#male reader series

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Aaaa! You survived your first day! And look at you- doing suuuuch a good job staying true to character. Nothing could go wrong… right?

Tag list for the series;

@bitternsweet @tonightwrites @confused-they @lanxianschoenheit @poptrim @siriuslyobsessedwithfiction @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @anonymousdisco @forbidden-sunlight

Tag list closed! Stay tuned for part 3!

[2kiran]

❛ 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦, 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢ó𝐧 ❜ ➖ drb.

pairing: ghostface x reader content: bottom ghostf, top male reader, unspecified m!character, held at knifepoint genre: smut | series masterlist

“Fucking—!” Ghostface sucks in a gasp, the metallic blade gleaming under the narrowed light over your forms. “With something as big as this,” On quivering knees and one gloved hand planted on your abdomen, he lifts. “y’sure know how t–to, oh fuck me—” He drops himself down, his walls clinging to the base of your dick. “—hide it. Bet you like how a killer feels, don’t you? Yeah, you do.”

You huff, your skin adorned with a thick sheen of sweat. Pleasure rolls down the length of your spine, the muscles of your thighs trembling with the effort to not buck up into his warming heat. He leans down, grinding his hips forward as he holds up the pointed end of the knife to the center of your throat. “You like your victim.” You deflect, and he clenches around you to punch out a sharp intake of breath from you. He isn’t doing greatly himself, the bursts of a peeking orgasm building in the pit of his belly setting his mind to a blur.

There’s an itch he’s unable to scratch—one that the head of your cock can only graze and prod. But it isn’t enough. You’re not touching him, disregarding the fact that he was the one who commanded you not to. He needed your hands on him, on his leaky, aching dick, and on his neck, even. “Haah, fuuuuuck, shut it.” He pants, his tip throbbing with slickness. The weapon is dangerously close to your sensitive skin, ready to delve into your sickly blood and drown within it.

And you knew he’d take horrifying amusement in seeing you wounded. Wounded with a brand-like marking, giving you a reminder that you’re his. Ghostface’s man, whether you want the title or not. You’ll be haunted with the glimpse of his dark, tainted robe and that long-lasting expression of screaming.

“That’s right...” he mumbles under his breath, burying his obscured face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. He doesn’t realize he’s already speaking his fantasies, his need for you. He rides you harder, his walls spasming as he’s hit by a familiar warning of a climax approaching. “You’re mine, oohhh shit, this s’all mine.”

Your mind is swimming, your hands balled into fists. Your cock pulses inside of him, a numbing tightness coiling in your gut. His speech is hushed, meant to keep it to himself, but your ears manage to pick up on the soft syllables. You can’t deny it, not with your mouth running dry, and certainly not with your cock nestled to the hilt. He feels you jab at his sweet spot, sending the bundle of nerves aflame. Ghostface whines, eyes squeezing shut while his pace stutters.

His brain runs static. His body shudders, legs quaking almost violently. It lasts relatively long, his subconscious setting the knife beside your head to avoid accidentally cutting your jaw. Ghostface wanted you. He needed you; and when you paint his hole white, he begins to think about how badly he needs you to feel the same way.

[tpwk-formula1]

Paddock Bunny Series - 1

AN - Yay! I'm so happy for the first post to my new series! I hope you like it and if you have any ideas of what you want to see happen in the world of Y/N Brown feel free to message me with your ideas! I have nothing planned for this series and no real end goal so this could be 10 chapters long to 100 chapters long just depends on how much you guys like it!

Happy Birthday to Lando!!

Drivers included:

Lando Norris x Reader

Carlos Sainz x Lando Norris x Reader (not every chapter will have a threesome but it was necessary for the plot!)

TW - Squirting, multiple orgasms, oral (M and F receiving/giving), hickey, back scratches, protected sex, MxM (not all threesomes with have MxM), cum swallowing, cum swapping

WC - 4.1k +

Y/N POV

"Please let me take you home tonight," Lando slurs in my ear for a third time tonight.

"Lando, you're too drunk to sleep with your bosses daughter," I reply back softly making him groan.

"Please, just one night and we never have to talk about it again," Lando says making me laugh and shake my head.

"If you get your maiden win within the first 10 races of the season I'll let you take me home for a night," I reply back making Lando's face light up at the thought.

"Deal!" Lando smile and runs off making me laugh softly and shake my head knowing he would forget about it by morning.

Lando and I have known each other since his rookie season in Formula 1 and have been close friends since than. It was no secret that Lando and I both had some kind of tension between us but neither of us trying anything knowing how much of a grey area it is.

That was back in February before the season had even started and now it's just a few hours after Miami and Lando is texting me the room number to his hotel room.

"478, it't the suite on the left corner"

"I thought you would have forgotten about that night"

"I'd never forget the one chance to finally sleep with you"

I just roll my eyes at the short conversation before gathering my belongings and making my way to the driver who would be taking me back to the hotel all Mclaren employees were staying in.

When I walked through the Miami hotel I quickly make my way up to Lando's room following the directions he had sent me.,

"Hi," Lando says opening the door after I had just knocked.

"Hi," I smile back inviting myself in. I spent the first couple minutes in Lando's hotel just looking at him to nervous to make the first move.

"Do you want this?" Lando asks softly making me look up and nod softly.

"Ya, a deal is a deal," I reply softly making Lando's smile drop slightly before taking a few tentative steps towards me.

"No, that's not how consent works. Do you want to do it?" Lando asks stepping even closer so we were now face to face with each other.

Instead of responding I connect my hands behind his neck and pull him down for a kiss. Once the initial shock wears off Lando melts into the kiss wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer into his chest.

"Fuck, Lan," I moan softly when Lando squeezing my ass with his hands.

Lando's lips start trailing from my lips down to my neck where he spends special attention on my neck looking for my sweet spot and once he locates is just under my ear I let out a soft moan making Lando smirk before sinking his teeth down and sucking softly I'm sure leaving a small mark behind.

I feel Lando's arms wrap around my waist tighter before softly mumbling jump. Once I just softly I wrap my arms around his waist and letting him walk us towards the bedroom.

Once we get into the bedroom he lightly drops me down onto the bed before he slowly pulls his shirt from his body before letting it fall to the ground.

Once Lando's upper half was bare he slowly climbed into the bed and over my body letting himself gently sit on my thighs while he stares down at me before slowly pulling my shirt up my torso and helping me sit up softly so he can pull it off completely.

Once he discards the Mclaren team kit on the ground he get his first glimpse of my bare tits.

"Fuck," Lando whispers softly still staring right at my tits before he takes a tit in each hand and gives it a firm squeeze making me moan softly at the feeling.

"Sound so pretty," Lando whispers out more to himself than me but it didn't matter my cheeks reddened at the praise regardless.

"Lan, please," I whine softly trying to grind my hips up making me smirk before pushing my hips back down towards the bed denying me of the little stimulation I was getting.

"Patience, I've waited years for my chance, you can wait another few minutes to feel my tongue," Lando replies back making me whine at his words while trying to clench my thighs together but being stopped by Lando's sturdy body blocking them from closing fully.

"God, you are even more beautiful that I could have dreamed," Lando groans while softly rubbing his fingers up my sides making me whine softly and goosebumps to grow across my skin.

Once Lando had felt like he teased enough he slowly started pulling my black Mclaren issued skirt off before discarding it somewhere on the floor before running a teasing finger over the center of my thong making me suck in a breath at the feeling of his finger light touch running across my overly sensitive clit.

"Fuck, you're already soaked for me," Lando says with a soft smirk before roughly ripping my thong from my body making me gasp out loudly at the sting of the fabric tearing against my skin.

It was clear in the moment that any patience left in Lando has completely ran out and now the starved man in front of me was ready to have his first warm meal in over a year.

When the first flick of Lando's tongue was sent right over my clit I can't help but moan out and arch my back at the feeling.

"Fuck," I moan softly when I feel Lando's tongue flick over my clit again making me whimper.

"SO fucking responsive," Lando groans out before diving back into my soaked pussy.

"Oh Lando," I moan when I feel Lando start sucking my clit into his mouth. My hands were now tangled in Lando's hair gripping and pulling him impossibly closer.

"So sweet," Lando mumbles into my pussy making me whimper at the vibrations being sent straight to my clit.

I knew with how long it had been with the last time I had slept with someone and how good Lando was abusing my clit I knew I wasn't gonna last long.

"Fuck," I scream out softly when I feel two of Lando's long fingers slip into my soaked pussy filling me up and grazing my G-spot was perfect precision.

"I can tell you're already close," Lando says with a smirk spread across his face while he starts finger fucking me making me moan and arch my back off the bed again which has Lando using his hand to push me back into the bed before attaching his mouth to my clit and sucking.

"I'm gonna cum," I announce loudly while gripping tighter into Lando's now messy curls.

No sooner than the words leaving my mouth Lando instantly speeds up the actions with his fingers and sucking even harder on my clit almost instantly throwing me over the edge into a loudly messy orgasm that left me shaking under Lando.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant when I have no time to come down from the overwhelming pleasure because Lando and still fingering me with lighting speed.

"Oh shit," I moan when I feel a second orgasm approaching before the tightly wound band in my tummy snapped throwing me over the edge into a squirting orgasm.

"Fuck," Lando gasps amazed at the pleasure he just had coursing through my body.

"Holy fuck," I gasp when I look down and realize the mess I had caused but with the smug look on Lando's face the mess is the last thing on his mind right now.

Lando slowly climbs out of the bed and quickly takes off his pants and briefs in one go letting his hard length spring free. My eyes are instantly locked on the red angry tip that was already leaking precum.

"I want a taste," I announce timidly while letting my eyes flicker up to lock eyes with Lando where he's staring at me with a smirk spread across his face.

"I'm serious," I say while climbing out of bed and getting on my knees and instantly gripping onto Lando's cock making him hiss at the sensations.

I slowly bring my mouth to the tip of Lando's cock where I lick a strip collecting a bit of the precum from his cock and let the flavors linger on my tongue before I take his tip into my mouth and start sinking down taking more of his cock as I go.

"Fuck," Lando groans letting his hands tangle into my brunette hair.

I can't help but moan at the feeling of Lando's cock fill my mouth more than any man has ever.

Once my nose brushes against the trimmed patch of hair covering Lando's pelvic bone I can't help but look up to find Lando with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. When I slowly start bobbing my head with still looking up at Lando I notice the way his face pinches up at the pleasure before he moans softly and looks down locking eyes with me.

"Fuck, you're a sight to be been," Lando groans using the hands tangled in my hair to bob me up and down his cock faster.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last long," Lando groans at the admission but it only makes me speed up my action on his cock. I bring my hand up to his balls and start playing with them which has Lando groaning and pushing me all the way down on his cock before he lets out a low groan before cumming deep into my throat making me gag slightly but still swallow what I can.

"Fuck," Lando groans slipping his cock from my lips and rubbing the spit and cum mixture across my mouth marking me with his cum, his way of marking his territory.

"You're so hot. Your swollen little lips covered in my cum," Lando leans down close to my face with a smirk on his face before the heat of the moment got the best of him and he takes my mouth in his tasting his own cum on his lips.

With Lando's lips still locked with mine he slowly picks me up off the ground before he gently places me on the bed near the edge where I feel his still hard cock rub against my clit making me moan.

When Lando pulls away still standing at the edge of the bed I go to whine when I see him grab a condom off the night stand making me raise a brow at him.

"It was the first thing I went out and bought when I won," Lando says with a boyish smile on his face clearly embarrassed to admit how excited he was.

"I appreciate the readiness," I tell him softly while I watch him roll the condom down his length before stepping between my spread thighs again and tearing my clit with his cock before slipping his length into my pussy making me whimper at the feeling.

"Fuck, so damn tight," Lando grits out between clenched teeth making me whimper at that the burning feeling of being stretched out on his cock.

"Slower," I whimper when I feel Lando start rocking his hips into mine which has him stopping his movements giving me a few moments to adjust before I nod and feel Lando slowly pull his cock out an inch or so before thrusting back in making both of us moan at the feeling.

"Oh," I moan softly when I feel Lando's thrusts start to pick up making my nails dig in a bit deeper into his shoulders making him hiss at the feeling.

"Lan, it feels so good," I moan when I feel Lando's thrust turn from fast and shallow to hard and deep making me feel him in a whole new way. I can feel my nails digging into his back, probably leaving marks behind but with the way Lando only speeds up the harder I grip him I don't think he has any complaints.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Lando grunts out clearly getting close to the edge.

"I'm gonna cum," I announce suddenly when I feel Lando's cock drill right into me G-spot over and over again.

"Fuck, cum with me," Lando grunts his hips shuddering a bit before I feel him start to cum into the condom sending me over the edge into another shaking orgasm.

"Fuck," Lando grunts coming down from his orgasm as he slowly slips his cock from my overstimulated pussy making me whimper at the stimulation.

"Fuck, you took me so well," Lando tells me softly helping me sit up before handing me a water bottle and letting me take a few sips before he takes a few sips himself.

"You're not weirded out to drink from the same straw as me," I ask softly making Lando laugh lightly.

"I tasted my cum from your lips, we're past sharing water bottles," Lando says softly making a me laugh with him and nod my head understanding.

For the next 30 minutes Lando and I spent it in the shower while he told me how good I did for him making me blush under the praise.

When we get out of the bathroom and I wince when I catch sight of Lando's back.

"I'm sorry," I say softly while running a light finger over one of the darker scratches.

"I would live the rest of my life with them if it meant I got to fuck you everyday," Lando says while looking at the damage in the mirror with a shrug.

"You want to do it again?" I ask shyly not even thinking about the possibility of doing it again.

"I mean, yeah. It was honestly the best sex I've ever had but if this was a one off for you, I'm more than okay with that," Lando tells me honestly making me smile and nod.

"I'd like to do it again," I tell him softly with a nod making him smile.

It's only a few days later when I get another Facetime from Lando. When I answer I come face to face with a smirking Carlos and a sheepish looking Lando staring back at me. Both boys where clearly shirtless on a yacht but from the looks of it they were still docked.

"You attacked my boy?" Carlos asks with a smirk falling from his lips making me jaw drop slightly at a total loss for words.

"I have no idea what you're on about Sainz," I respond back with a blush creeping up onto my cheeks.

"No? This should remind you," Carlos says while flipping the camera and showing me Lando's back that was still scattered with a few lingering marks.

"Okay, so Lando and I had a bit of fun. What about it?" I ask trying to be nonchalant. It had never been a secret that when Carlos joined Mclaren with Lando I had a crush on him so having a conversation like this year later it a bit bone rattling.

"I just wish I had gotten an invite," Carlos says while flipping the camera back to face a red faced Lando and a smug looking Carlos. I know my cheeks are as red as Lando's if not redder.

"What?!" Is the only word out of my mouth clearly still too stunned to speak.

"Oh cut the crap, Brown! It was no secret that you fancied me back in my Mclaren days. If you're in Monaco come to the dock," Carlos says with a smirk making me gawk at the two for a few seconds before I hang up the phone and get changed into a swimsuit.

I shoot Lando a quick text letting him know I would be there in a few minutes. I guess you could say curiosity killed the cat but if a long time crush was offering me a day on his yacht I wasn't gonna pass it up.

When I get to the dock I find Lando sitting at the nose of the boat with a sour look spread across him face while looking at his phone while Carlos is smirking with his arms crossed watching me approach him.

"We have company," Carlos announcing making Lando look up from his phone letting his sour look deepen.

"Before I step foot on this yacht. I need to know what is about to happen and if both of you guys are consenting," I saw while looking directly at Lando.

"There's zero pressure on what we do today. But both of us understand what could happen and we're on the same page, Lando's just but hurt he couldn't keep you to himself," Carlos says making me raise a brow at him.

"No Carlos, I'm annoyed at you because you haven't shut up for the past 15 minutes about what happened between me and her," Lando announces with a bit of a whiney voice making me laugh softly.

When I set onto the yacht I look around to make sure we were alone before I walk to Lando and stand between his legs and lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Do you want whatever could happen to happen?" I whisper making sure he knew it was just a conversation between us.

"Yes," Lando finally answers looking up at me through his long lashes.

“I’m positive, it wouldn't be the first time Carlos and I shared someone,” Lando admits softly making me look up at Carlos with a surprised face. He just sends me back one of his signature smirks making me roll my eyes jokingly before stepping away from Lando and placing my stuff where it belonged before pulling off my swimsuit cover and making me way to find Carlos is alright driving the boat away from the dock while Lando rests back allowing his tanned skin to soak up even more sunlight.

I climb onto the sofa next to Lando allowing my head to rest on his shoulder.

"We aren't doing a single thing you don't consent to, and Carlos is big on verbal consent," Lando tells me softly angling his head so he can look me in the eye.

"Okay," I reply softly with a small smile playing on my lips.

Once Carlos has gotten us far away from the shore I realize we are completely alone in a cove with not a single person around us.

When Carlos approaches both Lando and I he leans down and places a quick kiss on Lando's mouth making me gawk at them softly before Carlos turns his attention on me.

"Can I kiss you, Hermosa?" Carlos asks softly making a me nod my head but quickly give a soft yes remembering what Lando had just been telling me.

As soon as the word left my mouth Carlos crashes his lips onto mine and our kiss was the complete opposite of the one him and Lando shared. While his and Lando's was quick and a bit lack luster Carlos and I's is heated and intense.

When I feel Carlos softly graze his tongue against my bottom lip I part my mouth and feel Carlos's tongue tangle with mine making me whimper at the feeling.

"Fuck, such a sweet little mouth. Lando has told me your head game is the best, would you like to prove him right?" Carlos asks softly.

"Yes sir," I reply back softly while pushing Carlos to sit next to me making me turn my body towards him on my hands and knees with my ass facing Lando making him groan at the sight of my swimsuit riding up my ass.

I pull Carlos's swim trunks just enough to free his hard cock before bringing my mouth down to his cock and pulling it into my mouth making him hiss at the feeling of me taking his full length into my mouth.

"Fuck," Carlos groans throwing his head back when I feel the tip of his cock bypass my gag reflex taking him all the way.

I start bobbing my head on his cock making Carlos tangle his fingers into my hair while Lando pulls my swim bottoms to the side where he started teasing my clit making me moan around Carlos's cock.

Once Lando felt I was wet enough he grips into my hair pulling me off Carlos's cock making me whine at the loss. Once Lando gets me situated on my hands and knees but this time facing Lando I realize all the prep he had done wasn't for him but was for Carlos.

Lando pulls his shorts off letting me take his cock into my mouth while I feel the tip of Carlos's cock teasing my clit making me pull off Lando's cock and trying to turn my head.

"He's wearing protection," Lando tells me softly making me nod my head and get back to work with Lando's cock. When I feel Carlos slowly sinking his thick cock into my tight pussy I whimper at the stretch. I can tell he's wearing a condom making me smile softly to myself knowing Lando was telling me the truth.

I knew I wasn't gonna last long but when I feel my orgasm build almost instantly I start freaking out slightly trying to pull my hips away from Carlos.

"Am I hurting you," Carlos asks letting my hips go letting me get away slightly.

"No! I was about to cum," I admit sheepishly making Carlos groans and sink his cock back into me in one quick motion before pounding into me and throwing me over the edge almost instantly.

"I don't care if you cum in 3 seconds or 3 hours, I want you to let go," Carlos groans fucking me through my orgasm before slowing down almost completely letting me come down from my orgasm without over stimulating me but once I got a few minutes of rest Carlos gets right back to it making me moan around Lando's cock making him whimper and pull me off his cock not wanting to cum just yet.

"Fuck, Carlos," I moan rather loudly letting my voice echo across the water coming out far louder than I was hoping.

"So fucking tight," Carlos groans clearly getting close to the edge making Lando shove his cock back into my mouth. I could feel another orgasm building deep in the pit of my stomach and once I finally release I feel Carlos shove deep into me one last time before filling the condom up with his cock. I feel Lando shudder one last time before a loud whine leaves his mouth and he starts cumming filling my mouth with his cum.

"Don't swallow," Carlos groans while slowly slipping his cock from my pussy making a me turn my head slightly and open my mouth showing him my mouth full of cum.

"Swallow some of it and spit the rest into his mouth," Lando says out of breath behind me making me look at Carlos who has a smirk on his face and he nods giving me permission. I swallow half of Lando's load before standing up and pulling Carlos into my mouth and pushing the rest of the cum in his mouth where he quickly swallows it and pulls me in for a quick makeout before pulling back and grabbing his discarded swim trunks.

Lando helps me get dressed before pulling me back into his chest and letting me cuddle up with him.

"Who else have you told?" I finally ask in a hushed whisper while Carlos starts moving the yacht to another location.

"No one I swear! But I'm sure Carlos will tell Charles, who will tell Pierre, who will tell Yuki, who will tell everyone," Lando admits sheepishly making my face grow hot and a groan to leave my lips.

"Great so I'm about to become the paddock whore," I saw with a cringed look across my face.

"No, I'm positive if anything they'll just want a taste," Lando tells me softly making me groan and throw my head back.

"That might even be worse," I groan again making Lando laugh softly.

"You do what you want. If someone tries anything and you don't want it you tell them to fuck off," Lando says as if this was the most normal situation in the world.

Over the next few weeks the group chat that started with just Lando, Carlos and I had slowly grown in size. While I wasn't sure how word had spread so fast I was positive that my life was not the same one it was at the start of the season.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

New Assistant 

Smut (Defloration, first-time sex, deep penetration, creampie, whinging, rough sex, ass spanking, little aftercare, slave contract)

Chapter 17

3975 Words 

(It’s time for a new assistant with Irene getting busy with her new girl group. Luckily she has a junior assistant in training that is due for a promotion. As her new boss it is required for you to welcome her and break her in.)

The office has been busy since returning from San Francisco. Multiple meetings with project managers, clients, partner companies, and personal meetings. You previously met with JYP and suggested a survival show with the trainees from his company. He mentioned it would give it a twist when it comes to the creation of a girl group. 

