as it died down, Anon-sect, you expected to see your new shoes sitting on the seat in front of you, but somehow…someway, the muscular guy was still there, completely untouched by the transformation beam. This was more than confusing for you, you had done this so many times in the past. At this point, you had probably transformed hundreds of innocent lives, irreversibly reshaped into any object you deemed them to be. No one had ever resisted the effects of your device up till this point, it was outright impossible for this guy to still be human.

You pondered what might've gone wrong, looking over the device best you can without drawing too much attention. You were angry, no, Furious that he had survived your shot, so when he started chatting with you, it took everything in you to not blow up at him.

“Hey, did your little toy break? Aww, that sucks man…”, the guy across from you spoke up, sounding exactly like the dumb ‘Jock Bro’ he appeared to be. There was a hint of sympathy in his voice, which you had to hold your breath at to keep from laughing. You had just tried to turn him into your permanent footwear, and he was saddened by your perceived “broken toy”? It made you wonder, if you told him what you had planned on doing to him, would he apologize for failing to become your shoes? Man, this guy is such an easy target, it almost felt cruel…

“No, it's not broken. It's also not a toy, but if I told you what it really was, I'd have to, in a literal sense,  put a foot in your mouth”, you snapped back at him, smirking slightly at your own sly word play and continued trying to suss out the fault in the device.

The guy had a dumbfounded look on his face, but then he seemed to catch on to something, “Uh…ohhh, like some kind of secret project? Aw, that's pretty cool man! I've actually got my own secret project goin’, wanna see!?”, 

This guy was starting to annoy you, but not to seem suspicious, you looked up at him, faining curiously.

The guy looked overjoyed to see you interested in his so called “secret project”. He excitedly turned his phone towards you and showed you the image that was on the screen. “I snapped a pic of these awesome shoes that I want, am just waitin’ on them realizing they're supposed to be there”. Despite his obvious luke-warm IQ, it was hard not to be indeered to this guy. You were ready to write him off as a dumb meathead that would soon be imprisoned on your feet…until you actually looked at the picture on his phone. It showed a pair of white coloured High-Top sneakers, with red and black accents. You had to agree, they did look pretty awesome…however, the picture depicted the shoes on the floor of the train car, the exact same one you were in…then you realized what kind of phone this guy had…it was a TF phone.

You started to feel extremely lightheaded, your surroundings spinning rapidly around you. You looked down at your own TF device and your mistake was flashing right in your face. “Please Confirm Your Settings” was displayed on its screen. You had forgotten to press confirm, and without doing that, the device would never have fired…which meant that the bright flash of a TF beam didn't come from your device after all, but instead it came from the Muscular Jock Bro's phone!

Looking up at him in horror, you slid off your seat and landed with a thud on the floor right by the guy's nasty, beat-up gym sneakers.

“Yo, what you doin’ on the floor man…? Oh, wait! Are you tryna catch a whiff of ma feets? That's kinda weird Bro, my feet really stink, but, I guess it ain't hurtin’ no one…”, and with a confused, but friendly smile, the guy kicked off his sneakers and pressed his hot, stinky, sweat-soaked socked feet right against your face. “Oh, by the way, ma names Chad! I would ask for your name, but, I don't think shoes deserve names…”, despite retaining his air-headed bubbly himbo tone, the last line he spoke had a sinister edge to it, revealing that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You had become completely paralyzed shortly after landing on the floor, so you could do nothing as the guy shoved his stinking,  rancid feet in your face. Was this karma…? Was the universe torturing you like this as a form of revenge on behalf of all your former victims? This was the only explanation that made sense to you. How else could you have forgotten such a simple step like press confirm on your settings, you've done that a million times! All you could do was sniff, Chad's putrid, toxic foot stink no doubt speeding up the transformation process as you felt a strange sensation in your skin.

“Uh…hey Bro!”, the guy called down to you, pretending badly to sound concerned, “you don't look so good, man…it looks like you'returnin’ whit! Are ma feets too stinky for ya!? Aw, am so sorry, Man”, his tone was dripping with sarcasm, and even worse, you could spot a very visible bulge pressing against his sweats…he was enjoying this.

His feet were so rancid,  but they were the least of your concerns. With pleading eyes, you looked up at him, begging, praying he would stop this…but the look of pleasure on his face told you that was never going to happen. As he gently stroked the sizable bulge in his pants, you felt your skin get tighter, squeezing out a few tears from your eyes…you didn't want this, you didn't want to be some guy's shoes! This guy was supposed to be your shoes!! As you felt a mix of fear and anger, your transformation seemed to accelerate, causing intense pain and discomfort as your body began to contort and reshape into its new form.

Staring down at you, the guy was now smirking, excited as he watched this happening to you. “Yo!!! Bro!!!! You're ma fuckin’ shoes now!!! Hahaha, pathetic loser!!!“, the guy eagerly watched as your horrific transformation was finalized, leaving you looking exactly like the picture on his phone.

Wasting no time, the guy pulled you onto his feet, your face instantly being squashed beneath his hot smelly foot. “Oh man, you feel so good on me, so comfortable!”, he remarked, pressing his foot down hard against your insole face.

This was Hell…not only were his feet fucking toxic, but the guy himself was a huge mound of muscle, weighing at least 400 pounds. However, your situation quickly changed from bad to worse when he pulled on the other shoe. From your experience with TFing people, you obviously knew the face became one of the insoles, but you never could figure out what formed the other insole…until now.

As Chad pulled on the other shoe, you could feel his sweaty toes sliding along your dick, before his heel settled down on top of your balls…this sensation made you want to cum so hard, but you couldn't, your cock was an insole. This orgasmic pleasure soon intensified as Chad played with the shoe on his foot, as if he knew your penis was now its insole. Pleasure turned to pain as there was no way to release the tension. 

“Oh please…please let me cum…oh god it hurts!!! Just let me cum, please god let me cum!!!”, you mentally begged, screamed and cried, but to release came. You were locked in eternal orgasm for the rest of your life!

“Oh f-fuck…”, that was the last thought you had before his full weight crushed down on your privets. You were in agony, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

As for the muscular guy, he couldn't help but admire the quality of his new shoes! They felt high end, and super comfortable. Testing them out with a stroll up and down the train car, he found that the shoes would contract around his feet with each step, almost as if the shoes were giving his feet a massage as he walked. “Man, it was awesome of you to turn into my shoes! Am gonna wear you everyday Bro, especially to the gym! You're ma new favorite pair now!”, he excitedly informed you, mercilessly wiggling his big thick toes on you.

You screamed at the thought of that. Everyday!? There was no way you could mentally survive that! You began to cry and plead, begging to be turned human again, but it never came. You would live out the rest of your existence on his feet, smelling, tasting and feeling every second of it at 10000X the insanity of a normal human. 

Chad kept his word and wore you every single day, and to torture you even further, he also never changed his sock either. Eventually, you would begin to rot on his feet, his rancid sweat dissolving your shoe bodies. First to go was your insole cock. Chad's sweat had quickly stained it a deep orange, and once that happened, the integrity of your insole cock rapidly deteriorated with searing, blinding pain. You thought your mind was going to burn up…in fact, you hoped it would…unfortunately it stayed intact, forcing you to feel you cock and balls rot away beneath Chad's foot. Next was your face, you could both smell and taste yourself rotting, but you never died. Chad simply threw you in a closet with the rest of his rotting sneakers, leaving you to your fate in pain and agony as shoes, forever!

This is a post requested by @anon-sect Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Go check out @anon-sect and enduldge in his amazing TF stories!!

[moviecritc]

dreamer ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x old friend!reader

summary: you leave the city searching a meaning to your life, founding an old friends instead

word count: 2K

warnings: carlos isn't a driver, just a really rich guy with hobbies

a/n: here's the first track of my bewitched department <33 i love reader and carlos so so much tbh

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"I'm sick of all this, Natalie," Y/N declared, throwing her phone on the sofa. Her roommate diverted her gaze from the TV to her. "It's the fourth guy that ghosted me after I ask him out."

"Become a lesbian," said Natalie, turning her attention back to the movie.

Y/N let out a sigh. "I should. I'm tired of all men being assholes and manipulators."

She grimaced, thinking that maybe the problem wasn't men but her. She had studied Art History and had been the best in her class. Now, at 28, she was sharing an apartment and teaching preteens who called her 'ma'am.' Was she wasting her life?

"I need a change," she said to herself.

"The smell goes away with a shower, don't worry." Natalie looked at her, wrinkling her nose.

"No, damn it. A change in my routine," she explained. Nevertheless, she took a sniff at her armpit, regretting it. She'd shower later. "I need to get out of here."

She stood up, grabbed her phone, and headed to her room.

"Hey? And where are you going, if I may ask?" said Natalie, following her.

"Anywhere!" Y/N shrugged. She drank a glass of water and took out a couple of pieces of clothing. "I need to change the scenery as soon as possible, I'm stuck."

She pulled a small suitcase from her closet while her roommate rolled her eyes.

"Y/N, you can't just leave suddenly. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

Y/N paused for a moment and then shrugged again. "I'll ask for the day off. The week, actually."

"The week!" exclaimed Natalie. Y/N was already looking at flights on her phone when Natalie covered her screen. "Y/N, you don't have the financial or mental stability for this!"

Y/N swatted Natalie's hand away to see her phone screen.

"Madrid is very cheap this time of year," she said, with a small smile.

"But you don't even speak Spanish!"

Y/N boarded a plane to Madrid with the idea of not talking to any men that week. This trip was for her, to reconnect with herself, the Y/N she had lost over the years.

She still didn't have a place to stay, but she would resolve that on the go. The journey from the airport to central Madrid was tedious; she didn't know how the metro worked and people ignored her like she was nothing. Frustrated, she sat in a café. She looked up things to do in Madrid on her phone, but soon the battery died, and she was sure she had forgotten her charger at the apartment.

She let out a long sigh and ran her hands over her face. As she opened her eyes, she heard a voice.

"Y/N?"

