#acknowledging a UNIQUE intimacy between them

[endof-vanity]

winter begonia never fails to surprise and delight me in how explicit they are in their devotion to each other i think this is why i love "bromance" so much. writers so much more deliberate and creative in how characters express love for each other when they arent able to simply say 'i love you' or show affections traditionally percieved as romantic. i think that to me something like winter begonia will always be more romantic than most explicitly queer shows

[simplygojo]

I Like Your Tie...

author's note ⸺ OMG ONE OF MY FAVS REQUESTED! I loved this request; thats why it took SO LONG I’m sorry my friend I hope you enjoyyyy!! <3 I needed another Nanami request so bad so you did me a favour with this one, LOLLL. request ⸺ “Your last Toji fic got me frothing like a rabid dog. Lol. in all ways it was very uniquely him indeed !Could I shy request a fic with the song 'Talk' by Hozier paired up with Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader ? Something sensual steamy but ever so romantic for the blonde? Anyway, thank you for your stories ! Thank you so much. ♡” - @erebus-et-eigengrau (lurvv uu) pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader word count ⸺ 3.8K content ⸺ 18+ Content, SMUT!, p in v intercourse, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns, choking, control kink(ish), pet names, friends to fucking i guess, aggressive sex, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, I dont think this characterization of Nanami is very accurate but IT WORKED FOR THE STORY e

The late-night quiet of Jujutsu High was comforting in a way—no students rushing through the halls, no teachers around to monitor. You had been grateful for the peace, retreating to your room after a long day.

But as you reached your door, you stopped in your tracks.

There he was. Kento Nanami stood in front of your door, leaning ever so casually against the wall. 

—

You and Nanami had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, though it all began back in high school. Back then, you had a bit of a crush on him—not that you’d ever admit it. He wasn’t the type to flirt or give much attention to relationships, but there was something about him that always caught your eye. 

You had your moments, too—shared laughter, and private conversations late into the night, when the walls between friends almost seemed to blur. 

But Nanami never made a move, and neither did you. You knew how seriously he took his role as a sorcerer, and you didn’t want to complicate your friendship with feelings that you weren’t sure were mutual.

As you both graduated and eventually became high-level sorcerers, those moments of potential intimacy became even more distant. You grew into your own roles, taking on increasingly dangerous missions and fighting curses that most could barely comprehend. Nanami was often assigned to the same missions as you, his calm, steady presence a source of reassurance when things got chaotic.

There were times when his professionalism would slip, just for a moment. A fleeting look, a brush of his fingers against yours, his voice dropping an octave when he spoke your name. You always wondered if he felt it too—that same tension you tried so hard to ignore. But you never dared to ask, afraid of what it might mean if the answer was yes.

And now, standing in front of him in the quiet after everything that had just happened, you realized just how deeply those old feelings still ran.

There were times, though, when your old crush resurfaced. 

Sometimes, it was the way he’d look at you across the battlefield, silently checking to see if you were okay, his eyes filled with a concern that was more than just professional. Other times, it was the rare, gentle touch when he’d help you after a fight—his hand brushing your arm or waist as he steadied you after a particularly tough encounter.

But you always pushed those feelings down, refusing to acknowledge them for the sake of professionalism. 

The sorcery world didn’t leave much room for distractions, and you knew that Nanami was as dedicated as ever. He was the picture of control, never letting emotions dictate his actions, always focused on the mission at hand.

You convinced yourself that whatever crush you had on him was just remnants of your high school days, a fleeting fantasy that had no place in your current life.

—

His arms were crossed, his tie long loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. The dim lighting of the hallway cast a shadow over his sharp features, making the intensity in his eyes even more pronounced.

He looked every bit the composed man he always was, but something about the way his gaze followed your every movement made your heart stutter.

“Nanami…” His name left your lips in a quiet murmur, not expecting to see him there, not like this.

“You’re out late,” he observed, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if the stillness of the night demanded it.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Well, one of the first-years wanted some late-night training…What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking down to your lips before settling back on yours. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, making it hard to think clearly. His usual restraint seemed to falter, just slightly, but enough to make your pulse race.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice was steady, but the words made your breath hitch.

Your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Waiting for me?” You said quietly, a heat beginning to pool between your thighs.

Nanami pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer to you, his movements deliberate. The space between you closed as his tall figure made its way toward you—the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks finally came to a boil. 

“Why were you waiting for me..?” You questioned, “I need to talk,” He responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“I used to try to talk so refined, in fear of you finding out…” He admitted, his voice lower now, almost rough around the edges. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. 

“Finding out what, Nanami.” You breathed, watching how his lips parted just slightly while he paused. “How I’ve been imagining you." 

The air between you was thick with tension, so heavy you could almost taste it.

Nanami stood inches away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His normally professional demeanour had cracked, revealing something raw, something primal. The careful distance you both had maintained was no longer there.

"Imagining me…?" You repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his gaze roamed over you in a way that left your body practically squirming under his scrutiny. His jaw clenched for a moment as though fighting some internal battle, but when he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, filled with a desire he was no longer trying to hide.

“Every time I look at you,” he confessed, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to touch you, “I think about how you’d feel under my touch… under me.”

Your breath caught, your throat suddenly dry as his words sank in. The image of his hands on your skin, the weight of him pressing against you, the feeling of him between your legs—it sent a wave of heat through your body, leaving you borderline trembling with anticipation.

“Nanami…” you whispered his name, your voice trembling with the same desire that was now coursing through you. The distance between you felt unbearable.

The professionalism you both held onto so tightly was crumbling, and the temptation to give in was overwhelming.

The hallway was too quiet, too intimate, and it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. It was just the two of you, standing there on the precipice of something dangerous and irresistible.

“I won’t deny I’ve got in my mind now all the things we’d do,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper as his thumb traced your jawline, gently tilting your head with two fingers. His eyes darkened with want, and the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

That was all it took.

The pull between you snapped, and before you could think, your hands were fisting in his dark blue shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips in a kiss that was heated, desperate—inevitable.

His hand swiftly opened your door before pushing you into it, causing both of you to stumble into the dimly lit room.

With a loud thud, Nanami kicked the door shut before pushing you back up against your entryway wall.

Nanami groaned softly into your mouth—your pussy practically throbbing at the sound—and his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer as if he couldn’t stand the idea of any space between you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that you hadn’t expected, and it left you breathless.

You gasped when his hands gripped your hips firmly, pushing more firmly against the wall. The cool surface against your back was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him as he pressed himself closer, his lips never leaving yours.

His kisses were deliberate, slow—but rough—as if he wanted to savour every moment of this. 

"Mmf…Nanami," you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, your lips swollen from the kiss, breathless. "What are we doing?"

His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged as he looked down at you. There was something raw, unguarded in his expression. “What I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. “Now be a good girl for me, y/n.” He practically purred against your lips, as he lifted you so your legs wrapped around his waist. 

His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding up your sides while you were pinned against the wall, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You tugged at his hair, your fingers desperate to feel more of him.

His hands, rough from battle and years of work, were surprisingly gentle as they slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your painfully hard nipples, teasing you. You arched into him, your body responding to every touch.

He made quick work of your jacket—and that tiny tank top you wore underneath it, his hands roughly reaching for every bit of exposed skin.

Nanami growled softly with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips trailed down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that had you moaning his name.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, his breath hot against your neck, but the fire in his eyes told you stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Don’t," you whispered—pleading with him for more, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. "Don’t stop."

Nanami’s eyes darkened further at your words, and a slow, subtle smirk spread across his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. 

His hand moved up to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, fingers working quickly to loosen it even further.

Before you could register what he was doing, he slid the tie off entirely, his movements deliberate and slow as he looped the fabric around your neck.

The silk felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His eyes never left yours as he gently tugged at the tie, pulling you closer, the pressure on your throat light but enough to send a thrill through you that went straight to your now-soaked pussy.

“There,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the side of your neck as he admired how the tie looked wrapped around you, it falling on your bare chest.

In a moment, his lips were back on your skin, trailing lower this time as his free hand continued to explore your body. He kissed a path down to your chest, the tie around your neck tightening just slightly as he pulled you even closer.

He brought you to the couch in your small room with one hand while the other held the back of your head as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You look so beautiful like this, do you know that? With my tie around your pretty little neck…” He murmured against your skin, his voice laced with raw, unfiltered need. 

Hoisting you up onto the back of the couch, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness between your thighs, and the contact made you gasp. 

With one swift but gentle movement, Nanami slid your skirt and tights down your legs, and now you sat in front of him—completely vulnerable.

“Nanami—” Your words were cut off by a moan as his fingers returned, pressing more firmly, the slow, torturous circles he drew making your entire body tremble.

The tie tightened just a fraction more as he leaned back to look at you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that had your heart racing even faster.

“You’re so responsive for me,” he growled softly, his fingers entering your dripping cunt slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your interior. “It’s driving me insane.”

You could barely breathe, the combination of his fingers between your legs and the light pressure of the tie around your neck leaving you a trembling mess in his arms.

You clung to him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as you fought to hold on, your body betraying you with every ragged breath and every desperate moan.

"Nanami, please..." You barely recognized your own voice, hoarse and breathless as you begged for him.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction. “You want more, don’t you?” He asked, his voice thick with amusement, but the tension in his body told you he was just as desperate as you were.

You nodded, your head falling back as your body arched into his touch. “Please…”

The sound of your begging seemed to snap something in him. With one swift motion, he lifted you up with one arm and spun you around before setting you on your feet in front of him, your bare ass pressing up against his bulge as the cool leather from the couch pressed against your lower abdomen. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers slipped inside you again, making you gasp loudly at the sudden but welcomed intrusion. 

“I want to hear you beg for me again,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you, driving you to the brink of insanity.

His other hand subtly undid his belt, lowering his pants just enough to expose his desperate cock.

You moaned, arching into his hand, your body betraying you as it responded to every touch, every whisper of his breath on your skin. “Nanami...'hmf…please...I-I need you in me.” You managed to get out between broken whines.

“That’s it,” he growled, his fingers exiting you, but they were quickly replaced by his dick as he inserted himself into you—feeling you stretch around him caused him to throw his head back in pleasure, and he gave a little yank on the tie, your head jerking backwards as your stomach pressed harder into the couch, provoking a pornographic moan to exit your lips.

“Fuck,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself inside you, again and again, each stroke thrusting deeper into your gummy walls, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel so good.”

His pace quickened, and the slow, deliberate rhythm gave way to something more primal and desperate.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it in every rough thrust, every growl that rumbled from his chest as he claimed you completely.

The tie tightened again, the silk digging into your skin just enough to heighten the pleasure, and the sensation sent you spiralling toward the edge.

Your body trembled beneath him, your nails digging into the cold couch material as you gasped for breath, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

He leaned forward, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper into you.

He gently moved your hair off of your shoulder as his delicate fingers traced the border of his tie and your skin. “You really are such a good girl.”

His thumb pushed into clit as he thrusted into you at a dominating pace—the sensation was nearly enough to push you over the edge—but you held on a little longer.

You cried out his name, your entire body shaking as his pace quickened, he tightened the feeling around your throat with the tie around your neck pulling you closer to him.

Nanami’s body moved behind you, the warmth of him pressing against your back as his hands gripped your hips.

Bent over the back of your couch, with the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed skin. “Mmhf–Nanami…Oh please.” You moaned out, practically begging him for more as he fucked you with a controlling pace

His breath was heavy, ragged, as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, making you feel the sheer size and strength of him as he dominated you completely.

Nanami’s fingers wrapped around his tie nicely wrapped around your neck, pulling it taut.

The sensation made you gasp, your head tilting back slightly as the silk tightened around your throat just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through your already overstimulated body.

Suddenly he took his soaked dick out of you letting it land on your ass, rubbing his hand over the smooth skin.

“You look just perfect like this,” he growled low in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he tugged the tie just a bit tighter, your chin tilting up as he whispered in your ear. “Bent over—begging for me.”

Your legs trembled beneath you, your body quivering with anticipation, but before you could respond, he was inside you again. 

The stretch was immediate, deep, and overwhelming as he thrust into you from behind, filling you completely with a single stroke.

You cried out, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch as he pulled you back against him, the tie keeping you tethered, under his controlled.

“Nanami…” You moaned his name, your voice barely more than a breathless whisper as he began to move, his hips snapping against you in a relentless rhythm.

Every thrust was harder than the last, his grip on the tie tightening with every movement, pulling you back into him, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

His pace was brutal, his control slipping entirely as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way you moaned his name with every stroke.

His free hand found your hip, gripping you so tightly that you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow, but the thought only sent another wave of arousal through you.

“You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “My good girl...”

His words are what sent you over the edge, the stimulation of your orgasm turning your vision white. 

Your body was on fire, every nerve alive with pleasure as he drove into you again and again.

The tie around your neck tightened even more, the pressure just enough to leave you lightheaded, completely at his mercy. You felt every inch of him inside you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, along with your breathless moans as pleasure washed over you.

Nanami's body pressed closer as you shuddered beneath him, the waves of your orgasm still coursing through you. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Even as your body trembled, oversensitive and breathless, he kept thrusting into you with the same relentless intensity.

His pace didn’t falter, and each stroke seemed deeper, more demanding, as if he couldn't get enough of the way you clenched around him.

Your moans turned to gasps as pleasure mixed with the overwhelming sensation of him continuing to push you past your limit. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin with a painful force, but he didn't slow down. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Look at you, taking it so well," he groaned, his voice dark and full of praise. "You feel so good, I don’t want to stop.”

Your legs shook around him, your body still pulsating from your release, and the overstimulation had you crying out, your nails leaving red marks along his back. 

"Nanami... please..." you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going. You felt like you were being consumed, every nerve on fire, and yet your body responded to his touch, desperate for more.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, his hand still pressed firmly against your clit drawing rough circles. The tie around your neck tightened just a bit more, enough to remind you of the control he had, the control you were willingly giving him.

“I’m not done with you yet," he growled, his thrusts growing rougher, faster, his body taking full control over yours. "You can come again for me, can’t you?"

You didn’t know how it was possible, but the overwhelming pleasure began to build again inside you.

His touch on your clit was insistent, his hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless, teetering on the edge of something even more intense than before.

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation and pleasure merging into something maddening.

Every nerve was alight, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. You were already too sensitive, your mind spinning as he pushed you closer and closer to the brink once again.

Nanami could feel it—he knew exactly how close you were, how your body tensed around him.

His lips brushed your ear as he spoke, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me again, y/n. I want to feel you fall apart around me baby.”

With that, his fingers pressed harder against your clit, and his hips slammed into you at a brutal pace, each thrust sending you spiraling further out of control.

The pressure inside you coiled impossibly tight, and with a cry of his name, you shattered once more, the intensity of your second orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your body shook uncontrollably, your moans turning to sobs of pleasure as you convulsed around him.

The sensation was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you never wanted it to end. Nanami’s name fell from your lips like a prayer as he continued thrusting into you, his own breathing growing more ragged, more desperate.

"That's it," he growled, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched you unravel beneath him, his pace rapidly increasing. "So fucking beautiful."

He wasn’t far behind. The way your walls clenched around him, the way you shook with each thrust, sent him over the edge. 

His pace grew erratic, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. You felt his hips shudder, groaning your name as he came.

He tugged at the tie harshly, yanking you up form your bent over position so your back was against his sweaty chest, his hand gently holding your chin up. 

“You were so good for me,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, igniting a spark in you again. You remained silent for a few moments, breath staggered as you tried to catch it, still shaking with pleasure as he held you upright in front of him. 

Finally, you opened your mouth to speak, a cheeky smile playing on your lips, “I like your tie…”

[nickeverdeen]

arcane charaters with knowing the reader has a crush on them and like them back? How ould they react?

Arcane characters knowing reader has a crush on them and their feelings are mutual

Vi

Vi's tough persona doesn't disappear, but it softens into a teasing banter

She might playfully tease you about your crush, often accompanied by a smirk or a wink

Vi, being a protector by nature, would subtly demonstrate her care for you

Whether it's offering an extra jacket in the cold or keeping an eye out in crowded situations, she shows her protective side

Vi would actively seek out opportunities to spend time with you, engaging in shared adventures or missions

These situations allow her to be close to you while maintaining a sense of camaraderie

Vi, known for her straightforwardness, would genuinely show interest in your thoughts and feelings

She might ask about your day or share aspects of her own life, fostering a deeper connection

While not overly affectionate, Vi might incorporate subtle touches—a hand on the shoulder or a reassuring pat

Or the cupcake moment she did with Caitlyn

These gestures convey her comfort with you and add a layer of intimacy to your interactions

Vi may initiate friendly challenges or competitions, showcasing her competitive side

It's a way for her to bond with you and share moments of triumph or friendly banter

As the mutual feelings deepen, Vi might find herself gradually opening up about her own vulnerabilities and past

This creates a sense of trust and intimacy between her and you

Vi's loyalty extends to you, and she becomes a reliable source of support

Whether it's standing up for you in tough situations or providing a listening ear, she ensures you know she's there for you

Vi's affection is expressed in more subtle ways

A genuine smile, a lingering look, or a thoughtful gesture—these moments showcase the depth of her feelings without compromising her tough exterior

Although she will definetly flirt with you

Vi becomes comfortable in shared silences with you

These moments, where words are unnecessary, speak volumes about the connection they share

Caitlyn

Caitlyn maintains her professional demeanor but subtly lets her guard down around you

She still prioritizes her duties but might show a softer side in your interactions

Caitlyn engages in conversations that encourage you to share your thoughts and feelings

She's genuinely interested in getting to know you on a personal level

Caitlyn discovers and explores shared interests with you

Whether it's enjoying a mutual hobby or discussing topics they both find intriguing, she creates connections beyond their professional relationship

Caitlyn, in her own reserved way, expresses admiration for your qualities

She may offer subtle compliments, acknowledging your skills or unique attributes

Despite her busy schedule, Caitlyn carves out quality time to spend with you

Whether it's shared meals or quiet moments, she values their time together

Caitlyn becomes a reliable and trustworthy presence for you

Her commitment to upholding justice extends to ensuring the well-being and happiness of those close to her

Caitlyn's protective instincts may surface subtly

She might take extra precautions or subtly intervene if you find yourself in a challenging situation

Caitlyn, though reserved, allows moments of vulnerability to surface

She may share personal stories or experiences, allowing you to see a more genuine side of her

In a composed manner, Caitlyn acknowledges the mutual feelings between them

She might express her sentiments indirectly or through actions, allowing you to understand the depth of her feelings

Caitlyn shows her affection through thoughtful gestures

Whether it's a small gift, a handwritten note, or acts of kindness, these actions reflect her appreciation for you

Jinx

Jinx thrives on playful banter and teasing

She'd likely playfully taunt you about your crush, using a mix of sarcasm and genuine interest, creating a dynamic and unpredictable atmosphere

Jinx would involve you in her mischievous escapades

From planning pranks on Sevika or Silco to causing a bit of chaos together, these shared adventures become the backdrop for their budding connection

Jinx might enjoy the thrill of secret rendezvous with you

Sneaking away for clandestine meetings adds an extra layer of excitement to their relationship

While maintaining her tough exterior, Jinx may allow occasional glimpses of vulnerability

These moments could be brief and fleeting, revealing a more complex side to her personality

Jinx's expressions of affection may be unconventional

Instead of traditional gestures, she might gift you something quirky or set up unexpected surprises that align with her unpredictable nature

Jinx, in her own impulsive way, may unexpectedly come to your aid or defend you when the situation calls for it

Her actions reflect a sense of protective loyalty

Jinx seeks out experiences that provide an adrenaline rush

Whether it's daring stunts or exploring abandoned places, she involves you in activities that fuel your shared thrill-seeking tendencies

Jinx communicates a lot through body language

From playful nudges to intense eye contact, her expressions convey a range of emotions that add depth to their interactions

Jinx's emotions can be unpredictable, swinging between intense passion and moments of vulnerability

You experience the full spectrum of her feelings, creating a unique and dynamic connection

Jinx's loyalty to you is fierce

She stands by you in moments of chaos, showcasing her dedication and willingness to go to extremes for those she cares about

Jayce

Jayce would be naturally friendly and approachable, making you feel comfortable in his presence

His charismatic nature would shine through, creating an inviting atmosphere

Jayce would actively seek out shared interests with you, whether it's in the realm of technology, innovation, or personal hobbies

He sees these commonalities as opportunities to deepen the connection

Given Jayce's intellectual pursuits, he'd engage you in meaningful conversations

From discussing the latest inventions to exploring ideas and theories, he values stimulating intellectual exchanges

Jayce would be genuinely supportive of your endeavors

Whether it's personal goals or professional aspirations, he encourages and believes in your potential, providing a strong pillar of support

Jayce, with a thoughtful nature, might express his affection through small gestures

Whether it's surprising you with a meaningful gift or arranging a special experience, he invests effort in making you feel valued

(And yes I do realize I keep writing “Wheter” 🥲)

A touch of chivalry might be present in Jayce's interactions

He could exhibit traditional gestures of politeness and consideration, reflecting his respect and admiration for you

Jayce will 100% flex his muscles from time to time when you’re alone

While maintaining a respectful tone, Jayce might engage in occasional flirtatious banter

His charm manifests through playful remarks and subtle compliments, adding a layer of romantic tension

Jayce recognizes the importance of quality time in building a connection

Whether it's shared meals, outings, or quiet moments, he ensures you have meaningful experiences together

Jayce is attuned to your emotions and needs

His empathetic nature allows him to understand and navigate the complexities of your feelings, fostering a deeper emotional connection

While maintaining a level of professionalism, Jayce may display subtle forms of public affection

A reassuring touch, a shared smile, or a glance that communicates your connection without being overly conspicuous

Ekko

Ekko's interactions would be filled with playful banter and teasing

He enjoys keeping the atmosphere light-hearted and fun, making you comfortable in expressing your feelings

Ekko would actively involve you in his adventures and experiments

Whether it's exploring new hextech creations or navigating the undercity together, he values shared experiences

Given Ekko's interest in hextech, he might engage you in collaborative projects

Working together on inventive ideas becomes a way to bond and strengthen your connection

Ekko, as a natural inventor, might surprise you with unique and thoughtful inventions

These surprises reflect his creativity and the effort he puts into making you feel special

Ekko's time-manipulating abilities may add an interesting twist to your interactions

He might create moments where time seems to slow down, emphasizing the significance of your connection

Ekko is perceptive and empathetic

He pays attention to your feelings and is understanding of your emotions, creating a supportive environment for open communication

Ekko's adventurous spirit means that he actively seeks out exciting and daring activities

Whether it's exploring hidden places or taking on challenges, he involves you in his quest for excitement

Despite his playful nature, Ekko is capable of having deeper conversations

He might share his thoughts and feelings, creating moments of emotional intimacy that strengthen your bond

Ekko might express his feelings through physical affection, such as playful nudges, high-fives, or even inventive ways of showing closeness without being overly romantic

Ekko sees the relationship as an opportunity for mutual growth

He encourages you to pursue your interests and supports you in your endeavors, fostering a sense of personal and collective development

Viktor

Viktor values deep and meaningful conversations

He would engage you in discussions about innovation, progress, and your personal interests, creating a connection through shared intellectual pursuits

Recognizing your passions and talents, Viktor might involve you in collaborative projects

Working together on scientific or technological endeavors becomes a way to strengthen your bond

Both driven by a desire for progress, Viktor and you would share a common vision

You collaborate on projects that contribute to the betterment of Zaun and Piltover, emphasizing your shared goals

Despite his stoic exterior, Viktor is empathetic

He provides emotional support to you, understanding the complexities of your feelings and offering a steady presence during challenging times

Viktor might express his affection in subtle and thoughtful ways

Whether it's a shared moment of silence, a reassuring touch, or a small, meaningful gesture, these actions convey his feelings

Viktor and you would reflect on the progress of your relationship and personal growth

He values a partnership where both individuals contribute to each other's development

Viktor's strategic mindset extends to relationship dynamics

He might plan thoughtful dates or experiences, considering your preferences and creating moments that deepen your connection

Viktor understands the balance between ambition and personal life

He ensures that you feel valued and prioritized, demonstrating that your relationship is an integral part of his life

Viktor sees the relationship as an opportunity for continuous learning and growth

Whether exploring new areas of science or embracing personal interests, they embark on a journey of discovery together

Despite the seriousness of his work, Viktor would appreciate the importance of light-hearted moments

He might engage in occasional humor or playful activities, allowing the relationship to have a well-rounded dynamic

[internet-rat]

Distracting him while he is reading - Aemond x wife!reader

NSFW below cut~

Just you soft domming him~

As you approached Aemond, the sight of him absorbed in his studies, his focus unwavering, struck a chord of admiration within you. His dedication, the way he hunched over scrolls and texts, his silver hair falling slightly over his intense gaze, added layers to the man you loved—both fierce warrior and keen scholar. Your presence behind him was a silent declaration of your affection, and your hands on his chest, a gentle but firm reminder of the intimacy you shared.

You leaned over, your lips brushing the top of his head in a tender, possessive gesture. The contact was light but symbolic, marking him as yours in a way that was intimate and personal. Your voice, teasing yet laced with dominance, broke the silence, rippling through the air with a warmth that contrasted the cool, scholarly atmosphere of the room.

