#he has such a Distinct way of writing and talking it's so fun

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I have so many shows to catch up on, but my brain has taken hold of a thought and apparently will not let it go until I write it down. And this thought has to do with BL fandom, and how it reacts to different kinds of power dynamics. And I do think it's worth talking about.

Full disclosure, I love messy power dynamics, give me the most toxic shit and I will enjoy the hell out of it, because for me fiction and reality are very distinct things, and I can compartmentalize and find the fun in the mess.

However I respect that different people have different lines for what works and what doesn't work for them, but that's why I've been finding it particularly interesting seeing where that line has been drawn lately.

Because we have two shows running concurrently right now, and although they couldn't look more different on the surface, there are some really interesting similarities.

Both shows have:

a main character who is obsessed with their love interest

who can be quite impulsive at times

who regularly ignores/overrides their love interest's stated wishes and desires (ie violations of consent)

and utilizes the power dynamic at their disposal to ensure that their desire for their love interest is fulfilled

getting them into an intimate relationship with their love interest where their wishes run the show

also, interestingly, both have book sources that make it more direct and clear that the love interest is quite into the dynamic at play. However due to the nature of visual media, this is still present but more indirectly conveyed in the series - resulting in a wider range in audience interpretation of events

Yet despite all these similarities, one of these main characters is regularly criticized for their use of power (lovingly, by a fair segment of fandom, that is true), and one is almost never criticized for their use of power.

I find this fascinating.

I am, of course, speaking of Sorn in My Stubborn

and Khanin in The Next Prince.

Let's start with talking about Sorn.

His power differentials over Jun include:

Bigger/stronger

Older/More experienced (especially sexually)

Has a position of authority over Jun at work

The work one is pretty minimal, however, Sorn can and did give Jun a bad day, but if he tried to do that again, or escalate in any way, Tai would have his ass on a plane to Vietnam first thing the next day. Jun's relationship with Tai mitigates this as a real factor.

Most of the power dynamic comes into play with two things. One, the age/experience level - Sorn attempting to manipulate Jun into believing their relationship is just about sex while acting the jealous boyfriend. Though as we get closer to wrapping up the series, Jun has gained enough experience to make this less effective (although I did see some people claiming that Sorn was entirely manipulating his way through the last episode. I disagree, but the viewpoint is out there).

And two, the one I think people have the most issue with - Sorn's physicality, and how he handles Jun.

Now let's talk about Khanin. In many ways he is the opposite of Sorn - he is younger, smaller, more delicate, more inexperienced (in Emmalian and other life navigation matters, he is likely more experienced sexually).

His power differentials over Charan can be summed up more succinctly:

He is a prince in a country ruled by monarchy

However, this is a pretty fucking massive power differential.

And Khanin has never hesitated to use it, when he feels Charan slipping away, and wants him back in his presence. He doesn't always succeed in getting his way with the king, but it never stops him from trying.

It's easy to say that Khanin would never actually harm Charan, but remember, power differentials are not just about what actions are directly taken, but what there is the potential for.

I've seen many takes concerned with Sorn's potential for harming Jun, yet pretty much none concerned with Khanin's potential for harming Charan.

Don't forget we have seen direct examples that:

A prince of Emmaly can openly and freely abuse a member of their household without repercussion

A prince of Emmaly can order their guards to abuse a member of their household without repercussion

Due process, if it's codified into law at all, can be ignored (Charan proved this himself with chaining up and beating Khanin's coach/attempted assassin)

Now, of course, both of these shows are romances, and clearly designed for both Jun and Charan to be attracted to the power dynamics at play, even when they find them frustrating.

But I do have to think - would Sorn be receiving this much anger and criticism if he was just a cute little manipulative twink? Would Khanin be excused so much if he was bigger than Charan, and a better fighter? What does this say about how we view traditionally masculine vs feminine traits, and who gets perceived as a threat vs who gets seen as innocent?

Why is power expressed physically so much more upsetting to some than power expressed politically? Khanin has the potential to do so much more harm in a few days than Sorn could accomplish in a llfetime. And yet... he does look like this.

To be clear, I am enjoying both of these shows. At the end of the day, these are romances, and we all like what we like, and don't like what we don't like. But I think there is some very juicy food for thought here, and it's worth reflecting on.

[crinege]

I love my bf, I've been insaneee abt this old man for like a week now and instead of being like. jealous or some shit, yesterday I was showing him an email he sent me and bf was like "damn I hope they'll assign me to supervise the exam he's holding, he's so funny"

old man is way too powerful

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚☀️・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶'𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 & 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 ♡₊˚☀️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 spoils the literal shit out of you 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content in vague details 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 he loves kissing the fuck out of you

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: you guys are so sweet for supporting my toji fanfic which is why i wanted to write another and this time its about my husband, the father of our children, the man who deserves every beautiful thing in this world. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami Kento entered your bakery at exactly six o' clock.  

You carefully observed the moments he dedicated to perusing the array of pastries, the vibrant mountain of macaroons, and the freshly baked, warm casse-croûte that you unfailingly prepared for him when he clocked out. There was a tender quality to his countenance, noticeable in the slight release of tension between his brows as the soft, buttery flakes dissolved on his tongue in your presence. Without fail, he consistently left a generous tip in your travel jar, dedicated to a solo trip to Malaysia.

"Did you know they've got this thing about not wearing yellow in Malaysia?" you mentioned during your initial meeting, eyeing the distinctive black-dotted tie worn by the stoic salaryman. "Well, not that your tie would get you in trouble; it's not entirely yellow. In fact, I think it's perfect as it is, just like your hair, which also has a touch of yellow.” 

Please cut your tongue off. 

Anticipating a polite nod and perhaps a slightly regretful five-dollar tip left in the jar, you were taken aback when he queried, “Why is that?” 

“Oh, uh . . . a bunch of protesters wore the color during a demand for their prime minister to step down," you stumbled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for veering off into an unintentional crash course. Dropping trivia about Malaysia wasn't exactly the same as flirting. "So, it's kind of become a symbolism for protest and, well, threat. I read it in a book once. I don't know if it's a legitimate law, though."

“Do you like reading?” he asked, still interested in conversing with you. “Most people would Google information.” 

“I like reading. It’s easier to retain information that way.” 

Nanami acknowledged your gesture with a nod of gratitude as he accepted the casse-croûte and exited your bakery. Anticipating that he might not return due to his reserved nature and your awkward attempts at compliment-flirting, you were surprised to find that he was, in fact, full of surprises.

Nanami became a regular visitor. Day after day, for the past year, he arrived at precisely six o' clock. He continued his routine, whether he purchased a box of pastries, a pair of bagged bread loaves, or simply a casse-croûte and a small cup of milk coffee. You always prepared his order five minutes ahead of time, just in case you were occupied with other customers.

"Enjoy!" you chirped, casting a warm smile at the customer you just served as the bakery slowly emptied, leaving only Nanami browsing the delightful array of small cakes. "Good evening, Mr. Nanami!"

Nanami raised his head in your direction. "Good evening." He finally settled on the black forest cake from the open freezer and brought it to the counter.

"Special occasion?" you inquired as you rang him out, sneakily not charging him for the casse-croûte and coffee. There was a special occasion of your own that you were eager to share, hanging from the tip of your tongue.

"An intern's birthday."

"Sounds fun!" You had been saving up for your birthday present since summer, and Nanami had played a significant role. "When's your birthday?"

"July third."

Your eyes widened with surprise. "No way! Mine is July sixth. We’re summer babies."

“Happy belated birthday,” he said, fishing for his wallet, gaze barely meeting yours. 

"Same to you." Offering the sandwich and coffee, you extended them towards him. "Consider it a belated birthday treat."

Nanami’s brows crinkled. “I cannot accept.” 

"Why not? It's a gift." You slid the items closer with a subtle nudge, leaving him little room to refuse. "And you've given me a priceless gift, Mr. Nanami." Your eyes hinted at the tip jar's location, which now lay empty. 

“Were you robbed?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. 

“What—? No! Oh my god. You’re so funny.” A chuckle escaped behind your fist, and he observed you momentarily before glancing away. "I'm heading to Malaysia next week!"

Nanami gave a subtle nod. Although his lack of a more animated response disappointed you, you understood that shortness was his nature. "Congratulations.”

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami. Your generous tips really made a difference. They covered half of our trip.”

“Our? It’s not a solo trip?”  

You let out a little nervous laugh. Should you really be telling Nanami about your crippling love life? Would he even be interested? Well, he seemed to listen carefully when you talk. Maybe he wouldn’t care, but you really needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately, all your friends were too busy with their marriages to care.

“Well?” Nanami prompted. 

"Right, sorry. It's just—I've actually been seeing someone. Funny enough, we met in a Facebook group for solo travelers. He lives in a nearby town.”

Unexpectedly, Nanami's first question caught you off guard. "Can you trust him?" His concern surfaced, causing you to pause. "I'm only asking because you met this man online. You can't trust strangers on the internet."

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I’m capable enough to know about stranger danger," you said with a funny smile, dismissing his parental concern. "Besides, we’ve gone on a few dates over the past month."

Nanami's frown remained intact. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you paying for him, too?"

"Yes."

“Why?” Nanami asked, firmly placing his palms on the counter, making it clear he wasn't leaving until he was convinced you wouldn't get in trouble during your Malaysian adventure.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

His mouth opened but then closed into a thin line, his forehead lines deepening. "It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and what isn’t—"

"Yes, you’re right about that," you interrupted.

"—but this is bordering on recklessness. You cannot use your trip’s money to pay for a man you’ve known for a mere month. Why is he even in the traveler’s group if he cannot afford to pay for himself?"

"Mr. Nan—"

"You are being scammed." 

Your teeth clenched together. You rarely got impatient. Years in the hospitality industry and dealing with misogynistic tenants didn't break you. Even setting up your bakery and almost draining your savings didn't dim your optimism. 

But getting scolded by someone who barely spoke more than five sentences to you in a whole year of being a regular? That's pushing it.

He didn't know you or Toji, the guy you're seeing. He didn’t understand how much you appreciated him accompanying you. So what if you covered his share of the trip expenses? Toji promised to pay you back, and he's been paying the bills for your dates. They might not be fancy, but it's the gesture that matters.

Sure, Nanami chipped in some money, and you're thankful for that. But he has no right to question you. Other people also contributed to your travel fund; it's not like he single-handedly financed the whole trip. You appreciated his support, but he was not in a position to lecture you.

With a sigh, you managed to contain your frustration and said, "Have a great rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.”

Nanami's frustration was palpable as he stood firm, his gaze piercing through the windows of your soul. “I suggest you take my advice into serious consideration. It would greatly upset me if you had the chance to visit one of your favorite countries taken from you.” 

You didn't bother watching him go. Instead, your discovery awaited you at the counter—the money for the coffee and casse-croûte lay there, accompanied by a crumpled yellow note that had slipped to the floor. Moving around the counter, you picked it up and smoothed out its wrinkles.

What greeted you was your own name scrawled across the sticky note, repeated around fifty times, the letters overlapping in a chaotic dance. Some were hastily scratched out, while others were executed with perfect cursive precision. You didn’t know what to make of it.

During your confusion, a new customer walked in. Quickly, you pocketed the note, focused on carrying on with your day despite the lingering frustration that Nanami's cryptic message had left in its wake.

Toji never showed up.

You waited for him for two agonizing hours, extending the torture even more after your flight had taken off. It dawned on you that he likely didn't bother getting a ticket. He probably pocketed the money you sent him and vanished into thin air. Every attempt to reach him failed miserably—your calls were forwarded, and the fifth one hammered the heartbreaking truth that he had blocked your number. To compound your misery, you sent him a string of text messages that refused to deliver your pain. You didn't even know where he lived, as your encounters were always in the obscure locations of your budgeted dates.

The thought of reporting him to the police crossed your mind, accusing him of theft, but the lack of photographic evidence left you helpless. To make matters worse, he hated taking pictures, and you were uncertain if the name he provided was even real. All that remained was a flicker of hope that you might cross paths with the bastard and unleash your pent-up rage with a hard kick to his dick. 

With a heavy heart, you gathered your strength, brushed away the tears until not a single trace remained on your lashes, and lugged your suitcase and carry-on outside the airport, hoping to hail a cab.

The idea of facing the upcoming days at work felt agonizing, goading you to spend them in the isolation of your shabby apartment. You were engrossed in a depressing routine—microwaved dinners, aimless hours on the couch, and a marathon of old cable TV shows.

As hunger struck again, you contemplated your options. Baking seemed like a possibility, but motivation had abandoned you. Pasta could be an option, but the lack of noodles and tomato sauce made it impractical. So, you settled for the one thing that required no ingredients: crying.

At least that was free. 

Despite the inner turmoil, you mustered the strength to shoulder your overcoat, sporting your fleece pajamas printed with candy canes and well-worn second-hand boots. 

The short walk to the corner store felt longer than usual, the biting cold making you clutch your threadbare coat tighter. Your teeth chattered in protest as you entered, and the rush of warm air was a momentary relief against the chill. Fingers numb, you mindlessly reached for familiar comfort snacks—chips, chocolate milk, anything to dull the ache.

A hand much larger than yours beat you to the last packet of croissants.

“Ah, sorry.” You let it go. “All yours—” You choked as you looked up, and up, at Nanami staring at you wide-eyed, his hazel eyes flickering at a rapid speed as if he were hallucinating your presence. Your face flushed with embarrassment, and the weight of the past five days crammed upon you—his uncanny prediction, your own naivety, and the sting of being swindled. “Mr. Nanami . . . ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in—”

“Good night.”

With a dismissive shake of your head, you left the basket on the counter, mumbled a quick apology, and retreated back into the biting cold. 

You’ve faced tons of humiliating moments—slipping in front of customers, your purse strap getting snagged in a door and dragging you back, and that one unforgettable instance when a little boy labeled your eyebrows as caterpillars in front of a line of onlookers. Yet, none of those incidents could hold a candle to the awkwardness of bumping into the very man who had warned you about the ill-fated choice of paying for a stranger's trip—stranger now—when it was supposed to be your trip. 

You felt a firm grip on your wrist, making your restless pacing suddenly stop.

Startled, you turned around to find a pair of expressionless hazel eyes and a slightly out-of-breath figure. Now is not the time to ogle Mr. Nanami’s broad shoulders, you idiot!

Releasing your wrist, he handed over a white, plastic bag. With a raised eyebrow, you peered inside to inspect its contents. It held everything from your shopping basket, including the last packet of croissants. Even more unexpected, he had paid for it all. 

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you assured, your eyes already scanning for the nearest ATM, just in case you forgot. "But for now." You pulled out the packaged croissants and extended them toward him. Your body was shaking, not because of November but because of how you were scammed after being forewarned by Nanami. “Please. Take it.” 

He took your small hand in both of his, the warmth immediately melting the tension in your body. “So cold.” 

A soft giggle escaped you at the obvious observation, and you placed your free hand on top of his. "So warm." Sniffling, tears welled up in your eyes. "You know what else is warm? The sun. And it's yellow. It's so yellow."

“Factually speaking, it is white.” 

You wiped an arm across your nose. “What?” 

“The sun. It’s white. It’s only yellow in children's books.” 

You weren't about to argue with the guy who vindicated your slip-ups. Still, given the circumstances, you wished he'd soften the bluntness and let you bask in the illusion that the sun was a simple shade of yellow.

"I've always loved the color yellow," you mumbled. "Maybe getting scammed was a blessing. I'd probably get fined for wearing yellow otherwise. I couldn't afford to mess up on my trip. Besides, it all depends on the shade, right? Imagine how many fines I'd rack up just testing which shade of yellow suits me—"

Nanami tugged you close, capturing your lips with his.

A sharp intake of breath filled your lungs, eyes widening in surprise. Instinctively, your hands pushed him away, fingers grazing your tingling lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. Don’t—Don’t worry. About it.” You tucked your lips in and tasted chocolate and mint—two of your favorite combinations. Nanami always seemed like the kind of man who would hate both flavors independently and dependently. “You’re okay. I mean—You’re okay in general. You’re not okay with kissing. You’re probably great, I’m sure.” Your tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, and Nanami’s eyes followed the motion. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” 

You walked up to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and tugged him down a notch, your lips colliding with his. 

Nanami's touch was calculated, his hand sailing onto your cheek, feeding warmth to your cold ear before vanishing into the labyrinth of your hair. Simultaneously, the other serpentined to the small of your back, his magnetic energy drawing you snugly against his chest. His warm tongue delicately swept across your lower lip, an unspoken cue that encouraged you to part your lips in response.

Nanami deepened the kiss, your tongues stroking against one another feverishly as if it were your last kiss. Who knows? Maybe it could’ve been. But the way he kissed with such desperation, releasing soft moans, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath, made you think that maybe this was just the start.

And you kissed him back just as needy.

If your hands slightly released their hold on his lapels, you'd gently cup the sides of his neck, rising on your tiptoes. And if your calves protested, you'd draw him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers entwining in his pale, golden locks. The taste of mint chocolate lingered on your lips, and a smile curved on your mouth as he stole a quick peck, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes for a moment before kissing you again.

You’re not sure how long you two stood and kissed there. Nanami was the one who always took the lead, savoring the taste of your pink, tender tongue, kissing your chilly cheeks and dewy eyes. The desire for each other made it hard to break away, yet the need for a breath of air was undeniable.

Finally, you decided to be the one to step back, signalling the end of your first kiss with him.

Your bottom lip tingled as you pulled it in, jaw aching from the infectious smile that had taken over your face. You couldn't help stealing glances at the tall man before you, who returned your gaze with a soft, almost imperceptible grin. Yet, in his eyes, under the gentle glow of the streetlight, you could see the excitement and joy of kissing you, twinkling brightly.

“I'm gonna—”

“I should—”

Both of you sighed; you with a soft chuckle, and him with a discreet throat-clearing.

“I've already missed quite a few workdays,” you said. “Gotta earn that dough if I want to make next month’s rent.” Nanami didn’t quite catch your bakery pun, but he nodded in agreement.

“Right,” you murmured, subtly veering to the side, putting on a little show as you started to walk away. You admitted it—you were a hopeless romantic. You secretly hoped for him to steal a kiss on your cheek and watch until you safely disappeared around the corner. “I’m off now.”

“Goodnight,” Nanami replied, subtly licking his lips for the sixteenth time. Yes, you were keeping count. 

“Night-night.” 

Nanami strolled down his end of the sidewalk. You followed suit, turning down your street. 

Luck had only sometimes been on your side when it came to men and their romantic gestures. Oh well. At least you experienced a passionate kiss from one of your favorite customers. Asking for more seemed a bit too much—

A hand gently pressed against your back, and as you turned, it gracefully curved around your waist, drawing you in. Nanami caught your gasp and kissed you with an urgency that doubled, holding onto you as if his life depended on it, lifting you off your toes. Three sweet pecks later, he released you, both of your faces flushed.

"Get home safely," he whispered, walking away without a second glance.

That night, you couldn't help but giggle into your mascara-stained pillow.

The morning after, you were a whirlwind of joy and light, twirling through the bakery with trays of freshly baked pastries, replenishing boxes and take-out essentials. You greeted customers with an extra dose of sweetness, and to top it off, you even handed out a tray of delectable chocolate jam cookies. And you wore a yellow bow in your hair. 

The oven beeped as the casse-croûtes finished baking, signaling their readiness for Nanami's arrival in just five minutes. You took special care in preparing his milk coffee, indulging in a quiet chuckle at your undeniable favoritism. Though the neighborhood bakery wasn't bustling with a large customer base, your attention was solely dedicated to him—your only regular as everyone else buzzed in the distant city an hour away.

With his coffee prepared and two casse-croûtes packed, you added a chocolate-mint cookie to the bag. Then, you decided to rearrange the shelves of gift baskets to pass the time. 

Setting up the ladder, you ascended the shaky steps until you were eye to eye with the fifth shelf. Heights were never your forte, which, in hindsight, was another reason why flying to Malaysia was out of the question. The more you thought about being scammed, the more your heart wrenched from your lost trip. You’d again brought out your tip jar and prayed the odds were in your favor. Hell, maybe you’d ask Nanami to join you if you decided to take your relationship to the next level. 