At first, you were hesitant, but after much discussion about what it would look like, you decided to get on board. You even considered adding Mina as a contestant since you were confident in her skills. 

The only thing remaining would be to inform the trainees about their participation in a survival show, so you and JYP decided to hold a meeting with all the trainees.

The meeting went as you suspected; the trainees were nervous about their participation. The younger trainees saw this as a way to prove themselves and increase their chances of debut, while the older ones voiced their disapproval. 

Nayeon, Jeongyeon, and especially Jihyo were angry at JYP for even suggesting the idea after their failed attempts at debut. 

Jihyo cries from disappointment, with the other two comforting her, knowing how much they have worked for these past few years. 

The meeting ends, leaving a sour taste in your mouth, not knowing how to react. You should have gone with your gut, but it's too late to change your mind, and only for the best outcome. 

When you get back to your office, you discuss things with Jieun (IU) and understand the situation. Being closer to them, she has learned a few things and has learned how disappointed 3Mix would be with their recent failed attempt. They assumed that switching companies would have an easier path to debut, especially Jihyo, who has been in training for the longest time among the trainees in the company. 

“I can’t back out.”

”I understand, sir, but try to be a bit understanding.”

”I’ll try.

The room is silent; you can feel the tension in the air and ask, “What’s next on the agenda?”

”You have a meeting with Irene to discuss about Miyeon.” 

“When is that?

”Later today, it's your last meeting.”

”Thank you.”

———

You hear a knock, “Sir, it’s Irene.”

”Come in.”

”Thank you.” She stands in front of you with folders in her hands, waiting for you to look up at her. 

“Take a seat.”

”Yes.”

”Let’s get to the point. How is she doing?”

”At the beginning, she had a bit of an adjustment to her new schedule. She asked a lot of questions but began to pick things up at a reasonable pace. I also made sure she continued her education and decided to pursue higher education.”

”That’s great. Seems like these few months have been good for her.”

”Yes, I tried not to give her so much at the beginning and slowly increased her workload. Now that I’m in my group, she makes my duties easier.”

”Do you think she can take over your duties once you get busier?”

”With the basic stuff, yes. I haven’t even her any sensitive information yet.”

”Let me ask you one thing. Do you think she can be trusted?”

”She hasn’t let me down. So yes, I think she can, but I can't promise she won’t make a mistake.”

”Jieun suggested a contract like the two of you have as assurance.”

Irene looks perplexed about Jieun's suggestion, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

”No, that’s a great idea. I should have mentioned it sooner.” 

In reality, Miyeon has grown on Irene throughout their time together. Hearing about binding her into a contract like the one she is in saddens her as she knows that Miyeon’s freedom will be stripped. 

“Here are her files, sir.”

You read over her report, the things she’s helped Irene with, and her newly gained skills as an assistant. You opened her health file and noticed that her birthday was recent, “Oh, she just turned eighteen. How nice.”

Irene clenches her fist, seeing your grin. She understands what you’re thinking and is disgusted by it.

”Yes, I bought her a birthday and a small dinner together.”

”That’s sweet.”

”Thank you, sir.”

You close her file and say, “Thank you for the report. I’ll have IU put together her new contract and set up a health check for Miyeon as soon as possible.”

”Is that really necessary?”

”I would have thought you would be happy. She’ll take over some of your duties unless you want her to?”

”No, I’m grateful,” but she just felt sorry for Miyeon.

”Okay, you can go now.”

Irene exits your office, defeated, and heads to meet her members in the training room.

——-

It’s been a few days since your meeting with Irene, and now Jieun and Irene are meeting with Miyeon. 

She’s nervous about the meeting, hoping it's about her effort as a junior assistant. 

She is greeted by Jieun and escorted to the conference room you use for private meetings. 

“Irene unnie, good morning.”

”Good morning, Miyeon.” 

They sit and discuss Miyeon’s position as a junior assistant. It’s most of what you and Irene talked about a few days ago, but now it comes to the main part. Irene mentions that she believes Miyeon can take on a larger role within the company. This makes Miyeon smile and happy about her efforts being looked at after her mistake a few months ago. 

“Irene and I would like to consider you for the position of one of the CEO’s personal assistants.” 

Miyeon looks surprised and at Irene sitting across from her, “Does that mean that I’ll be working in the same position as you, unnie?”

Irene replies, “Actually, I’ll be taking a small role since I am trying to focus on my group, but you’ll be working closely with Jieun.”

Jieun interrupts and asks, “What do you think? Would you be interested in the position?”

Miyeon immediately replies, “Yes, I’d love that. I want to prove myself to everyone here after my incident a few months back, so I would love to do my share.”

”Great, that’s the sprint,” says Jieun. “We figured you would accept, so I brought up a contract for the meeting. You know, just to make this official.”

”Yes, of course.”

She goes over the contract and covers the position as the CEO’s assistant, as well as some benefits.

”I talked to CEO-nim, and he said that you’ll be getting a biweekly salary and spending money.” 

Miyeon looks at the contract and is surprised by the amount, “Oh my god, isn’t that too much?”

”He wants to make sure you’re comfortable.”

”Thank you so much.”

”Of course. Also, this section talks about you moving in with the CEO and assisting in his daily needs, like taking notes, setting up meetings, getting his dry cleaning, making sure he has his meals and other miscellaneous things.”

”Oh, I’ll be living with him?”

She looks at Irene, worried, and Irene responds, “We’ve all done it at one point, mainly at the beginning. Once you get out of your probationary period, you will have the ability to move out to your own apartment like we did.”

“Oh, I get my own apartment?”

“Irene says, “Yes, like the one we live in. The CEO provides it for us.”

”Okay, I’m excited.”

”Down below are some of the perks that come with the job.” 

Miyeon looks at the list and is surprised by the amount of perks, each better than the previous one.”

”Where do I sign?”

Irene interrupts, “Wait, we also want to let you know that this job comes with sensitive information, so confidentiality is required.”

”Yes, I understand.”

”Are you sure? Would you like us to give you some time as you read over the contract to make sure that everything is okay?”

Jieun gives Irene a side eye, signaling to not step out of bounds.

She turns the numerous pages and skims over the large letters that talk about job expectations, payment, sickness, insurance, dental, memberships, education opportunities, a termination clause, and other issues that are in fine print. 

“Where do I sign?”

Jieun points at the numerous blank spaces that require Miyeon’s signature. After signing about ten pages, she gets to the eleventh page and asks, “I have fully read and understood the content of this agreement. I sign this document entirely of my own accord without any enforcement and accept any consequences if the agreement is violated or broken. 

Irene tries to get Miyeon’s attention, but Jieun stops her, allowing Miyeon to give her final signature and stamps her Dojang (family seal) as a signed agreement. 

A tear falls from Irene, knowing that Miyeon has sealed her fate as your newest toy. “Unnie, are you crying?”

”Sorry, it's just that…”

”Irene is just happy for you, that's all.”

“Aww, thanks, unnie. I’ll make sure to make you proud.”

Irene feels like she’s about to cry and says, “Oh wow, look at the time. I have another commitment to get to. I’ll take my leave, but Jieun will continue with your onboarding.”

”Thanks again, unnie.”

Irene walks away and exits the room, leaving Jieun and Miyeon alone. Jieun asks Miyeon if she has any questions, and they continue to talk for a while. Most questions are about the role and about the chance to debut in the near future. Jieun replies that anything about her debut is up to the CEO, but she and Irene can answer questions about the job.

Jieun then takes out a folder with Miyeon’s name on the front, “I have your health file right here. It shows that all shots are up to date and have no signs of illness; they are practically healthy.”

”Yes, I take care of myself.”

”It shows.”

Miyeon giggles at the compliment when she hears Jieun ask, “Miyeon, are you still a virgin?”

”Ehh?”

Surprised by the question, she tries to calm herself before answering in a shaky voice, “Ye… yes, I am.”

”Just wondering. Since of your previous mistake.”

There’s a moment of silence, causing Miyeon to feel nervous, but Jieun changes the conversation, “I’ll submit the paperwork today, and your new badge should be ready for tomorrow. Also, begin packing, and I’ll send someone to pick up your items in the morning. 

——

Miyeon has spent most of the night packing her belongings. She tried to talk to Irene but never got home. Waking up, she sees a message on her phone from Irene saying that she ended up crashing at her member’s dorm after practice and will see her later today. 

Miyeon hears a ring and sees it’s the workers from the moving company. They help take her belongings to the CEO’s condo, where Jieun greets them. She escorts you to your room, which is much bigger than the one she was in previously. 

After unpacking the necessities, Miyeon accompanies Jieun to her office, where she gets her new badge and a copy of her job requirements and daily and weekly assignments. 

“It’s going to be most of the things you do now, but over time, you’ll be responsible for what’s on the bottom of the list.”

“Okay, got it.”

“Also, this is what a typical schedule for the CEO looks like. Meetings throughout the day, but his mornings and evenings are mostly free, and there are gaps throughout the day.”

Miyeon looks at the schedule and sees an asterisk for the morning and late evenings. “What are the asterisks for?”

“The CEO might need your help in the morning. For the evenings, it’s just helping him after a long day at work.” 

“Oh, like a massage?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Oh, okay. I’ve done that before with my appa and eomma.”

“Nice. I’ll show you how it’s done since it’s your first time.”

“Thank you, Jieun unnie.”

“You can go home and unpack. Just meet me in my apartment around dinner. I want to go over some things with you.”

——

Miyeon meets Jieun at her apartment a few hours later. They both enjoy a simple dinner and talk about their personal life when she receives a notification that you arrived back at your condo.

“He’s back from his dinner. Let’s get ready and greet him.” She looks at Miyeon and says, “Come with me. I’ll give you some things to make sure you look presentable for today.” 

They exit the elevator and head towards the large doors. Using their pin, they enter the room and hear the shower. 

“Seems like he’s showering. Come with me.” 

Miyeon follows Jieun to the service room and starts to get undressed. Surprised, Miyeon asks, “What are you doing, unnie?”

“Get undressed, rinse yourself, and put this on,” as Jieun hands her a two-piece bikini.

Jieun looks at Miyeon as she shows a lost expression, “Quickly before he gets out.” 

“What are we doing?”

“Service.” 

“Ehh?” 

She helps Miyeon undress and pulls her to the shower. Miyeon tries to cover herself with her arm but is shocked by the cold water coming from the shower head. Miyeon’s mind goes wild, thinking of what type of service Jieun meant. 

After rinsing, they quickly dry themselves and put on their bikini before coming out of the service room.  

They see you swimming in your pool, going from one end to the other. Before reaching the sliding door, Jieun pulls Miyeon to the slide and whispers, “Make sure to do whatever he asks. He can be nice, but if you rub him the wrong way, he’ll make your life rough and even ruin your career.”

Miyeon nods nervously and follows Jieun, who slides the door open and walks towards the side of the pool. She waits until your head pops out of the water and waves at you. 

“Good evening, sir. I see that you’re enjoying your swim.”

”After a busy day at work, I couldn’t help myself. It’s such a stress reliever.”

”That’s great to hear. I brought Miyeon with me today,” and waves at you to step forward.

”Good evening, sir,” and bows her head.

”I see that Jieun is teaching you properly.”

”Of course. May we join you?”

”Yes”, giving a satisfied smile.

Jieun walks towards the edge of the pool, grabs the rail, and walks into the pool. 

You look at Miyeon, who is standing frozen, “Join us.” She nods and follows, walking slowly into the pool. She makes her way to where you two are and is surprised to see your hand on Jieun’s ass. 

Jieun giggles and gets closer to you, letting you grip her cheeks, “Nice and firm like always.” Jieun blushes, “I try to work out since you like it so much.”

You look at Miyeon and extend your hand, “Come, don’t be afraid.” Miyeon hesitates but remembers what Jieun said earlier and extends her hand. “Wow, Miyeon, you look great in that bikini.”

”Thank you…” trying to hide her face by tilting down. 

Suddenly she feels the touch of your hand on her ass and freezes. “Miyeon, you have such a soft butt.” There is no response, and Jieun speaks up, “I bet she’s happy about your compliment but is too shy to say anything. How about we spice things up a little?" and undoes her bra, letting it float to the top. 

You let your hand off of Mieyon’s asscheek and grab Jieun’s waist, pulling her towards you. She wraps her legs around your waist, and you go in for a kiss on her neck. Jieun moans, feeling your lips kiss her neck to her collarbone. 

Miyeon remains frozen, seeing you massage Jieun’s breast as you kiss her. She understands now what Jieun meant when she said “service” and realizes what her role as the CEO’s personal assistant meant. 

Out of nowhere, Jieun says, “Did you know that Miyeon is a virgin?” Miyeon sees your attention and immediately goes towards her. “Oh, really?” 

“Yes, her body was silky smooth as well.” 

You put Jieun down, walk towards Mieyon, and say, “Come with me.”

”Where are we going?”

”To the bedroom, of course.”

She looks back at Jieun, who follows behind them. Miyeon asks in a trembling voice, “I don’t want my first time like this.”

Jieun replies, “Remember what I told you earlier. You belong to him now.”

You take Miyeon into the bedroom, drop your shorts, and toss them into the hamper. “Undress, I want to see what I’m going to be working with.” 

Miyeon's body trembles at the idea that she’s going to lose her virginity in this manner. She assumed it would be with her boyfriend and a romantic setting, but instead, as your assistant. 

You say sternly, “Strip, while I’m being nice.” Miyeon flinches and undoes her bra, dropping it on the floor before moving on to her bottom. 

With her completely nude, you circle around and admire her body, small breasts, flat stomach, and pretty face. You get behind her, part her hair to the side, and kiss the side of her neck. 

Miyeon closes her eyes, foreign to a male’s touch. She tells herself that she can do it; her dreams of becoming an idol are much bigger, and she is willing to sacrifice her body for a moment that will change her life. 

You can see her shiver in fear, like a gazelle that’s about to be eaten by a lion. It turns you on, the feeling of having control of a female. You get closer to her, and she gets startled when you press your body against hers. She feels a thick, hot sensation touching her back and remains frozen. 

You whisper in her ear, “I’m going to give you two choices; you can  be in control of what happens to you, or I make the choices for you.” 

She is at least thankful that she can decide on how she’ll lose her virginity. “I can do it myself.”

“Alright, tell me what you want me to do.” 

Miyeon tries to come up with an idea quickly. She looks around and says, “Get on the bed and lay down.” 

You agree, head to the large white bed, and lie in the middle of it. She walks and climbs on the bed, sitting next to you.

With no idea what to do, she climbs on your thighs and stares at your cock. It's the first time she's seen a cock, and she is lost on what to do. She turns around and looks at Jieun, who is standing in the corner. “Miyeon, grab it with your hand and stroke it like this. Here, you use this.” With the bottle of lube in her hand she opens it, pours some on your cock, coating it. She uses her right hand, stroking it awkwardly at first. As she continues, it starts to get bigger, which makes her use both hands. 

“I don’t think it's going to fit inside of me.” 

You respond, “You don’t know until you try,” giving her a smirk. She turns around once more and looks at Jieun, hoping for her to save her. Instead, Jieun replies, “Miyeon, you got this. Hwaiting!”

There’s no way around it; she has a future to think about, and giving her virginity is a small price to pay. That’s what she is trying to make herself believe. It’s the only way she’ll be able to accept what she is about to do. 

Miyeon then grabs your cock and lifts herself off. She tries to align your cock to her entrance and is scared by how big it really is compared to her small entrance.

She lowers her body, pressing her lower lips against the mushroom tip of your cock, and stops. Miyeon looks at you with the look of someone who’s accepted her fate and control of her life to you and slowly drops her body. 

You feel your tip spread her lower lips, pushing into her virgin hole. She groans, experiencing being stretched this much for the first time. She stops when she reaches her thin barrier and looks at you once more before giving her a hungry smile. 

With her hands on your abs, she gives a hard drop; she gasps but immediately bites her lip. “Fuck, you’re so tight!” 

There’s no response, only her body trembling as she’s trying to quickly adjust to the pressure. You place your hand on her arm, but she waves you off. She immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I’m trying to get adjusted to your size.”

“Don’t worry, it’s expected.” You touch her arm once more, this time allowing you to embrace her. 

“Want me to take over?”

She nods, “Yes.”

You place your hands around her small waist and lift her, pulling her out from her cunt. “Bend over and get on all fours.” 

She does as she’s told and places her body on top of the large pillow. She presses her face against it and closes her eyes and she feels you press your cock into her cunt.

“Hmph… hmm…” 

She clenches the pillow, feeling your cock stretch her walls. She yelps when you hit the back of her womb, “Wait, wait, you’re breaking me!” You don’t respond and increase thrust inside her. She clenches her hands on the pillow as you use her body for relief. You want to make sure that her body gets used to your cock, especially her womb, since you’re its new owner. 

“Does it feel better when I take over?” 

There’s no response from Miyeon, so you raise your arm and give her a slight slap on her ass. She yelps and lifts her head, “Ow!”

You increase the pace of your thrust, your balls hitting her flesh, “Fuck, you’re going to be as great as my new toy.” Miyeon just continues to bite onto the pillow, listening to you talk about her position as your new toy.

Before long you’re about to cum and warn Mieyon on your orgasm nearing. “I’m going to cum.” Miyeon lifts her head, her mouth drooling, and pleads, “Please… outside… do it outside…” You scoff and say, “You’re in no position to throw out demands, I’ll cum wherever I want, and I always cum inside.” 

Miyeon feels your cock throb and releases a large wave of cum, flooding her walls and womb. “No! So much inside!” Your cum floods her womb to the brim; she can feel her womb getting addicted to your cum and cock, knowing that there is no coming back after this.

Jieun leaves after the second round and is satisfied, knowing she did a good job for her master. You continue to fuck Miyeon, round after round, until she passes out, and even then fuck her until you get your fill. 

Miyeon wakes late in the morning completely nude, and her lower body is completely sore. She tries to get up, but any pressure on her legs causes her to tremble and fall back onto the bed. 

“Miyeon, it’s me, Irene.”

”Unnie, come in.”

Irene comes inside, sees the mess, and feels sorry for what Miyeon just went through. “How are you feeling?”

”Horrible, I lost my virginity, and my body is completely sore.”

”I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

”Jieun said it was necessary if I wanted the slightest chance to make it in the industry.”

There’s a silence, and Irene breaks the ice and says, “Here, take this.”

”What is it?

”A morning-after pill.”

[callahanisms]

all you need is more radaway

save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)

anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(

perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol

character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul

it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.

and building up endurance, of course.

you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.

to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.

thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.

"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"

you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.

"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.

"now i don't know if you should do that."

"and why not?"

a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.

but you weren't afraid.

"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."

"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.

"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."

"if you believe so."

your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.

of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.

in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?

"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"

more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.

"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"

"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.

"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."

"we'll see about that."

your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.

surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.

and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.

unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.

"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.

"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.

you chuckle a little.

"something funny?" the ghoul asks.

"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."

"very funny."

"let me guess. your answer is no?"

"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."

"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."

you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."

"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.

"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.

the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.

as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.

the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.

"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"

"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."

the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.

it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.

and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.

undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.

"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."

"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."

"from watching my movies?"

"yes!"

"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.

"that also makes you over 200 years old."

"that it does. something wrong with that?"

"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."

"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.

"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."

"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."

"i have a name, you know."

"what is it?"

"(y/n)."

getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.

"guess we're even now."

the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."

cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"

"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.

"i think you might die."

"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.

"i can also swim, you know."

"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."

you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.

you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.

"fuck!"

he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.

suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.

there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.

"something happen down there?"

"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."

while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?

"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."

"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.

"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."

"i don't."

"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.

dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.

cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.

though how does this work exactly?

"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.

cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.

it's so cute when he smirks.

you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.

"i absolutely can."

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

The way Percy Jackson kisses

long lasting.

Hes on the swim team and can breathe underwater. His kisses are so long you feel faint.

His lips are somewhat moist but somewhat dry, he tastes like seawater.

He presses himself closer to you. When you move back, he comes closer and presses harder.

Loves to hear you make some noise while he kisses you--it gives him a confidence boost. He can't really tell if he's doing a good job or not.

Likes to watch you too, keeps his eyes open at some point. If you open your eyes during the kiss, youll just see him give you the most intense eyes ever.

No shame, will kiss in front of others, especially when he feels emotional because he loves you so much.

Keeps his hands on your hips too. Likes the warmth of your body.

When you stop kissing he just loves seeing your face blush. When you get flustered and shy he gets turned on

flirts with his eyes. (dont ask how, he just looks at you and your face gets hot and it feels like hes flirting with you even though hes not). his eyes are just such an intense green color, it feels like he can read your thoughts and can tell what type of effect he has on you.

[tsuutarr]

Concept: Yandere!Alice in Wonderland Characters (but it's only the White Rabbit for this piece) x Reader

“Wake up! Please, wake up!”

At the desperate call of the static-laden voice, your eyes groggily open. Your head hurts, thrumming with heavy noise. The artificial lights are too bright and yellow, staining your vision like aged-paper. It makes your headache worse.

“Oh no, are you ill?” a voice teeters. Face scrunched, you look up to see a screen hanging over you. A small image of a pixelated white rabbit flickers on and off. “Oh no, oh no… we’re so behind schedule…”

“What…” you being, head swirling. You don’t understand where you are or what’s happening. You don’t even really remember anything, for that matter. It makes you feel sick.

“Ah, I’m really sorry,” the pixelated rabbit apologizes, looking quite guilty. “Yes, yes, it’s quite a lot to take in…” 

Before you know it, the screen the pixelated rabbit is on moves closer to you. The blue light is bright, making you squint.

“Hello, [Alice],” it greets you softly. “My name is WH173-R48817, though most call me White Rabbit or White.”

“My name isn’t [Alice].” You’re not sure where that statement came from, but it feels wrong to be referred to as [Alice].