"Look at you... so studious..."

The words were playful but carried with them an undercurrent of pride and affection. Aemond's reaction was immediate; he straightened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, an indication of the pleasure your presence and recognition brought him. His hand reached up to cover yours, pressing it against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch.

His voice, when he spoke, was content, deeply resonant with the layers of emotion your proximity evoked. "For the realm, my love, and for us. Knowledge is as much a weapon as a sword in the right hands." His words acknowledged the dual purpose of his studies, for the kingdom he might one day rule and the life he built with you.

Turning his chair slightly, he looked up at you, his lilac eye shining with a light that was reserved just for these moments, away from the eyes of the court. "But even the most devoted scholar needs a distraction... especially one as delightful as you." His finger traced a line up your arm, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of his deep affection and need for you.

The dynamic between you, the shift from your dominant tease to his studious demeanor, played out like a well-rehearsed dance, each knowing their role perfectly, each finding joy and strength in the balance you maintained.

Your teasing smile widened as you watched the reaction dance across Aemond's features, the edge of vulnerability and anticipation that only you could draw out with your command. The power of your gentle, dominant voice, coupled with the intimate familiarity of your actions, was an intoxicating blend that effortlessly recalibrated the atmosphere in the room.

"Keep reading..." you whispered, the directive clear, carrying an implicit challenge that stirred him deeper. It was a game of control, beautifully executed, where your dominance seamlessly intertwined with his submission, each act designed to heighten and play upon the layers of your unique bond.

With one hand, you delicately unbuttoned the top of his shirt, slipping inside to trace the lines of his chest. Your fingers danced lightly over his skin, exploring the familiar terrain with a touch that was both loving and calculated to elicit a specific response. The intimacy of the contact sent a shiver through him, a testament to the potency of your touch.

Meanwhile, your other hand ventured lower, deftly freeing his member from the confines of his clothing. The air of the room, previously filled with the musty scent of old books and ink, now pulsed with the more primal scent of arousal. Your fingers encircled him gently at first, then with firmer intent, beginning a slow, deliberate stroke that contrasted sharply with the scholarly stillness around you.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering under the strain of concentrating on the text before him. The dual sensations of your hands—one teasing his chest and the other coaxing his arousal—created a delicious tension within him. His grip on the scroll tightened slightly, a silent testament to the effort it took to obey your command to keep reading.

His voice, when he spoke, was strained but laced with a dark amusement at the game you played so skillfully. "Is this my reward for diligence, or a test of my focus, my queen?" he asked, the words a husky murmur that vibrated with the underlying thrill of your shared interplay.

"Why not both, pretty boy?" Your reply, playful yet laced with command, echoed in the quiet of the room, each word accentuating the dual nature of your actions—a reward mingled with a challenge. Your touch grew more intent, your hand moving rhythmically over his now slick member, enhancing each stroke with the natural lubrication of his arousal. The firm grip and calculated motions stirred him further into the depths of submission.

At the same time, your other hand kept caressing his chest, fingers finding a nipple and squeezing gently, adding layers of sensation that mingled pain with pleasure—a tactile whisper that contrasted sharply with the more overt stimulation elsewhere. Each squeeze was a punctuation, a reminder of your control and his surrender.

Leaning closer, your lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, the kiss soft but possessing an underlying promise of more. The subtle intrusion of your teeth, nipping delicately at his flesh, drew a suppressed groan from him, a sound he struggled to contain beneath the guise of studious focus.

"Keep reading, sweetie," you whispered directly into his ear, your voice a soft command wrapped in velvet dominance. The words, tender yet unyielding, were a tether, holding him to the task even as your actions sought to pull him away into sensuous abandon.

Aemond's eyes fluttered, his focus visibly wavering as he attempted to process the text before him. Each word seemed to swim, blurring under the dual assault of pleasure and mild pain. His responses became more pronounced, a soft stutter or twitch here and there, signs of his unraveling under your expert touch.

His submission was beautiful, a delicate balance of maintaining his role even as he succumbed to the sensations you so skillfully provoked. His voice, when he next spoke, carried a tremor, a delightful indication of his internal struggle. "I—I am trying, my queen," he managed, the words tinged with a desperation that was both adorable and deeply satisfying.

This dance of dominance and submission, enacted within the quiet sanctum of Aemond’s study, was a testament to the profound connection and trust between you, a dialogue of desire spoken in touches and whispers, each moment building upon the last to create a tapestry of shared intimacy and power.

The playful torment you wrought upon Aemond—this blend of intellectual challenge and sensual overload—was exquisitely torturous. As your tongue trailed a slow, deliberate path along his neck, followed by a teasing nip that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through him, his body tensed under the dual assault of sensation and the relentless pace of your hand.

You stroked him faster, the slick glide of your fingers coaxing him ever closer to the edge of release, yet you demanded his attention remain on the scholarly task at hand. Your voice, a sultry murmur beside his ear, was both a caress and a command, "Mhm~ What does that line there say about Aegon the Conqueror? Tell me, my sweet..."

The juxtaposition of his historical studies and the physical ecstasy you elicited was a wicked game, one that frayed the edges of his concentration. Aemond's eye darted towards the book, his gaze attempting to focus on the words that now danced mockingly before him. His voice, a breathy mixture of arousal and frustration, struggled for coherence. "It—it says that Aegon... he unified the kingdoms... through—ah, through power and—"

His words faltered, drowned out by the rising tide of pleasure that threatened to wash away all semblance of scholarly thought. The intensity of your touch, the sensual provocations you delivered, left little room for anything but the raw, primal need to give in to the sensations overwhelming him.

As you savored the intoxicating blend of his desperation and arousal, your kisses trailed along his neck, each a branding of possession and comfort. Your hand movements intensified, a relentless rhythm designed to push him beyond the brink of his restraint. He was beautifully unraveled, thoroughly under your control, and completely at the mercy of your touch.

Into the curve of his ear, your voice, soft yet laced with undeniable authority, coaxed him further towards release. "Such a good boy~ Do you want to cum?" The words, tender yet commanding, were all it took to breach the last of his defenses.

Aemond's response was a choked moan, his body tensing as he teetered on the edge of surrender. "Yes, please, my queen... I need to..." His plea was fervent, a raw admission of his need, underscored by the overwhelming desire to obey and relinquish all control to you.

Your grip tightened slightly, your pace quickening in answer to his desperate plea, guiding him lovingly yet firmly toward climax. It was a powerful affirmation of the trust and dynamic you shared, the unspoken promise that you would always provide what he needed most.

With the full weight of your command behind it, you quickened your strokes to a feverish pace, each movement precise and calculated to bring him to the pinnacle of pleasure. "Cum," you whispered, the word not just a permission but an order, delivered with a dominating tenderness that left no room for hesitation.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound of both desperation and relief. His body reacted instinctively to your command, muscle tension coiling tighter, his entire being focused on the brink of release. The intensity of your touch, the commanding sultry tone of your voice, and the overwhelming need to obey pushed him over the edge.

The climax, when it came, was shattering. Aemond cried out, his voice breaking with the raw intensity of his release. His body shuddered under your hands, waves of pleasure rolling through him in powerful surges as he gave himself over to the sensations you had drawn out of him.

As he trembled, you slowed your touches, gently easing him through the aftershocks of his profound release. Your presence, both commanding and nurturing, enveloped him, a reminder of the safety and care interwoven with the strict control you exerted. In this moment, Aemond was utterly yours, bound by the deep, undeniable connection you shared, underscored by the trust and surrender that defined your relationship.

As Aemond's breathing gradually steadied, you pulled him close into a tender embrace, giving him the comfort and security he needed after the intensity of his release. You guided his head to rest against your chest, allowing him the intimate solace of burying his face in the softness of your breasts. The warmth of your body enveloped him, a soothing balm to the raw vulnerability he had just experienced.

Gently, you kissed the top of his head, a gesture filled with affection and care. Each touch reinforced the safety and love that surrounded him when he was with you. In this quiet, protected space, free from the demands of his title and the expectations of the court, Aemond could simply be himself—loved and cherished.

"I love you so much, my darling," you whispered, your voice a soft melody that floated in the air around him. The simple, heartfelt declaration was more than just words; it was a reaffirmation of the deep, enduring bond you shared. It was your way of showing him that no matter how fierce the battles he faced outside these walls, within them, he was always your beloved, your pretty boy, deserving of all the love and care you could give.

Feeling the resonance of your words, Aemond sighed contentedly, the tension further melting away under your ministrations. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were his anchor in a tumultuous sea. In this embrace, encircled by your strength and tenderness, Aemond found a profound sense of peace and belonging, his heart secure in the knowledge that he was truly loved.

[ripplestitchskein]

What really made this episode shine was how much care the team showed to Blitz and each other in their unique ways. Moxxie complained to everyone else about the business’s financial doom but he didn’t approach Blitz with it, he tried to figure it out himself. He wasn’t just concerned about IMP though but everyone’s financial future. Loona has been pulling all nighters and burning owls but we don’t see her say a word to Blitz about it. She steps up for Millie and takes care of Moxxie proving she does pay attention to him and his needs. And Millie obviously goes without saying.

It also really played Blitz’s opposing conflict well. He is someone who craves love and fears loss but this episode spent a long time showing not only the areas where the loss was not necessarily his fault, like Cash being the force between him and Fizz after then fire, but also that he recognizes where it was because he pushed them away, where he behaved badly but also where they hurt him and that he acknowledges and recognizes that hurt rather than brushing it off.

I honestly did not expect the acknowledgement of his treatment of M&M, not so blatant and definitive anyway. It was played for laughs at first in this show but this episode did a great job working what could be a running cartoon gag in any other animated show into an actual symptom of his broader intimacy issues and bad coping mechanisms.

It was just such a rare and emotional episode without sacrificing any of the genre antics and working it into a unique adventure that played really well to the overall story focus of Millie and Blitz’s relationship.

Just really well done all around.

[korpuskat]

Cadence [Michael Myers/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Summary: It's been a long time since Michael found his way into your life, beaten and bloody. With Michael's possessiveness and unpredictability, you haven't been able to reach out to you family in a while. A wedding invitation from a distant aunt has presented you with a unique problem- the only way you're attending is if he comes with you. On the bright side, you get to see him in a suit. Rating: Explicit (citrus, implied violence) WC: 18K. Warnings: dubcon, choking, violence, unhealthy relationship, it's Michael Myers come on, y'all know This is a sequel to Rest for the Wicked. It's readable without context, but better with.

==

You bite at your thumb and look between the fancy, pressed and textured paper and the masked shape who sits on your couch. “You don’t have to go, but I do.” Hidden behind the mask, you feel it more than see it: his gaze darkens, grows heavy.

Normally you would wilt, let Michael’s boundaries- restrictive and possessive though they were- guide your activities. Easier for everyone, really. Defying him usually ended with blood loss for someone, sometimes you. Sometimes not. But you haven’t seen your family since you met him, have been avoiding speaking with them about... everything that happened. You avoid speaking with them on principle, but it was nothing short of a miracle they had all somehow missed the cascade of murders (and your role in them) last fall.

If you didn’t show up to a wedding- granted you barely remember the bride, a distant aunt, you suspect you’re invited only because of her want of a large crowd- would only raise their suspicions more. How could you ever explain your way out of a wedding? What possible explanation could you give?

You bite your lip, look askance. “If you came with me you’d have some free time.” The mask’s expression does not change. He’s unreadable and distant. You don’t... love what he does to other people. But you know what he is, know what happens when he disappears on the nights he can’t sleep.

It’s greedy. Not the trade of someone’s life for your ability to attend a wedding (he’d kill no matter how much you could distract and entertain him), but wanting him to come. That occasionally lingering desire for some kind of normalcy, for those rare, genuine moments of intimacy. You wonder if he knows why you try to engineer them, if it even occurs to him. Without in-depth conversation, you’re still usually left out of the machinations of his steel trap mind.

You hesitate to continue. “Nobody would be looking for you out there.” If he did walk out in the night at least you wouldn’t have to worry so much. You thumb at the edge of the postcard, feel the thick, embossed paper resist your touch. “Just... nobody at the wedding.” The hair over the mask slides sideways and he tips his head slowly. You wonder how well he can actually read other people’s emotions when his own range is so stunted. Does he know all that you’d offer him? “Like I said, you don’t have to go with me…. But you might like it.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you more than that. Turns away and resumes watching midday television. You bite your cheek and leave the invitation on the kitchen counter. You have to go.

Two weeks later Michael stumbles into the house covered in blood that is not entirely someone else’s.

A slash cuts deep in his arm and has soaked through the sleeve, pouring blood over your floor. He collapses in the laundry room, red spilling across the white tiles. You hold back tears as you wrap white gauze over his arm, too familiar with the shape of a knife wound. You peel off the latex and find Michael’s face pale, his icy eyes half-lidded and slightly glazed.

Someone had fought back.

You rub his hands, squeeze the fingertips. Stroke your thumb over his prickly beard. His head lolls uncontrolled and he blinks slowly. You whisper to him, voice low and soft and will him to return to consciousness. You press a kiss to the scar over his right cheek, the one you’d sealed with skin glue so long ago. He stirs, bloodied right hand- not his own blood, you’re sure, it’s cool and tacky to the touch- grabs weakly at you.

You curl his left hand between you, raised to minimize the bleeding, and press into his lap. Despite the bloodloss he’s still warm. You press your face into his neck and say over and over, “You’re okay. It’s okay. I love you, you’ll be okay.”

When sunlight peaks through your back windows Michael stirs and pushes you off his lap. You stare at him, watch as he disappears into the hallway. You’re barely up to your feet before Michael reappears. The cream-colored paper is stained under his fingers, but he holds out the invitation.

The plastic cover crinkles as you hang Michael’s suit in the backseat of your car. You had to guess at his size in the end- every time you tried to measure him he’d step away, snatch the tape measure from your hands. Even when you tried plying him with sweets and sex. The latter had nearly worked, managing to get the breadth of his shoulders while he had floated in post-orgasmic bliss. Until he’d knocked your hands away and pinched your clit until he was hard again and could properly punish your wrongdoing.

You don’t ask again. Though you’re moderately sure you’re safe from Michael’s knife, the cold glint in his icy eyes was warning enough to drop it.

You don’t even know if he’s going to the ceremony. You honestly don’t expect him to, he’s never given you a nod when you ask. Perhaps it’s only a hunting trip for him, which you can’t even be upset about when you yourself had pointed out the advantages. And you’d both be doing something fun in your own ways- enjoying a wedding and slitting someone open was the same thing, right?

You bite your lip and straighten out the fabric, only a little disappointed you won’t see actually him in a suit. Way more than a little relieved that you won’t have to explain his existence entirely on your own. Yeah this is my vaguely defined life partner, Michael Myers, serial killer.

Imagine the headlines. You’d definitely show up the bride with that.

The door squeaks, old stairs creaking under Michael’s boots. He wears a black shirt that was a size too large and loose gray sweatpants. His coveralls (freshly laundered) are stuffed into a dark duffel bag along with his mask, the bag hanging lifelessly in his hand. You made sure it also held two changes of clothes and not a single one of your knives. You’d politely suggested some ideas to minimize police attention and with a miracle Michael agreed.

He drops his bag in the trunk and waits, stares at you with empty eyes. It’s strange seeing him unmasked and out in the daylight; sunshine makes his graying hair look positively silver, reflects handsomely in the cornflower blue of his iris. He doesn’t have a clue, stares at you passively- probably only interested in getting on the road as soon as possible. You know what will happen if you kiss him; Michael’s concept of physical affection will only lead to biting and bruising and fucking you here against your car, so you withold the desire. He must see something in your eyes, written on your face because he tips his head slowly- you smile and shake your head, dismiss his unspoken question.

With your suitcase already in the car, Michael’s bag and suit ready, all you had left was the twelve hour drive. You tried not to feel too giddy that Michael had all but jumped at the chance to take the wheel.

You slide into the front seat, Michael wastes no time in adjusting the passenger seat to slide as far back as it can for his long legs. You’ll never get used to seeing him in such a casual setting, stretched out in your little car, wearing such pedestrian clothes. Even if he does stare at you with those same mismatched blue and white eyes that send chills cascading down your spine- even after all this time, his power over you has not faded. You struggle to look away, ignore the Pavlovian tingling between your legs and turn the key.

The car sputters to life, rumbling loudly, the radio clicking on to the last station you had playing- now spitting stuttery soft rock. It’s preferable to the road sounds outside your car so you leave it be- and watch as you back down your driveway, your peaceful cabin shrinking as you reverse to the road. There’s a patch of grass next to the old country highway that’s yellowed and dying where your guests had been parked for weeks, but now fresh, tiny sprouts of green have emerged in the promise of spring rebirth.

You take the back way, opting to follow the highway east out of town instead of cutting straight through; It’s been some time since his face and mask have been plastered on every street corner, sent on alert to every phone registered to the county, but you can’t shake the paranoia. It would only take one alert citizen, one good Samaritan. And with Michael’s refusal to lie down in the back seat and wait for you to hit the city limits, it’s a small sacrifice for the illusion of safety.

Besides, it feels good to look to your side and see him. Michael stares out the windows now, watching cars and passengers as they pass. As much as it spikes the anxiety deep inside, you enjoy being able to see him maskless- even in your house he prefers the anonymity of the white latex. From this side you find only his unseeing eye, the deep, curved scar across his face, the slight droop of his eyelid from decades of muscular atrophy- and you see the masculine, strong shape of his nose, the gray of his recently trimmed beard that you know is more prickly than soft, but still feels nice when you stroke your thumb over it. Michael turns his head ever so slightly, not even enough to compensate for his blind eye, but you know you’ve been noticed.

You still find it in you to blush; Michael’s intensity has not changed and for as many times as you find yourself staring at him, the dark current of your subconscious always speaks up. Cruel and unwanted and flooding you with shame: murderer.

It’s easier to push that little voice down when Michael silences it with his mouth and hands, when he consumes all other intelligent thought through lust or intimidation, which are not mutually exclusive. But your hands are at ten and two, white striped lines blinking past you on the highway. Though you imagine Michael would have no problem distracting you now if you so much as squirmed in the driver’s seat, you’d rather not test your concentration.

Instead you make it nearly an hour outside of town before you feel the pointed, prickling on your skin of someone’s eyes on you. You pull over at the next rest stop- you do not think of of a black truck with peeling paint or the guilt you carry. You stretch as you step out of the car, revelling in the last time you’d get to really extend your legs for at least a few hours. Michael circles the car and you step out of his way so he won’t push you aside. Again he has to adjust the seat to accommodate his height, but the extra room he’s made on the passenger side works well for you.

Michael’s long months without driving make the start a bit bumpy, but he regains control with only mild frustration. You watch him as you’re nearly turned sideways in your chair, find something interesting in the shapes of his knuckles curled around the steering wheel. You want to be able to hold his hand, to touch his face without sparking something primal in him. So rarely are you graced with the softness behind his eyes, but you chase it anyway.

“I’m probably going to fall asleep fast.” You warn him and settle into your seat. You selected your driving attire nigh exclusively on sleepability, with Michael’s stunning conversation skills you’d opted for unconsciousness over trying to read in the car. “Is that okay?”

The highway changes, the car jumping slightly over the new terrain. One blue eye slides to you, his head bobbing, though you can’t be entirely sure if it was the car or him. You shrug, accept that he’d wake you if he wanted you. You lower your seat back and fuss with trying to get comfortable.

You face towards him, settling on using your arms as pillows, and watch how he drives, his little glances to the mirrors- having to turn slightly towards the driver’s side mirror. Every so often his good eye flicks down to you, aware that you’re watching him. You smile and snuggle into your arms. “Wake me if you need anything.”

You wake from a very nice dream to hands pulling at you, sleep dissipating fast- awareness surging forward as you’re nearly dragged over the center console. You land awkward in Michael’s lap- his seat already pushed as far back and down as it can. You blink and your eyes itch, your mouth is dry and Michael’s hands are pushing your pants down your legs until they tangle at your ankles. He doesn’t even bother with your underwear, merely pushing it aside.

“Wait,” You mumble, before you can piece together what’s going on. Michael’s cock pushes at you and, oh- you’re already wet. He slides in and in and you’re so full again, the familiar stretch makes you moan. He hardly waits at all before his hands bite fresh bruises onto your hips and he grinds you down against him. The tip of his cock presses hard against your cervix, makes you gasp and see stars. Even with you on top, Michael dominates; you don’t even get the chance to ride him. He lifts you by your hips until you’re just high enough for Michael to meet you with brutal snaps of his hips, fucking up into you hard enough to make your breath stutter on each impact.

You lean forward, press your cheek against his chest. He’s harsh, even compared to his usual pace and as your thighs begin to quiver, Michael’s brows just starting to draw in, you know he’s not going to be so generous today. You whimper, shift so you can slip one of your hands between yourself and him, seeking out your clit.

Each thrust draws a fresh whimper from your lips as he knocks the air out of your lungs. He reacts as he always does to your little pleading noises: Michael’s grip tightens and he thrusts harder, determined to chase that sound, to force you to cry out everything he makes you feel. With his brutal pace set, your fingers work deftly over your clit- and between the angle and the soft pants that dare to escape Michael’s iron control, you’re tumbling over the edge and clenching hard around him.

Michael growls low in his throat and takes to shoving you down in cruel counterpoint to his hips- all semblance of pace lost as he chases his own ends. Each movement sends another shock of residual pleasure through your body- starting as pleasurable, dragging out your orgasm, and turning sour, painful, every nerve electrified as you dig your nails into Michael’s shirt. You dare peek at him and find his mouth just barely open, a pink flush over his cheeks, sweat dotting over his forehead. He stares, transfixed at where your body meets his, watching as his cock spears into you again and again.

Your broken moans turn to sharp whines, each motion burning inside you until your thighs ache and you plead, “Please, Michael,” Icy blue lifts, pierces straight through your soul. “Cum inside me, please, I-”

It’s all he needs, his eyes snapping closed, head tipping back- and you watch him. He always looks so angry as it begins- his brow pulled down low, his jaw clenched so tight to keep from making any noise. And you feel his cock twitch inside you, the first wave of heat spilling deep inside. The muscles of his face relax- eyelids lifting just enough for you to see the mismatched colors of his irises, barely visible around the wide expanse of his black, empty pupil.

You lean forward again and take advantage- you shove your nose up under his chin and into the scruff of his beard. He pants, breathes hard through his mouth and you already feel the chill of sweat cooling on your back. You listen to the rhythm of his breathing, close your eyes and lose yourself in the warmth between your bodies- until Michael’s tolerance wears thin. His hands tighten around your waist and just as you had been hoisted onto him, he lifts you. You wince, moan softly as his cock slips free, his mess dripping back onto him in thick strands. He drops you unceremoniously into the passenger seat again. Only then do you look around.

It’s a rest stop that is thankfully very empty, at least Michael seems to agree with you on the benefits of privacy. You shimmy your pants back up, at least enough so you can make it out to the trunk to get a change of underwear--

The car stutters and the engine turns over. Michael’s hand is on the keys, his pants already pulled back up. You whine, “Michael, no. I need to change, I can’t just…” You cringe, feel the wetness between your legs.

But Michael has already made up his mind and the cool slide of his gaze onto you-- something just a little too keen in his eyes-- is all it takes for you to sigh and wilt. You’ve put up with worse and in truth the reminder of Michael’s lust for you is not entirely disgusting, but rather brings a fresh warmth to your cheeks.

He manages to get through the rest of the drive without fucking you again. You’d prepared for at least two stops just for that purpose, but the need to get there, the anticipation of murder must’ve kept the appeal of short-term satisfaction at bay. His patience has won out today.

You swap back into the driver’s seat about half an hour out. It crosses your mind to change your underwear while you have the chance, but stripping down on the side of an old country highway with a serial killer in the passenger seat does not seem wise. So you grimace as you sit and navigate out to the venue. You pass the first sign for it, carved wood with lacy lettering, Stone Mountain Manor. There’s nothing visible out here; acres and acres of tall oaks casting shade over the road, only flickers of light scattering over the car.

It isn’t until you crest a hill that you actually see Stone Mountain Manor. Holy shit. It’s stupidly massive, split into two buildings, all covered in a gray stone facade, lined with carefully manicured hedges and bushes and ivy creeping up the sides. The road gives way to a fancy roundabout at the front of the first building- one low and long- with sides leading off to behind the building and one to the other building.

You pull around back just to be safe- and immediately deflate at the dozen or so cars in the parking lot. It’s a long trek back to civilization and there are a lot of people right here. Witnesses. If even one recognized your companion your little idyllic life would be destroyed, all that time spent in quiet isolation, in the comfort of your cabin…

Your hands shake on the wheel as you pull into the spot furthest from the doors. You could go home. Create some excuse, send her money to make up for it. Hell, maybe you could just move. No nosy family members to come harass you, just disappear out into a different county, your dangerous shadow in tow. Would be easy enough to give a believable reason to the cops. He attacked me in that house. That would sell, you think, enough to not have them crawling all over you for weeks and then-

The car door opens. You blink, turn, and watch as Michael steps out of your car, closing the door behind him.

“Michael!” You hiss, scrambling out of your side. “You should stay inside; what if someone sees you?”