She looked up immediately, surprised that someone knew who she was in Madrid. When she met the gaze of the individual, she recognized him instantly.

"Carlos?"

She stood up immediately, greeting him. Was he a man? Yes but Carlos and she had gone to university together; they had been friends for several years. Probably best friends, though they never talked about it. He hadn't changed much; he looked older but in a positive way, with a more flattering haircut and surprisingly stronger.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos asked, leaning in for a short hug.

"On vacation," Y/N nodded. Running into him had instantly lifted her spirits.

"Damn, I haven't seen you in… six years?" Carlos tilted his head a bit.

"Since graduation, right?"

They both nodded; it had been quite a while. Long enough to realize they had lost contact too soon.

"I didn't expect to see you in Madrid," commented Carlos, with a smile.

"It was a last-minute decision," explained Y/N, wrinkling her nose a bit. She formed a smile. "I'm glad to see you, really. Do you want to sit for a bit?" she suggested, pointing to the empty chair.

"I'd love to," Carlos accepted the invitation immediately, sitting down.

A waiter approached, and Carlos ordered a coffee to accompany Y/N's.

"Well, tell me, what have you been up to all these years?" Carlos asked, crossing one leg.

Y/N told him a bit of everything, very sweetened. That she was teaching Geography and History at a public school, that her family was fine, and they reminisced about the time Carlos practically crashed her Christmas party because Carlos Sainz Senior was mad at him for his grades and that she was happy living in her city.

Carlos told her that he now worked at his father's company as an executive.

"Oh, I thought you’d be doing something related to what we studied," Y/N pressed her lips a bit, somewhat disappointed that Carlos hadn't continued doing what they both loved.

"I would have loved to… but there were very few job opportunities. And I didn't want to be a teacher, so I played it safe," admitted Carlos, shrugging a bit. For a moment, he thought Y/N would judge him for it, but her sweet and calm expression told him otherwise.

"Understandable not wanting to be a teacher," agreed Y/N, before sipping her coffee.

"Is it tough?" Carlos mimicked her, lifting his cup too.

Y/N shook her head a bit. "I'm sure there are worse things. But having a twelve-year-old try to cut your hair because his dad is bald is rather curious."

Carlos almost choked on his coffee from the sudden laughter. "Really?" He tried to stifle the laughter as best as he could, but Y/N was already glaring at him.

"No, no. It's not funny, it happens every damn day," she nodded vigorously. Carlos let out a laugh that ended up being contagious for Y/N too.

The conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. It was like going back to university for a few hours, a time she missed a lot. When they decided to get up from the table, they had finished four coffees and at least one glass of wine. It was even starting to get cold outside.

"Shall I walk you to your hotel?" Carlos asked with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced, remembering she still hadn't sorted that out. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed. "I haven't booked a hotel room yet."

"Oh," he pursed his lips and quickly said, "You can stay at my place, I have a spare room."

Y/N, hearing him speak, was already shaking her head. "No, no, no. I don't want to bother you."

Carlos clicked his tongue, looking away for a moment.

"How are you going to bother me? Come on, bring your suitcase. My car is parked nearby."

Y/N was intrigued by Carlos's initiative but kept shaking her head.

"Really, it's not necessary, Carlos," Y/N extended her arms a bit for Carlos to return her suitcase, but he even moved it away from her hands. "I'll manage."

She said that last part to ease him a bit, but it only sounded like she needed more help.

"Y/N, I'm not going to leave you out on the street," Carlos put his hands on his hips and she let out a sigh. "That's not very gentlemanly of me."

"You were never a gentleman, you idiot," noted Y/N. Carlos smiled, knowing that if Y/N started to insult you, she was about to agree with you. "Alright, but just for one night. Then I'll find a hotel."

"Whatever you say, cariño," Carlos smiled triumphantly, and Y/N tried to hide her smile while he put her suitcase in the trunk.

His apartment was huge, truly huge. A dream kitchen, a large living room, and definitely more than one spare room. As they entered, a beautiful brown and white dog greeted them, heading straight for Carlos's legs.

"And who is this?" said Y/N, petting his head a bit, enough for the animal to focus all its attention on her. He sniffed Y/N's shoes and licked the hems of her pants.

"His name is Piñón," said Carlos with a smile, surprised that Piñón hadn't started barking because of a stranger's presence. "I adopted him almost after we graduated."

Y/N crouched, petting Piñón's neck and behind his ears. "Hi, Piñón. You're so pretty."

"I'll show you the room," Carlos said.

Y/N got up, giving Piñon one last pet. "Thank you, really. I feel like an abandoned cat, but thank you."

They both chuckled softly.

"It's nothing," Carlos said as they went to the room.

Y/N left her suitcase in a corner and turned to Carlos. "Do you have a charger?"

She felt like she was taking advantage of him too much, even if it was just for a charger, she felt bad.

"Of course, here," Carlos handed her the charger, their hands touched for a millisecond. She tried so hard not to feel anything. He kept a flirty smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Well, yes," Y/N nodded. "But give me a few minutes and I'll help you cook."

Y/N took a couple of things out of her suitcase and went back to the kitchen to help Carlos. They quickly cooked some pasta with burrata. Y/N noticed how Carlos would get close to her or brush his hands against hers casually.

While cutting some tomatoes, the knife slipped from Carlos’s hand. "Shit!" Carlos looked at the cut and put his finger in his mouth, letting out several whimpers.

"Did you cut yourself?" Y/N went over to him, Carlos took his finger out of his mouth, showing her a small cut. Y/N pursed her lips, remembering how dramatic he could be. "It's nothing, Carlos. It's barely bleeding."

Y/N cradled his hand, gently caressing his fingers almost unconsciously. The room went silent, Carlos looked into her eyes, he adored that look. Y/N lifted her eyes, connecting them with Carlos’s. He leaned toward her, listening to her breathing and matching his to it.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hung in the air. Y/N held her breath. This was the opposite of what she wanted. She blinked and slightly opened her mouth. To Carlos, it felt like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said in a faint voice. She looked at him with pity and Carlos stepped back, feeling more embarrassed than ever. "It's just… it's not the right time. I'm in a bit of a strange phase and things aren't going well for me, I don't want to mess things up for you." Y/N fidgeted with her rings as she said it.

"I understand," Carlos said, nodding slowly. "I shouldn't have asked you that, it was out of place."

"No, I should have told you before," she contradicted, with a grimace.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's just that…," Carlos hesitated a bit. "In college I had a huge crush on you and seeing you again brought everything back."

Y/N blinked, absorbing those words. She had always wondered why Carlos barely dated any girls during their time in college, it never crossed her mind it could be because of her.

"You had a crush on me?"

"You didn't know?"

"No…"

"Damn, we spent so much time together,"

"Because we were friends! That's what friends do!"

They both laughed and Carlos leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"So, you're not having a good time?" he inquired, with a calm look.

Y/N lowered her gaze. "I'm trying to sort out my life."

"I understand," he bit the inside of his cheek. "Anyway, if once you sort out your life you feel like going on a date, I haven't changed my number."

That felt so good in Y/N's chest, as if her heart expanded a little. She laughed like a fool, taking a few steps back.

"I'm going to go to sleep,"

"You're not having dinner with me?" Carlos extended his arms, with a sad look.

"Maybe tomorrow," Y/N turned around and smiled over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

[scoupsahoy]

i know people love a villain (especially an evil or emotionally abusive parent) in a network procedural but the helena diaz hate train is a little unfounded if not misogynistic

i am on eddie's side and i love him and im so excited for him to confront his trauma and his mistakes and for the characters on the show to show up for him. he's had a genuinely concerning mental health crisis basically once every other season since we met him and i want him to focus on himself instead of worrying about being a perfect father all the time and hindering his own healing in effort to put chris first

that being said sometimes children are betrayed by their parents and go to live with their grandparents for a while. chris has been whisked away and abandoned several times growing up by both of his parents including the time his mother died. eddie is basically put on suicide watch in season 5 due to an EXTREMELY TRAUMATIZING MOMENT FOR CHRIS. the thing with kim as a whole is a result of his inability to process his own trauma and pain and it keeps happening. at the end of season 7 CHRIS calls his grandparents because he cannot trust his father and it is not uncommon or unreasonable for a kid his age who has gone through what he's gone through to live with his grandparents

like this isn't "i'm mad at my dad for cheating on his girlfriend" it's "a woman who looked identical to my mother who died suddenly and tragically when i was like seven years old was in my living room embracing my father while i was hanging out with his girlfriend who babysits me regularly due to the fact that my father is a firefighter and i am a disabled teenager"

helena and ramon are presumably wealthy, presumably retired, presumably have a stable marriage, and chris trusts them. and im not saying that that's a requirement to take care of a child but that's clearly what chris wants and needs right now

being like "helena is taking advantage of the situation because she was never a good parent to eddie and should in fact be pushing chris back to him" is

1. ignoring chris' agency and the legitimate reasons he had for calling his grandparents in texas vs like buck or someone

2. USUALLY ignoring ramon's hand in it even though ramon was the parent to eddie that was neglectful and arguably emotionally abusive on some level

3. a bad faith reading of a nuanced situation where helena and ramon ON SCREEN IN TEXT believed, supported, and empathized with eddie when they were picking up chris

i understand the desire to have a bad guy in whatever situation but also like. a genuinely really lazy boring reading to me to be like "and no one has done anything wrong except for this horrid woman who has bad intentions and probably never loved her son"

PS i know no one is going to read this let alone agree with me but if anyone uses this as an excuse to say anything bad about eddie diaz. don't

[strang3lov3]

Dark But Just A Game

You and Roman play tag. (5k)

Tags - noncon, one shot, smut, dark!Roman, maybe even slasher!roman??? unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, finger sucking, come eating, oral sex (f!receiving) violence, manhandling, inappropriate use of a box cutter - no gore though, i promise. i'm too squeamish to actually injure characters and deal with describing that. lack of aftercare, typical Roman sexism, Roman taunting, gaslighting, intimidating, lying, bullying. Takes place on Halloween. If you need more detailed warnings, message me. Fic help - MY BABY @endlessthxxghts!! thanks for having it in you to edit this A/N - I had fun with this creep!!! I plan to do more dark!roman in the future where he’s your creepazoid landlord stalker guy. Probably not as extreme as this fuck. This is my early Halloween treat for all of you 🎃 hope everyone has a safe and fun holiday!