As you secured the bow on the basket, your gaze landed on the clock—6:30 p.m., and Nanami was a no-show. 

Anxiety surged through you in an instant.

Did he leave you hanging? Maybe that kiss was a turnoff, and he chose to disappear rather than be upfront about finding you too overwhelming. Did your breath smell bad? Were you a terrible kisser? Or, worse, did something happen to him?

A torrent of worries flooded your mind, breaking through like a burst dam. Each imagined scenario seemed more nightmarish than the last, causing your head to spin. Recent events, like Toji's betrayal, fueled this self-doubt, made you question your intuition. While Nanami was clearly wealthy, consistently tipping a twenty each day, you found yourself questioning whether he had plans to use you for something else. As if that weren't enough, doubts crept in about your appearance and your optimistic, extroverted personality.

It started to make sense, didn't it? Nanami led a tranquil life, sticking to a routine of work and home, while you were a whirlwind of spontaneity—constantly buzzing with new ideas and discussions, unable to sit still or resist laughter at the silliest jokes. Everything seemed to fascinate you, yet nothing appeared to faze him. How could you have been so naive to entertain the thought—

“Good evening.” 

“Ah!” you yelped at the sudden baritone intruding into your thoughts. Your foot, betrayed by the unexpected intrusion, lost its balance on the step. Your arms flailed in a desperate attempt to find stability as you teetered backward, the impending hazard of a severe concussion and potential spinal cord injury looming.

But just as you were prepared to shake hands with God, Nanami's powerful arms swooped in at the last possible moment. With a secure hold, he cradled you in a bridal style, and you clung to him like a shaking puppy, arms looped around his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath slightly labored.

You gingerly peeled one eye open to peek at him. His expression was one of calm disorientation; eyebrows knit together while his lips maintained a straight, tight line.

"Yes," you whispered, soothed by his timely intervention.

Nanami steadied you back onto your feet but maintained a firm grip on your elbows. “Look at me.” As you did, he inspected each eye closely while keeping his hand steady on your left cheek. He checked below your jaw, down to your dusty palms, which he cleaned with his silk handkerchief. He also patted down your tousled hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

“Mm-hmm.” You could cry from how gentle he was with you. “A-Are you okay?” 

“I am now.” He took a composed breath and effortlessly retrieved his suitcase from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. “I apologize for being late. My . . . car broke down.” 

"What? Oh my god! Do you need me to give you my mechanic's number? I promise he's not as bad as the Google reviews say. He's actually quite a sweet man. And he gives me a friends and family discount because my father was close with him." You beamed, and Nanami squinted his eyes as if the brightness of your smile momentarily blinded him, but he tried his best to reciprocate.

“Do your parents live here?” 

You shook your head. “They passed away a while ago.” 

“I apologize.” 

"Don't be." You quickly switched subjects by fluttering towards the counter to pick up his items. “Tell me how your coffee tastes.” You turned around, adding, “I switched to a new brand of milk—”

Nanami pressed his lips against yours, momentarily freezing you. His seamless transition afterward could have fooled an onlooker into thinking you'd been married for years. "Thank you.” He took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great. Everything you make is great.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sudden shyness enveloping you. From the kiss? The compliment? Him? You didn’t know at all. “Do you still need me to give you the mechanic’s number?” 

“It’s all right. I had it fixed. Minor battery issue, that’s all.” 

“Ah, okay. See, that’s why I prefer to walk.” 

Nanami glanced elsewhere, nodding. “Then, would you like to walk with me after you’ve closed?” 

“Oh.” A subtle flicker of surprise crossed your features. Nonchalantly, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling warmly. “Of course, yes. I’d love to go on a walk with you. Where are we going? There are lots of cafés in a nearby shopping district. I know all the best places to take you to.” A grave thought struck you just then. “Oh, actually. Hmm.” 

Curious, he tilted his head down, meeting your worried gaze. "What is it?"

"Well," you began, your thoughts taking a cautious turn, "you probably have a set time to be home unless you live nearby. In that case, we could spend the entire evening strolling around. Only if you're interested, of course."

Nanami’s lips twitched. “I live nearby.” 

“Where?” You weren’t ashamed to have been so upfront. It was more of a precautionary measure. 

And he didn't seem bothered, quickly revealing the familiar neighborhood you instantly recognized. It was a fifteen-minute walk from your own place.

"May I step out momentarily to make a call?" Nanami asked, pulling out his phone. It was the latest model you noticed—one that came out last week and mocked your own that was five versions older. “It will be quick.” 

“By all means.” You had to fix your hair and make-up anyway. 

Nanami nodded and exited the shop, leaving you to flee behind the counter. As you crouched down to check yourself in the small mirror tucked away in the lower drawer, you couldn't help but feel a warmth on your face from the unexpected collapse, the sweet, brief kiss, and his impeccable navy blue suit decorated with yellow cufflinks. Maybe a café was too casual for him; a restaurant might have been a more suitable choice. An expensive choice. However, you were adamant about not letting Nanami cover the entire cost.

Upon his return, five minutes later, you both settled at one of the three round tables in your bakery (he even pulled out your chair for you). Sipping on your coffees and enjoying the casse-croûtes and chocolate pastries, the conversation seemed somewhat one-sided. Yet, Nanami's aloof demeanor never made you feel inferior for dominating the dialogue. He listened to every word and vowel with his undivided attention, nodding alongside and adding in short sentences when he could relate to your childhood shenanigans. 

"Wait," he interrupted, causing you to halt in your tracks. The sun cast a warm glow on his face, making his eyes narrow into slits, but God did he look handsome. He extended his hand and brushed a thumb near your lips, discovering a small chocolate smudge. Swiftly, he licked it clean and tidied up the area around your lips with a napkin. "Beautiful."

“What?” 

Nanami was a deer in headlights. He sunk his head, beating himself up from murmuring his thoughts aloud—at least, that’s what you concluded. "You look beautiful," he declared with more assurance, his gaze on your face. "You are beautiful, Y/N."

Oh, my. 

Your heart was going to claw itself out of your chest. You could cook an egg on your face from how heated it had gotten. In fact, you were burning hotter than the sun, which continuously made him squint and blink. “Thank you.” 

He nodded twice, finishing the remnants of his coffee. Rising, he disposed of the cups and wrappers in the garbage bin, then extended a hand to help you stand. "I'll wait outside while you close up."

At a lightning pace, you ensured that everything in the bakery was safely unplugged and shut off. Grabbing your purse, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror, adjusting your face and hair. Stepping outside, you meticulously locked the door and gates.

Without a word, Nanami entwined his fingers with yours, causing you to smile like an idiot at him. He maintained a straight, vigilant gaze, seemingly unresponsive as you wrapped yourself around his arm. A subtle smirk tugged at your lips when you felt his muscles flex.

You walked for hours, café-hopping and trying pastries, baked goods, and sweet drinks. Every time Nanami attempted to cover the expenses with his cash, you scolded him, insisting that since you had suggested the place, you should be the one to pay. It was a rule you had read about online, and all your friends stuck to it religiously. The thought of Nanami spending his hard-earned money on your interests made you feel incredibly guilty.

As a matter of fact, you were feeling guilty about tons of things. He told you he worked at an investment firm, which meant it was a nine-to-five, likely sporting a migraine he kept hidden, and now he was being dragged around the shopping district by you, forced to listen to you because he was a man who didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain, and long, story short, you wanted to die. 

“Kento,” you muttered, removing your hand from his, goosebumps rippling on your skin. 

“Yes, darling?” 

Your chest felt like it was being clenched in a fist. “I'm . . . I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For making you do all this. For making you pay for everything. For dragging you around when you're probably on the verge of exhaustion." Avoiding his gaze, you fixed your eyes on the concrete beneath you. “I know I can be too much sometimes—well, all the time.” A self-deprecating chuckle escaped your lips. "Exes in my past relationships have made it clear. I get overly excited easily, crave attention like one needs oxygen, trust people too easily to the point of getting scammed, and, well, I don't bring anything particularly special to the table. I'm sorry, Kento. Maybe it's best if we just stay friends?”

Nanami’s soft fingers lifted your chin up. Your words absolutely shattered his face, leaving you to feel worse than before. His lips were parted into a frown, his brows were scrunched up, brown irises flickering like he couldn’t believe you said that. This was the most reaction he had given you in the year that you’ve known him. 

“No,” he said. 

You blinked the tears gathered at your waterline. “No?” 

“No.” Nanami took a calming breath, closing his eyes. His forehead gently pressed against yours. “Please, let me be selfish for this once. For you. I can’t let you go—I won’t let you go."

"Kento—"

"I want to do this, Y/N. I want to pay for everything. I want you to drag me around because I’ll never be too tired for you.” Nanami drew back and cradled your sobbing face in his large hands. “I know I fail to show it, darling, but I love your excitement. I love paying attention to every detail of you because you’ve become my oxygen source. You’re a good, kindhearted woman, and anyone would be lucky to be seen by you. And you don’t have to bring anything to the table because there isn’t one dividing us, keeping us lengths apart.” His lips brushed your forehead, imprinting his words into your mind. "I want us to be more than just friends. I want us to be best friends. Lovers. In this life and the ones that follow."

You could explode. 

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, seeking support as if the ground beneath you was about to crumble. Yet, you knew he would catch you, just as before. He was so real, embracing you wholly, both of you breathing in each other's scents to confirm a human like this could exist. How grateful you were he stumbled into your bakery that one rainy night, and how grateful he was that you offered him free coffee and a casse-croûte while he was freezing and trembling. His presence brought life to your bakery, gave you something to look forward to when you were at your lowest, and you gave him . . . everything. You were his everything since the first day. 

As the shared silence lingered, Nanami's phone shattered the moment, its noisy ring cutting through the haze. You instinctively stepped back, but he clung to your hand as if afraid you might slip away.

Never, Nanami Kento. You’re stuck with me. 

When he took out his phone, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: Satoru (assistant). 

Before you could process the fact Nanami had an assistant, he swiped right. “Yeah?” 

The voice on the other end resonated with loud cheerfulness in the quiet alleyway. Nanami half-rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Leave it there. I’ll be there when I want to.” 

The assistant chuckled and sang his goodbye, the cheerful tone abruptly cutting off as Nanami ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Do all stockbrokers have assistants?” 

He tilted his head. “I’m not a stockbroker.” 

“Oh? I’m sorry. I assumed because you worked at an investment firm.” 

“Yes, I was a stockbroker.” He nodded, warming your hand in his, then casually added, “But I own a firm now.” 

Your brows hit your hairline. “That’s amazing!” 

“Thank you. We have several locations around the country. Kento Investments. Have you heard of it?” 

Heard of it? You were a client some time ago when you were starting your bakery. All you encountered were glowing reviews about their ethical practices, a refreshing leave from the scheming ways of most investment firms that had previously taken advantage of you. It stood out as the industry leader in your research, and the team was lovely in guiding you through the process, so much so that you even invited them to your grand opening.

"Ah, you have." Nanami grinned, gently tilting your chin upward and closing your gaping mouth. "Therefore, my darling, don't feel guilty about me covering the expenses. I'm quite secure in my position to support both of us for centuries."

All you could manage was a disbelieving chuckle as you rested your forehead against his chest. Taking it as an invitation, he embraced you, crowning you with kisses. 

Lifting your head, you said, "There's something I want to get for you."

"What is it?"

Hand-in-hand, you pulled him back toward the bustling district, the sound of his deep laughter echoing in the air. Your own laughter naturally joined in.

As you strolled past a vendor selling accessories, your attention was drawn to an item you had briefly noticed earlier in your walk. Although you planned to purchase it the following day and surprise him in the afternoon, tonight felt like the perfect moment.

Politely approaching the elderly vendor, you asked, "Could I please try those on?" He handed you a pair of round sunglasses with a green tint to the lenses. Standing on your toes, you carefully placed the glasses on Nanami's nose, adjusting them to sit perfectly on the bridge. The sides of the spectacles featured a stylish steampunk design that complemented his narrow, sharp features. "Handsome.”

"I'll take it.” Nanami reached for his wallet. However, you were one step ahead, swiftly bringing out the spare change you had set aside in your coat pocket. You had already calculated the price, ready to outsmart him in this little game of charity.

“Y/N.” 

“Thank you,” you said to the shop vendor, ignoring Nanami’s stare. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, darling?" You looped around his arm and began your stroll down the sidewalk. “Oh, come on. Let me be selfish and treat you once in a while.” You cut off his protests with a kiss. 

He surrendered instantly. 

Over the next four weeks, you didn’t realize how quickly you’d become comfortable with Nanami. Like clockwork, he would arrive at your bakery, patiently occupying a table until your duties with customers or decorating displays finished. Now resembling a vibrant florist shop, the bakery owed its transformation to Nanami's thoughtful gestures—bouquets of flowers in every shade of yellow, orange, and white became an amusing routine. As you arranged them in vases, you would burst into fits of giggles like a maniac. 

You and him were like a Venn diagram, overlapping in unexpected places. He enjoyed non-fiction, classics, and history books; you immersed yourself in the world of romance and mystery novels. TV nights were a compromise between his love for documentaries and your penchant for anything sappy on Netflix, occasionally spicing things up with a true-crime documentary. His fascination with astronomy met your fixation with astrology, and surprisingly, he didn't scoff when you read the lines on his palms. Instead, he appreciated it just as much as you cherished his nightly photos of the moon and his ability to name the stars above.

At least, you were both Team Cats.

Nanami introduced you to his friends, including his quirky assistant Gojo, who had a habit of shamelessly flirting with you, seemingly just to get under Nanami's skin. However, your boyfriend was secure enough not to let it bother him. Yet, a trace of possessiveness would emerge during sex—when the two of you were entwined in bed, bodies bared and bathed in the aftermath of shared sweat.

Exiting the restaurant after a delightful dinner date, Nanami turned to you and suggested, "I'd like to invite you to my home tonight."

Finally, you thought, resisting the urge to dip your toes into the topic of visiting his home, especially considering he had been a frequent guest at yours.

The fact that he lived nearby had always puzzled you; he mentioned it casually yet never extended an invitation for a simple coffee or a chat on his welcome mat. Weekends saw him working from your living room, staying overnight, but on weekdays, he'd only spend a brief hour or two with you before heading home, a practice that seemed counterintuitive given his closeness. Despite the confusion, you hesitated to jeopardize your relationship by fishing too deeply.

So far, Nanami hadn't given you any reason to doubt him.

"Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.

"Absolutely, darling.” Nanami took your hand and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "I apologize for the delay. I've been having it . . ." He casually flicked up his sunglasses that had slipped. ". . . renovated."

“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’d love to!” 

Nanami nodded and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for being so patient. I know it was eating you alive. You're not exactly the master of hiding your emotions.” He gave you a small smile and kissed your cheek again. 

You responded with a smile that crinkled your nose. "Just a bit anxious, that's all."

"Understandable.” He guided you toward his neighbourhood, exchanging a warm smile as you nestled against his arm. Observing the goosebumps on your skin and the faint shivers, he realized you had forgotten your cardigan. Without hesitation, he removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent from the collars. "You always smell so good."

Nanami bent down, kissing the side of your neck right above your racing pulse. "As do you," he murmured against your skin. "Always."

“Gosh, you're so flirty,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his midsection and burying your face in his chest.

“Come on now.” 

You walked for another ten minutes, taking a five-minute pit stop to pet a stray cat before stopping in front of a towering residence building. It was one of those extravagant ones boasting a fountain in the lobby and a vigilant security guard who greeted Nanami with a two-finger salute.

Hand on your back, Nanami guided you toward the elevator with mirrors on all sides.

He exuded an air of sophistication in his neatly rolled-up black dress shirt, complemented by beige pants. His pale, blond hair was slicked back, a Rolex clasped his wrist, and veins corded his well-defined forearms. The sunglasses you had given him rested atop his head. 

As Nanami caught your eyes on the reflective surfaces, a sudden blush warmed your cheeks. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” you whispered, fingers idly playing with the golden butterfly bracelet he had given you on the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. “I was just . . . God, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming of you. And I don’t want to wake up from it.” 

Nanami released his grip on your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. He tilted your chin upward and planted a lecherous kiss on your lips. As you stumbled backward, your back met the cool surface of a mirror, and you clung to his biceps. He continued kissing your jaw and nibbling at your neck.

“Ken—Wait, there’s a camera!” 

“I own the building.” 

Without allowing you to react, he kissed you fervently, his hands framing your face and his knee pressing between your legs. Your hips ground against the muscled surface, creating a heated friction that drew a moan from him.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, but Nanami was undeterred. He refused to break the kiss. Lifting you effortlessly, he cradled you with a single forearm beneath your backside and your arms encircling his neck. Laughter echoed as you entered directly into the main corridor of his penthouse.

“Your front door is an elevator?” You marveled with an open jaw. 

“Yes, it seems so.”

Oh, how you loved his monotonous replies. 

Nanami gently placed you onto the expansive white surface of his couch, smoothly moving over your body to continue. 

“I knew you were a clean freak,” you said between his kisses, “but your penthouse looks like it was bought this morning.” 

“Two weeks ago.” He kisses down your neck, sideways toward your left shoulder. “That’s why I waited to invite you. Gojo was having the place decorated. I've installed a library for you, too. We can go book-shopping this weekend.” 

"Wait, what?" You pushed him back by his chest, incredulous. "Hold on, hold on, hold on. You mean to tell me you moved in just two weeks ago?"

"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly perplexedly. "When you asked about my residence, I panicked and couldn't come up with a proper answer, fearing you might decline my invitation for a walk. So, I bought this building from the previous owner on the spot. There are also commercial benefits. Quite a strategic move, if you ask me." With that, Nanami resumed his attention, focusing on kissing your collarbones and skillfully lowering your dress, exposing your chest to him.

But you were still stuck on the subject like a pesky fruit fly. “But you don’t live here?” 

“I don’t.” His mouth brushed over the mound of your left breast. “I live in Shibuya.” 

“Shibuya? Kento, that’s an hour and a half away!"

"Hmm." He glanced up, mouth sucking at your nipple.

"You've been faithfully coming to my city every single day, all the way from Shibuya, for a whole year? You've been burning all that gas just to be with me?"

He broke away to say, "Gojo drives me occasionally," and switched to your right breast.

"Nanami Kento, are you out of your mind?"

Finally, he released you and sighed. "I fail to see the issue here." He appeared so innocent, with his moist lips, tousled hair, and a crumpled dress shirt. 

You hurriedly sat up, readjusting your dress, which seemed to displease him. "I'm at a loss for words." Your gaze caught the weariness etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slow, heavy blinks signaling his desperate need for sleep. "You haven't actually been living here, have you?"

Upon hearing that, Nanami let out a weary sigh. "I do it when I'm too drained to make the drive back on weekdays."

As the details of his schedule fell into place, you flinched inwardly. He would rise at the crack of dawn, dedicate endless hours to handling clients at the office, and then endure a lengthy drive to your city, only to spend his evenings with you before leaving around midnight to return to Shibuya. The only time he would stay overnight at your place was on Saturdays, and he would depart early on Sundays for work. And all this time, you had believed he had an office in your city.

Oh, God. 

You loved him. 

You loved him so much.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization of just how much he loved you. The man had gone so far as to purchase an entire building in your city just to be closer to you. He showered you with affection at every opportunity, devoted his alone time to you with undivided attention and mind-blowing orgasms, and his bank transactions were probably dedicated to you. 

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered. 

“Neither did I the night when we met.” Nanami’s words always had a comforting effect on you. He gently pulled you onto his lap, and you curled up like a fetus, planting a kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I love . . . God, I love you so much. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this much love for another human until I met you. It was all locked up inside me, and you held the key all along, darling." Leaning forward, he smoothly swept his blazer and delved into the pocket, revealing a small yellow box. With trembling hands, you accepted it and opened it to find a petite, golden key inside. “Our front door is an elevator.” 

Your breath hitched. “What?” 

“Move in with me.” 

“Kento—”

“I know. I know it's quite early to discuss this, and I want to give you the space and time to consider it. As you mentioned, your lease ends next month, and I'll officially be transitioning to remote work with a few business trips every other week. It would mean a lot to me if you decided to join me on those trips." He gently placed the key in your hand, kissing your fist. "I'm scheduled to travel to Malaysia next month."