“Ah… Ah, yes, certainly,” White’s voice murmurs.“Apologies. What would you like to be called?”

You tell White a name – you’re not entirely sure where that name came from, but it feels right.

“Understood. I will refer to you as such.” With a comforting smile, White continues. “Now, as I was saying… I am the White Rabbit System, an AI system that helps manage things in this lab.”

“A lab?”

“Yes,” White responds. “We are currently in a laboratory.” 

Your eyes flicker around the room and it’s quite obvious now that you are, in fact, in a lab-like place. You’re comfortably resting on a surgery bed as jars of… body parts line the shelves around you.

“You are a part of the Wonderland Project as the most successful participant. Now that you’ve regained consciousness, we must exit the starting point.”

You stare at White blankly, its words doing very little to reveal anything substantial to you. However, White is far too frazzled to properly listen to you, going on its own little tangent. You didn’t think an AI could be so… anxious. 

“We’re already quite late!” it frets while you eye it. The screen White is on is embedded into some device on the wall. You doubt the device will be able to move outside of the room.

“How are you going to exit this place?” you ask. 

“Ah, look at me, being a klutz,” it sighs, somehow looking bashful despite being an AI. “A moment, please.” And just like that, the screen it was displayed on flickers off, the blue light fading away. Momentarily, you’re stunned, until you hear the soft footfalls approaching you. You turn your head to see a tall man with bunny ears.

“Greetings,” he says. His voice sounds like White’s, though a little deeper and more human. “I wondered which form would be the most efficient, and decided that this one would work best.”

“What.”

He continues walking closer to you as he talks. “I have a few bodies that I can connect my programming to. This is one of them.” When he finally reaches you, you can see how tall he is. He’s rather lanky and thin, but his height is enough to be intimidating. “Pardon me. I’m not that fond of touching others myself, but I have no choice,” he mutters, before reaching for you and cradling you in his arms faster than you can process what’s going on. “Hold on to me. We are quite behind schedule.”

“Behind schedule? For what?”

“The continuation of the Wonderland Project, of course.”

“And why exactly do I have to be a part of this project?”

White peers down at you curiously. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “Because you’re the most important key, of course. We need you.”

With that, he leaves the room with you in his arms.

[my-names-angel-but-im-not-one]

MC meets their male version!

#1

Something happened with one of the doors in Barbatos's room and. M!MC (male MC) ended up walking in this devildom where's our F!MC/GN!MC is.

Story list

Lucifer: .......so you're saying he basically travelled universe accidentally, because of your mistake.

Barbatos: it wasn't my mistake, the other Barbatos made the mistake

Lucifer: and now you want me to keep him here, with our mc?? Did Diavolo even approved it!?!

Barbatos: he was the one who suggested it, yes.

Lucifer: ...ugh *facepalms*

MC: *looking at M!MC with squinting eyes*

M!MC: *doing the same*

M!MC: ........ask away..

Mc: how big is that peni-

M!MC: that's the first thing you ask? ......Not surprised.

M!MC: I'll tell you , if you tell me your bra siz-

MC: Deal.

M!MC: Deal.

Barbatos:

Lucifer:

Barbatos: .... I'll see if I can fix it up till tomorrow.

Lucifer: please.

[A/N]: this is gonna be a series ......maybe :p

Common tag that used: MMC x MC (use this tag to find more)

Also I'm close to hitting 1k!! Thank you all!! Muwah :3

[lemonsprite]

𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 || 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 (𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞) 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: he’s so sorry!!

Word count:

Warnings: angst I suppose <\3 (but also comfort) and not beta read TT I have horrible grammar

A/N: needed to put a break in bc this bitch is too long!!!!!!!! I want Hugh Jackman on a primal level

Logan’s back was killing him. He was hunched over a barstool, currently nursing a Pilsner while drowning in self pity- not like he had much else to do at the moment.

“I’m cutting you off man, you look like shit.” Remarked the bartender, looking down at Logan with sickening pity. “Go home.”

“Don’t have one.” Logan bite back, his voice no louder than a grumble as he sulked. That was a lie. He had a home, with Charles, and Scott, and Ororo, and a hundred other mutants but all of that was a faraway thought for Logan. No, all he really cared for right now was how much he missed your warm bed. He missed his home, your home.

The bartender raised a disapproving eyebrow at Logan and he could tell when he wasn’t wanted.

Groggily and very drunk, Logan stood from the barstool, holding onto the counter of the bar for help as he made his way to the front door, the bright illuminated ‘open’ sign causing his eyes to squint and the already tell tale signs of a killer hangover tomorrow to kick in.

Outside was dead silent, even the crickets seemed afraid to chirp in the presence of Logan as he stumbled his way down the street to an old rain rusted payphone, covered in shitty aged graffiti.

The humid summer air stuck to Logan’s skin, and he slapped at his neck, attempting to kill a pesky mosquito as he fumbled for his wallet.

Logan’s leather wallet that was held together by a single string only contained two things.

One- a very very expired drivers license, and two- a crinkled old Polaroid of you, smiling happily five years ago when you and Logan first met. On the back, scribbled in almost illegible chicken scratch was a slew of numbers, numbers his shaking fingers began to dial on the old payphone.

Logan brought the receiver up into the ear, doing the old song and dance when it came to shitty pay phones like these before the robot operator instructed him to say his name into the phone.

“It’s Logan, sorry to bother Bub… I know it’s late.” He mumbled quietly into the receiver, playing anxiously with the long coiled line of the phone.

Patiently he waited for one second, then two before the stress relieving sound of a click could be heard from the other end.

“Is everything okay Logan?” You asked, your voice soft, half asleep, and full of worry.

Logan paused for a moment, thinking over his next words as best as his intoxicated mind could.

“Yeah… yeah there’s just a lot goin’ on right now and I dunno…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just needed to hear your voice…”

He leaned against the phone booth, the receiver tucked securely into his shoulder as he realized how utter pathetic he must’ve looked currently.

“Where are you? Do you need help?” You questioned, your voice writhe with anxiety and he could hear you throwing on your bath robe and slippers, grabbing your car keys and unlocking the front door.

Logan felt horrible for crawling to you, begging for help when he was the one to push you away in the first place but another, very drunk, selfish side of himself yearned to hold you in his arms and sleep in once more on your queen size mattress.

“Nah. I don’t need help.” Logan finally decided, his voice a mixture of gruff stoicism and… something else.

There was a small pause. A moment of reconsideration.

“I’m at the phone booth across the bar.” He admitted, voice low and slightly embarrassed.

“I’ll be there in five.” You reply sternly, the phone line going dead with a familiar disconnecting click.

Logan couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips. Even though he’d never admit it, some old still hopelessly in love part of him was happy to know you’d still be willing to drop everything at two AM and hunt him down at some dingy dive bar.

True to your word, within five minutes, Logan heard the noise of your old car approaching. The headlights illuminating the cement and causing Logan to squint. You pulled over, stopping a foot from the phone booth.

The cars window rolled down revealing you, your hair still tousled from sleep and your bathrobe barely clinging to your shoulders.

“Get in Lo’… you can spend the night at my place.” You frowned, pursing your lips as you gestured with your head for Logan to get into the passenger seat.

Logan’s usual stern expression melted away upon seeing you for the first time in what felt like forever. Your anxious expression matching his as he climbed into your car, feeling himself melt back into the seat like he’d never left.

“Lead the way bub.” He hummed coarsely, the seat creaking under his weight and his muscular body taking up a large portion of the cabin.

Now thoroughly sobered up, the drive home was filled with awkward silence, the tension so thick you could cut into it like butter. The roads were dark and your eyes stay glued to the road almost as if you were ignoring Logan’s presence.

The cars headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the deserted streets as Logan tapped his fingers against the edge of the window, his heart tight with a mixture of anticipation and nostalgia.

Logan stole glances now and again at your face. Taking in the familiar lines etched into your skin and the way you pursed your lips when concentrating.

“Been awhile since I’ve been here huh?” He asked, attempting to break the awkward silence as his chair creaked in protest when he attempted to lean back.

“Missed you Lo’.” You said softly, almost quiet enough for Logan to not hear. “I think about you every day… wether your alive or dead… happy or injured and bloody…”

Logan bite his lip, taken aback by the sudden sincerity of your words, not expecting that much vulnerability from you. He glanced over, his eyes meeting yours before quickly returning to the dark pavement road.

A cold pang of guilt curled in his stomach as he swallowed.

“Bub…” he started, clearing his throat gruffly. “I… didn’t want you to worry about me… y-… you know I’m always fine…”

Logan stumbled through his words, finding it tough to even wrestled them out of his throat.

He could see you thinking over his words, biting at your lip as you gaze turned disapprovingly towards the road. You obviously disagreed with him but kept your words to yourself as the drive continued on.

Eventually your car pulled into the driveway of your small home. Pulling the keys from the ignition, the engine putter to a stop as you climbed out of your car, slamming the door shut in a way Logan could tell was venting your anger.

Logan followed, standing quietly outside the car and staring up at your house just now realizing how much he’d missed all this. The familiarity of it all.

His keen senses picked up the scent of your home. A mixture of you and old wood. Logan shove his hands in his pockets and looked up at you with a strange combination of trepidation and anticipation.

“Come in, I’ll get you something warm to drink.” You offer quietly, fidgeting with your key ring to unlock the front door.

Logan followed you inside, his steel toed boots thumping against the hardwood floor. He took in the sight of the place, the walls and shelves filled with small trinkets and photos.

His gaze lingered on a photo of the two of you. It was an old photo, taken back in the early days of your relationship and something tore at his insides that night coming back vividly to him.

He cleared his throat and looked over at you, his face a mixture of emotions he couldn’t bother to hide at the moment.

“Still like the simple stuff huh?” Logan asked, his voice gruff but softer than usual.

“I like that photo.” You respond simply with a shrug, moving to the kitchen to grab two mugs.

setting the kettle on the stove and filling it with water, you dig in a nearby pantry, pulling out two bags of camomile. Logan was touched you’d remebered it helped him sleep better at night.

“I’m renovating the guest room Lo’ so uh…” you paused nervously, leaning against the kitchen counter for better balance. “You could sleep on the couch or um… my bed if that’s okay with you… although if you remember the couch is uncomfortable at shit.”

Logan took in the slight anxious tremble of your voice and attempted a smile to ease your worries. “Are you kidding? I’ll never forget that couch and I have the back problems to prove it.”

You watched you silently for the moment before continuing quietly.

“I’ll take the bed.”

“Good choice.” You complimented with an awkward smile, grabbing the steaming kettle and filling both mugs. “Do you still like milk with yours?” You asked absentmindedly, digging around in the fridge of your kitchenette.

Logan nodded. “Yeah same way Bub.”

He leaned his back against the counter, his gaze still fixed on you. This domestic scene felt surreal- you preparing tea for him, the soft electric hum of the fridge, and the intimate simplicity of it all.

Memories of exact copies of this night came flooding back to him. Countless nights of late-night conversations and cups of tea.

Once finished, you pushed the perfectly steeped cup of tea towards Logan, his fingers brushing against yours before taking a sip and glancing at him from across the kitchen.

“I’m worried about you Lo’.” You admitted quietly, staring at him from over the rim of you cup.

Logan took a large swig of his drink, using it as an excuse to avoid looking at you for a moment. When he did, he met your eyes, the worry in your gaze mirroring his own.

“I know you are.” He grumbled, voice stoic. “But I can handle myself Bub.”

“If you can why call me at two am!?” You bite back, glancing at Logan as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth.

Logan sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the mug in his hands. He knew you had a point. He knew he wouldn’t have called if everything was fine.

He took another sip of tea, the warm liquid soothing his gruff throat.

“It’s just… been a tough couple of weeks.” Logan admitted, voice suddenly quiet as his fingers traced the handle of his mug. “Just needed to hear your voice is all I guess…”

You glance at the tiled floor, thinking for a moment before speaking up.

“Why did you leave me Logan…” you asked quietly, forcing Logan to address the one question he didn’t want to consider.

The question hit Logan like a ton of bricks, the familiar shame and guild washing over him like a cold wave.

He looked away, jaw clenching as he struggled to find the words. He didn’t want to hurt you… didn’t want to bother you with all the issues that entailed loving a mutant. He didn’t- couldn’t hurt you.”

“It’s complicated.” He muttered, avoiding your gaze. “You’re better off without me, Bub.”

You frown at Logan, obviously taking offence to his words.

“Oh really?” You asked incredulously. “Am I better off tossing and turning every night worried that the next time I’d see you would be in a casket? Am I better off crying every night left wondering what I did wrong for you to leave me- to leave us?”

Tears began to fall from your eyes and roll down your cheeks, too preoccupied to brush them away.

Logan flinched slightly as your words struck deep. He could see the pain carved into your face and the tracks of tears caused by him.

He placed his practically finished mug of tea behind him, the soft thud of the porcelain echoing through the small kitchen. He took a moved, closing the distance between you two as he looked down at you with a mixture of sadness and regret.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He whispered, taking a deep breath and fighting the lump in his throat. “It’s me bub, im the problem.”

You refused to look at Logan, your eyes glued to the floor.

“I didn’t want you to leave…” you admitted quietly. “…I miss you.”

Logan let out a deep sigh, his heart feeling heavier than his weary shoulders and each syllable that escaped your mouth feeling like a swift dagger to his conscience.

His voice barely above a whisper, Logan answered. “I know you didn’t want me to leave. And I miss you too. More than you know.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently, very gently touching your chin, turning you face towards him.

Logan’s heart ached as he saw the tears on your face, his calloused thumb trying gently to wipe them away, a slight tremble in his hand.

“Why are you crying over a knucklehead like me Bub?” He soothed, thumb tracing your jaw. “I’m not worth these tears.”

“I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you Logan.” You admitted solemnly, leaning into Logan’s touch. “And… and you left me in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye… I thought you’d gotten hurt… o-or worse…”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he saw you nuzzle into his calloused palm. The raw emotion in your voice slicing through all previous walls he’d constructed around his heart.

He closed his eyes for a moment of solace, his rough hand cradling your face.

“I’m sorry.” Logan said in a broken whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The words came out like a prayer, filled with longing, guilt, and a drive for forgiveness from the only person Logan ever thought really mattered.

A moment of silence passed, Logan’s apology sinking deep into the walls of the kitchen until you spoke up.

“Can you stay till next morning Lo’?” You asked, voice scratchy from crying and shouting. “I’ll make bacon the way you like it… all crunchy n’ shit…”

A small smile tugged at Logan’s lips despite the heaviness in his chest. The mental image of you cooking breakfast for him in the early hours of morning was more comforting than he’d care to admit.

“You remember the way I like it huh?” He askedC his heavy voice tinged with the slight hint of humor.

“Never forgot.” You replied, giving Logan a sad smile as you stepped away from his close proximity.

“Anyways… it… it’s been a long night we should get some rest…” you suggested, gesturing with you head to the bedroom down the hall, a place Logan was all too familiar with.

A wave of nostalgia hit Logan like a truck as he entered your bedroom. Memories of many sleepless nights filled with you in his arms were seared into his mind.

Hi eyes flicked around, taking in all the subtle changes since he’d last been here- the new pillows, the different floral bedsheets, but beneath it all it was still the same, it was still you, it was still home.

You sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off your slippers and removing your socks, tossing the clothes somewhere on to the other side of the room like you and Logan used to do every night before having fun.

Logan shrugged off his shirt, revealing his scarred tanned chest as he climbs underneath the sheets and duvet, settling in next to you, your back facing to him.

This routine was all too familiar to him.

Logan wanted to pull you closer, to hold you against him but he hesitated, not sure what your boundaries were at the moment. Logan yearned for your touch, even though he’d been the one to walk away.

“Can… can you hold me Logan…” you asked quietly, your voice resounding in the silent bedroom.

A wave of relief washed over Logan as he shifted closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to his chest, his nose burying into your hair inhaling the familiar scent of you.

“Yeah.” He whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “I can hold you.”

Logan could feel the tension leaving your shoulders as you melted into his touch causing him to hold you closer, his arm instinctively wrapping around your tummy.

He’d forgotten how much he missed this, the simple pleasure of having your back to his chest, your warmth in his embrace.

Logan nuzzled his face into your hair, breathing deeply. “God I missed this.” He murmured, voice filled with regret and relief.

The room was dead silent, all except for the quiet ticking of a nearby wall clock.

“Can’t you stay Logan?” You asked into the silence of the room, your voice barely above a whisper. “We can continue where we left off… I still have all your clothes in my closet.”

Logan’s heart clenched in his chest, his head and heart at war within himself. The temptation was strong, painfully so. But the guilt, the knowledge of what could befall you made him hesitate.

“It’s not that simple bub.” His voice rough as he muttered quietly into your ear. Logan’s hand, however, betrayed him as I gently caressed your hip, calloused thumb tracing patterns into your skin.

“Logan I’ll be good.” You pleaded quietly, leaning into his touch. “I won’t do anything to make you leave me again I promise.”

Your raw emotion sliced through any remaining restraint Logan had. He could feel the guilt and love for you wrestling for dominance in his chest.

“You were never the problem you understand that don’t you?” He said, voice low and deep. “It’s me- not you- always me.”

He exhaled sharply, fingers digging into your skin as he held you impossibly closer.

“You’re making it hard to resist Bub.”

Logan could feel all remaining defences crumbling as you turned in his grasp to face him, one of your hands cradling his jaw as he looked down at you.

“I love you Logan.” You whispered.

“I don’t deserve you.” He muttered, voice breaking. “Never did.”

“Say it back.” You pleaded, leaning your head on to his chest as sleep threatened to take you. “I need to hear it.”

Logan’s chest tightened at your request, knowing he could never deny you, could never hold back the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

“I love you. Still. Always.” He said, burying his face in your hair once more.

You hummed in contentment at his answer, happy to finally hear what you’d be needing for months. Comforted by the closeness of Logan, your eyes fluttered close and before he knew it your breathing had evened out to a slow steady rhythm and you were fast asleep, nestled in Logan’s arms.

Logan stayed awake for a while longer, content to listen to your slow breathing and quiet heartbeat. He held you close, glad to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve your love after all he’d put you through. Your words ‘I love you’ echoing in his mind like a burden but also simultaneously a comfort.

But Logan couldn’t deny how good it felt to be back again, to have you in his arms again, and the sense of peace that washed over him you laid together.

He knew the sun would rise soon enough, and he knew that this time, he’d stay.

[unluckiestmember]

Hey so I LOVED your X-Men x sweetheart reader and I was wondering if you could do a similar head cannon of X-Men x kind reader but their reaction to you being good with kids. I just feel like they would have various opinions or feeling if they saw you interacting with a child.

Coming right up!

X-Men '97 X Compassionate! Reader

Characters: Nathan Summers/Cable, Scott Summers/Cyclops, Jean Gray, Remy LeBeau/Gambit, Rogue, Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler, Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Morph, Logan/Wolverine and Jubilee.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: So how did you guys feel about Deadpool and Wolverine?

Cable

“Well would you look at that! Seems someone knows how to get along with the kiddies… Oh don’t mind me, keep playing.”

Cable isn’t used to hanging out with children or being around them due to his workload, but he does enjoy the presence of kids that look up to him. He hasn’t really thought about wanting kids because of his fear that the disaster of a future he’s from would be too harsh for a child to be raised, let alone he is scared that something will happen to them.

However, when he sees you being so compassionate with children, it makes him reconsider a little bit! The sight of you and the kids at the local shelter on his base laughing and playing together makes his heart sour. Whenever he finds himself down in the dumps and needs a good boost or reminder of what he’s fighting for, he will just watch you and the children happily running around and realize why he’s the famous freedom fighter the young ones and yourself admire.

Cyclops

“Huh, you’re a natural at this! Makes me wonder how things would be when you become a parent of your own kid.”

When he sees you taking care of children on and off missions, Scott can’t help but stand and watch you with the biggest smile tugged on his lips. The sight of you all happily living your lives without a care in the world makes him remember the civilians he is fighting for. And more importantly, it makes him think of giving the family thing another shot!

Can you blame him? The way you are with children makes him daydream a perfect life away from the mansion raising a family together and properly being there for your child. Though there is hesitance to it all due to the result of Nathan and his last relationship, if you assure him, then he will definitely try to be a father again. Because with you by his side, can he really fail again?

Jean Gray

“Aww! Are you playing nice? Mind if I join in? I’m sure they would love to see my powers in action.”

Jean has thought of having a family with you when everything is settled down. So before she can have this ideal world of raising a kid with the love of her life, she can get a peek into a potential future in the brief moments of you caring for children, mutant or human. Whenever she sees you taking care of a child, usually during a mission, she will assist you in any way and naturally take up a mother role she’s used to having around the mansion.

The team can always find you two trying to make sad or distraught children on missions turn their frowns upside down with some powers or just speaking to them and making sure they are heard. You and Jean are definitely the go to for young ones, and if you both around children confirms anything, it’s that you two would be great parents someday.

Gambit

“Look at you all go! Mind if Gambit takes a stab at this, mon amour? I’m sure I can win their hearts. I won yours, didn’t I?”

Gambit is used to dealing with the younger folk of the world because of his time around them back home. So when he’s around children, he can easily adapt to them by playing some mindlessly fun games, pulling off tricks with his cards or telling some jokes. That’s not surprising though. What’s really surprising is him finding out you’re a pro when it comes to little kiddies!

When he found out you were a natural, he was beyond impressed by you and even let his mind wonder on a more intimate possible future down the line for the both of you. Around children, he’ll have you both as a package deal with you as the caring caretaker and him as the funny guy who will not hesitate to flirt and send signals your way in front of the kids. With how much he’s flirted with you, the kids always mistake you two for a married couple! A married couple… That doesn’t sound half bad.

Rogue

“You got these kids all excited, running and screaming like a bunch of baby banshees! You’re a natural, babe!”

