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#im going crazy….. might draw this. sorry

spourtneys · 3 months

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still thinking abt courtney saying they had a Can i guess who kissed me video pitch in their head for MONTHS before deciding it was a. BAD idea. hilarious to me… the entire video would have looked like that hasnt kissed anyone ever x expecting a kiss w tongue image bc nobody wants to give shippers fuel for the fire but courtney is fully fine with making out sloppy style . shayne would go for the forehead kiss n she would know its him immediately amanda would end up using tongue angela would bite their lip on accident chanse keith tommy and arasha go for the peck (arasha only goes for the peck bc amanda went for the make out). trevor does a cute lil cheek kiss ofc… and spencer gives a 4 second closed mouth gentle thing and courtney would be grinning like :3 thats spencer. bc of his beard. they would guess at least 80% correctly and the comments would have to be disabled 5 hours after upload

#im going crazy….. might draw this. sorry #my spourtney and shourtney bias showing strongly here? possibly.#i like courtmanda but mainly i just believe that courtney and amanda are both fully willing to make out w their friends open mouthed .#yuri spit separation moment and everything .#smosh rpf #smosh pit #can i guess who kissed me?#<- tag for this dumb idea that i will prob make into some art or fic or. both #courtney miller #smoshblr

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mcybree · 4 months

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Ok ok ok I'm not Tryna start discourse but bluestars prophecy was my first ever warriors book and bluestar will always be my favourite so I'm gonna make some counterpoints to you about her being a Smajor character

bluestar has always been led by an intense loyalty and dedication to those she loves and cares for - this includes her mum, her sister, her clan, eventually Firepaw when he joins the clan, and she has a VERY strong moral compass when it comes to doing the right thing - when she sees thistleclaw teaching tigerpaw to hurt a then baby scourge she very much discourages it and is against it

Afaik scott is Not like that, he doesn't have an emotional or love-driven moral code, he does things because they're smart decisions in the long term or because he wants to. Granted I havent seen a ton of his stuff but I have seen his limited life and 3rd life perspectives and he is very much a singular team player there, there to look after himself and well if people align with him that's great he's got allies (jimmy and Martyn) but he won't go out of his way to care for them

Bluestars defiance of starclan in the first series is BECAUSE she gave herself to them and what the warrior code demanded so much - yes she broke clan rules by having kids with crookedstar but she did everything in her power to make sure they'd have a happy life and felt terrible that thrushpelt was willing to say they were his to save her reputation. She didn't do it out of a selfish want, she only ever wanted to help her clan and those she loved, and her becoming clan leader is emblematic of that want. When she rejects starclan so wholeheartedly in the first series it's because THINGS KEEP GOING WRONG WHEN SHES TRIED SO HARD TO STOP THEM FROM DOING THAT - starclan has never cared about the sacrifices she made to keep her loved ones and clan safe, she lost her mother, her sister, her kits, her mate, literally everything, and things STILL KEEP GETTING WORSE. it's not a demand that she deserves to have everything good, it's a cry for help that shouldn't something go right after she's tried so hard???

C!Scott isn't like that. He puts himself above others and inherently believes he will get the best if he just plays his cards right, and he is good at it, he's very competent at lasting a long time in life series and getting what he wants - the ruthlessness of gem driven by desperation kills him in secret life, Martyn's complete fucking about face kills him in limited life, and I'm pretty sure it's etho who gets him out in 3rd life by luck. He doesn't plan to look after the ones he cares about, because he cares about himself first and foremost. Yeah you can argue when he doesn't get what he wants he gets annoyed, but his is less of a 'why don't I get this don't I deserve it' and more of a 'oh fuck this didn't work. Ok new plan double down on getting what I want by appeasing to people cos they're easy to read and therefore account for'

I don't doubt Scott would make a bluestar adjacent character if he made a warrior cats oc BUT his character would honestly be closer to darktail or ashfur than bluestar and that's that on that.

(sorry you activated 13 year old me's unskippable cutscene sjdjsjsjja this isnt meant to be a serious argument I just love bluestar a lot and love talking about her)

OKAY 1. this is fucking awesome thank you 2. i am going to do something new and exciting (advocate for scott instead of beating him to death with sticks) because unfortunately this bluestar info has only made me believe she is a smajor character even more.

As a general note when I talk about smajor characters as a collective here I’m referring to characters more in the realm of esmp/traffic/rats/pirates/etc, less vampire scott or necromancer scott who are intended to be villainous.

Scott characters tend to operate under a “If I am not a Good Person I may as well die” rule, and consequently abide by a strict moral code to keep themselves feeling clean. For instance: traffic Scott will never go back on his word, he will avoid dishonesty, and he won’t take from others unless he is sure that he can repay them. He will never betray his seasonal primary ally (even when they betray him first), and will often give people things just because they asked him nicely. He stakes a lot of his own identity on this, because it is through being a “good person” that he justifies his superiority (and, by extension, his own existence); in his mind he deserves the best and *is* the best because he is such a good person. When things don’t go his way, he thinks he doesn’t deserve it because he has been nothing but good, so he tries to place a reason. He often assumes that somebody must “have a vendetta” against him, even if this somebody is the world (see: him asking if limlife episode 1 boogeyman is some kind of joke played on him for not giving in to the boogey curse in Last Life.) which is very Bluestar to me, convinced that her misfortunes are a divine punishment.