Overpowered with emotion, you choked out a sob and immediately lunged at him with a hug, causing both of you to stumble backward as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He loved you. He wanted you to move in with him. He wanted to travel with you, starting with Malaysia. Suddenly, the tips he left in your jar took on a deeper significance, backing the idea that you weren't meant to journey alone, why you weren’t meant to go with that swindling bastard. As Nanami's gestures of kindness and service became increasingly evident, your tears welled up, choking him in a tight embrace that eventually had him laughing.

Last November, Nanami Kento had stepped into your small bakery, raindrops clinging to him, unknowingly marking his permanent presence in your life.

[tender-rosiey]

MY DEAR AND BEAUTIFUL ROSE<3. I saw that your requests are open and I wanted to ask about my husband (Sukuka cough cough) a scenario where the husband Sukuna saves the reader from the enemy, or someone tries to kidnap and hurt his wife! you write Sukuna's feelings so beautifully <3

fools' sentence — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: bro you're too kind ilysm; I really hope you like this too <3

if only you listened to that rude servant about not going out of the castle.

it’s a bitter thought really, but you just couldn’t let your pride be scarred by somebody who doesn’t even speak to you in a minimal amount of respect.

so, in a way, you’re okay with dying a proud queen who doesn’t let anybody disrespect her.

“oh, we are going to have so much fun with you, and that monstrous husband of yours will just see your mutilated body after we’re done with you,” the guy grins devilishly. you back up slightly.

okay, so maybe, you don’t want to die just yet.

“that impudent woman! she disobeyed me, and now, we are stuck looking for her, so we can find her before sukuna returns!” the servant complains loudly while walking the halls of the castle.

“and who is that impudent woman you speak of? surely, it isn’t my wife you’re addressing in such a manner,” a voice—a very distinct and well-known one—says from behind the servant.

only then does she realize the shadow that suddenly was casted from above her.

she quickly falls to her knees and starts stuttering out her apologies and excuses, “o-of course not, my lord! how could I ever speak ill of the lady of the castle! her presence is to be respected, naturally!”

after she is done, she lets silence fill the room. assuming that sukuna has believed her, she lets out a sigh of relief, and her body relaxes ever so slightly.

however, an ear-piercing scream is ripped out of her throat when sukuna steps on her foot, so roughly that it breaks.

sukuna groans, annoyed at the incessant scream and wailing of the lady, and he throws a question, “where is your queen?”

the woman keeps on sobbing but tries to speak out nonetheless, “s—she, she,” she hiccups, but sukuna has no time to listen to her bellow.

“faster! where is she?”

she buries her face in the ground to quieten her sobs, but she doesn’t get the chance to respond to him when uraume appears out of thin air.

they kneel to the ground and speak humbly, “my lord, lady y/n has been taken as a hostage by a group of sorcerers.”

sukuna eyes’ widen, and he frowns.

he quickly turns to leave but not before making a command, “uraume, every servant who was careless and caused her disappearance is to be beheaded immediately.”

you thank god for men being prideful creatures who love speaking about themselves. you only asked them once about their accomplishments and raids, and they never stopped talking.

with a couple of positive encouragements from you, they talked and talked till the sun went down.

the doors of the room you’re trapped in slams open, and a fearful boy screams out, “sukuna—sukuna is here!”

“what?!” they all snap, and you grin. finally, you were going to be freed from this cage.

unfortunately, one of the men notices your beaming expression. his face contorts, livid, and he quickly fists your hair in his hand. you let out a scream, but he slams you against the wall.

he shouts, “shut up! you’re the one that lured him here! you stalled till he could find you! you wretched woman!”

“are you stupid?! you take his wife, and you expect him to stand idly by?!” you reply, voice hoarse, and unable to accept taking what he said lying down.

you can’t, however, control the dizziness that hits you, and you can feel blood trickling down your nose.

the only thing that comforts you is the sound of slashes and the calling of your name by your darling husband.

you smirk at the man above you and whisper, “ever saw sukuna in action?”

the man grits his teeth and before he throws a punch at your face, the door flies and gets crushed into pieces. the man quickly throws you away, so he can focus all his energy on sukuna.

but, sukuna instead moves to be right by your side and shields you from the ground.

he wraps an arm around you and pulls you a bit closer.

his eyes carefully scan you; he clenches his jaw at the sight of the blood. he carefully wipes it and moves your face towards him with one of his hands. he speaks up, “you alive?”

“don’t you ignore me, sukuna—” the man sneers, but he is quickly silenced. he sees his tongue flying to the ground. the sight scares him to the core, he starts screaming—or his attempt at one.

his knees feel weak, and he falls to the ground. his blood pools slowly on the ground.

sukuna shifts your focus back to him again, and you respond slowly, “alive and kicking,” raising a thumbs up. he nods and gently lays you down on the ground.

you wince a little and complain lightly, “this place is dusty.”

he hums, “wait a second.”

your husband rises to his feet and turns to the man. sukuna approaches the man, taking his time with each step. anger swirls violently inside of him, and his eyes looked down sharply at the man.

the sorcerer quivers and covers his mouth; he quickly backs up to the wall. he sukuna scoffs, “you’re still annoying even after taking your tongue out?”

the man’s pride almost causes him to retort back with a yell of his own.

but then sukuna snatches him up by the hair and stares him right in the eyes, “for every strand of hair you’ve touched on her head, I will make you bellow in pain till your vocal chords are ripped into shreds.”

you groan and stir lightly. you slowly open your eyes and examine your surroundings. you’re back in the castle; you smile and relax back into your pillow.

“so you’ve finally awaken?”

you turn to your husband with a grin, “hey handsome.”

“why did you leave the castle?”

straight to the point. you prop yourself up on the pillow and sit up. you look at him then look away, “it’s kind of embarrassing actually.”

“not your first,” he responds, and you pointedly ignore him.

“I wanted to greet you before you arrived at the gate,” you murmur then quip, “but I didn’t even go beyond the fence! I was still in the area!”

he listens quietly and sits beside you. he pulls you against his chest, “you do not need to do anything like that.”

you look up at him with a small smile and he finds himself letting out a small breath—of fondness?—he closes his eyes and speaks in absolute manner, “you should know that I will always come for you.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will write your name on the list I give to sylus

[httpuckdrop]

Hii! I have an angst/smut request for Will Smith, but please don’t write this if you're uncomfortable doing so because I know some people are simply because he is on the younger side. Anyway, I was thinking Will, even though he's doing super well as a rookie, he's constantly compared to Macklin, and maybe one night it's just hitting him super hard and he's insecure, thinking that reader might want someone like Mack more than she wants him, and after finally getting him to talk to her, she basically worships him and shows him that she loves him for him, and not anyone else. I’m thinking a slightly sub!Will. Please and thank you!

made this into a kinda blurb thingy... hope that's okay!! and i really hope you enjoy, thank you so much for requesting aaaa i had so much fun writing this 🥰

it was a rough game for will.

not only was it yet another pointless game from his side – the third in a row, even – and he felt like nothing else really worked out for him, either. his passes always ended up on his opponents' sticks, and he had several critical misses in the defense.

macklin, on the other hand, had a great game. two goals plus one assist. and while will should be happy for his close friend having a good game, he just can't. he would never admit it himself, but he's jealous – and even insecure.

will is confident in most parts of his life. he knows he's a fairly good-looking dude (though you disagree – he's unfairly good-looking), he has a lot of friends, he's a great hockey player – and he even has a lovely partner who's open about how much she cares about and loves him. but today, it's like all of that knowledge is washed away. today, everything is terrible.

it doesn't help that the first thing he saw when leaving the locker room after the game was you hugging mack and congratulating him on a good game. the fact that mack looked at you with those puppy eyes of his as you stroked his hair doesn't make the situation better, either.

the game ended up in an overtime loss, at home, and of course will had been on the ice when the sharks surrendered the final goal. it's no surprise to you that he's completely silent as he drives home, and you're not shocked when he drops his hockey bag by the front door and beelines for the bedroom the second you walk inside, either. you decide to give him some time and space, because you know it usually helps. but when he doesn't come out for 30 minutes, you can't help but follow him.

"sweetheart?" you ask as you step into the dark bedroom. the lights may not be on, but you know he's not sleeping yet. you know that his mind is running with replays of every action from the night. "do you want to talk for a bit?"

"what even is there to say?" he groans after a few moments of silence. "i was terrible."

"you weren't terrible," you counter, making your way over to the bed and sitting down next to him. "everyone has bad days. even players as good as you."

"but not players as good as mack."

his words make you frown. "why would you bring him up now?"

"because he's ten times the player i am." despite the complete darkness, you can make out the features of his face; his distinct jawline, his cute nose, his pretty eyes that are staring straight up into the ceiling. "because you'll leave me for someone better."

"excuse me?" you almost choke on the air. "what are you talking about?"

"why would you not want someone like mack? an actually good player, and…"

his words trail off when you lean down a little, caressing his cheek with your hand. "because he's not as gorgeous as you," you whisper, leaning down to give his lips a fleeting peck. "and because he isn't as good of a kisser."

after a longer kiss, will speaks up again. "and how do you know that he's not a good kisser? you ever tried it?"

you're glad to see a smile finally return to his lips, even though it's a teasing grin, and yet you can't help but slap his shoulder playfully. "shut up, i'm trying to be romantic." he holds his hands up in surrender, gaze stuck on you as you climb onto his lap. his arms snake around your waist as he feels your mouth on his yet again, your lips melting against his. "i wouldn't want someone like mack, because he probably doesn't have as sexy of a body as you do," you mumble against him, hands trailing down his front before tugging on the hem of his t-shirt.

he helps you pull it off his body, resting down again with his hands steady on your waist. he inhales shakily, adams apple bobbing in his throat as you trace kisses down his bare chest and muscular stomach.

"his skin isn't as kissable as yours is," you hum, biting down gently on the side of his ribs. "doesn't taste as good as you do." when you scoot down a little, your ass brushes along the hardening length in his pants, and you let out a little chuckle. "shit, are we eager already?" you roll your hips down on him, eyebrows raised.

will watches you with a dazed expression, and it takes him a few seconds too many to register your words. when he does, he lets out a huff of a laugh himself, nodding erratically. "definitely," he says, voice breathless from anticipation, his fingers digging into your sides.

your hands find his zipper, pulling it down almost insanely slowly. "and finally," you continue, eyes finding his again. "he couldn't make me feel as good as you do." you drag his pants down his thighs, his boxers following along, and the cold air makes his erection twitch before your warm palms wrap around him. "no one makes me feel as good as you do. you make me feel so full, you hit every spot deep inside of me, stretch me out so well…"

a shiver shoots down his spine and his eyes flutter closed instantly. as one of your hands lazily strokes him up and down, your other hand lands on his chest as you lean up to be face-to-face with him again. your nose brushes against his once, before you press a featherlight kiss to his lips.

"you gonna make me feel good tonight, baby? in the way only you can?"

there's no way he could say no to that.

[honeymoonblues]

The One Your Friends Don't Like

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone has something to say when a girl has fun with the local freak.

Word count: 2.6k

Warning: Some cursing.

A/N: I had this one on the drafts for a long time. Silly little thing. Incredibly self indulgent. I usually make my fics with a gender neutral reader, but I felt this one needed to be fem! for the sake of the plot. Please, let me know if there are any spelling errors, English is not my first language.

You had never expected it to end the way it ended. 

In fact, you distinctively remember thinking no one would ever find out that you were passing notes in class. Why would anyone know?

Except Eddie Munson had a big fucking mouth. And you had a friend in common with him (sort of). 

The thing was, you were bored. Badly. And the biology professor had this superpower of putting everyone to sleep with his monotonous voice. So it wasn’t intentional when your spaced out gaze landed on him. On Eddie Munson, of all people.

Your pencil fell to the floor because you got startled when he smirked at you. And then, came the little note.

His handwriting was hideous, but legible. The paper seemed torn from another class’ book. You didn’t write anything back. Instead, you made a little grotesque cartoon of the professor, which Eddie seemed to appreciate very much.

“You think Munson is cute?”

How the fuck had Vicki already found out about it by lunch, you had no idea. But you were about to find out.

“I don’t-”, you started, but she didn’t let you finish.

“He told me that you were staring at him,” she scoffed smugly.

God, you hated that expression on her. The smile forming on your lips was totally betraying you, but you weren’t about to give her the satisfaction.

“And since when are you friends with Eddie Munson?”

“He’s friends with Kate’s brother, you know Gareth,” she waved her hand around, “they’re in that, uh… club together, and a band. He’s always hanging out at Kate’s.”

Asking her not to make a big deal out of it was useless, you knew her mind was already scheming to set you two up.

“You’re dating this idiot?!”

There was nothing you appreciated more in your friendship with Robin than her honesty. Even if sometimes she was too honest.

“We’re not dating! We just, uh… hanged out once.”

“Yeah, well, be careful. I haven't heard too many kind things about him.”

Her tone softened, meaning she was trying her best to understand you.

The truth is, it had been a date, no matter how much Eddie and you acted like you were above all that sort of stuff. 

His handwriting had been clearer on that one note, neater, with more thought behind it. You felt his big brown eyes on you while you read it, so you knew you had to act as cool as possible. As if him inviting you to a literal date wasn’t freaking you out. You didn’t even pass the note back, you just nodded in his direction, and he smiled while twirling his hair on his finger.

In the end, Vicki didn’t even had to set you up, Eddie asked you out himself, like a big boy (kind of). 

The guys leaving the club session looked at you like you had grown a second head. 

“Band practice is down the hall”, one of them snickered. That was Gareth, you assumed.

“I know”. You narrowed your eyes, holding your saxophone case a little tighter and breathing deeply. Gosh, and these were Eddie’s friends?

Immediately after, Eddie’s big eyes sparkled when he saw you outside the classroom. 

“Hey, you made it”.

Like the other boys, he wore the club’s t-shirt but this one looked particularly clean. You saved your comments to yourself, though, and just smiled back.

The moments you were deciding where to go were the most awkward. You could tell that Eddie wasn’t used to talking to many girls. No matter how much of a peacock he acted like when he was in a ten-foot radius of a cheerleader.

If there was a contest for Weirdest Location for a First Date, Eddie and you would’ve won first place. You both agreed on going to the Hawkins’ graveyard. The place worked to ease your nerves, somehow.

Many graves had stories you’d heard over the years. And of course, the metalhead guy loved to hear about them, tagging on with his versions or additions to them.

The date went well and it definitely helped to fuel both of your delusions of being cool and oh, so edgy. In reality, you were just two nerds walking and laughing in an inappropriate place, while not having the guts to admit this was a date. 

When the “hanging out” turned to actual dates, you knew it was going to be impossible to hide it from Robin. And you braced yourself for her reaction.

“How many times did you kiss him?”

If she'd asked a day before, you would confidently say ‘three times’. But after the makeout session the night before, it wasn’t like you could keep count of that.

Your skin crawled by imagining telling this to her, so of course, you omitted the question.

“No, wait wait! Don't answer that. I need a complete timeline: from the first date to the first kiss, to now.”

You scoffed.

“What are you waiting for? Start talking.” 

Oh, she was serious about it.

So you talked, knowing there wasn’t any way of getting out of it.

She already knew about the graveyard, so there was little comment to make about it. 

The words you chose were careful, though. Robin wasn’t too thrilled about Munson at all, so you had to put effort in making him look as good as possible while keeping it in the realm of possibility. 

You spoke about how witty he was, but didn’t mention the fact that you held your breath the first time you walked into his room. Not that you were the picture of cleanliness, let’s be honest, but you had wondered just how long had it been since his sheets had seen the inside of a washing machine. (Not like that had stopped you from rolling around on his bed, anyway).

You talked of how he was actually a bookworm and really interesting to converse with, but kept quiet about how, just on your third date, he immediately asked you to stay the night after getting his hands under your shirt. 

You told Robin about his encyclopedic knowledge of music, similar to Robin's, but carefully omitted the fact that he had bitten you despite you asking him not to. You had moaned at it, either way.

Trusting him was a hard task. Sure, maybe you were paranoid, but this guy made up stories as a hobby. And even if he didn’t, he seemed too eager to impress any girl in his vicinity to be a hundred percent trustful.

“Oh, I don't believe you.” That phrase came out of your mouth so often now, it was almost funny.

“I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die.” Dramatic as always, of course.

“Sure, whatever you say, man.”

But truths and lies weren’t that important when he kissed you so sweetly. As sweet as this brute could be. It was very endearing. 

You didn’t give a fuck if that fight he was telling you about was real, or if his band was as awesome as he said, not when he pulled your hair and bit your lip in that way that made you shiver. 

Let him talk, you thought, he had a cute mouth anyway.

Between nerdy conversations about Lord of the Rings or music, and heated makeout sessions on his bed, or yours (whichever was available at the time), there was always a debate that bubbled up between you two.

“Doesn’t that fuck up your brain or whatever?” 

“princess, it’s 1986. Everyone smokes weed.” You had stopped fighting that nickname long ago, you even stopped cringing at it, somehow.

“Not everyone!” 

“Yeah, well, it’s you and Vicki against the world, then.”

It’s not like you ever expected him to change his ways; that was stupid. But it was annoying when he expected you to just… be okay with it.

Still, he stopped smoking when he was with you —wow, what a gentleman!— and you ignored the fact that he may or may not sell pot. Closing your eyes and letting his hands wander was the best way to forget everything about it.

The sun was already setting on a beautiful Saturday afternoon when you brought it up.

“Remember how I told you Robin doesn’t like you much? Like, at all.” Your breath felt a bit shallow, you had kissed for what felt like hours at this point.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, uh… It’s mostly because she told me she saw you and Chrissy Cunningham together the other day… You know, alone and everything.” Your gaze was unblinking, boring into his eyes as if you were trying to read his mind.

His blush was a little more intense than before, reaching his ears, but he didn't hesitate in answering, “I never talked to her before, Robin must have mistaken me for another person.”

Your silence must have freaked him out a bit, because he croaked a tiny “I swear!” that sounded quite pathetic, even for him.

The intention of this whole afternoon was to talk to him about being exclusive. You hadn’t been mad about the Chrissy thing, really. It wasn’t like Eddie and you were official at all. Even if he liked to make it very obvious that you were together every time he crossed paths with you at school. But now that he was denying everything? Yeah, the exclusivity thing didn’t sound so appealing to you anymore.

Because you’d lied. It wasn’t just Robin that caught him, you were there, too.

“Are you sure, Eddie? I’m not… I’m not mad about it.” But you were starting to be.

“Yes, yes! It’s funny, actually… I, uh, had like, the biggest crush on her in middle school, you know? But not anymore, princess! I don’t even look in her direction, I promise.”

You felt like you hadn’t blinked in the last five minutes. 

Fuck this! You didn’t want to be his girlfriend. That was never the intention with this whole thing. You just wanted to have some damn fun for once.

“Okay…” You said carefully, “just… don’t expect Robin to talk nicely to you, okay?”

“I’m used to people not liking me, princess, nothing new.”

Your smile was tight, and the way he twirled his hair had never bothered you this much before.

“So, I heard there’s this party next Saturday...” You said.

The mirror smiled back at you after you applied your lipstick. You were already a little tipsy after the pregame at Vicki’s, but you did your makeup flawlessly in front of her bathroom mirror. 

’Hot’ was the right word to describe you that Saturday, you felt confident, you looked cool, and you were definitely ready for some kissing and smooching. If you ended up in Eddie’s van? Even better.

Your friends were not so thrilled about seeing Eddie, not after the Chrissy thing, but they knew they couldn’t do much to stop you. Those were your bad decisions to make.

The party was flooding with people, and it took an absurd amount of time to find Eddie, even when he was the flashiest thing in the room. 

By the time you got to him, you were way too drunk. No longer just tipsy. The unknown substance in your red cup was doing its job, and you could barely keep steady on your feet when you found yourself in his arms.

Your friends were cringing hard when you kissed him in front of them, staining his face with lipstick. He was very, very pleased with it, though. Even if he felt heavily judged by everyone in your circle.

In the end, he ended up taking you home, but not in the way you’d have liked. Because the moment you stepped outside and started to walk to his van, heavy nausea hit you with the cold air of the night, 

Your vomit stained his sneakers a bit, but he didn’t complain. In fact, he had never been this gentlemanly before. Even your friends, usually very unimpressed with him, were surprised.