Rogue wasn’t a big kid person on missions. She simply gets the job done and if there are children that need assistance she leaves it to someone who can be more intimate without fearing they’ll hurt them. She stayed this way until you showed off innocently how well you were with younger civilians.

At first when the mission called for dealing with kids, Rogue watched you from the sideline in silent awe of your tender love and care for children that were distraught or needed a distraction. Yet with time, simply watching you gave her the courage to join in and actually help out by giving out free rides on her back or showing off her immense strength. Together you two are a happy fun couple kids love to be around as much as Rogue just loves being around you. Now whenever there’s a mission with the young ones, she’s more than excited to tag along with you and live in the moment.

Nightcrawler

“May I cut in? I can play a mean game of tag!… Really?! Then round up the kiddies because I’m it!”

Because of Genosha, Nightcralwer is just as good with children as you are! He enjoys his time with the little ones around town or during stakeouts because of how accepting they are of him and how much their laughter fills his heart with joy. Now mix your own laughter in because of your handling with them and the blue devil was sure he was getting a slice of heaven.

The both of you are so well together and with others that the team delegates you both to taking care of the children on missions and making sure they’re okay. Around you both, the kids can expect a bunch of games to be played and a lot of memories to be made. Whenever a mission calls for babysitting, Nightcrawler knows exactly who to call on to assist him in having a little bit of fun on the job!

Magneto

“The future of mutants is bright if you’re around to bring such laughter and happiness.”

Though Erik has children of his own, he’s pretty subpar for a caretaker let alone a babysitter of mutant children. He tries his best of course, but the lack of fatherhood he was allowed made him a bit rough around the edges. Luckily he can depend on you to pick up where he lacks and he thanks you deeply for that.

Everytime he takes a moment to look at you with kids just minding your own business and being giddy without a care in the world, it makes him wonder if he’d be open to trying to raise a family once again. He knows with age and with the weight on his shoulders, it may be harder for him. But if you’re by his side, he wouldn’t mind giving it another try and stepping up to the plate to be a better father than he ever was for Wanda and Pietro.

Morph

“Hey, if the kids want to see a few tricks, send them my way, alright? I can throw them for a loop and think there’s two yous running around!”

Morph is decent with children, but they mainly leave that kind of work to you. When it comes to the more emotional attachment, they need a bit of work on that, but if you’re talking tricks and jokes? Then they are the right person to work with on missions dealing with kids!

They use your connection with children to playfully throw you for a loop by shapeshifting into someone and tricking you a lot just to get some laughter in the air. Most of the time he succeeds but there have been a few times where both of you just team up in some funny interactions that are bound to leave the children happy in your presence. Honestly, Morph wouldn’t care so much, but since you’re around? They don’t know- You just bring out that side of them! And they kind of love it!

Wolverine

“Of course you’d be good with the children, what did I expect?… Don’t mind me, I’m just keeping watch. Have fun.”

Children and Logan don’t mix that well. He just finds it annoying to babysit when he already does that with the teenagers at the mansion. Add that with some crying, whining and begging and he becomes pretty livid. Which is why he doesn’t like missions that deal with kids. That is, unless you’re there to help him out.

He finds your handling of children to not only be a big help for him but also a nice change of pace. It’s adorable seeing how kids easily gravitate towards you and how you let them do whatever they want. Whenever they have you pinned down in a game or surrounded, Logan can’t help but laugh at the cute little ambush before he breaks everything up. He doesn’t like kids and he still can’t stand them. But you make them more bearable, so there’s always that!

Jubilee

“Hey, babe! Send the kids over here- I’m gonna do a mad fireworks show for them!”

Jubilee is, surprisingly enough, really good with kids! She’s a lot like a cool aunt to your nurturing parent bit! She thinks it’s cute that you’re good with children and even compliments you around them when she’s not busy with other kids on a mission. The firecracker can rely on you to assist her or even stop her from making whacky moves that could get some children hurt out of pure excitement.

It’s not hard for everyone to know you two are a couple because of how much she calls you by pet names or makes fireworks that send signals to you if not make some look like you. It’s awfully sweet of her and it makes you comment that not only is she a great girlfriend, but she’d also make a great mom. Though, it’s highly recommended to hold that because if Jubilee hears you speak of motherhood, she’ll cringe at the thought. She likes kids, don’t get her wrong! But she could never be a mom!

If you got any requests for X-Men '97 or Arcane, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

[2kiran]

❛ 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 ❜ ➖ ch1.

series masterlist | ghostface x reader | nsfw

syno. ◜˚꩜.ᐟ —— IN WHICH HALLOWEEN is in a few hours, the day that gathers mischievous children and adults alike. They’re all stupidly uncaring of the terrors that await them outside. Maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t invited to the equally stupid party; the bitterness is slipping from your mind—until the phone rings.

content: male!ghostface, male reader, stalking, he touches himself over his clothes, use of he and they pronouns for ghostface, 800+ words, canon timeline genre: dark | v.ao3

October 30th, 11:42 P.M.

Viridescent chlorophyll pigmented leaves rustle aimlessly from the zephyr, manifesting solace amidst the looming witching hour. The perpetual snicking of the timepiece compensated for the lack of engaging noise of your residence, one that is adjudged to be prone to jeopardy. You presumed you’d be drinking away your misfortunes along with your ‘friends’ by now, fulfilling the engraved void of your body with a sense of halcyon.

Alas, you neither inherited the glory of bosom friends nor a staunch invitation. You’re compelled to isolation, idly switching from channel to channel on the television. Majority of programs transmitted great terrors and deaths occurring around your town, doubtlessly emitting dread from your neighbors. One snatches your surveillance in particular, the news anchor no other than Gale Weathers.

“Woodsboro, California was devastated last night when two young teenagers were found brutally murdered. Authorities have yet to issue a statement but our sources tell us—”

Your telephone begins to ring.

Short-sightedly, a twinge of assumption that your friends are calling to address their regret engulfs you in a disposition of sprint. You hasten to answer, stumbling over items scattered across the ground. With palpitating hands, you manage to grab the cordless communicator.

“Hello?”

A saccharine yet mechanical voice lacerated the echoes of silence. “Hello?”

You detect a billow of unfamiliarity, the silk-smooth tone unregistered. You lay your weight against the counter behind you, planting your free hand on the top. “Who’s this?” You interrogate without close scrutiny, tasting displeasure on your tongue from the thought of the other one on the line being a childish prankster.

“What number is this?” The stranger questions in return, downright shrugging off yours. There’s a subtle ascent in timbre, as though they were exhilarated by the odd conversation. Sounding virtually like they were arranging a scheme with you as the heart-rending target. However, you knew better than to generate bland speculations, didn’t you?

This did not mean you possessed the generosity of extending your patience for a mere individual whom you’ll most-likely never meet. Your brows crease, lips twisting downwards into a sullen frown. Glancing towards the clock, it currently read 12:26. You’ve already misused your valuable time. Great, your week’s ending with several scowls. With an aggravated sigh, you decide on a conclusion which is probably the smartest one—or rather the stupidest, but you don’t know that just yet—you’ve made for the past few days. “You have the wrong number.”

You return the handset to the device. You’re able to take only a couple of steps before it rings again.

This day is truly testing your patience. You snatch it, still having the decency to attempt upholding the tender exterior. “Hello?” You repeat, your jaw twitching with intelligible strain.

“I’m sorry. I guess I dialed the wrong number.”

You scoff lightly, not daring to feign anything else besides mild amusement. Frustration began to simmer beneath your skin, fluttering a stream through your veins. “Why’d you dial it again, then?”

“To apologize.”

That one promptly eased the seethe waiting to plunge straight out of your chest. At least this person sustained a quarter of a functioning brain, unlike those you’re unfortunately acquainted with. “You’re forgiv—” You begin, subconsciously lowering the object once more, but they abruptly interject while they’re still within earshot. “Wait, wait. Don’t hang up.” The words were exhaled through a tight breath. They were shamelessly pleading.

“Why?”

“I wanna talk to you for a second.”

You husk out a laugh, dropping your head as your shoulders tremble upwards. Oh good deity above, you’re awfully oblivious to how attractive your appearance is. Ghostface squeezes his thighs shut together, rocking forward to soothe the irritating ache. He’s ridiculously camouflaging behind an ancestral, greening tree. His eyes steadfastly rake over the valleys and dips of your body, your clothes endowed with the ampleness of tease to let his imagination maunder. Finally, he hears your sweet, sweet melody.

“You’ve got a hundred of numbers for that.”

So he’s been well-informed. “Oh, I know,” His gloved palm mindlessly cascade down to his groin, gently rutting to pursue the chase for friction he’s been pining for all these dull, prolong hours. “But I want you.”

They’re flirting with you. Out of every-color-draining people. It’s surreal; the sensation of heat skulking to your face, the pinkish, vibrant hue dusting your cheeks, and the bare bite of adrenaline caused interest to emerge and sweep you right off your rationality. “Right...” you find it skeptical, rightfully so, and yet you’re incapacitated of hanging up this time. “Uh, I’m going to watch a video.” Your nose scrunches from how you spoke the sentence, and in return he hums a low, distorted tune.

“Really? What?” You really weren’t.

“A... just some scary movie.”

“Do you like scary movies?” It must be sleep-deprivation but you cross your soul he sounds sinister. Uncanny and phantom-like but concomitantly mortal.

“Sure.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

2knote. unfortunately, I’ve been terribly busy so I didn’t have the chance to completely write this chapter out. 1.1 (continuation) will be posted in a few days.

[unstable-samurai]

LOVE IS INTENTION

pt.2: A long Dinner With The Frogs

Sana x Male Reader

word count: 18k

part 1

The superintendent's office resembled more a funeral chamber, suffocated in constant dimness. The cold, relentless glow of fluorescent lamps was the only thing piercing the darkness. The smell of stale coffee and musty papers permeated the air, a perpetual reminder of decay. Smith, with dark circles that looked like craters on a face sculpted by exhaustion, stared at the superintendent. Frustration was the only visible mark on his worn expression.

"Superintendent, we need to talk about the case of the victims," Smith said, his voice heavy as lead. "The fourth woman was found today. The modus operandi is exactly the same as the other three. Unless you haven't noticed."

The superintendent, the personification of coldness and impassivity, leafed through the documents before him with an almost supernatural calm. His eyes slowly rose, fixing on Smith with his well-known bony and unfriendly face.

"I saw the report, Smith," he said, his voice as cold as the room. "But this last victim had a Dharma Wheel symbol. That’s a new detail, don’t you think? It might indicate it's not the same killer. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Oh, so now we're collecting exotic symbols?" Smith retorted, acidity dripping from every word. "I understand your concern, but the rest of the details match perfectly. The profile of the victims, the crime scenes, the way they were approached and killed. This can't be a coincidence, unless you prefer to ignore it."

The superintendent maintained his calm and steady gaze on Smith, as if watching a detective character from a black-and-white noir film.

"I agree there are similarities, but the introduction of a new element might suggest a change in pattern or even the actions of a copycat. We need to be cautious, Smith.”

Smith narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “The victims were found in desolate locations, all in seldom-visited urban parks. All four women were between 25 and 35 years old, Caucasian, short in stature, and had a history of ‘nightlife’. The approach was meticulous. Do I need to remind you how it was?” Smith didn't wait for a response and continued: “First, the killer drugged them with benzodiazepines to incapacitate them without raising suspicion. Then, he tied their hands and feet with nylon ropes and strangled them with a thin wire, possibly a piano wire.”

Smith’s voice remained merciless, necessary to make the superintendent understand his point. “The bodies were left in specific, almost ritualistic poses, with their hands crossed over their chests and their eyes open. The only difference in this case is the Dharma Wheel symbol, marked on the victim's forehead with something that seemed to be a cauterization tool, as the forensics confirmed.”

"Dharma Wheel," the superintendent repeated, with a slight inflection of curiosity. "If we initially thought we were dealing with some kind of complex, puritanical misogynist sneaking around brothels, now what is it? A religious fanatic?"

Smith took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “Well, the Dharma Wheel is a Buddhist symbol, representing cosmic law and order. But it also has mystical connotations. Some believe that incorporating this symbol into a ritual is an attempt to impose a kind of purification or karma on the victim. As if the killer were trying to justify his actions, giving them a higher meaning, almost... religious. Damn, I don’t know. I’ve never been a spiritual guy.”

The superintendent frowned, clearly skeptical. "So you think the killer sees his actions as a form of divine justice?"

"It's a possibility," replied Smith, with a spark of intensity in his eyes. "No detail is added by chance. If the killer included the symbol, he might have evolved in his thinking, or he’s trying to send a message. Maybe he believes he’s correcting some moral imbalance. Sees himself as some kind of Messiah or enlightened one. We need to understand his mindset to anticipate his next steps.”

“And what if we’re dealing with a cult?” questioned the inspector.

"A group of people walking around in white robes killing women would attract a lot of attention, don’t you think? But I admit there might be something bigger behind it. Though it’s still too early to raise such a suspicion. In any case, waiting for another corpse is not a brilliant strategy," Smith insisted. "We have a clear pattern in four cases. We’re dealing with a serial killer. If it’s a cult, we catch one and we catch them all. We need to adjust our operation. The team needs to know we’re dealing with someone methodical and dangerous, unless, of course, you really prefer to wait for another corpse."

"Are you suggesting we formalize this?" asked the superintendent, unperturbed.

"Yes!" affirmed Smith, determined. "Let’s change our mode of operation and inform the team to update the patterns we have. We need to be prepared to anticipate this killer’s next move, with or without the symbol."

There was a note of desperation in Smith’s voice, something even the superintendent, with his impenetrable emotional armor, could not ignore.

"Very well, Smith. Let’s formalize the change and reinforce surveillance in the suburbs. But keep your eyes open for any variation in the pattern. It happened once, it can happen again. Of course, if it’s really the same person. We can't rule out anything," agreed the superintendent, his tone remaining icy. “All this is weighing on me, Smith. I can’t afford to stay in the same spot.”

"Of course, superintendent. We’ll catch the bastard," replied Smith, exhausted. “Well, I think I’ll get some coffee, if you’ll excuse me.”

"Get some sleep, Smith," advised the superintendent, his voice as cold as a tombstone. "We’ll need a better spirit than this to deal with this case."

“I need to sort out a few things first,” Smith said, opening the office door. “After years in this profession, sir, your body gets used to and even learns to function in exhaustion.” And with his usual stubbornness, Smith left the room.

Although the conversation had ended, the funeral-like atmosphere lingered in the air, heavy and striking. The dying cries of the cold wind lashing the window glass seemed to protest against the sick city, as both men prepared to face another long night with no easy answers.

You waited for the document to save automatically, then saved it again manually. Trusting automation 100% has never been your style. You closed the MacBook screen and pushed the chair away from the table, rubbing your tired eyes after three hours of nonstop writing. The now-empty coffee bottle had been your greatest ally in this torturous and solitary mission. All true artists are, at some point, masochists. You heard this from a close friend who was also a writer. A word wizard, you considered him, despite the man never achieving the success he deserved. He was always sensible in his ponderings and could ridiculously well use sex as symbolism for any topic he was discussing. A damn depraved genius is what he was. You wish you had paid more attention when he said function should give a blowjob in form, not the other way around.

You gave a deserved stretch after so many hours sitting, feeling terribly tired, and, unfortunately, there was still a long time until nightfall. It was your third day in the cabin; on the first night, you slept poorly because the place was new, your body and mind needed to get used to such abrupt (though carefully organized) isolation. On the second night, you slept poorly because, well, you don't know why. Just a weird feeling of not being alone, something or someone watching you in the darkness of the room, a sudden perception of there being something else in this place. Whether it was a damn Wendigo or the witch of the woods, you weren’t sure, but regardless of who it was, you were going to sleep well that coming night, no matter the cost.

You took off your clothes, standing in your boxers in front of the bedroom mirror. Not bad for a man about to turn 40, truth be told. You always looked younger than you actually were, and some people found it impossible that you were over 35. For some reason, it was sad to stare at yourself half-naked in front of a mirror, so you refocused and put on your running clothes, the idea being to exhaust yourself to the point that at night you would die in bed, and nothing would bring you back to life, demon or spirit.

Perhaps you drafted the character Smith in such a tired and exhausted way so that he wouldn’t think more astutely than your own mind was capable of at that moment.

In the kitchen, you ate your banana with oats and took your creatine. Deafening silence. Leaning on the sink, you looked around the interior of the cabin; the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room was a counter. There was a small bathroom next to a small bedroom, and nothing more. It was a modest and rustic treasure, and you were more than happy to invest your money to renovate the entire cabin’s plumbing. Artesian well, submersible pump, lift piping, cistern to store water and distribute it to the points of use, pressurizer, and all those filters with strange names and different types of filtrations that, in the end, made it seem like the groundwater had passed under Chernobyl before reaching your cabin. But the bottom line was: drinkable water straight from the tap.

The nearest town was 12 km away. It was almost certain that no one was in the other cabins in the area, as most belonged to hunters and hunting season had not yet opened. The others, the ridiculously large and expensive cabins of rich folks wanting to enjoy nature without giving up extreme comfort, were apparently unoccupied, considering that the vacation season for most people with conventional jobs had already passed. In a way, this made you one of the only slackers in the region.

‘Artist’ might be a less degrading word.

As you headed to the cabin door, you were surprised to notice a small green thing on the wall near the window. As you approached, it moved. You were about to go for a run without your glasses, so eagle vision didn’t match your eyes at the moment. But getting a little closer, you realized it was a frog. When the little visitor noticed your presence, it ran up the wall to hide in an opening between the window and the wall, the spot where it probably came through. Shy little fellow.

“I’d better not see you around here at night, buddy,” you warned it, trying not to sound threatening.

Well, you didn’t hate frogs, but you weren’t a fan either. There was something about them that deeply bothered you, and if it weren’t for that, you might even consider them adorable creatures. The problem was their unpredictability; they could either run away when they saw you coming or suddenly jump on you. It’s not like you were afraid of frogs, maybe just the poisonous ones, for rational reasons, but those were rare to find by chance. The real problem was the feeling of being caught off guard by one of them; it was irritating to you. And this had roots in your tumultuous childhood. As a child, you hated spending holidays at your grandparents' country house because almost every night some frog would jump onto your bed, waking you from deep sleep in the worst possible way: cold, sticky feet on your face. It was always a challenge to get the frogs out of the room, and with all the adults asleep, you couldn’t turn to anyone. A small battle you had to fight alone every night. If only it were daytime, but damn, at night. Why did things seem so much harder at night? Once, three frogs jumped onto your bed within an hour. You woke up the next day with dark circles too deep for a 12-year-old boy and a lot of irritability in your voice. After that misfortune, you started sleeping with the room light on, even after leaving the country house; a habit that triggered issues with your uninterrupted sleep. That was when you first noticed that one event could trigger another completely random one. However, after two months, your father discovered the room light stayed on all night and forced you to turn it off at bedtime, making you lie in bed swallowed by darkness, dreading the sneaky steps of those amphibians so cute yet so damn annoying. It was a pretty embarrassing thing to admit. Ultimately, an irrational fear of something harmless, a product of the unconscious or a malfunction of the reptilian brain, where reason doesn’t operate, only primitive instinct or some crap like that. Regardless of what it was, the sensation of those little cold feet on your forehead was still incredibly vivid in your mind. No wonder you always admired Tiana's courage when she kissed that frog.

The fact was you’d prefer fat, slow toads crawling around your cabin to sneaky frogs inside it. At least this one in particular was smaller than usual, and it looked at you with bulging, curious orange eyes.

“Get out of here, little guy. The insects are outside,” you informed it with leniency, but the green fellow stared at you with a clueless look.

You headed outside the cabin. The fresh air filled your nostrils as the wind tousled your hair. The day was cloudy. According to the weather forecast, the week would be very rainy. You stretched before starting your run; your route would be to walk to a lake five minutes from the cabin and then run around it while listening to your rock playlist. After that, you would have to go to town to buy a new air filter for the generator, and maybe new spark plugs, as the current ones didn't seem to be working properly since the generator was consuming more fuel than you had previously calculated.

Which was strange because it was new.

Oh, and masking tape to cover that crack so the little green guy or one of his friends wouldn’t come back to bother you.

As you walked there (the background music playing in your ears), you revisited the idea of your story in your mind. It was a crime thriller, your first adventure in the genre, perhaps not as commercial as the books Grandma Agatha Christie wrote, tinged with a gloomy and almost nihilistic atmosphere, if not for the satire of the thing in some moments. The draft of the first chapter seemed good enough to you; it set the tone the story would follow. Smith, the classic detective destroyed by his own job and with a few vices, was quite fun to write because of his sarcasm, and the slight satire you intended to put in the subtext of the story lightly worried you about how the audience would receive the book. It wasn’t serious and dark, nor was it a comedy, or a proper satire, but rather that hard-to-reach tone in art: the bittersweetness of real life. Detective Smith cracked good jokes, but despite that, he was a guy committed to his job and, above all, focused on catching the serial killer. Obsessed, so to speak. Which often leads to character flaws and missteps along the way. A human.

Just because what he says is funny doesn't mean he isn't serious.

That was how you wanted to continue the story, and you needed to remember to never underestimate the reader to do it right and stay on tone. The fact that the story only really begins after the fourth murder was different and interesting, placing the reader in the middle of the mess would make the pace intense, while the past events would be given to the reader through flashbacks. The idea could work, as long as you don't ping-pong between the past and the present.

Before you knew it, the lake already stretched out before your eyes, calm and majestic. As you approached, it became clearer, even though distant things weren’t very precise on your radar. Near the shore, you started to run. The sensation was invigorating, close to absolute freedom, making you smile to yourself as all the irrelevant things seemed to fall behind. Perhaps this was the beginning of your solitude, after all. Finally erasing that weird feeling of resentment that had taken over you since you arrived at the cabin, a sense of being somewhat sick, with an inexplicable urge to vomit. And all because of damned Facebook forcing you to see a picture of your ex-wife, remarried, holding her baby in her arms. Countless times she said she didn't want kids… Yet there she was, looking like the happiest woman in the world. Without you.