Nothing. Michael is already looking far out in the distance. One blue eye scanning the trees, following an ornamental wood fence that peaks between dark trunks. The muscles of his jaw flex, making the scar on his cheek strain. He’s already made up his mind. He’s already hunting, waiting for something.

Shit.

“Stay here.” You say weakly, already preparing for him to vanish before you return. “I’ll go check in…”

Michael makes no noise, either in confirmation or refusal. With complete confidence that he’d make his refusals obvious, you head back towards the building. You pass by at least a half-dozen double doors with little sitting areas outside each, curtains drawn carefully over the glass. It’s so unbearably upscale there’s even little statues along each doorway, cement wolves and foxes watching as you walk by.

You enter the main door, decorated with white draped fabric and little red fake flowers. Inside there’s another decorate sign, a pale gray wood with more cursive text burned into it, Our happily ever after, Janice & Bill. Of course. Someone’s happy day and you bring a murderer. Past the sign is a huge, winding staircase, leaning up to a balcony overlooking the lobby, a little sign labeled Bridal Suite hangs off the railing. She’s probably already up there freaking out.

“Oh, can I help you?” You jump half out of your skin, spinning around to a little counter- where a middle-aged woman blinks back at you. She raises an eyebrow, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…?”

“It’s okay,” You laugh, approaching the counter. “I’m here for the wedding, my aunt- ah- Janice said my family had a suite reserved.”

“Can I have your information?” She asks, turning towards an ancient-looking computer.

You lean on the counter to tell her- and immediately flinch back as your underwear clings tackily to your ass. This time, she doesn’t notice, too busy looking up the reservations. “Ah, yes you’ll be down at the end, left side. The doors are operational if you want to bring your bags in, I know it’s a bit of a walk.”

“Thanks.” She hands you an electronic door key, the kind with a magnetic strip. You start to step away, to go down the hallway and find your room when a thought occurs to you. “Do you know if the rest of my family has arrived yet? Same last name.”

She blinks then looks back to her screen. “Ah, no, I don’t think so.”

Weird.

“Okay, well, thank you.” You turn the card in your hand. The front has a green-gray decal of the main building, underneath is your room number labeled in a thin, slanted font #19. You suppress a snort, because of course the universe would give you nineteen. What a different place, a fancy hotel for a wedding venue in low Appalachia that you don’t even want to guess the price for, and a run-down hourly motel in the middle of fuck nowhere Illinois that cost you a grand total of sixty dollars.

The door opens on the first try and you have to hold your breath. It’s huge. Half your house could fit into the room, sparsely populated with two queen beds, nightstands, a dresser, wall-mounted TV, and standing closet. Painted all in that same gray-green, it’s… nothing at all like home. One wall has a door to the bathroom, the cheapest looking part of the room- but inside is anything but. The shower alone has room for four people with a fucking rainfall shower head, and a completely separate tub with water jets.

What the actual fuck. Janice doesn’t have money money, how the hell is she paying for all this?

Whatever, you’re not really here to speculate on your distant aunt’s finances. You head over to the double doors and find much to your relief that room nineteen faces the parking lot, not the street and main building. The simple deadbolt lock turns and the doors sweep open, letting that chilled early spring air into the room. From the little porch you can still see him, standing between the cars, the evening sun cutting through the trees. He turns as soon as you find him, meeting your gaze from twenty yards. Your heart races; he looks so normal. Just a regular man at his car- he could almost pull it off if it weren’t for that magnetic presence, that feeling of suffocation that just edges into your throat. A shiver and you’re off towards your car, walking as quickly as you can.

“Hey,” You huff, half out of breath. “The ceremony isn’t until tomorrow night and then we’ll head out the morning after. I’m still set to share a room with my parents, so I can leave the car unlocked if you want to stay there. Otherwise, just try to be back.”

Michael doesn’t respond, just stares down at you with those mismatched eyes. Fine enough, he can usually handle himself.

You unload your bag from the car. Michael’s suit hangs from the coat hanger, mocking you with its pristine plastic covering. He probably won’t stay, no reason for him to actually come to the wedding- he’s here for selfish reasons. For blood. Be honest. He’s here so you won’t have to worry so much while he hunts. So he can have his bloodletting far from home and maybe you’ll find some peace in your cabin for a while. You leave the suit in the car, but as promised leave the car unlocked and head back to the room.

With a second set of bootfalls following behind. You turn and watch as he shadows you, blank gaze betraying nothing. Usually his following meant he wanted something, but Having him follow you into the hotel does not feel like a good idea. “What’s wrong?” Michael does not answer, not even with a nod or intentional look at something- which only makes your fears heighten. With no other good options to usher him into the room.

Like you, he looks around, takes in the very strange scenery. Had he seen anything like this before? You leave the suitcase at the foot of one bed and close the doors behind you, just so no one can immediately see him standing in your room. “What’s up?” You try again. “Just curious about the wedding?”

A wedding.

He’s probably never been to one. He looks at you, expressionless and blank. Maybe when he was a little kid, or perhaps the occasional jailhouse insane asylum marriage… but nothing like this. Fanciful and expensive, a dream wedding. A peculiar feeling settles in your gut- you glance to his left hand.

No place to put a ring even-

knock knock You jump, stare wide-eyed at Michael. He steps back, away from the door, stands over by the armoire, out of sight from the door. You touch the knob with one hand, feel the tremors all the way up your arm. it’s not the cops, you tell yourself. There’s no way, you would’ve seen them, were so cautious to avoid them. You turn the knob.

“Aaah, you made it!!!” Janice’s excited squealing takes you by surprise. She halfway barrels into the room, her half pinned-up hair swaying around her as you meet her at the door frame, guiding her back out into the hallway. “I’m so glad you’re here, it really means a lot to me.”

You grimace through a smile and hug her back. You hardly remember her, had never really been close to begin with, but she must have seen it differently. “I’m glad to be here. Do you know when my parents will get here?”

Janice pulls back and blinks owlishly. “They didn’t text you?”

“No? What’s going on?”

“They managed to get lost and get into an accident- they’re okay!” She’s quick to interject. “But they’re still stuck dealing with insurance and doctors and maybe renting a car. They said they probably won’t be able to make it in time.” Oh. That changes things. “I’m sorry, were you hoping to see them?”

That has you pausing, struggling to find the right answer. It feels rude to say no, I desperately wanted to avoid them. But if you lied about wanting to see them, she might be more inclined to tell them. “Kind of, but it’s alright.” You settle for a vague answer. “I’m sorry they won’t be here, I know it’s only a little important.”

“Only a little,” She grins, then breaks into another squeal, hugging you again. “Oh, I can’t believe I’m getting married, I’m so excited and Bill has just been so wonderful.”

“I’m really happy for you.” And for once, it’s completely honest. Janice is ecstatic, and you’ve no complaints about her mate. Unlike the ones she’d have for yours.

“Okay, okay, I know you just got here so I’ll let you unpack and settle in. Love you, sleep well!” She backs off after one more hug, waving and trotting back down the empty hallway, turning towards that huge staircase.

You step back into the room- and curse. Michael has taken the opportunity to get closer to the door, listening in on your conversation. “I guess that changes things. You could sleep here if you want, I guess. And if you left while it was dark out, I don’t think many people would notice.”

That earns you a head tip. Which makes your brow furrow in turn- the few cues Michael gives you have become crucial to your limited communication. Head tilts are second only to nods, a clear sign of his interest. But there wasn’t much to be intrigued by- would he sleep here or be out the full time? Or was there something else he’s trying to find, staring at you with that electric gaze. Your stomach flips, clenches as he raises his hand, the knife-calloused pads of his fingers settling over your throat. His thumb rests against your pulse point, your heartbeat throbbing under his touch.

Any pleas for him not to leave bruises would only incite more, so you melt into his touch, wait quiet and compliant as he wordlessly searches for something. There’s no sign either way- without even the slightest bit of choking, Michael’s hand falls away. It’s still as gentle as he can be, demanding touches that don’t quite bring blooms of purple with them. It’s not much, but it’s at least practically helpful, no need for extensive makeup or scarves- so you express that affection as carefully as you can. One hand touching his bicep, light and gentle, a single stroke.

You want to touch more. Want to stroke his arms in real appreciation, to touch his face without it being some kind of challenge.

It’s not fair.

You avert your eyes, pointedly look to the floor and make your way back to your suitcase. From it you extract a pair of pajamas. No point in being dressed anymore, you just want to shower and clean that stuck-in-a-car feeling off your skin.

You don’t bother closing the door behind you. In the bathroom, white, fluffy towels are rolled up into logs, stacked in a pyramid on a shelf over the toilet. You drop your sleep clothes onto the lid and begin to turn the shower’s knobs. Overhead, water begins to pour out, a first shock of cold then warming as you fidget the handles into a good temperature.

In the corner of your eye, Michael stands in the doorway. Impassive, unmoved as you peel off your shirt. With a wince you pull your pants and well-stained underwear off. The remnants of Michael’s outburst clings to the fabric and your legs in an unpleasant mess. You hold them under the spray first, rinsing the worst of it off, then hang them over the top of the shower to dry off.

Then, you step in and close the shower’s glass door behind you.

It seems Michael has decided against taking advantage of your nakedness- which is fine, considering the light ache that still lingers between your legs. For now you have the gentle reprieve of only having him spy on you, lurking as though unseen. You still haven’t figured out what he prefers: for you to acknowledge that he’s there or to pretend you don’t know.

Fuck, the water even smells good. Did they put something in the water tank? It’s soft, almost floral. You lean in under the spray, let the warm water soak into your hair, wash over your face. It’s soothing, maybe lavender. You pick up the little squares of soap and inhale- and there’s the culprit. Another inhale- and up close it’s maybe too strong, the smell of soap leaving a tingle in your nose. Hopefully it’s not too strong. Michael has never seemed particularly sensitive to smells, but still… It’s hard not to care about his comfort. Even if he doesn’t tell you, even if he doesn’t know himself.

You lather up your hands, rub the bar across your chest. Does he know? It’s a question that plagues you; how much does Michael Myers know and feel, how much is what the newspapers paint him as- the completely shallow, emotionless murderer. You want to believe- want so badly, desperately, blindly- that the truth is somewhere in between. You move on to your legs, absentmindedly scrubbing his his cum from your thighs, rinsing whatever else remains from between your legs-

A rush of cool air. You halfway turn- “Michael?”

His palm finds the back of your head, smashes your cheek into the ceramic tiles. Pain shoots out from your face, radiating across your nose, down your neck. Even under the pouring water, his breaths come hard and even, interrupted only by your soft whimpering. Michael wastes no time, not in the mood to drag out your terror this time. His free hand drags your hips back- and he’s so damn tall he grinds more on your low back than ass.

Still clothed.

Face pressed to the wall, you strain to look from the corner of your eye to confirm it. Water soaks into the fabric, black shirt clinging to his chest. A boot kicks your legs apart as the hand on the back of your neck retreats- just enough to feel wet cotton rolling down to your thighs. You don’t fight- just squeeze your arms between you and the hard tiles, desperate for any reprieve for your throbbing cheekbone.

The hand at your hip wraps around- circles all the way around you, locking into the dip between your stomach and hips and lifts. One-handed, he pulls you off the ground, legs dangling, hands scrabbling over wet ceramic to keep your balance- and his free hand finds your throat. His cock finds your still sore entrance, prodding there, just the barest hint of pressure. Waiting.

Held up as you are, there’s nothing you can do but whimper. Any twist of your hips is near useless, only teasing your entrance more with the head of his cock, the pleasure all his. The best you can do is gain any stability- hooking your legs backwards, catching the tops of your feet on the back of his clothed knees. Even this earns retaliation; Michael surges forward again, traps your whole body between his now soaked chest and the freezing wall, only your hands keeping your cheek from being bruised even more. The water beats down from overhead and now your hips are truly pinned, caught between his iron forearm and the hard bones of his hips.

The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little pressure to make you whine, to make your pulse race under his palm. He could kill you so easily. He could crush your windpipe, smash your head into the wall- if it was anyone else in his arms he would. For you his fingers twitch, his nostrils flare with each breath, a careful balance of self control.

It’s all you can do to repay him, “Michael…” It comes out hoarse, rough through the hand choking you. It’s all he’s waiting for.

He lowers you down, agonizingly slow. The muscles of his shoulders jump with the effort. He splits you open again, the ring of muscle crying out, already rubbed raw from his earlier assault. Now that’s left is for you to grit your teeth and scrape your nails along the grout.

He doesn’t wait this time. It hurts, stings as he thrusts, taking that too-sharp pace he’s fond of. He knows- you hiss and he chokes you for it, pressure closing in around your throat, stars popping in your eyes- he knows it’s too rough, but the angle is perfect. He drives into you, strokes over that spot that makes your legs wobble, your clit ache with jealousy- and though it burns with soreness, your body quickly catches up to Michael’s pace.

With each thrust you grow slicker, the resistance lessening until pleasure begins to win out over the pain. Darkness edges into your vision, makes your head loll against his grip, but finally your body begins to sing for him. He knows you too well not to, has had enough practice, your body only becoming another tool in his arsenal of self-amusement. Another stroke and he’s deep inside, grinding against something that makes your eyes water in amazement- and in perfect tandem his hand lets go of your throat. Where you would moan out, you’re left gasping in air- and you can’t take it anymore.

One hand leaves its brace position, sliding down the wall and wiggling in between Michael’s arm and the ceramic. You get one mind-numbing circle around your clit- and all Michael’s weight comes down on you. Pain lances up your arm, wrist caught between his forearm and the wall. He leans his entire body against you, squeezes your chest until your ribs creak, and through it all only fucks you harder. You whimper, open your mouth to acquiesce, to submit- he’s in control, he owns you- but his hand is already closing around your throat again. Tight, then tighter still- primal fear floods your veins, the kind that makes your blood run cold. It would only take a moment’s lapse of concentration, a half-second loss of control-- he won’t. There’s no doubt; you’ve done this dance too many times. Heat gathers in your face as blood pools, pounds against the unbreakable seal of his thumb over your carotid. Your unpinned hand grabs at his wrist, weakly squeezing; your mind fuzzes, struggles to keep sight, provides a useless be careful of the scar.

Michael huffs, breath hot over the back of your neck, teeth finding your shoulder as he bites. Hypoxia keeps the pain dulled- until his incisors sink in, a noise muffled into your shoulder. His hips stutter, then slow- and finally he lets go. You suck in huge gulps of air, coughing against his still-lingering hand.

He lowers you to your numb feet. His hand lingers at your throat, fingers tracing down to the dip in your collar bone, prodding at the sore skin- and then he steps back. Without his support you sink down to your knees, then to the floor of the shower, still wheezing. Water cascades over you, the sound even and predictable and ever so slowly the rushing of blood in your ears dies down, the heat between your legs idling out as the water just begins to run cold.

The hinge of the shower door squeaks and another gust of cold air passes over you, cools you even further. There’s nothing in you, no energy left to look behind you, to meet his gaze as he stares down at his handiwork. So you take deep breaths, rub one hand over your aching neck, feel the warmth of forthcoming bruises, and listen to the wet splat of Michael peeling off his now soaked clothes.

He’s long gone when you finally manage to re-rinse yourself, wet footprints on the tiles leading out into the room. You’re more contentious, drying off in the bathroom before changing into the clothes you’d picked out. The watery prints lead right up to the further dresser, where… Michael has set down his duffel bag. You look at it, blink. When had he gotten that? Did he… walk to the car naked? He’s already changed into the coveralls, freshly laundered and free of as many incriminating stains as you could reasonably remove.

You swallow, bite your tongue. That was the purpose of the trip, afterall. Would make sense for him to go tonight, pick out a few people he likes. Or hates. You still haven’t figured out how that works for him, if the people matter at all.

likes, an unhelpful little part of you whispers, he wants to kill you. You smother it down with the simple reminder: he hasn’t killed you yet. He lets you touch him, lets you be near him at all. And when you feel close to him, when you tell him that- there’s something about him that changes. The subtlest tip of his head, like he doesn’t understand.

He probably doesn’t.

Michael sits on the nearest bed and- and Michael’s face is no longer his own. it desperately needs to be washed, grime sunken into the crevices, making it look older than he is. Black eye holes stay trained on you as you take him in. Was it because he felt safe enough to not be seen? Or was he preparing for a fight? Could always ask. Maybe you’ll get a response.

He’s always nicer after he finishes, not immune to the pleasant buzz of oxytocin and dopamine… but as your still-warm neck reminds you, his earlier display was particularly violent. The anniversary is close and that ever-present need of his is rising under the surface, threatening to boil over. You want to sit with him, to find the soothing warmth beneath those coveralls. At best- or perhaps worst- he could still entertain himself with you until his body catches up again- or does he need space now? There’s no good answer. He’s already pursued his usual alternative: fucking you until that itching in his skin eases.

“Anything I can do?” You offer, already aware of the answer- a heavy breath that whistles through the mask’s holes. Not even a tip of the head or nod to guide you. Maybe space would be better, at least until he disappears into the shade of night. Hesitantly, you sit on the bed closer to the double doors. When he doesn’t move, you begin to lay down, reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light. That, however, must be the wrong move.

You’re too aware of him, of his little mannerism. His fists tighten in the duvet- and he stands. Your stomach drops, immediately beginning to sit up- but Michael is faster. His long legs cross the small space between the beds before you can even form the words to ask what’s wrong. His arms force their way under you and you barely have the presence of mind to half lift your legs, to ease the burden on his damaged left hand.

Michael scoops you off the bed, turns around, drags the blankets of his bed down, and sits onto the sheet. Oh. You don’t even get an opportunity to help; he’s under the blankets before you can do anything. He’s particularly stiff, every joint locked in place, held stiff even flat on the bed. You glance at the mask in question, hoping to find answers- if this is just the building tension of the year- or if it’s something else. The hand anchored to the small of your back makes it awkward to adjust the blankets, but you manage to wiggle into your usual position, straddling one of his thighs, your ear pressed to his chest.

Warmth radiates out, soaks into your skin, chases off the autumn chill. Weakly you rub at his sides, thumbs stroking over his ribcage, smoothing down the thick material of his coveralls. There’s not much you can do, but at least you have this, a tiny offering to give: the even, unhurried brush of your fingers. At least until the furnace of his body lulls you to sleep.

It’s cold when you wake. Early October is not shy, leaves you curling harder into the blankets, burying your face into a pillow. A pillow. You reach across the bed blindly- and find only more disrupted sheets, chilled and empty. You blink awake, squinting into the room; the double doors are still cracked open, curtains fluttering.

You extricate yourself from the mess of blankets, rubbing your arms to fight off the chill. From the pile of brown leaves that have collected along the border to your room, he must’ve left some time ago. Your stomach clenches- you peer out from the door, scan the line of the parking lot and the trees beyond. No white mask waits for you.

It’s as unsettling as it is relieving. He’s out there killing (and you’re alone, no shadow to stalk you through the halls, careful, watchful eyes on you every time you so much as look at a stranger)... but he’s not here, waiting to be found out by the first doesn’t he look familiar…?

Not that he hasn’t proven himself capable of slipping through your town unnoticed.

Until he wants to be, of course.

But he’s gone now, off into the chill of early morning fall. You scrape most of the leaves out and close the door, but leave it unlocked. Instead, you go to the mirror- and wince at what you find. A perfect imprint of Michael’s teeth rings your right shoulder, still red and inflamed, warm to the touch. Of course. Must’ve known you were hoping not to have to cover any marks.

You look to your suitcase, consider your formalwear. The collar should be high enough… maybe you wouldn’t have to use any makeup. A little spark of heat settles in your stomach. Even while he’s out hunting, you’ll still have his mark. Nobody will know you’re the one who has tempered the Boogeyman’s urges. A thrill runs down your spine, makes your shoulders raise and clench. No makeup it is.

A glance at your phone gives you time to plan your pre-ceremony time. It’s only just after nine o’clock, the ceremony doesn’t start until two on paper- probably more like three with a healthy dose of skepticism. Plenty of time for breakfast.

You throw on a more-concealing shirt and skimper down the hall to the hotel’s breakfast station. Two people you don’t recognize sit at a little window table and talk, smiling at you as you pass. Probably someone from Bill’s family, if you had to guess. Maybe one of Janice’s work friends…? They return to their conversation and you are already forgotten. The food has been well picked-over by other guests, two metal trays shining and empty.

But there’s still eggs and hashbrowns and tiny pancakes, which is more than enough. You take a plate, lift one serving spoon- and wonder if Michael’s eaten yet. You don’t really know what he eats when he’s out. Probably nothing as nice as this, if MIchael even pays attention to that kind of thing.

Probably not; he certainly doesn’t complain when you get distracted and your cooking gets a little crispy.

You balance your doled out plate and get a cup of coffee as well, ready to wake up, be nice and alert for what will definitely be the most expensive wedding you’ll ever see. The people pay you no mind as you hand back to your room, thankfully no one’s around to watch you struggle to hold your plate and cup and unlock the door at the same time.

With a bit of alone time you crawl back into bed, find your own warmth still half-preserved under the hotel’s fancy blankets. You click the remote at the TV, novel at the fancy screen- and can’t help but smile at the early morning children’s programming that pops on. It’s comforting, reminiscent of home, and makes a warmth settle in your chest. But you have no personal interest in Sesame Street, so you scroll through the guide looking for something more interesting.

Like the news.

Like if he’s killed already.

You bite your tongue and select it, then take a fortifying sip of coffee (it’s too bitter, should’ve added more sugar). A man in a suit motions at a greenscreen map of the area, mimics a cold front coming in from the west. “No rain!” He declares cheerily, “Just windy and cool this week, and that should hold out until Halloween.”

That’s nice. It cuts back to the main anchors. “Governor Wallace’s new Green Energy Initiative plan will go into effect…” You tune it out, go back to the guide. There must not have been a kill yet, or at least not found. You think of the blood stain on your front porch, of the wet, heaving breaths. Your stomach flips and suddenly breakfast no longer smells good.

You power through it anyway. Maybe he was unlucky, maybe he couldn’t find anyone to satisfy his particular interests. No need to worry too much about… you shiver, shovel down a bite of eggs. Either he did or didn’t, and if he did then he’s safer out here. If he didn’t, that’s a later problem.

Without preamble you switch the channel; a ghostly horror movie plays, an early celebration for the holiday. It’s easy to go on autopilot from there, eating and drinking and staring blankly at the screen as a white-skinned phantasm rips open a man’s chest. Perfect to set that wedding atmosphere.

You end up watching the whole thing. The blood’s all wrong, runs too thin, too scarlet, but it’s a Hollywood mistake you can forgive. Afterall, it does show up on screen better and serves as a nice mental buffer, a pleasant mindless thing to observe, no real thoughts to concern yourself with.

bzzt. You blink and open your phone- a notification from a game. The mascot informs you of a new event, the Halloween Haunt finally starting- they’ve been plagued with technical issues, it’s a little shocking they even managed to get this update out and holy shit how is it already one o’clock?

The ghost pops up on screen just in time for you to escape the bed’s warm blankets. Your clothes flung off as you rush through dressing yourself, almost tripping as you pull on pants and hastily button your shirt. A good ten minutes burn just fighting the buttons on the cuffs which have somehow come undone. You check yourself in the mirror, feel the heat gather in your cheeks again. With the top button undone, a tinge of red is still visible on your shoulder, but as you hook the plastic through the eyelet, the silvery gray of your shirt covers it entirely. No one will know, no one will find out.

With shaking hands, you tie your tie, only having to consult your phone and start over once. Even if it’s a little lopsided, it still cuts a fine shape. You fix your hair last, keep it simple and easy to keep the attention off you. It’s not a bad look, all in all. Not many chances for you to get dressed up and formal- you almost wish Michael was here. He probably wouldn’t have much of a reaction to it, appearances and clothes not meaning much to him, but you do want to show off.

It’s a nice fantasy, being able to get that rare rise out of him just because you look different.

But there’s not much time to spare, so you stuff the room key and your phone into your pants pocket and shuffle out the door.

The main room of the hotel is empty, but as soon as you emerge out into the daylight, there’s buzzing activity. You’re not the last person to head over to the actual ceremony hall; dozens of people you don’t recognize chatter in the parking lot and on the lawn, pleasant voices and laughing echoing across the open field. A man that looks familiar but you can’t place smiles at you, gives a little wave so you awkwardly reciprocate and try to remember him. Probably someone from your extended family, maybe a cousin you haven’t seen since he was little.

In waves, everyone walks to the main building, taller than the hotel and surrounded by rustically manicured hedges. Huge (and probably meticulously placed) boulders dot the vibrantly green grass, leading you towards the main walkway. White garlands wind around the front door, wave lightly in the wind. The double door itself is stupidly massive, easily ten feet tall, propped open by two more of those little animal statues. Here, they’ve managed to find two graceful looking swans to match the wedding.

You step inside; the entryway is mostly empty, a few people idling on a set of stairs to your left. Bridesmaids in dreamy blue dresses, fretting over their hair and if Janice will be ready soon. One holds her shoes, dangling over the garland-wrapped banister, looking terribly bored.