He made sure you drank water, wrapping you in his jacket and then drove you home, making sure you made it up the stairs without falling and tucking you in like a good, responsible boy,

“I’m sorry I ruined the night.” You murmured sleepily before he left.

“Are you kidding? You throwing up was so metal! I’m honored I got to witness it.”

He was such a freak.

You were tugging at your hair, frustrated. After just finishing it, you accidentally tipped your glass of water over all your homework, so you had to redo it. Then, your friends who were supposed to hang out at your house didn’t show up, and you had cooked for them. And while you tried to calm down with a nice hot coffee, your favourite mug slipped from your hands and shattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You needed to call Eddie. Maybe he’d help you laugh about it a little.

The phone call had been 30 minutes long at this point. You sighed, feeling a little better, but still guilty for talking about yourself and your own problems nonstop.

“I feel like I complain too much sometimes,” you chuckled.

“Princess, I know the female population, okay? They are always complaining about everything, all the time. I’m used to it, don’t worry.” 

He knows the what, now?

“Eddie, what the fuck?” But the idiot kept on talking.

“Yeah, princess, it’s fine. I mean, we guys don’t give a shit about most things. But that’s just natural, you know? It’s like, biological.”

Hanging up on him had never felt so good. No goodbye, no nothing. Seriously, who does he think he is?

You needed to call Robin. Maybe she’d help you laugh about it a little.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

This conversation wasn’t meant to be had over the phone, but the winter break had just started, and you were leaving on vacation the next day. Leaving this matter to stretch over time would just make it worse. You wanted to enjoy your holidays without anything weighting on your mind.

Not that he could ever convince you to stay with him, anyway. There had been a long talk with your friends about all this. And the jury had decided he should be executed out of your life. You agreed, of course.

There was only so many things one could ignore in the name of fun. And when your frustration started to surpass the enjoyment, what was the point? 

He was not the type of guy you could introduce to your parents. He was not even the type of guy you could see with a steady relationship. You realized you wanted a little bit more romance than he could get you.

So you mentally prepared yourself for this phone call, for his insistence, for his endless questions, even for some anger.

“I didn’t mean to tell you this over the phone, I’m sorry.” Your voice was steady, clear, no sign of doubt.

“Oh…” Silence. And then, a moment after: “It’s okay, I get it. Thank you for these last few months.”

“Uh, Eddie-”

“Goodbye.”

You stuttered a goodbye, but it was too late, he had already hung up. 

Shortest phone call of your life.

“Honey, he sells drugs. You didn’t know that?”

“Not until very recently…” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Your friend laughed, shaking her head.

Now, your friends would have something to tease you about for the rest of your life. And you’d have all that time to pretend you didn’t enjoy his company or act like you didn’t notice what a mess he was.

And maybe he’d try to contact you again, try to get close. But you’d ignore him, walking awkwardly past him in the school hallway.

Still, he’d live forever in your mind as the one your friends didn’t like.

[kingkat12]

... had a hunch (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: sex, piv sex, vampire sex, rough(?) sex, slight choking, light gore, angst, breaking and entering, Roman being creepy (ofc), stalking, blood, reader needs to lock her damn window

summary: in the light of the murder of Brooke Bluebell, you are starting to get paranoid-- is someone watching you? and if so, who is it?

word count: 11,472

never have I ever: ← previous chapter

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: this chapter has been SO FUN to write AHHH!!! and this is also the hottest gif ever, shoutout to Niki<33 ENJOYYYYY!!<3333

I was used to being lonely, which is why it was so odd to wake up with a feeling that I wasn't alone.

Rubbing my eyes with haste at the sound of my alarm clock going off, I blinked over and over to make sure that the chair in the corner of my room wasn't occupied. Had I seen a shadow just now, or was that just the remainder of sleep in my eye? 

The chair was empty. Still. Perfectly still in the corner, just as it had been ever since the day I bought it. Nonetheless, I stayed sitting upright, covers twisted at my waist, heart thudding without a clear reason. There was nothing wrong-- not really. My door was shut. My window cracked just enough to let in the night air, same as always. Everything was where it should be, and yet, I had the distinct sense that someone had just slipped out a second before I stirred.

It must've been all the talk about the serial killer from Iowa, surely. Maybe even a touch of vargulf. Roman's manic ramblings must've gotten to me. If I was having nightly vampire dream-sex, I wouldn't dismiss my mind making up similar spooky things while awake. 

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing the cold floor. A whisper of chill breeze clung to the air like it hadn't had time to fade yet; autumn must be right around the corner, now. I didn't usually get scared in my own room, I didn't get paranoid, but something about last night, calling him, had loosened something in me I couldn't put back together.

My eyes drifted back to the chair. It was empty, unmoved, yet the vague impression of warmth, or presence, still curled around the corners of the room like smoke. I shook my head and stood up, brushing it all off-- it had just been a dream. Or was it a guilt-hangover from calling Roman like that, so late, so needy? Ugh, what the fuck had I done? How was I supposed to face him at school today?

With a light groan, I stepped toward the bathroom, but something made me glance down.

The faintest imprint, a scuff maybe, or the softened shape of a shoe, was pressed into the carpet just beside my window.

... Oh. 

I didn't let myself stare. I didn't let myself believe it. This was paranoia. A killer was on the loose in Hemlock Grove after all-- of course I was going insane. This was just my imagination. Hysteria?

I knew what could calm me down; my favourite little detour on my way to school.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The usual hues of sunlight shone through the thickness of the trees as I kicked at a nearby chestnut-- this had almost become a ritual whenever I came to Richmond Park.

I wasn't here often, but recently, this place had become a shrine to what had been, and what could've been; staring ahead at the tree where I had carved mine and Roman's initials all that time ago, I brought the cigarette to my lips, committing to my new smoking addiction, completely alone in the outskirts of the forest with a killer on the loose. Reckless. If I were dying on the inside, then I supposed that the monument of my love could join me in death. Kamikaze, bitches.

Last night's phone call lingered in my brain, making me cringe. What had I done? At least I got it confirmed that Roman still thought of me, dreamed of me. As I kept staring at the tree like a complete lunatic, I remembered the last time I was here with him...

"I'll be better for you," Roman's green eyes met mine, his grip around my waist loosening before he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Whatever Letha says about me, I need you to not believe it. I'm asking you to kill me, in a sense."

"What?--"

"I want you to make me so sick that I die in your arms," Roman let out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against mine as his eyes closed shut. "I think it'd make me feel good. I don't want to be so bitter and angry all the time... and I feel good with you. Really good."

My heart swelled as I brought my hands up to cup his face, my thumbs stroking over his cheeks as we stood still. There were leaves rustling in the distance, and a sweltering breeze that passed us briefly, but all in all, it was just Roman and I in this deserted area of the park. I could easily agree that it felt good, that it felt right-- just my pretty boyfriend and me.

I got up on my tippytoes, pulling Roman in for a gentle kiss. It made my heart swell, made the tips of my fingers burn as I felt his cold breath against my cheek when he exhaled through his nose.

Roman's hands pushed against the small of my back, drawing me in as close as humanly possible. The kiss deepened with every breath, with every pull of the other-- "Choose us," he pleaded, mouthing his words into my lips. "Me and you. Us."

I shivered-- if only I had listened to him.

My cigarette was halfway burnt, the ash curling dangerously close to my knuckles, but I couldn't even feel it anymore. My head was spinning, my heart was aching-- I just wanted everything to go back to how it was, to the time when I would fall asleep with Roman's head on my chest, my fingers stroking through his hair, with his arms wrapped around me... fucking Letha.

But then, amid my sulking, I heard it; the crunch of leaves behind me. 

I froze.

It wasn't soft or casual, like a jogger or someone out for a walk. It was deliberate, heavy, like weight shifting from paw to paw.

I whipped around, my heart stalling in my chest, cigarette tumbling from my fingers. My eyes scanned the dense line of trees behind me, but it was already darker there, the canopy of trees hiding what little light the gray sky would give. The shuffle of leaves murmured quietly behind me, and suddenly, every rustle sounded like it was breathing. Maybe Roman was right? Maybe there truly was a vargulf on the loose?

The more I searched, the less I found. I concluded that it was nothing, as always-- still, something about the air had shifted. It was thicker now, watching me; I hated how quickly my brain fell for Roman's stupid wolf theories. 

I told myself it was nonsense, but I suddenly couldn't stop imagining it. Was this the same thing I had sensed in my room this morning? The yellow eyes, the saliva, the torn skin-- why did Roman's great-grandfather's drawings have to be so grotesquely detailed? Damn the darn Godfreys.

Another sharp crack of a branch-- my whole body flinched. "Jesus Christ," I huffed, stomping down on an innocent leaf before quickly making my way back to my car. Of course there was no such thing as a vargulf, or werewolf, or whatever, but...

I wasn't about to risk it.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

For the first time in a while, I was excited to get out to school; it would hopefully distract me from this odd morning.

The parking lot was already filled up when I pulled in much later than usual, the early morning sun slanting hard across the windshield and making everything look too bright. I killed the engine and just sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to decide whether it was stupid or brave to ask Roman to come today. Was he going to? Would we talk? Would he end up sticking his tongue down some girl's throat in front of me again? I hoped not. God, how I hoped not. 

Dread and excitement piled up in my stomach as I stepped out, trying to dig the car key out of my pocket and lock the door before I could overthink any of it. I was so deep in my head, I didn't even notice the sudden giggles rolling through the lot until it was too late.

Why would a bunch of girls be giggling to themselves with delight at 08:13 in the morning? I should've known.

There he was, Roman Godfrey, walking like he was above gravity, like he didn't belong to the pavement under his boots. His backpack hung loosely over one shoulder, his dark jacket falling open just enough to hint at the grey Henley beneath it-- collar loose, like he didn't care how indecently good it looked on him. His brown hair kissed his forehead, gelled like he didn't have time, like he didn't give a damn, messier than usual, catching the morning light in just the right places.

A group of girls buzzed around him; cheerleaders mostly, the usual gang. Lips glossed, laughing, one of them gripping his bicep as she giggled at something he didn't say. He wasn't even looking at them-- he didn't need to. Actually, Roman looked annoyed as hell. I wondered whether the group of girls sometimes felt like the paparazzi; they certainly never gave him a moment's worth of peace. Did some part of him like it, though? I bet. 

And then, somehow, Roman's piercing green eyes found mine through the noise. 

Of course.

He saw me through the sea of laughing girls, and everything else just... vanished. The parking lot, the cars, the sound-- gone. I stood frozen by my car, clutching my car keys, lips parted as my heart abused the inner linings of my ribs. 

Roman didn't smile, didn't blink. His gaze was so still, so direct, that it felt like being pinned in place by something invisible, like he could hear everything I was thinking. Nothing in that darn upir book said anything about mind-reading, so I concluded that I had to be safe from that, at least. However, I knew for certain that he could hear my heart. Fuck. 

And standing there, in the middle of a crowded high school parking lot, I felt it all hit me like a second heartbeat-- hot, aching, shameful. I wanted him back. God, how I wanted him back, how I wanted it to not be like this, how I wanted to go back in time. Why were the cheerleaders clinging to my Roman? I wanted to rip them to pieces, limb by limb, every single one of them, systematically. Shouldn't they be in mourning over their captain, Brooke? Shouldn't they be sobbing in a corner somewhere, and not slobbering over Roman? I was honestly two seconds from tossing my car keys at the blonde bimbo to his left-- maybe I'd manage to jab the metal into her temple? Sideways lobotomy. Was that a thing?

As my wrath came to a simmer, and as my heart threatened to explode at the sight of Roman's full mouth, his big eyes, the broadness of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the fact that he was here, that he had showed up, that he had done this tiny little thing for me, someone said his name and touched his other arm-- he looked away, and just like that, the spell snapped.

I exhaled so suddenly that it made me lightheaded. Roman kept walking, swallowed up by the crowd; the pom-poms followed, their voices rising again like nothing had happened, like I wasn't standing here as though struck by lightning. 

And just as I realized that the parking lot had nearly emptied, that I had stood here simmering in the aftermath for a bit too long, and that I was about to be late to class, an unexpected voice cut through the fog; "I wonder who forced him to come in today,"

Jolting, I turned toward the sound.

Letha stood there, leaning against my car with her arms crossed over her chest, sleeves pushed up on that stupidly expensive lilac sweater she always wore when she wanted to look soft-- she didn't look soft now, though. Quite the contrary, she looked like something had scraped her out from the inside and left just the shape behind; her eyes were sunken, her skin was paler than usual, and she had a quiet look about her that I hadn't seen before. Usually, she was a flame that burned bright, but now?

None of that mattered. 

I didn't care if she was sad. I didn't care if she was haunted. Snorting, I stuffed my car key into my backpack, refusing to keep looking at Letha. "You have quite the nerve," I hissed. "Go away. I don't want to talk to you."

"Aunt Olivia doesn't really have any influence over Roman anymore," Letha continued as though she hadn't heard me. "So it can't have been her. Was it you? Are you two talking again?"

"Fuck off," I adjusted my backpack before rounding my car, avoiding walking past Letha, yet she followed. Her expensive boots clicked lightly against the pavement as she trailed after me, not fast enough to be chasing, but close enough to make my skin crawl. I didn't look back-- I wouldn't give her that much.

"You know," she went on, voice quieter now. "It's kind of poetic. You dragged him out of bed and into the sun... That's a big deal for a upir."

"Shut up," I snapped over my shoulder-- I didn't want to have the upir conversation with Letha again, and especially not this openly for anyone to hear. All she ever did was lie, anyway.

"I mean it," she continued. "Roman listens to you."

"He can be in the sun," I spat, clutching my backpack harder.

Letha hummed behind me, shrugging to herself; "Yeah, I know. But I'm just saying, despite everything that's happened, he obviously still loves you, so... I can't have messed everything up that bad?" 

The disgust that tore through my body was indescribable. There was something so vile, so insensitive, so disgusting about the way her words were formulated, like she had been waiting all week to find the perfect moment to ambush me and try to wash herself free of the guilt that was clearly ravaging her-- no. 

Balling my hands into fists, I turned around on my heel, stopping in my tracks, and watched as  Letha did the same with a bit of a wince, like she was convinced I would strike her if she moved a muscle. 

"Oh, you little piece of--" I stopped. Inhaled. Squeezed my eyes shut. Through gritted teeth, I continued; "If it is sympathy you're looking for, I suggest you start rummaging through the trash. You fucked up. Face it."

Letha blinked at me, and I quickly noticed the smear of mascara under one of her eyes. Her mouth parted like she might say something else, something apologetic, or worse, burst into tears. "I didn't ruin everything," she breathed, mostly to herself, like a chant that would calm her down. "This is fixable. You and Roman still have a chance."

I had no pity to offer. No consolation, none whatsoever. "Roman and I weren't supposed to only have a chance," I echoed. "We were supposed to be forever. Fuck you for meddling with that."

Letha's glossy, green eyes stuck to me like the cigarette smoke I had grown to depend on-- ugly and clinging, and something I'd smell on my clothes for the rest of the day. 

I adjusted my backpack over my shoulder, sniffling before landing my last blow; "Honestly, Letha? I wish it had been you that night, and not Brooke."

Something in me shifted-- I hadn't expected to blurt that out. I didn't want to see the aftermath of that sentence, along with the look of shock on Letha's face, so with all the hatred I could muster in my body, I turned again and walked toward the school. 

Thankfully, Letha didn't follow.

She probably didn't want to anymore.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I wasn't paying attention-- of course.

Mr. Deacon was talking about monks in the Middle Ages that I didn't give a crap about, but all I could think about was Roman's haunting eyes in the parking lot. With my elbow propped on the desk, with my head in my hand, I wondered whether I'd catch a glimpse of him in the hallway after this period, whether he was still avoiding me, or worse, not avoiding me-- maybe I just didn't interest him in the way I did before? Maybe my pathetic phone call last night had given him the ick?

However... he had mentioned that he dreamed of me too.

Nothing upir related, though, I was sure of it-- or was I? Perhaps we were having the same dream? I doubted that, but amid my severe boredom (and trying to distract myself from my earlier run-in with Letha), this was the only topic that distracted me well enough to tune out Mr. Deacon's voice.

It was the second-to-last period; my chances of speaking to Roman today were running out. At this point, I'd settle for walking past him in the hall, another look, a brush of his shoulder against mine as he nudged his way through the crowd-- honestly, I would take anything to keep from feeling like he had slipped entirely through my fingers.

The tip of my pen hovered over my notebook, and I was about to try to sketch something, maybe his eyes, until suddenly, the intercom buzzed; it crackled overhead like it had been zapped alive. 

"Attention, students of Hemlock Grove High. Please remain calm,"

... Oh no. 

My stomach turned, my head tilted up as the entire class stilled, and Mr. Deacon turned toward the speaker like he wasn't sure he'd heard it right.

"Due to an ongoing investigation, school will be dismissed immediately. All students are required to gather their belongings and make arrangements to go home. Teachers, check your emails for further instructions,"

The air went thin. For a second, no one moved-- it was like everyone was waiting for someone else to react first. Then, within the blink of an eye, chairs screeched against the floor, backpacks zipped with urgency, and phones were already out, faces glowing in the blue wash of screen light as everyone hurried to get out of the classroom. There was an odd atmosphere in the air, where people were unsure whether to be happy about the dismissal or worried about the reason why, and as I followed the stream out into the hallway, I tried to pick up on the chatter;

"What happened?"

"Oh my God--"

"-- They found a body in that park!--"

"Another girl?"

"-- In the woods, check Twitter!"

My brain scrambled to fill in the blanks. I had a bad feeling about which park the new girl could've been murdered at. The worst part was that I felt like I already knew; I just knew, in that same cold, nauseating way you know something before anyone says it out loud. Could it have happened in the same woods where I had been less than four hour ago, where the trees were thick enough to swallow sound, where I had stood with a cigarette in hand beside that stupid fucking tree with our initials carved in it?

... Were my suspicions correct? Was I being watched?

With these questions in mind, my heart thrummed in my chest, my chest aching as I clutched my phone, feeling it vibrate. Then the most damning thought landed, hard and unshakable; what if I was supposed to be next?

Just as I was about to properly spiral, now pressed from all sides in the crammed hallway, halfway to a proper panic-attack, I got nudged with a force so harsh, I let out a whimper of pain and spun to face the violent perpetrator; "Hey!" I barked, taking a few steps in the other direction of the swarm around me. "Watch where you're going, jackass!"

But the second the nudger turned around fully, the incoming words snagged in my throat.

It was Peter.

Only, it wasn't really Peter; not the one I knew. Not the same, sarcastic Peter who always had a smartass comment cocked and ready-- this version of him looked half-gone. His dark, soft waves were flattened with sweat or sleep or both, his skin waxy and tight across the bones of his face. And to make it even more eerie, his eyes were rimmed dark, hollowed out like he hadn't closed them in days. All in all, he looked like someone who had seen a ghost and never quite recovered.

Then, without warning, Peter grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to make me flinch, like he needed to anchor me in place. His grip was cold and trembling as he spoke; "You need to go home now,"

"I'm-- yeah, I'm on my way now, but what's?--"

"Don't try to investigate anything, okay?" Peter panted. "Keep Roman in check, and just-- where's Letha?"

With the mention of her name, I wafted Peter's hands off me, huffing as I shivered. "Fuck off, dude! What's wrong with you? I saw Letha a few hours ago, but she's not the one who was!--"

Peter stared at me like he wanted me to shut up, so I did. But then, just like that, he shook his head; "Never mind," he muttered, twitching. "Forget it. Just-- be careful, okay?"

Before I could argue, he turned and melted back into the chaos like smoke. No explanation, no real answer-- Peter left me standing there, stomach hollow with unease. 

The crowd of students was making me claustrophobic, their chatter buzzing against my ears like a swarm of flies. I pushed through, elbow-first, heart still slamming against my ribs as I moved toward the parking lot, barely feeling the cold air when I finally shoved the door open and stumbled outside. 

Had another girl seriously been killed? Was this a rumour, was this real? Who could it have been? 