If you’re interested in the music I listened to while writing this

“Can I leave now?”

Roman looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head as he sighs. “No, and quit asking me. You’re not leaving until I’m done.”

Fucker. 

You’d never noticed before just how uncomfortable the couch in Roman’s office is, but after laying on it for the last three hours, you’re painfully aware. The material is scratchy, it’s uninviting. More for show than comfort, no doubt. Roman’s at his desk typing, scrolling, doing god knows what on his computer. What does he even do, actually? You’ve worked with Roman for a long time now and you hear him talk a lot about work, but as far as doing work - actually working, he does fuck all. “You never do anything, never, and now you’re…?”

“Watching porn, nuisance. Very important. Now fuck off.” 

You don’t doubt that he really is watching porn, honestly. This is the third time you’ve asked Roman what he’s doing and you have yet to receive a legitimate answer. He’s got you stuck here in his office as he works - or whatever it is he’s doing - until he’s done. The rest of the building emptied out hours ago but Roman kept you late, insisting that he’d need you for something. Yet so far, he hasn’t needed you for anything. But you can’t leave, though. Per Roman’s instructions, you are not allowed to leave the building by yourself. 

He couldn’t give two fucks usually, but knowing that you park in the garage, where it’s less secure than the rest of the building, Roman likes to walk you out when you’re all alone. There’s been incidents in that garage before. Nothing severe enough to actually do something about it or - more likely - nobody at Waystar really cares to. Nobody except for Roman, who insists on making sure you’re never alone in that garage. He doesn’t know why that is exactly. Maybe he’s got a soft spot for you. 

Your phone died a half hour ago, and you left your charger in your car. Roman’s minimalistic analog clock reads eleven-something; you can’t exactly tell the time with the way the silver hands lay on the white background, the glare of the lights, and how the numbers aren’t even labeled. “Do you even like that clock?”

“What clock?” You point to it. It takes Roman a second to peel his eyes from his monitor, and then he squints at it. “Huh. That clock. Never noticed it before.” And his attention is back on his screen. Roman looks handsome even under the harsh, bluish light from his computer, the rest of the room pretty dark. He had you turn off the overhead lighting an hour ago. It was giving him a headache. 

“I’m ready to go, Roman.”

Roman huffs. “Jesus Christ. I. Know. God, you’re like a fruit fly. Always buzzing in my fucking ear. What, am I keeping you from something? Costume party? Fucking - I don’t know. Passing out candy?” 

“No, but–” 

“But what?” 

“I’m tired.” 

It’s the truth, you are tired. And you did have plans, too. It’s Halloween, and you love to watch the same three slasher movies by yourself every year with a bowl of shitty microwave popcorn and some fun-sized candies. You’ve got a variety bag of candy in your car you picked up earlier in preparation, actually. But as the hours passed being stuck in Roman’s office, you gave up on that plan. You’d really just like to go home and sleep.

“Then take a nap,” Roman says. “I’m not even making you work. You’re getting paid to sit there and bitch to me. I can make you shred papers or something, though. Is that what you want?” 

“I shredded your papers yesterday.” 

“Then I’ll make you shred the blank ones. Scroll through Instagram and shut up.” 

You roll your eyes. What a fucking asshole. Roman goes back to his screen, and you take some time to watch him. He just…stares. At nothing. The screen doesn’t change, it’s just that same blue-white light reflected on his face. Roman’s eyes are glazed over, his brow is pinched together. He just seems not totally there right now. He’s probably rereading the same email over and over again, but you do that too. Focus too hard on trying to be productive that you end up moving in the opposite direction.

Fuck this. Roman will keep you here until sunrise at this rate, so you pack up your purse. “I’m going to my car,” you say, walking across the room. 

Roman glares at you. “Don’t,” he says, pointing in your direction. “It’s Halloween and there’s nutjobs out there. Do you know what could happen to a girl like you in a parking garage all by yourself?”

You scoff, “Fuck off. You’re ridiculous, Roman.” 

Roman bites down on his smile to hide his amusement. You’re his first assistant to take none of his shit, who bites him back. What Roman lacks in size and personality, he makes up for in power and status, and he uses that advantage to bully anyone lower than himself. Never works on you, though. Roman wonders how he could change that. Everyone’s got a breaking point.

“I’m leaving.���

“No. If you leave without me, so help me god I will - I don’t know. I’ll hunt you down. I am asking you to give me just like, five minutes. Can you wait five minutes?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Five minutes, my ass.” You take your hand off the door handle and lean against the frame. “What’s this about hunting me down?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’ll hunt you down.” Roman rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Sounds fun. Like tag,” you smirk. You adjust your bag on your shoulder and saunter towards Roman at his desk, then tap his shoulder. “You’re it.” 

Roman says your name in a threatening tone. “Do you think I’m kidding? I’m not fucking with you. Go sit down.”

You tap Roman again, then open the door. You dangle one foot out of the frame, giggling as you threaten to run. “I’m going to my car.” 

Roman sighs and leans back in his rolling chair, folding his arms behind his head. “Always a game to you, huh?”

“Not always. But right now, yeah. Play with me, Roman. For like, five minutes.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh. “I have some Halloween candy in my car. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, really? Anything at all?” Roman watches you nod, a mischievous smile on your face. Whatever you’re thinking, he’s thinking worse. “Hmm. Enticing. Yeah, alright. I’ll fucking play game, fucking show you. I’ll even give you a headstart, hm? I’m feeling generous.”

“Really? How long?”

“Don’t know yet, so you better run fast. But–” Roman pauses, mulling an idea over in his head. “You can’t use the elevator.” 

“What do you mean, ‘can’t use the elevator’?”

“Sound it out,” he mocks. “What do you think it means?” Fucking asshole. You roll your eyes as you play with the door a little, swinging it open and closed little by little. “Those are my terms.” Roman folds his arms across his chest.

“Are you gonna use the elevator?”

Roman makes a face and shakes his head. “Of course not. We’re gonna play fair and square. You run, I run. But faster, obviously. So you better get the fuck out, sweetheart.” 

“Okay. You’re on,” you smile. “Peace out, then.” 

And that’s it. Roman watches you leave. He cranes his neck a little to watch the direction you turn, and like a good girl who follows his rules, you go for the staircase. 

Roman never had such complicated feelings about a woman before you came along, which says a lot given the fact he’s never had a normal relationship with a woman either. He’s perturbed by your fierceness, your independence and confidence in the face of everything you put up with at Waystar and from Roman himself. A dirty joke in the car, a pinch on your ass cheek in the elevator. It does nothing to get under your skin or make you squirm. Your happiness, that stupid smile you wear. Your laughter and your sense of humor. He wants to break down all of those parts of you, just to see if he can debase you to his level. So tonight, he’ll humor you and play the game, if that’s what it takes. Just for shits and giggles. What other opportunity does he have to do this, anyway? If you get away, win the game of tag, so be it. But if you don’t, you’re his to do with what he wants. He’ll get you in his arms and he’ll…he’ll…

Roman closes out the windows on his Mac, then shuts the computer down entirely. He smiles a little at the small Snoopy figurine you put on his desk one day after he mentioned liking the character. You told him it made sense, that you could see it. Him liking Snoopy’s character, that is. Roman opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a boxcutter, turning the tool over in his hand. There’s not even a good reason for him to have it. But he’s not gonna do anything, of course. Obviously he’d never do anything real. He’ll just…freak you out a little. It’s Halloween night, after all. If there was any time for a spook and all that. 

Roman holds the boxcutter tightly in his hand as he stands up. He leaves his jacket on the back of the chair, his phone on his desk. He shuts off the lights and follows after you, taking sure steps as he walks that first hall. He turns down the same staircase that you did and peers over the ledge where he can see that you’re running your way down. The door behind him shuts loudly and startles you, an excited giggle escaping your lips. He wishes he felt excitement like that too.

Roman guesses you’re about seven levels below the top floor where you started when you enter the closest door to yourself. He repeats the floor number to himself through whispers, pacing his way down the steps. Bits of his hair are falling out of place, tickling his eyes and the bridge of his nose. 

Roman barges through the same door you entered and scans the dark room for your body. It takes him a second for his eyes to adjust, but he thinks he sees it - your shoe poking out from behind a desk as you crouch. He tiptoes closer to you, peering over more desks and boxes of paper to see if he can spot you, or if his mind is playing a trick on him. He curses when the floor creaks under one of his steps. “God - fuck,” he hisses. 

You hear him in front of you. There’s quite a distance between you and him yet, but you’re a sitting duck just waiting here. In the trash bin under the desk you’re hiding behind you spot a plastic water bottle still a quarter full. Quietly, gingerly, you pull it out and toss it in the corner of the room so that Roman’s attention turns to where it clattered.

You crawl around the cubicle, then rise to your feet to move quicker. Roman inspects the water bottle, then the desk where he thought he saw you. His footsteps are getting louder, so you sprint as quietly as you can into one of the nearby cubicles, your back against the wall as you hold your breath.  

With wide eyes, you watch Roman walk right past yourself in the cubicle. You feel giddy at the thought of winning this game, so giddy you have to cover your own mouth to stifle a laugh of excitement. You poke your head out of the cubicle a little and watch Roman turn to the left, then make a mad dash for the exit and sprint back down the stairs. 

Roman had thought about going back to the staircase so that you’d have to meet him there, but he decided against it - the game doesn’t last as long that way. He lets you run down the steps so that you tire yourself out a bit and he walks the other direction until he’s standing in front of the elevator he promised he wouldn’t get on. Roman presses the button with the arrow pointing down and smirks to himself, flicking the switch of the boxcutter, poking the blade in and out, in and out. The elevator dings and the doors open, Roman takes it down to garage level. 