You move into the main room, still staring at all their decorations. The back, southern wall is nothing but wide windows, showing off a balcony, all covered with sheer white curtains. A stone fireplace on the north wall is done up with white and blue flowers and satiny ribbons. In rows in front are little wooden folding chairs, lanterns and tiny pots with ivy cap each row. In the sea of faces, you don’t recognize anyone. It’s for the best, you decide. Just in case.

So you take a seat and wait.

An organ plays over hidden speakers. The entire crowd stands in one motion as Janice enters from the outside balcony. Her dress is beautiful. White and shimmering with soft glitter, huge and round like something from a fairytale. She’s stunning, grinning and blushing, switching between scanning the crowd and looking down to the floor, carefully avoiding knocking over any of the decor with her layered white dress.

Halfway down the aisle her gaze lifts, centers on Bill. Something in your chest clenches; he’s about to cry. Completely glossed over, his eyes crinkle in the corners with how hard he’s smiling- and trying desperately not to. Janice herself covers her mouth with one hand- and when she makes it up to the front she’s desperately trying to preserve her make-up, dabbing at her eyes before the tears can roll.

Love, that genuine bubbling feeling takes the room as Bill stifles an awkward little laugh of shock, his lips curling into a weird and genuine shape, trying so hard to reign himself in. Which, in turns, gets a little laugh from the guests. The officiant starts his monologue and your stomach hurts, a hollowness settles down in your gut. Tears well in your eyes as he goes on, voice sweet and thick, going on about compassion and commitment.

It’s so… normal. They can barely stop from shaking- in joy, in excitement- and as soon as they stumble through their I dos he’s laughing again. She wraps her arms around his neck and the tears do fall this time as she pulls him down for the kiss. His hands cup her cheeks, holding her lips to his as they continue on. It’s long and sweet and when they break apart there’s a long, tortuous moment where all they do is stare at each other, grinning.

A tap to your shoulder makes you turn- an older woman offers you a tissue. She smiles sweetly and whispers, “Weddings always make me cry too.”

“Here, you look like you need this.” A man says, offering you a fluted glass. You take it, offering a tight-lipped smile in return. It’s hard not to take offense, but you probably do look a little miserable. Despite your best efforts, the tears continued on as they moved all the guests into a little side room, rearranging the main room for the reception. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom to clean yourself up and minimize the blotchiness of your crying.

Still, it feels too rude to just leave. So from your secluded little corner you school your face into something more neutral- it’s her wedding, don’t cause a scene- and sip the drink you’d been given. It’s a pink champagne and isn’t awful, just strong enough to take the edge off.

Alright. You take a deep breath, press the cool glass to your cheek, listen to the bubbles pop to the surface. You don’t have to stay long, can make up some excuse about having to leave early in the morning. Just enough to not seem like a complete ass, then you can hide. That’s it- maybe a pleasant little conversation here and-

“Hey!”:

You startle so hard champagne spills over your hand. Janice, now in a much simpler white dress, steps back, stares wide-eyed. “Sorry, are you okay…?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine!” It’s rushed and probably doesn’t sound very honest. You deflect by dabbing at your hand with napkins. “Weddings just- just always make me cry.”

“Aww. I’m the same way,” She smiles, lays a well-moisturized hand on your arm. “Don’t worry, you’ve got plenty of time to find someone.”

It’s from your lips before you have time to think. “I already have.”

Shit. Joy takes over her face as fear lances your heart. “Really? You should’ve invited him! I gave you a plus one just for that.” You’re so fucked.

“I- I know. He just works a lot and I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it.” The napkin thins and tears, leaves strands of cheap paper along the back of your hand. It’s not… entirely a lie.

“Do your parents know about him yet?” She leans in, eyebrows high on her face, as though you’ve already divulging your secrets. “Is it serious?”

“Um. Yeah, I think so. I don’t…” Heat returns to your cheeks. A weight slides from your shoulders and your next smile is entirely genuine. Like an exhale on a breath you didn’t know you were holding, it comes out in a rush. “I don’t really see myself without him.”

“Aww,” Janice coos, touches your forearm. “I hope he’s good to you.”

Just as quickly, the relief turns to dread. The socially correct response is he is, not I’m lucky his only bite mark is hidden by a collar. Not he’s pressed a knife to my ribs and fought to desire to drive it in. Not he kills people who look like me.

All the words you should say are gone, left with a tight-lipped smile- a quiet “Thank you,” and- and- your brain misfires. You’re hallucinating. The champagne was spiked, had to have been because- “Michael?” because standing in the doorway is Michael Myers in his suit.

Janice blinks and turns and sees exactly the same thing. It’s… it’s like one of those bad photoshops of celebrity nudes. His face on someone else’s body. He’s not wearing the tie, but it’s no less absurd, no less of a fever dream. The only measurement you got was his shoulders, and it has thoroughly paid off; the suit jacket sits perfectly at his collar, narrowing at his waist, all of it leading down into well-shined, unscuffed dress shoes. Like he hasn’t been out at all. Your eyes scan back up; the buttons on his sleeves are undone, leaving them a little loose around his wrists, in turn they slightly hide his missing fingers, the other various scars along his hands from broken knives and desperate victims. Over his chest the white shirt is a little rumpled, but is buttoned neatly, save for the top two. And his face-

His gaze is... quiet. Simple. Not the predatory beast that threatens to pull you in with his hypnotic stare. He’s… observing, returned to his passive state; he glances around the room, taking in the massive displays of romantic opulence with significantly less wonder and longing than you. He looks at Janice’s reception dress, still white and layered and swaying with glittery specks, completely impassive. His gaze shifts to you- and anyone else would’ve missed it. His face darkens, pupils expandings a hair’s width, eyes dragging obscenely down your form before meeting your gaze.

Heat settles between your legs, makes the bite wound throb at your shoulder-

“Oh! Is this him?” She’s so chipper, so truly excited to meet the beau you had only just confessed to having. Leaning over, her voice drops to a whisper, “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he…?”

What can you say? “Yeah, this is Michael…!” You cross the room quickly, as though proximity alone will defuse whatever is about to happen. He follows you with his eyes, paying no mind as Janice also comes closer. You hand slides along his back, squeezes at his side. Please, please, let your presence stop whatever it is he’s doing.

“It’s very nice to meet you, we were just talking about you.” There’s just an edge of suspicion in her voice, but it has nothing to do what she should be worried about.

She waits- and after a moment her face quirks and. Oh. Right. Most people don’t know. “Michael doesn’t talk. He ah,” You look up to his face, dare to hope to find any kind of support in his eyes. There’s none, of course. He watches on indifferently, just curious as to what your plan is. “He was in a- an accident a long time ago... motorcycle skidded out.” You motion vaguely towards your own left eye, as though being polite and subtle. Michael, however, tips his head at the display, completely missing Janice’s little oh reaction, quieting immediately. Her clamming up presents an opportunity that you don’t pass up. “I need to run to the bathroom before dinner, though. I’ll catch up with you at dinner, okay?”

“Sure!” Something like relief passes over her eyes- and drains back out. “Oh, gosh, I should go make sure the kitchen is all ready…”

She turns back towards the main room while you drag Michael off towards the hallway where you first came in. This part of the building is nearly empty, most everyone concerned with food and the good smell emanating from the kitchen. Up near the doors, it’s quiet, all noise reduced to a low rumble that echoes through the heavy stone walls.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, his only response is a miniscule cant of his head. Real fear twists at your belly, the possibility settles in harder than ever as you rephrase: “what if someone recognizes you?”

His face does not soften, does not betray a single thought behind those mismatched eyes.

This is what you wanted.

Some semblance of normalcy, a date to a wedding. Michael Myers in a suit, escorting you. And he does look good- sleek black jacket cutting such a nice shape on his shoulders, even if the cuffs aren’t done up right. Even his beard looks as though it’s been trimmed, which has to be impossible- but the impossibility of it does nothing to stop your hand from sliding up his chest to stroke at the stiff, white little hairs along his jaw.

“You won’t leave, will you? Even if I asked you to?” The hairs are too even, too clean. He must’ve broken into someone else’s room just to use their clippers. He says nothing, only moves with each breath as you waver under the weight of this. Your voice comes out small, almost inaudible. “I don’t want you to get caught.”

That gets a reaction. Michael’s huge hands settle at your hips, keeping you close as you fight to read his eyes. They’re too opaque- but the answer is simple. He’s here because he wants to be. Like one of his scenes left behind, it’s his own entertainment he’s engaging with- even got all dressed up for the part.

“Be careful.” You murmur, with one final stroke to his beard. “Please.”

His hands squeeze at your hips, the pressure familiarly asymmetrical. Glancing back towards the main room, the smell of hot food has only gotten stronger. With a final sniffle you lean away from him, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve and then downing the rest of your champagne. “It���ll be weird if we’re gone for too long.” That earns another head tip. It crosses your mind to explain She’ll think we’re off fucking somewhere, but that will definitely make it happen.

If anyone notices, if there’s even a hint of fear and not well-intentioned suspicion, you’re out. Not that it will matter. No matter how attentive you are, Michael will sense it first. He’ll hone in on it like a hunter- it matters more if his response will be fight or flight. He could slip out unnoticed, you’re absolutely sure, he’s escaped much tighter situations than a wedding in the middle of fucking nowhere… but you won’t swear by his ability to do so without bloodshed.

Your stomach clenches. If he wants to stay he’ll be here, all you can do is keep him to the corners, away from people, minimize conversations. So… you lead him back towards the main room. The previous archway and aisle and rows of chairs are all gone, replaced with long tables with baby blue table cloths. The little pots of ivy and lanterns have been relocated to decorate the tables. Most people are sitting, chatting away as the staff bustle around to bring out plates and glasses and more gold-leafed bottles of champagne.

Nobody notices your entrance. The rational part of your brain is screaming of course. In a real suit, maskless, not a single soul in attendance knows who he really is. He’s just an older man, here to celebrate a wedding. Your plus-one. Nobody knows, you tell yourself as you navigate towards the back wall. Nobody knows. It doesn’t settle your nerves at all, no matter how many times you repeat it.

Other people smile at you as you pass; you hope your face is at least close enough to a smile to not cause alarm. The table closest to the wall of doors is open, so you hastily sit there. Michael stands a moment before taking a chair to your right, his good eye closer to you. While you fidget with the tablecloth and sweat bullets, Michael is entirely still. He looks around the room, the only display of his interest at all. You do the same, albeit with much more fear.

“You missed her dress,” You say quietly, just as something to do. Anything to take your mind off the sea of faces. “It was huge. A big ballroom-style one. Little ribbons trailing off her veil.” He doesn’t care. You know, of course, but still his head turns towards you, a miniscule display of interest. “It was beautiful, but I can’t even imagine how much it cost.”

It’s so mundane, hell, it should be exciting little gossip, murmuring about their finances and how they could afford something so expensive, so beautiful. With Michael Myers next to you, it’s boring, mind-numbing. They could all be in danger, he could be in danger-- you don’t dwell on which of the two you’d prefer-- and nobody has the slightest fucking clue.

A young server in a vest apologizes about the wait, it’ll only be a minute more, and sets down two glasses of pink, bubbling alcohol. He smiles at Michael, who definitely does not return the look, but the server is already off, delivering more glasses to waiting people, not a care at all about the weird older man who didn’t smile back.

No clue.

They don’t know.

You blink and look around. As though a fog clearing, they don’t know. Everyone’s preoccupied with the event, with catching up with relatives, with the sweet gossip at Janice and Bill’s expense. With their hunger and excitement and chit-chat and nobody remembers what Michael Myers’s face looks like, they only ever remember the mask.

You lean back in your chair, feel the weight slide down your spine, out onto the floor. “How do they not know?” It’s more to yourself, but it earns another glance from Michael. You meet his gaze, but find no electricity there this time. He’s still lightly guarded, but it’s so faint you can barely find the tightness around his good eye. No, it’s mostly curiosity now. Like a birdwatcher observing the chittering, the songs and rituals, completely unnoticed in the trees.

You drink the champagne, let your eyes slide over the crowd, settle onto the table up front. Janice and Bill are chatting with someone in a crisp blue suit, maybe their coordinator. They’re somewhere between exhaustion and frustration- held aloft by the occasional glances at one another as their reception slowly takes form around them. You finish the glass, then take the one in front of Michael-- an inebriated Boogeyman is not what their wedding needs.

“Sorry for the wait!” The same server announces, returning a tray of plates. He sets down two plates, not even waiting for you to explain we didn’t order yet. It’s too much of a madhouse to correct him, he’s already skittering off to another table, setting down plates and bowls and sprinting back to the kitchen. Pasta with a light sauce sits before you- and honestly, you’re hungry and tired enough it wouldn’t have mattered what he’d given you.

Michael picks up his fork- and stiffens. A glance to his direction, and he’s scanning the room. A slow exhale- and he begins to eat. Quick as always, not a care at all for table manners, it’s for the best you’re in a far corner. Your own stomach flips unpleasantly, so you take it slow, watch as the dinner comes into being around you.

Eventually Bill stands, dinging his glass obnoxiously long before continuing into his speech. A long, winding monologue comes after, that you can’t quite follow- especially after someone delivers another two glasses of champagne. Michael snatches his before you can stop him- only to purse his lips at the taste and set the flute back down in front of you. Bill’s speech concludes with Janice looking teary-eyed and guests cheering. Someone toasts to the newly weds and you obligingly raise your glass. Michael’s eyes track your raised arm, linger over the crowd- but if he’s actually processing the words, the confessions of love and devotion, none of it reflects on his face.

He says nothing, shows nothing, merely eats and looks and occasionally tips his head at a phrase, at an emotional, happy sob. Things he doesn’t understand. You pick at your food, applauding when others do so, but you end up looking elsewhere. It’s a rare opportunity to see him process the whole scene. Now you are the birdwatcher, taking in each flick of his eyes, the subtle tightening of his lips, how his gaze narrows when Janice stands and shuffles over to a makeshift DJ station. She talks with someone there for a while, presents her phone, then goes back to her table with Bill. Someone at another table breaks out into laughter, Michael’s head turning, compensating for his blind eye, to look towards them. He reacts to each new stimulus with the same near disinterested look, no matter how novel it must be. Not a single hint as to what he’s thinking. Is it murder related, contemplating how he could escape unnoticed? Is it on the strangeness of human emotion? Just plain not understanding what’s happening?

You want to ask, want to know what it is he thinks about.

Any questions will be met with a head tilt, that little glint in his eyes that he knows something you don’t. The tiniest power he holds over you still elicits the same response.

He jerks towards you so violently you jump- first in fear, thoughts racing by- did someone know? But he doesn’t leave, doesn’t make any motion of aggression- and instead you’re left with the tiniest one-sided lift of his lip. They may not have a clue you’re dining with a serial killer, but he just caught you watching him. Your cheeks heat as you turn away, forcefully take a bite of pasta, ignore the weight of Michael’s eyes on the side of your face. Once, your watching of him would’ve warranted his own head tilt, curious on what it was you saw. It’s been long enough that he knows- that same affection that makes you touch him gently and seek his touch in return. Now, it’s just another way for him to make you shyly turn away.

“Can we move these tables back?” Someone asks from the front of the room- the best man, you think. All at once the people at the middle tables are up to their feet, extracting chairs and pushing everything out towards the walls.

Oh. That’ll probably include you. You’re up, joining the crowd and motion for Michael to stand. Thankfully, he’s compliant. Causing a scene now would be… motifying, first, and likely deadly, second. He does not, however, assist with dragging the table even closer to the walls. You manage to only stumble a little, laughing at yourself as your fingers slip off the plastic. It does earn you his attention once more, his hint-of-cockiness turning to air-of-inquisitiveness.

When you sit again, now only a foot from the stone-covered wall, the world continues right on spinning. It’s not awful; bad enough to have you pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes, but nothing unmanageable. Just… just a little tipsy. A few too many flutes too fast on a near-empty stomach. Michael stands for a long moment, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. He must be burning up in that suit- too inside himself, too curious to voice any displeasure.

Music starts up again- this time it’s slow and melodic, soft piano- and you finally look up from your hands. Janice’s simpler white dress swirls around her as she sways, hand in hand with Bill. Speakers pulse with the lyrics, but the room is otherwise silent, everyone held quiet with each of the couple’s steps. She lays her head on Bill’s chest, tucks her face into his neck, but when she pulls back to look at him, her makeup has just begun to run. This time, Bill doesn’t stop his own tears, joining her in ecstatic sobbing.

A series of awws pour from the room- but your voice is caught in your throat, swollen shut by the same unexpected emotion as during the ceremony. You can say nothing, make no noise at all as they finish their first dance and motion for everyone else to come to the floor. A new song starts, synthy with a quick-beat. Young couples stand quickly, giddily rushing to the center of the room. In the new rush of movement, Michael stands, hard enough for his chair to scoot back and knock into the wall. Not to dance, please, not to dance- but Michael only moves along the wall, pushes the white curtains, and slips out the doors onto the balcony.

With everyone preoccupied with dancing and drinking, you slip off to the bathroom, the pulse of music covering each sniffle.

You don’t really mean to go back to the main room. After several minutes spent blotting your eyes with a damp paper towel, all you want in the world is to go home. Return to your own bed, curl up with your pillow as you do on those nights he’s out. Going back to the hotel room would be good enough- getting lost on the way out of the bathroom took you to the kitchens, first, then spat you back out to the gallery.

In the time you’ve been gone your plates have been cleaned up, replaced by someone else’s half-drunk glasses. The owners must be up dancing, because nobody else is in your little corner of the room. People fill the dance floor, the crowd waving, undulating with the rhythm of the music- now moved on to pop music, half the room singing along. You turn to leave-

A flash of silver and white and black- you raise your hands-

“Oh! Sorry!” The same server backs up, holds up his tray. Without pause, he grabs a plate and pushes it into your hands. “Cake’s here! Does your dad want some?” He looks around, eyebrows furrowing down.

Dad? The gears turn, leaves you puzzling as the server shrugs and continues on with a “There’s a lot more, just tell him to wave at me, okay?” He turns way, leaves you with a handful of sweet-smelling white cake and- oh for fuck’s sake, do they really think Michael is- ugh, nevermind. Another turn and you’re facing the table again. You can just leave the plate there, maybe someone else will eat it- all fancy and probably stupid expensive.

Would be a shame not to try some.

The design is simple, a chic white base with a tight grid of glittery white icing. Tiny silver balls decorate some of the intersections. Probably vanilla from the smell; classic, timeless, worth more money than your phone. You cut a bite off with your fork, turn the sponge in front of you-

Michael would enjoy this.

The thought comes unbidden, utterly intrusive and unhelpful. He’s already left, cut out at the worst possible time- as he always does. That’s a good thing, you angrily remind yourself. He leaves because he needs to kill, if he didn’t it’d be you or… or anyone else here. That’s the trade.

It doesn’t change the fact that now you’re thinking of Michael’s sweet tooth, his unending appetite for anything remotely sugary, devouring down all chocolate and candies and pastries, no matter how well you think you hide them. He’d love this. It’s another… another experience you want to share with him, another little shot at normalcy that comes so close, circling the rim before falling off into disappointing nothingness. You don’t even realize you’re moving until your hand is on the cold knob, turning-

A gust of cold early October air makes you pinch your face, the air cutting right through your nice clothes, not a hint of warmth remaining. It’s a stupid idea- but it feels good to be out here. Not in a physical way; no, you’re immediately freezing, shiveringly miserable, but in some way that makes your chest feel tight. You’re out here- and Michael, too, is out here somewhere. Probably long gone by now.

You walk on, out to the edge of the balcony, gazing out onto rolling waves and lumps of tree tops. The moon has half-risen, casting silvery light from one side, warm yellow leaking out from the main hall’s incandescents. Completely invisible from inside the building, there’s a little set of stairs down on the right side, following along the side of the building, down the hill towards the carefully manicured trees and bushes below. It’ll keep you away from everyone else’s prying eyes, from any other half-drunk wedding goers. Maybe the path winds around, leads back towards the hotel. You can get some sleep,

The wood whines pitifully as you descend, so you keep one hand on the railing, your eyes on your feet and when you lift them-

He’s already turned towards you, nearly fully facing you to compensate for his blind eye. He’s even more ethereal in the moonlight, silvery beams bleaching out his dark suit, casting shadow over half his face, obscuring the scarred half. There’s no sign of shock, but surely he must be. There’s no way for him to think you’d follow him, no way for you to know he was still here. No sign of shock, but there is something else. An extra layer of flatness to his expression, neutrality edging onto… you’re not sure. His presence alone extends outwards, a pressure in the air that surrounds him like a storm.

At the back of your neck your hairs stand on end.

And- and you’re not sure how you feel. You… you feel like you’ve overstepped something. It should be fear, cold and immutable, the very chilling realization that he’s been itching to feel blood all day, only for you to wander back into his sightline. No, no it’s… it’s something else that swirls in your chest, too tipsy to focus on the real terror lurking.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, half-slurred. “I thought you left.”

He only stares at you in return. You’ve already surpassed your worst expectation. He stares- and his eyes drop down to your hands.

“Oh, it’s the wedding cake.” You extend your hands before you even ask, “Do you want some?”

There’s a long moment- Michael does not move except for the minute, rhythmic rise of his shoulders on each inhale. The coveralls hid most of the movement, now exposed with much better-fitting clothes. Still, he does not move, eyes locked onto the layers of pale sponge and icing. Fear had only just begun to curl its hands around your heart- when MIchael’s arms finally lift, forcibly unfolding his fingers to take the offered plate.

He holds it, continues staring- he must be contemplating something, weighing the pros and cons of some unspoken decision. By all means, taking the plate alone should’ve answered the question: would he like some? But with that murderous itch under his skin, maybe nothing was that straightforward for him now. Sooner or later he does land on a decision. He takes the little plastic fork- so tiny in his big hands- and takes a bite.

One eyebrow twitches.

He sets the plate onto the wide wood railing and that sugar-chasing sweet tooth takes over whatever urge he’s fighting. Michael has managed to avoid killing you so far, so you’ll push your luck just a little: you edge in closer to him. His eyes slide over towards you, but he does not stop his hurried pace of cake eating. More importantly, he doesn’t move away. So you inch in even closer, close enough your arm bumps his- and he’s such a radiator.

Through at least three layers of clothes, Michael’s heat burns through to your skin, a safe refuge from the brisk wind. You can’t stop yourself now, leaning in ever more until your head rests on his shoulder. The suit is crisp, smells of detergent, the tiniest hint of sweat beneath. Lifting your head up towards his and you find that same floral soap as the shower; he must’ve cleaned up here- was it an empty room or yours?

He stops as he gets to the outer edge of the cake, the white icing like a rind to an orange wedge. He takes no more bites, but instead holds the fork in what must be another silent decision making battle. Much shorter this time around, he lays the fork down- leaving the handle pointed towards you.

You glance to his face- but he’s not looking at you. He’s staring down at the cake itself. It has to be intentional- so you carefully take the fork for yourself, waiting for him to stop you. He doesn’t. There’s no hand to your throat- so you cut a piece with that thick outer layer of icing.

It’s not vanilla. The taste is a shock, so different, so much sweeter than what you’re expecting you almost gag- no, the icing is white chocolate. But once that initial shock wears off… it’s soft, moist; the sponge itself must be some faint vanilla, but how it mixes with the white chocolate it becomes something else entirely, sweet and decadent and not at all the simple cake you’d expected. You take another bite- and Michael’s hand closes over your own.

You surrender the fork, lean up against him, resume leeching his warmth in retribution. “I was going to give it back.”

Blue sparks at the corner of his eye- and even half inebriated, your breath catches. A warning, silent as it is, that his patience is just on the edge of snapping. Words flee from you, wither on your tongue. Proximity has brought his ire yet, so you stay close, bask in his radiating heat as he finishes his (your) cake.

A soft melody filters down- down from the main hall’s speakers. A slow dance starting above you, couples taking to the floor with blushing cheeks and averted eyes, sweating palms as they sway to the music. At the center of it all must be Bill and Janice, her cheek laid on his shoulder- and the pain in your chest crescendos.

And in a heartbeat, none of it matters. Michael’s tenuous control of his urges, the bite at your shoulder, the scars from when he’d lost the reins- none of it. You lay your hand on his shoulder and when you guide him to turn, he does. His face is blank, impassive, utterly unreactive as your lead him. Your hands shake a little as you take his, big and warm, and murmur a halfhearted, “Come here,” a desperate lick to your lips, “Wanna try something.” You plant his right hand on your hips- a light press to tell him to hold there, and take the other in your hand, turning until you’re palm to palm.

You can’t lace your fingers. His thumb overlaps yours, your first finger between two of his but the rest- the rest curl over gnarled scar tissue, warped and rippled and tougher than the surrounding skin. Pressure builds behind your eyes, but that’s okay. He’s missing a few parts, but that doesn’t matter either. No, when you lay your head on his chest and his heat washes over you, lulls you into closing your eyes, you hear the steady, slow beat of his heart- that’s what’s important. The smell of the suit’s detergent, of his pilfered, floral soap against the crisp autumn air-

You sway- and truth be told, the first time, you’re not entirely sure if it was intentional, matching the flow of the love ballad above or the champagne’s continued vengeance. The second sway, weight shifting carefully to the other side, however, is entirely on purpose.

This time, Michael does not move.