This is all to say that Scott does have a strict moral code and deep sense of loyalty. Being a “good person” and devoted partner in the ways he understands it are so ingrained into what he is that I think he definitely has the capacity to be a Bluestar if he were raised being taught clan values, even if his internal systems are often built around never letting gross emotions be fully felt rather than what those emotions compel him to do.

#ive always wanted to partake in pointless character debate on tumblr #considered maintagging this but didnt want people looking at your ask weird. sorry yall we serve fucked up scott here #“But bree” you might ask “what about pearl? He wasnt a very devoted partner then!”#and to that I say: pearl isnt a person to him. and neither is jimmy. Scott fucked up with both of them and unfortunately if he is not good-#and justified 100% of the time he loses his entire identity so convincing himself that they are incompetent or crazy so that he #doesnt have to self reflect is how he gets by. he would literally rather kill himself than earnestly admit fault for anything #… huh. about the above tags I dont remember the lore but is there any parallel there with the whole bright heart thing #genuine question bc I do not remember why blue star did that and I dont trust the wiki #(Trying to space out names so they dont tag)#I really hope this makes sense btw bc I feel like I usually list a lot more examples… but im tired #I can elaborate on any point here if need be ig. I dont talk about this aspect of him often because the literal entire fandom does already #Every scott analysis post out there is about his damn loyalty… anyways yeah scotts loyalty is transactional more often than emotional but #It’s still loyalty and also. hard to draw the line between where the emotions stop sometimes because he can stop giving a fuck about—#most things on a whim. How much scott genuinely cares about something is a forever undefinable concept #asks #he is genuinely a very good ally to have usually. like jimmy was very much the exception there #he does like helping people out he does. he’s just also emotionally detached so he tallies his favors and good deeds to bring up later if—#someone he’s helped decides to go against him. If that makes sense #sorry man I just keep talking. I love this blue animal…….#thanks for the ask genuinely I love when paragraphs about characters #anyways im gonna pass out and. Shakes myself STOP ADDING MORE TAGSSS i think im so tired man

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all444miles · 10 months

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can you do miles with and earthy black girl! Like I can see him wanting her nose rings, and accessories but don’t get me started on how he SIMPS for her waist beads. He loves seeing her at school with her hair wrap and locs and her lavender and coco sent, she’s a calm person to!

thank you so much for your AMAZING work God bless❤️❤️❤️❤️

— DOWN TO EARTH

— pairing: both miles' x black!earthy!fem!reader — genre: fluff — summary: what its like for both miles' to date an earthy girl ‹3 — a/n: quick note, the reader calls 1610 miles "bambi" as a nickname becuase he reminds her of a baby deer ‹3 (credits to my pookie for that !!) — a/n 2: I didn't know which miles you meant, so i just did both 😭 also pretend that brooklyn visions academy doesnt have a uniform.. i was tired writing this so im rlly rlly RLLLY sorry if this is bad but, i hope you like this, and enjoy !! ‹3

E-42 MILES

Miles loves being in your room. the smell of burning coconut incense, the look of your fairy lights, the small plants, it felt so chill, so peaceful. he liked that.

he always knows which incense you've used, and will pick up if you've changed them. He'll buy you some if you need any more.

"You got rid of the coconut incense? Mami, that one was my favorite." "Baby, I only have one pack left." "Oh? Aight, i'll buy you some tomorrow."

he'll never tell you, but if he misses you, he'll listen to your favorite songs that you'd always hum to yourself when you two are alone.

does he like Erykah Badu? Yes, yes he does. he'll listen to Green Eyes on his missions with his uncle whenever he gets the chance.

his uncle caught him once; one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

"Kid, you listenin' Erykah Badu? Ian know you into allat." "Yo chill, it's only cuz my girl like her." "Mhm. You sure you my nephew or am I trippin?" "Tio, let's just roll."

he's loves to cuddle with you, especially cause you always smell like lavender. he won't let you go either.

"Miles, I gotta get some food." "Nuh, in a minute." "Hun, you done said that 2 minutes ago." "Exactly, in a minute. I like being here."

absolutely in love with your waist beads. he loves the jewllery you were (you both have matching necklaces), but your waist beads? goes absolutely crazy whenever you wearing a crop top and you have them on.

one time you two were at a beach and you wore them with your bikini, he might as well have fell in love with you all over again. bro has his hands on your waist the whoooleee time.

"Princesa, never take off your waist beads." "Why? You like 'em?" "¿Gustarme? Chica, Dios mío, estoy enamorada de ellos." (Like them? Girl, my god, i'm in love with them.) "Miles!" "What? I'm just appreciating my queen n her style, ion see no problem."