He waits. Flicks the blade up and down, up and down. 

-

That blue P for parking sign has never looked so beautiful. You catch your breath for a second at the bottom of the stairs, then look up to see if you can see Roman. He’s not there, but you don’t believe he didn’t hear you leave that one floor you played cat and mouse on. Maybe he went down a different staircase, he does know the building better than you do. After catching your breath, you cautiously open the door to the garage. Roman perks up when he hears the horn of your car beeping repeatedly as you unlock it, fidgeting with the button on your keys. “Fuckin’ obnoxious,” he mutters to himself, waiting for you to walk far enough away before pressing the ‘door open’ button on the elevator so that you don’t hear the sound. 

Relief watches over you as you make it through the parking garage, all cold and damp and smelling of concrete and oil, and no sign of Roman. You look around - It’s eerie in here, a liminal with its fluorescent lighting, but not quite bright enough to light up the dark atmosphere. Each floor is completely empty, save for your car. You smile as you reach your vehicle and open the back door, your heart pounding, exhilarated that you outran Roman as you toss your belongings onto the seat.  

You feel it before you hear it. Warmth against your back, a bulge against your ass. A hand over your mouth, fingers and thumb harshly digging into the hollows of your cheeks. Your eyes widen as you squeal in fear and excitement. 

Roman has you held tightly against his chest - he wins the game. But he realizes that he didn’t actually think this far. Didn’t think about what he’d do once he had you in his arms. If he’d catch and release, or if he has more in mind than that. As Roman contemplates, you start to squirm and panic - this has gone on too long. You don’t even know that the person holding you is Roman, so you thrash against him. It only serves to excite the man, to hold you tighter so that he’s hurting you. 

“Hey, shhhh...shut up. Shut the fuck up. Stop - fuck - fucking squirming. It's me, okay? Relax. It’s just Roman.” The identification doesn’t calm you much. Something about him feels off. “Tag, remember? I got you. You’re it.”

Roman waves to you in the window opposite to your position, wiggling his fingers as he wears a bizarre smile, the shadows on his face making him look all dark and severe. There's something in his hand, too. Metallic and sharp-looking.You don’t register what it is until he presses it against your side and you can make out the object. A boxcutter. Roman threatens to push it further and you gasp, though with his hand over your mouth you don’t breath in much air. “I told you l’d fucking show you, didn’t I? Hey - didn’t I?”

Roman tugs your blouse up your torso, grazing the tip of the blade up and down your ribcage. You watch it happen in the window, tears springing up in your eyes. This doesn’t feel like a game, and if it is, you want no part of it. This feels...this feels scary. Roman’s taking it too far, and it feels real. A few tears roll down your cheeks, down the back of Roman's hand. You don’t wanna play this game anymore.

“Tears, huh? That didn't take long. Should check Guinness. See if you broke a record or something.” Roman lightly draws the blade over your skin, writing his name in sloppy cursive letters. R-O-M-A-N. He could press hard against your skin and his signature would be carved into you permanently. “I know, I know,” he whispers. “Are you regretting this?”

You nod. Roman's palm is becoming damp with your warm breath, your tears collecting between his hand and your skin. You try to pull him away from you so you can speak, but he holds on tighter.

“I asked you before if you knew what could happen to a girl like you in a parking lot like this. Wanna guess now?”

Only now does Roman remove his hand from your mouth, but he holds it just as tightly over your chest. You shake your head, “No,” you answer, voice wobbling. Good, Roman thinks. You want to scream, tell him that this isn’t funny. You’re scared and you want to be done with whatever this game has turned into. But you don't have enough of a voice to say anything but no. A quiet, pleading, shaky, and useless no.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Roman begins. “Some bad, bad man will snatch you up, just like this.” He gestures to you with the boxcutter. He smiles, “He’ll drag you somewhere nice and quiet, where nobody can hear you scream. Like this.” He points to the rest of the garage. “He’ll bend you over-” Roman keeps the blade at your side and forces you down, down so that your chest is pressed into the backseat of your car. He puts a knee on your back, trapped like an animal underneath him as he presses his weight into you. Roman bends over and pushes some hair out of your face, twirling it around his slender fingers. You struggle to breathe, both with his weight on your chest and your hyperventilating. He continues, “And he’ll have his way with you. Fuck any hole he wants, shit - maybe he’ll even make a new one. Like I’m gonna do with you, right?”

It’s here where you realize the game is over, ended long ago, and question if it was even ever a game to Roman. Your gut churns in anxiety, you feel like you’re gonna puke. Is Roman gonna fuck any hole of yours he wants, or is he gonna make a new one? But being paralyzed in fear, and all you can do is hope that this’ll all be over soon, or maybe it’s just a dream. You’ll wake up in bed all sweaty and sticky and out of breath, but you’ll shower away the thought of this. 

“You could end up on the news tonight,” Roman taunts. “It’s a scary, scary fuckin’ world out there. You have no idea what some sickos are capable of.”

Roman considers what he wants to do to you. He could leave you here and you’d be sufficiently frightened for Halloween, be your real life slasher movie. But you’re so scared, so pliant, so devoid of all confidence and bite and spirit. Roman wants to continue to exploit that, beat it down.

He tugs down your pants until they’re around your knees, then slides the blade of the boxcutter beneath the waistband of your panties. You cry harder, panicking and choking on your sobs. “Shhh,” Roman shushes you, cutting the fabric of your underwear before ripping it off of you completely. “Deep breaths, sweetheart, don’t cry. It could be worse, you know? It’s not the real thing. It’s just a game. That’s all it is. We’re just playing a game. I am just trying to show you what’s out there.” 

You thrash again. “Hey,” Roman snaps and smacks your ass hard enough to leave a print. He stands behind you, no hands on your body and impressed that you stay like that. Roman spreads your legs, exposing your cunt to himself. He slides the blade of the boxcutter back down and drags the tool up and down your folds, patiently waiting for you to become wet. “You don’t fight back much,” Roman murmurs. “Why is that? You’re just like, f- oh. Answered my own question. Fight, flight, or freeze. You’re a freezer.”

“I’m scared, Roman,” you whimper. “You’re really scaring me.”

Roman scoffs. “Oh, you’re scared? Imagine how scared I am, knowing some sick fuck could do this to you. Legitimately,” he adds. “It breaks my heart, honestly. You’re lucky I know what’s best for you, sweetheart.” 

Roman puts the boxcutter into his pocket and touches you himself instead, first spitting on his fingertips before cupping your mound. He hums in sick satisfaction at feeling the pool of arousal at your core. “Do you know how fucking soaked you are? A worse man wouldn’t get your pussy wet like this. He’d fuck you dry. Think about how good you have it with me.”  

Roman toys with your pussy, making lewd noises as he rubs it, taps it, cups it. You’re only getting wetter, but you won’t make a sound, instead biting on a seatbelt, tears falling from your eyes squeezed shut. You’re not so subtle, though. Roman notices the subtle rocking of your hips, whether you realize you’re doing it or not. “You’re allowed to moan,” Roman murmurs as he strokes your folds. “I’d really like to hear you.”

He gives you a moment to find your voice. He’d even take a breathy sigh, if not a cry of pleasure. 

Nothing. 

“I said,” Roman begins, brutally pushing just two fingers into your slick entrance, letting you feel how his bony knuckles stretch your pussy. It hurts, oh, Roman knows how it hurts you. “I want to hear you. You know how much I hate repeating myself.”

You let out a soft whimper in response, the noise landing somewhere between pleasure and fear. 

“Good girl,” Roman praises, pulling his fingers out of you almost all of the way to admire the way you’ve soaked him, digits all coated in your creamy ribbons of slick. He pushes them back in and curls them repeatedly, brushing against that sensitive place inside you, the added pressure of being on your stomach intensifying it all. In the deepest part of you, you can’t help but to want more, another finger or maybe even his cock. And that makes you cry harder, and fills you with a unique sense of disgust you’ve never felt before. 

Roman curls his fingers rhythmically in your pussy, twisting and spreading them, getting your cunt ready for him to fuck. He didn’t plan on doing you this courtesy, but again - Roman’s got that soft spot for you. That, and the slick, wet noises you make for him, the way your body looks all laid out on your backseat, goosebumps on your bare skin as you push yourself against his hand Roman’s not entirely ready to give this view up yet.

After a time, it’s over. Roman pulls his fingers from you and you whimper, choking on your quiet sobs. Roman wedges one arm beneath your stomach and pulls you up, then shoves your purse under you so that you’re propped up for him nicely. You summon the courage to look over your shoulder at what he’s doing. 

“You’re in good hands,” he promises, meeting your gaze. His eyes are dead but wild like an animal, a little bit of sweat sparkling on his forehead, hair all out of place. Roman snaps and points, “Eyes forward. Now.” 

He unbuckles his belt and takes his cock and balls out of his pants and underwear so that they’re resting over the waistband. Roman rubs his thumb over the sticky tip before squeezing the base of his cock, then pumps himself a little, working his cock to full length. He spreads your cheeks wide, slick hole puckering as you wait to be filled once more. “You’re a mess.” Roman slides his thumb up and down your gash. He gathers your arousal and pulls you up by the neck with one hand, then shoves his thumb into your mouth with the other. “Taste it,” he says. “You fucking want this.” 

You barely have time to register the flavor of your own arousal before Roman’s pushing you back down again and lining up with your entrance. He gives you no warning before pushing inside you unceremoniously. 

“Roman,” you cry, reaching for the seat belt to pull yourself away from him. Roman lets you pull yourself far enough so that his cock pulls out of you almost all of the way, then pulls you back down on it. 

“You can’t run from it,” he coos, beginning a steady pace. “You have to take it. No use fighting.” He draws in and out of you slowly as he holds your hips and rubs circles into your skin. Still crying, Roman soothes you, “Shh,” he hushes, shoving his thumb back into your mouth. “You’re fine. I’m being gentle for you. A bad man wouldn’t fuck you slow like this, would he?”