A shred of stolen intimacy, a wisp of a wish that fades as quickly as it happened. The music plays on, a man’s voice lost in the distance, through the glass and wood and stone facade- but the tremor of his voice is the same. Longing and love and joy and against Michael’s chest you sniffle, disengage your hand to wipe at your eyes.

“Sorry,” It doesn’t matter; apologies mean nothing to him. “I know you’re not…”

Pain spreads through your lip as you bite it. Shame and fear and regret all bubble up at once and you need to get away, need space from his suddenly unbearable heat. A push at his chest- and Michael’s hands clamp down at your hips. Terror floods in, blocks out all other emotion until your blood is ice, heart frozen, unable to even look up at him. You know exactly what you’ll find- sharp, cold eyes like daggers, focused on the only living prey he can see.

He lifts- and you squeal, unable to stop yourself- and dig your fingers into his suit jacket, cling desperately to him as he swings you around- shoes not even skimming the wooden boards below. He’ll throw you, or drop you over the side, or slam you into the stonework and that’ll be the end, the epilogue to your romance- and wood scrapes at your legs. The balcony’s railing drags at your pants, pulls them low on your hips, dipped between Micheal’s iron palms- and you can’t not look.

Seated on the aged wood, you’re still not as tall as him. Each breath comes quick and shallow, fingers still locked to his suit, white knuckled and aching and when you look at him… It’s everything you feared and so much worse. His left hand closes around your throat, thumb and middle finger meeting neatly, closing the collar around you, the lightest pressure making your head spin. Then, he squeezes.

You’d cry if you could, but not even a whimper can make it past the solid block of his hand- you grasp at his wrist, squeeze gently. No attempt to pry him off, no futile struggle for your life. If he’s tired of you, of your tenderhearted bullshit, that’s all there is. All you can do is watch, even as your pulse echoes in your ears, as black edges into your vision- his face comes in close, fills your vision.

And then- the pressure releases. You inhale- and lips cover your own. You brace, expect the tide of teeth and rough, grabbing hands- all you get is softness. His lips are dry, lightly chapped, but the kiss is… Your heart aches in your chest, tears finally springing free because your lips slide against his, unhurried and gentle. Fingers at your neck flex and stiffly release, his other hand still digging three bruising points into your flesh, but he’s soft, only his beard prickling as your cheeks and chin. You break off to breathe, broken into a sob- and Michael surges forward again.

His tongue, hot and wet, slides against your lips and you can’t deny him. White chocolate and vanilla coat his tongue, brings the gift of sweetness with each lick over your teeth. EVen restrained as he is, you’re melting under him, tipping your head back into his unflinching palm. He’s warm and sweet and you need more. Fingers scrabble up his chest, curling around to the back of his neck, just to keep him close-

And salt slides into your mouth. Salt? You gasp, take in as much air as you can- and Michael surges forward. No longer kind, he devours you, delves his tongue between teeth and cheek then as far down your throat as he can before sinking his teeth into your lower lip. Tears. It was your own tears you had tasted, tracks drying cool and irritated over your cheeks and now- now copper covers your tongue.

His fingers close again, tight and cruel as he sucks at the wound, draws ever more blood up to the surface until it’s spilling over your chin, dripping onto your chest and lap. It’s not enough, it’s never enough; his teeth sink in again, incisor catching the first bite and dragging along, splitting your lip further. Tears come again and you’re whimpering, arching into him-

Cold air makes your lungs burn. He walks backwards, crosses the little platform in two steps, taking his warmth with him. The wind rustles the trees below, covering music and your weak gasps. In the moonlight, his hands open and close repeatedly, curling into fists so tight he must be cutting his palms with his nails. Every muscle is held stiff, his good pupil is blown wide, lips pink and gently parted as he licks the red that stains his mouth and chin. It’s smeared across the lower half of his face, masking his silvery beard with quickly oxidizing brown.

It’s not far off from when he returns from a kill, stinking of blood and so wound up and on the edge of snapping.

He wants to kill you. Every instinct you have is screaming run; it’s all you can do to sink your nails into the wood railing and hang on. He stepped away from you, you repeat that in your head, he’s backed off. He knows- from the incessant flexing of his hands, over and over, he knows he’s too close to the edge. There’s no point in running; no matter how far you get, all that matters is what’s happening in Michael’s mind.

And finally, the scales tip. He turns, and without any noise at all, he stalks off, following the balcony around the side of the building.

The wind blows, bites cold needles into your skin, and you wait. Numb and freezing and… and you’re in no state to consider your emotions now. Your lip throbs, still leaking blood lazily. You press the sleeve of your shirt to it, already ruined from the dripping streaks.

Should’ve known one way or another you’d end up bloodstained. You sniffle, use the other sleeve to wipe at your cheeks, leave them hot and fuzzy-feeling. You wait; music above you changes, shifts through a playlist, moving back on to high-energy dance songs which only serve to grate on your already frayed nerves, makes your skin prickle more than the icy wind.

Where was he now? Out in the woods, navigating his way to someone else’s cabin, or perhaps he’ll take a car, find a nice neighborhood to terrorize. He’ll have a satisfying night out while you- you-

Your hands shake with more than just the cold. You breathe hot air into them anyway, rub them as though that will solve the same problem that has your stomach twisting.

The music dies down, leaves distant, muted noises- people talking, shoes scraping the floor. They’ll be leaving soon. You should be gone first. It probably can’t be passed off as a simple nosebleed, and the caring cooing of half-drunk wedding goers would not help. So- you leave. Exactly the same way he did. This time, however, you watch ahead of you, stare into the lowlight of late evening for the faintest sign of Michael or his mask.

Another encounter might not leave you so lucky.

But as you round the corner, he’s not there. You can’t even feel his eyes on you, and for once you feel utterly alone. The walkway does wrap around, leads out to the side of the main hall, near a staff entrance. Thankfully, there’s nobody around this door- but at the front, a huge rectangle of yellow floods the night, stretches out into the darkness- and good-natured cheering pierces the air. The twisting in your stomach turns to stone, solid and sickly and only making your legs move faster, to get further away from the crowd. They’ll be kept busy for a while, setting up a nice walk out, getting their cameraman ready.

The walk back seems longer, emptier in the darkness.

You opt for the backdoor, given the circumstances. It’s cracked open, warmth from the air conditioning system leaks out as you approach- but Michael is long gone. His suit is a mess of black and white fabric, puddled on the floor. It’s the best possible outcome, honestly. You don’t even realize you’re picking up each peace and flattening them out, placing them reverently on the other bed. Your clothes, however, do not get the same treatment.

In fact, they get hardly any treatment at all. You truly did plan on stripping down and getting into the shower, washing away the blood that’s streaked on you face- but as you sit on the edge of your bed to toe off your shoes, all you can think about is absolute bone-weary exhaustion. Without shoes, you slump backwards onto the duvet- the last conscious thought spared to glance at the double door, the make sure it was still left unlocked for Michael’s return.

Cold. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold- and droning like white noise. Warmth still clings to your chest, but a chill creeps over-- Your eyes snap open, arms shooting out, searching the dark because fingers touched your side. What you find, of course, is broad shoulders and wobbly latex. Michael. But what you find is also wet.

You recoil first- hands disengaging as he continues what he’s doing: flipping the blankets over, which you must’ve crawled under in your sleep, and pulling harshly at your pants. A seam pops- and you mumble in frustration, undoing the buttons with half-asleep hands. As soon as it’s open, he rips them down your legs. You hiss, the fabric stinging like carpet burn down your thighs. He’s keyed up, too excited from a fresh kill to even care- your underwear is shredded before you can even lift your hips to pull it off.

Fuck, it’s going to be one of those nights.

One massive hand keeps you still, holds you hips in place while the other unzips his coveralls with a zzzzt. Electricity sparks in your belly; he’s going to fuck you. The thought of his cock alone makes your thighs press together, the sweet promise of release so tempting after the last two days. His knees press into the mattress, your whole body shifting as it dips under his weight- and he doesn’t even wait for you to get resettled. The hot head of his cock rubs blindly between your legs; you don’t bother concealing your gasp as he brushes your clit.

In the darkness, it’s only you and him. Time and space fall away, nothing left in existence but his body moving against yours, the raw physical sensation of heat and pressure and each of his exhales echoing in the mask. Your fingers grab at his shoulders, just for an anchor, twist into the coveralls- and it’s wet. You shudder, imagine how he must look, coated head to toe in viscera, tracked blood straight to your suite and-

You don’t smell iron.

His clothes are wet, but they are also cold. The mask is just visible with the low moonlight that sneaks in through the curtains- and it’s clean. Cleaner than you remember ever seeing it, almost starkly white. One flop of synthetic hair hangs darkly, solidly, over his latex forehead. You trace your fingers up over the slightly melted edge, over rubbery ears.

Michael forces himself inside you with one stroke; your cunt burns with the stretch, all limbs closing around him in desperation to keep him still. Tears spring to your eyes once more, teeth scraping open your bitten lip- and all you can do is tell yourself to breathe, to focus on the coming pleasure, because it will, it always does, no matter how cruel Michael chooses to be.

So your snap your thighs closed around his waist, locking him deep inside while you clench and shiver in pain and shock and the first trembling whispers of good because fuck, he’s so big. Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to stretch to accommodate him. Warmth replaces the cool, radiates out from between your legs and- and something isn’t right.

Michael should be drawing back, forcing your legs apart and pounding away until the fuel of his bloodlust has burned off, more animal than man- but he’s not. Rain water drips onto your chest, runs off the shape of his false face, the heavy noise of his breathing masked by the soft rumble of rain and thunder. Bent over you, he’s not quite on you like he normally is- no, he’s leaned away, enough for you to stare into the pitch black holes where his eyes should be. There’s no light to see the gray or white beneath, but they must be fixated on you.

“Michael?” You murmur, too sleepy to mask the concern there. He doesn’t even tip his head. It’s not panic, not yet- if he thought he was in danger he wouldn’t be still like this, if it was some new type of sadism, there’d still be an air of it on him. This is… something new, something you haven’t yet been able to pick up the little signs of.

Your hands unwind from his soaked coveralls, the joints creaking from the effort. The fabric is rough and even more abrasive still soaked with water, but you stroke his arms as best you can and seek out his face in the darkness. Without any reaction you skate higher, one hand dancing up his chest, just past the drooping collar, to the thin strip of skin visible between the rough cotton and smooth latex.

“Michael…?” His name hangs on your lips- and he answers with his hips.

The animal drive has disappeared entirely. It’s a smooth roll, shallow- cautious. Where you had expected force and pain is softness; you gasp, part shock and part pleasure- and Michael must take it as a good sign. He keeps this strange pace and you dig your fingers into the shoulders of his suit, squeezing more rainwater out with each thrust. Your body isn’t sure what to do- so used to producing quick, efficient lubrication, you’re nearly gushing for him now. This sort of kindness from Michael is foreign, saved for when he’s injured or sick or- or particularly cruel. But this isn’t that- it’s new.

You can’t even begin to understand his motives- why he needs this- but you can still give it to him. When you wrap your arms behind his neck and pull him closer, he only resists for a moment. Closer- closer until you can hear his soft pants from behind the mask, feel the heat of his breath with each puff through the nose holes.

When he shifts his weight, he slides deeper- stroking so gently along places that have only known his brutal paces. You gasp, pull his hips closer with your legs- and the tilt of his head towards your mouth is not at all lost on you. Without prompting, he expands upon the motion: sliding nearly all the way back out until you’re whimpering, aching for his return- and pushing in so slow, finding his way so deep within you until tears gather at your eyes.

”Michael,” It’s a prayer, an acknowledgement, a thank you-

His breath catches; if your hands were not on him you wouldn’t have even felt it. He keeps pace, betrays no other hints of his reaction- fucks you deep and slow, rolls his hips with each thrust, grinds against your clit so sweetly- but you felt it, that sharp little inhale.

With his head tipped towards you, it’s hardly a stretch to reach the latex. Cool and as clean as you’ve ever known- you kiss blindly in the dark. It’s too smooth to be the lips, slightly puckered with melting- must be his cheek. It isn’t for long, because Michael turns, meets you halfway. The rubber lips taste like rain water, not at all like the cruel mouth that lies just beyond- the taste of blood on his tongue as sweet as vanilla frosting. You kiss him and all the while tension settles between his shoulders, radiates down his arms.

”Michael,” You repeat, this time with purpose, you scrape your nails against the harsh cotton of his coveralls to emphasize it. This time, it’s his hips- a thrust just too harsh to be completely controlled. It’s a spark to kindling; the kind of treatment your body’s been waiting for- and the “Yes!” that follows is not intentional at all.

And still- in the darkness you feel his resolve, the decision he’s made- whatever game he’s playing. He doesn’t give in, as much as his fingers are threatening to tear the sheets, he slows- keeps his pace even.

There is one thing, however, you’re sure he can’t resist. Delicately- as much as you can be while being fucked- you wrap one hand around his left wrist. He doesn’t react at all, hardly seems to notice- except with you tug at it, urge it away from its death grip on the sheets. This he tips his head at. “Michael,” You whine, tug again for emphasis. The mask tips the other way, his pace slowing with curiosity. He gives in, shifts his weight to his other arm, lets you move his hand-

The seams pop to the left of your head, his grasp shearing through them as you guide his three-fingered hand to your throat. The weight of it alone has your pussy tingling, every nerve woken, waiting for him to deliver. You think, perhaps, you might be crazy to taunt him like this, to get this wet at the thought of him choking you.

It’s not a thought for long.

The muscles in his palm twitch once before he adjusts the grip. His hand rises up, forces you head backwards and squeezes. Not a single moan escapes his grasp, but he must know- because the mask tips again, the empty back eyeholes boring straight into you, watching every reaction. And like that, his interest in being soft has evaporated.

He fucks you- the same fervor you’d expected after a hunt finally manifesting with each thrust, his cock ricocheting inside you, gives no room for hesitation. It doesn’t matter- darkness is buzzing at the corners of your vision, eyes growing heavy and tired, barely able to keep awake if it weren’t for the force of Michael’s hips. You’re fading, head lolling with each impact-

Michael’s grip loosens. Air floods your burning lungs- and you’d been so oxygen deprived you didn’t know how close you were. He doesn’t even let you moan; his hand closes around you again before any noise slips out. Your throat vibrates under his palm and you wonder if he knows you’re screaming his name as you tip over. With no air every feeling is amplified, your adrenaline-fried brain bringing every stimulus up and up until it’s unbearable.

Clamping down on him as hard as you can doesn’t deter him at all; he fucks you without pause even as your mind frays. Heat pulses out from your pussy, radiates down your legs, up into your chest- and you arch your back up, press more of your skin to the cold cloth of his suit. Your nails rip at the sheets, at his back, at anything you can reach- you don’t even realize you’d been digging your knees into his sides until he grabs one and forces your legs apart, all his weight held on your femur.

He grunts- hardly more than a thought of a noise in his chest, a hot puff of air through the mask and his hips stutter. He plunges deep, buries himself inside you as he spills.

“Yes, yes…” you murmur, stroke along his arms as he stills, the softest of tremors shaking his shoulders.

And all at once he collapses over you. Heat and solid muscle and damp cloth compress you into the mattress. It should be a cage, should be the inescapable anchor of your life- but his breath slows in your ear, fades from heavy pants to the slow, even noise that whistles through latex. The weight of him is real, a solid mass that anchors you to the world when everything else makes it feel like you should be flung from this spinning rock. Because you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be wrapping your arms around him to draw him ever closer, shouldn’t be hiding your face into his neck, pressing one cheek to skin and the other to rubber. It’s easy- so, wickedly easy to float here, to bask in his heat, in how he still fills you, even as he softens.

He’s still, motionless save for the rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you,” You whisper, feeling your lips brush cracking latex.

He doesn’t understand the word, you’re sure. You’ve always known. You say it anyway for your own sake, lest the feeling eat through your chest like acid. Because there is relief in saying it, in acknowledging that for all of the shouldn’ts you think of, the fact contradicts them.

He shifts, moves his weight to one arm while the other hand settles over your ribs.

His thumb strokes your skin.

[tomwambsgans]

tom & greg + fixation on, and fear of, sexual assault

of all the characters involved in a plot centered around a sexual exploitation scandal, it's ironically not any women but tom and greg - the very characters through whom we're introduced to the exploitation - who show repeated concern for their own bodily autonomy, particularly on a sexual vein. that particular point of irony serves to exemplify their outsider statuses that remain in spite of promotions, marriages, etc, but also, these aspects of their characters being so consistent tells us a lot about their relationship to the entire culture of masculinity, not just waystar.

greg in particular is practically introduced with a fixation on sexual assault. his character in general is a notably un-sexual being up until the end of season 3, with the only allusions he makes to sex until then being a matter of himself as a victim. that fixation/fear becomes most apparent when the notion of prison comes up - and it is clearly the chief worry driving that fear for greg. in contrast, tom does have other repeatedly expressed worries about prison: non-sexual autonomy lost, a lack of comfort, a lack of Finer Things, particularly food and wine... but (implicitly non-consensual) sex makes the list and is also brought up multiple times, interestingly with less apparent fear than greg's. this may be due to tom already having a pragmatic relationship with (heterosexual) sex that allows him to plow through a series of sexual encounters that are tainted with elements of Wrongness - the idea here being that a fear of sex is just kind of normal for tom, so he's used to it. he has a very high tolerance for pain and physical discomfort. it's less losing autonomy and more acknowledging he barely has any to begin with. he's less panicked, more resigned. perhaps even less of a victim and more of a... coerced participant, because to even conceptualize himself as a victim would be too vulnerable. one more character does allude to being victimized by sexual assault, meanwhile - roman. where he contrasts with both tom and greg, though, is that rather than fearing it happening in the future, there's instead the idea of it having happened in the past. there may or may not have been any actual event or even a theme of sexual abuse in roman's childhood, but we get multiple notions: roman jokingly threatening to accuse connor of "diddling" him, the vibes that float around the dog pound story and how he "went weird," "yeah they raped me a little," his inability to pee around other men and the implication he's seen a therapist for it... and of course, this:

which is where roman's relationship with all of this contrasts the most starkly with tom and greg's: whether he's truly a victim or not (and if he wasn't, he clearly does at least cling to the notion as a potentially easy explanation for all that's wrong with him), he turns around and starts weilding the idea himself. furthermore he communicates, in that particular deleted scene, his knowingness of something between tom and greg. and he reinforces the idea that there's something wrong with it. the scenario he evokes, where greg is a Victim and tom is a Perpetrator, isn't accurate whatsoever, but it sends a message, implants an idea, sets the tone, etc - sex between men will always include those two characters. this is, undeniably, the precise reason for both tom and greg's fixations on being a sexual victim of other men. the canonical fixation in and of itself, and its uniqueness to the two of them, may as well establish this - in the gender theory of the show (and also real life), tom and greg are of a different gender class than Real Man. they are adjacent to women. to be frank with you, they are faggots. both know on some level that intimacy with men is what they want, and therefore, however consciously, have that sense of their role in the world being a vulnerable one. there are elements of both fear and fantasy, building off of each other: "this is inevitable because of what i am" and "what if i enjoy it, what does that say about who i am?" and "if i have no choice in the matter, then maybe i'm free to enjoy it." there's a loop of freedom from contending with one's own desires -> a hyperawareness of them. now, roman may join tom and greg in being Categorically Less Of A Man, but he still sits above them on the axis of class and therefore doesn't feel the same ramifications. tom and greg are not only gay but live far more directly in the Real World, with origins in the present and physical homophobia of the middle and lower classes. tom also knows the corporate homophobia from climbing his way up and gives greg the crash course. tom and greg's differences wrt their fears of SA lie in self-awareness, self-hatred, and how successfully each of them have already carved out a space for themselves in the sexual hierarchy. but ultimately what they have in common is the most significant: their inability to fit authentically into the world of the roys. their shared uniqueness, amongst the elite, in having a body - one that can and often does experience pleasure and pain. in having real desires and therefore being vulnerable. in being gay little nudie turtles underneath.

[rootedinrevisions]

One of Them Girls: Part 8

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 I

PART 7

You stood by the window, glancing outside every few minutes, your nerves tingling with anticipation. Tyler had invited you to a get-together with his crew and some of his friends–a bonfire out by the lake. It was a casual invitation, but you couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something more. It was one thing to spend alone time with Tyler, but this was different. It felt like he was bringing you into his world, introducing you to the people who mattered to him.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a deep breath before heading to answer it. Tyler stood on the other side, leaning casually against the doorframe with that easy grin of his that always managed to make your heart skip a beat.

"Hey," he greeted, his eyes lighting up as they took in the sight of you. "Ready to go?"

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his presence. "Yeah, I'm ready. Just need to grab something."

He stepped inside the house as you went to pick up the sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair–Tyler's sweatshirt. It was the one he'd given you the first time you hung out. The fabric was soft and worn, and it still smelled faintly like him, a comforting mix of his cologne and something uniquely Tyler.

As you slipped it on, you noticed Tyler's gaze lingering on the sweatshirt, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You kept that?" he asked, his tone teasing.

You felt a blush creep up your neck as you nodded. "Yeah, of course I did. It's warm, and besides...it's yours."

Tyler's smile softened, a look of genuine affection in his eyes. He took a step closer to you, his fingers gently tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt. "It looks good on you," he said, his voice gentle. "Better than it ever did on me."

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. "Thanks, Tyler."

Once you were ready, Tyler led you outside to his truck. The evening air was cool, with a gentle breeze that hinted at the coming night. Tyler opened the passenger door for you, helping you inside before jogging around to the driver's side.

As he started the engine and pulled away from your house, a comfortable silence settled between you. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink as the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the landscape.

After a few minutes, Tyler broke the silence. "So, Boone has been bugging me non-stop about when he can finally meet my girlfriend."

You felt your heart skip a beat at the casual way he dropped the word 'girlfriend'. Turning to look at him, you found his eyes fixed on the road, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips like he was waiting for your reaction.

"Your girlfriend, huh?" you echoed, your voice teasing but with a nervous edge.

Tyler glanced at you briefly, his smile growing more pronounced. "Well, yeah. I thought that's what you were. Unless you have any objections."

You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. "No objections here."

He chuckled, reaching over to entwine his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand was comforting, and the simple gesture made your stomach flutter.

The truck continued down the winding road, the scenery passing by as a pleasant blur. The simple acknowledgment of your relationship status added a new layer of warmth and intimacy between you.

After a moment, you glanced back up at him, mischief twinkling in your eyes. "So, what exactly has Boone been saying about me?"

Tyler laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Oh, you know. He's been giving me a hard time ever since he found out I was seeing someone. Keeps asking when he's gonna meet the girl who's got me all distracted."

"All distracted, huh?" you teased, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't realize I was such a distraction."

He shot you a playful look. "Trust me, the best kind. Makes those long hours chasing storm a little more bearable knowing I get to come back to see you when we're done."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, and you couldn't help but feel touched by his sincerity. "Careful, Tyler. You're gonna make me blush."

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "Good. I like seeing you blush."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed your amusement. The rest of the drive was filled with lighthearted banter and shared laughter, the earlier nerves you felt slowly melting away.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Tyler turned onto a dirt road leading toward the lake. You could see the flickering glow of the bonfire in the distance, shadows of people moving around it as music and laughter filled the air.

Tyler parked the truck and turned off the engine, turning to you once more before getting out. "Ready to meet the crew?"

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside you. But with Tyler's hand still holding yours and the reassuring smile on his face, you felt more than ready.

"Let's do this," you replied confidently.

He leaned over, pressing a quick, tender kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the truck and coming around to your side to help you down. Together, you walked toward the bonfire, hand in hand, ready to embrace this new step in your relationship.

As you and Tyler walk hand in hand toward the bonfire, you can see the glow of the fire illuminating the faces of his crew and friends gathered around. Laughter and the crackle of the flames filled the air, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Boone was the first to notice the two of you approaching, and his eyes immediately lit up with mischief. "Well, well, well," Boone called out loudly, causing everyone to turn and look. "Look who finally decided to show up–and he didn't come alone!"

Tyler squeezed your hand gently as you approached the group, his usual confidence shining through, but you could feel the slight tension in his grip.

Boone, never one to miss an opportunity, took a few exaggerated steps forward, his grin widening as he looked between you and Tyler. "T, are you blushing?"

A round of chuckles echoed around the bonfire, and you noticed a faint pink tint creeping up Tyler's neck and into his cheeks. The sight made you smile, knowing that his usually composed demeanor had cracked just a bit.

"Come on, Boone," Tyler said, attempting to sound nonchalant, though the blush betrayed him. "Cut it out."

But Boone wasn't letting up. "Nah, man, this is too good! Never thought I'd see the day you'd bring someone to one of our shindigs. It's about time."

Dani, who was lounging in a nearby chair, joined in with a playful smirk. "Yeah, Ty, we've been wondering when we'd finally get to meet the girl who's been keeping you so distracted."

Dexter, who was sitting next to Dani, looked up with a grin. "Guess we should've seen this coming when he started humming to himself."

Lily, the youngest of the group with an infectious energy, jumped up from her spot by the fire and jogged over to you. "It's nice to finally meet you! Tyler talks about you all the time!"

The blush on Tyler's face deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Alright, alright, that's enough," he muttered, though there was no mistaking the smile on his face.