My fingers were trembling as I unlocked my car, the weight of what Peter had said, along with what he hadn't said, dragging behind me like a shadow. My keys slipped in my grip, clattered once against the side door, and when I finally got them in, yanked the handle open, and sat down in the driver's seat--

Knock, knock, knock.

The harsh tapping against my window set me off, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I screamed-- actually screamed.

With one hand over my heart, I leaned over, panting as I rolled my window down. "You scared the shit out of me!" I barked, clutching my chest as I glanced up at my intruder. 

Roman didn't flinch at my yelling, but he didn't apologize either-- he didn't usually do either of those things. He leaned into the open window like he owned the air I was breathing, one hand braced on the roof of my car as he looked down at me with that sharp, pissed-off expression. His green eyes were darker than usual, and his hair caught the last gasp of sunlight like a halo of obsidian. "You pulled into the parking lot late this morning," he said, low, deliberate. "Where the hell were you?

I blinked, still trying to breathe. "Are you kidding me, Roman?"

"No," he said, voice flat, green gaze unmoving. "Where were you?"

"... I took a bit of a detour," I didn't mean to sound defensive, but it felt somehow unavoidable; "Not a big deal. I've been doing that all week, not that you'd care to notice."

Roman's fingers twitched where they gripped the edge of the car, glaring down at me with that patronizing look I loved and hated. "Where?"

I sighed; "Remember where I went crazy and carved our initials into that tree?"

"Richmond park?"

"Yep. But I had this weird feeling that someone was watching me while I was there, and now... now someone's dead,"

"... Fuck," Roman pulled back just an inch, like my confession had knocked something loose in him. His jaw clenched, and I could see the pulse ticking in his neck-- could he hear mine right now? "That's where they found the new girl."

"Crap. I knew it," I breathed, shifting in my seat to make myself more comfortable; that was almost impossible in the presence of the beauty of my ex-boyfriend. "Do you know who it was?"

Roman sighed, folding his arms against my window ledge, resting his chin there as he stared back at me with that focused look I knew too well, green eyes gazing back at mine. "No, but I'll find out,"

He said it like a promise, a promise I loathed for his sake, but there was something heavy underneath-- it was almost as though he didn't believe it had happened again, and that we hadn't gotten far enough in our investigation to stop it. For a second, just a second, he didn't look like Roman Godfrey; the heir, the nightmare, the heartbreaker. Now, he looked like a boy too young to carry everything he did.

"Rome..." I tried, softer now. My fingers hovered near the window ledge before I slowly reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. It was wind-tousled and glossy, catching the last of the light like black silk. I don't know what made me do it-- habit, maybe. Care. Stupidity?

I felt Roman tense beneath my touch, but he didn't pull away; that gave me enough hope to go on. His big, green eyes rounded out like he couldn't believe he was letting me do this, so I chose my next words wisely; "You should be careful," I murmured, thumb brushing the line of his temple. "I know you have that direct line to the police intercom, but... I told you I don't want you to do this alone. What if you hop in, and I can take you back to my place, so we can check it out together? My parents will only be happy to see you, and you can stay for dinner, and--"

Roman recoiled like I had struck him.

Not violently, no-- just quick, sharp, like his body had made the decision before his brain could. He straightened fully from the window, tapping his hand twice on the roof of my car before he took a step back. "Don't," he said. The word was quiet, but it hit harder than a shout. 

My heart clenched in a manner I was way too used to these days; "I wasn't-- I didn't mean--"

"I'll go figure out who it was," Roman said, shaking his head once, twice. "Get home safe, okay? Text me when you get there."

"But--"

"I know it takes sixteen minutes from here to your house, so if I don't get a text by that time, I'm calling your mom to confirm that you're home," 

I gasped; "Roman, what the fuck?!--"

He cut me off with a swift, dismissive motion of his hand, no longer the brooding, impossible Roman I knew, but someone who just needed control, order, and something to hold onto in the chaos. "Just stay put," he ordered, his green eyes locking onto mine. "I'm going to be careful, but only if you go home with no detours."

Blinking, I didn't know what else to do than nod. There was no way in hell I'd go through having one more conversation with my mom about why Roman and I broke up, which I knew would be triggered if he called her. 

"But you two were so perfect for each other!" Oh, I know. "Did he do something wrong?" Well... "I bet he'd take you back if it was somehow your fault, you two just need to talk to one another!" Too late for that. "Young love... unnecessarily complicated. I don't miss it." No shit, mom. 

I sighed; "Ugh, fine... Just please don't call my mom, because then she's going to think it's okay to call you and ask you to come over for dinner all the time, and... I don't need my mom playing matchmaker in the middle of this," 

With that, Roman smirked-- just the faintest crack in his armour as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving mine. "Deal," 

Then, without another word, Roman turned and disappeared down the parking lot, leaving me alone with my racing heart and a sudden appetite for dinner. I did my best not to stare at him as he walked away, scanning the broadness of his back, how good his legs looked in those light jeans--

Oh, I needed to sink my teeth into something, alright.

... Preferably Roman's shoulders, but dinner would do for now.

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"Why would anyone love a monster?" Roman whispered-- and that was when I knew I was back in the dream. 

However, there was something new about the way he moved tonight, with slightly hesitant strokes, like he didn't quite trust himself. I could only whimper against Roman's shoulder, clinging harder, like I could pull the doubt out from his back with my fingers, like I could dig deep enough to reach the part of him that still believed he was capable of goodness, of true love. 

But then, in the midst of the daze, in the midst of my pleasure, the dream diverted and diverged down a different road, one it had never taken before--

"Because," I breathed. "You're not a monster."

Roman stilled, like the sentence had stunned something vital in him. His breath caught, hot and shallow, before he pulled forward and kissed me like I had blasphemed, like I had dared to call the devil a saint, and he wanted to make sure no one else heard my sin. "Gonna-- Gonna keep you safe," he murmured against my lips. "Gonna love you-- forever."

Forever.

Even dream-sequence Roman knew our magic word; touché.

His thrusts deepened, bucking into me like he couldn't help himself, like nothing could ever drag him away from this pleasure. This was nothing like he would usually fuck me in my dreams, with confidence, with decisive control-- what was happening?

Then, with a ragged breath, he slowed and pulled out to flip me in his arms; not rough, not urgent, but reverent, like he was reorienting the dream around something more sacred than dominance. Was reality perhaps infiltrating my dreamland? Roman lay behind me now, one of his thighs nudging mine open again, his chest pressed to my back, his hand sliding over my hip to guide me back to him; I could only gasp as his cock entered me again, letting out a shaky moan as the usual stretch sent shivers up my spine. In this position, it was impossible not to notice how massive Roman was compared to me, how small I felt in comparison, and it made my brain buzz. 

We moved like that, spooned and aching, his mouth close to my ear, his breath ghosting down the column of my throat as his thumb circled my clit in lazy motions. I arched against him, feeling an odd type of purr building in me from the comfort-- seriously, what the hell was happening to my upir sex dream?! Was this just a sweet, normal one, this time around?

But then, of course, I was proven wrong.

Then, like he had been waiting for the right moment, like he was done buttering me up, Roman's hand slid up from my waist to my throat. Not tentative, not cautious-- claiming. His fingers spread beneath my jaw, thumb pressing gently under the hinge, while the rest of his palm flattened over my pulse like he wanted to feel my heart beat for him, like it turned him on to feel my heart. My breath hitched instinctively, but I didn't pull away; I couldn't. Not when his cock was still inside me, slow and thick, grinding deeper like he was trying to anchor himself inside my body, like he wanted me to feel how overpowered I was in his presence. 

And then Roman's voice, no longer warm or tender, cut through the silence, low and feral, close enough that it felt like it came from inside me;

"Mine,"

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't reassuring.

It was a threat.

I felt it in my chest, in the base of my spine, in the part of me that the tip of his cock brushed against over and over. Roman's grip didn't tighten, but the intention was there, like this was a reminder that he could snap me in half if he wanted to, and that knowledge alone made me clench around him.

Roman could kill me. Roman was a upir.

"Don't you fucking see?" he whispered, his fangs brushing the shell of my ear, the words so viciously tender they made me shiver. "You're the-- only thing I want, the only fucking thing in this world that isn't rotten, and if anyone tries to touch you-- tries to take you-- from me--"

Did he mean the vargulf?

I didn't get any time to think about it-- Roman cut himself off with a grunt, and in one fluid, brutal motion, he pushed himself deeper, past what he knew I'd allow in real life. I gasped, my fingers flying up to grip the forearm pressed firm against my collarbone, trying to ground myself as his cock dragged inside me over and over, the pressure making my toes curl. "Rome-- a-ah, I--" There wasn't much I could do with my body pressed up against him like this, with one big, strong hand around my throat keeping me flush to his chest, so I allowed myself to succumb to the pleasure of it all.

Then, Roman's fangs grazed that fragile tendon at the base of my neck, and I could feel the restraint in him fraying-- so thin, so threadbare, that it was a miracle he hadn't already sunk his sharp teeth into me. "I'll rip their goddamn hearts out," he snarled against my skin. "I'll tear the world apart, limb by limb-- anyone that tries-- to hurt you."

His possessiveness wasn't sweet; it was brutal, like I was being fucked by an instinctual animal. Of course. I was getting fucked by a upir-- what did I expect? "Love you," was all I managed to say, letting my head rest against him, feeling my body buzz from the unrelenting circles around my aching clit. 

At that, Roman pushed his hips harder, dragging guttural moans from my throat that I had never emitted before. "Say it," he demanded, the fingers on my throat twitching like he wanted to squeeze and kiss me in the same breath. "Say you're mine. Say it, or I swear to God-- I'll fuck it out of you, ngh--"

My breath hitched; I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken, desperate sound, too wrecked to be a word. Roman groaned against my skin, savage and triumphant, like he knew exactly where he had me-- it was unlike him to be so... rough? 

Upir, upir, upir.

... But not a scary one.

"Yours," I breathed. "Yours."

Roman's big, protective arm wrapped around me like a hug from behind, and he let out a quiet moan into my neck, careful not to be so loud, in typical male fashion. In real life, he knew I loved to hear him. He knew, he knew-- knew what it did to me to hear him wrecked by the sensations. I wanted to go back to that, wanted the real Roman to come to me so, so bad, to kiss my neck without me fearing he'd pierce it. 

And then, as if he had heard me; "I'm full tonight," he murmured, almost as though he was comforting me. "Wake up, now."

My breath caught. "What?"

"Come back to me. Wake up and tell me that," Roman pressed a soft, reverent kiss to my neck, slowing down his thrusts, his motions around my clit-- "Wake up and tell me you're mine."

Something in me cracked; with a loud, all-taking sob, I awoke.

I sat upright fast, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat cooling over my skin in clammy patches, and I immediately reached for my neck.

There was nothing there, of course. No bite marks, no bruises. My fingers skimmed the soft skin just below my jaw where Roman's hand had been, half-expecting to feel the echo of his palm still stamped across my pulse, a reminder of my beating heart. It was stupid, it was impossible, and yet the ghost of him lingered-- the warmth, pressure, that trembling, protective hunger he'd held me with. God.

I let out a low, broken sound and rubbed the side of my neck harder, trying to shake the feeling. I swallowed and finally let my eyes adjust to the dark in my room, realizing I couldn't see anything. Scooting toward my window with a groan, I pulled my curtains apart just a smidge to allow some moonlight to shine in-- and that was when I realized my window was open.

My breath caught in my throat as I remembered this morning.

The footprints. The shadow. The park. The new death.

My whole body went cold-- there was no sound, not even the hum of my fan, not the rustle of the wind outside. Just the paralyzing quiet of something unnatural in the room with me, something that shouldn't be there, something that had no reason to exist outside the dream I had just left.

Slowly, I peeled my fingers off the curtain and twisted on the bed. First my shoulders, then my spine, reluctant as ever as my eyes dragged across the room in pieces, shapes blooming out of the dark one at a time; my desk, the corner of my bookshelf, the faint glint of light catching the edge of my mirror--

-- and then I saw it.

Him.

Roman.

Sat in the same chair as this morning, his body was relaxed in that obscene, deliberate way villains are when they know they've already won-- elbows balanced on the armrests like he had been waiting hours. He tilted his head the barest inch, studying me like someone with fangs might study a wound before biting deeper. The moonlight caught the angle of his cheekbones, the unholy stillness of his jaw, and his green eyes, glowing, sharp, and awake, like lights flipping on in the dark, immediately locked onto mine with predator clarity. No blinking. No hiding. He was here, and he was making himself known, this time.

It was as though he had been posted here to guard me.

Still, that didn't startle me any less. What did, was what I noticed he was holding. 

Two small glass vials swung lazily between his fingers, catching the light like tiny haunted ornaments. One filled with his blood. One with mine.

With a loud hitch of my breath, I pulled my sheets over my body, my blood running cold with the shock. "Fuck!" I yelped, my eyes welling with tears-- that always happened when I got properly scared. I lowered my voice, careful not to wake my parents, hissing; "Roman, what the fuck?!"

I saw the slight rise of his chest, heard the soft creak of the chair beneath his weight. And then, slowly, too slowly, Roman's fingers unlinked, pulling the vials into the palm of his hand. "Must've been quite the dream," he pondered out loud, cocking his head again, that same quiet, morbid interest in his face as he watched the vials. "You were practically humping your sheets."

"And you've just-- you've been watching me?" Horror washed over me, culminating in yet another aggressive hiss; "How long have you been here, you perv?!" 

"Long enough," Roman scanned me, brows drawing together as he saw how I was clutching my sheets over my body. He looked like he couldn't piece together why I was hiding from him; he had already seen everything he could've possibly seen before, right? But then, he saw it. "Oh, so that's where that went?" he said. 

I hadn't caught up, still shifting in my bed, trying to still my breath from the scare. "What went?"

"My t-shirt," Roman mumbled, pointing to the big, white Levi's tee I was wearing with the same hand that held the vials. "When did you manage?"

"That's not important!" I hissed, letting the duvets drop, yet my fingers remained clutched around the fabric as though it might save me. "How did you find the vials? Why are you in my room?!"

With a shrug and a sigh, Roman spread out in the chair as he avoided my first question. "Just... making sure you're alright,"

"What?" 

"I don't like the thought of you all... helpless and sleeping," he mumbled, put on the spot. "Vargulf on the loose, and all."

... Oh.

My fingers twitched around my sheets before I let them go, folding my legs and rubbing my eyes. There was something quiet and reserved about Roman's tone, yet something so painfully real-- he hadn't allowed himself to get to this level of depth with me since we broke up. "I'm fine, Rome," I tried, the nickname slipping past my lips before I could stop myself. "But you can't just... show up like this. How long have you been sitting here?"

Roman shrugged, no longer looking at me. "Not too long,"

"... Rome--"

"Stop calling me that," He fidgeted in the chair, much less composed now. "You're usually asleep by one in the morning, so I came by around one-thirty. Your moaning has kept me up, though."

"... Usually?"

Roman didn't answer that-- not right away.

Instead, he turned his face toward the window like he was studying the moonlight, or refusing to meet my eyes. His fingers closed around the vials, protecting them, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher; "I found out who it was,"

That stopped me cold. "Was it Letha?"

"No...?" Roman mumbled, shooting me a sideways glance.

"Okay, good,"

"... Why?"

"Because I told her this morning that I wished it had been her," The confession was a lot more vulnerable than I had thought it would sound out loud. "That night Brooke died. And I just wouldn't want to actually jinx anyone, that's all."

Roman clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth; "Right..." he started, nodding slowly to himself before his gaze darted back to the vials, pressing them together until they made a clinking noise. "No, it was Jasmine."

My breath caught in my throat, and I shifted in my bed, feeling my head throb. "Fuck," I breathed. "I hated that bitch."

"I know," Roman didn't blink, didn't move. "I hated her too, for what she did to you. Remember how she smashed your phone? Cut up your hands with those shards?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Your pretty, little hands..." he echoed, lost in thought as he watched the blood inside the vials move from side to side. "If anything, I might've been the one to jinx her. I wanted her dead. I think I even tried to kill her, in my own way."

I inhaled deeply; "I know,"

Finally, Roman's green eyes darted up to meet mine. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the vials still glinting in one hand, and his hair fell forward a little, casting shadows across his face. "You know?"

"Yeah, I know," I mumbled. "I remember watching you in the hallway telling her something, and then when you left, she started slamming her head into her locker. She bled a lot. She got a concussion. It's a bit blurry, but I know that was you. It took me a while, but... yeah."

Roman blinked, unsure how to react. Tongue-tied, he could only swallow. "You must've--" He cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes before continuing; "You must've been scared when you figured it out."

Well...

"Honestly, Roman?" With a sigh, I scooted forward on the bed to get closer to him. "Now that Letha isn't telling me fake crap in my ear about how dangerous you supposedly are, I find it kind of hot. It was kind of sweet to figure out that you were... seeking revenge for my sake. Is that sick of me?"

Roman let out the faintest snort, more a breath than a laugh, but there was something like relief in it, like he'd been holding his breath without knowing. "Definitely," he muttered, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Sick and twisted."

I smiled, small and crooked; "Takes one to know one,"

His eyes flicked up again, slower this time, like he was studying me instead of just glancing. "Oh, what's this? You're not scared of the big, bag upir?"

I tilted my head, giving him a look he knew too well. "You know I love you to death,"

"Not to death," Roman corrected, his jaw ticking. "You're not dying. Not on my watch." With that, he put the vials down on the table next to him, following them with his eyes. Something told me that the thought of me dying made him beyond anxious, and shortly after, his right leg gave in to a bounce. 

A chill settled over the room like fog as I let out a quiet sorry. My eyes flicked to the open window, then back to Roman's silhouette in the dark. "Well..." I started, shivering in the cold leaking in. "It's a shame about Jasmine, although she was a bitch. Did you hear anything about it over the intercom?"

Roman shrugged, disassociating; "It's the exact same situation as Brooke. Torn up, mangled, but just that Jasmine had one leg intact,"

With that image in mind, I gagged, clasping a hand over my mouth as I looked away. That was vile, that was horrid. It's an odd thing for someone you know to die, no matter who it is. And for it to be so brutal? No, that was gnarly. "Poor girl," I breathed, shuddering. 

Roman watched me react, confused that it was hitting me like this; something told me that he was so deep in this manic state that he didn't think too clearly about how gruesome the details were, and how someone else might react to it. "Do you... perhaps know anyone that was targeted by these girls?" he eventually asked. "Because so far, the vargulf has only killed cheerleaders. You used to be a part of Letha's gang, so... do you remember anyone that could've hated both Brooke and Jasmine?"

Oh. I had suppressed this part of my past. "There were a few girls, yeah," I mumbled. "I don't remember any specific names, though, so I'll have to dig a bit and come back to you on that one. But could the vargulf be a girl? Is that possible?"

"I really hope so,"

"... Why?"

Roman swallowed, rubbing his palm down his thigh to alleviate his anxiety. "That's for another time," he mumbled. "I've kept you up for long enough."

I blinked, surprised by the abrupt shift in him, and the way his tone closed off again like a door quietly latching shut. "You don't have to go," I tried, quicker than I meant to. My voice was soft, too soft, and even I heard the thread of something whiny in it. "It's late. You're already here."

Roman got up, rising to his full height. He didn't meet my eyes this time. "That's exactly why I should go," he muttered, brushing his hair back with one hand, balling up the other. "This, whatever this is, gets confusing whenever I stay too long."

My throat tightened-- I stayed on the bed, sitting up straighter, fighting the instinct to reach out and stop him physically. Then, it came flowing out of me before I could stop it; "How long do you usually stay, then?"

Roman froze, turning slightly, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight that streamed through the window. "What?"

"When you watch me sleep," I breathed, feeling my heart thudding against my ribs. "That's why you didn't come over last night, right? When I called you at three in the morning?" The more I thought it out loud, the more my heart abused my inner linings, and my next words came with a whisper; "Because you had already been here at one thirty?"

Roman didn't move, didn't breathe. His eyes were wide, too wide. Not with anger, not with fear-- just guilt. Guilt, like a kid who had been caught doing something he shouldn't, doing something he swore he wouldn't. "You're too smart for your own good," he mumbled.

"And you've worried yourself sick," I said. "You don't have to sit here and watch me to make sure I'm alright. I'd rather you slept."