To Roman’s credit, he is being gentle with you. His thumb feels unfamiliar in your mouth at first, but quickly becomes a comfort to you as you suck it, use it to pacify yourself. You stare at a fallen piece of candy on the floor and focus on the details of the wrapper, see what you can’t read to block out the feeling of Roman inside of you. I’m not here. This isn’t happening.  

“Yeah, not so bad, is it?” Roman pants, hips rocking against yours as he fucks you in two. “You could have it worse. So, so much worse.”

Roman pumps in and out of you at a steadier pace now, so deeply and so intentional so that you feel all of him. His hand on your hip, squeezing you, the weight of his body as he slams into you in a non-rhythm, no fluidity at all.  You’re drooling, slobbering on Roman’s thumb as he fucks you and all you can do is take it, every punishing thrust he delivers onto you. 

For Roman, it’s becoming too much. He can’t keep himself together and release is inevitable. Roman knows time is moving slowly for you but if it weren’t, he’d be a little embarrassed at how quickly he’s falling apart. Figuring there's no point in staving it off any longer, Roman lets himself feel everything he wants to feel. He’s grunting, moaning, growling as he loses himself in your cunt. “Oh fuck, I’m - fuck, fuck you, fucking…bitch. Fuck.” 

Roman’s stomach and balls tense as he quickly approaches his release, groaning loudly as he spills into you, coming so hard he feels dizzy. He pulls out of you to pump his cock through his orgasm, painting those last few ropes of his spend onto your twitching pussy. Roman leans against the driver’s side door of your car as you catch your breath on the backseat, still staring at that piece of candy. It’s over. It’s done. 

When you prop yourself up on your elbows, Roman shoves you back down. “Nope, you stay there. I’m not done with you yet,” he says. “Gonna make you come for me.” 

Another sob escapes your throat and you cry hard. “Please,” you beg. “I’ve had enough, Roman. I just wanna–”

“Go home,” Roman mocks your voice. “I know, I know, I fucking know. But I’m a gentleman, aren’t I? Would you prefer I leave you high and dry? Come on. Use your head.” 

Roman drops to his knees, joints cracking as he gets into position. He spreads your lips and presses a kiss to your center, all swollen and covered in his come. He licks you from clit to asshole, then rounds the tight muscle with his tongue before dragging it back down. He moves his lips and tongue in tandem to bring you pleasure, working you steadily until you’re letting out those little whimpers of ecstasy. 

Roman moves his face as he devours you, his scruff scratching your inner thighs while he licks all of his spend out of your hole. The sweet and heady taste of you and him together is addicting, the warm scent of your most private, sensitive place. Roman will smell you in his facial hair later and get himself off to the thought of this but for now, he focuses on making you come all over his tongue. 

You buck your hips into his face as he eats you, Roman smirks at this. He moves lower so that he’s sucking your clit, causing your legs to shake at the sides of his head as he eats you like the first meal he’s had in days. He holds you firmly in his grip, nails digging into your flesh like he could rip it off your bones while his tongue swirls over your clit. You reach behind yourself out of desperation, searching for a part of him to hold onto when you come. Roman takes your hand in his, giving you a place to land. 

You’re seeing stars. Climax is inevitable, and there’s no point in fighting it off. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You stop swallowing your own moans and let yourself make noise freely, allowing the pleasure to build. It’ll be over soon. 

You sob when you come, all that emotion breaking like a dam. Roman uses his tongue to fuck you through it, push you to the point of discomfort and overstimulation. Roman turns you over in the backseat and pulls you up, up to examine you. Face and eyes all puffy and swollen, soaked with tears. Body shaking uncontrollably. Roman pouts as he wipes your eyes, you poor, blubbering mess. 

He helps you into the driver’s seat of your car, buckles you in and tightens the seat belt. Roman leans over you to reach into that bag of Halloween candy and grabs a pink lemonade flavored Starburst. Roman smiles, “My favorite,” he mumbles, unwrapping the candy and shoving it into his mouth. “Alright. Drive safe. Watch out for Michael Myers, I don’t know. See ya Monday.” Roman shuts your door and pats it twice, waving behind himself as he walks away.

TYSM for reading! If you enjoyed please reblog with kind thoughts or send me an ask or comment ♡

I know that usually I tag my Roman readers, but given how triggering this fic could be to some, I'm not doing that. I'll see you all next time with stepdaddy!roman ♡

[fluentmoviequoter]

Dress Up

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: Lila wants to wear matching Halloween costumes with you, and you're both surprised when Deacon joins.

Warnings: pure fluff, Tangled references. I can't stop putting Transformers everywhere I can get away with

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Photo from Paramount Press

“This is the story of how I died. But don’t worry, this is a fun story, and the truth is, it isn’t even mine.”

You smile at the familiar sound of Tangled playing on the television. Lila has decided that it is her favorite movie since watching it with you for the first time several months ago. Since then, she’s started it alone, asked to watch it for family movie night, and pretended to be Rapunzel more times than you can count.

“Again?” you ask playfully. “Do you want popcorn?”

“Not until they get to the Duckling!” Lila answers, not looking away from the screen.

“The Snugly Ducking?” you clarify as you move to sit beside her. “Why then?”

“Because it’s a restaurant,” Lila says as if it’s obvious. “And I like the song.”

You hum and turn your attention to the movie. It’s a great movie, no doubt, and when Lila moves closer to you while Mother Gothel takes Rapunzel from the castle, you decide you’ll watch it as many times as Lila wants.

“Lila,” you whisper. “What do you want to be for Halloween?”

She frowns and says, “Matthew told me it was dumb.”

“Matthew was wrong. He clearly doesn’t know what you like. So…”

She gestures weakly to the screen, and you ask, “Rapunzel?”

She shrugs, and you pat her shoulder before you retrieve your phone and look for family costumes based on the movie. The third picture shows a man and woman dressed as Flynn and Rapunzel and a young girl smiling in a Pascal costume.

“Something like this?” you ask, passing her your phone.

“Yes!” Lila exclaims. “I can be Pascal?!”

“Sure!”

“And you’ll be Rapunzel?”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The goal had been to find Lila a costume, but if she wants a matching costume, you’ll gladly dress up with her. Deacon plans to spend every holiday of the rest of your life with you anyway, so this should be a good place to start.

“And we can surprise Dad,” Lila adds.

“Right. We’ll find the perfect costumes, make them, maybe, and surprise him after work that day!”

“Yay!” Lila screams.

“Hold on,” you say with Flynn. “Yep, I’m used to it. Guys, I want a castle.”

Lila laughs as she settles beside you again, and you save the picture to ensure the costumes you decide on are as perfect as possible.

“This is a very big day, Pascal,” you murmur softly.

With a week and a half to Halloween, you know every word of Tangled, and the final touches are nearly complete on Lila’s costume. She’s managed to keep it a secret from Deacon, but you’re not sure she can make it to Halloween without slipping up.

“Lila, can you try this on for me?” you ask.

“Yep!”

She runs into the bedroom where you’ve been working and sticks her arms out. You smile and slide the green sleeves over her arms before checking the covered zipper in the back.

“Adorable,” you decide. “Does it feel okay?”

Lila nods quickly, looking down at her costume as she sways.

“Try yours on!” she says excitedly.

“I have to finish mine first,” you explain. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Hello?” Deacon calls as he enters the front door. “Anyone home?”

“No!” you yell, quickly removing Lila’s costume to return it to the closet.

“Can we watch-“ Lila begins.

“Let me guess,” you interrupt. “Die Hard?”

“No! Tangled!”

“Oh, what’s that about?” you tease.

Lila hugs you, then runs to greet her dad. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, smiling at you.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks.

“I was looking for a pencil. They just can’t get Flynn’s nose right.”

Deacon chuckles and pulls you into a hug. He kisses the top of your head and then leads you back to the kitchen to help you finish dinner.

“Thank you,” Deacon says. “The kids love you; I love you, but you don’t have to do so much for us.”

“I want to. I love the kids, too.”

“Just the kids?”

You smile and tilt your chin up for a kiss. After Deacon pulls back, you nod and say, “I love you, too. Go sit with Lila and Samuel, I’ll finish here.”

“Matthew’s at the sleepover?” Deacon asks.

“He is. Everything was going well over there last I checked.”

Deacon drags his hand across your back as he exits the kitchen. When you walk into the living room a few minutes later to tell them dinner is ready, Lila points to Pascal. You know what’s coming but don’t have time to stop her before she speaks.

“That’s what I looked like!” she says.

“You’re dressing up as Pascal?” Deacon deduces.

She looks at you, guilty. When you smile and nod, she answers, “Yep!”

“Interesting costume choice.” Deacon looks at you with a smile. He adds, “I’m sure you’ll look just like him.”

“He’s a chameleon, so you might not be able to find me.”

“I’ll always find you, Lila.”

Your phone chimes with an incoming text while you’re securing Lila’s Pascal mask onto the back of her costume. Once it’s attached, you read the message from Deacon and smile.

“Your dad got off early,” you tell her. “He’s on his way home to trick or treat with all of us.”

“Can you help me?” Matthew asks, walking into the room with his costume hanging around his waist. “I can’t get my arms in the sleeves.”

“Of course, get over here, Optimus Prime,” you answer.

“I’m Nemesis Prime,” Matthew corrects as you pull the plastic plates over his hands.

“For now. Where’s Bumblebee?”

“Here!” Samuel announces, posing in the doorway with his hands on his hips.

“Wow! You look great.” Matthew steps back once his costume is in place, and you say, “Your dad is on the way home.”

Matthew and Samuel walk with heavy robot steps toward the living room to wait for their dad and fill him in on their Autobot adventures. Lila waits in the room with you as you put things away. Just before you reach up to close the window, someone stops outside it.

“Rapunzel!” Deacon yells. “Let down your hair!”

You laugh as you walk to the window. The laughter fades into shock when you see Deacon. He’s on the path to the front door in a Flynn Rider costume. Just when I thought he couldn’t get more attractive, you think.

“Let down your hair,” he repeats, smiling.

You pull the long braid you made of yarn, a blonde wig, and fake flowers over your shoulder and drape it over the windowsill.