E-1610 MILES

Miles is obsessed, like, obsessed, with your style.

if you two live close, he'll style your locs and do your head wrap for you before school.

if not, he'll come to school excited to see your ootd. that is, as if you don't send them to him everyday before school.

"You look gorgeous in your outfit, amor." "Thank you Miles. You do know i already showed you it before school, right?" "So? It's always better to see my wife's outfits in person." "Bambi, you so corny."

he draws you, all the time. look through his sketchbook and you'll find drawings of his friends from the spider society, his uncle, and thousands of you.

Instead of doing what his twin does, when he misses you, he'll draw you. He misses you a lot.

"Baby, can I see your sketchbook?" "..Uhm, yeah! Sure." "You draw me? Awwe, that's so cute."

he loves how calm you are, he actually thinks of you as an angel the way you're so peaceful.

he thinks your nose rings are so gorgeous. if you let him pick which nose ring, he'll be so honored.

adores the fact you smell like lavender. he'll always lay his head into the crook of your neck because he loves your scent sm.

like his counterpart, he's so fascinated to your waist beads. like, he just thinks you look so beautiful with em. One time, you put his hands on your waist, he honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

"Mami, did you know I love your waist beads?" "Yes, bambi, i know." "Nah, but I loooovvveeeee them!" "Baby, i know!" "Like, I looooooooooooovvvvvvvveeeeee them!" "Love, please."

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

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doorp · 9 months

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as much as we joke abt Annabel shitting herself during a possible divorce arc we have to remember that lenore would be hurting just as bad. lenore is just as obsessed with Annabel, just as down bad, it’s just lenore wants to let herself be happy and Annabel is a big idiot who’s sticking to what she knows- and what she knows is don’t trust anyone emotion is weakness weakness can be exploited. she thinks everyone is out to get her, she’s paranoid and clinging desperately to the only person who can actually make her feel things. But back to the point, we’ve talked abt how Annabel would feel during this but not how lenore might. This was lenore when she didn’t even remember Annabel yet-

She knows literally nothing abt this person except that she has some weird draw to her and she’s smacking orbs out of the air and running around the academy with scissors looking for her. She can’t stand being apart from her just as much as Annabel- the first time they met lenore literally grabbed her skirt under the table when Annabel giggled at her

Annabel Lee “would you do something for me?” Whitlock and Lenore “anything” vandernacht

She said I will not only write you a song I will fake my death and commit fraud and we will get married - after knowing this woman for 6 months.

Miss “the world is a cruel and terrible place- omg Annabel!! I can’t be late for my midnight rendezvous with my wife!!”

She wants to be w her all the damn time

“I’ll miss u 🥺” “even today i wish you would’ve been by my side instead.” “I wish you were here with us instead. that’s the only way this afternoon could’ve been perfect. ” “what will I do without you return to the attic?” “Im not leaving her side!”

“How the devil haven’t we seen anyone else yet?”

“Why, you looking for somebody? 🤨”

Divorce arc lenore will be lennabel having gayass and tension filled arguments and lenore going to sleep at night having gayass dreams of memories abt Annabel and waking up and crying angry tears and throwing pillows at the wall as she goes off the walls bonkers. Both of them are going to get so much worse and I love that the plot needs to keep them separated bc otherwise they would fuck absolutely everyone’s shit up.

Lenore and Annabel quite literally make each other insane. If the deans want drama separating them at the beginning was possibly the best way to achieve that.

Lenores gonna be angry heartbroken I hate that I need you sad and annabel is going to be my wife hates me I hope I die and im going to make it everyones problem sad

Do not separate white raven or they will both go off the rails and do insane things bc they are stupid crazy uhaul lesbians

sorry if I said the same things a bunch of different ways but the point still stands !! a divorce arc might be sick!

#divorce arc is a perfect opportunity for Annabel to make actual friends #the evil loser lesbian needs a hobby that isnt manipulation #platonic white plague besties is the dream #aro prospero telling Annabel girl you dont need to get married you need professional help #nevermore webtoon #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #nevermore webcomic #prospero nevermore #white raven #lennabel

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beefboyandbabygirl · 11 months

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Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror.

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.”

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.”

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?”

You smile softly. “Sure.”

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs.

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside.

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed.

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat.

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock.

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up.

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in.

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head.

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment.

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute.

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!” _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is.

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was.

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses.

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess.

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands.

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected.

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way.

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter.

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you.

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake.

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak.

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless.

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door.

“And when Mary birthed the-”

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-”

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows!

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service.

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then.

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here.

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line.

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.”

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained.

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?”

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it.

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..”

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little.

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-”

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully.

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.”

“What?”

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.”

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.”

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?”

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat.

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..”

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.”

“What about you? Keep busy?”

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.”

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.”

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof.

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-”

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?”

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.”

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.”

“Okay. See you then.” _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!”

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown.

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.”

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.”

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.”

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college.

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed.

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then.

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?”

Oh.

Shit.

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.”

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff.

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.”

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.”

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.”

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee.

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.”

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.”