"I just-- I hate this," Roman hissed, turning away to gaze at the open window, and my curtains flowing away from it with soft motions. "I hate that you had to go and trust Letha instead of me. I hate that I'm so mad at you, because... this timing is awful. I'd rather we were okay, so I could keep you safe without this being so fucking complicated."

"You have all the right in the world to be mad at me, Roman,"

"I don't want to be,"

"But you are,"

"I am," he echoed, and the way it left his mouth felt like it had taken something from him, like saying it out loud stole air he couldn't afford to lose. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a single, restless step toward the window. "Don't be sympathetic," he chanted, mostly to himself. "Hate me too. Come on, now."

My heart ached at the sight of him; "I could never hate you,"

"Well, I could definitely hate you," Roman snapped his head toward me then, eyes rimmed in moonlight, green irises glinting sharp, glossy, and angry. "You told me that night that you had thrown out my fucking vial, and I spent three hours--" A heave. A pointed finger my way, wavering. "I didn't know what to do with myself that night you found out about me, so I spent three hours walking back and forth to school along the highway, just in case you had thrown it out of your window on your way home. Three. Hours!"

Three hours. 

Alone. 

On the highway.

"Rome," I tried, but it was a breath, not a word. 

"I wish you hadn't called last night," he breathed. "I wish I didn't know."

My throat burned. My eyes were hot. The tears didn't fall with ceremony-- they just slipped out, one after the other, down the slope of my cheeks, falling straight from the wound he'd opened and didn't know how to close. 

Wake up and tell me you're mine.

"I'm so sorry," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I hid it because the blood was affecting you," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't do that to you on purpose," Wake up and tell me you're mine. "I love you. I'm yours. And you are free to do whatever you want with that information. Discard it, tear it up, forget it... You don't ever have to forgive me. No one is forcing you to do that. But you need to give it back to me."

Roman turned his face halfway, enough that the downturned line of his mouth was visible. It looked wrong, strained, haunted, like it quivered to sob and kiss me all at once. "What?"

I held out my hand; I saw what he was clutching in his, what he thought he had gotten away with. "I'll take care of it," I breathed. "Give me the vial."

Roman didn't move right away. His head dipped slightly, chin angling toward his chest like he had just taken a blow; not a hard one, but the kind that makes you sit with yourself for a second. His shoulders sank, and for a moment, he just stood there like he was holding onto one last shred of resistance.

Then, he huffed. A small, tired sound, not angry, just... disappointed. The moonlight caught the edge of his face, and when he finally looked at me, I saw it clearly; he hated how well I saw through him.

"Oh well," Roman muttered, opening his palm and holding the vial of my blood up by the chain, the glass swinging faintly between us; "So much for subtlety." He stepped closer and dropped it into my hand with a faint clink of metal against skin. "Happy, now?"

I sighed, my fingers curling around the vial. "You gave it a shot, Robin Hood,"

"Oh, I wasn't planning on giving that to the poor," Roman mumbled, watching as I put it away on my nightstand. "Was gonna wear it while jacking off to French postcards of your mother."

Horrified, I could only gasp. "What the fuck?!" Oh, if looks could kill, I'd have a dead upir on my floor. I grabbed my pillow, throwing it at Roman in hopes of muting that damn inappropriate smirk of his.

With ease, he caught the pillow against his chest with a lazy arm and didn't bother to throw it back. His smirk faltered before it ever really settled, like he knew it was a low blow, like he knew he wanted me to laugh, but didn't have it in him to be funny.

"I'm sorry," Roman said, barely beneath his breath.

I didn't answer-- I didn't know how. I just watched him, watched the way his eyes dropped to my nightstand, like the vial still had gravity over him even now that it was gone from his palm, wondering whether he'd try to have a go at stealing it again. "Why do you want it back so bad...?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Is it the scent?"

Roman's jaw ticked. A muscle flexed in his cheek, like he wanted to argue, but didn't have the energy to lie. His green eyes didn't leave the vial while he spoke; "You have a very particular one, yeah,"

"Oh...?"

Roman looked over at me then, finally, and his eyes were quieter than I expected. No fire-- just that low-burning thing that lived beneath it. After a moment, he took a step back. Then another.

He turned toward the window, brushing the curtain back with a hand that lingered just a second too long. "I can't--" He stopped. Corrected. Glanced at me with that torn look that would haunt me for days, and finally spoke; 

"You smell like hope."

Before I could answer, before I could stop him, Roman was already lifting himself over the ledge, already halfway out, the night air catching in his hair. My hands caught the duvets, pulling at them as my words choked me, halfway to a cry. 

The room felt colder the second he was gone, like something had been sucked out of it, of me, and left nothing but the echo of where he had previously stood. The window, still open, let the wind crawl over the floorboards. It whispered against the curtains like it was mocking me, and I wanted it all to go away, to stop, to fuck off to where it came from. 

With a lone stream of tears rolling down my cheek, I got up, feeling like my whole body was made of cement as I fetched my pillow. Heavy as stone, I crawled back into bed, my ribs shaking with my building sobs, and I eventually let my body give in to the urge to give up. Pressing my face into my pillow, I ached, I cried, and soon it was warm with my breath; if only it had been warm with the body of the man I loved.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Roman. Stupid fucking bastard, watching me sleep, stealing my stuff-- oh, how I loved him. How I loved him, like my lungs loved air. How I loved him, like my veins loved blood. Stupid, beautiful, violent, cursed Roman. Was he gone for good? Would he never be mine again? Was this how this would be from now on?

Then...soft.

So soft I almost imagined it; the faintest scuff against the floorboards. Not wind. Not night. Something human, something deliberate.

I stopped breathing.

Turned.

He was here.

Framed in the moonlight again, half-shadow, half-boy. One foot in the room, the other still on the sill, like he hadn't made up his mind even now. His chest was rising like he had run back to me.

Roman didn't speak.

His eyes flicked over me; first the curve of my knees drawn up under the blanket, then the way I was blinking too fast, too wet. And then he just... stepped down into the room, slowly, like something in him might break if he moved too quickly.

I sat up a little, the blanket still clutched like armour. I was afraid to speak, afraid to push him away, afraid to say the wrong thing and make him run. Blinking through the tears, I felt my heart thrumming with nail-biting tension. "I-- I thought you left," I whispered, voice hoarse.

"I did," Roman breathed. 

Fuck. 

Then, he moved.

Not a lunge, not violent, just sudden. I didn't even see the decision happen, didn't see the switch; it must've happened outside. One second, he was standing in the quiet, and the next--

Roman's knees dug into the soft fabric as my back landed against the mattress, and his broad shoulders caged me in as he hovered on top of me, staring down at me with that look I knew too well; the one he had when he couldn't stop himself anymore, when he couldn't contain the urge to have me. 

And just as I remembered it, he lowered himself just enough for the tip of his nose to nudge mine, and I let out a shaky sigh against his lips; this was my Roman. This was how I remembered him. This was us. This was the ritual. This was sacred. 

Roman didn't kiss me right away; he hovered close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the trembling restraint in his body. His hair fell forward, a dark curtain that brushed my cheek, and his breath was warm against my mouth, shallow, like he was afraid to exhale.

My fingers slipped into his hair, pulled him closer without thinking, scared he might leave. His weight came down gently, careful not to crush me, and I felt his hand slip behind my neck like he needed to keep me tethered, like I might vanish too. 

Then, gently, so gently, it happened; Roman's lips met mine. He kissed me like every shape and angle of my mouth was familiar and holy-- and God, he was soft. His lips were plush, slow-moving, barely parted; they pressed, then hovered, then pressed again, tentative like a first time, and yet sure like he had done this a thousand times before.

My breath hitched.

He smelled like wind and night, but his skin was warm, so warm, and when his hand found the side of my face, I leaned into it instinctively, like I had been built for that palm. The pad of his thumb grazed the corner of my jaw, and his mouth, still on mine, shifted just slightly, tilted, fit better, knew better. Roman knew how to kiss me-- oh, how he knew. 

The way he moved wasn’t greedy, but reverent, and something in it was so heartbreakingly familiar, like curling into your own bedsheets after months away, like exhaling into the collar of your favourite shirt; this was him. This was my Roman.

Wake up and tell me you're mine.

But then I felt it; the shift. The subtle tightening in his shoulders, the way his hand softened its grip on my face, like he was already letting go, and Roman sighed against my lips, just barely-- it was the kind of sound you make when something inside you caves.

Slowly, he pulled back. My hands in his hair melted, unsure whether to hold on or let him slip away once again, and I felt my eyes well with tears all over again. 

Roman's green eyes opened, searching mine in the dark, and for a moment, I thought he might lean in again-- but he didn’t. His hand slid from my face, down my jaw, briefly brushed my shoulder, and then, he rose, careful and reluctant, as if detaching from me hurt; as if my body had become part of his, and leaving it would leave a mark.

"No more detours," Roman breathed. I couldn't see him in the darkness, couldn't read him, and my heart raced as he continued; "I could get a PI on you at any moment, so you better fucking behave. I want you safe. I need you safe."

Sniffling, I sat up, watching him slide off my bed. "Just don't do anything stupid," I breathed. "Promise me that you won't."

Roman paused at the window, one hand curling around the frame. The wind ruffled his shirt, but he stood still, like something in him didn’t want to leave.

He glanced back at me over his shoulder, a shadow cut in moonlight. His mouth tilted-- not a smile, not a smirk. 

And then, Roman slipped out into the night without a promise, without a trace.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next day at school was more somber than the other-- I was getting used to this. 

A second girl had been killed within a week, and the atmosphere was filled to the brim with scared kids, and ignorant assholes making jokes about brutal murders. 

"Who's gonna make the podcast?" Peter huffed, squinting against the lighter’s flare-- he was the prime example of said assholes. "We could get a lot of money if we monetized this. It would be, like, live updates on a live case! Imagine the cash."

I shot him a glare as I took the cigarette from his fingers. “You’re disgusting," 

Why had I said yes to yet another meeting of the dirty mistress club?

“Disgusting and broke,” Peter said, unbothered. He leaned back against the brick wall behind the gym, his shirt collar up against the chill, eyes flicking toward the empty field beyond the fence. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be the host. You’ve got the voice for it. You could narrate murder like you’re reading bedtime stories.”

"Oh, fuck off,"

"Or, if you read it like it's a really dirty story, I bet we could get Roman to fund it! Bet he'd love to hear you moaning out the details of some gory murder,"

"Fuck off!" I smacked Peter's arm, grimacing as he laughed. "Roman isn't turned on by this bullshit!"

"He isn't...?" Peter reached for the cigarette we were sharing before I was ready to give it away, and he took a protective step back just in case I were to reach for it again. "I'd have thought he was walking around with a constant boner. Girls he's been with getting bloodied? Come on, now. Bet your upir is enjoying this to some extent."

I shivered; I had forgotten that Roman had screwed both Brooke and Jasmine. Why was the love of my life such a manwhore? "He's not enjoying it. He's worried sick," I mumbled, staring longingly at the cigarette. "He was in my room last night."

Peter's thick eyebrows jumped, his grin souring as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Oh, he was, huh?”

I gave him a look; “Don’t,”

“I’m not saying anything,” he said, raising both hands like he was innocent. “I’m just saying if he were in my room the night a second girl turned up dead, I might be checking for fang marks in the morning.”

“Roman didn’t bite me, Peter," Only in my damn dreams. "He told me he thinks the vargulf is a girl. He was very adamant that he hoped it was, and... honestly? I'm convinced this thing is real, at this point."

Peter shifted beside me, suddenly quiet. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but he just nodded, sucking down another drag with slightly more force than usual. The humor had drained from his face, leaving behind something tight in his jaw, something almost... guilty.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he huffed. The lie was so thin it practically floated. “Just... girl vargulf, huh? That’s new. Makes sense, though. Girls are fucking crazy.”

I didn’t laugh-- neither did he.

For a second, all I could hear was the wind scraping dry leaves along the pavement and the faint drone of morning announcements spilling out from the cracked gym window. Then, I squinted at Peter, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “You looked really fucked up yesterday. I mean, you always look a little fucked up, but... you were being really weird when I saw you in the hallway yesterday,”

Peter snorted, but it didn’t have any bite. “We’re smoking behind a high school during a murder investigation. Everyone’s being weird,”

"What happened, though?" I asked. "Why were you looking for Letha?"

"I was worried," he bit back. "Someone was dead, and I was looking for my girl."

"You guys aren't together anymore. She's not your girl,"

"Neither are you and Roman, yet he's breaking into your room and hunting a wolf for you," Peter finally handed me the cigarette, squaring me up. "Letha's always gonna be my girl, just like you're always gonna be his."

The lit cigarette between my fingers were somehow symbolic of how Peter's words lit something in my stomach. Roman's girl. After how he had kissed me last night, it seemed he agreed. With a small smile rising across my lips, I inhaled a drag before holding the cigarette out for Peter to take, passing it over. 

But when he didn't take it from me, I glanced up at him, brows drawn together. 

My blood ran cold; Peter looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes had gone wide, locked on something just past my shoulder. I turned slowly, like I already knew what I’d find, and there he was;

Roman.

This was becoming a deja vu. 

He stood at the edge of the gym wall like he had materialized from the shadows, his shirt billowing in the morning wind, eyes locked on Peter with a look I had never seen before. He held his own cigarette, unlit, probably coming here to smoke too. There was no snark in his green eyes, no jealousy, no wounded boyish glower-- just murderous rage.

Roman scoured the scene before him; his on-and-off girlfriend with his ex-best friend, sharing a cigarette. This was bad. This was so bad. 

Before I could speak, before Peter could even register what was happening, Roman was moving, storming toward us like a force of nature. The cigarette slipped from my fingers and hit the pavement with a hiss, and Peter turned just in time for Roman to grab a fistful of his collar and slam him back against the brick wall. The thud was brutal, a sick crack of spine and mortar, and I flinched, letting out a sound between a squeak and a yelp; "Roman!--"

"Oh, you piece of shit!" he yelled, green eyes glowing with fury.

“What the fuck, dude?!--” Peter started, but Roman shoved him harder.

“Shut up!" 

Roman's hand was twisted in Peter’s collar so tightly that the fabric was stretching at the seams, pressing him into the bricks like he might put his old friend through the wall.

“Roman, stop it!” I shouted again, stepping forward instinctively. "This is not what it looks like!"

He didn’t look at me-- not even a flick of his eyes. He was locked on Peter, jaw clenched, pupils blown wide, and for a second, I thought I saw his lips twitch like he was fighting the urge to bare his teeth. "We had a deal!" Roman yelled. "You and your filthy fucking paws were going to leave us alone! What the fuck have you done, man?!"

Peter tried to speak, but Roman shoved him again, and this time Peter’s head knocked the wall. “No, stop it!” I shouted again, panic creeping into my voice. "We were just smoking, it's not what!--"

"Fuck you, I haven't done anything!" Peter spat, launching at Roman's hands; neither of them were hearing me. His brown eyes were wild now, not just angry-- scared. "Are you fucking serious right now?! Who do you think I am?--"

"I don't know you anymore!" Roman shouted, tightening his grip around the collar. "You are not my business, I don't give a flying fuck about what you do, but this has gone too far!"

Peter twisted, snarling; "What are you accusing me of?!--"

"Why are you turning against the moon?!" Roman spat. 

My stomach turned. What?

"You said you never!--"

“Yeah, I don’t!” Peter shouted, his voice cracking. “I never fucking do that, are you out of your mind?! Jesus, are you listening to yourself?”

Roman shoved him again, pinning him like prey. "All the girls that are going against Letha right now are dying one by one, and you smell like blood! You think I don't know what a rabid animal smells like?!" 

My head felt like it was about to blow. What was he saying? Rabid animal? Blood? The moon? "What is going on?" I begged, taking a step closer to grip Roman's arm, hoping it would yank him back to his senses.

At that, Peter's big, brown eyes shot toward mine, silently telling me to back off. Who was I to go up against an angry upir? With my breath stuck in my chest, I backed off, watching the crackling intensity shooting back and forth between them. 

Peter swallowed hard, his hands clenched into fists over Roman's grip on his collar. "Watch it, now," he hissed. "You really think I have that in me?"

Roman’s grip tightened, and I could hear the faint creak of stretched fabric. "You're the only one with a tail to tuck between your legs," he spat. "I don't know any other werewolves in town."

I stared between them, something sharp catching in my chest.

For the first time, I wasn’t sure who I should be afraid of.

(a/n: omg this is getting juicy, FINALLLLYYYY!!! thank you if you've read this far!!<33)

never have I ever: ← previous chapter

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

lovely little taglist:

@strmborns @eugsposts @ellie1725 @amidthechaos

@likecherriesinthespring @lussuria-zephyr @kittydiarys @4everangelblogger

@go-fuck-yourselfs-posts @dreamxaboutxsomethingxnice @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @burningmiraclekingdom

@malenoradgn @authorscurse @st4rgirlmar1e @mariaenchanted

@iamaslytherin0 @immernixia @strmborns @eugsposts

@voidpixies @fish-eyes-png @muchwita @succubustacy

@fleetingsolicitude @cemyxo @voidofsunlight @literally-lani

@kkuniki1816 @sn0wybowie-blog @witchofozz @carmillavalentine

[thecatchat]

Free fic idea because I know I'm going to run out of energy if I try to write it myself.

Takes place after the realized ending. I don't know what the cannon ending is but I'm imagining they definitely buy a bar together and name it The Breaker Box, but they eventually realize that running a human bar requires more than two people, no matter how much they try. So they hire a small amount of staff, I'm thinking no more than 4 people.

This would be a 5 times someone learned something new (or odd) about their bosses and the 1 time it made sense/someone put it all together.

1. Volt and Eddie kiss in front of a homophobic costumer, revealing that they're a couple to the employees.

2. Eddie adopts an orange alley cat and names them Copper. Copper disappears for a few days and Eddie is fine (he's overworking himself with worry. He's replacing lightbulbs whenever he can get away with it, none of them are actually burnt out.) When Copper comes back, they drop 3 kittens in Eddie's lap and curl up at his feet. ("I'm not a cat dad, I'm a cat uncle at most.") The kittens names all relate to electricity. Due to this, Volt or Eddie reveal that electricity, or even specifically a breaker box, was the reason they met in the first place and refuse to elaborate.

Rest under the cut because it got really long.

3. The staff are invited to a team building thing, it could be a party or an escape room or whatever. Point is: there are black lights illuminating the space. Volt sees his reflection under black light, sees how his hair looks like it's glowing and shuts down? Maybe even starts crying without realizing it? Either way, when Eddie is going to comfort him, one of the employees hear Volt say "my hair is glowing again." Or something along those lines. The employees learn that Volt has an emotional reaction to his white hair glowing.

4. One night, the breaker trips due to a storm and Eddie runs off to fix it almost like a mad man. Volt is caught up keeping the guests calm and entertained so when it takes Eddie a while, an employee goes to check on him. They find him staring angrily/confused at the breaker box and mumbling like he's missing something. The employee flips the switch on the breaker and Eddie is startled out of his trance. When asked why he didn't flip the switch he's like "I- I couldn't feel it." Now he's shut down and/or tearing up. The employee panics a bit, puts a cat on him then goes and tells Volt what's happening. The employees aren't sure what they've learned, but it's definitely something.

5. Somebody gets a little violent/rowdy at the bar or an after closing repair goes a little wrong and Eddie or Volt gets hurt, dealers choice. Now, I think realization shouldn't come without its quirks, some more obvious than others. For Volt and Eddie, I think their blood should be blue. Our blood looks red because when the iron in it oxidizes with air it becomes a red color. If the blood has copper instead of iron, like Horseshoe Crab blood, it appears blue when oxidized. Copper wires = copper blood = blue blood.

So all 4 employees see that their employer is bleeding blue. Everyone is shocked, eventually the unhurt boss calls Freya, because they can not go to a hospital for this. In the meantime while they wait. "Um, is that blood?" "No." "What is it then?" "... blood can't be blue." "Horseshoe crabs have blue blood! They're really cool animals." "... human blood isn't blue." "..."

In the days following, lots of really odd people swing by specifically to talk to Volt/Eddie. Whoever you want, just, individually, any resemblance to an object is a fun thing to see. But when every single person who's specifically asking after your boss reminds of something/is a very distinct personality, it begins to pile up that something is weird.