“Get in here, Fitzherbert,” you demand.

Deacon salutes you, then walks to the front door. Once the window is closed, you follow Lila through the hall to greet Deacon properly.

“You’re Flynn,” you murmur, smoothing Deacon’s costume across his chest. “It’s a good look for you.”

“You look beautiful,” he replies, holding your waist. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Deacon kisses you quickly, but you’re interrupted by Samuel singing, “I want candy!”

“Rapunzel?” Deacon asks, offering his hand.

You take his hand, then offer your free hand to Lila. While Optimus Prime (already saved from his Nemesis Prime brainwashing, as you expected) and Bumblebee lead the way, you walk with the love of your life and the chameleon that brought you together.

“You can’t complain when she asks to watch this movie again,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I’m going to introduce her to The Goonies next,” he jokes.

Lila pulls you toward a house, and your hand slips out of Deacon’s as you reply, “Not until you do the truffle shuffle.”

[lokis-army-77]

Live from Hawkins: Round Two

Older!Eddie Munson x female reader x Older!Steve Harrington

Word Count: 3.6k

What was steve doing when you and his friend were acidently fimling yourselves and why does he want to join in?

Warning: 18+. Eddie and Steve are in their late 50s to early 60s, reader is 20s to early 30s. p in v, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, pet names, fingering, double penatration, masturbation, exobitonism?, voryerism?.

Masterlist Part 1

It's almost ten p.m. when Steve's phone buzzes and a notification lights up the screen. He grabs it off the bedside table and places his book down on the bed beside him. 

The small notification box read:

EDDIE MUNSON IS LIVE 

Steve clicked on the screen puzzled. What the hell is he doing at this time of night? Steve asked himself as he typed in his phone's password. It only took a second for the live stream to load and what Steve saw had his face blooming with heat. 

Eddie was lying across his king-size bed, head buried between the legs of some young, sweet-sounding thing. Steve stared she couldn't have been older than twenty-two. 

He couldn't keep his eyes off them as they panted and groaned. The show they were unknowingly giving had Steve's cock straining in his pajama pants. 

A small speck of guilt hit him when he cupped himself. He should call Eddie, tell him to turn the live off. It wasn’t just him watching this, the viewers piled in, hitting somewhere in the thousands. 

Eddie wasn't just some unknown guy, he had once been part of a successful band in the 90s and now a producer in the rock scene. People knew him and this would be front-page news by the morning. Yet Steve pushed down that guilt and slipped his hand past the elastic waistband of his pants. 

Your moans coming through the speaker of his phone egged him on as he fisted his cock. He let out a sputtered breath, slowly moving his thumb over the head, smearing the bead of pre cum around. Never had his best friend turned him on this much. Not even when they had their little experimental phase before Eddie had gotten married or those one-off nights several years after Eddie's wife had died. 

No, never had Eddie gotten Steve all torn up. But add you to the mix and Steve was just about ready to cum and he had barely begun to touch himself. 

Steve continued to watch, eyes half-lidded and full of lust. His fingers stroked up and down, up and down, pulling sinful sounds out of him. The way your body moved in response to Eddie had Steve fumbling. 

"Fuck, baby, feels so good." He mumbled to himself, his hips kicking up in his grip. He was so close. 

His vision became tunneled as he continued to fuck his hand. Hard and fast were his strokes. His focus was shot, he no longer watched his phone, and the obscene noises coming from it also faded into the background. Steve had a one-track mind now and it was all for his own pleasure. 

His other hand dropped the phone and came to cup his balls. He let out a choked gasp at the feeling of both his hands. 

"Fuck fuck fuck, I'm gonna... ahh fuck!" Steve was at his limit. Cock hard and balls straining he cried out into the open air of his home. His release sprung forth, coating his chest in sticky spend. It dribbled out of him and pooled on his abdomen. 

Steve's breathing was staggered, shallow, and fast and he worked himself to overstimulation. He jerked against his sheets and then finally let go of his cock, heaving. 

He made a face when he looked down to see the mess he had made of his stomach. Carefully he reached over to his bedside table and grabbed the box of Kleenex. Taking a handful he wiped himself down and threw the soiled squares to the side, a mess for him to clean up tomorrow. 

With his eyes closed he listened to his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He was calming down. And in an instant the post-nut clarity rushed in and Steve scrambled for his phone. You were both finished, lying, spent, on Eddie's bed. So Steve exited the live and called his friend. 

The first call was answered by voicemail but the second went through. 

Eddie huffed into the receiver at the interruption and Steve informed him, not-so-nicely of what was happening. 

…

Days passed and Steve couldn't get the thought of you or Eddie out of his head. He'd tried everything from cold showers when the thoughts hit,  to thinking of the most non-boner inducing things he could conjure up in his head. But his mind was wicked and he needed the both of you. 

He was so thankful when the next Friday rolled around and he met Eddie for lunch. Eddie couldn't stop gushing about you. How he was so glad you could find the humor in his accidental livestream, and thank God your face hadn't been shown clearly in the dim light of the room. He even expressed that you had agreed to see "an old man like himself" again that coming  Saturday. 

It was then that Steve knew he would do everything in his power to get in on a night with you and Eddie. 

After your Saturday dinner with Eddie the next day Steve showed up at his house. Eddie recounted the hell of a time he had with you. How you'd beg for him and ask so politely for things he wasn't even sure his old bones could do anymore. How he loved the chance to be dominant in the bedroom again. You were a vixen, a succubus and he was completely enthralled. 

Then, Steve asked, "Do you think she'd like a third?" 

Eddie had stopped in his tracks, mouth open wide before a devious smile fixed itself onto his face. 

"Oh, Stevie boy, are you asking what I think you are?" 

Steve couldn't help the fierce blush that came to his cheeks. "I-I- uh…" He stuttered. Eddie just smiled and hit Steve's knee with the back of his hand.

"I'm teasing, you always get so flustered." He laughed. "But sure, I'll ask her."

…

When Eddie had broached the subject of inviting his friend Steve into the bedroom, you were hesitant, but then Eddie showed you pictures of the man. He was stunning, hair cut short and graying just like Eddie's. A short beard and tan freckled skin. He looked fit, his arms bulged under the sleeves of his button-up shirt, thighs much the same in those black slacks. 

You licked your lips and pressed your legs together. Looking at Eddie wide-eyed you nodded. 

“What’s that baby? Need you to say it,” He tutted, swiping a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your cheek. 

“Want your friend to join us, please."

And just like that, Steve's fantasy was coming true. 

…

Steve was freshly home from work, exhausted, and in need of a large black coffee even though it was closing in on 6:30 at night. He had just started to unbutton the light blue button-up when his phone rang. Taking it from his pocket, he answered with a swipe of his thumb. 

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Steve, It’s me.” Eddie’s gruff voice filtered in through the speaker. 

“Oh, hey man. What’s up?” Steve held the phone between his shoulder and ear, fingers starting on the buttons again. 

“I know it’s short notice but do you want to come over?” 

Steve sighed and looked at his alarm clock. “Uh, I don’t know Eds, it's almost seven.” 

There was some shuffling on the other end and a muffled reply from Eddie, only it wasn’t to him, it was to you. “Well, did ya hear that, Sweetheart? Old man Steve can’t come tonight.” 

Steve’s heart skipped. “Woah woah woah woah. Hold on a second… She’s there?”

“Yep, Stevie boy, she's here all right, watin’ on you. Isn’t that right, Sugar?”

He hears more shuffling and then a soft, sultry voice. “Yeah, Steve, need you here.” You giggled as Eddie pulled the phone away from you. 

“Hurry up and get over here, front door’s unlocked.” And with that, Eddie hung up. 

Steve cranked himself into high gear, unbuttoning his shirt and grabbing his keys from the dresser. No less than five traffic violations were committed as he sped to Eddie’s with one thing on his mind. You.

When Steve arrived at Eddie’s, you could hear him rushing into the house and quickly making his way to the bedroom where you were already undressed and lounging on the king-sized bed. As soon as the phone call had ended, Eddie had ordered you to rid yourself of his shirt and your underwear, saying he wanted you all nice and pretty for when Steve got there. 

Steve entered the room with a grin on his face which slowly faded once he saw you laid out for him. 

Goosebumps covered your flesh, the room was cold and the two pairs of eyes scouring your body didn’t help. 

“Hi, Steve.” You lifted a hand and waved languidly at him. He gulped and looked over at Eddie. 

“She said hi, don’t be rude, say hello back.” 

Steve straightened, coming back to himself. “Hi, Babydoll.” 

You smiled a toothy smile and squirmed on the bed, hair flaring out around your head. Steve took a step closer to you only to be stopped by Eddie clearing his throat. “Before we start… we talked it over, and Steve, we won’t do it if you aren’t okay with it.” Steve looked at his friend with a little bit of fear as to what he was going to suggest. “But, this one,” he pointed at you and shook his head. “This one said, after the fact, that she liked knowing people had watched us. So how about we film this? She said faces can be blurred, names can be cut out…” Eddie trails off.

Steve looks between the two of you and he can’t believe he says it but it comes out strong. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” You and Eddie ask in surprise. 

He shrugs, “I mean if they really won’t be able to see my face.” 

Eddie stands and claps Steve on the back. “Glad to see you’re up for it, Stevie.” He grabs his phone and holds it out toward you. “Baby, do you mind figuring out the camera?” 

You huff, grab the phone from his hand and expertly navigate to the camera. Setting the video to record after selecting a ten-second delay. You hand it back to Eddie, telling him to prop it up on the dresser, back camera facing the bed. 

Once the recording starts you lay back on the bed and wait patiently for the two men. Eddie moves around to the side closest to your head and he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Wanna let Steve taste you, Sweetheart?” Eddie asks. You nod only for him to tsk, “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, please I want him to.” 

“Then ask him, baby.”

You look at Steve as he watches you with wide eyes, his tongue slowly swiping across his bottom lip. “Steve?” 

“Yeah, Babydoll?” He answers.

“Will you please eat me out?” 