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.”

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.”

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.”

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock.

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you.

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?”

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about.

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.”

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!”

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.”

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants.

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously.

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.”

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?”

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.”

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-”

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!”

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms.

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon.

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage?

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself.

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse. _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again?

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly.

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection.

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs.

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?”

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain.

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor.

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary.

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.”

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t.

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously. _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together.

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement.

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.”

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.”

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas.

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad.

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.”

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you.

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?”

You nod. “We are.”

“When are you leaving?”

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.”

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-”

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours.

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard.

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his.

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups.

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down.

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands.

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly.

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents.

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.”

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment.

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away.

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.”

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly.

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity.

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.”

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.”

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less.

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.”

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness.

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor.

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.”

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.”

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock.

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way.

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.”

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.”

#svt smut #svt x reader #svt chan x reader #svt dino x reader #svt chan smut #svt dino smut #svt angst #svt chan angst #chan x reader #chan angst #lee chan x reader #lee chan smut #lee chan angst

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makuro-ua · 1 year

Note

okokok wally x reader

except wally doesnt know that hes falling in love with the reader

he just thinks they are Such Good Friends

so he has to have the reader explain to him that no. this isn't just best friendship. youre in love wallace.

also can the reader be silly

CLUELESS! WALLY DARLING X SILLY! GN! READER — PAGE 2

“I think… I love you more than a friend, neighbor.”

Warnings : None

Platonic or Romantic? : Romantic.

{———————————————————————————}

Wally stared at the shuffling bush.

You came out of it! In… a karategi? those uniforms for karate? you were holding your hands up as if you were about to hit someone.

Although he’d stifle in laughter like the first few weeks he’d met you or seen you like this, he didn’t. Something else was getting in the way.

His heart jumped, he felt so weird— it was this feeling again! Wally’s heart clenched and he felt swarms of butterflies flying in his stomach. It was strange.

Weird.

His face would flush up.

And… he was shaking?

You looked around the forest until you saw the lake and Wally.

“Wally?”

You put down your hands and walked up to him.

You giggle, patting his shoulder.

“What are you drawing there?”

Wally immediately tried to cover your eyes from the painting. He didn’t know why he did it— but he did? there was a feeling of shame inside of him, like you might not like it.

But he was too late. You already held Wally steady in his seat with both your hands on his shoulders.

“You drew this?!”

You exclaimed, your eyes glistening with amazement.

The butterflies in his stomach fluttered even more, and you hugged him from behind.

“I love it, I love it, I love it!!!!”

You giggled and slightly jumped, careful not to let the seat Wally was sitting in move. It might hit the easel if Wally or you bump into it, and you don’t wanna ruin his painting so you tried not to be too crazy on the jumping.

But it was so amazing!

However, you noticed how quiet Wally got and how his face was in a orange-red tint.

“Wally?— are you… sick?”

You asked him.

Wally shook his head and let out a few deep breaths.

“N-no, neighbor! you just make me feel… so weird when you’re around.”

You looked at him in worry and let go of the hug, backing away.

“Oh- uh… sorry.”

You mumbled. Wally panicked and stood up, walking to you.

“No! No- no not that way, friend! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Wally smiled at you nervously.

“Then… what is it?”

You ask. Wally was very hesitant to respond, and you began getting even more curious.

“It’s just… I feel so weird around you. You’ve been on my mind for quite a long time, and it feels like Frank’s butterflies are in my stomach… I didn’t eat them, of course.”

Wally lied a bit at the last part. He has eaten one of Frank’s butterflies on accident. He was curious how it tasted and he stared at it for too long and— wait. Right.

“I… I don’t know. My face feels so warm, and my heart keeps doing these tricks and flips.”

Oh.

Oh, now you get it.

“Oh, Wally…”

Your voice softened as you smiled at him.

“You really feel that way?…”

Wally nods.

“Yes, friend— of course I do!”

You hug him and laugh.

“I love you too, silly! That means you’re in love with me!”

Wally’s face scrunched up in confusion and embarassment.

“L-love?! As in, love in relationship or?…”

“Yes, that love, Wally! those butterflies, thinking of someone all the time, all the things you said are a confession, dummy!”

You chuckled.

Oh, how bright you were. He loved looking at you.

You were so adorable.

“Oh. I… I see, neighbor!”

Wally chuckled and smiled.

“Then… I love you.”

“I love you lots, and lots [Y/N]!”

That soft spoken, monotone voice telling you that he loved you was absolutely adorable.

And you’d cherish him the same way he cherishes you.