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him–this usually self-assured man you normally saw was now looking a bit flustered under the teasing of his friends. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and you found it endearing.

Tyler shook his head, though his smile remained firmly in place. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer as if to shield you from the friendly jabs.

"Alright, Boone," Tyler said, his voice filled with amusement. "You've had your fun. Now, how about you let us sit down and enjoy the fire?"

Boone clapped Tyler on the back, still chuckling. "Sure, T. But I'm not done yet. We've got plenty more to talk about."

Dani patted an empty chair next to her. "Come on, sit with us. We've got drinks, s'mores, and plenty of embarrassing stories about Tyler."

Tyler groaned playfully but you could see the affection in his eyes as he led you over to join the group. "Great. Just what I wanted–storytime."

You settled down in the chair, Tyler taking the seat next to you. The warmth of the fire and the camaraderie of the group make you feel instantly at ease. Tyler's friends were funny but clearly cared about him a lot. Their teasing, though relentless, was full of affection and acceptance, and it only made you like them more.

As the night went on, you found yourself getting more comfortable with Tyler's crew. The teasing continued, but it was all in good fun, and you could see how much they cared about Tyler. Boone had taken up the role of the unofficial storyteller, regaling you with tales of their wildest chases, while Dani, Dexter, and Lily chimed in with their own anecdotes.

At one point, Boone leaned back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face as he stared into the fire. "You know, I remember when Ty was so wrapped up in the chase that nothing else mattered. We used to joke that the only thing that could pull him away from a storm chase was a direct hit."

You chuckled along with the others, but Boone's next words sent a slight chill down your spine. "I mean, we all knew that if he ever settled down, it'd have to be with someone who could handle the chase life, you know? Someone who's as crazy about storms as he is."

The comment was innocent enough, but it made you pause. You weren't a storm chaser, and while you admired Tyler's passion and courage, you couldn't see yourself diving headfirst into that world. You shifted slightly in your seat, the warmth of the fire slightly less comforting than it had been before.

Tyler, who had been laughing along with the others, caught the subtle change in your demeanor. His smile faded slightly, concern flickering in his eyes as he turned to look at you. He didn't say anything immediately, but you could tell he was paying attention, sensing the unease that had crept in.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Tyler leaned over, his voice low and gentle. "Hey, you wanna take a little walk? It's getting a bit loud over here."

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to step away. He stood up and took your hand, leading you away from the bonfire and the group's chatter. You walked in silence for a few moments, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire. Tyler guided you to a quiet spot just beyond the light of the flames, where the sounds of the night enveloped you.

He turned to face you, his hand still holding yours. "What's on your mind?"

You hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of something that was probably just a passing comment. But the concern in his eyes urged you to speak. "It's nothing, really," you began, your voice soft.

Tyler's eyebrows furrowed as he gently squeezed your hand. "(Your Name), talk to me."

"It's just..." you began, your voice soft. "Boone's comment about you needing someone who's as into storm chasing as you are. I don't know, it just made me wonder if I really fit into your world. If I'm the kind of person your friends think I should be with."

Tyler's expression softened, and he stepped closer, gently tilting your chin up so you were looking directly into his eyes. "Hey, don't let that get to you. Boone didn't mean anything by it. He's just used to the old me–the guy who was obsessed with storms and didn't think about much else."

You looked down, still feeling a bit uncertain. "But it's true, isn't it? You've been doing this chasing thing for so long, and I'm...I'm just someone who tagged along for the ride. What if I can't keep up?"

Tyler's thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch comforting. "Listen to me," he said firmly but kindly. "You are not just someone who tagged along. You're the person I want to be with."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "I've been in this storm chasing life for a long time, yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm looking for someone who's exactly like me. Do you remember that day we had the picnic in my truck? The talk we had about our pasts? I got good at being committed to the chase after I left Megan. I didn't want to be home. I didn't really have a reason to be home. So I spent all of my time focusing on the chase. I would get the crew on the road as much as possible because I didn't have anything worth coming back to. But now I do. I'm now looking for someone who's exactly like me. I'm looking for someone who gets me, who makes me want to be a better person, and who's there for me when the storm is over. That's you."

Your heart swelled at his words, the insecurity beginning to melt away. Tyler took both of your hands in his. "I don't care if you're not into chasing storms. I just care that you'll be there waiting for me when I come back from one. And I don't want to rush you or pressure you, because I know you've got some stuff you're working through. But I want you to know that I'm serious about us. About you."

You felt a warmth spread through you, dispelling the last of your doubts. "I'm serious about you too, Tyler. I just don't want to hold you back."

Tyler shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "You're not holding me back. You're pushing me forward."

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of reassurance.

"Come here," he said as he reached out and pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you as you wrapped your arms around him and laid your head on his chest. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The moment hung between you, charged with unspoken promises and a deepening connection. Tyler's hand squeezed yours gently before he spoke again, his voice lightening the mood. "Now, how about we had back before Boone tells too many embarrassing stories?"

You laughed softly, feeling much more at ease. "Sounds like a good plan."

Together, you made your way back to the bonfire, where the warmth of the fire and the friendly banter awaited. You sat down next to Tyler, who handed you a marshmallow on a stick. "You can't have a bonfire without s'mores," he said with a grin.

You smiled back and leaned closer to the fire, casually toasting the marshmallow until it was a golden brown. As you pulled the sticky treat off the stick and sandwiched it between two graham crackers with a piece of chocolate, Tyler watched you with a fond expression.

As you took your first bite of the sweet, sticky mess, Tyler watched you with a smile. "Good?"

You nodded, grinning as you wiped a bit of marshmallow from your lip. "Very good."

Tyler leaned in, brushing his thumb gently over a spot you'd missed, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You had a little something there," he teased, his voice soft.

You laughed, feeling a flutter in your chest. "Thanks."

As the night wore on, and the fire began to burn lower, a cool breeze picked up. You shivered slightly, pulling Tyler's sweatshirt a little tighter around you. Tyler noticed immediately.

"Cold?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"A little," you admitted, rubbing your hands together to warm them up.

Tyler didn't hesitate. He shifted in his seat and patted his lap. "Come here."

You hesitated for a second but the warmth in his eyes and the inviting smile on his face made you move before you could second-guess yourself. You saw down on his lap, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart were incredibly comforting.

"This better?" he asked, his breath tickling your ear.

You nodded, feeling completely at ease in his embrace. "Much better," you whispered.

Tyler's hands held you close as you leaned into him, feeling the solid strength of his arms around you. The two of you sat like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet comfort of being together as the fire crackled softly beside you.

As the night wound down and the crew began to pack up, you couldn't help but feel incredibly content. Tyler had made you feel like you belonged, not just with him but with his friends and in this new chapter of your life. It was clear that whatever bumps you encountered, you'd face them together.

Tyler pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "I'm really glad you came tonight."

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his as you whispered back, "Me too."

As the bonfire wound down and the last of the embers began to fade, Tyler walked you back to his truck, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. The drive back was quiet at first, the warmth and contentment from the evening lingering between you.

The soft hum of the truck's engine filled the space, and you glanced over at Tyler, catching him looking at you with a thoughtful expression.

"What?" you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head slightly, returning your smile. "Nothing, just...thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated for a moment before glancing at the road ahead. "I was just wondering...I know it's getting late, and I'm more than happy to drive you home, but...my motel is closer. If you'd rather stay there tonight, you're more than welcome."

You blinked, a little surprised by the offer, but Tyler quickly added, "Only if you're comfortable with it. I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. I just thought it might be easier."

His tone was soft, and careful, and you could tell he meant every word. He was giving you the choice, and making it clear that whatever you decided, he was okay with it.

You considered it for a moment, weighing the options. It had been a long day, and the thought of spending more time with Tyler, even just to unwind and talk, was appealing. Plus, the idea of driving all the way back home seemed exhausting.

Finally, you looked at him and nodded. "Yeah...I think I'd like that. Let's go to your motel."

[dreamonseems]

i need you to write something about size kink with erling please!!!!!

Towering

Erling Haaland X Female Reader

Summary: Both Reader, and Erling being Obsessed with their size difference.

Erling Haaland, the towering figure of a football player, seemingly had an intriguing fascination with the stark contrast in size between himself and his petite girlfriend, who measured at a diminutive 5'2". It was as if he had a particular fondness for their noticeable disparity, relishing in the knowledge that he loomed over her, casting a shadow that brought an unmistakable smile to his face. To him, it was an endearing quality that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, reminding him of just how much larger he was in comparison.

Whenever they stood side by side, the difference in stature was impossible to ignore. Haaland's commanding presence, standing tall and robust, dwarfed his girlfriend's delicate frame. Yet, there was something captivating in the way they complemented each other—a living embodiment of the adage that opposites attract. His physical dominance over her appeared to be a source of joy for him, a testament to their unique connection.

Their interactions were peppered with playful banter, teasing comments that emphasized the difference in their heights. Haaland would affectionately call her his "pocket-sized princess," playfully highlighting her petite nature. She, in turn, would jokingly refer to him as her "gentle giant," acknowledging his impressive stature with a touch of endearment.

Erling found immense pleasure in the effortless way he could scoop up his girlfriend whenever he desired. The sheer ease with which he could lift her delicate frame brought him a sense of power and satisfaction. It was as if he held the ability to lift her from any predicament, to reach for things that were beyond her grasp. And she, in turn, reveled in the knowledge that he relished playing the role of her protector, embracing his dominant nature with fervor.

Their dynamic thrived on the stark contrast between their sizes—a juxtaposition that fueled their passion and intimacy. Haaland, towering over his girlfriend, embodied strength and authority, relishing in his role as the dominant force in their relationship. He reveled in the responsibility of being in charge, knowing that she willingly surrendered herself to his guidance.

In her eyes, Y/N saw his dominance as an extension of his love and care for her. Haaland's protective nature resonated deeply with her, providing a sense of security and comfort she had never experienced before. His firm embraces cocooned her in a blanket of safety, making her feel cherished and shielded from the world. She willingly handed over the reins of control, placing her trust entirely in his capable hands.

The trust and vulnerability exchanged between them were the foundation of their connection. Haaland's desire to protect and care for her melded seamlessly with her need to be sheltered and guided. It was a dance of interdependence, where each step taken emphasized their mutual desires and unspoken understanding.

Their connection thrived on trust and vulnerability, forming the very bedrock of their relationship. Erling unwavering desire to protect and care for his partner seamlessly intertwined with her inherent need to be sheltered and guided.

In those intimate moments that existed solely between them, Y/N's mind became consumed by the images of Erling gripping her delicate wrist, his touch both firm and commanding. Her heart raced as she envisioned the forceful motion of him effortlessly pinning her down, unleashing an overwhelming surge of desire within her. The sheer disparity in size between them only intensified her longing, magnifying the ease with which he could bend her to his will. As her body quivered, a profound sense of yearning coursed through her veins.

It was in those instances that boundaries blurred, and a profound connection enveloped them both. Erling presence was overpowering, his strength rendering him capable of fulfilling her every whim and wants. And Y/N, with her own desires laid bare, surrendered herself willingly to his dominance. The electric current that surged between them was one of fervent passion and unrestrained pleasure, leaving them both breathless and sated.

In these private moments, their connection transcended the physical realm. It delved into the depths of their souls. The unspoken agreement between them granted Erling the power to lead and dictate their shared encounters, while Y/N reveled in the ecstasy of surrendering control. It was a dance of trust, where she willingly placed her well-being in his hands, knowing he would guide her with unwavering care.

These moments were their sanctuary, a secret world that belonged solely to them. It was a realm where their dreams intertwined and ignited like a blazing fire, consuming them both in its scorching embrace. Erling and Y/N discovered a profound sense of fulfillment—a primal connection that embraced the raw, unadulterated essence of their love.

[bloomingdayswithyou]

hey!! I loved your obey me fic, could you do the same for simeon solomon barbatos and diavolo?? ik the limit is 3 but still🥺🥺

How would they flirt with MC (pt. 2)

Author’s note: thanks for the request! I will do the 4 of them.

You can check pt. 1 here

1. Simeon:

Simeon’s interactions with mc would be all about kindness, compassion and a gentle demeanor.

Since he’s from the Celestial Realm, his flirting style is refined and respectful. He would often offer words of encouragement and support, acknowledging her efforts and accomplishments in the demon realm.

His affectionate gestures would reflect his caring nature, as he seeks to protect and guide her during her time at RAD.

He might offer to accompany her on excursions or help her with her studies, aiming to make her feel comfortable and at ease in unfamiliar surroundings.

His compliments would be sincere and heartfelt, focusing on her pure heart and inner strength. Simeon would be drawn to her ability to see the good in others, admiring her compassionate nature and genuine desire to help those around her.

He might write poetry or compose songs dedicated to her, expressing his admiration and appreciation to her presence in his life.

His gentle yet unwavering affection would serve as a guiding light, bringing comfort and solace during challenging times.

2. Solomon:

In Solomon’s case, his interactions would be intriguing and enigmatic.

His flirting style would involve a blend of charm, mystery and wit. He enjoys teasing and testing mc, all the while displaying a captivating charm that draws her in.

He would engage her in playful banter, demonstrating his vast knowledge and understanding of magic. He might share tales of his adventures or challenges, aiming to impress her with his skills and accomplishments.

In his company, mc would be drawn to the thrill of the unknown, finding excitement in the unpredictability of her interactions.

His compliments would be clever and eloquent, praising her intellect, adaptability and bravery. He would also value her ability to face challenges head-on and admire her curiosity for the unknown.

He might offer her magical trinkets or artifacts, personalized to suit her interests and strengths, as a way of expressing his appreciation for her presence in his life.

As their relationship progresses, Solomon’s guarded exterior will soften, revealing glimpses of vulnerability and sincerity.

He would gradually share more about his past and emotions, allowing mc to see the depths of his true self.

In this moments of intimacy, mc would witness a side of Solomon that few others have experienced, creating a unique and profound connection between them.

3. Barbatos:

Barbatos’ interactions would be marked by a sense of elegance. He would be attentive to her needs and preferences, often anticipating her desires before she even expresses them.

His filtration would involve thoughtful gestures, such as arranging her schedule or organizing special events tailored to her ability to inspire and lead others to her interests. He might prepare tea or snacks for her, ensuring that every detail is perfect.

His compliments would be subtle yet sincere, focusing on her grace, charm and unique qualities.

Barbatos would admire her ability to inspire and lead others, acknowledging her natural charisma and the positive impact she has on those around her.

He would hold her in high stem, viewing her as an important and valued presence in the Royal House of Devildom.

Beyond his professionalism, he might offer glimpses of his caring caring nature and concern for her well-being. He would be discreet and respectful, creating a sense of trust that allows mc to confide in him.

His calming presence would provide a sense of stability and security, creating a strong bond between them as she navigates the challenges of her role in the demon realm.

4. Diavolo:

His interactions would be marked by a sense of warmth, charm and royalty. He takes an active interest in her progress and well-being, seeing her as a potential ally and friend.

Diavolo’s filtration would be a delicate dance of compliments and playful banter. He would engage her in lively conversations, showcasing his vibrant personality and genuine interest in getting to know her.

He might invite her to various events and activities, ensuring that she experiences the grandeur and splendor of the Devildom.

His compliments would be grand and genuine, focusing on her potential and unique abilities.

Diavolo would see her as a beacon of hope and potential for unity between Celestial Realm and the Devildom, acknowledging her role as a crucial figure in the story of the realms.

While his royal duties might sometimes keep him busy, he would always make time for mc, expressing his care and appreciation for her companionship.

He might seek her counsel on important matters, valuing her insights and opinions.

As their relationship deepens, Diavolo’s affections would become evident, creating a sense of camaraderie and trust that spans beyond the realms they inhabit.

.

.

.

[untoldreader]

Entangled Hearts

Wanda Maximoff x Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary

The bond between Wanda, Natasha, and Y/N deepens, igniting a passionate and complex love triangle. Their hearts become entangled in a web of desire, leaving them torn between their feelings and the consequences that lie in wait

Warnings

none?

Tag list

@nayarianna1302 @alexawynters @tigerlillyruiz

Chapter 3: Entangled Hearts

As our journey continued, the bond between Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, and I grew stronger with each passing day. We found ourselves entangled in a web of emotions, navigating the complexities of our evolving relationships.

One evening, we gathered in Wanda's cozy apartment, seeking solace in each other's company. The room was filled with a mixture of anticipation and unspoken desires. We knew that the time had come to address the growing feelings that simmered beneath the surface.

"I can't deny the depth of my emotions for both of you," I admitted, my voice filled with vulnerability. "Wanda, your warmth and compassion draw me in. Natasha, your enigmatic allure captivates me. I feel torn, caught between two extraordinary women."

Wanda reached out, her hand gently resting on mine. "Y/N, we understand the complexity of your feelings," she said, her eyes filled with empathy. "We, too, have found ourselves navigating this intricate dance of love and desire. It's not an easy path, but we're in this together."

Natasha nodded in agreement, her expression a mix of understanding and longing. "Y/N, your presence in our lives has awakened feelings I thought were long buried," she confessed. "But we must tread carefully, for love can be both beautiful and destructive. We need to find balance."

The weight of their words settled upon me, and I realized the challenges that lay ahead. Love had the power to heal and destroy, to bind and break. We had to navigate the delicate balance of our hearts while honoring the trust and respect that existed between us.

Days turned into weeks as we explored the depths of our emotions. We laughed, we cried, and we shared moments of intimacy that transcended the physical realm. Our love triangle defied conventional norms, and we forged a unique connection that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Yet, shadows loomed over our budding relationship—shadows of our pasts and the secrets we carried. We knew that in order to move forward, we had to confront the haunting whispers of desire and the lingering doubts that threatened to tear us apart.

"It's time we face the truth," Wanda said, her voice filled with determination. "We cannot build a future on a foundation of lies and unspoken secrets. We owe it to ourselves and to each other to be honest."

Natasha nodded in agreement, her gaze unwavering. "We must trust that our love can withstand the revelations that lie ahead," she added. "Only by embracing the truth can we truly find the happiness we all deserve."

With renewed resolve, we embarked on a journey of introspection and revelation. We bared our souls, unveiling the hidden corners of our pasts and the fears that held us captive. It was a painful process, but it also brought us closer, strengthening the threads that bound our hearts together.

≈========================≈

Chapter 3 marked a pivotal moment in our story. Through heartfelt conversations, we acknowledged the complexity of our emotions and the challenges we faced. We recognized the importance of trust, honesty, and confronting our pasts as we sought to find balance and forge a path forward. Our hearts were entangled, and we would navigate this love triangle with open hearts and unwavering determination.

[shiorihyugawrites]

Diamond Of The First Water

In the aftermath of war, Paradis finds itself in need of powerful alliances. When Emperor Armand of Valoria offers his military aid in exchange for the hand of his daughter, Princess Solina, in marriage, Captain Levi Ackerman is thrust into an engagement that begins as a political strategy but soon becomes something much deeper.

Princess Solina, sheltered from the world and unaware of the realities of love and war, finds herself drawn to Levi—the man known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. As they navigate royal customs, public expectations, and the growing threat of Marley, the bond between them deepens into a genuine connection.

But neither Solina nor Levi are prepared for the challenges of a political marriage, the weight of intimacy, and the secrets that lie beneath the surface. As Solina enters a new life with Levi, her naivety is tested, and Levi faces a battle unlike any he’s fought before—the fight to protect his heart.

Can their love flourish in the midst of war, duty, and danger? Or will the forces conspiring against them tear them apart before they can find peace? (Levi x OC)

Chapter Twenty Six

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the ship gently docked at the vibrant shores of Montessa, a stunning country known for its sprawling mountain ranges, lush jungles, and unique treehouse-style homes. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers and fresh rain, and the distant calls of tropical birds echoed across the dense greenery. The shoreline was framed by cascading waterfalls that glimmered in the sunlight, painting an almost otherworldly picture.

Solina stood on the deck of the ship, her green eyes wide with awe as she took in the breathtaking scenery. She clutched the rail tightly, her excitement bubbling over, though it was tinged with a bit of nervousness. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Levi, standing beside her, nodded in quiet agreement. His sharp gray eyes scanned the horizon, lingering briefly on the towering jungle trees and distant mountains. Though he was usually indifferent to such views, even he couldn’t deny the natural beauty of Montessa. Still, he had more practical concerns.

“I just hope this treehouse place is clean,” Levi muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from Solina.

“You really do think of everything, don’t you?” she teased, her lips curving into a smile. “Even on our honeymoon.”

“I just don’t like surprises,” Levi replied matter-of-factly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He turned to one of the maids, who had been tasked with helping pack their belongings. “Did you pack the extra cleaning supplies I asked for?”

The maid nodded quickly, stifling a laugh. “Yes, Captain. Plenty of supplies.”

“Good,” Levi said with a curt nod, seemingly satisfied. Solina tried and failed to hide her amusement, shaking her head fondly.

As the gangplank was lowered, they were greeted by a small welcoming party led by Montessa’s Prime Minister, a tall man with a warm, sun-weathered face and a sharp green ceremonial robe adorned with intricate gold embroidery.

“Welcome to Montessa, Princess Solina and Captain Levi,” the Prime Minister said with a gracious bow. “It is an honor to host you during your honeymoon. We hope your stay will be both relaxing and memorable.”

“Thank you for having us,” Solina replied, her voice polite yet warm. She offered a graceful curtsy, her nervousness easing slightly in the face of the Prime Minister’s kind demeanor. “Your country is breathtaking.”

“We’re glad you think so, Your Highness,” the Prime Minister said with a smile. “Your treehouse has been prepared to the finest standards of Montessian hospitality. You’ll find it nestled deep within the jungle, offering unparalleled privacy and views of our natural wonders.”

Levi inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Sounds good. Let’s get moving.”

The Prime Minister led them to a waiting carriage drawn by sturdy jungle ponies, their coats sleek and their harnesses adorned with vibrant flowers. The ride through Montessa’s winding jungle paths was mesmerizing, the dense greenery interspersed with vibrant blooms and glittering streams. Solina’s eyes darted to every corner, trying to take in as much as she could.

“Look at that,” she gasped, pointing to a family of monkeys swinging effortlessly between the branches above. “Aren’t they adorable?”

“They’re alright,” Levi said, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on the playful creatures before returning to the path ahead.

After nearly an hour of travel, the carriage came to a stop at the base of a colossal tree. Their accommodations for the next two days loomed above them: a grand treehouse perched among the branches, its wooden exterior blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. A series of rope bridges connected various levels, and Solina could just make out the open-air terrace that provided a stunning view of the surrounding jungle.

“It’s… breathtaking,” Solina murmured, her voice filled with wonder.

Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the structure. “As long as it’s sturdy,” he muttered.

The Montessian guide who had accompanied them assured Levi with a smile, “Captain, the treehouse has been inspected thoroughly. It is both sturdy and clean.”

“Good,” Levi replied curtly, though his sharp gaze didn’t waver until he seemed satisfied. Solina bit back a laugh, finding his practicality endearing.

They ascended a series of wooden steps carved into the tree trunk, arriving at the entrance of the treehouse. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. The space was airy and open, with polished wooden floors, gauzy curtains that swayed in the breeze, and elegant furnishings crafted from local materials. The centerpiece was the open terrace, which offered a panoramic view of the jungle and the mountains beyond.

Levi dropped their bags near the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. Solina, meanwhile, wandered toward the terrace, her breath catching at the sight of the sprawling jungle canopy below.

“It’s like something out of a dream,” she whispered.

Levi joined her after a moment, leaning casually against the railing as he watched her take in the view. “You’re happy with it?”

She turned to him, her face alight with excitement. “It’s perfect.”

He nodded, his expression softening as he watched her. “Good.”

The afternoon passed in a blur of exploration and quiet moments. Levi, true to form, insisted on checking the cleanliness of every corner of the treehouse, though he grudgingly admitted that it met his standards. Solina, on the other hand, spent much of her time on the terrace, sketching the view in the small journal she’d brought along.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the jungle in hues of gold and crimson, Solina and Levi sat together on the terrace, sharing a simple yet delicious dinner of Montessian cuisine. The sounds of the jungle at night—the hum of insects, the distant calls of nocturnal animals—created a serene backdrop.

Solina glanced at Levi, who was quietly sipping his tea, his expression calm and content. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly.

He looked at her, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I should be thanking you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

She smiled, warmth blossoming in her chest. For the first time since their journey began, she felt truly at ease. Montessa, with its wild beauty and tranquil atmosphere, was the perfect place to start this new chapter of their lives together.

…

That night in Montessa was stiflingly hot, the kind of humid heat that clung to the skin and made even the simplest movements feel exhausting. The large canopy bed in the treehouse was draped with a fine mosquito net, but that did little to alleviate the oppressive warmth. Solina lay sprawled on her side of the bed, her lacy nightgown sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She was practically melting, and judging by the quiet groan from the other side of the bed, Levi wasn’t faring much better.

“Is it always this hot here?” Solina asked, her voice breathy as she fanned herself weakly.

“Doubt it’s ever this bad on Paradis,” Levi muttered, sitting up to adjust the mosquito net. He tugged it tighter around the edges, ensuring there were no gaps, before flopping back down onto his pillow. “Mosquitoes are biting the hell out of me too.”