And you without her! Happy in your solitude, the perfect return to your writing career, except for that one small, insignificant detail. It was all fine as long as you kept running because with every step: all those stupid things grew more distant from you.

Well…

Which actually didn’t make sense.

You were running in circles.

And just when you were about to complete the second semicircle around the lake (man, you must have been really into that solo from Shine On Your Crazy Diamond not to notice earlier), something reflected inside the lake, blinding your vision. You stopped running to see what it was and had to squint to see clearly; truth be told, it took a while for you to believe there was someone swimming alone in the lake at the far end from where you stopped running. You thought it could be anything else, but well, you weren't blind yet. The person had long hair, which could be black, dark brown, or even light brown, darkened by being wet. And you were almost sure it was a man. Thinking with common sense, no woman would be swimming alone in a cold lake in the middle of the forest. Maybe in a teen horror movie where a hot young girl lures a guy or a group of them into a deadly ambush; complete with over 30 minutes of explicit violence, numerous creative deaths, and lots and lots of nudity. You wouldn’t buy the ticket, but you’d watch it on some streaming service on a random night. Thankfully, something like that would never happen in real life. Right?

You paused the music and looked around. There was no one else nearby, and the lake was completely silent, the person swimming slowly and stealthily, like a crocodile — ah, I get it! The person was diving constantly in the lake, which explained why you hadn’t seen them easily.

You resumed running, determined to turn the second semicircle into a full circle. Maybe you’d interact with the person in the lake if you got the chance, but you didn’t think it was a good idea to deliberately bother them in the middle of their dives. You also avoided looking too much at the lake, knowing that person must have noticed your presence from the beginning, so you just decided to ignore the unusual situation and go on with your life.

You completed the second circle by passing by the diving person, but it was nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. That’s when you saw on the lake’s shore some clothes that looked — holy shit! — feminine.

And, of course, the fucking phone that reflected the sunlight in your face.

Your fear grew as your eyes identified each piece. Sweatshirt, jeans, sandals…bra…panties…

This woman couldn't possibly be naked, could she?

Splish!

She suddenly emerged to the surface, tossing her hair back and wiping the excess water droplets from her face. Her breath was heavy as she filled her lungs with oxygen again. The sight was as strange as it was beautiful, like a painting with indecipherable forms, a mirage in an oasis.

“It can't be… Damn it! No, it can't be!” you stammered, your mind going blank.

“Hi, dear! Isn’t it a shame we always meet in such cold weather?” Sana asked, excited to see you. “You’re sweating a lot, huh? Why don’t you stop for a bit and come swim with me?”

She was submerged up to her shoulders, and the faint sunlight piercing through the gray clouds penetrated the lake’s surface, creating a vision of pure delirium. Through the clear water, you saw Sana’s body, refracted and distorted by the rippling surface. Her arms moved gracefully, and each movement seemed amplified and softened by the water. The ripples created a hypnotizing effect, making parts of her body appear to change shape and size. It was as if Sana was wrapped in a cloak of liquid glass, the details of her body dancing and fragmenting into kaleidoscopic patterns. You were mesmerized by the sight, and your mind, often too associative for your liking (a lapse consequent of your work), made you compare Sana to-

“Calypso!” you suddenly said. “You look like some kind of freshwater Calypso. Beautiful and terribly lonely here in this lake.”

You weren’t flirting, just trying not to show the mortal fear you felt at that moment. A mere defense mechanism.

“And you are like Ulysses. You seem not to have been content with my love,” she said. “But unlike him, you don’t have another woman waiting for you far from here. So you have no reason to run from me.”

You squatted to observe her closely. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated — perhaps her naked body contributed to it.

“Actually, Sana, you’re more like a limnatide, you know? Those are the nymphs that inhabit lakes. Salmacis was a limnatide."

“You’re so smart. I never get tired of hearing you talk,” she said casually, just to please you. “But who is Salmacis? I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, you know, she’s the one who raped and cursed Hermaphroditus by merging their bodies into one,” you explained and saw her smile fade. A small victory. Standing up again, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she said, running her hand through the water, making it ripple.

“You know I can call the police, right?”

“And what will they arrest me for?” she asked, seeming very amused by the situation.

“Stalking.”

“And what are your proofs, darling?”

“I have witnesses who can testify they saw you at the book launch. It’ll be easy to prove since your name was on the list. At the very least, they’ll find it odd we meet again in a new location almost 2,000 km from where we were before.”

“Is that all?” she asked, laughing. “Honey, I think you don’t know how things work. And the proof of a real threat? You can also add the security camera footage from the hallway, where they can see me entering your room at night and leaving only in the afternoon the next day. That will help you a lot, Mr. Integrity,” she flashed you a smug smile that made you look away for a moment, because it was beautiful, Sana was beautiful, and you were very angry with her at that moment.

“You know it’s illegal to swim naked, right? This isn’t a damn nudist beach.”

Sana squinted and smiled; she was really enjoying this argument or whatever the hell this conversation was.

“I thought I was being accused of stalking, now it’s public indecency?” she questioned, caricaturingly putting her finger on her chin. “Look, I think you even have better chances with the second option, although it probably won’t result in anything substantial. I can already imagine my defense saying something like,” She cleared her throat and changed her posture. Simulating a formal tone, she continued: “‘I do not understand that the accused, with her conduct, intended to shock and violate the decorum of the man who witnessed the scene. In my view, the defendant was bathing to refresh herself, however, she did so in a place exposed to the public, though remote, once she believed she was alone at that moment due to the cold weather, which was not inviting to most people, besides the popular hunting season had not started on the date of the incident.’ And I can go on: ‘despite having taken the risk of being seen naked, I see the defendant’s conduct as naive, with no offense to be punished under the law, as she did not commit any obscene gesture.’ And it can get better, look-”

“I get it!” You exclaimed, irritated. “You’re very smart, Sana. I admit that. But know that anything reckless you do will be used against you in court.”

Her expression seemed to change a little.

“I was acting like a peacock, dear. I just wanted to show you my hidden feathers. Believe me, I don’t want us to get to that point.”

“But seriously, where the hell are you staying? It’s 12 km from here to the nearest town and I haven’t seen any tire marks around except my pickup’s.”

“I have a cabin nearby.”

Hearing that, you swallowed hard. It was fucking difficult to keep your head in place in this kind of situation, you simply didn’t know what to think. Simply didn’t know.

As if this insanity wasn’t enough, Sana did nothing to help by displaying her small and delicate body, a structure that seemed almost sculpted at first glance. Her build was slender, with subtle curves that accentuated her femininity without exaggeration. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, slightly pale and flawless, with a natural glow that captured the light like a deity.

Her shoulders were narrow, gracefully shaping into thin arms and delicate hands. Her breasts, though small, were perfectly proportioned, firm and slightly lifted, complementing the harmony of her torso. Her belly was smooth and flat, leading to a finely chiseled waist that gently widened to form narrow hips.

Sana’s legs were long in proportion to her body, slender and well-toned, ending in small, delicate feet. These details were still clear in your mind. One night had been enough to capture a bit of her essence. Writer’s habit.

“That’s a lie. There’s no cabin nearby. I would know.”

“It’s true. Don’t you want to go there with me? I can prepare a picnic basket and we can eat here by the lake. Like our own blue lagoon. Isn’t it cute?”

That was too much for you.

The laugh escaped your mouth like a cough, compulsively laughing in front of her.

'Just because what he says is funny doesn’t mean he’s not serious.'

“Sana, you know there are companies eyeing this lake, right? They want to buy the surrounding area to stock fish in that water and make a fucking recreational fishing park.”

“In that case, it would be epic to fight against the privatization of this lake together. Like a couple of activists.”

“Take it easy, Yoko Ono,” you said while thinking about what to do. The fatigue made everything harder. You asked as sincerely as possible, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I’m as sad as you are, but this was the only way for us to have some time alone. Give me a chance to explain everything and I—”

“What’s your last name?”

“What?”

“What’s your last name?” you asked, irritated. Maybe the direct approach wasn’t the best option, but you were incredibly impatient.

“Please, let’s have dinner at your cabin tonight,” she said, completely ignoring your question. “I’ll explain everything. You’ll get to know the real me. You’ll know my last name and much more. I just don’t want you to be afraid of me. Please.”

“It’s hard not to be afraid when everything you do is the most psychopathic thing a human could do.”

“You don’t understand. It’s hard for me. I don’t know how to act like other people, but I’m trying. There are so many little social conventions that are hard to remember.”

“How did you know about the perfume my ex-wife wore? Fuck, I was so stupid to think it was all just a blessed coincidence!”

“You mentioned it in an old interview. The question was: ‘Is there a smell that brings you good memories?’ and you answered that it was that perfume. The one your ex-wife wore since your first date. The dress… There were pictures of her next to you wearing it.”

“You’re a freak, Sana.”

“Wait! Let me fix this.”

She started swimming towards the shore.

“Stay away from me!”

Sana stopped.

“I’m alone in this world, and I have nothing to lose,” she suddenly confessed. “I literally have no one. Except for you.”

“You don’t have me! You never did. You don’t even know me, Sana! You made this up in your head. You need help, do you understand? You need a lot of help!”

“I just need you... Wait, where are you going?!”

“To town! I swear to God, if I see you again, I’ll call the police.I don't give a fuck what I'll need to do to prove you’re a danger.” You spoke, then turned your back and started walking away from the lake.

Then, in the distance, Sana called your name. You shouldn’t have looked. But you turned towards her again, Sana walking slowly in the land, every drop of water lazily trailing down her curves, as if even nature wanted to feel her.

“I have nothing to lose!” she repeated the warning. It was a warning from the very beginning.

And that vision was dangerous evidence: Sana’s body was exactly as you remembered.

The smell of damp earth mingling with the freshness of the surrounding trees. The dirt road stretched out before you, winding between tall trunks and dense branches that formed a natural tunnel. The crunch of the wheels on the gravel and the sound of the old pickup truck’s engine echoed as the only constant sound in the forest, occasionally interrupted by the distant call of a bird or the cry of a small mammal.

As you progressed, the trees began to thin out, leaving larger gaps between them. The sunlight, once filtered through the canopy, had disappeared, giving way to a light rain. The dirt road turned into a narrow paved highway, with the dense vegetation replaced by open fields.

On the horizon, spaced-out farms began to appear, with wooden fences marking pastures where cows and horses grazed lazily. The sky grew darker. Rows of rain-laden clouds marched towards you, and sporadic thunder sounded like war drums. The highway, now straighter, ran parallel to rows of crops that stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was dominated by shades of green and gold, occasionally punctuated by red silos and barns.

A few kilometers ahead, the first signs of the town emerged. A small gas station, a grocery store, and a few modest houses lined the road, signaling the approach to the urban area. The main road led directly to the center of the rural town, where life seemed to move at a slower pace.

You drove to the hardware and auto parts store, parked your old pickup truck, and looked both ways before entering the store, the feeling of being watched now believable enough to heed what you previously considered paranoia. There was only a short, elderly man in the store, paying for his purchases and leaving. You walked to the counter to speak with the attendant, a young guy with acne, poor posture, and a cap with the store’s name on it that didn’t fit properly on his head.

“Good afternoon, bro. Tony’s Hardware and Auto Parts. How can I help you?”

“Are you Tony?” you asked, skeptical.

“Nah, man. Tony’s my uncle, I’m Johnny.”

“Okay, Johnny. I need an air filter for a generator.”

“Sure thing. Do you have a sample of the air filter?”

You put the piece on the counter, and Johnny looked at it for a moment, then went to the shelves behind him and spent two minutes searching for the right model.

“Here it is, man. All set!”

“Thanks. Look, I was having issues with the spark plugs in the generator. Yesterday, it took several tries to start it. Then I opened the generator and saw the spark plugs were a bit dirty, I cleaned them, and it started working again, but the generator isn’t running at full power. Do you think the problem could still be the spark plugs?”

“Hmm, could be, buddy. I’m no expert, unfortunately.”

“Also, it’s consuming more fuel than it should.”

“Hmm, yeah, sounds like it could be the spark plugs. I’d recommend buying new ones and replacing them, just to be safe.”

“Do you think I can do this without fucking up the generator?"

“Just shut everything down and don’t go touching random wires. I trust you.” Johnny said, giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Look, you seem like a smart guy.” Actually, he seemed kind of dumb, but he had the profile you were looking for. “Do you know if it’s easy for someone to hack a person?”

“Ah, man, I don’t know anything about that stuff. My brother’s the tech guy. But, I mean, it depends on who this someone is.”

“Someone very dedicated and willing to learn, let’s say.”

“In that case, they could spend hours on internet forums reading about it, man. The information is out there for anyone, no lie.”

“So, hacking someone remotely isn’t too difficult, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And if you had physical access to their devices for a while?”

“Oh man, that’d be a piece of cake! There are some programs you can install on someone’s computer or phone that stay hidden among the files, like a virus, and this software sends a link that opens a page with all your folders for the hacker to access remotely… wait a second,” he said, his expression changing suddenly, “is someone hacking you, or are you trying to hack someone?!”

“The first one.”

“Ah, what a relief. I mean, damn, man, that sucks! You should, like, go to the police or something, right?”

“Right now, I don’t think the police can actually solve my problem. I don’t want to do anything rash,” you tried to explain. “By the way, have you seen any Asian girl, also not from around here, walking around town?”

“Look, man, you can bet if there was a hot Asian girl around here, I’d know.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, and Johnny leaned over the counter to listen. “Can you and your brother look up some info about someone online for me? I’ll pay you.”

“Hey, man, that sounds shady as hell. I don’t know about that.”

“I’m not the creepy one here. There’s a girl, and she’s, like, an obsessed fan of mine. Somehow she found out I was here and followed me. She’s probably at some hotel in town, and I’m staying in a cabin near Crystal Lake. I need to know how dangerous she is. But I couldn’t find anything when I searched her name.”

“Bro, don’t be crazy, call the cops already!”

“The police won’t do anything efficient without solid proof of a real threat. If I involve the authorities, she might get pissed and easily bypass any protective measures just to, you know, get revenge.”

“Wait, if she’s a fan, then you’re famous, right?” he connected the dots, the genius. “I think I’ve seen you in some action movie…”

“I’m not an actor. I just write stories.”

“Oh man, you’re a writer, bro? That’s so cool! Are you friends with Stephen King?”

“Friend is a strong word. We’ve exchanged ideas at a conference.”

“Damn!!” he exclaimed. You could predict what was to come. “Look, I’m shaking, I’m such a fan of his, man! I’ve seen almost all the adaptations of his books. Can you get an autograph from the master?!”

“If you do what I asked, I can try.”

“Deal.”

You shook hands, and the devil knew this wasn’t the best of alliances.

I won't find anything better than this in this place.

“Damn, man! I just remembered I don’t have any of his books at home. I’ll need to buy one.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“Cool. Don’t worry about paying, I’ll cover it. I won’t screw you over or anything. So, buy the It book, it's my favorite film of the adaptations of his books.”

“Alright, alright! Forget about that for now. The girl’s name is Sana, keep it in your memory.”

“Got it. Do you have a picture of her or something? My brother will need a face to know if he found the right person."

You had deleted all those selfies she took with your phone while you slept, but there were still the photos from the book launch, where everyone gathered for a group photo. You took your phone out of your pocket and selected the best picture, Sana was way in the back, she knew how to be discreet when she wanted, you zoomed in on her face and showed it to Johnny.

“Holy shit man! She’s really hot! Look, I wouldn’t mind having a girl like that spicing up my life,” he joked, but you didn’t laugh along.

“Give me your Instagram, I’ll send you this photo so you don’t forget her face."

And he did so.

“When I get some info, I’ll message you.”

“Is your brother trustworthy? You better not fuck with me, okay?”

“Hey, man, you can count on me. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. My brother is solid. Actually, I’d like to ask you one more thing besides King’s autograph. So, me and my brother have a podcast, it’s about movies and stuff, if you could give it a shoutout, speak highly of it, it’d be awesome. We’re getting close to 100 concurrent viewers during live streams, man. It’s growing nicely.”

You looked for the joke, but even Johnny wasn’t laughing this time. You were really desperate to go through with this.

“Alright.”

“And look, if you do that, it’ll mean a lot. It’s almost like a pact, you know, we’d never screw over someone who helped our podcast, you know? So you can feel safe with this. For real.”

“Fine, Johnny. I’ll trust you.”

“Oh, one more thing!” You tried not to roll your eyes. “You said you’re staying in a cabin near the lake, right? I recommend you buy everything you need, especially fuel to keep the generator running, because you might get stuck there for a while. There’s a hell of a storm coming, and when that happens, that road gets all muddy and almost impossible to drive on, and with that pickup of yours,” he pointed through the store window where your truck was parked, “you’re not going anywhere until the rain stops. That’s why no one stays in that area during the rainy season. You got unlucky.”

“Damn, I should’ve rented a better car. I thought this one would do the job.”

“Sometimes humility is our downfall, bro… Hey, that was a damn good line, you should write it down for one of your books. Consider it a gift.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll stop at the gas station and buy some gas cans.”

“Alright. When my shift ends, I’ll go home and tell my brother everything, he’ll do some digging on your fan. Maybe we’ll find some police records or something, who knows, maybe a lawsuit she’s involved in. I’ll get something for you, man. Trust me.”

You were starting to regret this idea.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“The secret between friends dies with the friends. Take care.”

You paid for the air filter and spark plugs, then left the store. As you got in the car, Johnny waved at you through the store window. Everything happened too fast for you to realize the level of recklessness you’d inflicted, but, damn, there were no manuals teaching how to deal with this kind of situation. Either way, you didn’t have a good feeling, and it was hard to tell if it was a bad omen or just fatigue. The roads would soon be messed up, and once you returned to the cabin, you might not be able to leave for a while.

Was it a sign from the universe or just bad luck?

Well, whatever it was, you still needed gas.

The trip to town had been frustrating but necessary, as thanks to Johnny's warning, you managed to stock up on gasoline for the generator. And food, of course. If everything you bought wasn't enough, then you would resort to self-cannibalization while writing an essay about the experience to be published posthumously. Now, the truly frustrating part of the trip had been your search for Sana. You looked for her in the tiny hotels, inns, hostels, and even motels. Fortunately, the town was small and there weren't many lodging options. Most of the conversations with the receptionists went like this:

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Sana. Is she staying here by any chance?”

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose information about our guests for privacy reasons.”

“I understand. It’s just that she’s not answering her phone, and I’m worried. Could you at least confirm if she’s checked in recently?”

“I really can’t confirm if someone is staying here, but I can try to help in another way. What’s her full name?”

Here is where you’d seem like the most suspicious guy in the lobby:

“Look, it’s funny, I always forget her full name. The last name is difficult to remember, and I’m not really good with names in general. But there can't be many women named Sana around here, right? I just want to know if she’s okay.”

When you gave this flimsy excuse, the receptionists would give you a very judgmental look.

“Let me check something for you. Just a moment.”

Then they’d start checking the system. Or pretend to.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide that information. However, if she left any message for you or indicated she was expecting someone, I can let you know. Leave your name and contact here.”

“I understand, thank you. Actually, I’ll keep trying to call her. Sooner or later she’ll have to answer, right? Thanks again for your help.”

You and the receptionist would exchange an awkward smile, and you’d leave knowing she was watching you from afar.

Leaving your information at receptions would only plant evidence of you stalking Sana, and just God knows how things would go if that ended up in court. Besides, if Sana were really staying in one of these places, she would never contact you. It was pretty clear that wouldn’t work, but you had to try anyway. The idea of Sana being in another cabin in the forest was inadmissible and didn’t make sense to you. During the days you spent in your cabin and wandered around the surroundings, you didn't notice any smell of food being prepared, no human noise, no footprints, no trash. But... she had invited you to her cabin, which you logically refused. There might be some kind of trap waiting for you there; you couldn’t trust her. The most plausible thing then was that Sana's cabin was relatively far from yours, hidden and camouflaged in the dense forest. Your mind elaborated a thousand and one theories as you returned to the comfort (not so comfortable now) of your home.

Then an absurd idea crossed your mind and you caught it with your hand, while the first drops of rain hit the car's windshield.

Night fell over the forest with the storm.

It took you a little over an hour to change the air filter and the spark plugs, but when you finished, the feeling of satisfaction at hearing the generator's engine purr like an orange kitten made you smile, cutting through some of the tension that was stiffening not only your muscles but also your spirit.

A big thank you to YouTube tutorials.

Anyway, the joy was short-lived, the raincoat you were wearing felt like a black shroud given to those summoned to explore the borders of hell. You needed to find out if there was indeed another cabin near yours. It was safer to go during the day, but you couldn’t risk Sana seeing you. Who knows, maybe there was some surveillance equipment in her cabin, although it was unlikely to keep such a thing running 24 hours with just a simple generator. But images of you sneaking around her cabin would be all Sana needed to blackmail you.

What the fuck am I doing…?

Where were the boundaries between your pragmatism and your neurosis?

You thought that by the time you figured it out, it would be too late.

With one hand you were holding the flashlight, with the other you opened the cabin door.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, your anxiety grew in a pulsing manner, like a parasite inside you, but a good parasite, pulsing in your temple telling you to turn back. What lay ahead were trees, trees, trees, and more trees. No sign of a cabin.

The forest was nothing more than a labyrinth of shadows. You advanced with uncertain steps, the flashlight trembling in your hand. The rustling of leaves sounded like distant laughter. You looked back, but the darkness had already swallowed the way back. If there was a cabin, you should have found it by now. There was no sign of an open field where a cabin or any structure could be placed. Your heart beat erratically, in a sudden delirium you wondered if you were alone or if someone was watching you. The forest closed in around you, it was hard to admit it, shit, it was terrifying to admit that you were lost. Your breath quickened as the cold bit into your skin, rationally, the despair set in. Then the flashlight in your hand flickered, the weak light trembled like a candle about to go out.