{——————————————————}

A/N : Oh christ I hope I got this one right since Im not sure how to describe silly— anyways!! I hope you all enjoyed this one. Thank you for reading till’ the end! <33

——-> PART 1

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home wally #wally darling welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #wally darling x reader

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angeltsan · 25 days

Note

hii bunny!! 🍑 anon here to ramble about riwoo..

because i’ve read some hcs on here about him and usually i default to imagining idols as doms but he seems like a lot of ppl see him as a sub and i think he could maybe be a sub leaning switch but yeah he is probably (in all of our depraved fantasy worlds) a subby boy

and definitely whiney. i think his whines would be so sweet n adorable like his fake little whines when he’s pouting and teasing you or ur teasing him and he doesn’t actually want u to stop but wants to put up a little bit of resistance.. and then his less voluntary whines and whimpers when he gets into the subspace u so easily put him in<333

i think he’d be so cute with an oral fixation, wanting to suck on ur fingers (and ur titsss plsss) omg so like imagine ur just like cuddling and watching a movie with him i could see him like laying his head on ur lap while ur sitting up or laying on you if you’re laying down and you could be playing with his hair or rubbing circles on his lower tummy and u don’t even mean to work him up, ur just cuddling ur sweet boy but he’s getting all flustered and thinking about u and the position you’ve got him in and he takes your hand and asks first cuz he’s very polite like can he suck on your fingers and ur like ofc baby and he’d just do it mindlessly for a bit but then you’re starting to get worked up at the way he just lays there and suckles at ur finger, and so you give him another one and when he so obediently takes it (albeit with the cutest little whine) you can’t stop urself from pushing your fingers a bit deeper into his throat u would never want to hurt him but u loveeee the way he squirms when your fingertips press on the back of his tongue aaahhhh im sorry i can’t tell if this makes any sense or he just super unhinged. uhm.

i was gonna ramble on about riwoo begging to suck on ur breasts and sitting in ur lap and sucking on them while ur watching tv or smth but i feel that might be a bittt much um anyways. sorry if this is too crazy or just dumb. yeah.

NO THIS ISN'T TOO MUCH NOR IS IT DUMB THIS IS REALLY GOOD HUN!!! i love subby riwoo its my favorite way to talk about him because it just makes so much sense to me.

overall he's such a good boy, so obedient and willing to listen to everything that you tell him to do but sometimes he does get super whiny. he talks back just a little at times but its not in an attempt to be bratty, its more him just wanting to have something to say. when you do certain things he'll whine out a very hushed, "so mean :(" or he'll just let out a whine of disapproval to you. he doesn't really mean anything by it but he can't help but let them out. when he gets into his sub space he really doesn't talk much so his whines and whimpers are his way of communicating things!

i like to think that the reason he loves desserts so much is because they taste good of course but also because they keep his mouth occupied with something sweet. he loves the fluffy textures and the creamy insides it makes him so happy. i could def see this scenario, he'd be so so sweet. he'd lay on your lap and as soon as he does his attention would be pulled away from the movie and he'd just play with the hem of your shirt or something like that, just mindlessly twisting it up in his fingers. he lets go with you, allowing himself to be a bit brainless, just letting himself fully be relaxed. he always hums so cutely when you play in his hair, he gives you the prettiest smile. me and thea actually have so many thoughts about riwoo having a sensitive lower belly, its a huge erogenous spot for him so the moment you start drawing circles on his skin he's getting all needy and hard.

you'd be so used to him needing your fingers in his mouth by this point that when he grabs your hands and starts playing with your fingers, just running his fingertips over your nails you'd already know. when you smile down at him knowingly he'd just be like, "can i?" he smiles around the finger in his mouth, staring up at you with such sweet round eyes, sometimes shutting them for a little bit. like you said he accepts another finger in his mouth so easily, hand wrapped around your wrist as he holds your hand up to his mouth. when you push your fingers deeper into his mouth he'd moan around your fingers, squirming around a little because of how hard he's getting, he's so so sweet and would get so so needy.

he loves being submissive for you because he loves that he doesn't have to do much. of course he'd take care of you just as well as you do him if u need him to but he loves to give up control and sit back and let you play with him however you please. he trusts you fully and is so willing to do what you want. whether he's domming or subbing is really up to how you feel that day!

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moodymisty · 7 days

Note

(This isn't a request, just some Konrad daydreams driven by 4am insomnia that had me screeching and I just have to share with someone while I wait for my meds to kick in!!)

Your recent post about the stinky rat man got me thinking of something truly, hilariously awful: Konrad's favorite meow meow is a PERPETUAL.

Maybe he watches her die. Maybe he accidentally kills her himself. Whatever happens, he'd probably be losing. his. fucking. mind.

..And then she comes back. Oh god, I'm loving imagining at how truly deranged he would be over that. I know he tortures Vulkan SUPER HARD after finding out he's a perpetual, but that seemed driven a lot by "You think you're good and noble(and sane)? I'll drag you down to my level."

I wonder if he'd mistake her as some kind of phantom/delusion brought on by grief and madness at first. Extra comedy: he accidentally(purposely?) kills her again while freaking out over her showing back up alive LMAO. Meow meow can't catch a fuckin' break with this man.

Now I'm wondering how a few other primarchs would react to something similar though

Sanguinius and his sons in mourning and his dead wife just shows back up like "Why did you bury me alive?!" completely unaware she DIED.

Perturabo's shitass sons being like "I told you it was a waste of time!" and then the horror of realizing they didn't escape their step-mom after all.