Steve loses his breath at your question but beams all the same. “Sure I will, baby.” He begins his crawl up the bed to your legs. His hands are softer than Eddie’s as you feel them running over your skin. There are no callouses from years of playing guitar, just smooth palms and fingertips tickling you with how lightly they touch you. “Open wide for me, love.” 

You do as he says, spreading your legs to accommodate his wide shoulders. You let your upper body relax into the mattress, soft sighs come from you as Steve's hands continue to rub at you. Your heart is beating in anticipation and as soon as you close your eyes you feel a short, wet lick going up your slit. 

"Ah.. Steve," you gasp. Your hands immediately reach out to grip his hair to which he responds by pulling away.

"Eddie, why don't you keep her hands occupied and out of my hair." He pulls your hands away from him and waits for Eddie to grab hold of them before settling back between your thighs. 

Eddie complies, taking your hands and raising them above your head and resting them on the tops of his thighs. "Keep your hands right here, baby, don't wanna see you move 'em," he instructs. "Now tell Steve you're sorry for messing up his hair." 

You pout and dig your fingers into Eddie's jeans when Steve's tongue flicks at your clit. "I'm sorry for putting my hands in your hair, Stevie." 

Steve's kitten links to your clit stop and he looks up through thick eyelashes. "Fuck… baby." He groans before diving back into you. This time his licks aren't slow. They're fast and strong and almost too much as he only shows attention to your clit. 

Behind you, Eddie unzips his jeans and begins to pull himself from them. He taps your cheek with his hand and speaks your name. "Open that pretty mouth for me," he says.

You feel yourself getting impossibly wetter at the sight of his cock inches from you. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out for good measure. 

Eddie groans as he pushes himself into you. "Such a good girl for me. My cock taste good, sugar?" 

You hum around him, the tangy taste of his precum spreading throughout your mouth. He let you suck on him as best you could before he began thrusting in and out gently. 

Meanwhile, Steve had begun fucking your entrance with two fingers. He had you squirming underneath him, hips bucking at the sensations. 

It was hard to focus on any one feeling, on either of the two men. As Eddie fucked your mouth and Steve your pussy, your body filled with pleasure. Your legs widened for Steve, walls clenching down around his fingers as he pressed them up over and over again into a sensitive spot. Your throat relaxed and your head fell over the side of the bed letting Eddie's cock delve deeper and deeper into you. 

With your mouth full you can’t tell them you’re close, but Steve can tell. You’ve got his fingers in a vice-like grip and he can see the cool sweat that's broken out all over you. He laps up your wetness and begins to suck on your clit. 

You let out muffled moans and gagging breaths before pushing Eddie away. Your arms stung with the ache of holding onto his thighs for so long. “Fuck!” you cry out, gasping for air as your body begins to twitch, orgasm coming on fast.

Steve pulls away just far enough to speak. “Gonna cum, Babydoll? Gonna cum all for us?” 

“Yeah, gonna cum,” you heave, chest rising and falling fast.

“Then ask.” Eddie’s voice is deep and booming behind you. 

“Please Sir, Steve, can I cum?” you ask. 

They both take the time to look at one another and Eddie shrugs, leaving Steve to decide. 

“Go ahead, baby.” Steve smiles and kicks up the pace of his fingers while his other hand comes to massage your clit. 

Eddie’s hands are also on you in a second, pulling and pinching at your nipples. The sensations are too much to handle, your back arches off the bed and your muscles go rigid as you cum hard. Wet sounds fill the room as Steve keeps plunging his fingers in and out. 

“Cumming! I’m fucking cumming!” you cry, legs snapping shut around Steve as your body shook. 

“Good girl,” they both praise. 

Steve took his hand from between your legs and brought his soaked fingers up to his mouth, licking them. Before he could clean them completely, Eddie took Steve’s hand and brought it to his own mouth. He hummed at the taste of you. 

“You always taste so sweet, sugar.” He hums. 

You watch, eyes half-lidded, as Steve moves to sit in the middle of the bed, back pressed against the headboard. Eddie rakes his fingers in your hair then grabs your shoulders, helping to sit you up. 

 He gives you soft kisses over your face before asking, “Gonna let us fuck you now, baby?” 

“Yes, sir. Wanna feel you both.” 

“Is that right, Babydoll? Want us to stretch you open?” Steve reaches his hand out, catching your ankle and rubbing circles into the skin with his thumb.

“Please.” You pull your foot away from him only to then crawl his way. Steve guides your legs over his. He’s still in his slacks, cock aching to be released. The heat your body lets off above him only adds to his discomfort. 

“God, need these fucking things off.” He growls hands coming down between the two of you only for you to push them away. 

“I’ll get it.” You respond in a sultry tone. Nimble fingers flick the button of his pants open and with how much he’s tented against the zipper it almost flies down by itself. 

Eddie moves up the bed behind you. Pants and boxers now discarded. His warm palms traverse the smooth expanse of your back and hips, his fingers grip at your ass. He looks over your shoulder and chuckles, "Still as big as ever aren't you, Stevie?" 

Steve's cock is massive in your hands. Slowly you begin to move up and down his length, spreading the milky, translucent spend over his tip. He groans, hips bucking into your hands. 

"Quit teasing baby. Need to be inside you." Steve tuts. 

You wriggle in his lap before going up onto your knees. Steve scoots down a bit and his cock aligns with your entrance. You keep him straight as you slowly sink down on him. His girth stretches you further than you've ever experienced. Air is sucked in through your teeth as you whine, head falling forward to his shoulder.

"I know, baby, I know." He coos.

Behind you, Eddie still has his hands over you, helping you move steadily to the base of his friend. 

If Steve was pushing you to your limit now, you couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like to also have Eddie buried in your ass.

When the tip of Steve's cock met with the resistance of your cervix, you let out a long, low mewl. “Ah- Steve!” 

“That’s right babydoll, say my name.” He grits out as Eddie helps you to up the pace of your hips. 

“Steve!” You call out again, whimpering as you clench down around him. 

His hand reaches for the back of your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. You slow your hips down to an almost halt and as you pull away from Steve you look back at Eddie. “Please,” you say to him. “Wanna feel you too.” 

Eddie takes his time lining himself up with you, teasing your hole with the tip only to move away. He extends his hand between yours and Steve's faces. “Spit,” He commands and you both spit into his hand. He uses the saliva to wet himself and you before pressing in finally. 

You gasp, chest falling into Steve as you are opened up. Eddie had only recently started fucking your ass, in preparation for this night, but him alone couldn’t amount to the feeling of both holes being filled by such massive cocks. 

“Ah- fuck Sweetheart,” Eddie grunts. “Sucking me in aren't you?”

You nod erratically, “Yes, sir. Mmm, you both feel so good.” 

Steve chuckles. “She says we feel good, Eds.” 

“I know… She feels good too.” Eddie chokes out a moan, “I think I can feel you, Steve.”

“Fuck, me too.” 

You think Steve is moving closer to you for a kiss but when you close your eyes and the kiss doesn't come, you open them again only to see him kissing Eddie. The sheer dominance Eddie was putting into the kiss had you clamping down around them, bringing forth long, deep groans from them both. You watched in awe as Eddie had his fingers twisted in the hair at Steve’s neck, pulling his head back. It opened him up for more teeth, more tongue, more everything. You would have thought it impossible to get even more wet, but this sight was what it took. 

Eddie shoved Steve away gently and then connected his lips with your neck. Steve also began to pay attention to your body by latching onto one of your breasts. You begin to ride them both, hips rutting into each of them at a breakneck speed. It was almost too much. 

With them both filling you up and their mouths sucking and licking over your skin, you cry out. You have no time to ask for permission to cum before you feel wetness erupting from between your legs. 

Your head falls back onto Eddie’s shoulder, your chest heaves up and down as your breaths run ragged. The two men keep themselves buried deep within you, fucking you as you moan and cry with pleasure. 

They’re both grunting as they push themselves into you, an animalistic sound that spurs the other on until you feel Steve let up. His rhythm becomes erratic and his grip on your skin like a vice. As he comes undone inside of you he lets out the most leg-clenching, giving you butterfly whimper you have ever heard. 

Eddie is quick to follow, pumping you full and kissing you hard. 

You all fall in a heap of sweaty, exhausted bodies. Someone’s lips find yours in the pile, even with your eyes closed you can tell it’s Steve, his facial hair being almost non-existent compared to Eddie’s beard. Your hand finds its way into his hair again and this time he lets you keep it there, tugging him in closer.  

“Thank you for coming over.” You tell him between open-mouthed kisses. 

Steve sighs. “No, thank you for letting me.” 

“Right, well, I think I need a shower.” Eddie kissed down your shoulder before standing. “Who’s joining me?” 

Excitedly, you scramble to your feet beside him and pull Steve to his. 

This night was far from over if the two men had anything to do with it. Screw work and obligations. Screw going to bed at a decent time. You made them both feel young again and they were going to chase that until they physically couldn’t.