No, no, no!

You pressed the button repeatedly, but the beam of light weakened even more. The uncertain steps made your foot encounter something solid on the ground. You stumbled and fell. The pain was sharp enough to know that the injury was serious, at least given the situation you were in. After all, what the hell was that? A twisted root? A rock? It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change the fact that now your left ankle was sending you jolts of pain, and standing up was torture, making you hate Sana with all your might. Limping in the middle of the dark forest like a stupid clown. You were tremendously irritated, an unexpected urge to drink seized you.

I could drink and die right after. I’d give anything for that. Fuck this life!

Suddenly, your hearing sharpened when you heard a terribly high-pitched sound coming from behind you. Screaming, screaming, screaming, calling you. It sounded like a… Whistle? It couldn’t get any better. Maybe a soccer match was going on nearby and you were the idiot who didn’t buy a ticket. The whistle seemed to have a life of its own, it was continuous. Well, someone was killing their lungs trying to save you. Either that, or the witch of the forest was whistling in a very, very weird way. You followed the direction of the incessant whistle, except for the regular pauses for whoever was whistling to catch their breath. Sporadic lightning occasionally revealed the way for you, giving you glimpses of a trail you had already traveled, although, the way it was shown – fleeting and blurred by the wet lenses of your glasses – seemed more like hallucinations in your head. But you had to believe you were returning to your cabin. The whistle. The call.

It was Sana, wasn’t it?

A lightning bolt flashed across the sky like at a large outdoor festival, in the distance, still through the trees, you saw your cabin flicker in the dazzling light.

The whistle sounded like a gesture of despair.

The trees gradually spaced out, the surroundings became more visible, the ground less uneven, you were out of the dense forest, your flashlight failing as it tried to illuminate in a single beam of light the figure of the girl dressed in a long dress, holding an umbrella with one hand and a whistle with the other, looking like a character straight out of a Koreeda film.

You walked up to her, your left foot practically dragging on the ground, you couldn’t think of anything to say, the anger being crushed by gratitude, the fury devouring the complacency alive, the urge to cry usurping the relief.

“Let’s go inside!” exclaimed Sana urgently, sharing the umbrella with you as you both rushed to the cabin (well, you tried).

The door opened with a dry snap. You exhaled like a dying horse, throwing yourself onto the cabin floor to lie down, practically your white flag against the wild nature. You didn’t want to think about anything. There was nothing to think about. There was no reason to think. You’d been doing that your whole life and were tired of it. You wanted to throw your brain away. Pull the back of your head like a damn mailbox and remove that electrified ball of flesh. There had to be a way to make it stop thinking.

Well, there was a way, but it was, let’s say, off-key.

You started to get up, your damn ankle sending you jolts of pain to remind you of your stupidity. You looked at Sana, beautiful, while you: destroyed.

“There’s no cabin, is there, Sana?” you asked, pronouncing each word slowly, trying to space out the anger you felt. But it was hard. God, how hard it was.

“I’m sorry!” she said, crying. Fuck, she was already crying. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I can explain everything. I’m sorry! You were out for so long! I was so worried about you. Are you hurt? My God, I’m sorry!” she repeated, screaming.

“Get out of my cabin. Now!”

There you were, throwing her out again.

“Please, no…”

“I said I’d call the police if this happened again. Get out, you psychopath!” you yelled at her, and Sana stepped back, scared.

You approached her in a threatening manner, making her walk backward, cautiously, and with each step she got closer to the door. Before she realized it, she was at the doorway.

“You better disappear before the police show up,” you warned her, and then slammed the door shut with brute force.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What a day. Everything fell apart so quickly that you didn't have time to see where you went wrong. Now 3% calmer, you noticed that the kitchen table was set, hot food, candles, the fireplace warm, two glasses, and a bottle of Coca-Cola (no wine for Mr. Writer). She had prepared dinner while you were facing the two longest hours of your life. Spaghetti carbonara. That's what it seemed like, at least. A relatively quick dish to prepare if you had made it before. The smell was great, the ambiance emphatically comfortable while the world outside was collapsing. It seemed intentional: a terribly cold end-of-the-world assaulting the planet and you denied shelter to one of God's angels. Even if she might be Lucifer's younger sister

Oh, come on, I'm not like that. She didn't deserve to die from hypothermia or whatever the hell.

You took off that stupid raincoat and went back to the door, leaned your head against the wood before deciding if you were actually going to open it or not. The primary mistake was opening the hotel room door that day, and here you were, repeating — now aware of what would happen — the same mistake, about to formalize a new heuristic pattern. And, fuck, it was really funny how one event could trigger another totally random one.

You saw Sana's face light up when the door opened, the glow of the lamps behind you reflecting in her brown eyes. She hadn't moved an inch since you expelled her. Because she already knew you would open it again or because she didn't know where to go?

"Come in before you catch a cold," you said, extending your hand into the cabin.

She seemed slightly confused by your kindness but entered immediately.

You asked her to sit on the couch while you quickly walked to the bedroom and grabbed two towels. You wrapped her body with the bath towel and started drying her hair with the face towel.

"Sorry, I don't have a hairdryer."

"It's okay. Thank you."

Sana's makeup was running down her face, a sad sight, but somehow, it became incredibly erotic on that precious face. Two beautiful lines running below her eyes, the mixture of eyeshadow and mascara, as if Sana had cried tears of dark indigo. A living portrait where the artist displayed his tragedy.

"Excuse me," you asked, and she allowed you to dry her face, cleaning one corner and smudging the makeup even more in another. "Why do you have a whistle?"

"Hmm, i found it here."

"Really? Well, it's actually the least weird thing that happened today."

"I saw you limping," she said, her voice still wary, like a child who knows they've done wrong and now has to face their parents. "Are you okay?"

"It's my fucking ankle. I think I tripped over some exposed root or something. I must have twisted it."

You hadn't taken off your boots yet to see the damage. After drying Sana's face, that's what you did and — oh boy —, it wasn't a pretty thing to see.

"Let me check," said Sana, kneeling with difficulty because of her dress. "It's quite swollen and red; it might turn purple. I'm going to press a little, okay?"

You gave permission, and the slightest touch made you groan and sigh, and maybe you were starting to go crazy because the pain that pulsed from your ankle was terribly pleasurable and stimulating, seeming healthy to self-inflict for your own satisfaction, like scratching a persistent itch. But you weren't quite insane enough to enjoy that kind of thing.

"I don't know where to start treating my ankle," you admitted, frustrated.

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"In one of those cabinets," you pointed to the kitchen.

Sana got up and went over to rummage through the cabinets. She soon found the small white box with a red cross on the lid. Sana opened the freezer and took out a bag of ice, grabbed some cubes, and wrapped them in a cloth, bringing everything back to the couch. Sana gently took your leg and raised it, placing it on a pillow on the coffee table.

"Open the kit and look for a painkiller," Sana said while holding the makeshift ice pack on your ankle. "Take ibuprofen if there's any."

Fortunately, there was.

"How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"It wasn't a severe sprain. Maybe two weeks. One, if you behave and take care of it."

"Are you a nurse?"

"No, but I took some classes on 'how to be a functional human being and survive in society.' Oh, do you need water to swallow the pill?" You shook your head. "Believe me, where I came from, I needed those classes. They just didn't teach us much about medications. For safety."

"You're my Annie Wilkes, I guess. But more attractive than Kathy Bates, at least." You joked, and the bitter sarcasm felt much like the taste of a horrible medicine you needed to take to endure the moment.

Sana chuckled, but she was still focused on her task.

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to keep you here or anything like that. I'll take care of you. It's my fault you got hurt, after all," she sadly admitted. Apparently, psychopathy wasn't her problem. Sociopathy, maybe. "I suppose you don't have a crutch here in the cabin," she said while rummaging through the first aid kit. "Tomorrow I can buy one... Oh, look, this elastic bandage will do for now." She showed you the small roll of bandage with a gentle smile.

"I wouldn't count on going to town tomorrow. With this rain, the road will be impassable. We're stuck here," Was it safe to pass this information to Sana? After all, you still didn't know her true intentions.

"Oh, I kind of suspected that. So, in that case, we'll improvise a stick for you tomorrow morning. We have plenty of wood at our disposal. Well, now I'll bandage your foot. This might hurt a little, but it will help," she warned, unrolling the bandage.

Holding your foot with one hand, Sana started wrapping the bandage firmly around your ankle, starting at the base of your toes and moving towards the heel.

As she worked, she made sure the bandage was snug but not too tight to avoid cutting off circulation. "I need you to tell me if you feel too much pressure or pain," she said, focused on what she was doing.

You smiled without realizing it. Her serious expression while focusing on the task was actually very cute. She had agile and gentle hands, and her care not to hurt you was evident.

Sana continued wrapping the bandage, overlapping the wraps evenly, creating stable compression around the swollen ankle. When she reached halfway up your calf, she secured the end of the bandage with the clips provided in the kit.

"Done," she said, observing her work. "Now we need to keep this elevated and continue applying ice. It will help reduce the swelling," she informed you, putting the makeshift ice pack back on your ankle. "We'll do this every few hours, 20 minutes at a time."

"You're incredible," slipped out of your mouth. You shouldn't be encouraging her. But you were voluntarily doing so.

"It was nothing. Now, I think we have some things to talk about, don't we?"

You smiled with your lips, a humble smile of Tiredness. Or a smile of defeat, like someone who, with a certain pride, acknowledges their weakness towards something or someone. In your case, it was her. Sana.

You patted your thighs and sighed. Was there anything else to do, after all?

"Bring the spaghetti over here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Terribly fascinated you were. Maybe it was too early to say 'terribly enchanted'. You were enveloped by the long, deep, melodramatic lull that was Sana's past. Slightly distressed to know how it all happened until it triggered the moment where you both were, but it was necessary for the story to be told from the beginning to fully understand the impulsive acts of this girl - this fan - passionately obsessed with you.

Oh, and by the way, the spaghetti was good. But a bit cold.

You looked at Sana, melancholic and distant while she watched the flames in the fireplace. She had gone to the bathroom to wash her face properly. Now with a clean face, nothing was covering it. Determined to delve into her wound for you.

“First of all, my last name is Minatozaki,” she said, in a mere attempt to break the ice. You told her it was a beautiful last name. “I was 11 years old when everything started to fall apart,” she began in earnest. “My mother suffered from severe depression. She was always absent, even when she was present, if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense,” you commented. “And your father?”

“My father was a ghost, always working. He never had time for me. Soon I started to feel invisible, as if I didn’t matter. Then the anger started growing inside me. I became more and more impulsive and aggressive,” Sana paused. She looked at you, as if to make sure you were really listening. “They didn’t know what to do with me. The school couldn’t handle my behavior. The breaking point was when I pushed a classmate down the stairs over some silly argument. I don’t even remember the reason anymore, just that she broke her leg. That’s when they decided to institutionalize me.”

“Damn… That must have been terrible for such a young child.”

“It was. At first, I hated being there. The psychiatric hospital was a cold and strange place. The atmosphere forced to be welcoming, it was an expensive hospital after all, but if you’re there alone, it’s terribly distressing. I felt isolated from the world. The other kids had similar problems, but no one really connected. Everyone was fighting their own battles there.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind Sana’s ear and then asked:

“And what was your routine like there?”

“We had classes inside the hospital. There were teachers, but the classes were small. They tried to adapt the teaching to our needs, but I always felt like I was missing something, you know? The occupational therapies and the playful activities helped pass the time, but it was never enough to fill the void.”

“I imagine. And the treatments?”

You didn’t realize it, but there was a calmness and kindness in your voice that motivated her to continue.

“At first, they diagnosed me with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I was always provoking the adults, causing trouble. But as I grew older, my symptoms evolved. In adolescence, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My emotions were a roller coaster. I felt empty, but at the same time, any small thing could trigger a storm inside me.”

“It must have been a constant battle.”

“It was. They tried everything to control my anger and impulsiveness. Psychotherapy, behavioral therapy, medication... Every day was a struggle to stay stable. I was always being watched, always under surveillance. I had few chances to feel really free. Over time, my parents’ visits decreased. Not that I cared, we were never close anyway. The only things that brought me some relief were books. And that’s how I discovered you.”

“Me?” You swallowed hard. “Well, sooner or later we’d get to that.”

“Yes. Your books were an escape for me. I read and reread every word, trying to find some meaning, some connection with myself. When you wrote about pain, about loneliness, I felt like you understood exactly what I was going through. Catarina, the protagonist of your first book, when she attempted suicide and was hospitalized… That story changed me… But not all of your books were allowed for us.”

“It’s understandable, God knows how many triggers that could unleash in vulnerable people. But wait, how did you get my books then?”

“There was a doctor, Dr. Collins. She sympathized with me. I think she saw something in me that others didn’t. She brought me your books secretly, even those considered too sensitive for patients like me. Besides, she managed to get teen magazines where you were interviewed. The questions were trivial, but for me, every detail about you was a treasure.”

With a slight smile, you said:

“I was contractually obliged by the publisher to do those things. I don’t dare to flip through any of those magazines nowadays,” You saw Sana’s face soften a bit. “So, Dr. Collins was your accomplice, right?”

“In a way, yes. She also knew I tried to listen to your radio show. There were nights when I stayed up late, trying to fix the signal on the old hospital radio to hear you talk about movies with your friend. Sometimes, I even managed to hear a full episode without missing anything.”

You held her hand. A gesture that made you uneasy, but Sana’s response by squeezing your hand made it seem right.

“I never imagined my books and other nonsense I did could have such an impact.”

“They did. I wasn’t joking when I said that day that you were my peace of mind. But anyway, my parents died in an accident shortly before I left the hospital. I was the only one to inherit their estate. Living in society I found myself lost and lonely again. I tried to find someone like you, but no one was enough. They all disappointed me. They were older, like you, but they just wanted to use me. I hate admitting this part of my life, but I slept with several men hoping to find one who made me feel what you made me feel. It didn’t work, so that’s when I decided I needed to find you, needed to somehow make you understand.”

Your gaze shifted from hers. Terribly melodramatic for your taste, terribly visceral, and terribly your complacency acted without your command.

“And now we’re here. And I finally start to understand the depth of what you went through, Sana. I'm sorry about your parents, I had no idea. What a fucking journey you lived..."

She gave you a sad smile.

They were the beautiful eyes of a tragedy looking at you.

“Yes, we’re here. And maybe, now that you know I’m not a monster, we can really get to know each other.”

The hand of reason tugged at your ear. Was this beautiful, seemingly vulnerable girl manipulating you again?

Either way, there were still loose ends.

“And at the book launch, when you appeared… Your dress, the perfume… Everything so intentional… Why did you do that, Sana?”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“I planned everything. I wanted you to notice me, to see me as someone special. I thought if I wore the same dress and perfume as your ex-wife, I could make you feel the same as you did for her. It was a desperate way to try to get your attention, to make you fall in love with me like you did with her. I know it sounds crazy, but… I was willing to do anything for you to notice me.”

“Sana, that is…” What was that? So many layers, so many branches, you didn’t know what you were feeling anymore. You didn’t know how to judge. Even having written troubled, depressed characters, the real bastards, you never approached from a psychoanalytic perspective. You were just a person writing other people. It was never your place to judge your characters’ actions. It was never your place to judge anyone. “I understand a little better now, Sana. You just wanted to be seen, to be loved.”

A sudden desperation took hold of her.

“And you’re the only person I felt could really understand that! That’s why I did what I did. I didn’t want to scare you, I just wanted you to see me.”

You wanted a drink of something. Your throat dry in that cold weather. God, how a whiskey would be nice. Just one glass. Maybe two. Why not? You asked Sana to serve you a little more of that damn Coke. Your eyes were a little heavy, the train of thought slightly losing the objective.

Oh, more questions…

"you were bluffing when you invited me to your cabin, correct?"

"That's right. I knew you would never agree to go there with me. My real plan was to have dinner together, and slowly I would explain everything to you. Like now."

“But Sana, I need you to explain to me: if there’s no other cabin, where the hell have you been all this time? I swear to God you were scaring the shit out of me. I went to several lodges but couldn’t get any information about you. Then suddenly you show up here at night like out of nowhere. I hope that psychiatric hospital isn’t really the fucking Xavier Institute.”

“I’ve been here the whole time, silly. Watching you,” hearing that sent chills down your spine. “Sorry, I know it sounded weird. Just kidding. But it’s actually kind of true.”

“Are you a ghost or something?”

“I’ve been hiding in the basement.”

But what the hell is she talking about?

“Sana, this cabin doesn’t have a basement.”

“Did Mr. Goss tell you that?”

Jesus fucking Christ, she never stopped surprising.

“How do you know the name of the former owner?” you asked, trying to disguise the fear on your face.

“The night we slept together… You know I took your phone. I checked everything that might be important. I saw your emails about the cabin documentation and all that. At the same moment, I looked for nearby cabins I could rent, but there were none available. Well, the original listing was still active, it was favorited in your browser. The description didn’t mention anything about a basement, nor did the documentation. Since it was so well camouflaged and without hiring an inspector, you would never find out.

"And how did you know?"

"I was watching that interview you did for Book Tools that happened shortly after our first meeting. You mentioned you were planning to go on vacation and write a bit in nature, but you were going to delay it a month to get better organized."

"I guess I'll never comment on my personal life again. Holy shit..."

"Well, I decided to take advantage of that time and see your cabin before you did. It was easy to find; people gave me information without suspecting a thing. I was researching how to build an even simpler cabin on the other side of the lake for us to be 'together,' and I found information about the history and importance of the cabins in the area on the county's website. Among that, there was a blueprint showing how the cabins were originally designed. Most were built according to this model, and it included the existence of a basement."

"But why did Mr. Goss omit that?"

"After staying in the basement, I have the answer. Down there, you can see some structural irregularities. I think he feared that if they were discovered, they could cause legal problems or decrease the property's value. So, he decided to simply forge the documentation, stating that the basement had been dismantled and no longer existed since doing so for real is quite expensive."

"I could sue that old man for this!"

"I read your conversation with him about the purchase. You said it would just be a retreat for a few weeks. He probably thought that by the time you discovered the truth, he would already be six feet under."

You paused to digest things, refilled your glass of Coke, and downed it in one go. Calmer, you then asked,

"Structural irregularities, huh? That could be dangerous... And with these rains..."

"Despite the irregularities, I think it's safe enough to stay there for a while. You can deal with it later. If it hasn't collapsed before, it won't collapse now."

"That's a spirited way of looking at things."

For some reason, this made her smile.

"Someone has to, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so... Anyway, where's the basement entrance?"

"Under this rug," Sana replied, pointing to the shaggy rug in the living room.

"Of course it would be in the most visible place in the cabin. I feel like an idiot."

"There's an additional exit from the basement that leads directly outside, behind the cabin. It's where the old plumbing system was. It's camouflaged by vegetation, so it's hard to see."

"I really bought Area 51, huh?"

"The rest is no mystery. Through the external exit, I brought in food, blankets, a sleeping bag, clothes, and everything else I needed. I knew the basement had small ventilation openings, so there was enough air to breathe. And most importantly, an outlet to charge my phone."

"Damn! That's why the generator was consuming more than I calculated."

"Er, sorry!" she said, then theatrically bit her lower lip as if that could make up for things. Maybe it could. A little.

"It's been a long day. A long and weird day. But, in a way, it's nice to have you here. I guess."

That seemed to spark something in Sana's mind.

"Really?"

"While I was wandering lost in the forest, I felt strangely alone. I think being stuck here for days would be too lonely for my taste. At some point, I would wish for company."

You smiled at Sana, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Since I talked about my past, why don't you tell me a bit about yours? You know, the stuff that never made it into interviews. What might only be revealed in your biography."

"Well, know that you outdid me in the difficult past department. There are some things that were never told. Some painful memories. But it's already very late. How about I tell you tomorrow while we have a picnic by the lake? We need to save some for the next chapters."

"Great idea!" her smile lit up, and at that moment, she seemed like nothing more than a girl to you. "And what kind of story are we writing here?"

"I don't know... I want you to help me figure that out."

"You're... not afraid of me?"

"Not anymore. I think you got what you wanted. Come here."

You opened your arms a bit. Sana, like a wary puppy, gradually gave in and approached. She sat sideways on your lap, slowly, uncertain, looking at your ankle extended on the coffee table.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No. You can sleep with me in the bed tonight. Or on the couch, if you prefer—"

"In the bed. Please."

"You don't need to do the weird perfume and dress thing anymore. From now on, I want you to just be yourself. Can you do that?"

"Of course! Of course I can! But... you don't hate me anymore? The way you expelled me earlier... The anger on your face... it broke my heart."

"People are strange, Sana," you began, the prelude to a speech you didn't know you were capable of giving, "feelings, they are weird as hell. A single feeling can have a million facets," you explained, and Sana looked at you with a mix of fascination and curiosity. Dangerously adorable on your lap. "The simplest way to see this is to think of a child who, after years of living with their parents, is ostracized for some reason, be it for coming out with their true sexuality or taking a political side contrary to the family's. It's easy to imagine the child's emotional pendulum swinging between love and hate for their parents."

"I think I get the gist of it."

"The point is: I understand what it means to find solace in something to take refuge from the untamed wild world. That's what I did with writing. And, in your case, you found refuge in me. It's our first point of connection."

Sana's hand trembled as it reached your face, her lips pressed together and her eyes shining with tears.

"You're exactly as I imagined," she said in a whisper, the most her voice could manage, as if every cell in her body was working to keep her from falling apart at that moment, "there's no other explanation but fate. It brought us here."