I'd assume all the primarchs would try to find out what the fuck happened, and maybe go to Malcador for information once they start drawing blanks? Idk.

Fulgrim would so cute, just hyped as fuck. "I have a wife? That won't get old and die before me?? I don't have to lose this one???" Bonus points if she's the last one he was going to marry because he got too heartbroken seeing his wives get old and die over and over 😫 the queen and her corgis vibe forreal

I can't really figure out Mortarion even though he's one of my faves. On one hand, WITCH!! On the other hand,he'd be so relieved the One Good Thing in his life isn't actually gone forevet..

Oh my g o d. Lorgar. Thefucking goddess shit would go CRAZY. Kor Phaeron slamming his head against a wall because he thought he finally WON. HOW DID SHE DO THAT? Some of his followers getting spooked about being rid of her because s u r e l y it was the Powers who orchestrated such a miracle... So maybe she is meant to be here? Uh oh.

Guilliman is another one I'm just like ????. All I can think of, is he'd quietly go find Emps/Malcador and be like "whattheFUCK? explain?please?how?"

It might be because I'm heavily sedated but it's all sO funny to think about. Some legions quietly rejoicing because The Distraction is gone and shejust. Comes back 😭

But can you imagine the parties thrown by the ones who really loved their legion mothers?! And you thought theFUNERAL was extravagant..

Im not sure what time it is there but I hope you slept well and have a good morning! Sorry forcthis stream of consciousness garbage by theway LOL but you always have such cool takes on things I couldnt help muself

This a joy to read friend, I have nothing to add.

Lorgar in particular with a perpetual beloved would be fucking INSANE. His whole religious trauma would be going wild as well as even some of the more apprehensive Word Bearers might be a bit more, respectful.

Imaging Vulkan's wife ends up coming back a few weeks after they desperately mourned her loss, and it's time for the galaxy's largest hug. They form a line.

#Misty's book club #jesus finding out you're a perpetural and in love with Konrad would be AWFUL you can't escape him lmao

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maycat-19-142 · 11 months

Note

hello, can i request a helia x energetic emo!reader? reader wears a lot of dark clothing, listens to early 2000s emo, and is very artistic, but is also is very energetic and rile up? it's like you see someone and expect to be some way but it turns out they're completely different than what you expected. i think that would be an interesting dynamic with helia djfhdjdj. thanks! (^^)

(this is my first request on this blog so im sorry if this is too specific)

Opposite attract

A/n: you did not say if reader was a fairy or not so I'm going to add my own twist to it

⚠️: fairy reader, Gender neutral reader, bad emo clothing choice on my part I'm more grunge than emo

Haha this will be fun

You meet at the opening of red fountain

You had worn something that was much darker and edgier than the other winx

You got this man's attention really quickly

Your dark clothes compared to the other winx

You were talking to musa when Brandon introduced yiu and the winx to heila

"Hi I'm y/n fairy of shadows your helia right it is good to meet you" you held out a hand as you talked quickly

"Yes it is good to meet you as well" he took your hand and shock it

Later on when the monsters of darkar attack you transform and wow

Black wings and mostly black fairy form

This was odd for a fairy

The other winx were in bright colors while you were not

He didn't see you till the day tecna got her chaimix

You had gotten your earlier un the mission so you had do do recon with musa and stella

He saw you land and you had dark charmix to

At night when everything had calmed down you were talking a mile a minute

Being really hyper

The others were not fazed but he was so confused

At the rade of darkar's fortress shadow haunt you had finally confessed

But you confessed first

"Helia" you said as you were about to go in to fight "I just wanted to say l ove you and I hope you feel the same.

Think of flora as you👇

Now getting together is over with i must talk about the dates

Pure craziness

Most of the time it is you showing up to the park he goes to to draw and you joining him

You will talk and he will listen so much he can almost repeat every word

I can see some of the mean girl fairies calling you a witch/wizard

[Side note: the witches get less love there outfit are amazing but we never see them]

He is not one for confrontation but he will comfort you if it bothers you that your called a witch/wizard

Now one thing that he will be not at all shocked about is your music taste

You love early 2000s music

completely expected

He will let you play music that you want and he will love to watch you and musa sing and dance together

If he gets to play his music it is more hassle and old style music so it might not be your cup to tea but you love him do he can play it if he wants

One time stella gave you a makeover and put you in her style of clothes and he was shocked

To be fully honest he didn't really like it

He was so used to your more emo style he was shocked to see you in stall style clothes

He loves you no matter what so he will love you if you're girly or emo

He doesn't care

I hope you enjoy and I did your idea justice. Have a good day and night 🌙

Pixie out 🧚‍♀️

#pixie #pixie rants #fluff #x reader #fem reader #gn🌌#male reader #winx helia #winx club helia #winx club #winx headcanons #winx x reader #winx club helia x reader

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bunny-corp · 2 months

Text

Hello hi!

Something REALLY weird for you today! This is one of the other things i found while recovering the uncensored fredbear frames! It's a prototype poster signed off by BOTH Henry Emily AND William Afton!!