Solina giggled softly despite herself. “You’re their favorite tonight, it seems.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Levi replied, his tone dry as he swatted at a bug on his arm. After a few moments of futile attempts to find comfort, he finally let out a sigh and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. The sight of his bare chest glistening slightly from the humidity caught Solina completely off guard.

Her eyes widened, and she immediately turned her face away, cheeks blazing. He’s your husband, she reminded herself, this is normal… perfectly normal.

But as much as she tried to keep her gaze elsewhere, her eyes had a mind of their own, sneaking glances at him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Levi, of course, noticed almost immediately. His sharp instincts never failed him, even in the dead of night. He smirked faintly, amused by her shyness.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice low but teasing.

“I am not!” Solina exclaimed, her tone a little too defensive as she whipped her head toward him. The way her face burned only made her denial more obvious.

Levi raised an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar, Princess.”

Solina huffed and crossed her arms, turning back to face the opposite direction. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened. But the heat was relentless, and even with the thin material of her nightgown, she felt like she was roasting. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of her gown.

Her thoughts raced. It’s too hot. I can’t sleep like this. But… should I? Would it be improper? She glanced over at Levi from the corner of her eye. He was lying back now, one arm draped over his forehead, his expression calm and unreadable. He’s my husband… it’s not like I’d be doing anything wrong…

Her internal debate must have shown on her face because Levi turned his head toward her, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Solina froze, her lips parting as she struggled to find the right words. “I… um…” She bit her lip, looking away again. “It’s just… it’s really hot.”

“I know,” Levi said, his tone matter-of-fact. He shifted slightly on the bed, the movement drawing her attention back to him. “What else?”

Solina hesitated, her cheeks burning. “I… was thinking… maybe I should take this off.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she refused to meet his gaze. “It’s so uncomfortable, but… I don’t know if that’s… proper…”

Levi’s eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. “If it’s bothering you that much, just take it off,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re my wife. You don’t have to ask permission. Besides…” He glanced away, his tone softening. “I won’t look.”

Solina turned to him then, her green eyes searching his face for reassurance. He met her gaze, his expression sincere. Slowly, she nodded, her heart pounding as she reached for the straps of her nightgown. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid the fabric down her shoulders, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone and the delicate lace of her underwear. The cool night air kissed her heated skin as the gown pooled at her waist before she pushed it the rest of the way off, leaving her in nothing but her lacy underwear.

Levi sat rigidly, his body tense as he kept his eyes fixed on the mosquito net above them. But from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but catch glimpses of her. Her skin glowed in the faint moonlight filtering through the treehouse windows, and the delicate lace accentuated her figure in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Is… this okay?” Solina asked softly, her voice laced with nervousness.

Levi exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his gaze respectful. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… get comfortable.”

She nodded, lying back against the pillows, her long hair fanning out around her. Levi shifted to lie beside her, his heart pounding in a way that surprised him. He had never been one to lose his composure, but something about the sight of his wife lying so vulnerably beside him made him feel a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Goodnight, Solina,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Levi,” she replied, her voice equally quiet. Though the heat still lingered, the moment felt oddly serene, as if the world outside the treehouse had faded away, leaving only the two of them.

The night stretched on, the faint chirping of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the treehouse. Solina had managed to drift off to sleep, her soft breathing a soothing rhythm in the oppressive heat. Levi, on the other hand, lay stiffly on his side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

He glanced to his right, where Solina was curled up, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on her skin. Her delicate lace undergarments left little to the imagination, and her hair, slightly damp from the humidity, spilled across the pillow like a red waterfall. Her soft sighs in her sleep were almost too much for Levi to handle.

He let out a slow, steady breath through his nose. Pull it together, Levi. You’re a grown man, not some lovesick recruit fresh out of training.

But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, it didn’t stop his heart from thudding painfully in his chest. This wasn’t just any woman—it was his wife. The realization made his stomach twist, not with regret or hesitation, but with something he hadn’t felt in years: vulnerability. Solina was kind, intelligent, and now here she was, lying beside him, completely trusting him.

He adjusted his position slightly, trying not to disturb her. Despite the heat, her nearness made the air around him feel even heavier. He was hyper-aware of every movement she made, even in her sleep. The way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—everything about her was captivating.

Levi let out a soft groan and rubbed his face with one hand, his other arm lying rigidly by his side. "Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

The faint buzz of mosquitoes around the net was the only other sound. He swatted at one that had somehow managed to find its way inside, his irritation mounting. Mosquitoes and this heat… great combination for staying calm.

But no amount of pest control could distract him from the fact that Solina was right there. The memory of her slipping out of her dress earlier played on a loop in his mind, and he found himself involuntarily glancing at her again. Her shoulder had shifted, exposing more of her collarbone, and a strand of hair clung to her neck. She looked peaceful, unburdened, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

Levi turned his head back toward the ceiling, his jaw tightening. Why is this so hard? You’ve faced Titans. You’ve fought battles where the odds were impossible. But lying in a bed next to her is enough to make you lose your composure?

He shifted again, feeling restless. The heat was unbearable, and his mind wouldn’t stop racing. Every time he tried to close his eyes, he could see her looking at him, hear her voice in his head, soft and full of trust. It wasn’t just physical attraction—it was the way she made him feel something he thought he’d lost a long time ago.

Levi sighed again, sitting up slightly and running a hand through his hair. He glanced at her one more time, and his gaze softened. He didn’t want to wake her; she looked so peaceful. Still, he couldn’t help but whisper, “You’re making this damn difficult, Solina.”

Her lips twitched slightly in her sleep, as if she’d heard him, and a small smile graced her face. Levi froze, his heart skipping a beat. He quickly lay back down, pressing his fist against his mouth to suppress the unexpected chuckle that threatened to escape. Even in her sleep, she’s got me wrapped around her finger.

He turned onto his side, his back to her, and tried to focus on the faint breeze filtering through the treehouse. But his mind stayed stubbornly on her. He wasn’t used to this—feeling so exposed, so vulnerable. And yet, with Solina, it didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt… safe.

As the minutes dragged on, he heard her shift slightly. He glanced over his shoulder to see her stretching, her arm brushing against his. She murmured something unintelligible before settling back into the pillow, her hand resting just inches from his.

Levi stared at her hand for a long moment before slowly, tentatively, placing his own hand over hers. It was a small gesture, but it steadied him. For the first time that night, he felt a sense of calm.

“Goodnight, Solina,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the night’s symphony. This time, he didn’t fight the warmth that spread through his chest.

…

The morning sun filtered through the lush canopy of the rainforest, casting dappled shadows on the wooden deck of the treehouse. Solina, dressed in a lightweight, flowing outfit perfect for the tropical heat, was practically bouncing with excitement as she adjusted her sunhat in the mirror. Levi, however, was packing his bag with a focused intensity, double-checking everything like he was preparing for battle.

“Are you sure you need a machete?” Solina asked, tilting her head to watch him from across the room.

“Yes,” Levi replied curtly, sliding the blade into its sheath and tucking it into his pack. He held up a bottle of mosquito repellent. “And this. Don’t forget to reapply every hour.”

Solina stifled a laugh as she tied her sandals. “You’re acting like we’re about to fight Titans in the rainforest.”

Levi shot her a dry look. “I’d rather fight a Titan than deal with another night of mosquitoes,” he muttered, scratching at his arm where a bite had left a red welt. “If anything jumps out of the bushes at us, I’m not taking chances.”

The idea of Levi battling a rogue monkey or snake in the rainforest was too much for Solina, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. It’s a guided tour, remember?”

Levi merely grunted, slinging the pack over his shoulder. “Guided or not, I’m ready for anything.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. One of the maids entered with a tray of fresh tropical fruits and steaming cups of coffee. “Your breakfast, Princess, Captain,” she announced cheerfully, setting the tray on the small table near the window.

Solina thanked her warmly, her excitement bubbling over as she sat down to eat. She picked up a piece of mango and offered it to Levi. “Here, try this. It’s so sweet.”

Levi leaned back in his chair, eyeing the fruit with a skeptical expression. “I’m not a fan of sweet things.”

“Just try it,” Solina insisted, holding it closer to his mouth with a teasing smile.

With a sigh, Levi gave in, leaning forward to take the piece from her hand. His brows lifted slightly as the taste hit his tongue. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“See? You might actually enjoy yourself today,” Solina teased, popping a piece of pineapple into her own mouth.

Levi shook his head but couldn’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. “We’ll see.”

The rainforest was even more breathtaking up close. Towering trees stretched toward the sky, their trunks wrapped in vines and moss. Birds with brilliant plumage flitted through the canopy, their songs echoing in the humid air. Solina was mesmerized, her eyes wide as she took in the vibrant greens and the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the dense foliage.

Their guide, a cheerful local named Mateo, led the group along a narrow path. He pointed out various plants and animals, explaining their significance to the local ecosystem and indigenous culture. Solina hung on every word, occasionally pausing to marvel at a flower or a particularly colorful butterfly.

Levi stayed close behind her, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. He didn’t relax for a moment, his hand occasionally brushing against the machete strapped to his side. The faint hum of insects was ever-present, and he made sure to swat away any that ventured too close to Solina.

“Look!” Solina exclaimed, pointing to a monkey swinging from a nearby branch. “Isn’t it adorable?”

Levi followed her gaze, his expression unimpressed. “It’s adorable until it steals something out of your bag.”

Solina laughed. “You’re so paranoid. It’s just a monkey.”

Mateo turned to them with a grin. “The Captain is wise to be cautious. Some of these little ones are very clever thieves.”

Levi crossed his arms, clearly satisfied with the validation. “See? Not paranoid—prepared.”

Solina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. “You’re impossible.”

The tour continued deeper into the rainforest, the group pausing occasionally to admire hidden waterfalls and small, crystal-clear streams. Solina couldn’t resist dipping her fingers into the cool water, the sensation refreshing in the sticky heat.

“Careful,” Levi warned as she leaned over the edge of a rock to get a better view of a tiny frog perched on a leaf.

“I’m fine,” Solina replied, glancing back at him with a reassuring smile. She slipped slightly on the damp rock, and Levi was by her side in an instant, gripping her arm firmly.

“Fine, huh?” he said, arching a brow.

Solina blushed, her heart fluttering at the concern in his eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, steadying herself.

As the tour wrapped up, the group made their way to a clearing where a small picnic area had been set up. Levi and Solina sat together under the shade of a large tree, sipping on fresh coconut water. Solina was still buzzing with excitement, recounting her favorite parts of the tour.

“That toucan was incredible,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve never seen one up close before.”

“You liked the toucan?” Levi asked, his tone dry. “I thought you’d be more impressed by the giant spider web we walked through.”

Solina wrinkled her nose. “Don’t remind me. I thought you were going to cut it down with your machete.”

Levi smirked. “I considered it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the rainforest surrounding them. Levi glanced at Solina, who was gazing out at the trees with a content smile. Despite the heat, the humidity, and the occasional insect, he couldn’t deny that this place was special. And seeing Solina so happy made it all worth it.

As the day went on, it was time for their next activity: Ziplining.

The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of the rainforest, illuminating the zip-lining platform with golden light. The sound of birds chirping and the distant rustling of leaves added to the sense of adventure. Solina stood on the wooden platform, her face glowing with excitement as she adjusted her sunhat and gazed at the line stretching out before them, disappearing into the dense jungle below.

"This is going to be amazing!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. "Ivoria said this was one of the best experiences of her honeymoon."

Levi stood a few steps back, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the setup. The zip line stretched far into the jungle, the end point nowhere in sight. The steel cables seemed sturdy enough, but the thought of flying through the air attached to one of them made his stomach churn—not from fear but skepticism.

"This doesn't look safe," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the harnesses hanging on the racks.

Solina turned to him, her sunhat tilting slightly. "Levi, you’ve flown through forests and cities using ODM gear. This is nothing compared to that."

He grunted, clearly unconvinced. "ODM gear was tested and built for combat. This... is for tourists."

Before Solina could respond, the zip-line instructor stepped forward, clapping his hands to gather their attention. "Welcome, Your Highness and Captain Ackerman. My name is Miguel, and I’ll be your guide today. Let’s start with a quick rundown of the equipment and safety protocols."

Miguel held up a harness, demonstrating how it would strap around the thighs, waist, and shoulders. He explained the mechanics of the pulley system, the importance of braking at the end, and how to lean back to maintain balance. Solina listened attentively, nodding at every word, while Levi’s sharp gaze dissected every detail.

"It’s like ODM gear," Levi finally muttered under his breath, eyeing the harness.

Miguel gestured toward Solina. "Your Highness, if you’d like to step up on the platform, I’ll help secure your harness."

Levi’s eyes instantly flicked to the man’s hands, and his jaw tightened. He noticed exactly where the straps would need to be adjusted—between Solina’s legs and around her waist. The thought of another man’s hands so close to her body, even for something as mundane as a harness fitting, sent an unfamiliar wave of jealousy washing over him.

Before Miguel could take another step, Levi moved forward. His voice was calm but firm. "Step aside. I’ll handle it."

Miguel blinked in surprise. "Captain, I assure you—"

"I said I’ll handle it," Levi repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. Miguel hesitated but eventually nodded and stepped back, clearly recognizing Levi's commanding presence.

Solina’s cheeks flushed as Levi approached her, harness in hand. "Levi, you don’t have to—"

"I know how to strap in a harness," Levi cut her off, his movements efficient as he adjusted the straps. "This isn’t complicated."

Solina felt her heart race as Levi knelt slightly to secure the lower straps around her thighs. His hands were firm but respectful, his touch professional yet somehow gentle. She didn’t miss the faint pink dusting his ears as he worked.

"There," Levi said, stepping back and checking the harness one last time. "Perfect fit."

Miguel, standing awkwardly to the side, muttered, "It’s a flawless setup... Captain."

Levi shot him a brief, pointed look before turning back to Solina. "You’re good to go. Let’s see how safe this thing really is."

Solina was the first to zip-line, and her excitement was palpable as she stepped onto the edge of the platform. The jungle stretched out before her like an emerald sea, and the rush of adrenaline made her hands tremble slightly as she gripped the handles.

Miguel gave her a reassuring nod. "Lean back, Your Highness, and let gravity do the work. You’ll be fine."

Solina turned to Levi, who stood a few feet behind her with his arms crossed. Despite his usual stoic expression, there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. She smiled at him, her confidence bolstered by his presence. "See you on the other side!" she called out before taking a deep breath and stepping off the platform.

The moment the pulley caught the cable, she felt a rush of wind against her face. The world blurred into a cascade of green and blue as she zipped through the rainforest, the trees below appearing like tiny specks. Solina let out a laugh, exhilaration coursing through her veins.

Levi watched her go, his chest tightening. Despite his earlier doubts, she looked... free. The sound of her laughter reached him even through the rustling leaves, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

When it was Levi’s turn, he tightened his own harness with practiced precision. Miguel offered to double-check it, but Levi waved him off. "I’ve got it," he said tersely.

Stepping up to the platform, Levi glanced at the cable and then at Miguel. "If this snaps, I’m coming back to haunt you."

Miguel paled slightly. "It won’t, Captain. I promise."

With one last glance at Solina waiting on the next platform, Levi stepped off. The rush of air hit him instantly, and the sensation was both familiar and foreign. It wasn’t unlike ODM gear, but the lack of control made him uneasy. Still, the view was stunning, and he couldn’t deny the thrill.

When he landed on the next platform, Solina was waiting with a radiant smile. "Wasn’t that incredible?"

Levi adjusted his harness, his expression neutral. "It was... fine."

Solina laughed, knowing him well enough to interpret that as high praise.

By the time they reached the last platform, Levi was more relaxed, though he still kept a wary eye on the equipment. Solina, however, was glowing with happiness, her cheeks flushed from the excitement.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said softly as they walked back to the main lodge. "I know you were skeptical, but I’m glad we did this together."

Levi glanced at her, his expression softening. "You were right. It wasn’t terrible."

Solina laughed, the sound bright and melodic. "I’ll take that as a victory."

As they reached the lodge, Miguel approached them with a polite bow. "Your Highness, Captain, you both did wonderfully. It’s not every day we see a couple tackle the entire course so gracefully."

Levi ignored the compliment, his focus on Solina as she beamed at the praise. "It was amazing," she said. "Thank you so much."

As they headed back to their treehouse, Levi carried her harness along with his own. Solina noticed the quiet contentment in his expression and felt a warmth in her chest. He might not say much, but his actions spoke volumes. He was here for her, every step of the way.

…

After their ziplining, the evening sun had painted the sky in hues of orange and pink as Levi and Solina made their way through the bustling town square. The streets were alive with laughter, music, and the scent of sizzling food wafting from the open grills and stalls. Strings of colorful lanterns illuminated the cobbled roads, casting a warm glow over the scene.

Solina’s emerald eyes sparkled with excitement as she clung to Levi’s arm, her white and gold dress flowing around her ankles. She looked radiant, her happiness infectious. Levi, ever composed, walked beside her, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. He wasn’t used to such lively crowds, but he found himself less tense as he caught glimpses of Solina’s pure joy.

“This is incredible!” Solina exclaimed, her voice almost drowned out by the rhythmic drumming echoing from the center of the square. “Look at all the people dancing, Levi! Isn’t this wonderful?”

Levi smirked faintly. “It’s loud,” he muttered, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He didn’t mind the noise as much when it meant seeing her so delighted.

They approached a corner where a group of drummers sat in a semi-circle, their hands pounding against taut drum skins in a synchronized rhythm that made the ground vibrate. Men, women, and children danced barefoot in the center of the square, their movements fluid and joyous, as if they were one with the music. Solina clapped her hands along with the beat, her body swaying slightly.

“Come on, Levi!” she said, tugging on his arm. “Let’s join them!”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “Dancing isn’t exactly my thing.”

Solina laughed. “You danced with me at our wedding, didn’t you?”

“That was different,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “That was for you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, but before she could tease him further, one of the drummers—a middle-aged man with a wide grin and a vibrant feathered headdress—caught sight of her enthusiasm. He gestured toward her, speaking in accented Valorian.

“Princess! You like the music?”

“I love it!” Solina replied, clapping her hands.

The man beamed and patted the drum beside him. “Then you try! Come, play!”

Solina’s eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to Levi, a mixture of excitement and nervousness on her face. “Do you think I should?”

Levi shrugged, his usual calm demeanor in place, but his eyes held a flicker of warmth. “You’ll probably be better at it than all of them combined.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Solina stepped forward, her smile bright as the drummer handed her a seat and positioned a smaller drum in front of her. The crowd cheered as the princess took her place, and Levi crossed his arms, standing at the edge of the circle with an amused expression.

The drummer showed Solina a simple rhythm, his hands moving over the drum in deliberate, practiced motions. She watched intently, nodding along to the beat before lifting her own hands to try. At first, her movements were hesitant, her hands light against the drum. But then, as she found the rhythm, her confidence grew, and the sound became stronger, more vibrant.

The crowd cheered louder, and the drummer laughed in delight. “You are natural, Princess!”

Solina’s cheeks flushed with pride as she continued, her fingers flying across the drumhead in perfect harmony with the others. She didn’t need much instruction—her natural talent for music took over, and soon she was creating her own rhythm, weaving it seamlessly into the melody of the group.

Levi couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was glowing, completely in her element, and the sound of the drums combined with her radiant smile made something stir deep within him. He wasn’t the type to be moved by public displays or loud crowds, but watching Solina, he felt an unfamiliar sense of pride. This was his wife—talented, kind, and full of life.

After a few minutes, Solina finished her piece with a dramatic flourish, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. She laughed, slightly out of breath, and turned to look at Levi. “How was that?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Levi’s lips curved into one of his rare, genuine smiles. “I think you’ve just upstaged the entire band.”

The drummer clapped Solina on the shoulder, his grin wide. “Princess, you have a gift. Anytime you want to play, you come here.”

“Thank you,” Solina said sincerely, her cheeks still pink from the excitement.

As she returned to Levi’s side, she slipped her arm through his, her face glowing with happiness. “Did you really think I did well?” she asked softly as they walked toward the open dining area.

“You were incredible,” Levi replied, his voice low but honest. “You always are.”

Solina blushed, her heart swelling at his words. They found a quiet table overlooking the square, where they enjoyed a dinner of local delicacies, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air. Though Levi remained his usual stoic self, Solina could tell he was enjoying the moment in his own way. For her, this evening was a memory she would treasure forever.

…

As their night continued, it was finally time for dinner and the night air was warm and alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and rhythmic drums echoing in the distance as Solina and Levi sat at their small wooden table, surrounded by the locals enjoying the vibrant evening. Their table was laden with colorful dishes, each one more aromatic and enticing than the last.

Solina leaned forward, her emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity as she picked up a piece of flatbread. “Levi, this all looks amazing! I don’t even know where to start.”

Levi, ever the skeptic, eyed the spread warily. His gaze lingered on a particularly fiery-looking red curry that seemed to radiate heat just from its scent. “I don’t trust food that looks like it could set my mouth on fire.”

Solina laughed, a melodic sound that drew a few smiles from nearby tables. “You have to try it! We can’t come all this way and not taste the local cuisine.”

Levi sighed, resigned. “Fine, but if I regret this, you’re to blame.”

She giggled and reached for a small piece of roasted meat glazed with a sticky, deep red sauce. “Here, start with this. It’s not even that spicy.”

Levi raised an eyebrow but took the offered morsel, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed cautiously. At first, the flavors were rich and smoky, but then, like a fiery ambush, the heat hit him full force. His eyes widened, and a faint red flush crept up his neck.

“Not spicy?” he managed, his voice a touch strained. “Solina, are you trying to kill me?”

Solina gasped, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh no! Is it that bad?” she asked, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

Levi grabbed his glass of water and drank it quickly, but it did little to quell the burn. “Bad? My tongue feels like it’s been set on fire. This is worse than any titan fight.”

By now, Solina was laughing so hard that tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Levi! I thought you’d like it.”

He gave her a flat look, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Still giggling, Solina reached for a bowl of yogurt sauce and held it out to him. “Here, try this. It’ll help with the spice.”

Levi hesitated but eventually dipped a piece of bread into the sauce and ate it. The cool, creamy texture did help ease the burn, though his face remained red, both from the heat and Solina’s teasing.

Feeling emboldened, Solina tried a piece of the spicy meat herself. She gasped as the heat hit her, waving her hand in front of her mouth. “Oh my goodness, you weren’t exaggerating! That is spicy!”

Levi smirked. “See? Now you know how I feel.”

The two of them worked their way through the rest of the dishes, each more adventurous than the last. Solina, ever the enthusiast, insisted on trying everything at least once, even if it made her eyes water or her cheeks flush. Levi, though skeptical, followed her lead, determined not to be outdone.

At one point, a local chef approached their table, noticing Levi’s flushed face and the beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Too spicy for you, Captain?” the chef teased good-naturedly.

Levi looked up, his stoic expression unchanging. “Not at all,” he replied dryly. “I’ve faced worse.”

The chef laughed heartily and clapped Levi on the shoulder before offering them a plate of sweet, cooling fruit to cleanse their palates. Solina immediately reached for a slice of mango, sighing in relief as the sweetness soothed her tongue.

“This is amazing,” she said, turning to Levi with a bright smile. “Even if it’s spicy, I love how bold the flavors are.”

Levi nodded, his eyes softening as he watched her excitement. “It’s... different,” he admitted. “But I can see why you like it.”

As they finished their meal, the lively atmosphere around them seemed to heighten. A group of dancers took to the square, their movements graceful and rhythmic, their colorful skirts swirling in time with the drums. Solina watched them in awe, her hands clasped together.

“Levi, isn’t this beautiful?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

He followed her gaze, his eyes lingering on her rather than the dancers. “Yeah,” he said softly, though his answer wasn’t about the performance.

Solina turned to him, catching the way he was looking at her, and her cheeks flushed—not from the spice this time. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his hand. “Thank you for trying everything with me tonight,” she said earnestly. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

Levi shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You make it easy.”

The two of them sat there for a while longer, enjoying the sights and sounds of the town. Despite the lingering heat of the food, Levi couldn’t deny that this evening—watching Solina’s joy, hearing her laughter—had been one of the best he’d had in a long time.

Suddenly, the lively beat of drums filled the night air again as the square buzzed with life, the dancers spinning and twirling to the rhythm. Solina’s eyes sparkled as she watched the scene, her excitement bubbling over. Unable to contain herself, she turned to Levi, a playful grin spreading across her face.

“Come on, Levi!” she said, grabbing his hand. “Let’s dance!”

Levi’s brows furrowed instantly, and he barely managed to set his cup down before being tugged out of his chair. “What? Solina, I told you I don’t—”

“You can’t say no,” she interrupted, pulling him toward the center of the square. “It’s our honeymoon! We have to enjoy it.”

Levi glanced around nervously at the crowd, which was now cheering them on, many clapping in time to the music. “Solina, I don’t dance,” he muttered, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

Solina turned to face him, still holding his hands, her cheeks slightly flushed from a mix of the spicy food and the exhilaration of the moment. “You don’t have to be perfect,” she said, her tone encouraging. “Just follow me.”

Levi sighed, his lips twitching as though he might protest further, but Solina’s enthusiasm was infectious. With her hands firmly gripping his, she began to sway and step to the beat, her movements light and carefree. Levi, on the other hand, stood rooted to the spot, his body stiff as a board.