You thought that Sana might have nudged fate a bit to bring things to this moment. But so far, what you had seen of this girl with such a fragile appearance was a tragic and relentless force of nature, so maybe she did have her cosmic connection with destiny.

You brought Sana's face close for an Eskimo kiss. She seemed shy about the gesture but undeniably loved your initiative, and the sensation of her skin against yours, her weight on you, and her warmth enveloping you was irresistibly addictive. Sana's fingers played indiscreetly with your hair, her smile directed at you... When was the last time someone had smiled at you with love? It all felt so pure, so beautiful, so romantically erotic (the privileged view right in front of her neckline, her small and perfectly formed breasts pressing against the fabric) and so, so good. God couldn't be testing you, could He? Because, well, this was beyond any human limits.

Her eyes marked your mouth as a target, but she couldn't go further because what preceded the desire was a need to affirm something greater.

TOUCH ME

KISS ME

The words that flew like magic into your ear that night, now implied by a thread of feeling. You were kissing Sana, rediscovering that the truth can be a sweet ruin or, perhaps, she was the last soul to fill your emptiness. The kiss started gentle but soon intensified, becoming a deep and wet exploration. Each movement of your tongues carried the urgency of months of repressed desire. Mutual. The way Sana's lips molded to yours, the slight pressure and shared moisture creating an almost chemical reaction that could lead to combustion. Your fingers intertwined in her brown hair while Sana's fingers traced soft lines on your nape, sending shivers down your spine. She moved closer, pressing her breasts against your chest as your tongues intertwined, exploring and teasing. Her taste was a refreshing mix of sweetness and desire, an intoxicating combination that made your heart race.

Suddenly, you felt her lips open a bit more, and her tongue slid into your mouth with a firm motion. She started sucking on your tongue, pulling it gently into her mouth, creating a warm, wet suction that sent waves of pleasure straight to your core. The sensation was almost overwhelming, indescribable, indeed. Sana could leave a writer speechless. But the fact was that every movement of her tongue created a deeper connection, a current of desire that seemed to run directly to your cock.

"Your taste is delicious. I've missed it. It makes me want more, so much more," Sana whispered against your lips, fatally beautiful as a thread of saliva spontaneously trickled down her chin.

Sana's eyes were closed, her face surrendered to the pleasure of the moment as she did a perfect job driving you crazy. Each time she sucked your tongue, you felt a pull in your stomach, an almost primal need to fuck her hard in response to what she was doing to you.

Sana moaned softly, her sweet sounds of pleasure resonating against your lips, increasing your arousal, your hands gripping her delicate waist firmly, as if fearing she might escape. But Sana had no intention of going anywhere. She wanted to carnally explore every part of you.

You pulled her body closer, your hands sliding over the smooth curves of her back until you reached the firmness of her ass, soft through the texture of her dress, squeezing it shamelessly, feeling Sana's response in a muffled moan.

She released your tongue for a moment, just to murmur against your lips: "I want your cock fucking my tight pussy soon. It's getting so wet for you, my love."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," you murmured, your voice husky, your mind... completely devastated by her.

"Oh, I do," she replied, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips before diving back into your mouth. And in that moment, with Sana sucking your tongue with an almost painful precision, you knew you were totally, irrevocably surrendered to her.

"Now... Is this real? This time, is it real?" Sana asked, as if speaking of a distant dream, her eyes half-closed in pleasure and longing.

"It's damn real," you replied, feeling your heart race uncontrollably. "I can't resist you anymore."

Sana shifted position, slowly sliding to face you, her legs delicately wrapping around your hips. Her eyes met yours, and the lascivious and determined gleam in them was unmatched. She began to move her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, pressing against your cock. By then, it was painfully hard inside your pants, throbbing with expectation.

Sana moved closer to your ear, her voice low and sweet, whispering: "I can feel how much you want me." Her hot breath against your skin. The smile... completely disloyal.

"What you're doing to me," you groaned, your voice heavy with desire, "is more than I can bear."

You couldn't hold back any longer, and with eager hands, you pulled Sana's small breasts out of her dress. Her nipples were hardened, inviting, and you couldn't resist. With your hands, you gently squeezed them, feeling the soft yet firm texture. You teased them with your thumbs, playing, provoking. Your mouth soon found her nipples, and you sucked on them, nibbling gently, each movement drawing moans of pleasure from Sana. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against your mouth, wanting more.

"Oh, yes... like that," she moaned, holding your head against her breasts. "Mmm, you suck so well."

"You're so hot," you murmured against her skin, the words coming out between kisses and nibbles. "I want to devour you whole."

Your desire to mark that moment as yours came to the surface and, terribly vulgar and perhaps even pretentious, you tilted your head and sucked on Sana's neck, leaving a visible mark, tasting the salty flavor of her sweaty skin.

"You're mine," you whispered, your voice full of possessiveness, you noticed, "that's a fucking fact now."

Then a smile escaped your lips. Acidic and ironic, ricocheting right back at you.

"What is it?" Sana asked with a curious giggle.

"Nothing," you replied, avoiding mentioning that you saw the current moment as a contemporary and subversive erotic reenactment of the myth of Hermaphroditus.

Sana, equally possessive, marked you too. She bit and sucked on your skin, leaving marks that affirmed her possession. The sensation of her teeth against your skin was undeniably pleasurable pain.

Finally, Sana got off your lap and grabbed your cock, a gesture that could only mean one thing. You unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear, just enough to free your cock from the terrible web of fabrics imprisoning it. The excitement in Sana's eyes increased, and she lay back on the couch, a look of satisfaction on her face.

She started giving you a blowjob, moving her mouth skillfully and intensely. Her lips wrapped around your cock, her tongue exploring every inch. She began with slow, deliberate movements, teasing every throbbing vein. Each suction, each slide of her small tongue was a reminder that you were alive, that you were touching the edge of paradise.

"You're incredible," you groaned, throwing your head back, your voice full of pleasure. "Keep going... don't stop."

She used her hands to stimulate what she couldn't reach with her mouth, alternating between fast and slow movements. Sana then began to play with your balls, licking and sucking, alternating between gentle caresses and intense pressure.

"Oh, Sana... that's so good," you groaned, feeling the pleasure course through your body.

She looked at you, her eyes shining with desire and satisfaction. "I want to make you cum hard," she whispered, returning to sucking your cock with renewed intensity, while her hands continued to caress your balls. "I want you to fuck me so badly," she said, looking at you with a mix of desire and determination. "Let's end this wait."

"Fuck, let's!" you replied, knowing that surrendering to her had been your best decision in a long time.

You moved to the bedroom. With your fucked ankle, you knew some positions would be challenging, but the latent desire surpassed any pain. Slowly, you began to undress. Sana, noticing your difficulty, knelt in front of you, with a terribly indecipherable look. She unbuttoned your pants with deliberate sensuality, her fingers brushing against your skin, making your entire body shiver.

"Leave it to me," she murmured, sliding down your pants and underwear. On another occasion, with another person, you might have felt embarrassed, but this time it seemed so... normal? The last time you had shared this level of transparency and vulnerability had been with your ex-wife. Although only at the beginning of the relationship. Soon everything got so... strange.

After Sana helped you slide your injured leg into your pants, you managed to finish the rest yourself. Completely undressed, you kissed her deeply and lovingly, then slid both straps of her dress off her slender shoulders at once. The fabric rippled as it slid down on its own, revealing the beautiful artwork that was Sana's petite, half-naked body. The only piece of clothing that remained, and truly captured your attention, was the cute pair of panties she was wearing.

Totally intentional.

A pink pair of panties, almost innocent in contrast to the fervent passion she was capable of emanating, adorned with a small bow at the front. The thin fabric was damp, a clear evidence of how much she was enjoying the moment.

"You're so fucking hot, Sana," you murmured, your eyes fixed on that small detail that seemed to encapsulate all the desire and tenderness that made up Sana's essence.

She smiled, a shy yet mischievous smile.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice filled with sweetness and boldness.

"I love it," you replied, unable to resist her charm, running your fingers delicately over the bow, feeling the softness of the fabric. "And you're so wet," you added, your fingers gliding over the material, feeling her reaction in the slight tremor of her legs.

"That's the effect you have on me," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And I used to masturbate thinking about you... Always you."

You smiled provocatively and slid your fingers over the fabric of her panties, feeling her dampness increase with each touch. Your mouth began to kiss and lick her belly. With slow and provocative movements, you started rubbing your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing lightly against her clit, without ever removing the panties.

"I can feel how excited you are," you murmured between kisses, your tongue warmed by her heated skin, each touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body. "You like it when I do this, don't you, Sana?"

Sana moaned in response, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand, seeking more friction. "Yes... please, keep going!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with desire.

"You want more?" you asked, already knowing the answer. "You want me to keep teasing you like this?"

"Yes, please," she moaned again, her voice full of need.

You continued to rub your fingers over the wet fabric, pressing harder, faster, until you felt she was completely soaked. The panties were drenched, the moisture trickling down the insides of her thighs.

"I can feel how much you want me," you murmured against her skin, your fingers now sliding along the edge of her panties, pulling them down slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to remove.

Sana panted, her moans loud and filled with pleasure. "Please, don't torture me anymore," she begged, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.

You obliged, finally pulling the panties down, exposing the glistening wetness of her pussy. The musky aroma of Sana filled the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

"You're perfect," you murmured.

"I want to feel you," she whispered, her voice laden with need. "I want you to eat my pussy. Look how creamy it is."

Sana propped her right leg on the bed and with two fingers she opened her tight pussy, and it was so delicious, so perfect, so, indeed, creamy.

In a moment of pure synchronicity, you both lay on the bed, as if connected by a greater bond, and assumed the 69 position. Sana positioned herself over you, her hot, wet pussy directly over your mouth. You started to lick her hungrily, savoring each moan that escaped her lips. Your tongue explored every fold, every inch, while your hands held her buttocks, pulling her closer to you.

"Yes! Lick my pussy! Just like that," she moaned sweetly.

As you savored Sana's creamy pussy, she enveloped your cock with her mouth, her tongue gliding over the head, mercilessly stimulating your frenulum, causing precum to leak out, which she loved. All the while, her hands massaged your balls, amplifying the sensation to the highest degree.

"Oh, fuck... If you keep doing that, I'm going to cum, Sana," you groaned, unconsciously thrusting your cock slightly into her mouth.

Sana then stopped sucking you and changed position.

"First, I want to cum on your face, love," she said, crawling over you, positioning herself, and opening up in front of your eyes until she finally sat on your face, her pussy now completely accessible to your tongue and mouth. You held her hips, guiding her movements as she began to grind against your face. Your tongue explored every inch, while your fingers caressed the insides of her thighs.

"I want you to lick me until I cum," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard," you murmured, your lips and tongue moving with precision against her.

Sana moaned loudly, moving her hips more intensely, pressing herself against your mouth. Her moans were loud and filled with pleasure, her body experiencing small spasms.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," she moaned, her eyes closed, the tension increasing.

Your tongue moved faster, firmer, each movement bringing her closer to climax. She held your head tightly, her fingers tangling in your hair, as her moans grew louder, more desperate.

"I'm almost there," she panted, her body entirely sweaty. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

With one last firm move of your tongue, you brought her to climax. Sana screamed with pleasure, her entire body trembling as she came intensely, her juices covering your mouth and face. You continued to lick her softly, helping to prolong her orgasm, savoring every moment.

"You're amazing," she murmured, still panting, that inherent satisfaction of making a girl cum taking over you.

Recovering, Sana slid down again. She began to ride you slowly, her movements erotic and calculated, each rise and fall rhythmic and sound. She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing as she increased the pace.

"You're so sexy," you groaned, holding her hips, helping her keep the rhythm. "Keep going, princess, don't stop."

She increased the speed, her entire body working to bring both of you to ecstasy. Her pussy tight around your cock, the heat and friction creating an indescribable sensation.

"Oh yes, Sana. Fuck me harder," you murmured, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum... fuck, I'm gonna cum on your cock," she screamed, her movements frantic, her pussy pulsing around you as she reached orgasm, trembling with pleasure.

She collapsed on top of you, her head resting on your chest. You gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face. Until then, you hadn't noticed how beautiful she was without makeup. You kissed the top of her head, a gesture she returned with equal passion by kissing your chest, saying: "I love you so much."

The room was dark, except for a soft light coming from the living room filtering through the half-open door, enough for you to see the sparkle in her eyes when she finally looked at you.

You didn't say anything. Words were unnecessary now. Instead, you let your hands do the talking, tracing the contours of her body, every curve, every perfect imperfection. She mumbled something inaudible against your chest, and you felt a smile form on your lips despite the fatigue.

She raised her head, her gaze serious but with a spark of something untamed. "Don't leave me," she pleaded, as if that were a real possibility. You smiled, kissing her lips, soft and prolonged, a kiss that promised much more than simple words could.

"I'm not going anywhere," you replied, the certainty in your voice unwavering.

You nestled close to her side, you behind her, your injured leg resting. You entered her again, slowly, savoring every inch that went in and out. She leaned back, allowing you deeper access. Your hands caressed her breasts, playing with her nipples as you fucked her from behind.

"Sana... I'm falling in love with you," you murmured, your voice laden with a strange possessiveness and love, a love you never imagined you could feel. But the act of kissing Sana's shoulder so tenderly while penetrating her could mean nothing but passion.

"You are my everything," she moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You gripped her hip tightly, your thrusts becoming faster and more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding was erotic and highly stimulating.

"You're so tight... so wet," you confessed in her ear, your breath ragged. "I'm gonna cum, Sana."

"Cum, baby. Cum for me," she begged, her moans loud and filled with desire.

Feeling your climax approaching, you pulled out of her. Sana quickly knelt by the edge of the bed, looking at you with intense anticipation and lust., ready to receive your cum. You sat on the edge of the bed and started masturbating quickly, the sight of her so exciting that you were soon on the verge of orgasm.

"Cum for me," she whispered, her voice soft but urgent.

"I'm gonna cum," you groaned, your voice hoarse with pleasure and urgency. Sana smiled wickedly, knowing exactly what you needed.

"I want to feel you cum on my face," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "I want to taste you."

The sight of Sana waiting eagerly, her eyes fixed on you, made your cock throb even more. You sped up your strokes, your movements fast and precise, while she watched you, her hand casually caressing your balls.

"I want all your cum on my face, baby."

You felt the pressure building, each movement of your hand bringing you closer to climax. The moans intensified, your muscles tensing as the pleasure built to an inevitable crescendo. Sana looked intently, adorably seductive, ready to receive every drop from you.

When the orgasm finally hit, it was like an explosion. You let out a deep groan, almost a scream, as your body convulsed with pleasure. The first spurt of cum hit her face. Sana moaned with satisfaction, her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of your semen spreading across her skin.

"Oh yes, just like that," she murmured, her voice full of delight. "Cover my whole face." You continued to masturbate, each spasm sending more jets of cum onto her face, while she used her fingers to spread it, mixing it with the sweat still glistening on her skin. She opened her mouth, her tongue out to taste what she could, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Wow! Fuck! that was fucking amazing," you groaned, reason slowly returning to your mind, your eyes fixed on the erotic painting in front of you.

When the spasms finally subsided, you stopped, panting. Sana looked at you, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips, her face gleaming with your cum. She licked her lips, savoring the taste.

With a mischievous smile, you couldn't resist and, holding the base of your still-sensitive cock, started rubbing it on her face, spreading the cum already covering her skin. Sana closed her eyes, moaning softly as you slid the head of your cock over her cheeks, forehead, and lips, marking her completely.

"Yes, baby, rub that big hard cock on me," she murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. You rubbed slowly, savoring every moment, feeling the heat and moisture of her skin against your cock. Sana opened her mouth, licking the head of your cock, tasting the mix of your semen and sweat. You let out one last muffled groan, terribly sensitive.

"You look so hot like this, covered in my cum."

"I’m better than your ex-wife, aren’t I?"

"In ways that are immeasurable, princess," you murmured, your voice heavy with lust.

She smiled at your compliment.

"I guess I better wash my face before I go completely blind," Sana commented, her eyes half-closed. "Want to shower with me?"

"Sure! I- uh, I'll need your help anyway," you said, looking at your messed-up ankle.

"With me here, you don't have to worry, silly."

After the bath, the curiosity to see what the basement was like was obvious and natural. There was no way to resist such a mystery, and Sana, still a little shy about the somewhat... reckless action, revealed the secret room to you. She pulled the rug, and to your surprise, there was nothing there.

“It’s really a secret passage because I can't see anything.”

“It’s very well disguised. Mr. Goss did a good job camouflaging it. Look, the trapdoor is framed in a way that it blends perfectly with the surrounding floor. Covered by the shaggy rug, it’s almost impossible to see with the naked eye, especially since the edge aligns with the floorboards, without any protrusion or visible handle.”

“Yeah, I see. Or rather, I don’t see a damn thing!”

“There’s a small opening that can only be accessed if you know exactly where to look. I used a thin blade like this one to lift one of the wooden boards where there’s a small concealed groove. Once I knew that, it was easy to open the trapdoor and hide down there.”

And that’s how she did her magic. You really would have died without knowing about that damn basement. Once the trapdoor was opened, there was an old wooden staircase leading down to a kind of concrete room; although previously neglected, it now seemed like a carefully arranged refuge, perfectly ready to secretly shelter someone. Sana helped you down the creaky and worn wooden steps, a slight and cold humidity pervading the air below, common in places that rarely see sunlight. However, the signs of a recent attempt to make the space habitable were evident in every corner.

The concrete walls, probably once gray and mold-stained, had been partially cleaned. Though still rough and marked by time, they were now free of superficial dirt, and some parts had been covered with old, worn but colorful tapestries, adding a touch of warmth and humanity to the environment. The cement floor had been meticulously swept, and a large, thick rug had been placed in the center, providing a more comfortable and insulated surface than the cold concrete.

In one corner of the basement, there was an improvised bed made up of a sleeping bag, washed cotton sheets, and a wool blanket to face the cold nights. Next to the bed, a book whose title you couldn’t read from where you stood, an almost finished open bag of chips, and a (possibly dry) can of iced tea, although you doubted Sana had actually drunk it cold.

Lightly rusted metal shelves leaned against the walls, housing provisions and essentials like canned food and bottles of water. Some clothes were carefully folded in one corner of the shelves, with some sanitary pads nearby. A small wooden chest with a rusty lock held Sana’s personal belongings.

“How did you bring all this down here?” you asked, astonished.

“It took time, but I’m patient.”

On the opposite side, an improvised washbasin with a metal bowl and a water jug for basic hygiene offered a minimum of comfort. Clean towels hung on improvised hooks, and a cracked but still functional mirror was fixed on the wall above the basin.

“Please don’t tell me you-”

“No way! I was using the cabin’s bathroom,” she replied preemptively. “I was mindful of your schedule, and even though you take a long time to fall asleep, once you’re out, nothing wakes you up.”

A small oil heater was strategically placed to combat the cold that seeped in at night through the concrete floor and thick walls, probably responsible for secretly consuming the generator’s fuel. Next to it, a simple wooden chair and a small table offered a place to sit and perhaps write or read, with a few books carefully stacked beside it.

Despite the age and condition of the basement, Sana’s effort to make it habitable was commendable. Every detail, every item carefully placed, reflected her urgency and care, a diligent effort to transform the basement into something minimally livable.

“This is absurd as hell, Sana. Completely insane… But... Well, I’m glad you won’t be sleeping here anymore. There weren’t any bugs, were there?”

“Thank God, no! When I cleaned, I only found cobwebs and abandoned moth cocoons. I couldn’t have stayed here if there were bugs. Ew!”

You managed a slight smile. It was funny to think that despite being calculating, methodical, and patient, mere insects scared her. No one was really safe from that irrational fear thing.

“Alright then! You’d better take all your stuff up,” you said. “I can’t think of any use for this basement. In a future renovation, maybe I’ll just close it up and fulfill what’s written in the document.”

“Nah, you should just reinforce the foundation and keep the basement,” Sana suggested, moving closer for a hug. “You never know when you might need a little place to store something.”

You two were in bed. Sana, with your MacBook on her lap, was deciphering the draft of the first chapter of what might become your next novel. Untitled, without a definite form. She liked what she read, unraveling the unfinished subtleties that challenged the conventions of the genre. Letting her read the draft was a huge gesture, an exposure comparable to sex. And she knew that. She knew everything about you, after all. It was your goodwill gesture, a sign that you were open to her, willing to make this relationship stable, serious, healthy.

You had gone to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you returned, Sana followed your steps with her eyes, waiting for you to lie down beside her again to ask:

"Promise you won't give up on me?"

"I promise. Sana, you're already strong on your own for having endured everything you have. And from now on, you can count on me to support you too. We'll break the circle together."

"You're everything I dreamed of and more," she said, hugging you, giggling.

"And you're an unexpected but very welcome gift," you comforted her in your arms. She was incredibly cuddly and emotional, which wasn't a bad thing. "So, I think we better sleep to enjoy the picnic tomorrow," you said, pulling Sana to snuggle into the pillow with you. "Damn, I'm completely exhausted, and it's partly your fault."

She giggled.

"And there's much more to come, Mr. Writer," Sana commented, turning off the lamp. "We can sweat a little tomorrow at the lake, if you know what I mean."

You fell asleep earlier than you imagined. Sana kept talking in your ear, excited about everything (you couldn't blame her), her words dissolving into the darkness. Her sweet, serene voice fading as you drifted off.

A perfect way to fall asleep, you thought, before slipping into slumber.

Then a scream sliced through the night like a blade, cutting the silence and your eardrums. Sharp and piercing. Sana, in a leap that defied logic, turned on the lamp and flew out of bed. Her hands frantically groped the wall, searching for the switch. The raw light illuminated her pale face, wide eyes filled with fear, and trembling hands.

"What's happening?!" you asked, confusion shaking your head.

"Something jumped on me! Some kind of bug!"