+1 - I think this point could be told from Eddie and/or Volts pov. Basically, the employees are trying to figure out what kind of magical creature their bosses are. Someone tried to stick a fridge magnet on Eddie (robot). Someone flicked water at Volt (Holy water, vampire). They both keep getting poked with metal things (Iron, Fae). Eventually they call up a meeting to tell them to knock it off.

"You tell us what you think we are and we'll tell you if you're correct or not." "Hint: we're human." *a few incorrect guesses* "um, more of a question than a guess. But, um, were you cursed to be a breaker box? At some point?" "..." "..." "..." "Volt. Don't." "I didn't say anything."

Up to the author if they fully explain the house thing or if they basically go, "You're not right, but you're not wrong either. No more questions." Either way, I think that could be the end of the fic.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 19!

slightly shorter list than usual, sorry about that - i had a major thesis deadline last week, so i've both been reading less and haven't been keeping track as diligently as i normally do, whoops. still, i hope you enjoy these!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a man in finance | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 13.9k | M

The one where Chimney finds Eddie a man in finance. Trust Fund. 6'2". Blue eyes. And he's an asshole, but only for like...five seconds (until he finds out about Chris). Eddie falls hard and fast, but it's ok because Buck does too. this is such a wonderful one!! i love how this author incorporates side characters into these alternate universes (loved lucy's appearances here, and chimney is always so fun) and the buddie dynamic is just lovely <3

cool and chill things to say to your best friend who you've accidentally been having phone sex with when you pick him up at the airport | hwaelweg/@the-hwaelweg | 6k | M

in which we explore the intimacy of having someone's voice in your ear, accidentally falling into phone sex, and edging Eddie Diaz until he can admit he's a good person. i love the distinction between facetimes and phone calls here and the intimacy of it all is just <3 also very hot!!

good things come to those who wait | ithilien22/@ithilien-writes | 2.6k | E

Turns out, Buck likes when Eddie makes him wait for it. (And they're embarrassingly in love about it.) this has such lovely buddie characterisation!! the best combination of domestic fluff and smut <3

i looked at your face & i knew that i'd found it | fleetinghearts/@shitouttabuck | 3.3k | GA

it might be just slightly obvious that buck really, really likes to talk about eddie. such great firefam feels!! buck constantly yapping about eddie is one of my favourite things ever and i love how this fic captures it <3

if i have your heart forever | ipretendtobesane/@usercowboy | 9.2k | M

The day Eddie returns to Los Angeles for good and the day he realizes he’s in love with Evan Buckley happen to be the same twenty-four hours, which makes sense, really, if you think about it. He was coming home. To Los Angeles, to the 118. To Buck. this is the loveliest gentlest fic <3 i love both buck and eddie here, but eddie's realisation felt especially natural and in character!!

sobriquet | rainbowninja167/@rainbowtitania | 18.4k | T

5 Times Buck Called Eddie by a Nickname + 1 Time He Didn’t. this is just so, so, SO much fun!! such a fantastic writing style, and i love how it incorporates humour specifically <3 so good!!

something so lonesome about you | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 7.9k | E

Buck signs up for a Christian Dating site, and accidentally stumbles into the man of his dreams. i loved watching buddie's relationship grow in this one! and what a hilariously wonderful fic premise <3 brilliant!!

the way that you hold me tight (there's no other place in the world where i rather would be | The_Lonely_Wolf_Needs_A_Star | 4.2k | M

10 hugs throughout Buck and Eddie's relationship. this was a reread! i'm such a sucker for buddie fics focused on physical intimacy and this hits the spot every time <3

u/minutetomidnightenthusiast's reddit post history. | dylaesthetics | 6.7k | M

the emotional rollercoaster of Eddie's Reddit posts throughout the history of knowing Buck. this author's reddit fics are the gift that keeps on giving <3 i love how this one and the previous one compliment each other, i highly recommend reading them both!!

[melancholymetropolis]

“Lord have mercy,” the plump woman clenched the couch cushion tighter. “Logan. . . Please. . .”

Seated on the floor between her separated thighs and bunched up sundress was a man pulling her panties to the side. The wolverine’s hot mouth fanned the moist folds of her glistening cunt causing the woman to shiver. His deep brown eyes flickered up to hers, a question in his gaze. The woman took her bottom lip between her teeth and gave the older gentleman a slow nod. Every rational thought had drifted away the moment Logan captured her lips in a heated kiss.

To think it all started with a pyrex dish filled with homemade lasagna.

As a woman born and raised in North Carolina, Y/N L/N knew a thing or two about Southern Hospitality. She has distinct memories of her mom baking muffins for the new families in the neighborhood and offering juice boxes to any child playing in the sweltering heat. She was early for every council meeting, funeral and church picnic there was. 

Y/N's mama was the kind to spread love everywhere she went and managed to wear down even the grumpiest assholes there ever were.

Sadly, Y/N didn't have that gift.

At least she thought she didn't.

Logan Howlet was the grumpiest man she'd ever met. He didn't speak to anyone, always kept his head down and pretended not to hear the crappy things people said about him. He frequented the liquor stor as if it were a second job, but never smelled like liquor somehow. 

He had all but slammed the door in Y/N’s face when she offered him the glass dish. The younger woman thanked the heavens his roommate, Wade, swooped in to rescue the tilting dish from crashing on the patio floor.

The man's dripping tongue slid from her oozing center to her aching bud. The plump woman groaned loudly from the action and leaned further onto the arm of the couch. With one leg thrown over his shoulder and the other attempting to keep her balance, Y/N realized how obscure the position— fuck it through whole situation was.

One minute she was at the door, dropping off Wade's monthly pan of lasagna and the next Logan was pushing her against the kitchen counters, kissing her silly. He didn't bother ripping her dress off completely. Just broke a few buttons to gain access to her heavy breasts. One of his hands was gently squeezing the mound as his tongue tapped at her bud. 

The soft muscle swirled around her clit before the lips latched onto it. The older man sucked on the bud tenderly, whilst gripping her thigh so tightly she was sure it would leave bruises the next day. The sounds coming from her lips didn't feel light her own as the ripples of pleasure moved along her nerves like dancers. The plump woman took her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched his move against her womanhood. The salt and pepper hair atop his head nestled between her brown skin was something out of a dream. The sounds of his throaty groans as his sucked her cunt had turned her brain to goo and somehow made her even wetter.

"Take them off," Y/N said, suddenly. "My panties. They're getting in the way."

"Yes, Ma'am! Although, that will be a little hard to do considering Wolfy's posi--- oh shit! You absolutely weren't talking to me like at all," an annoying familiar voice sounds causing us to freeze in place. "But, I wish you would start to because I am about to bust just----"

"Either get the fuck out or come over here and put that mouth to use," Logan snapped, rising to his feet and staring pointedly at Wade. "Because I do not have the time for your bullshit today."

"I'll take option numero dos, Alex," the taller gentleman practically skipped to the couch. "If it is okay with the lady?"

"I'm. . . uh. . . I'm fine with it?"

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

Part II

this scene has been stuck in my head since I seen the film last weekend.

fun fact: I used to be a MASSIVE Marvel fan before the pandemic and secretly wrote Steve Rogers fics.

if you want a full piece, comment or send an ask.

Been thinking of writing some throuple stories. Thoughts?

[chenlezip]

pairing: mark x reader

summary: mark reads you a bedtime story.

꒰ annas note: ꒱ small drabble based on what lia said about mark :3 as the #1 markf i had to do my man justice.. (i take any excuse to write for him) and this was super cute!! i had a lot of fun writing hehe.. i hope i did it justice..

you and mark sat cuddled up in bed, legs intertwined as he held his phone up, a story on the bright screen. you look up at him after having your chest on his head, “mark.. does this not seem too childish?” you ask softly. you had asked if he could read you a small bedtime story and he agreed, happily.

mark looked down at you with a soft smile gracing his lips, “of course not sweetness, whatever helps you sleep a little better right?” he always did the most for you, no matter how busy he tends to be or if he’s too tired, he always drops everything for you. and you were always grateful.

“this one sound okay?” he showed you his screen and you read a little bit of it, nodding with a soft hum exiting your lips, “mhm, sounds good.” and so he started, his soft voice reciting the words to you. you loved how he sounded, the way he talked, the noises that would leave him.. it calmed you. he has a distinct way of speaking that always made your heart flutter.

“that’s life, no?” he mumbled, stroking your hair softly as you smiled, nodding along to what he’s reading, eyes closed. “thanks markie, goodnight..” you whisper.

“goodnight, sleep well. i’ll be here when you wake up, ‘kay?”

tags: @yizhrt @mejaemin @fullmoon0606 @ayukas @florihaei @polarisjisung ᥫ᭡

[deadhands69]

Black Coffee

Tenko Shimura/Tomura Shigaraki x gn Reader

Thanks for the request @s-0-ckz , this was so much fun to write! [1.2k wc]

“Black coffee, no room.” 

The man in front of you in line at your regular coffee shop grumbles his order before taking a seat near the window.

You try not to stare, it’s difficult though. 

There's something alluring about him. His presence feels oddly familiar, drawing you in. However, at the same time you've definitely never seen him or anyone quite like him in your life. For starters, he has distinctive scars, icy white hair, and vivid red eyes.

You peel your eyes away for long enough to stutter out your own order before taking a seat near him. He’s beautiful, in an otherworldly way, and you’re not sure if you’ll have the guts to ask for his number. Instead, you sit close-by in the hopes he’ll talk to you first. And you might stare a little.

He doesn’t, but his eyes flick up at you occasionally.

After forty minutes of debating in your head, you finally work up the courage to talk to him when he begins packing. He’s halfway through wrapping-up his laptop cord when he glances at you approaching him.

“Finally, I thought you’d never come over here.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. A cute smirk. If you weren’t nervous already you certainly are now.

“Is there a reason I should have?” you ask tentatively.

“To say hi to me, I saw you staring.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, “I almost came over earlier but figured I’d wait for you to talk to me.”

At that, a new surge of confidence overtakes you.

“Can I have your number?” you blurt out before your nerves can stop you.

“Yeah.”

You type it into your phone as he recites the numbers to you. Opening a ‘save contact’ page, you click the name field. Rather than save him as ‘cute coffee shop boy,’ you ask, “what’s your name?”

“Fucking seriously?” he groans, “nevermind.” 

Before you can say anything in return, he shoves past you and he’s out the door. You watch as his long hair swirls around him in the wind. 

Then he’s gone.

What just happened?

Over the next few days, you dwell on it more than you’d like to admit. Who is this mystery guy and why is he so angry with you? At first you were disappointed that someone so attractive is upset with you, but his irritability is off putting so you got over that fast. Now you’re just angry.

On your morning stops for coffee, he’s there every day. You’d never seen him here before but now he’s around constantly, glaring at you every time you enter. You’ve been taking your coffee to go lately just to avoid any awkwardness. 

This morning, you’ve had it. What right does he have to take one of your favorite places from you? You were here first. Also, it’s not like you did anything wrong. If he’s going to be grouchy, that’s on him.

“[y/n]” the barista calls out. You grab the ceramic mug before looking around for a spot.

This time, you’re the only two customers in here. Avoiding him and whatever temper he’s hiding today will be nearly impossible. Partially out of spite, you settle into a window seat directly facing him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him roll his eyes. He’s hot, even when he’s staring daggers in your direction and you hate that you’re even having that thought. You try hard not to look at him, pretending to have some sudden interest in the condensation dripping down the window.

After twenty minutes pass without issue, you figure he got over it. Not quite.

“Have you figured it out yet?” he taunts from two tables away. 

“Figured what out?”

“Seriously?” he looks at you incredulously, “you really don't remember me?”

Remember him from where? You’d remember someone with cherry red eyes and long milky hair.

You stare at him inquisitively. He almost reminds you of your best friend growing up, it can’t be him though. Tenko died in a villain attack with his family years ago. Plus, he had darker hair and eyes. You’d remember, a photo of the two of you as kids is your lockscreen background.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

He looks more sad than angry as he turns his back to you and leaves again.

That night, you’re still thinking about it. It’s driving you crazy and you’d rather just be done with it. You decide to text him. Not like there’s anything to lose, right?

[you] Where do I know you from? [you] Can you just give me a hint? [cute angry coffee shop boy] I can’t believe you just forgot me like that, after everything. wtf [y/n]

You never gave him your name. Maybe he overheard it from the barista.

The two of you exist in the same space, not talking for the next few mornings. You’ve given up on thinking of where you could possibly have met him and he’s given up pushing you. Yet, he’s still here when surely there’s somewhere else he could be. 

Today, the shop is packed. The sound of ceramic clinking and low conversations drown out the lofi played in the background. You’re glad to find the one open chair in the place until you see who it’s next to. 

“I won’t bite, just fucking sit,” says the man who’s name you still don’t know. He pulls the chair out for you, not bothering to look up. 

You glance at the full mug you’re holding; you should have gotten it to go. Reluctantly, you sit. Pulling out your phone to read an article and ignoring him as much as you can. A few minutes later, the barista calls out your pastry order. You drop your phone on the table and make your way to the counter.

On the short walk back, you see your phone buzz on the table ahead. A head of white hair turns to the distraction and freezes.

You sit, trying to carry on with your morning, but the man next to you is still staring. He doesn’t move, even after you sit down. He looks like he saw a ghost.

“Thought you didn’t care,” he mumbles quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do I really look that different now?” he picks up your phone, holding the display next to his face. 

Outside of the hair and eye color, the resemblance is uncanny. How did you not notice?

“T-Tenko?” you whisper, “you-you’re alive?”

No wonder he was upset, the two of you were best friends as kids. You never could have imagined seeing him again. Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him; practically jumping onto his lap. 

“I can’t believe it’s you,” you half sob into the hood of his sweatshirt. He even smells like you remember. 

The two of you spend the rest of the day catching up. In what feels like less than an hour, the place is empty and your favorite barista is flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’

“Time to finish your drinks,” he says, “didn’t think I’d see you two talking all day.” He disappears into the back to finish cleaning.

Tenko looks at you, nervous for the first time since you’ve met him again. “Uhm,” he starts, “want to grab dinner? I get it if you already have plans and need to go but it would be nice to talk more.”

“No,” you clarify, “I mean, I have no plans. I’d love to.”

“Perfect,” he smiles, “it’s a date then.”

masterlist

[roguestorm]

the thing about the o5 (as a jean stan) is that jean has distinct relationships with all four of the guys in a way that feels really good for her character.

she and hank have this relationship that you can see in xmso that seems to be about them looking forward to the future of the x men. they both can see different things in charles and obviously they’re not going to discuss those with scott (it’s impossible to talk to scott at this point) so they’re sort of considering the future in a way that neither warren nor bobby really is. and then there’s that time when hank and jean think they’re the only two survivors of the x men so it’s them and charles and that is SO tasty to me. and then there’s the open affection that they show each other in x factor and the nineties. and it reads to me like hank really respects jean’s intelligence even though it’s different from his own.

she and warren have a relationship that i think makes them both feel normal. this is why they’re dating in the silver age, and going back to xmso again, i love that moment when jean is like “your worst problem is that girls want you to take your clothes off on the first date” because obviously warren does have problems but jean helps keep them in perspective. they just like each other in a very innocent way, and that like relationship to normal is super interesting in the aftermath of dark phoenix and archangel because both of them end up witnessing the other during their worst days. and how do you move forward with a friendship based on normalcy when you’re both monsters?

and then her relationship with bobby is cute because i believe she does tell bobby things she doesn’t tell anyone else. bc bobby is easy emotionally in a way none of the others are. maybe it’s because he’s younger, maybe it’s because he’s gay and therefore not fighting for her affection, maybe it’s because bobby is just generally a pretty easy-going guy. and for bobby, she likes and respects him (him! for his personality!) and i think he’s pretty used to people seeing only the image he projects, and so for jean to see him is like nice. especially if he doesn’t have to have a conversation about it. then there’s also those x factor issues where bobby’s like “do you wanna help me with this problem” and jean’s like “absolutely get me away from all my problems” so i think they have fun together.

and obviously i could write whole essays about her relationship with scott lol

[drunk-on-dk]

About Cheol / Jeonghan! If it’s okay to send nsfw thoughts, I’ve just been thinking really hard about being a major brat to Cheol, teasing him and talking back, and him finally breaking and being like “You better watch it or I’ll fuck the attitude out of you” and it has me so 🥴 like please yes 🥺

hello lovely anon! YESSSSS pls I am always open to nsfw thoughts, and I LOVE this thought so much. I had so much fun writing this drabble, I really hope you enjoy this!!

Tags/genre: Smut (minors do not interact, 18+ ONLY), pure filth!, angsty? (not really, but he likes to rile you up and vice versa), established relationship, female!reader (girlfriend used as a term, she/her pronouns) c/w: dom!Seungcheol, switch!reader, reader is brat ofc, Seungcheol is a bit possessive and rough, a hint of dumbification, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (stay safe besties!), pet names (fem receiving): baby, good girl

“It’s embarrassing, Seungcheol,” you groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you march ahead of your boyfriend into the apartment. Regardless of his close proximity, you attempt to slam the door behind you, admittedly a bit out of character for you, but you were fed up with his behavior tonight.

Seungcheol isn’t fazed, his firm palm meets the cool wood of the door before you can shut him out, allowing him to slip in behind you. Biting his tongue, he observes as you pry your heels off, swallowing a groan when your dress rides a bit higher up your thighs. 

With a huff, you turn to face Seungcheol, discontented to find him standing cooly in your entry way, hands shoved in his pockets and looking smug as ever. The dark look in his eyes poses a challenge, and you know your own orbs reflect the same look. 

In fact, this whole night was a challenge for him. A challenge to see just how worked up he could get you until you broke. His sweet, little girlfriend who didn’t have an angry bone in her body. Except for when he gets you riled up, which he is finding isn’t that hard to do with a little teasing. 

“Humor me, baby,” Seungcheol chortles, a distinct dryness in comparison to his usual laugh that makes you feel even more enraged. However, there is a playful lilt to his voice. “What was so embarrassing?” 

“Don’t mock me,” you bite, rolling your eyes yet again and wandering to the kitchen, filling up a cup of water and chugging it in an attempt to cool down. Seungcheol follows closely behind, the amused smirk on his face only making your blood boil again. 

The island counter is the only thing that keeps the distance between you and Seungcheol. Both of your hands are splayed out on the marble, using the surface as a means to support yourself as you come face to face with the man that has riled you up all night. 

Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, analyzing your boyfriend as he mirrors you, his eyes leisurely examining your form until they land on the valley between your breasts. 

“How fucking horny are you that we had to leave early from party with all your friends?”

Seungcheol sucks in a breath, loving the way your crude words make his dick stir in the confines of his pants. Even though he’s getting exactly what he wished for, he can’t help but be slightly annoyed by how bratty you’ve been since you’ve left the party. Not after you teased him all night with your fleeting touches and flirty eyes. 

“How fucking horny are you that you kept eye fucking me in front of my friends?” He bites back, and you let out a faux scandalized gasp. Still, you don’t break eye contact with him as you carefully think of your next words.  “Isn’t that what you like though, Cheollie?” You coo unsympathetically at your characteristically possessive boyfriend. Your tone sends an annoyed shiver through Seungcheol’s spine, but it goes straight to his dick. “So fucking needy, I can’t even spend five minutes talking with Wonwoo. Can’t even laugh at Jeonghan’s jokes without your hand wandering down to my ass.”

Seungcheol has been eerily smug since you got home, but this makes him growl, ears turning red as he threatens, “you better watch your mouth, baby, or I’ll fuck the attitude right out of you.” 

“Know what’s embarrassing?” You challenge, seeing just how far you can push him until he gives you exactly what you want. Two can play at this game, and you’ve seen through his antics all night. “How you always have to make a scene to let everyone know you’re the one who gets to fuck me. Don’t worry, I plan on making sure you fuck me. Don’t act like I won’t get exactly what I want. ” 

In record speed, Seungcheol is rounding the corner of the island, rough hands on your lower back as he bends you over the counter. One hand circles the base of your neck, keeping your cheek pressed against the countertop as Seungcheol presses the bulge in his pants directly between the backs of your thighs. 