I don't think this was ever hung and i cant find ANY records of what I'm assuming are rubber-faced animatronics ever in faz-HISTORY, but a sign off means that these designs EXISTED, maybe not publicly, but it at least means they got to child-testing! which is CRAZY because that means these robots are (potentially) SOMEWHERE OUT THERE!!! Which is like a WHOLE NEW mystery!

I actually have a couple more of these posters, I'm not done properly restoring them, these guys are PRETTY roughed up, which is unfortunate, considering this is a HUGE find, In my opinion. Completely undocumented animatronics from a potentially discontinued never released line??? SIGN ME THE HECK UP!

On top of this; These posters confirm that Henry Emily (Or William, but im personally believing it was Henry due to personal reasons.) DID in fact draw these, Finalized concept works usually include 1. A signature from the artist and 2. a confirmation signature from a higher-up (OR in this case; Business Partner.)

I'm really sorry that I can't provide more concrete dates or information on this specific piece or any facts about the robotics, but if i were to speculate? I could be wrong but my personal leading theory is that this might have been the original designs for the canceled 2003-2004 Additions to Fredbears Family Diner, maybe they failed Child-Testing, maybe they weren't manageable or strayed too far from Fredbear and Spring-Bonnie's plsuh designs. But one things for certain, They never got to publicly preform...

Anyway! Till next time! I'm going to switch my focus to whatever is going on with the poll after this post. Hopefully, it's something cool. That's not to say all the options are cool! But you know? Cool.

~Bunny C.

#Archive Fredbears #bonnie the bunny #im not actually sure HOW to tag this #Bunny Spec

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sea-jello · 1 year

Text

ANYTHING ABOUT BMCBLR ON THIS BLOG IS ALL IRRELEVANT NOW GO TO @bmcblr-remake

ill keep this post up but anything beyond the line is outdated

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

BMC TUMBLR REMAKE (!!PLEASE READ THE WHOLE POST!!)

okaay if youve seen my recent posts youll know that we MIGHT be doing an actual remake of be more chill right here on tumblr dot com! run by me ofc but i might need help down the line so you can sign up for that. its gonna be a completely fan made thing like im talking singing voice acting drawing music editing everything

ive gotten quite a lot of positive reactions to that post so ive made a google form if youre interested in participating! options include major roles minor roles editors artists and more take your pick

if youre not the best at singing then you can sign up for ensemble, for example the bg voices in guy that id kinda be into. no worries at ALL if you cant sing or draw or anything, theres gonna be a speaking ensemble too, for example the overlapping shouting in the smartphone hour. you can pick more than one role, for example ensemble + visuals, cause this is not a very big fandom so we're gonna need duplicates but if you want a major character role i'd prefer if you just stick with that tbh. if you want a major character role you can also pick more than one character! you can specify you want to try for rich, the squip and brooke or whatever. youre not actually auditioning for those roles yet i just need to see if theres enough people to cover every role

EDIT YO GUYS im sorry i forgot but deadline is end of the month! don't worry about timezones, as long as it's april for you you can still sign up. AGAIN I AM JUST CHECKING IF ENOUGH PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED so don't worry if you can't sign up now for whatever reason. you'll get another chance in the future, like an official sign up form. ALSO posts about this would most likely be under the tag #bmcblr remake thank you happistar for coming up with the word bmcblr it's funny as hell

KEEP IN MIND!!! WE ARE NOT FOR SURE DOING THIS I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. again i just need to see if enough people are interested to pull this off. ofc the more who are interested the more likely we would do it. also PLEASE please reblog or interact in some way so the word gets out! remember the more people the better

EDIT AGAIN it looks like we’re doing it! i will have an official blog and a masterpost up on that soon so if you’re still signing up be sure to go look for the forms for the art team, editor gang, music department and the actors on my blog as well

go crazy

im gonna tag the people who already said they were interested i really hope yall dont mind

@stealthkragen @merpiko @finallyheereandqueer @happistar @nezumithewriter @jarofmayonassey @mx-showtime @housebird @thetheatergremlin @celestetcetera @mynameismicah-getitright @william-austin @lohstandfound @lovely-blue-galaxy @genderlesssnake @twoplayergame @h0n3yk1tt3n @thefingerinthemiddle @thesquirrelqueer @tw0-player-game @enamelon @itsjustjo78

oh thats a lot more people than i thought i hope i didnt miss anyone

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venusbby · 1 year

Text

sketches and sunsets

characters/pairing: itoshi rin x artist!reader

warnings: they are so stupid and awkward and cute but i just wanted to write this because i found my old sketchbook from years ago lol. not proofread, sorry if there are any typos <3

the sound of hurried scribbling and rough strokes on the paper filled the room as he tried his best to stifle a yawn. he couldn't help but cringe a little at the possibility of you seeing his weak attempt to do so, eyes focused on your form as you continued to bring those quick and light lines to life in your sketchbook.

with your gaze flickering between the book on your lap and him in front of you, you made the same mistake over and over- making eye contact.

although you were looking back and forth, his eyes stayed on you and it was more nerve wracking than any thing. it was as if he was studying you and creating a sketch in his mind, and there's nothing more scary than finding out what you look like from his eyes.