[tainbocuailnge]

i watched fight club today. really not hard to see how this became such a cultural mainstay. i feel like the opening sections before tyler even shows up are possibly even stronger than the rest of it, this setup of this guy with his cushy office job and his pleasantly furnished apartment being so chronically unfulfilled in his picture perfect life that he ends up visiting support groups for the terminally ill to vicariously get access to a framework through which he's allowed to lament his life, but even within these support groups everyone's lament has to adhere to a certain safe image, the narrator fucking hates marla for doing the exact same thing as him because she's not even pretending to go along with the image of beautiful lament despite her being extremely suicidal and just as much in need of support, and when chloe complains about her struggle to get laid now that she's consigned to a beautiful tragic cancer death she is quickly pulled away from the microphone. everyone on screen is excruciatingly unfulfilled because so much as voicing your desires outside very rigidly defined frameworks of acceptability is severely frowned upon.

it's extremely obvious why the men who join fight club are drawn to the allure of a framework through which they're allowed to desire and obtain the experiences of the flesh. all of tyler's crimes involve the taboo of the flesh somehow. splicing porn frames into movies. pissing and nutting into the food he's serving. stealing liposuction clinic fat to make soap and explosives. and of course starting underground fight rings. because the physical is inherently transgressive to these allowed frameworks of success and lament. when tyler lists the rules of fight club all the men present giggle at "no more than two guys per fight" "no more than one fight at a time" because just the fact that they're all here gathering as unfulfilled men indulging in the taboo of high impact physical contact gives everything a (homo)sexual angle that they have to laugh off. because even here in their transgressive taboo secret club they have to adhere to what is allowed! they're not gay. they're manly men who want to fuck women. they are deeply unfulfilled and deeply desperate for a place to belong among other men. they are simply exchanging one rigid framework for another.

it's no coincidence that the first support group the narrator goes to is for testicular cancer either, all these men crying about how losing their balls ruined their lives not because they almost died but because their wives divorced them for not being able to impregnate them anymore, because it destroyed their masculinity and thus their value as human beings, and especially bob who used to be an accomplished bodybuilder but needing to get his balls removed lead to hormonal imbalances that lead to breast growth and now this once masculine ideal is nobody anymore because he's no longer a proper man. he's the only one in tyler's army who gets to have a name.

like specifically bob and sophie really stand out to me as very bold statements especially considering when this movie was made and also very clear signs of what its trying to say here. the extreme social and physical alienation of modern consumerist society and the way it intersects with harmful ideas of masculinity to create a genre of extremely volatile reactionary asshole. and also the fact that the reason the narrator even ended up going to this support group is because his doctor was calling him a fucking pansy for not just powering through his insomnia and telling him to have a look at these tragically emasculated men if he wants to see what's really worth pitying. and having your balls cut off repeatedly being used as the worst threat you could possibly make to a man in this movie because being emasculated is worse than death.

tyler constantly tells the narrator he needs to be prepared to die if he wants to be free, he needs to lose everything and destroy everything if he wants to become able to do whatever he wants, but it's only after the narrator kills himself -> kills tyler and the ideal of masculinity tyler represents that he's actually able to desire something without being told what to desire. the narrator doesn't know what he wants and can't tell tyler what he wants when tyler demands to know, because being tyler isn't actually what he wants once it becomes clear to him where that ideology will lead, but as long as tyler is looming over him as his concept of the ideal (masculine) self he still can't be or even conceptualise his actual fulfilled self. because tyler is taking up all his brainspace to be nothing but a volatile reactionary asshole at the center of a death cult. it's the least masculine man in the movie who gets to be named, martyred even, in the pursuit of tyler's masculinity, and he's named because the narrator realizes he cannot abide tyler's ideal of masculinity. anyway. good movie.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter sixteen | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, dean highbottom | lmk if i forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x female! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus wins and he loses

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 okay guys so we're ready for Eminem! Coryo right? Remember to give your love and feedback, thank you <33

Beta read by the infamous @nowitsmissing

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Snow reaches the auditorium in time to see several tribute deaths. He knew immediately that it was because of the rat poison and not because of some sickness these tributes already had. Lucy Gray was on the run from Coral. He holds his breath.

Coriolanus hadn't even sat down on his mentor chair. He leaned against the door of the auditorium instead. He didn't want to miss a moment of this.

“Coryo,” you take away his attention.

“Dove,” he said, startled, his head turning to you. You were in a black dress (surely breaking the rules); while Tigris was wearing a pink outfit.

“Tigris,” he greeted his cousin.

Tigris smiled sweetly at Coryo. “We came to support you.”

Coriolanus nods in return, his attention returning to you. He should look at the screen but he couldn't keep his eyes off you. He thinks that you would always steal his attention like this. Take his mind off of important things. You're dangerous. You're a drug.

“Coryo,” you said his name again. It sounded like fate. He gives you a soft smile. He said your name. It sounded like a boy praying to his goddess.

Your eyes turn to the screen. He doesn't.

“She will be okay,” you reassure him.

He hums in response.

“You should go sit down with Tigris,” he said. He wants to kiss you. But he's not sure he's allowed to. Thankfully you lean in and press your lips against his. He sighs, his mind calming down.

You press another kiss to his lips before going to sit with Tigris. Lucy Gray was still alive. Coriolanus turns his attention to the screen again. He could see Lucy Gray running around, trying her best to escape Coral's wrath. Then the snakes come in. The cage shattered. A girl dies. Coriolanus remembers that Lucy Gray had called her nice.

The boy who had used the flag to cover the dead bodies of the tributes dies. His name was Reaper. Clemensia’s tribute. Coriolanus wants to look away. He doesn't. Coral dies. Everyone watching The Hunger Games hears her last words.

“It’s not fair… I couldn't have killed them all for nothing.”

Coriolanus looks away. Coral is dead. He bites the inside of his cheek. They all killed each other for nothing. The games were nothing but a show of power. A way to undermine the district. There were thousands of other alternatives but his home chose the cruelest way of all.

Survival of the fittest. Simple as that.

As he tells himself that, he looks back to the screen. Lucy Gray was being engulfed by the snakes. The snakes weren't biting her. Familiar scent. He walks inside the auditorium. He sits on his seat.

Lucy Gray began to sign,

“You're headed for heaven

The sweet old hereafter

And I've got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I've loose ends to tie up

Right here in the old therebefore

I'll be along

When I've finished my song”

More snakes come around her. She would suffocate to death even if they didn't poison her. Coriolanus panics, he yells out, “Dr. Gaul, she won!”

“It’s over! Let her out!” He adds louder, letting his peers hear. Everyone died except one. A single winner. The winner is the Capitol even if Lucy Gray will be crowned as the victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games

“Why aren't they attacking her?” A fellow mentor's questions.

“It must be her singing,” he said immediately, he had thought of the excuse beforehand. Lucy Gray once mentioned in the zoo how she charmed a snake by singing. Therefore it didn't sound ridiculous. “It's calming them.”

“Well, she can't sing forever.”

He's proud he didn't punch the guy.

Lucy Gray continues singing. She wins the heart of the Capitol all over again with her voice and her lyrics. Every student in the auditorium begins to chant,

“Let her out!”

He suspected that the citizens of the Capitol were doing the same as well. There would be great consequences if the game doesn't have a victor. Dr. Gaul knows it too. An announcement is heard throughout,

“Lucy Gray is the victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games."

Coriolanus Snow won.

He's numb. He's overjoyed. Everyone screams out his name. Many congratulations are received. Dr. Gaul wasn't in sight. He felt Tigris hugging him. All he could think was of you. He had the plinth prize. He has the damn prize!

Snow lands on top.

He finds you standing in the corner. Coriolanus breaks into a disbelieving laugh. He picks you up and twirls you around. Coryo doesn't know how he has the strength but it didn't matter. He was very happy. Nothing can stop him now. His life was set.

He puts you down and kisses you. It wasn't appropriate for the public. He didn't care. He kisses you until his breath is knocked out. He gasps as he breaks the kiss. Coryo could still hear the cheers.

“I love you, Coriolanus Snow.”

“You're my soulmate,” he whispered.

He doesn't see your reaction to his confession. He feels horrified about how he blurted it out. He wasn't thinking. Not even a bit. And now, a few minutes after he won, he was being escorted by the Peacekeepers somewhere.

Probably to receive the prize.

He runs his finger over his scar over and over again. Not even realizing that the scar was oddly shaped like numbers. His feet tapped the floor. It was the only sound in the car. He gains a disapproving look from a peacekeeper. He doesn't care.

He can feel his heart in his throat. He doesn't know how to explain this to you. He prepared himself to lie that he noticed the date on your wrist recently and realized that you were always meant to be his.

Despite knowing who your soulmates are, it was rare in the Capitol for people to end up together. That's because the rich marry for power, not love. Even the poor marry for similar reasons, love doesn't feed anyone. It doesn't provide a roof.

This was an exception.

He's gonna have enough money to have a roof.

He has enough love to be with you.

Everything is going to be fine.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Not.

Everything wasn't going to be fine. That's because after waiting for hours and hours in an empty hallway. Two peacekeepers guarding him. He knew that something went wrong. Perhaps Dean Highbottom was trying his best to convince everyone not to give him the prize. He's not going to win though, Coriolanus fought tooth and nail for it.

He deserved it.

It's not long before he is called into the room. There's no one in sight except Dean Highbottom waiting for him near a round table that is placed in the center of the room. He walks towards the center, stopping a few steps before the table. His heart stopped. His palms were getting clammy and he could feel himself getting a bit dizzy.

Fuck.

The table has his mom's compact and his father's handkerchief, the same handkerchief he had wiped Lucy Gray's tears with. His father's initials were stitched onto the fabric. He could smell the rose scent in the room even though the compact no longer carried the rose-perfumed powder.

“Mr. Coriolanus Snow,” Dean Highbottom began by placing a document on the table, in front of him to view. The handwriting is familiar.

It's yours.

“We have proof that you have cheated.”

“Your father's handkerchief and your mother's compact. How many times I have seen her use it, reminds me of roses.”

He doesn't hear what the Dean is saying. He skims over the words on the paper. It was a confession. A confession by you. You had confessed that you and Coriolanus were in this together. You were willing to take the blame.

“She won't be punished,” Highbottom said, “The girl was foolish for soughting your company. Her father has taken care of everything.”

“But you, Coriolanus Snow, will be a peacekeeper for the next twenty years of your life.”

Coriolanus wanted to protest but in his mind, he felt slightly glad that you were safe. And what would he say in his defense? The evidence was clear. There was nothing to do but accept his fate.

However, he wanted to know why you had confessed. He begins to play in his mind that he could pass all this off as circumstantial evidence. But your blatant confession had ruined everything. He knew you wouldn't break under pressure so what was the reason?

Coriolanus begins to feel bitter, the relief of your safety fading away. You should have been punished too. He wasn't the only one into this. If he goes to hell, you should too. You're his after all. This wasn't fair.

This wasn't fucking fair.

What Dean Highbottom says next sends chills down his spine,

“You hear that, boy? That's the sound of snow falling.”

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