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! It jumped on my face. It was cold!" She was on the verge of tears, you on the verge of falling back asleep.

You got up with difficulty, each movement sending jolts of pain through your injured ankle. Your eyes fixed on the nightstand, where a small dark green figure stood on the right edge, like an unexpected sentinel.

"I see it."

"What is it?! You have to kill it!"

"It's just a small frog."

"You need to get it out of here!"

"I saw it before. It came in through a crack. I bought some duct tape to seal the hole, but I forgot to do it."

"It can't stay here!"

"Are you afraid?"

"It might jump on me again at any moment."

You laughed, a rough, low sound, almost a release of relief. You understood what she was going through, that primal terror of being attacked by something unknown in the middle of the night.

“Why are you laughing? That's not funny!”

"Hey, don't worry, this little guy won't disturb my girl's sleep anymore."

Slowly, almost ridiculously slowly, you walked around the bed, each step a struggle against the pain. You approached the small invader, the frog, still and cold. When you tried to touch it, it jumped straight onto your neck, like a biological missile. Sana let out a high-pitched scream, as if the frog had jumped on her.

"It's okay," you said, trying to calm her, but Sana was already at the door, ready to flee, eyes fixed on you as if you were her last safe harbor.

You approached the window, opened it, and a cold breeze hit your face, refreshing. Carefully, you removed the frog from your neck, feeling its cold, moist texture against your skin. You held it in your hand, offering it the vastness of the night outside.

"Go live a little," you said, with a flick of your hand, watching the frog leap to freedom. "It's all good now," you said, turning to Sana. "We can go back to sleep. In the morning I'll seal the crack."

"God, I think I hate frogs now."

You laughed again, a laugh that was both relief and exhaustion. The room finally sank back into silence, except for the soft sound of your breathing and Sana's, slowly returning to normal. Tomorrow, you thought, tomorrow you'll deal with the crack, but for now, the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and the terror had been expelled. And you... Fuck, you could get some sleep.

In the kitchen, you were busy packing the picnic basket, feeling a strange happiness performing such a mundane task. It had been a while since you felt this way — almost like a young boy again, experiencing the thrill of a new romance. Everything would be different now. Fuck solitude, you would be happy alongside someone. And a simple yet significant action representing your care for this new relationship was in this picnic basket you organized. Every sandwich carefully wrapped, the biscuit container tightly sealed, each juice bottle adjusted, and the bowl of fresh grapes waiting for a decision...

You both believed that your ankle would indeed be 100% recovered in about a week or less. Fortunately, the damage wasn't that bad. Until then, you would walk supported by a broken broom handle, pretending it was the staff of an old monk in a cabin with satellite Wi-Fi.

In the bedroom, Sana stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her earrings with an untimely smile. The morning was heavily overcast, threatening rain, but you both were counting on some weather support for a few hours, and although the day wasn't bright, Sana was. Ready for a perfect day with you.

Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be in place.

As she turned slightly to check her look from different angles, your phone on the dresser lit up with a notification. The flashing light caught her attention. Curious, she leaned in to see the message on the notification bar.

And then her world crumbled. The smile melted away from her face like hot wax. Everything around her slowed down.

You called out from the kitchen, almost singing: "Sana, what do you think? Should I take grapes or not?”

Her eyes widened instantly as she read the message, and for a moment, everything around her disappeared, leaving only a cold void. The happiness she felt evaporated, the fog in the forest remained.

In the back of Sana's mind, the read message echoed like a dark warning:

"Dude, stay away from that girl!!"

"My brother found out some creepy shit about her"

"Btw her real name isn't even Sana 💀”

You asked again from the kitchen, your voice sounding distant, almost like an echo:

"So, Sana? Grapes or not?"

She took a deep breath. She was a battlefield between panic and forced calm. The messages were deleted with fingers that didn't want to believe what they had just read, while she replied with a voice that could barely stay steady:

"Yes, take the grapes! I love grapes!"

She turned to the mirror again, but the image she saw was no longer the same. The sparkle in her eyes had disappeared; it was just the reflection of someone. It could hardly be called a face.

A mask.

A mask desperately trying to stay calm.

She put the phone back where it was, making sure the messages were indeed deleted and the sender blocked. Something would have to be done soon. She forced herself to smile again in front of the mirror to see if she could maintain it. But a crack slowly widened in her mind, threatening to shatter all the false stability she had built.

She left the bedroom, walking towards the kitchen with hesitant steps, trying to maintain composure. There you were, waiting, with the picnic basket in your hands and an expression of affection that now seemed almost cruel to her eyes.

As she approached, she simulated a smile, everything buried behind her beautiful brown eyes. She greeted you with a quick kiss and casually asked:

"Did you remember to put the strawberry jam in the basket, honey?"

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

Slave Contract

Smut and Angst (Slave contract, idol turned sex toy, accepting fate )

Chapter 18

3890 Words 

(Miyeon becomes the CEO’s newest assistant and gets trained in her new role. Four idols learn about the consequences of signing contracts without knowing what’s in them. Future sex toys?)

It’s been a few weeks of hard work with setting up the survival show. Luckily, my new assistant, Miyeon, has been a great stress reliever.

After that first night, she was sore for a few days, but you kept her busy in other ways. At first, she was hesitant, asking me if this was really something she had to do. You asked if she read over the contract and said she slightly did but mainly browsed through it when signing. 

“You should have a copy; look it over and ensure you know about your duties.” 

It took her a few hours to go through everything, and with your explanation, she realized her actual fate, “So I belong to you then?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“I read you can even breed me if you wanted to.” 

“I could, but we can put that on hold if you like. You only need to help me out with some things.” 

“Like what?”

“I also want to make your former group members into my toys.”

Miyeon’s eyes widened from your statement. She was just with them not too long ago, and now she’s being asked to betray them so you can use them for pleasure?

“What you need to do is tell me some things about them. If they sign a contract like yours, I’ll take some years off it.”

Miyeon hesitates and thinks for a while, knowing she can’t return if she does this. 

“So what’s it going to be?”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

———

“Jieun set up a meeting with the four girls. I want to meet all of them.”

“Of course, I’ll tell them to come later today.”

All the information Miyeon shared about her former members helped you set the perfect conditions for today’s meeting. You’ve always had a dream to claim a whole group for yourself. You know that you’ll have a set of four toys to play with at the end of the day.

It’s your last meeting of the day. Jieun is talking to Jennie and her group mates about the meeting and its possible lasting effects.

Jieun looks at her device and sees your message about letting them in.

“The CEO is ready for you.” She opens the door, and they walk in. 

“Oppa, you’re here to see the CEO?” says Lisa.

“No.”

Rose then speaks up, “He’s the CEO.”

“No, he’s Oppa; he helped us with moving in. A CEO wouldn’t do that,” said Lisa.

Lisa looks at you with an innocent face, waiting for your reply. “Rose is right; I’m the CEO of the company.”

“But we hung out together,” whined Lisa.

“Lisa, he might have his reasons,” replies Jennie

“Jennie is right; I do have my reasons. I aim to scout for talent and potential and put them into a group. I want to create an international girl group. As CEO, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to do that, but as a staff member, I’m about to see someone’s true personality. I want to debut you four as a girl group really soon.”

The four of them look at each other in excitement. Hearing about being a worldwide star seemed out of reach, but it is now possible. “Would you four be interested in the girl group I plan to create?” 

Lisa is the first to say yes, “Of course, oppa! I want to perform all over the world!”

Rose imagines herself on stage, singing music she composed to millions of fans worldwide, “I…I would love to as well.” 

Jisoo replied, “I, too, want to be in a group with them.” 

The three look at Jennie, who looks at you and replies, “Of course, I want to stay with my members forever!”

You then reply, “Great. I’ll make you four into worldwide superstars!” 

They giggle amongst and hold each other’s hands at the exciting news.“I plan on creating my personal label, and I’m interested in you four joining as the first group.” 

Jennie asks, “What’s the difference between it and the company?” 

“Priority and privileges.” 

Jisoo, confused, asks, “What do you mean by that?” 

“I’ll be personally working with you and providing you with all the best things. That includes clothes, jewelry, and deals with brands and magazines. I also plan to have a separate building for music recording, training, etc. You all will have access to the best, no compromises.”

The girls can't help but smile at the idea of having access to the best. Rosé's dream of being a musician is closer than ever; she must make this happen. “I want to do it.” 

“I assumed this was the case, so I prepared a contract for each of you as a group contract. I’ll talk to each of you individually since this will be an important decision.”

Jieun escorts all the members to individual rooms, so you can gather your thoughts before the meeting. After you’re ready, you call for the oldest, Jisoo. 

“Come have a seat, Jisoo.” 

Jisoo sits, looking nervous with the two of you alone.

“We went a bit over the group contract earlier, but I want to review your individual one this time. Is there anything you’d like to add?” 

Jisoo is already thankful for the opportunity to receive all the support from the company. She doesn’t want to overstep and get greedy, “No, I think I’m okay as it stands.”

”Are you sure? I remember reading in your profile that you wanted to be an actress. Am I right?”

Jisoo shyly tilts her head forward and replies, “Yes, I wrote that down when I joined as a trainee.”

”Are you still interested, or have you given up on that dream?”

There is a slight hesitation, “I want to sing and perform with my teammates, but I still want to be an actress.” 

There it is, the hook. “I can make it possible if you’re still interested.” Jisoo’s ears perk as she hears your words, “Really? How?”

The two of you talk for a while until you reach an agreement. Jisoo immediately signs the contract without a second thought after promising to support her as much as possible. Your only condition is for her to agree with your choices without a second thought. 

——

The next one you talked to was Jennie; she was much easier to talk to, and you could get straight to the point. She sat before you, “I’m going to be real with you; I want you and your members. Not just as artists but as my toys.” 

Jennie slides the contract to the side, “So this is what this contract is about… I can’t blame you; my members are cute. Is there someone you have in mind?”

“Rosé. She has an amazing voice, and her desperation to become a singer is such a turn-on.”

“She did say she’ll do something to become one, but the only issue is that she’s into girls, not guys.”

“Won't you think that would be better? Rosé tossing her interests to the side, that’s something I would love to see. I want to make her my plaything.”

Jennie bites her lip at the idea of her member being corrupted, “you know she’s a virgin too; well, everyone is except me, of course,” says Jennie while sticking her tongue out.

“You must be proud, huh.” 

It’s true; Jennie is proud of herself. With her by your side, she knows that her chances of being successful are much better with you. “Of course, I love being your toy babe. It’d be even better if you make all of us into your toys; just imagine playing with us whenever you want.”

”You know what a guy wants; you’re so bad.”

”I want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

The two of you continue to talk; she even provides some ways to make the girls agree. 

———-

After Jennie, the next one was Rosé; she sat in front of you and asked, “Were you serious about introducing us to the international market?”

”Of course, with your talent, I know you all can succeed. I mean, with your voice, it's a guarantee.”

You see the sparkle in Rosé’s eyes; her dream of becoming a singer is closer than ever. “So, where do I sign?”

You pull out the contract, “This right here is your individual contract. It states the expectations from both parties, which is the label and yourself. Read it over, and if you want to add anything, let me know.” 

Like her members before her, she just skims through the contract and asks, “Would it be possible to invite my parents and sister for my debut?”

”Of course, they are more than welcome to visit you. If you want, I can fly them over. I remember you mentioning that your sister is pursuing law, right?”

”Yeah, she’s still in college and looking to intern at a firm in Australia. You know that she’s been so supportive of me becoming an idol that I really want her to see my debut.”

”If that’s the case, then I promise you to make sure your whole family sees you on your special day.” 

“I promise that you won’t be disappointed; I’ll make sure that our group becomes the best group,” as she picks up the pen, singing her contract. 

———

Lisa, the maknae of the group, was the last member you had to meet. It didn’t take much convincing and only asked to be given the creative freedom to make choreographies and a space to dance. 

“You really got us, oppa. Or should I call you CEO-nim?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll call you oppa.” 

“I’d like that.”

She smiles and asks, “Where do I sign?”

———

It’s been a few weeks since the members signed their individual contracts. It didn’t take long for them to see the immediate effect, such as a new apartment with rooms of their own, access to the new building, and other perks.

“Unnie, congrats on your internship!”

“Thanks, it all happened so suddenly. I can’t wait to spend some time with you.”

“When do you fly in?”

“In a few weeks, they even gave me an apartment and are paying for my accommodations.” 

“Really? That’s great. What firm are you working with?”

“That’s the funny part. I’ll be doing my internship through the Samsung group but will be in one of their subdivisions.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I got an email saying that they were looking for great talent and received a recommendation. I recently finished the acceptance process and will be signing the contract. The best part is that if they like me, they might offer me a job and pay for law school. I’m so excited, Rosie!”

Rose is more than happy to hear the good news from her sister. She’s been so supportive of her dream to become a lawyer; now it’s her time to cheer for her. The only thing is that she can’t shake off a feeling that something isn’t right, but she quickly puts it to the side and continues her talk with Alice.

——-

“Hello, mom, how is everything back home?”

“Everything is wonderful, Lisa. We have had some good news recently.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Remember how your father was thinking about expanding and was looking for investors for his restaurant?”

”Yeah, I do. He wanted to open up a new place, but it was expensive if he wanted to do it in the middle of the city.”

”Well, your dad found an investor. They want to invest in not only one restaurant but probably two or more. They want to remodel this one and expand the size. Your dad is so happy.”

”I’m so happy for him. He’s been working so hard these past few years.”

”What about you, sweetheart?”

”Good, I think coming to Korea was a great choice. I can’t tell you much right now, but I’m happy where I am. My group members make me feel at home.” 

————

All the members gather in your office, the four of them excited for the weekend to begin. 

“How are you four doing?”

Jennie responds, “Great, we have had a free day today, so we’ve been resting after a busy schedule.”

”Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting you all during your day off.”

The members nod, “It’s okay; we still have Saturday and Sunday off. You must have called us to say something important,” says Jisoo. 

“Yes, I wanted to ask how you four are adjusting to your new life?”

Rosé responds, “I love the recording and music room. I’ve spent most of my time there.”

”For me, it’s the practice studio; it’s so nice and spacious, I love it,” says Lisa.

”What about you two?”

Jennie responds, ”Jisoo and I like our new apartment. It’s nice to have our own space.”

Jisoo nods, “I agree with Jennie; we like the new apartment. Thank you so much.” The four of them slightly bow, thanking you for their new perks. 

“That’s great. I want to make sure that my future worldstars are given the best. Since you have tasted a bit of what I’m giving you, I think it's time for you to return the favor.”

The members were surprised by your comment and asked, “What do you mean?”

“The favors, remember. It’s in the contract you all signed.��� 

Rosé responds, “I don’t remember seeing it.”

Knowing this was bound to happen, you pulled out a copy of their contract. You flip through the numerous pages until you reach the section you want to show them. “This is the part. It clearly states that you all are required to provide me with services on a regular basis in return for the perks you receive.” 

Rosé, shocked, says, “What kind of favors?”

With a straight face, you reply, “sexual favors, of course.” 

Rosé, Jisoo, and Lisa look shocked at your comment; Rosé stands up and tries to leave when Jennie grabs her hand, stopping her. “Don’t.” 

Rosé looks at Jennie in a serious expression and takes a seat. “Why didn’t you say anything before our contract signing?”

“I told you to check multiple times. You’re all adults.” 

Jisoo asks, “Is it possible to remove that part out?” 

“It’s possible, but that would mean you are breaking your contract.”

Rosé then asks, “Is that going to cost a lot?” 

“In simple terms, yes. The cost of a breach in the contract is a lot, plus the cost of room and board, food, training, and other expenses can be in the billions of won.”

They all look at each other, trying to figure out what to do. They don’t want to give their bodies as payment; it seems so wrong, but the cost of paying large amounts of money also seems too much.

“What if we can pay you some other way?” says Lisa.

“Listen, I’m going to be frank with you all. I want you four, so I’m going to give you an hour to think about it. I’ll step out and come back, so expect an answer.” 

You stand from your chair and begin to walk towards the door, “Just remember that this will have a great impact on both your personal and professional life,” you say before exiting.

The four of them finally get a sign of relief with you gone. They stay silent, taking in what just happened a few moments ago. 

Jennie breaks the silence, “What do you all plan on doing?” 

No one answers; instead, Jisoo stands up and looks around your desk for anything that can help them. She moves the mouse off your computer, causing it to turn on. She sees a folder with the initials of each member, “Girls, come here.” The members stand up and circle around the computer. Jennie grabs the mouse and clicks on the folder with her name to see basic information and a copy of your contract. “Nothing helpful.” 

Suddenly, something catches Rosé's attention when she notices a fold named “Alice.” She grabs the mouse from Jennie and clicks on it. There are multiple files, but a video recording gets her attention. She clicks on the recording, and the face of her video pops out. “Hello, my name is Alice Park. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to intern at your company. You’re the biggest employer in Korea, and interning at your company is a dream come true. Pursuing law has been a passion of mine since I was young, so I will do my best to meet your expectations. Thank you so much, and hope to see you real soon.”

Rosé can’t believe it, Alice’s employer is you? Many things run through her mind to the point it’s hurting. “Did he plan everything out? What should I do? Should I tell Alice?”

Jennie and Jisoo notice Rosè’s sister in the video and try to ask her what’s going on. Instead, Rosè stays silent, gathering her thoughts and what she should do. “Rosè, what’s going on?”

Lisa continued searching when she found a file named “Restaurant Investments.” She clicks on it and sees her dad’s picture and other documents that mention investing in his business. “What’s going on?” She sees a brief interview that mentions his reason for doing what he does. He responds that he loves the expression his family makes when they taste his food, especially his daughter. However, since she was young, she would love his food which is one of the reasons he wants to do his best. “My daughter is trying her best to make her dreams come true, as an old man I should also do something that my daughter should be proud of.”

Lisa doesn’t have to think twice, she knows what she has to do. “I’m going to make sure his dreams come true no matter what.”

An hour passes by, the four of them are sitting in the chairs as you enter the room on the dot. Rosè and Lisa look at you with an intense expression while Jisoo holds both their hands. Jennie, who is sitting in the back looks at you with a slight grin but quickly hides it when you sit on your chair. 

“I gave you four an hour. What are your answers?”

There is a slight hesitation as the four look at each other, thinking on what to say. Suddenly, Lisa raises her hand and says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The rest of her members' eyes widened as the maknae of the group was the first to respond. You can’t stop yourself from smiling, “Good choice.”

You look at the other three and say, “Lisa seems to have more conviction than anyone else in the group.” You look in Jisoo’s direction, “Jisoo, I assumed you would be the first to say something, but I guess Lisa, the youngest out of your four, has more guts.” 

Jisoo clenches her fist, but she’s scared. There is no way she couldn’t be. “What about you Jennie?”

She lifts her head, “So you’ll keep your promise and make me known worldwide?”

”Yes, there wouldn’t be anywhere in the world that won’t know your name.”

’Okay, I’ll do it too. I’ll do whatever you want, even be your personal toy.”

Jisoo lifts her head, “Jennie…” Her younger members are much braver than her. She tells herself that she needs to be the one to protect them, but instead they’re taking the reins of their future. She makes up her mind, “I…I’ll do it too.”

”Great. Three out of four.” You look at Rosé who’s head is still down, debating about making the right choice. Her answer will determine not only her future but her sister’s as well. “Alright. If I do this, you promise not to do anything to Alice, right?”

”Yes, I promise.”

”Okay, I’ll do whatever you want; just keep your promise.” 

You smile, knowing that the four women in front of you have decided to submit to you. “I’ll make sure to try you four with a lot of care.” You stand up and check out their body as they stand. “I want to make sure that you're all serious about your choice. Undress yourself right here, I want to see what I’m going to be working with,”

Their eyes widened from your request; they didn’t think it was going to happen so soon. “Okay.” Jennie is the first one to undress by first removing her blouse, bra, pants, and underwear. 

“Good girl.”

”Thanks,” Jennie smiles from your compliment. 

The other two members follow, undressing themselves until they’re completely nude. Rosé is the last one to undress, she struggles to take her panties off with one arm covering her breast. 

“Take your arm off, I want to get a good look at you.” She slowly moves her arm and puts it to the side. “There, better?”

“Feisty one. If you don’t want to do this you can just leave.” Rosé pinches her arm, stopping herself from leaving. She wants to get out of there but knows she can’t. “No, I’ll behave.”

Satisfied with her answer, you continue to walk around them, inspecting their flawless body. Each one of them have small but perky tits, a flat stomach with a cute little ass. Lisa yelps when you touch her ass, while Jennie smiles. 

“Since you all have the weekend together, how about we have some fun.” The girls don’t have to guess what you’re trying to say, they know what type of “fun” you’re talking about. “Any volunteers?”

There’s a silence, no one moving or reacting in any way. “No volunteers? I guess I'll choose the one I want to have first.” You go around, tracing your finger against their back. You feel them tremble, not wanting to be the first to get chosen. 

“I really want to have all of you at once, but I want to give you some one-on-one attention. You’re all too good, I can't make up my mind.” 

You stare and them, looking up and down as you decide on who to fuck first. You see one of them grabbing onto their arm, looking nervous. You think to yourself it's always best to pick the one who has the most to lose and make them yours.

“Rosé, I want you tonight.” 

You exit the room, leaving her standing alone in shock. She trembles, realizing that she’s going to give her body to a man. She’s never once thought about having relationships with a male, not even in the slightest. 

———

Jieun walks into the room, “Rosé, dear. Why the sad expression?  You should be happy that he chose you.” 

There’s no response from Rosé, and instead frozen in thought. 

“Anyways, I’m here because I’m going to take all you with me to choose an outfit for when he asks for you. Just remember that the more effort you put in the better the outcome,” says Jieun in a serious voice.

As they enter the room they see multiple racks of lingerie. Rosé’s eyes go wide as she figures out what she is going to wear.