"sorry, uh, if you're tired already."

rin was looking at you already, but he wasn't, you realized, when he finally looked right at you this time. if not your eyes, then what was he looking at?

for you, as an artist, (not sure you'd want to call yourself that because it takes you a few months to come back to your sketchbook after each drawing) the eyes are the most important. they're your favorite part to start with because they somehow guide you to draw the rest of the face. (even if it might not be the valid first step according to some art teachers.)

so for some reason you didn't really understand what rin was looking at other than your eyes.

speaking of eyes, his were really pretty.

you don't need him to know that, and you also don't need him to know that you spent more time than usual to sketch out his pretty eyes.

"no, i'm not tired." he said, almost finding his voice unfamiliar because of how long it had been since either of you spoke.

there was no special lighting except the warm, orange hues of the sun coming from the window of your bedroom and rin was in his usual clothes: a hoodie and sweats, because there was no reason to dress up. he lived next door anyway, so if there was a plan to go out and eat street food he'd just change into some jeans. your favorite watermelon slice pillow looking smaller than usual trapped between his arms as he used them for support to avoid slouching.

you sat a few feet away from the bed where he was, partially because you didn't believe you had the guts to stay so close while you studying his features. some artist part of you and some part of you that has fallen for the boy next door thinks its too intimate.

rin gulped. was it him or were the strands of your hair looking a warmer shade because of the sunlight? and your skin was glowing. you just did that thing you always do when you're focused, just like you were a few weeks ago when he had asked you to choose which pictures he should post on his instagram that was gaining followers left and right after blue lock.

how much longer?

he might just end up saying the things he's thinking if he looks at you any longer. saying that you're driving him crazy.

"alright, just a little detailing left. im sorry." you mumbled, now squinting so you could see better the minute details that you started adding, like his lashes.

"stop apologizing," rin said calmly. "i know it takes time."

you quietly nibbled on the inside of your cheek, feeling your fingers go slightly numb and hesitantly tossing your pencil on the study table nearby. "done."

rin moved. he moved closer.

he sat on the edge of the bed now, right in front of you. you felt your back ache from how you sat in the most uncomfortable position in your chair. he looked at you expectantly, holding his hand out.

this is the first time you've drawn after months. this is the first time you've drawn your best friend.

the reality of it all is just sinking into you and the burning sensation under your skin grew. you asked him if you could draw him and now that it's done you don't want to show it to him because it's a little embarrassing that you'd never put this much your heart and soul into a drawing before.

with a soft exhale, you gave the sketchbook and cracked your knuckles to relieve the pent up pressure. rin scanned the drawing from top to bottom, those pretty eyes stopping for a second at some point of the image. you licked your dry lips, hoping you didn't accidentally fuck up his features in a hurry.

he set the sketchbook down and your back straightened against the wood of your chair.

"i like it," he nodded once, blinking a few times to use the same eyes that he saw just now on paper, the prettier version.

"im glad," you smiled, anxiety defusing slowly. "it's been a long time since i drew. you're pretty easy to draw. wait, not in that way-"

"i love it." he admitted.

"oh, okay." you smiled wider, and while you thought of something more to say, rin beat you to it.

"i wanna draw you too." he mumbled, leaning in so, so slightly. "teach me, so i can draw you. i don't think i'll be able to make you look as pretty as you look in real life, because i'm not even close to decent at drawing."

your mouth opened and closed like a fish. you weren't even sure you blinked for the next five seconds- and oh, since when were you leaning in too? this was the most rin had talked in one go.

"are you.. calling me pretty?"

he took his time to answer that. gosh, you were too close. maybe you would've been able to draw his eyes even better if he was this close before.

"...yes."

rin's hand hovered just below your chin. he was hesitating. he wondered if his face looked as hot as it felt. he wondered if you were going to back off. you didn't. he gulped once more. "can i kiss you?"

it was too late. words had already died in your throat and you were surprised you even had it in you to nod repeatedly, slowly.

kissing rin itoshi while the sun had almost disappeared. what a story.

his lips were softer than you had imagined. and he seemed just as lost as you were, but even he didn't care. because he was kissing you.

his thumb and index holding your chin and your hand coming up to disappear into his dark locks, slightly pushing him closer so you could feel it more.

rin was almost on the edge of the bed and he was going to fall if he tried to get any closer. so he pulled away and guided you to sit on the bed beside him. his hands stayed glued to your waist as it all continued with fervor until you ended up lying on the bed staring at the ceiling that was covered in the green glow in the dark stars with your chests heaving and lips yearning for more. he remembered helping you put them up after school a few years ago.

your sketchbook laid right between you both.

your intertwined fingers didn't let go until it was dark outside your window and you guys heard your mom announcing that she had home from work.

rin only had a few favorite days to look back to. that day was one of them.