“Such a brat,” Seungcheol seethes, hot breath against your neck as he leans over you, listening for your little whimpers at his sudden display of strength. “What makes you think I’ll fuck you now?” 

“As if you could resist,” you mutter, voice strained when Seungcheol’s hand massages the plush of your ass and his hips rut into yours. You do your best to roll your hips back towards his for some relief, but the force of his body keeps you against the counter. 

“Seems like I have more self control than you do,” he quips, hand releasing the back of your neck when you attempt to grab onto him from behind, only for him to catch your hands and bring them back to the countertop. “If you keep your hands on this counter like a good girl, I’ll think about fucking you.”

You whine, abiding to this one command because you do want to be fucked tonight. Your clammy hands stay glued to the marble, the cold surface stinging your sensitive skin and heating beneath you. 

“Good girl,” Seungcheol hums and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. His hands begin to work at your dress, lifting the bottom hem until it gathers at your waist, exposing your entire ass to your boyfriend, your panty-clad cunt on display for Seungcheol’s viewing pleasure only. 

It’s incriminating how slick your thighs are near your core, panties dampened, the AC in your apartment making you shudder as you’re exposed, and it pulls an incredulous laugh from his chest. He coos, “you’re soaked, your panties are absolutely ruined.”

His fingers skim over your folds, the ghost of his fingertips leaving a warm streak on your panties and you muffle a moan. 

“Don’t be so quiet, baby,” Seungcheol demands, pointer and middle fingers pressing firmly against your clit, evoking a lewd moan from the delicious pressure. “Good. Fucking. Girl.” Seungcheol’s fingers circle your throbbing nub harder with each word, content with your noises and rewarding you with more pressure. 

It’s embarrassing when your thighs begin to shake, the altercation tonight with Seungcheol was enough to turn you on, but now that you have his hands right where you need him, you orgasm unexpectedly fast as he continues to stimulate your clit. Your walls clamp around nothing as the explosion of pleasure wracks your body, gushing into your panties and a high-pitched moan escapes you. 

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol’s laugh is patronizing, knowing exactly what just happened, but he continues to press against your clit, the circles sending aftershock waves of pleasure through you. “You’ve got to be kidding me, baby.” 

Your knuckles and fingertips are practically white from trying to grip the flat counter, and you finally lose control of your hands, darting back to grab at Seungcheol’s wrist, trying to keep him from overstimulating you. 

This was obviously not the right move on your end, earning another strike from Seungcheol as he grabs your wrists, this time keeping them pinned to the counter.

“What did I fucking say?” Seungcheol scolds, his voice venomous as he moves both wrists to one hand, pressing you uncomfortably against the counter and your hips dig into the corner, but the pain oddly brings pleasure. You can hear his other hand begin to work at his belt, eliciting a cry from you in anticipation, but you know it won’t be good for you, not when you’ve disobeyed him yet again. 

“My hands,” you whimper, pussy throbbing in need when you feel Seungcheol’s heavy cock against your thighs, his pre-cum leaving a warm, sticky spot on the back of your thighs. “I’ll keep them against the counter. I’m sorry, Cheollie.” 

You know sorry isn’t enough, not when the tip of his length is prodding between your legs, lubricated by the slick that couldn’t even be contained by your panties, and you already have an idea of what your punishment will be. 

“Does my brat need dick that bad?” he grunts, his length fucking between the plush of your thighs and you ache for him, crying out apologies against the counter. 

It’s maddening feeling the drag of his cock between your thighs so close to your core, his brooding tip skimming your clit with each thrust. His grunts of satisfaction are enough to make you feel desperate, absolutely dumb for cock as he teases you with what you want the most. 

“Who’s needy now?” He groans when you start begging, shuddering when you flex your muscles around his cock. 

“Still y-you,” you cry out, barely stuttering the words out, still attempting to challenge your boyfriend. “Resorting to fucking my thighs when you could be fucking my pussy.” 

“Fuck, who knew you could be so damn bratty,” Seungcheol grits, not exactly pleased with your response, but it’s exactly what he needs to hear to fuck you into oblivion. He’s finally releasing your hands, yanking your panties down your legs before pulling you upright, and turning you around to face him. He grips your chin between his fingers, a stormy look in his eyes, but you can tell he’s absolutely infatuated with you. 

You look so messy, teary-eyed as you stare into his dark orbs, and soon he’s smashing his lips against yours. He’s devouring you like a man starved, tongue clashing with yours and soon he’s grabbing you by the thighs, lifting you up before placing you on the counter. He’s perfectly slotted between you, hands massaging at your thighs as yours roam over his entire body, landing in his dark locks and pulling at the hair, eliciting a groan from him. 

Seungcheol’s cock is lined up perfectly with your inviting hole, but he has yet to give you what you want, too lost in kissing you. You pull away, a pathetic whine reminding him of what he promised, “fuck me stupid, Cheol.”

Without warning, Seungcheol sheathes his entire length inside of you, pulling a loud cry from you. His hands grip tightly at your ass, keeping you pressed against him as he fills you completely. 

Immediately, you’re like putty in his hands, head lolling back at the sudden pleasure of feeling him so deep inside of you. There is no hesitation in his movements, Seungcheol barely gives you time to adjust, but he’s not worried when your body takes him this easily, like you’re made perfectly for him. 

His plump lips are on your neck, leaving hot trails of saliva as he mercilessly thrusts his cock between your gummy walls, his arms the only thing keeping you sitting upright and pressed against his body. He feels too good, all encompassing as he repeatedly hits the sweet spot deep inside of you. 

You’re blabbering words of nothing, apologizing for being such a brat, and Seungcheol’s breathing gets heavier with every word that tumbles past your lips. His dick is throbbing inside of you as your walls grip his length, rutting into you with a new fervor as your words become incoherent, fingernails digging into his shoulders as you clamp around him. 

It feels too fucking good for him, loving the way you give in to him, knowing you are approaching your high soon enough and his thumb finds it way to your clit, pulling his favorite cry of pleasure from you yet again. 

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, staring down at the space between your two bodies, right where his cock enters you with each lewd sound, and where his thumb works aggressively against your clit. “So fucking pretty, my good girl.” 

“Please,” you mewl, desperate to cum, but squeezing your muscles to prevent yourself from releasing unexpectedly again. 

“No more attitude, baby,” his voice is horse, and you know he’s nearing his high soon as well. 

“No more,” you parrot, lips attaching to his jaw as you near the brink of pleasure, desperate for your release. 

“I love you so damn much,” he groans, nose nudging yours and chasing your lips. He fills you so well with each thrust, your walls are throbbing uncontrollably, his words only egging you on. “Drive me so fucking crazy,” he pants between kisses, finally giving in to you. “Go on, baby, finish for me.”

Just like that, the flood gates are released and you’re washed over with immense pleasure, walls spasming around Seungcheol’s cock as he follows suit, filling your pussy with his hot cum and groaning into your shoulder. 

“Love you too, Cheol,” your voice is weak as he slowly fucks his cum between your folds, his softening cock pulling out and stepping back to look at the damage done. He looks divine, absolutely fucked out with flushed cheeks and messy hair, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. 

That’s until Seungcheol is helping you clean up, soothing the bruises on your hips left from the counter, and pulling you onto the couch for a late night movie. 

“Aren’t you glad we left the party early?” Seungcheol’s words pull a snort from your lips, earning an incredulous look from you. 

“You know what,” you hum, wary of his cheeky comment. “I’m starting to think you like it when I give you an attitude.”

Seungcheol’s smug smile and silence says enough.

[haithhegimp]

hi hi hello i am also abnormal about batman: under the hood (2005). i would gladly talk about it forever and ever. here are some things i think about often that i'd like to hear your perspective on :3

what are your thoughts on jason's getup + gear (the bomb in the helmet, wavy knife, lack of any real symbols on his outfit, etc.)

do you think the batarang was an accident and if it was what do you think bruce was actually trying to do with that thing

how does jason feel about alfred in all this

OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING I LITERALLY LOVE YOU

im gonna put it all under a cut because its super long

Ok im gonna start with the batarang incident because that’s the one i think about the most often haha. I like looking at events from both a meta and an in-universe perspective, and i think the batarang incident is such an interesting product of commercialization, because Batman isn’t allowed to kill– he’s not allowed to be a murderer, but the Red Hood, who challenges him in every conceivable way cannot be allowed to live. So you get the batarang incident which dc tries very hard to convince you is an accident. Anyways!! In-universe i actually don’t have one specific answer! The thing that i love most about the comics is how versatile and flexible they are, so i always interpret the incident differently depending on what i’m doing it for. Whether i’m writing a good dad bruce fic or whether im making an artwork that showcases him being awful or whether im looking at things from his perspective or jason’s, i have the most fun when i can change it up every time! But i think with total canon compliance, the interpretation i like most is that the incident was sort of an accident. By that, i mean that i completely agree with the joker that bruce is a master marksman and he would not miss his shot. I think that bruce was fully intending to hit Jason’s neck, but in the moment of panic, he wasn’t fully aware that he was hitting Jason’s neck, if that makes sense. He’s hyper trained for instinctively attacking and reacting to threats when he’s overwhelmed by thoughts and emotion, but those instincts don’t account for the fact that the threat in question is his son. 

Next up, Jason’s get-up!! First of all, i LOVE IT. as an artist, UTRH is my overall favourite outfit for jay. It’s so distinct despite being very simple and the colour scheme is truly chef’s kiss, monochrome with a splash of bright red is absolutely brilliant. Not to mention that silhouette!? It’s so unique despite its simplicity and i adore it! 

Ok sorry now actual stuff about more than the looks. I think all of it is absolutely brilliant, especially for where his character was at during UTRH. the bomb in his helmet is a triple kill with showing people how skilled he is– how many other characters would be able to get a bomb so stable that they can have it in their fucking helmet– how dedicated he is to what he does, and how insane (affectionate) he is. Also just banger in terms of practicality to have a bomb where absolutely no one would suspect, being combined with the fact that he wears a mask underneath meaning he can take it off and use it whenever he needs to. 

The wavy knife has SO much symbolism potential i adoooooreee it. The fact that he uses a knife that is specifically designed with the intention of injuring and causing more pain than your average knife is so tasty for subtle metaphor of jason being willing to hurt people more than strictly necessary to achieve his goals. I also think it looks great too, very fun design and adds something really dynamic to his silhouette whenever he’s holding it. 

And THE LACK OF SYMBOL AHHHH ITS SO GOOODD!!! Once again, i like looking at things from a meta perspective as well, and GOD the lack of symbol is so fascinating. I think that DC took off the (R) that jay had on his fit during hush because they wanted to distance him from their batfamily cash-cow. They knew for sure that even if in-story, jason was doing it to mock bruce, having a direct visual link between a character that represented and showed everything wrong with their money-maker and the money-maker itself would be Bad for a comic that would definitely be scrapbooked together and summarized and taken out of context by the fandom. MOREOVER, symbols and logos have been inherently associated with superheroes and good guys in general– barring characters that are obvious “evil” parallels of heroes (e.g bizarro)– and making jason lack something thats become associated with heroes subtly creates a visual emphasis on what DC wants to convince us that the red hood is in fact a villain. All very fun stuff, and in-universe is also sooo fun. I think that in canon as well, the lack of symbol is a layer of separation between jason and who he used he to be. I think it can be exemplified wonderfully in his own words, “I am no one’s son.” (i FUCKING LOVE THAT LINE BTW IT DRIVES ME FUCKING INSANE EVERY TIME I SEE IT GRTNJARJHR) jason obviously still wants reassurance that bruce loved him and cared about him but he doesn’t consider himself bruce’s son anymore. Bruce’s son– to jason– was robin, not just jason, and everything that robin meant. So now that jason is a criminal, now that he isn’t robin anymore, now that he isn’t bruce’s son anymore, he chooses (needs) to have that layer of separation between being a hero (being robin), being a bat, and his persona as red hood. I think that as jason transitions slowly from being a villain into being an anti-hero, it would be interesting and fun for him to have a symbol. But not the red bat. I hate the red bat.

And finally, alfred! I am personally of the opinion that jason loves all of his parental figures, regardless of whatever other feelings he has for them as well. I think alfred has always sort of been an enabling abusive figure, and jason can see that, but he still holds fond and loving memories of the man. As in he can recognize that it wasn’t a good thing that all alfred did was support jason in the aftermath of whatever bruce made him go through as a kid instead of actually putting a stop to it, but he can’t resent him too much for it either. I think he definitely does have some resentment towards alfred for the aftermath of his death, though. Jason obviously understands bruce’s reservations with murder, even if he hates that bruce has them, but he also definitely knows that alfred shouldn’t have those, and i think that he resents alfred a little for not doing anything. Honestly im not too sure with alfred, i don’t like him very much and i think i project a little onto jason and can’t fully come up with how he would feel about alfred. 

Sorry about that last answer, but other than that i hope you enjoyed my thoughts!!!! Thank you sooooooo much for asking. I absolutely adore you. And i would love love love to hear all of your own thoughts on these things!!!! What do you think about jason’s fit and the batarang incident and his thoughts on alfred? And Also! What do you think about “I am no one’s son” because it is highkey one of my favourite lines in the entire comic and i want to know your thoughts on it soo bad.

(also sorry for the inconsistent and horrible capitalization i wrote this all out in google docs first and cannot be bothered to edit it all)

[prettyflyshyguy]

Alright you little shits, you know how it goes. Liveblogging watching Murderbot.

I just slammed the pause button because I heard the first two secconds of the opening scene song, instantly recognised it and got extreemly excited. I know I'm gonna be in for a good time.

Anyway, more under the cut as usual.

Ok I'm not going into this completely blind, but I'm going to try and write this all up with what my first thoughts were as I started seeing clips from this show.

Firstly. The design utterly slaps. It's a great classic sci-fi armored humanoid but there's something deeply unsettling about the helmet itself and the way it's half ringed with one eye hole but it's more off centre its just. Weird. but in a very good way.

the intro sequence IS SO CUTE after severence I'm so excited to see more shows exploring stylistic and thoughtfully animated intro segments, this is so fun, the bit where it's surrounded and then it just fucking nope's out like fuuuuuuuuck that I dont wanna connect with people. I'm dead.

Oh my godddd the COLOURS this show knows how to use colours I am delighted

mmmmmmmmmmmgurathingetinheremmmmmmmmtherewego

this is fucking funny this show is fucking funny hey

Me going bonkers over the colour and aeshetics and the set design like

finally. some good fucking food.

This is tickling me the same way that the Alien franchise does. Like they've gone with a very distinct visual language with the world and I adore it immediately.

THE FIRST HARD JUMPCUT BETWEEN SANCTUARY MOON AND THE SCIENTISTS EXAMINING ROCKS FUCKING KILLED ME

the way it's voice changes from it's normal accent/intonation when it says "stay calm, it'll be ok, you have my word" BITCH i swear to god

love love love love LOVE the camera work on this show when they get funky with their shots

screaming every time its face does this holy shit give this guy an oscar

THE PERFORMANCE EFFICIENCY % GOING DOWN I'M FUCKING CRYING

"SPEECH" or acid bath I CAN'T FUCKING HANDLE THIS HAHAHAHA YOU WERE RIGHT THIS SHOW'S REALLY FUCKING FUNNY

Is this O'Byrnes brother like Hello. I like Gurathin. I like him a lot.

"I need to check the permimeter" IT'S VOICE GBRTAGUILRTHASNI

Ok. Ok. Alright. OK. I get it. It's good. It's pretty good. Onto episode 2.

Ok first of all. Losing it at all the different nicknames for Gurathin. Love that these people all are weird and quirky and so so so human but they all feel so real and fun even once the veneer of satire is peeled back. They really do feel like they're a group with history and that they all know each other well and really care about each other. Reminds me of how I felt at one of my old workplaces. Very real.

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY -- what's the reason that Gurathin doesnt trust the company *eyes emoji* don't actually tell me, I'm sure it'll get explained later, but OOOOO THAT'S AN IMPORTANT PLOT POINT THAT I'M VERY INTERESTED IN

I've already seen this scene before but holy shit it's so much better with the full context

SecUnit can try as much as it might to pretend it doesn't give a shit about these people but there was a tone to that "I am a necessary precaution. Moron."

I love it.

OK HOLD UP. The way Gurathin asks "whats it like to be you?" THERE'S WEIGHT BEHIND THAT. THERE'S SOMETHING THERE. Gurathin went from being completely nervous and shit scared of this thing, insisting everyone else stay away from it, to personally inviting it, ALONE, to have a funny little chat and it really sounds like he's getting vulnerable with it.

Was he augmented without his consent?

This show has no right to have a robot be this fucking funny and relatable

the fucking lip twitch and curl as it says "sex. with humans." I'm weeping

ok back to the serious shit: Gurathin. What's the deal dude. I'm deeply intrigued. Like ok, if this thing is rogue, malfunctioning, whatever, it's got me wondering whats the point in talking to it? Like Gurathin's going for the subtext here, the insistent tone on

"It would be extremely dangerous for everyone involved-"

"Including the SecUnit!"

like if its going to kill you, its going to kill you. I guess he's trying to appeal to a potential internal sense of self preservation? Like don't fuck this up for yourself by messing us up? But it's also weird because he's toying with the sense of what the SecUnit is required to do. It doesnt have to do anything but it choses to comply with orders to avoid being detected as rogue.

I'm fucking dying over here I can't believe SecUnit just hit Gurathin with psychological warfare and it's all like "fuck yeah this guy won't bother me anymore" meanwhile Gurathin's probably like "jesus christ the robots a fucking pervert"

anyway -- I'm really interested in Gurathin's character. There's so much more under the surface there.

Lets switch subjects for a sec. Mensah's panic attacks. This is so dumb but I'm really glad she's stubborn. She's fighting something alone that's incredibly debilitating but she's just burying it and my god if that ain't so real and so relatable. I really like Mensah. I like the entire cast. I feel like each time they get a spotlight I'm going to say this.

OH YEAH BABEY YEAH YEAH YEAH ONCE AGAIN POPPING OFF WITH THE USE OF COLOUR I LOVE IT GOOD FUCKING FOOD

Ok quick note - at the very end of E2 the gang is huddled around a computer trying to ping the other station and Gura is the only one not in close proximity with the group. He's got closer ties to Mensah but he's still clearly pulled in with the gang (the humming huddle and dancing scene in E1) but he self isolates. This is clearly a parrallel to SecUnit as they have a lot in common (SecUnit would deny this of course but we see it) - with the obvious overlap being that they're both to a degree cyborgs. One's just a construct and the other's a modified person.

hahahahahaha HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

YOUR POSTURE

The prevalance of the mental impact of traumatic experiences in this show is catching me off guard. It's nice seeing it expressed so bluntly and so widely amongst the cast. In more front facing ways, we've got SecUnit's comments on Bharadwaj not healing mentally, and then when Gura approaches her his comments on that its an Old Habit, being quiet. Thanks I'm chewing on this.

>Gurathin smelling Mensah's 'pheromones'

No one in this crew is safe from having deep running unresolved issues (both personal AND interpersonal) and I LOVE IT

"I need to check the--munitions."

DEAD. I'M DEAD. I CAN'T TAKE THIS.

"They're amazing on Bloodjust Killjoy!"

"Thanks Ratthi!"

"I didn't know you played that."

"... I don't."

CACKLING. I'M CACKLING. The degree of problems bubbling under the surface in this crew is fantastic. Using a deeply troubled and unhealthy robot to foil a deeply troubled and unhealthy gaggle of humans is ingenious.

EPISODE 4 GIVE IT UP FOR EPISODE 4

GOOD OPENING

thank you Murderbot for expressing something that I often feel I cannot: I also don't think babies are cute.

STOP IT STOP IT STOP I WASN'T READY FOR THIS GAG HOLY SHIT WHO WROTE THIS THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY

gamers I think this might be my favourite episode so far

hglargo;rtjgoal;stjhnio;wrtjhniprhjtopa'rhjp'isrtjhnps'ihtjsi

I'm going fucking bonkers chat episode 4 was insane

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO WAIT UNTILL FRIDAY FOR THE NEXT ONE

the last serialised show I watched was fucking doctor who!

anyway. Holy shit. I love this show. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Oh my god.