“Levi,” she said, laughing softly. “You have to move, or it doesn’t count as dancing.”

“I am moving,” he deadpanned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the most minimal way possible.

Solina burst into laughter, the sound musical against the drumming. “No, no! Like this.” She spun in a small circle, her skirt twirling around her, then stepped closer to him. “Just follow the rhythm, okay?”

“I’m a soldier, not a dancer,” Levi muttered, though he allowed her to guide his hands.

Solina began jumping lightly to the beat, her hands still holding his, and Levi found himself being jostled into the rhythm despite his resistance. He felt incredibly awkward, standing stiffly as his wife danced around him, her movements full of joy. But then he caught her gaze, her eyes sparkling with laughter, and something in him softened.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his feet a little more intentionally. “But don’t expect miracles.”

“That’s the spirit!” Solina beamed, encouraging him with a bright smile. She gave his hands a gentle tug, pulling him slightly forward, and he took a hesitant step.

The crowd around them began clapping louder, and some even started cheering, clearly amused by Levi’s reluctant participation. Solina spun again, laughing as she twirled back to face him. “See? You’re doing great!”

“I look ridiculous,” Levi muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

Solina tilted her head, her expression softening. “Not to me,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the music.

Levi blinked, her words catching him off guard. For a moment, the noise of the crowd and the beat of the drums faded into the background. All he could see was Solina, her face glowing in the warm light of the lanterns, her joy so genuine it made his chest ache.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, his voice low.

Solina blushed, her grip on his hands tightening slightly. “You bring it out of me,” she replied, her smile turning shy.

The music shifted to a faster tempo, and the crowd began dancing more enthusiastically. Solina let go of Levi’s hands to clap along, her hips swaying naturally to the beat. Levi, feeling a bit less self-conscious now, took a small step closer, his movements more fluid than before.

“Levi!” Solina exclaimed, noticing his progress. “You’re dancing!”

“Barely,” he replied, his tone dry, though the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.

The two of them continued to move together, Levi’s steps becoming more confident as the minutes passed. Solina couldn’t help but giggle as he made a concerted effort to keep up with her, his usual stoicism softened by the moment.

When the music finally slowed, signaling the end of the song, the crowd erupted into applause. Solina clapped along, her face glowing with happiness. She turned to Levi, reaching for his hand.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” she said sincerely.

Levi squeezed her hand lightly, his gray eyes warm as they met hers. “You’re welcome. But don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

Solina laughed, her heart full as they began walking back to their table. 

…

After dinner and dancing, the humid jungle air clung to Solina and Levi as they walked back toward the treehouse with their attendant, their lantern casting dancing shadows on the path. Solina was chatting softly about the night’s festivities, her voice light with happiness, while Levi, ever alert, kept his eyes scanning their surroundings. It had been a long, adventurous day, and the thought of finally resting in the treehouse felt like a reward.

That was until they saw it.

Levi stopped abruptly, his body tensing as his sharp eyes caught movement near the treehouse ladder. Solina, confused, took another step forward, only to freeze when Levi held out an arm to block her. Her eyes followed his gaze, and her blood ran cold.

There it was—a massive cobra, its sleek black body coiled tightly around the base of the ladder. Its hood flared wide, and its yellow-green eyes gleamed ominously in the dim light. The snake hissed, the sound sharp and menacing, and Solina instinctively stepped back.

She opened her mouth to scream, but Levi’s hand shot up, covering her mouth gently yet firmly. “Quiet,” he whispered, his tone low and commanding. “Don’t startle it.”

Solina’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. Levi removed his hand from her mouth, his sharp gaze never leaving the snake. He turned to the attendant, his voice calm but firm. “Take her somewhere safe.”

The attendant’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “C-Captain, it’s a cobra, yes, but it’s not aggressive unless provoked. Please don’t harm it. It’s sacred in this region—”

Levi shot him a look so incredulous it could have cut through steel. “Sacred or not, it’s blocking the way to our treehouse, and it’s massive. That thing’s fangs could kill someone in seconds.”

The cobra hissed again, swaying slightly as if it were sizing up the group. Solina whimpered softly, her fear evident as she clung to Levi’s arm. Levi glanced down at her, his resolve hardening. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.

The attendant squeaked when the snake bared its sharp teeth, venom glistening on its fangs. He quickly ducked behind Levi, his courage evaporating. “P-perhaps we should call for someone experienced—”

“No time,” Levi muttered, unsheathing the machete strapped to his back. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and his grip was steady. He didn’t care if it was a cobra or a titan; if it was a threat, it was going down.

Solina’s eyes widened as she watched him prepare to confront the snake. “Levi, please be careful!” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Levi gave her a brief glance, his eyes filled with determination. “I’ll handle it. Stay back.”

The cobra, sensing danger, coiled tighter and raised its head higher, its hood fully flared. The sound of its hissing filled the air, and the tension was palpable. Levi took a step forward, the machete steady in his hand. He moved like a predator, his body low and his stance poised for attack.

The attendant whimpered from behind him. “Please, Captain! I beg you, don’t harm it. Just—just scare it away!”

Levi didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on the snake, his mind calculating every possible move. The cobra struck first, lunging with lightning speed. Levi sidestepped effortlessly, his blade flashing in the light as he slashed toward the snake. The machete didn’t connect—Levi wasn’t aiming to kill yet, only to warn.

The cobra hissed louder, its body shifting as it recoiled. Solina gasped, her hands clutching her chest as she watched Levi in action. He moved with such precision, such confidence, that even in the midst of her fear, she felt a strange sense of awe.

The snake swayed, its movements erratic as Levi held his ground. He raised the machete slightly, the blade glinting, and then he slammed it into the ground in front of the cobra with enough force to send a shockwave through the dirt.

The cobra flinched, its hood retracting slightly as it reevaluated the threat before it. Levi took a calculated step closer, his eyes locked on the serpent. “Go,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Or the next swing won’t miss.”

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. The cobra stared at Levi, its body tense and coiled. Then, slowly, it began to slither backward, uncoiling itself from the ladder. The snake hissed one last time before retreating into the underbrush, disappearing into the shadows.

Levi exhaled, lowering the machete. “Good riddance,” he muttered, turning to check on Solina.

Solina, still trembling, stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “You were amazing,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Thank you.”

Levi hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around her, his other hand still gripping the machete. “It’s fine now,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

The attendant peeked out from behind Levi, his face pale. “C-Captain, that was... incredible. I’ve never seen anyone face a cobra like that.”

Levi shot him a look. “Next time, let’s avoid sacred snakes blocking the way.”

The attendant nodded vigorously, leading them up the ladder to the treehouse. Solina stayed close to Levi, her trust in him solidified even further after witnessing his bravery.

As they entered the treehouse, Solina turned to Levi with a small, grateful smile. “I think you just saved my life.”

Levi shrugged, setting the machete aside. “It’s what I’m here for.”

But the slight curve of his lips betrayed the pride he felt.

As they made their way up the treehouse, Solina flitted about, her excitement and admiration for Levi palpable. She turned to him, her green eyes sparkling, and clasped her hands together as though she were holding back a cheer. “Levi, that was incredible! You just... faced that snake like it was nothing!”

Levi, who had just set the machete against the wall, glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a snake, Solina. I’ve fought titans—things a hundred times bigger and uglier than that.”

Solina’s lips twitched, but she was undeterred. “Yes, I know! But this was different! It wasn’t like... like one of those planned missions you’ve done. You didn’t even hesitate. You just acted, and that snake was terrifying!”

Levi leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gray eyes softened as he took in her flushed cheeks and animated gestures. “Titans are a bigger threat. That thing was a nuisance at best,” he said, though his tone lacked the sharpness it usually carried. Instead, it was tinged with quiet amusement.

“But it was venomous!” Solina exclaimed, taking a step closer to him. “And so huge! You didn’t even flinch.”

Levi gave a small shrug, as if to downplay the feat. “I flinch at nothing. You know that.”

Solina stopped in front of him and tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Well, I think it was very brave,” she said softly, her voice laced with genuine admiration. “I mean, even the attendant—who is supposed to be used to these creatures—hid behind you.”

Levi smirked at the memory of the quivering man. “Yeah, that guy was useless.”

Solina giggled, the sound light and musical. “You were incredible, though. Honestly, I was so scared, Levi. I thought I might faint.”

Levi’s smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of concern. He straightened, uncrossing his arms. “You’re okay now, though?”

Solina nodded eagerly. “Because of you,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

Levi reached out and brushed a stray strand of red hair from her face, his touch gentle. “You don’t need to worry about things like that, Solina. Not when I’m around.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she averted her gaze for a moment. But then her lips quirked into a grin. “Still, I think I’m allowed to gush a little. My husband just saved me from a deadly snake.”

Levi’s ears turned pink at the word “husband,” though he quickly masked it by clearing his throat. “If you insist on calling me brave for dealing with something I could step on, go ahead.”

Solina laughed, a sweet sound that filled the treehouse and eased the lingering tension from earlier. “I do insist!” she said, placing her hands on her hips in mock defiance. “I think it’s well-deserved.”

Levi shook his head slightly, but there was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his face. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re amazing,” Solina countered, stepping closer again. She looked up at him, her green eyes warm and earnest. “Really, Levi. I mean it.”

He met her gaze, and for a moment, the room felt still. There was a softness in her expression that tugged at something deep within him—a feeling of being seen, of being appreciated in a way he hadn’t been before. “Thanks,” he said quietly, the word simple but sincere.

Solina’s smile widened, and she reached out to take his hand. “So,” she said, her voice lighter now, “are there any other heroic acts you’re planning for tonight, or do you think the snake was enough excitement for one evening?”

Levi chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I think I’ve done my part.”

“Well, then,” Solina said, her tone teasing, “you’ve earned a nice, peaceful rest.”

Levi glanced toward the bed and then back at her. “I’ll rest once I’m sure no other ‘sacred’ creatures are lurking nearby.”

Solina laughed again, and the sound made Levi’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Fair enough,” she said. “But, Levi... thank you. For everything.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Always.”

As they settled into the night, the earlier tension and fear faded, replaced by a quiet comfort that spoke volumes. Even in the midst of a foreign land, with all its challenges and unknowns, they had each other—and that, for now, was more than enough.

~

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[dufferpuffer]

I am an almost exclusively adult-wolfstar shipper, but I do think that there CAN be chemistry between them as teenagers and young adults.

Although Remus was never able to say no to his friends, this is something that I like:

They were attracted by Remus’s quiet sense of humour and a kindness that they valued, even if they did not always possess it themselves.

I can see how this kindness would specially affect someone like Sirius, who grew up in a not-so-kind home. This is a good start for a unique connection. It’s not the trusting generosity that a sheltered and well-loved child like James seems to have, Remus is someone who has been through something really dark, but is still always able to show an enormous amount of empathy. I think Sirius would have found that special in a way that he probably couldn’t fully articulate in his youth.

You can also make a case for the kinship between the dog and the wolf. Could they have more in common than they think?

Personally, I’m a big fan of imperfect romances, so I see their lack of trust on each other in their early adulthood as something with a lot of potential. There’s mystery, parts of each other they don’t know or understand, which makes it all more cathartic when they meet again as adults.

Most teen!wolfstar is overly saccharine, fluffy, and functional. I’m not a big fan of works where they are in a fully fledged ride or die romantic relationship, they never seem to acknowledge that it’s never easy to admit or sometimes to even notice you might be in love with a friend. I steer clear from these.

But!

Spin-the-bottle games that awaken something in Sirius that he doesn’t dare to admit.

Remus always trying so hard to fit in and feel normal, but struggling to have any sincere feelings for girls or boys who don’t know the full truth about him. Someone else does tho, and they have great hair.

Sirius being half in love with James, Remus accepting being sidelined.

Sirius secretly wanting to be more like Remus, Remus secretly wanting to be more like Sirius. The classic do I want to fuck him or do I want to be him?

A big shouty argument about keeping secrets from each other in the Order that turns into sex, because they miss their closeness, but that’s the only way they can have intimacy these days.

You can pry these from my cold dead fingers.

Those are all fantastic!!! I LOVE IT!!! I'm not prying shit other than plain old theft for myself Don't let my salt ruin your fun either, lol - I was in a mood. :9 But that's sort of what I meant by like... them not really 'working'. They just... don't fit. Even if they want to. A circular hole and a square piece. Maybe they bash together a bit - and that's fun. But its not the way they are often depicted as working - which warps them so they do fit.

I also love imperfect romances, and one-sided shit - my favourite depiction of adult Wolfstar is a doomed relationship borne of desperation where they are both broken in ways that don't mesh at all... but have a drive to make SOMETHING work that feels normal, when normal is all but extinct. And they sorta succeed. That can include baggage from teen years, with longing and horny - adult realizations of shit they didn't understand back then... Maybe what they really need is a third to balance the things they can't give... the consistency in company Sirius desires but Remus cannot promise, the stability and freedom Remus needs but Sirius is in no state to offer... yknow B^)

[koussevitzky]

For the royai big bang ask game!

Tips to meet deadlines and work with artists/writers/beta-readers on such a big project?

Favorite Royai headcanon?

What's your favourite line/paragraph you've written?

Thank you for the asks!

Honestly, because this is a collaborative project, I was more able to hold myself accountable for deadlines because I didn't want to disappoint anyone (I will be honest when the project started I was a little starstruck by everyone and their talent--I still am, everyone is amazing--so I really didn't want to mess up). Being able to talk to people about ideas pertaining to the fic (and just Royai and FMA in general) made me really excited to work on my fic, so that really helped, as well as doing writing sprints together.

Favorite Royai headcannon is really difficult...I feel like I don't have any particularly unique ones. I guess so much of what I hold as true about them is headcannon in a way. I guess any headcannons regarding any sort of intimacy that they just don't really speak of, or see as pragmatic--imaging they have keys to each other's apartments, or stuff of that ilk.

As for favorite line/paragraph, I've answered this one here, but I'll share another one I like!

He yawned casually and, as always, no outward sign of his duress was visible. As the years would later pass, beyond this moment, the pair would be able to read one another like a children’s story book, their emotions simple and accessible to one another. But that beautiful adeptness and attunement to one another was still in development, especially in this newfound professional setting.

One thing I wanted to explore in this fic was this sort of in-between stage of their relationship. They've experienced the war together, but now she's working under him, but this is still very new, so what does that look like? I wanted to sort of acknowledge that while they still have this very deep connection, it isn't as fully formed as what we see when the main story of FMA picks up.

Thank you so much for the asks!

[chocmuffinsscones]

Kacchan is actually so, so loved.

His mom is right, he's a brat cuz he quickly got over his head when he was constantly praised by people around him. His parents must've love him so much with how well he physically is - healthy, clean, unbruised. Probably not a popular opinion but I think his mom treating him aggressively is a way to tone him down, to remind him of manners that he might've slipped from being too pompous. And also, it's an asian thing, ESPECIALLY in Japan where senpai-kouhai/elderly hierarchy is strongly regarded.

Still, Katsuki always demands attention like he doesn't have enough of it. He used to aim for being no.1 to gain attention where it'll feed his ego. Even with his obnoxious behaviour, he always had a pass cuz he IS talented, smart and very gifted. People allowed his atrocity cuz they believe he can still contribute to the hero society.

But Katsuki has a way to seek love that he truly yearns and needs. Maybe it's another gifted kid syndrome or an instinctual thing, that he could feel he is so loved in a way he was not expecting. The people who only sees him on the surface aside, Katsuki was constantly showered under the kind of love that is very forgiving, patient, and positive of his coming around. Aizawa, kirishima, his parents, AM, Izuku...

Aizawa and AM regard Katsuki in a similar fashion as his parents did, acting as a guidance that sometimes switching between being strict or encouraging. Kirishima was slightly special because he was the first one to accept his foul personality and would still praise and be amazed by his ability. To me, Katsuki must've value the gratification of someone acknowledging his entirety and would still respect him as well as give him fuel to his ego. Kirishima is passionate of integrity and righteousness. He's quite open-minded and is pretty forgiving, thus forming a suitable concoction of personalities that matches Katsuki's kind of "love" he grew accustomed to.

However, if it all comes to that preferences, why did he reject Izuku's "love" when kirishima's worked but not his? To be fair, Izuku's "love" for Katsuki is pretty much similar as to his parents' as well as kirishima's. But since the river incident, Katsuki's young mind has decided to antagonised that alien kind of love which he was going to get used to (from his parents) anyway. Because receiving that sort of acceptance and appreciation from a child his age kinda oppose the idea of him being special. Little Katsuki was building up a reputation of being the best and the most unique kid in the neighborhood , if he acknowledged Izuku's recognition of his "front", it would meant he wasn't really that special after all. Little Katsuki couldn't have that, and so it brought forward to their entire childhood until UA, rejecting that obvious, his preferred type of "love" that he labeled as disgusting due to their antagonistic relationship.

That's why after dvk2, when Katsuki has finally confronted that impulsive naivety he held onto, he became unconsciously openly seek out Izuku's "love" to him. He loves being seen and appreciated the right way, the way that reminds him of his humanity, that keeps him grounded, that asks his self-awareness of his capabilities and therefore pushes him becoming better every time. Izuku was different from Kirishima because Katsuki had never level himself with him the way he did with Izuku - notwithstanding the whole rivalry on win to save, save to win thing. Also, the simple fact that their familiarity of one another's traits are what keeping them tightly enveloped in an indissoluble bubble of intimacy.

Katsuki demands attention like a brat. He craves attention and love from where he seeks. As prefaced, he has preferences and that he categorised them. It's interesting though that due to his immature obstinacy, he had created a situation where he is now forcing himself in a state of overcompensation towards Izuku's year's worth of "love" towards him. (He knew he was truly at fault, and he knew Izuku still accepts him nonetheless (i.e dvk2), but the way he tried to keep a distance between them to maintain their norm is, in actuality, not normal. Counting in the fact that at the same time he still craves Izuku's "love" when he self-inserted as the one to pull the leash.

Tsk tsk, Katsuki truly is a child raised by love.

[missrosiesworld]

A Symphony of Healing : Part 2

The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. The light brought the dawn of a new day, gently nudging Sofia and Shaun out of their slumber. Sofia stirred first, her mind emerging from sleep, slowly noticing the warmth beside her. As her eyes fluttered open, she realized her head was resting against Shaun's, their proximity closer than usual friendship.

For a moment, she lay still, absorbing his comfort and peace. Then, as the reality of their situation dawned on her, a blush crept up her cheeks. She carefully lifted her head, trying not to wake Shaun, and took a moment to observe him. In sleep, his features were relaxed, a softness to him that she rarely saw when he was awake.

His dark complexion and the unique texture of his locs, interwoven with streaks of blue, framed his face in a way that highlighted his gentle expression. His black mesh top and rose-patterned shirt, now slightly rumpled, added to the distinct and comforting aura he always carried. His presence had always been a source of strength and comfort for her, but now, she found herself seeing him in a different light.

Shaun, feeling the shift beside him, slowly woke. As he opened his dark brown eyes, he was met with Sofia's gaze. A moment of shared understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected intimacy of the night.

"Good morning," Sofia said, her voice a soft whisper.

"Morning," Shaun replied, a hint of sleep still in his voice. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Did we... fall asleep like that?"

Sofia nodded, tucking a strand of her silver curls behind her ear. "Yeah, I guess we did."

There was a brief pause, the air filled with unspoken questions and faint stirrings of deeper emotions. Shaun cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "I hope you slept well. I didn’t mean to..."

Sofia cut him off, a gentle smile on her face. "It’s okay, Shaun. I… actually, I slept better than I have in a long time."

Shaun returned her smile, relief evident in his eyes. He glanced around the room, now bathed in the soft light of morning. "I should probably head out, let you start your day."

Sofia stood up, stretching her arms. She was wearing a black crop top and red plaid pants, a casual yet stylish outfit that highlighted her tan complexion and made her look effortlessly chic. "You're welcome to stay for breakfast if you like. It's the least I can do for the company and... for everything."

Shaun considered her offer, his heart quietly yearning to stay, to prolong the time spent in her company. "Sure, breakfast sounds great."

As Sofia and Shaun transitioned from the soft familiarity of the couch to the sunlit kitchen, the atmosphere shifted from quiet introspection to a more active engagement. Sofia, with a renewed sense of energy, moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for breakfast. The morning light streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the countertops and reflecting off the surfaces, brightening the room.

She decided to make something simple yet comforting—scrambled eggs, toast, and freshly brewed coffee. As she cracked eggs into a bowl, her movements were fluid, a rhythm regained after days of neglect. Shaun leaned against the counter, watching her, an unspoken gratitude in his eyes for this mundane yet intimate moment.

"Do you want to help with the toast?" Sofia asked, her tone light, a hint of her usual playful self peeking through.

"Sure," Shaun replied, finding the bread and slipping slices into the toaster. The familiar scent of coffee filled the air, mingling with the sizzle of eggs in the pan. He watched as Sofia skillfully stirred the eggs, her silver curls catching the morning light, creating a halo effect around her.

They worked in a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts but acutely aware of the other's presence. The kitchen became a dance floor of sorts, with Sofia and Shaun moving around each other effortlessly, a testament to their years of friendship and understanding.

Once the eggs were ready, Sofia plated them carefully, garnishing them with a sprinkle of herbs. Shaun took care of the toast, buttering it while it was still hot. They set the small dining table, the simplicity of the meal masking the complex emotions that lingered in the air.

Sitting down to eat, they faced each other, the morning light casting soft shadows across the table.

Conversation flowed more freely now, touching on memories, shared experiences, and light-hearted topics. Laughter came more easily, serving as a soothing balm to the remnants of last night's emotional intensity. In these moments, Sofia and Shaun found a comforting familiarity, a reminder of the strength of their bond.

As they sipped their coffee, the warm mugs were comforting in their hands. The unspoken words and lingering glances conveyed more than any conversation could. It was a breakfast that marked not just the start of a new day but perhaps the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship—a step towards understanding the depth of their connection and the possibilities that lay ahead.

Shaun smiled as he took a bite of his toast and said, "You know, this reminds me of our college days. Late-night study sessions fueled by coffee and takeout."

Sofia chuckled, sipping her coffee. "Oh, those were the days. Remember the all-nighter we pulled before the finals? I still can't believe we made it through that."

Shaun nodded, finishing his toast. "Yeah, and you aced it, as always. I was just glad to pass." He paused, glancing at her. "Speaking of acing things, have you read any good thrillers lately?"

Sofia’s hazel eyes lit up. "Actually, yes. I just finished this book with the most unexpected plot twist. The villain turned out to be the narrator’s own—"

"Don't spoil it!" Shaun laughed. "But that sounds like your kind of twist. You always did have a knack for guessing the ending." Shaun took a bite of his eggs and asked, "So, any upcoming songs you’ve been working on? I remember how you used to hum melodies while studying."

Sofia smiled softly, stirring her coffee. "Not really, been out of tune lately. But I’m hoping to get back into it soon. How about you? Any new projects on the horizon?"

Shaun nodded, his eyes turning thoughtful. "A few ideas here and there. Trying to find something that resonates, you know?"

Their breakfast continued with light-hearted banter and shared memories. The clinking of dishes and the aroma of coffee created a cozy atmosphere that felt almost like a step back in time. As they cleaned up, Sofia said, "Thanks for coming over, Shaun. It was nice having some normalcy again."

Shaun smiled warmly, his dark eyes reflecting genuine affection. "Anytime, Sofia. It's always good spending time with you." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "By the way, I'm staying at a hotel nearby for the next few days. I wanted to make sure I'm here if you need anything."

Sofia, putting the clean dishes away, looked up in surprise. "You're staying at a hotel? That must be expensive. Why didn't you just crash here?"

Shaun shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I thought about it, but I didn't want to impose. Plus, it gives me a place to work on some ideas without disturbing you."

Sofia smiled, touched by his consideration. "Well, you're welcome here anytime, you know that. But I'm glad you're close by."

Shaun nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. "It's good to be here, Sofia. And hey, if you're up for it, maybe we can explore the city a bit, like old times? Grab some dinner, see a movie?"

Sofia's face brightened at the suggestion. "That sounds great. I'd love to."

As Shaun headed for the door, Sofia walked him there, the light from the kitchen casting a warm glow on their path. He turned back to her. "Alright, I'll text you later about plans. Take care, Sofia."

"Thanks, Shaun. See you later," Sofia replied, a genuine smile on her face. She then leaned in and gave him a warm hug, feeling the comfort and support he always brought her. Shaun's arms wrapped around her, returning the hug with a gentle squeeze. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the closeness before they slowly parted.

After Shaun left, Sofia felt more uplifted than she had in weeks. The prospect of spending time with Shaun, exploring the city, and enjoying each other's company was something she looked forward to. It was a reminder that despite her heartache, there were still moments of joy and friendship to be cherished.

Shaun walked back to his hotel with quiet anticipation and nervousness. Being so close to Sofia and spending time with her in a city filled with memories brought excitement and uncertainty. His feelings for her, though carefully guarded, grew stronger with each moment they spent together. The next few days promised not just a rekindling of their friendship, but perhaps the uncovering of deeper emotions that had long simmered beneath the surface.